Brian is at the computer in the kitchen. I’m washing dishes.
Brian: Where’s
CD: Uh…above
Brian: Just curious.
A minute passes and I figure it out.
CD: What gear do you want to buy now?
Brian: Well, there’s this…no, no, I won’t get it. I don’t need it.
CD: What is it?
Brian: Well…[he lifts his hands in the air, the fingers forming a box shape] what it is does is [insert gear head ramble here]…so you see I could get a whole new sound…
CD: Where is this pedal?
Brian: A new guitar store opened in
Then, here comes the look that would make juries weep…a round-eyed lost puppy dog look.
CD: Okay, I’ll do this. If we go to
Brian: Okay!
And sure enough, in a day or two after a lunch of eggs and granola at Blind Faith and a quick trip to the rock store, we’re pulling up to Fat Tone in an industrial park in Northbook.
Brian: Um…you can stay in the car, if you want.
CD: I was planning on it.
Guitar stores are tough places for drummers. There’s an obscure tech lingo in these stores and nothing a drummer can hit. In fact, it’s quite the opposite: you better not hit anything in a guitar store, because it could cost you a fortune to replace. But for Brian guitar stores are like temples and he enters, his guitar slung over his shoulder like King Arthur wielding Excaliber.
I wait in the car. I’m the dusty, awkward groom who waits behind with the horse while the hero battles a dragon. For an hour and half, I read, sleep, and sweat. It’s 85 degrees and I start to feel like a survivor on a desert island. Thirsty. Impatient. Hot. Thoughts of abandoning him to drive to Target down the road and browse housewares invade my mind. No, I’ll wait. I can’t leave. Just as I think I’m going to go mad with dehydration, Brian emerges, little white box in hand. He’s grinning.
A pedal acquisition is no ordinary trip. It involves negotiation, travel, patience, and an epic journey to lands time forgot. But Brian emerges from the lair of the minotaur with his new conquest. A bright, gold covered box. Beowulf emerging from the depths would have looked no less triumphant.
And like all secret talismans, ordinary folks like me have no idea what it does. For more on that, e-mail the guitar wizard himself at shortpunksinlove@sbcglobal.net But make sure you have the secret password, the magic phrase that will open wonderous worlds: short punks rule.
God speed, brave warriors.
5 comments:
I hypothesize that part of the reason Brian gets lots of pedals is so that each gig will have a different aura, a sonic signature all its own. In fact, if you play it right, with enough pedals, every day could have some sort of singular audio earmark that distinguishes it for every other day. He's simply being very existential, don't you think? Almost like using Sartre's "Nausea" in a prescriptive sense....
Great post. Fat Tone is now considering putting in a waiting area for bored drummers.
Phil
AWWWWE-SOME! With big chairs and foot stools? And a coffee pot with donuts and music magazines (not just guitar ones)? That would be GREAT! You guys would be the BEST guitar store in Chicago -- you can even advertise that you have a comfortable waiting are for wives and girlfriends. That would totally rock..
with apologies to phil, do you REALLY not go into guitar stores because they smell like boys? sorta like those comic book stores?
why do i find that so damned funny? probably because i am one of those boys...
Boy-smell is kind of a problem in other guitar stores and especially in comic book stores. But, as it happens, Fat Tone looks like its boy-smell free. Thank goodness.
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