Selling Gear, Making Music
I sold a bunch of gear recently. A lot of stuff that wasn’t getting used live or was staying in cases—basically anything that felt like a collection.
I kind of did a level-one cleanout a few months ago. This is probably levels two and three. A couple more guitars to sell. And I’m thinking about going to level four, too.
I’m not shopping as much. I’m making more music. And I’m getting stuff done.
I have a little modular setup. I’m thinking about getting rid of that. Guess how much music has been made on it. It’s the same amount of music that gets made on any modular setup.
= zero
I can only play one guitar at a time. And it turns out the basses I had, and have had for a long time, play better, sound better, and, most importantly, look cooler than anything I’ve bought over the last few years.
The one thing I’m consistently noticing is that, early on, my decisions were good.
My first real bass was a Rickenbacker 4001. Great decision.
My first analog synth was the Minitaur. Excellent choice.
Back around 2016, I got it in my head that I really needed one good Strat. I found that Strat. I bought one more, for some reason. But I keep returning to that one great Strat.
This is all to say that the round-robin gear curse is kind of dead. The effect of it all not physically being here—not feeling bad about it, having to repair or learn something that I wasn’t particularly using—those things do take up space in your head somewhere.
And now that they’re gone, that’s all gone.
I’ve regretted a couple of things, but there’s nothing I can’t go buy again.
And my one recent purchase, which is the original MPC Live 1, battery-powered unit with basically no buttons or bells and whistles, has been a godsend. It travels around the house with me. It even fits perfectly in an old Topo briefcase I bought at Goodwill a while back, I’m guessing for under $15. No Decksaver needed.
My phone was plugged into this am and I took a work call without thinking. That sounded great too. I mean, come on.
The point is, I’m busier than I’ve ever been musically. I don’t have time to manage a gear collection anymore.
And now that a lot of it’s gone, it’s opening up headspace, so it actually feels like I’m doing less. I think about that a lot now.
What’s the mental cost of ownership?The whole world out there is set up and designed for us to keep buying crap.
The answer is now: no.