The replacement guitar stays in tune perfectly, the fretwork is great, the action came from the factory really low, the tone is deeper, it’s freaking completely gorgeous with the grain of the black limba and wenge, and it feels fine, but for some reason, I just don’t connect with it at all. I mean, I so wanted to love this thing and for it to be my new instrument, but I just felt nothing.
I’ve been ruminating hard about this. I know I’m ridiculously picky about guitars, because the technical aspects are just a gate for me, an opening gauntlet of analysis, but on top of a guitar that functions well, I really just have to feel something with it. It’s like a relationship, an intimate one, where you’re using it to speak. Not where you’re using it to speak for you; you’re speaking through it; it’s a conduit to your soul. And I feel like that’s sacred. I don’t give a damn about much else in this world, but at least this one thing I’ll insist on for myself.
I can’t put my finger on it, because this thing is brand spanking new, from the manufacturer’s US headquarters no less, and it looks freaking amazing and awesome, but I know for sure I don’t want it, and I don’t exactly know why. There’s no real reason I can point to, and I feel like I should have a concrete thing to point to and say, “This is exactly the reason,” but the reality is I just feel empty with it in my hands.
I guess it’s the same as when I’ve been in so many guitar stores and picked up boutique and incredible handmade instruments, and my dick goes soft. It’s not a reflection on the guitar, it’s my attraction to it. The same reason why in the aughts I played dozens of Gibson and Epiphone Les Pauls until I settled on the one that hit me in the solar plexus.It was an Epiphone, to my surprise, and it was the one that had the mojo. I couldn’t put my finger on why for that either, but whenever I picked it up, I could feel it calling to me with inspiration.
While the first Super Shredder was out of commission, I finally reconstituted my only other guitar from storage, my Washburn Parallaxe Trevor Rabin (with my mods of series/parallel switches, dual concentric knobs with 50s LP wiring, low tone cap values, and Duncan Saturday Night Specials), and immediately I felt so strongly the connection I’ve always had with that instrument. It hit me like a fucking hammer how important that connection is to me, and how I never want another guitar I don’t deeply bond to. Contrasting the two, the thought of keeping the new Super Shredder feels terrible, wrong, and superficial. It centers me to who I am as a player.
This was not at all what I expected, and not what I wanted at all, but I have to be true to my feelings. I so wanted to love this thing and immediately developing a relationship with it, but it would be like dating someone with no chemistry. You just can’t do that.
So I’m going to sell the Super Shredder. I didn’t even take the plastic film off the pickguard and trem spring cover. I have no doubt someone can love this guitar and bond with it. I’ll try to take some good pictures of it, but my wife took some off the cuff while I was taking it out of the box, and those are below. These were taken as a kind of celebration, because the last thing on earth I thought I’d be doing is selling this thing, so just know these initial pictures were not taken in the spirit of product photography, but just a happy personal moment, with some great afternoon light blazing in!
I can’t think of a non-douchebag way to ask this, but what advice would you guys give for selling a guitar in today’s marketplace?
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