dude. let's jam.

I busted the high E string on my guitar about a month ago (because I rock so fucking hard) and been meaning to replace it, but never got around to it. The strings were old anyway, and I'd been wanting to get new strings in a heavier gauge even before I busted the high E, but I'm forgetful, and since I'm not a virtuoso, I hardly ever miss the high E, because you don't really need it to play power chords, man.



[photo by Robin D]

Music stores (like where you get instruments and supplies) are a lot like comic book stores, but intrinsically cooler because you're business is the rock. However, the similarities are frightening. Both of which deal in mainly in fantasy, be it of the costumed crusader variety or of the changing the world with your music variety. Both are also extremely niche; in my six years of service in the comic book industry, broken up between two different stores, I came to the realization that only hardcore comic book slaves (of which I was one, but have regretfully fallen out of the hobby (habit)) frequent such a location. Most comic book stores are even set up in such a manner, hiring obsessive, misanthropic comic book fans, who only saw the job as a way to get their fix at a discounted rate (mostly guilty), to handle the "customer service" and arranging their products in a labrynthine manner that makes finding anything a dizzying experience unless you frequent the store on a weekly basis.

Music shops are equally as intimidating. I walked into the local shop today to buy strings and saw only one shaggy haired dude at the counter tuning up a Fender Strat and another pierced-lip kid twanging away behind a stack of amplifiers. Neither readily acknowledged my presence, but I wasn't really wanting them to. Immediately, I became confused by the layout and ended up in a section where they sold cables when I was looking for strings, but my disorientation was only temporary. I found the strings, logically enough, next to the guitars.

I'm as obsessive about guitars as some guys are about cars. While I don't consider myself a great player--I play well enough to make it a hobby that I'll stick to the rest of my life--just the sight of guitars excites me. I want all of them. And being in a guitar shop just to get strings may end up with me walking out with new strings and a new guitar that I can't really afford, which is why I go so rarely. However, I can't go into a music store without looking at them. That would be just torture.

Of course, right off the bat, I saw a black and white Fender Telecaster with a maple fretboard that I fell in love with, and an icy metalic blue Strat with maple fretboard that made me drool. Both were Mexican standards (I like the way the cheaper ones sound anyway) and both were in my extended price range--especially if I decided to cut out eating for the next few months. It took some restraint.

While I was looking at the guitars, shaggy dude came in. He said, "What's up, man?" I said, "Not much," and then he plugged in and started jamming on the Strat, like it never even occured to him to try and sell me something. But the sound of the Strat was definitely alluring, like the first time I cranked up Pearl Jam's Ten on my cassette boom box. Still, I was able to get out of there with my bank account unscathed.

I took my two packs of D'Addario strings up to the counter and waited to be rung up. I thought Shaggy was the only employee, but as soon as I got to the counter, Lip Ring put down his guitar and came over.

"I can ring you up over here," he said.

I was taken back at first, since I thought he was just a customer, but, like comic book stores, the clientele at music stores is completely indiscernable from the staff, which makes you wonder how these places make any money...oh yeah, geeks like me.