Is there some strange mystical bond between the guitarist and his or her instrument or are they just slightly mad. Does this peculiar funny connection somehow animate and colour their art.
From Eric Clapton�s blackie, S.R.V.�s wives or even B.B. Kings Lucille, guitarists �have often had this jealous �bond with their favourite axe. Some won�t even let the rabble touch their well handled, scratched, six stringed romance. Watching a master like Steve Via in action an alien may� even �wonder who�s playing who.
Something precious that needs to be guarded in music is the emotional connection, if a singers voice is over produced, pitch corrected, compressed, layered, delayed etc in the end, apart from losing their own unique tone and nuance, they also lose the emotive ability to move and communicate with their listeners.
Enter the guitarist. Unlike his poor keyboard cousins, who are removed via hammers and levers from the centre of the action. His hard worn fingers are there at the scene of the crime. �Bending and caressing,� the very steel, or nylon fashioning the sound.� The neck of his guitar is not quite like any other. The strings are the ones that she just loves. The action is perfect for just his style of music. She can smell the wood mixed with sweat of hours of practice, playing, a bit like a conversation with an old mate. The keyboard guy he just doesn�t get it.
A young guitarist goes in the guitar shop to look dream and touch; they all just feel so good. You can almost hear the music they can play before you pick them up; no two are ever quite the same. And if you are lucky enough to own more than one chances are you will pick up one before the others
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