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      October 16, 2024Blue Fender TelecasterClint Margrave

      There was a time
      when it meant everything,
      when distortion was important,
      feedback held the world back, 
      delay delayed the inevitable. 
       
      Unable to part with it,
      I open up the case,
      strum a few chords,
      feel the soreness of my fingertips,
      no longer hardened
      by calluses.
       
      It doesn’t matter 
      that I wasn’t very good at it,
      or that it didn’t get me laid,
      or make me rich and famous, 
      or that my ears never really did 
      stop ringing. 
       
      Now the strings won’t stay in tune,
      the neck needs adjusting,
      the output jack cracks,
      when I plug it in
      to an old practice amp. 
       
      So much is like that.
      So much that won’t stay in tune,
      that cracks and softens 
      and can’t be parted with.

      from #85 – Musicians

      Clint Margrave

      “I bought the guitar off my friend for $400 back in the ’90s. At the time, music was the most important thing in my life. I played in bands and like a lot of young people in their late teens and early twenties, awaited certain rock stardom. The friend I bought the guitar off of did end up playing in a famous ’90s rock band later, and even borrowed the guitar to take on tour with him. For years I watched it travel the world, be played in front of arena crowds, make appearances on television before finally coming home. By then, I’d already switched to playing a different kind of instrument, one whose strings were words.”

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