Music

I Found My Guitar’s Heartbeat Once

I’m Still Trying to Find It Again

At nine years old, I had a dream I still think about.

I saw a shiny red electric guitar close up. Slowly, my vision pans out to see a much older version of myself. I’m standing up on a stage with lights cast all around me. I raise the guitar above my head and strum a chord. It reverberates beautifully, perfect in tonality, and coincidentally also loud enough to wake me up.

This dream spurred me to beg my parents to let me take guitar lessons. They said I could, with one major caveat: I had to start on an acoustic guitar.

Their reasoning? I had to “work my way up” to an electric. At the time, I wasn’t sure why I had to be promoted to the instrument I wanted to play. Looking back, I know it was a well-crafted excuse in disguise relating to a harrowing volume assault on their eardrums.

Unlike how the red guitar felt in my dream, my first acoustic guitar felt cold, wooden, and awkward in my hands. When I strummed chords, the tone sounded…dead.

Until I was fourteen, that feeling would remain.

A Gift for Myself

I was older, perhaps not wiser, but eager to fulfill the destiny I had seen in my dream.

It was January. The money I received for my birthday and Christmas was in my pocket, and I had convinced my dad to spend his Saturday with me at Guitar Center.

I was there to fill that missing hole, to find the guitar of my dreams, and to hear that perfect chord.

My father and I had spent time looking at guitars before we realized we needed help knowing what I should purchase.

Before me now stood a long-haired, greasy, tall twenty-something with a lip piercing. Although his name was Jimmy, based on the sound of his voice, I expected his name to be Bill or Ted. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had just returned from an excellent adventure.

Like any salesman, he asked qualifying questions to try to understand what I was looking for:

• “What kind of music do you rock out to, man?”
• “What’s your set up look like?
• And my personal favorite: “So, like, uh…are you looking to jam with your buddies, or do you want more of a bigger sound?”

This last question stumped me. What was the difference between these two options? I gave my father a confused glance that mirrored back at me. Guess he didn’t know either.

Jimmy scratched his acne-ridden face to fill the silence. After a few more moments, he nodded. “You know, I might have just the thing for you.” He walked over to a display and pointed.

Several strangely shaped large boxes were on the floor. Above them, a sign screamed, in all caps: “EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO ROCK OUT!”

It was then I realized the boxes were electric guitar kits. Inside each one was a Fender Squier Stratocaster electric guitar, an amp, a strap, a case, and a songbook.

The price? Close to all the money I had with me.

Each kit had Sharpie markings on it, signifying the color of the guitar inside. Most were black, and a few were blue.

I looked up. “Do you have any red ones?”

Jimmy smiled. “I think so, dude. Let me check.”

Connecting The Cables

Back home, I dragged the box up the stairs and opened it in my room. It was time to fulfill my destiny.

I plugged in the amp. I connected the power cable from the instrument to the amp. I stood up and put on the strap. I felt the weight of my cherry red guitar on my neck and shoulder. After flicking the switch, the amp began to hum.

I played a chord. It was loud, but not loud enough. I cranked it to five out of ten, then six, then seven.

Resisting the urge to go further was difficult, but I held firm. I didn’t want any neighbors to complain or my parents to take my new purchase away the first day.

I strummed again. Tilting my head back, the sound washed over me, a tidal wave of raw energy crashing against my ears.

The instrument hung down, swaying, slightly bumping against my chest, thumping a metronomic rhythm. Could it be…a heartbeat?

It felt

I felt

Alive.

Chasing The Past

When I look back on this memory, it makes me chuckle. As I’ve gotten older and acquired a more trained ear, I know a Squier Strat’s tone is awful. The cheap amp it came with made it sound even worse.

Ask a guitarist about trying to get the “perfect tone.” And while you’re at it, cancel any plans for the next few hours. You’ll have your time filled with a meandering rant about the epic Sisyphean struggle to make the guitar sound…just right. By the end of the one-sided conversation, you may want to diagnose the guitarist with an affliction that doesn’t appear in any medical dictionary:

Toneitis — A disease afflicting guitarists where they search endlessly for the perfect tone to no avail. Symptoms include but not limited to ranting endlessly to anyone who will listen about their plight while buying amps, pedals, and guitars they don’t need and they don’t have the funds to purchase. All of this is done to find a perfect imaginary sound that exists only in their head.

Like any electric guitarist, I struggle with toneitis. I always wonder if a distortion pedal or a Fender Mustang will bring me closer to the supposed nirvana I seek.

Although it may have taken me six years to get the guitar I saw in my dream, I’ve searched for almost twenty years for how it sounded when I strummed that first chord.

I still can’t find that tone. But I’ll keep trying.

Hey, I’m Bill Cooper. In addition to writing about music and other topics that catch my fancy, I have a YouTube channel where I cover all sorts of music-related topics. Check it out if it sounds like your thing.

Love you all.