I want to LOVE Martin Guitars

I want to LOVE Martin Guitars. I do. So help me I really do. I know I am supposed to covet all the models or most of the models. I know I am supposed to salivate and palpitate and pulsate at the unique and most splendid of sounds, I don't. Once again I want to. I do. Really. I play them when I go to Guitar Center. I play them at Sam Ash. I play other people's Martins. I have been to the Factory. Lo...I have made the pilgrimage with my son. I have walked the hallowed halls. I HAVE TRIED!!!. I have. Lord help me please...I have tried. I have played the sizes and the shapes and yes they are fine but it ain't the sound my soul sings with. This is not to say that the rest of the brethren in the six string convocation (and 12...and, well seven if you're Russian) are not right and I am just deaf. (Pronounced deef). Of course it may be because I'm over here holding it and you're over there listening to it. That is always the problem when choosing and judging and buying a guitar isn't it? That's why those clever luthiers (and Breedlove now owned by "Two Old Hippies" right?) has that top hole in the side aimed at your ears. But....what does that do to the front end? Well.........I play Guilds in that G pantheon of American BIG manufacturers. GUILDGIBSONGRETSCH. I love Guilds. I do not have enough Guilds.I have two and a half. The half being a Japanese Madeira A-9. Which is pretty damn fine sounding thank you.I love my other guitars. I have a few. A few more than a few. Perhaps one day a Martin will thrill me. That sort of enlarged and inflated heartbeat thing.

I think I was 17

I think I am 17 in this picture. I might be older. I am not at all sure. I could be 18. Not that it matters all that much but I think this is the earliest picture of me with a guitar. It is a 1965 Goya N-21 made from Mahogany. I still have an N-21. It is not the same one. The first one was splintered into pieces in an automobile accident. I love the size and the sound. Currently it has Silk and Steel strings on it. I don't know. I liked them initially but they don't shimmer. Capiche?  The young lady to my right was my girlfriend at that time. She was number one on my mother's list of who I should marry and procreate with. I understand her reasoning. Pretty. Jewish and pretty. Jewish and pretty and well off. Jewish and pretty with blond hair and well off and a good sense of humor and her family belonged to the same synagogue. I get the point in retrospect. But Mom, if you are out there somewhere at the eternal and heavenly Hadassah meeting in the sky. You should meet Beth. You'd kvell. *

* KVELL: To beam with pride and pleasure, Jewish parents are prone to kvell over their children's achievements.

Since the age of 16 I have held guitars in my hands

Since the age of 16 I have held guitars in my hands. Of all the external and corporeal elements of my life that exist as a continuous chosen thread guitars are primary if not singular. I accept them as a center of creativity and contemplation. I accept them as a primary meditative device. The very act of holding a guitar seems to be a return to a state of normalcy. Times without one in my hands being emptier. I love them as I love no other non sentient thing. I'm crazy about the things. I love to touch them and smell them. I love frets and tuning mechanisms and bridges and strings. I think that most of the important events in my life have either included or been punctuated with guitars. I have a goodly number but I do not have enough. I love the ones I have and I search for more. They are a source of joy. They are a source of frustration when I can't get rid of a buzz or an overtone or some other problem. They are organic and reactive. Too dry or too damp or too cold or too hot are cautionary measurements that need to be monitored. But, I say with joy in my gut, I love them. I do. I do. I do.