How many guitars do you need?

I've seen this question pop up quite often online, and I've even been asked something similar at times. There are bloggers and Youtubers who attempt some kind of blanket answer for all guitarists, and even recommend exactly which guitars those should be. I'm not going to get into that, even though my collection evinces a high degree of alignment with the typical recommendations. What I will do is ponder the question, how it applies to me and which struggles I've had with it throughout the years. Your mileage will undoubtedly vary.

One?

Let's for a minute consider the idea of having just one guitar. The concept is appealing enough to the minimalist somewhere deep inside me that it's almost uncomfortable. The advantages are obvious: owning just the one guitar means I can get to know it intimately, and learn how to coax every possible sound and nuance out of it. There are no decisions to make, there is hardly any fuss over what to bring to a gig, and so on. Besides, it is the most logical answer to the question posed in the title of the article.

Could I get by with just one guitar? Well, yes, because once upon a time, that was all I had. Could I do it again? Sure, if it ever became necessary. But it'd have to be either a serious financial emergency or a challenge with a substantial reward involved. Barring that or a massive re-evaluation of my life and the role of material possessions within it, I'm fine the way things are.

More?

Actually, I lied just then—twice! One, I couldn't get by with just one guitar, because there is no way I will go on stage without a backup guitar at hand. Two, I've never actually owned just one guitar. I've always had two: an electric as well as an acoustic.

Ergo, the absolute irreducible minimum for me is realistically three guitars: two electrics and an acoustic. As of right now, that would be two seven-strings, since we do use the low B a lot in GNH, my only active band, and to that end, seven-strings are arguably more flexible than baritones. But that's right now. Yesterday, I had Namlar, where I played six-string guitars with humbuckers, tomorrow I might do covers, where it might make more sense to play single-coils.

I can go on and debate the merits of humbuckers vs. single-coils vs. P-90s, theorize about how different ergonomics create different states of mind, and so on, ad infinitum. But all I'm doing is trying to deputize left-brain arguments into what is an essentially right-brain conversation. I've wanted the aforementioned four classic rock guitars for as long as I can remember. Pick any of them, and I'll name-drop the players that have made me covet them. Reason and logic don't come into it, or if they do, then they're secondary considerations and/or made up after the fact as justifications. This is very much an area where if you understand, you understand, and if you don't—well, either way there is not much of a point in trying to explain.

Do you actually play all those guitars?

Yes, I do. I might not play as much acoustic guitar as I probably should, but electric guitar is so damn fun that it's kind of hard to leave it be. Actually, I do make sure that I rotate through them at least for practice and general noodling. As for rehearsal and recording, that very much depends. There are three or four that see heavy use at any one time. At the time of this writing, I bring the seven-string to rehearsals almost without variation, and when I need the low B for recording, I use either that or the baritone. For regular tunings, when recording, it's currently usually either the black Les Paul or the Telecaster.

But if those are the only ones I play right now, why not get rid of the others? First of all, I did just say that I go out of my way to make sure I play them all regularly. Second, looking back on my personal music history, it's as plain as day that I tend to go through phases. I might rely heavily on my Gibsons for a couple of years, then something changes and it feels better and makes more sense to play the Fenders. Recently, I've got great use for the baritone and seven-string. It would be extremely wasteful to get rid of a guitar that I've spent good money on, and managed to mod and set up just the way I like it, only to have to try to repeat the process a few years in the future.

Approaching the Limit

At the time of this writing, I have no real plans to expand my guitar collection. That doesn't mean that there aren't three dozen guitars out there that would be really fun to have, or at least try out. I just don't feel any pull in that direction at all. I'm not used to the feeling, but I remember having it before, and I don't want to deal with it the way I did back then.

My current priority is to optimize my existing guitars. I have two Strats that are essentially identical, which is something I feel I should do something about, and my gut instinct is to set up the blue one with a new pickguard and dual humbuckers, preferably with some ingenious five-way wiring that gives me some single-coil sounds in a pinch. There's also an idea to outfit the baritone with a humbucker of some sort to get rid of the worst noise when recording.

If I were to get something new, what would it be? Barring a burgeoning interest in eight-string playing, the formation of a 60s cover band, or whatever else I've never done, then the obvious candidate would be the guitar that I fell in love with in guitar magazines back in 1991 or so: the PRS Custom 24. There are interesting variations on that theme: the PRS 594 double-cut is amazing, and the Mark Holcomb signature six-string might make more sense to someone like me than either of the others. I know for sure that a baritone with humbuckers would be useful. It adds up.

However, given the world situation at this time, there is a big part of me that feels that if I should really get another guitar, it should be something local, or at least from Europe. Someone made the very good point that a custom-made one-off from a local luthier will probably not set me back as much as a US-made PRS, let alone a Private Stock. But even without that, I'm still very curious to try out a Strandberg, and I've always thought that certain Hagström models are pretty cool.

The Role of GAS

GAS, or gear acquisition syndrome, is the notion that a new piece of gear will make you play better. It is a very real phenomenon that afflicts people across a broad range of interests and hobbies. It is in no way unique to musicians. When I was into photography, I use to struggle massively with GAS for lenses.

It is easy to paint GAS as something that is 100 percent evil and deplorable, and make the counterargument that no one ever really needs anything, ever, and that if you're skilled enough you can a sound out of a broomstick and some al dente spaghetti. To no one's surprise, the real truth lies somewhere in the middle. Yes, there are people who run off and buy many and/or expensive instruments in the vain hope that the build quality, sound, features, mojo etc. will make them perform way beyond their actual capabilities. Realistically, a better instrument will likely inspire anyone to play better, if nothing else then for the fact that the perfect guitar, bass, piano etc. doesn't get in the way of the music-making.

It is worth pointing out that one's idea of what the perfect guitar is will change over time, either because of shifting musical preferences, or because one learns more and becomes more in tune with what one actually wants out of an instrument. Either way, it is hard to get a full impression of what a piece of gear actually can do for you when you only have those ten frenzied minutes at the store. Sometimes, the only way to know for sure is to get it, live and work with it and get to know it, and if that means that you ultimately wind up not bonding with it, so be it.

Another point I would like to make is that you just never know. Back in 2015, I was the very lucky and happy owner of seven great guitars and had real difficulty imagining I would ever want or "need" another one. The first one I got after that maybe hasn't made as much of an impact as I would have wanted it to, but I have yet to give up on it. The second one was the baritone, a guitar that changed so much for me I can hardly overestimate it. If I hadn't been creative and thought of a new kind of guitar I could try, I might never have got there.

I've proved to myself on numerous occasions that I possess the ability to lift myself out of a rut or plateau without purchasing so much as a single pick. In my world, GAS isn't about making me play better as much as general retail therapy. The part of the brain that craves that kind of dopamine hit is a lot more demanding and insidious than the one that just wants some inspiration.

I would never go so far as to say that I think I have conquered GAS, that I will never again buy another guitar, pedal or amp. What I have done is identified the root causes as well as the symptoms, so I'm better equipped than ever to stave of the odd GAS attack—or possibly even prevent it entirely. So long as no one expects a 100-percent success rate, I'm doing fine.

The first step along this road was to delete my guitar wishlist, really my what-to-do-in-case-of-lottery-win list. It served no obvious purpose, other than to act as a constant passive reminder that somehow my existing guitars etc. weren't good enough, and that given the opportunity, I would replace them in a heartbeat. When I thought long and hard about it, there was basically nothing that I really wanted to replace. There were some minor complaints here and there, but at the end of the day, all of them were easily ironed out by taking a trip to the tech. One interesting side-effect of this was that one half of my brain was able to fool the other that I was walking out of the store with a new guitar—when all that happened was that I was walking home with one of my older guitars, which now simply played a whole lot better.

The second step came during the pandemic, when a great many people, myself included, definitely weren't playing with a full mental deck. That immediately manifested itself in a huge need for the aforementioned retail therapy. My wife and I collectively realized that the therapeutic effect wasn't in any way proportional to the price of the item. We were just as satisfied buying seven-piece dice sets for role-playing games, which of course can be really expensive, but the ones we got were between four and eight dollars. We talked about this at length, and she told me about how she'll buy a shade of nail polish and that usually scratches the itch. That got me thinking. And sure enough, the next time I felt the urge to get myself a pedal, I instead bought a set of strings or a handful of picks. That did the trick back then, and continues to do so today.