Rig Rundown, general guitar porn, buffets.

A not-too-unexpected upshot of making a return to electric guitar with Fast.Like.Fun is the resurgence of my obsession with guitar toys. Prior to this, most of my playing for the last two years had been acoustic, which doesn't lend itself much to spending of lots and lots of money on shiny things. That's not to say there aren't shiny things for acoustic guitar. There's plenty of that, mostly stemming from the fact that most acoustics used in a live setting are equipped with a piezo under-saddle pickup to allow easy amplification. And piezos sound, and I'm not being funny here, dear Reader, exactly like the sound you get when you shove something up, or indeed, pull something out of, a hungover duck. Thankfully though, I play a Taylor 314ce, which is equipped with Taylor's very own Expression System, which means my acoustic guitar actually sounds like an acoustic guitar when it's plugged in. This is a good thing.

Electric guitar is a different kettle of ducks, though. Having been previously a bit of a plug-in and play kinda guy, I now have cause to explore some of the interesting sounds and textures effects units can add to an electric guitar rig. And when I'm in that exploratory mood, nothing gives me greater pleasure than perving on the rigs of well known guitar players. There's a couple of different resources online to indulge this little obsession of mine, but the best has got to be the Rig Rundown portion of Premier Guitar online magazine. These guys are fantastic! Installments are generally between 10 and 40 minutes long, and take the form of an onstage interview with either the artist in question or their guitar tech. Either way, you're dealing with someone who knows what they're talking about. The rigs range from the deceptively simple to massive monolithic racks of goodies, pedal boards the size of swimming pools and designer cables made by aliens. And I take it all in with the enthusiasm of a fat man who knows the buffet's closing in twenty minutes.

If you get the chance, here's a couple of choice interviews. In no particular order, check out Kenny Wayne Shephard, John McLoughlin, Eric Johnson and that guy who was Elton John's guitar player for a while, and who's now playing acoustic jazz. As far as I'm aware its the only rig rundown that deals with just acousticy stuff. His name escapes me, but it will come to me. Once I look him up. Of the ones I've listed, KWS's is the longest and most detailed. It's also nice to see that the guys I admire most are generally not dependent on massively expensive uber-rare neutron-powered bi-phase quad-stereo flux capacitor-powered germanium-boosted toggle flange pedals that were made by a blind monk and only in production for 5 hours in April '84, but instead on the good old reliables such as Boss and EHX. Generally pedals one doesn't have to sell one's kids to afford, in other words. John Jorgenson is the name of the acousticy guy, by the way. His name just came back to me, shortly after I wikipedia'd him. Now there's a man with a serious track record.

So there you go, dear Reader. If you're a fellow string molester, then I encourage you to check out Rig Rundown. Apart from the gear porn, there's plenty of insight to be gleaned from good players talking about their playing. If you don't play guitar, but are now understandably curious about this whole 'guitar porn' lark, spend an educational five minutes having a look at all the mind-numbingly boring stuff that nevertheless pushes my buttons. Anyway, enough of this. I have it on good authority that the buffet is closing in twenty minutes. I'm off...

Thanks for reading guys. More to come :-)

Double-Booked, Coffee Morning

So here I am, in a coffee place in my hometown, far too early in the morning, casually growling at my fellow customers. The reason I'm here rather than, say, in bed, in the big house in the country I'm currently call home, is that I thought I had a farmer's market today. Because I did. And about 10 minutes away from Chez Harmonica Niall (from whence we would make our cheery disposition-y way to the market), Niall rings me to tell me that Marketman has double booked, and the other guy is there, set up, and ready to go. Bastard's probably a morning person too. Ah well. Best foot forward and all that. My revised plan (Plan 2.0 or ever better; Operation: er... Something) is to sit here for a bit, possibly meet up with a friend who's back from London, then get my abundant behind back West where I belong. Operation: Sneeze-Weasel has a certain ring to it. Yep, I think I'll go with that. Mucho thanks to the guy sitting across from me, who's face inspired the title.

Right, the table beside me just opened up. Now we play Hot Coffee Drinker Lotto. It's an easy game to play, a casual little pass-time that requires no special equipment, skills or hand-eye coordination. You just hope like hell that the person who sits down will be hot, single, friendly, and thoroughly enchanted by your good self. Here we go...

AND THE RESULTS ARE IN! The winner is... some dude with a penchant for moca-frappa-whatever and a scone. Shite! Another thirty seconds and it would have been quirky pretty girl with glasses. Well, thats what happens when you play Hot Coffee Drinker Lotto. Please note that variants can be played on public transport or in public recreational areas. And I have a funny feeling you're reading what I'm typing, Senor Sonny-Jim half-caff. It's early in the morning, I'm cranky and double booked and you should have been a pretty girl with glasses. So take a piece of friendly advice, my friend; jog the fook on.

Well that's sorted then. It's funny, you know. When I occasionally find meself walking around early in the morning with a guitar case (and they always seem to weigh more in the mornings, don't they?) I sometimes get these looks of 'What's one of them doing up so early? They only come out at night.' Believe me, if you find yourself looking at someone of a musical persuasion and thinking this, don't feel ashamed or judgmental. Rather, I applaud your powers of observation. Rest assured the poor sap holding the guitar case is thinking something similar, barring the edition of a string of expletives as long as your *&$%*@£&$% mother-!*$^^%£ arm.

Oooh, pretty girl who's into running just came in. Herr Civilized-Breakfast is still in situ and expecting a friend. Today is not my day. Operation Sneeze-Weasel is off to a bad start. The rush seems to be over, so new customers seem to be thin on the ground. There's probably a coffee joke in there somewhere... ground? Anybody? Fair enough. The new arrivals seem to be a mix of beardy men and couples who insist on maliciously holding hands and looking happy. “Look at us!” their body language exclaims. “At least one of us had sex last night!” Well done. I'm happy for you. Grrr.

I don't think the music is helping my mood. Ordinarily after this much ranting, I should be in a relatively good mood and ready to greet the rest of this suddenly-day off. The music sounds like it's off one of those chill-out albums that were all the rage in the early noughties. For all I know, they might still be making them and I've stopped noticing, but certainly rewind a few years and it seemed that every sunday newspaper was giving them away. New Classic Chill-Out Vol. IX! Made by 90s electro-artists who gave up the coke and decided to drag out the old synth for the larf and to keep young Gabiel and Dandelion in that trendy pre-school all the parents say is Jost Soooo UHmaaaazing!

Right, enough of this foul-moodiness. I'm not normally like this, and despite the woeful cover of Let It Be that just invaded by ears, I refuse to be in a bad mood any longer. Exit stage left Not-in-the-least-bit-happy Rob, enter stage right the nice-but-dim Rob you all know and tolerate. Methinks tis time to toddle. The only problem is that running girl is still here, and occasionally looking over. I know she's into running because it's written on her tshirt. I must admit though, that I'm a little bit paranoid. I have a backpack with me, and I know, deep down in the pit of my soul, that I've been putting my backpack on my back the exact same way since I was seven. The fuller the pack, the more like a seven year old I look. You know what I'm talking about; the slight swivel of the body, the partially constipated look, the little hop at the end and jacket sleeves ending up half way up the arms. And I'll tell you now that my backpack is pretty stuffed at the moment. If she looks over at any time of the course of this long and complex operation (the kind of operation that certainly doesn't deserve a name), my coolness factor will fall quicker than something that falls very fast indeed. And the door to this place doesn't open the whole way, so there's a good chance I'll get stuck. This should be... interesting.

Right, you have have been magically transported to the future! What seemed like a mere paragraph break to you was in fact over an hour for me! Serious Doctor Who stuff going on here. Managed to escape the Tiny Little Door of Death without too much incident. The fact that it's a beautiful day in the city has driven away by bad mood. It would have been the perfect day to play outdoors at a bustling farmer's market, but, in all honesty, it's a perfect day to do absolutely anything. I hope it's this nice wherever you are, dear Reader

Thanks for reading my little rant guys. More to come :-)