These past few years have involved getting rid of things, notably my mother's house and what was in it – as has been covered in several blog posts – as well as some possessions of my late wife. (There also was a rather frantic culling of various assorted items from the basement, due to an unexpected renovation; rather not think about it, frankly.)
Recently, though, instead of getting rid of something, I simply retired it.
I bought that guitar in the photo at left more than three decades ago, as a combination late Christmas/early birthday present. I was playing a Yamaha FG-75 I'd had since I was 14, and my wife thought that, even though we had a brand new baby, the family budget could withstand a little indulgence. So we made the round of music stores, bringing our tiny girl with us in a baby carrier, and I tried out various models (some way out of our price range, but dammit, you can dream, right?) until I eventually went for a Blueridge.
Some personal possessions evoke our life experiences in more meaningful ways than others. That bed table lamp you've had for 20 years probably doesn't inspire a lot of memories – although I suppose that might depend on what sorts of things have been happening in close proximity to it...never mind. I can certainly wax nostalgic about some of the cars I've driven, for better or worse: The '68 VW Beetle, my first car, which had a litany of problems from the moment I bought it, until my mechanic – whose income I could've significantly increased – told me to just take the damn thing off the road. The '69 Dodge Dart, essentially gifted to me by a family friend, the first dependable car I drove and therefore crucial to my first post-collegiate job as a newspaper reporter. The 1980 Subaru which conveyed me to some very pleasant romantic getaways in Vermont, and later, to the place in Jamaica Plain where my wife-to-be lived. The 1985 Plymouth Horizon in which she and I brought our newborn daughters home from the hospital.
That Blueridge guitar was with me through untold numbers of jam sessions, rehearsals and gigs, whether in my house or at someone else's, and at events or venues like the Old Songs Festival, BCMFest (Boston Celtic Music Fest), Club Passim and The Burren, as well as departed but fondly remembered places such as The Green Briar Pub and The Skellig. I also played it in the context of numerous collaborations – most immediately, the Blueridge joined a trio I'd co-formed a couple of years after moving to Boston, and whose final iteration included my wife. Some were longstanding (including one I'm in now), some regrettably short-lived but satisfying nonetheless, some one-offs. I don't just think of the music that was played, of course, but of the people who were part of those experiences, and the memories continue to warm my heart.
The guitar also was an integral part of what I consider my Great Leap Forward, musically. I'd been in a rather dormant period for several years where I wasn't really playing much at all, even at home, just busy with domestic life and my job. Eventually, things changed, and I found myself getting back into jam sessions and other opportunities to take the Blueridge out. But I decided that I needed to change my approach to music, to rely less on intuition and more on theory, and most of all, to explore more fully what I could do on guitar – different iterations of chords, for instance, so I could alter mood and tone. This gave me a lot more confidence in what I was doing, and in my ability to work with other musicians, and in the process, made playing music a helluva lot more enjoyable.
I probably should've taken better care of the Blueridge than I did, although if anything seemed out of sorts I certainly took it in for repairs or at least general maintenance. I tried different kinds of strings, different flatpicks and thumb picks, anything that might improve what I was doing, or at least make it easier to accomplish. In recent years, I came to feel things were just "off," maybe in a small way but one which was noticeable to me. Still, I didn't think seriously about getting a new guitar.
Until I did.
Late last year, a friend of mine decided to go guitar shopping and asked me to come along to lend whatever insight I could possibly contribute. And in making the rounds of music stores, I couldn't help but, y'know, try a few guitars myself. Perhaps it was shock of the new, or something like that, but the familiar chord or fingerpicking sequences I ran through sounded fresh and felt easier to do.
So I took note of some possibilities and did my due diligence, i.e., looking up what people had to say about them. And a few weeks later, I took this friend along with me to assume the role of consultant I'd played earlier, and got myself a Martin D2XE (that's it in the photo at right). Now, for years I'd wondered what it might be like to have a Martin – which, it's fair to say, is historically considered the gold standard for acoustic guitars – but felt the cost was simply prohibitive. However, once I came to find out that Martin makes models that are considerably more affordable but still attain that benchmark for quality – and once I realized that I had a few bucks in hand accumulated through some paid gigs – I felt the change would be worth it. Let's just say I'm not exactly enduring buyer's remorse at this juncture.
But I did have one admittedly small yet, for me, not insignificant dilemma: Which guitar case should I put it in? I had an extra one housing a guitar given to me by a friend before she moved. And I had the case in which the Blueridge resided – not the original, but over the years I had festooned it with various stickers related to events/venues, musical friends and acquaintances, or odds-and-sods (like a now-defunct felafel and pizza restaurant near my old home town). In other words, it conveys some of the history and experiences from my Blueridge era and, well, perhaps makes me seem like an interesting person. The other guitar case has no such decorations.
So, I wondered, should I mark my nascency as a Martin guitar owner by housing it in the unadorned, unstickered case? And leave the Blueridge in its familiar resting place?
Nah, I decided.
My reasoning was/is this: Whichever instrument it houses, the guitar case itself is an embodiment of my life and times as a musician. And since it is still functional, why shouldn't I continue to use it, as I go on accumulating experiences and memories through my musical activities – hopefully for quite a while yet?
And of course, if I ever run out of room, I can always start decorating the other case.
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So glad you indulged! Send me a recording!
xo
P