Now, here’s a paradox for you: I gorra lorra geetars but I’m not a collector. With a very few exceptions, my instruments have been acquired simply to assist with the messy business of carving a crust from Life’s Great Bakery. While it’s undeniable that almost any iteration of guitar, be it acoustic or electric, is aesthetically pleasing, I’ve never viewed my instrument as neck candy (ahem), hung ‘em on walls or endlessly debated the merits of Lake Placid Blue versus Salmon Pink (or Fiesta Red as it's more correctly termed by Fender).
Which segues neatly into this year’s significant anniversary of the Fender Stratocaster (it's the old girl's 70th, would you believe?) - and my relationship with said model. I’ve owned a fair few because this guitar exemplifies the very epitome of versatility that gladdens a professional guitarist’s heart, if you can find it.
First off, Practicality. It was serendipitous that the release of the Fender Squier range coincided with the offer to participate in the original West End production of Chess, a three-year stint as it turned out. It was the late eighties and I was whizzing around London’s still numerous studios by day and scrambling into my evening performances of the show.