I know at some point you got a package in the mail, pulled out the silica packet (to preserve freshness), and thought, “what if I ate this?” I went to NAMM for the first time this year, and the lingering sensation after being barraged with the latest in tasteless shredding on boutique gear was something like what I imagine eating a silica packet would be like. Leaving, I felt dehydrated like what was once the juicy plum of inspiration had withered into a sickly prune. It was like being trapped in a nightmare where you’re at an endless Guitar Center designed by M.C. Escher and any time you see something you like (which was admittedly quite often) its not for sale. Seeing legendary musicians there was like drudging through a music-industry flavored aspic to get to the celebrity sprinkles. Running into these legends brought a strange satisfaction; approximately the same balance of surprise and confusion as you get when you open the door a Valero restroom in Coalinga and are greeted with a breeze of lavender freshness that challenges everything you’ve come to know about public toilets. A sudden olfactory oasis, but the effect is short-lived: just as suddenly as the unnaturally refreshing scent filled your nostrils, you look around and see the same stained porcelain and unintelligible scratches on the mirror that remind you of where you really are. Maybe see you next year, NAMM.
Posted on: Sun, 25 Jan 2015 22:56:02 +0000
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