This month finds yours truly on the cover of the Guitar Center catalog.
I knew it had come out when I recieved a text from my friend Dustin in LA. Our typed phone conversation went something like this:
Dustin: GC catalog just came in mail. Guy on cover looks familiar.
Alex: Heard they have some total dweeb this month.
Dustin: They’ll put anyone on the cover these days
Alex: Must really be getting desperate
Dustin: Scraping the bottom of the barrel
Alex: Well has run dry
Dustin: Seriously dude, congrats. Pretty cool, for a doosh, LOL
All teasing aside, I guess it’s pretty cool. Who knew I’d be cover boy one day?
It’s kind of weird to think that my face is gracing 1.5 million of these things. For years I’ve been shopping there and receiving this catalog in the mail. The other day, I got one in the mail and it was kind of creepy.
I should probably just shut my mouth and be grateful, which I am (thank you Yamaha and Guitar Center). But what kind of writer would I be if I didn’t risk biting the proverbial hand the feeds me and indulge in poking some good natured fun at the mighty Guitar Center?
Guitar Center has been around as long as I can remember. It’s kind of like the rich Uncle or Aunt that comes to visit you once in a while. He or she can be overwhelming, but they’re family and you can’t imagine life without them. Besides, they always load you up with toys.
Guitar Center is to musicians what Toys R Us is to kids. It’s almost Disneyland.
I first heard about Guitar Center from their commercials on rock radio stations. It was always a loud deep voice like the ones that announce upcoming wrestling matches and monster truck events:
“Musicians….”
This would be followed by a moment of silence.
“…now hear this!!!”
Just then, a rock riff in the style of Sammy Hagar, Y&T or some other driving guitar rock of the mid-80’s would start chugging away.
” It’s Guitar Center’s Bi-weekly, Semi Annual, Green Tag, President’s Day, Fourth Of July, End Of The Year Clearance Sale!”
That’s an exaggeration, but they did seem to have a sale for every hint of a holiday known to man. Poor Martin Luther King must have been curling in his grave.
“Fender! Gibson! Marshall! Peavey! Ibanez! Yamaha! We’ve got ’em all!”
Just then, the music would fade in the background and the voice would slow down a bit.
“And get this…everything in the store…
not ten…not twenty…not thirty but….”
The music would stop. The announcer would yell as if his (and your) life depended on it:
“…FORTY PERCENT OFF!!!!!”
The music came blasting back, suddenly overtaken by a screaming, Van Halen like guitar solo. Each note seemed to say “Get your lame ass over to Guitar Center…now!” Whenever I could, I did.