I was walking down the street choking on exhaust fumes. Cold, wet and hungry. I had just got into town, it was night and was exploring the area on foot to get a feel for the place, when I walked past a music store and saw a guitar in the window. It didn't call to me, but the store did, it looked warm in there. I knew I looked like a bum in my soaking wet insulated flannel and dirty jeans, but I didn't care. It looked warm and I figured I could at least get out of the cold for a few minutes by "trying out" a guitar. I knew I looked like **** when I walked in and was embarrassed by it, and the owner came over right away to try and shoe me out of his store. Looking back I don't blame him. I timidly asked him if I could try the blue Squier Strat that was in the window. I don't know if the guy had pity on me or just figured, "what the hell" but he let me sit down with a small POS practice amp (I think it was a silvertone or something pretty junky sounding.) I sat down, made sure the guitar was in tune and started playing. I hadn't even touched a guitar in over a year, I literally owned 2 bags of clothes at the time and that was it. But man, my fingers remembered and the muscle memory came flooding back. My fingers were tired almost instantly so I just jammed some slow quite blues. I didn't want to be obnoxious and kind of just wanted to disappear for a moment and let the bull**** of the past year go away for a little while. My brothers I tell you that moment changed my life. All the pain, the anger, the frustration and angst I'd been holding inside for that past year came out of me. I couldn't cry, I never cry. But that guitar cried for me. I screamed, I cried, I wailed, I played for the loss I felt over losing my family and everything I owned. I played like it was the last time I'd ever touch a guitar, because deep down I felt like it would be. What no one knew is that I'd seriously been debating jumping in front of a train. I just couldn't take it anymore. I was tired of being cold, tired of being hungry, tired of missing the ones I loved the most, and mostly just tired. You don't get good sleep if you don't have a bed and a door to close to lock out the outside world. I played, and played. Never opened my eyes. I played for the sadness and the joy I'd had in my life and I played for what was sure to be the last time. I was saying goodbye to my greatest lover (the guitar) and telling her how much I'd miss her and how I just wish things could have been different. I'm not lying when I tell you that my chest is tightening right now just recalling what was going through my head back then. When I stopped I opened my eyes and my hands were shaking. The owner of the store was standing a couple feet away from me and instead of looking at me with disgust he simply asked, "can you teach?" I told him yes I used to teach in another life but it had been years. He asked me to come back tomorrow early in the morning.
I got up early, went to a bathroom and got cleaned up, shaved, pulled my hair into a ponytail, stopped by the dollar store and put on some cologne and went to the store. Right away I got students. All I had to do was sit in front and play guitar and people would ask me for lessons. It was amazing really. I started making daily cash and hiding it away, not long after I was able to rent a couch from a guy in his living room for $50. a week. I finally had a roof over my head again. I spent a year on that couch, saving, saving, saving. Living off of Ramen Noodles and water. I was down to about 115 pounds by that point when normally I'm around 155. So I looked,....not that great. But by saving I was eventually able to get a very small apartment in the ghetto. It's not an exaggeration, it was the ghetto. I had hookers and drug dealers 10 feet outside my door. But I finally had a door to close and lock that I could call my own, all because of that Squier guitar. I kept saving and my boss was cool and let me take guitars home all the time so I could practice, I'd discovered Flamenco guitar and really threw myself into it and it wasn't long before I was making a tiny bit of money doing that style of music for people as well. The neighborhood was awful but it didn't seem so bad at the time, I was just glad to finally, finally have my own place. The people in the neighborhood didn't mess with me even though I'm white. They literally thought I was insane and no white guy in their right mind moves to the worst part of town. But because I played music and would sit on the porch and hang out with them sometimes I got treated pretty well, even made a couple friends. Eventually I was able to get better and better apartments moving up towards the better parts of town and closer to the music store. I'd made some good musician friends and was playing with them constantly as well. Music is my life, it's all I do. Now in this time I'd chewed through a couple electrics as well, some cheap sh**ty ones, a couple good ones. A Shector which was stolen, a Jackson which just wasn't for me, but I kept looking for "the one" the guitar that just felt right and felt like 'Me.' Now in this time I'd been teaching about a year with this truly beat up and punished Seafoam Green Squier, covered with stickers, just a dog of a guitar. Yet out of the ones in the store that was always the one I would grab, I just thought it was one of the best guitars in the store. I could teach all day with it and not really have to tune it, plus it was very Rock 'N Roll. One humbucker one volume knob. Finally one day I looked down at it and realized, "all this time I've been looking for The One, and I've been playing it everyday!" I guess I was being a Squier snob at the time, I just didn't really consider it. But it dawned on me that it didn't matter what name was on the headstock, THIS guitar was the one I was always reaching for. I went home that day and the next day brought in my Jackson Rhodes V w/ an original Floyd Rose on it. It was a pretty sweet guitar I suppose, just not for me. I told the boss I wanted to trade the Jackson for the green Squier. He thought I was nuts. The guitar looked like sh*t, covered in stickers, some peeling off. Dents, nicks, scratches, the works. But I didn't care I just knew it was the one for me. We traded even steven and the next day my Jackson was sold. I knew it wouldn't last long hanging up in the store. Some lucky guy got that V w/ F.Rose for probably less then $200. because the boss just honestly didn't realize what it was worth. I still didn't care. I took the Green Dog home and ripped and scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed and got all the stupid stickers off it and thought, "man this is kind of cool looking!"
I started playing out that guitar and bringing it to the studios to record with, I still do. I got looks, I got comments, I didn't care. The Green Dog was my baby and she was an underdog like myself. She'd been thrown away (sold to the store) and abandoned just like I had, but we were both fighters, and that guitar and I had each others back. I've played it everyday for years and years at this point, and she still keeps ticking and sounding great and staying in tune.
Realizing I wanted another Strat I started slowly saving a few dollars each week for months and months, and months. Using that time I started reviewing what guitar to get. I knew by then it was going to be a Squier. I just felt like Squier is a guitar for the people. Made by poor people, for poor people. Well,.....I'm poor people so that suits me just fine. I started reading the reviews on the CV guitars and looking at pics and just thought, "man there's no way the guitar can be that good for that cheap!" Plus deep down don't we all wish we could have a 1950's Stratocaster? I knew that the CV50's was gonna be the one for me. I'd been doing repairs and setups on Strats for awhile and really found them to be exceptional guitars even some of the copies were really good, so I figured as long as the CV is halfway decent I could fix it up, set it up right, and really make it a player. Turns out I didn't have to, She was perfect right out of the box, like she was made for me. She knew I'd love her and treat her like a lady. I noticed when playing her that the vintage saddles don't have a groove in them, the strings would literally kind of bounce on the saddles. I thought that was crazy, but I loved it. It gave a sparkly, jangly quality to the guitar. And that's when I knew she was to be called Mrs. Jangles. Mrs. because she's a lady who's married to me, and Jangles because that's what she does. So now I have Mrs. Jangles and Green Dog, both Squiers, both great guitars, and both guitars that I love dearly. Even on days when I don't play Mrs. Jangles I'll open the case just to take in her beauty and polish her a little bit. Just to give her some attention, to let her know I care.
And so concludes my love story. It's one I've wanted to tell for a long time but I guess I needed to find people that could appreciate it and in a way understand the very real love a man can feel for a guitar.
I love Squiers because a blue Affinity Squier literally saved my life, put love back in my blackened dead heart and gave me the strength to go on for one more day, which turned into one more day after that.
They say God works in strange ways, maybe he does. If I hadn't seen that blue Squier in the window I really believe I would have continued my journey to the train station.
I will always love Squier, no other guitar has affected me so deeply or moved me in such a way. I feel true love and loyalty to them. Which is why sometimes I get mad at the things people say about them, but I understand. Most people never go through what I went through and will never look at them the way that I do.
Music can heal you, but the right guitar at the right time can literally save your life.
Cheers and Peace,
-M-
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