strat demo days at GC

Since it’s been a while and since I’m a glutton for punishment and since I don’t often get to go into guitar stores with another lefty for pure entertainment, I managed to get by tonight.  I heard all sorts of radio spots and even got a flyer for Guitar Center’s Strat Demo Days.   The apparent idea is to stop by and try out different Stratocasters (and amps) every week.

Personally I think you’d get better results by trying out different Strats through the same amp but what do I know.

I was greeted by a display demo of Strats.  And some absolutely horrid noise.  I looked around for the source of the industrial accident, half expecting to find an eighteen wheeler embedded in the wall and all sorts of construction equipment going full blast in hopes of rescuing said truck.

Nope, nothing that exciting.  It was merely some fellow checking out a guitar and an amp.

GC has this policy of letting people play the guitars and amps, which tends to act as a deterrent to anybody else wanting to play the guitars and amps (or maintain what’s left of their hearing and sanity).

Now let me set the mood further by telling you that my co-lefty this evening has a bit of a hearing impairment.  She appeared to be in a quandary as to whether to turn off her hearing aids and be spared the aural assault or leave them on and still attempt to lip-read what others were saying.  Choosing the latter, we proceeded to look around.

To no one’s shock and surprise, the lefty selection was quite limited.  They had a few more Epiphones, but I prefer guitars made from wood.

The real shock was that during Strat Demo Days, there were very few actual Strats on the walls.  Those present were of two or three varieties.  Nothing special or out of the ordinary.  Considering that Fender will give a signature Strat to anyone who sneezes these days, it was odd not to find any.

Meanwhile, Mr. Malmsteen the Second continued to wail away.  Or rather wank away. I was amazed that this denizen of digital dexterity did not choose an axe with a whammy bar so as to further convince everybody of his specialness.  When I looked over, I realized he was holding a Gibson 335.  The amp sounded so uniformly bad at all of its settings that you couldn’t even make out that the fellow mangling the strings was using a 335.

The salesman, bless his heart, was attempting to sell an amp to this advanced wah wanker, but every point he was making had to be shouted over the din of the fellow trying out the amp.  The salesman pointed out that this was a good choice because it was a very versatile amp, offering great tonal range.

I pointed out to my companion that even though it offered a lot of tones, it was of little value if all of them were bad (as was their input source).  Plus if the salesman has to shout over your alleged playing, something is definitely wrong.

Unable to stand there any longer, we headed for Effects, where we encountered several other people who fled in hopes of aural salvation.  They also had pained looks on their faces.  I suspect the two behind the counter were deaf, as they showed no emotion or even notice of the audio devastation at all.  These are probably the same people who never hear their own kids screaming at the mall or running up and down the aisles at a movie theater.  After all, their Johnny would never do a thing like that.

I let loose the first phrase that came to mind (Volume is inversely proportional to talent), which was greeted with universal agreement. If nothing else, it was pretty damn accurate.

Unable to endure several of the recurring pains, we left the store.  We traveled via the turnpike and were thankful for the relative relief of the jackhammers.