Attack of the Mad Axeman

I’ve been savoring a bit of bemused nostalgia lately after having recently relocated G&P HQ to more spacious digs. For the first time in about three years, I was able to drag out my guitar collection, which had languished in storage. Living in a tiny apartment with neighbors on all sides not being conducive to midnight renditions of punk classics, and all, should you have a desire to remain housed.
The nostalgia came, in particular, when I lugged out my bass – my first real instrument. (Bass naturally being where you dump your least talented band member).
How I bought it – using money my dad owed me after he totaled my oh so very sweet ’84 Chevette (stick shift, no AC, FM radio only) in an accident – is a whole ’nother story. That aside, it’s a totem of a time when a teenaged me labored under the delusion that a burning desire to play and participate in music would transcend tedious necessities like having to learn out to play and all that shit. I didn’t – and still don’t – have a fucking clue what I was doing when I picked up an instrument, I just knew I couldn’t sit on the sidelines.

You may have noticed I said my guitars went into storage three years ago. For those of you quick with the math, you’ll realize that’s pretty much the time I started the blog. I couldn’t make a racket in my tiny apartment, but I still had that need to connect, somehow. These days I just don’t have the same desire to pick up and play, myself. But blogging has given me a whole new outlet (and this one actually plays to my strengths, unlike my nonexistent musical skillz). Dragging out and dusting off my guitars made me realize that I’ve simply traded them in for a new axe.
And some old habits die really hard.