The Wand Chooses the Wizard

I knew the Gibson Firebird was different the first time I picked it up.

Actually, "different" is an understatement.

There's a feeling I get when I play it that I don't get with my other guitars. There's a tone I'm beginning to hear—one that almost feels like it's been waiting for me to catch up.

It's a 2015 model, but it feels like it has lived a much longer life. The body still reminds me of holding a bass guitar. The electronics are... spirited. They're so hot that sometimes it seems like the guitar is missing a ground wire. The hair on my arm brushing the strings can actually change the tone.

It's a peculiar instrument.

When I first set it up, I discovered that my usual slinky light-gauge strings just didn't work. Digging through an old box a friend had given me, I found an unopened set of .010s that might have been almost as old as the guitar itself.

Then came the brass nut.

I tried to set it up myself and quickly realized I was in over my head. Rather than force it and ruin something, I handed it to my mentor.

I'm glad I did.

He understood the nuances of the Firebird in ways I didn't yet. He told me that plenty of players own them but rarely play them. They become collector's pieces, admired more than used. He also reminded me how vulnerable that neck design can be, and I started wondering if I would ever take mine to a gig.

Would it become a case queen?

Would it eventually become an heirloom that my son would pawn after I was gone?

Would I end up putting it away like so many others apparently had?

I wondered all of those things...

Until I stopped putting it down.

Somewhere along the way, I started hearing what the guitar had been trying to tell me. I tuned it down to E-flat—not because someone recommended it, but because it simply felt right. The guitar seemed happier there. So was I.

That one decision led to another.

I started a brand-new YouTube channel dedicated almost entirely to playing this guitar. I don't recommend starting over on YouTube. From a practical standpoint, it's usually smarter to build on what you already have.

But I've always liked a blank canvas.

Sure, it's cheaper to paint over an old one.

Sometimes you just need fresh white space.

Something is happening here, and I don't entirely understand it yet.

Today I picked up a couple of my other guitars to finish recording a backing track.

It felt...

Wrong.

Not because they're bad guitars. They're wonderful instruments.

But after playing the Firebird almost exclusively, switching back felt strangely uncomfortable. My first reaction was simply, "Ewww."

I know.

Weird.

Recently I finished watching the entire Wizarding World series—all the Harry Potter movies. One line came back to me:

"The wand chooses the wizard."

I found myself thinking about that when I visited Guitar Center a few days ago. They had another Firebird hanging on the wall. Naturally, I picked it up.

It looked like mine.

But it wasn't mine.

It sounded different. It felt different. It didn't have whatever it is that mine has.

That's when it hit me.

Maybe guitars are a little like wands.

Sometimes we choose an instrument because of the specs, the reviews, the price, or the reputation.

Other times...

The instrument chooses us.

I don't know where this journey with the Firebird is going.

I only know that every time I pick it up, I find another reason not to put it back in the case.

So I'm going to keep playing.

We'll see where it takes us.