I was very afraid of quite a lot: I was afraid of the world, I was afraid to speak, and I was a very, very modest guy, and music was the way to speak, that’s all. I could just keep a journal, compose poetry, write everything I could think of, and then sit down, play a couple of chords, put everything together and get myself. It’s me! So I tell the world about myself when I can not say in words. So the music was a voice that I didn’t have.
At my school there was one guy from a jazz band who was selling his guitar. He seems to have had a Gibson SG ’69 with a tremolo and he wanted to sell it. He asked me: “Do you want?”, And I told him: “Yes, how much will you take?”, To which he replied: “200 bucks!”. I begged my mother, did everything I could and finally, she gave the go-ahead and bought me my first real guitar. Continue reading