This was my first guitar. It was bought for my older brother many moons
ago, and remained in our bedroom gathering dust for many more moons. It
wasn't until the end of the summer holidays 2004 that I randomly
decided to pick it up, clean off the dirt and have a tinker. I had no
idea what to do; I just played. To this day I firmly believe it was the
best thing that had ever happened to me. Nothing else since, even love
has came close to the shear honest thrill of playing and creating music.
For three hours every day, for almost two years, I wrote endless days
of music, happily.
This was my first electric guitar, bought from my cousin for a whole
£100, including a cheap little Kustom amp that sounded like a tin of
pissed of bees, typical for a beginner. My tastes in music started to
change when the Squier came into my life. I began listening to joe
Satriani, Steve Vai, Metallica, Slipknot, all the classics. I learned
how to tap, shred, sweep, all the mods and scales; everything. I wasn't
particularly great at them, but I could do them. I spent hours learning Trivium and Avenged Sevenfold solos from Total Guitar magazine,
playing everything super-slow and carefully, gradually building up
speed and confidence. I became the best young guitarist in my entire
town and school. This guitar is currently going through a complete revamping. I have replaced the stock pick-ups with excellent Rock Monkey Hot Texans. The tuners and hardware, excluding the bridge, are all now top-of-the-line in quality. The neck has been cleaned up, straightened and all fret buzz has been removed. It plays and sounds beautifully now. I'm trying to save up for a complete refinishing as well. But that's not a necessity right now. It still is a great guitar no matter how it looks.
This is a pretty banged-up, shitty guitar. I've had it for a long time now and treated it very badly. It hasn't had a proper servicing in years. In fact, I've never serviced it. The frets are popping off, the pick-ups are caving in, the volume pots and pick-up selectors are scratchy, the action is buzzy. You name it, it's got it. But for some reason I still play it. In drop-D through my Soldano it roars. It's not worth selling either. I'll probably get it fixed up properly one of these days so that it plays and sounds as well as a Gibson - an easy feat, to be honest. I regret buying this guitar in many ways, but it's my baby. I can't change that now.
My brother made this all Mahogany Telecaster for a school exam in around 2005. He received very high marks - the best in his class, in fact - and it cost our parents quite a bit of money for the parts. When it was finally finished, I thought, because Tom, my brother, had already 'given' me his acoustic, he'd also give me the Telecaster. Well, I was right, he did. But it wasn't playable. The neck was so narrow, the high e and low E strings kept falling off either side, making it very frustrating to play. I also regularly cut myself on the frets, as they were sharper than a razor blade. It was very disappointing to me. I don't think Tom cared. I decided, years later, to have it fixed up. The frets were filed down, the electronics were re-wired and the action issue was fixed. But the most troublesome issue could obviously not be resolved. To do that we would have to attach a completely new neck, something I wasn't willing to do. This was Tom's guitar. He built it. Whether it played well or not wasn't as relavent as the fact that my brother built a guitar at the age of 16. It doesn't get played anymore.
I don't really
use this guitar these days. It is a good instrument, but I didn't really
take very good care of it. Frankly, I never do. I bought it because I had
read some amazing reviews regarding the company and their guitars, and
because I wanted a Floyd Rose bridge for the dive-bombz and elephant
noises. A year after owning the guitar, I grew out of it. I might block
off the bridge one of these days, or wait until it grows in price, get
it fixed up and sell it. Maverick have 'gone under', so to speak, so
their instruments are gradually becoming more and more rare. However, this was a treasured instrument when I was learning my chops. I have endless videos of me sweep picking as fast as I could with the Maverick wrapped around me. It was a shredders dream guitar. It's just a shame my dreams of shredding were gradually fading into sludge and doom. -Ibanez Apex 2 (pic):
I bought this on-the-cheap from a guitar store in York in the April of 2009. It had a few problems with it, but felt smooth and comfortable in my hands. The amp they let me play through was super hot and saturated (can't remember what it was), so it gave me an inaccurate audio description of the pick-ups, as, when I returned home, I found them to be incredibly weak in comparison through my Soldano and Vox. I soon found out that they were PAF pick-ups, models that are renowned for blues and vintage tones, NOT heavy rock. It has treated me relatively well so far since then. The tuners suck hairy ballz, and I don't like the scale length (25.5"), but unless I can find a replacement set of tuners in the right colour (metallica satin), they'll remain as they are. I'm thinking of putting a ceramic Warpig in the bridge and an alnico Warpig in the neck, both from Bareknuckle. That should give me the grunt I need. It, along with my Epiphone, is my main guitar. I've owned a number of seven strings throughout my time, but so far, this is the only one that has stuck with me. Because of that I might never sell it. We'll see.
The following is a list I have either played or heard in person. I have not played all of these amps personally unfortunately, but over 90% of them I have.
Blackstar: HT-5 Combo; HT-5 Head HT-20 Series One 100 Series One 200 Bad Cat: Hot Cat 30R Bogner: Alchemist Head Brunetti: XL R-EVO 60 Head Bugera: 6262 Head 333XL Diezel: Einstein 50 VH4 Herbert Schmidt Epiphone: Valve Junior ENGL: Powerball Fireball 60 Screamer Combo Thunder Combo Fender: 65' Twin Reverb Reissue; '65 Blackface Twin Reverb Original Hot Rod Deluxe Blues Junior SuperChamp XD Framus: Dragon Hughes&Kettner: Trilogy Duotone Head Laney: GH50L TT50 Head VC-30 VH100R Line 6: Flextone III 2x12XL Vetta I Combo; Vetta II Combo; Vetta II Head Spider Valve Head; Spider Valve 1x12 Combo Spider III 2x10 120; Spider III 30 Spider IV Marshall: DSL401 1x12 JVM410 JCM800 - 80's model and Reissue JCM900 Vintage Modern 2266 MG; new and old JTM45 Reissue Matchless: DC-30 Chieftain Matamp: 1224 MkII King Street Minimat II GT120 Mini-Rock Mesa Boogie: Single Rectifier Orange: Rockerverb 50 head MKI; Rockerverb 50 head MKII Tiny Terror Combo; Tiny Terror Head Rocker 30 Head Crush 30R Peavey: Valveking Head; Valveking 2x12 Combo with an alternate valve configuration and Celestion G12V30 speakers XXX Head 6505+; 6505 Classic 30 Vypyr Tube 60 Vypyr 30; Vypyr 75 Randall: RG 50-TC RM100 Head; various modules RG75G3 Combo Roland: JC120 Cube 80x; Cube 30x; Cube 15x; Micro CubeRX Soldano: Hot Rod 50 Hotrod Avenger 50 SLO100 Lucky 13 VHT/Fryette: Deliverance 120 Sig:X CL Fifty Combo Memphis 30 combo Vox: Nightrain Lil' Nightrain VT100 AD30VT; AD30VTXL AC30 AC15
the Bournemouth streets are sealed with water while wafers float me further still away from land. the attention seekers belly flop from piers protruding like acidic giants battling base ants. who are they to decide what' tall and what's small? Who am I to leap from their shoulders onto their backs?
a crowd of crows are gathered around and begin cawing as one holds his crotch in a foamy suffering. it's a cock eat cock world, and the ice-cream cum tastes nice, but the worst of it really is, I crave that same sand fight, that same sticky seaside sensation. I crave it just as much as the war of terror, just as much as stuffing myself full of every flavour. who can see the errors when given so many black eyes for straying too far from the watery path?
walk as a rant from the mouths of something pretty hand in hand through the jetty, under the stairs leading down onto the beach and under the stairs leading up to heaven or down to hell – a personal entrance to leave at any time. I'm a high-grade actor with bad guts, who's sick of feeling sick who's sick of eating nothing but pussy.
birds... an ideal term, better than airborne creatures anyway, if only the girls didn't find it so debasing.
cheeky robin's, totally desensitized and fearless, keeptheir tongues tight against the inside of their mouths. I know I'd be brave enough to do the same if flying didn't take me so high off the ground.
the ideal hiding spot is right here in the place where I'm as desensitized as the robin where the girls look fat and ugly, but have pretty skinny personalities. where everyday, I see various different parts of the letter ex everywhere I go and in every face I see. ignore my predetermined life - like the robin.
A robin cursorily disappears as something stumbles head-first through the forest. in the second before escape the mind twitches and restarts. -I will never see you again, Robin of Sherwood.
A thief walks quieter with no shoes on. he predicts every creak as he trespasses further into the house, further into a strangers future. -treasure, I will never see you again.
the diamonds fall head-long into a deep ravine dying when they hit the bottom. the echoing screams are agony to the ears, breaking the barriers between being someone, and not. -death, I will never find you.
a zombie moves, slugging at anything imaginable. he stumbles over a girder and collapses onto an upturned broken bottle. -I will never make as much progress as you, dear, dead zombie, I will never eat as many souls, or achieve so much with so many cries forced from others.
I like to keep my cactus safe in the glove box it reminds me of how much it hurts to love the hand goes in quicker every time to stab at something other than skin but all I feel is the blood behind the flesh the swim of the dark red against the river there's not a slide for children into the water but a thrust of the nouveau-riche hair against black rebellious coats wrapped around a blunt point. I like to keep my cactus in the glory box and dip in whenever God lets me.
This is not a painting this is a portrait; a pour spot on a page, self absorbed into silk. plump limbs on plum lips parade circles for lonely bastards. there's no way of wriggling yourself out of this one, the squiggle is just too tight in the wrinkles.