This is a 1961 Fender Stratocaster and its mine. I bought it over forty years ago and it was in a right state. It had a sheepskin glued to the back, the black paint was chipped, scuffed and blistered in places, the fretboard needed skimming and only one pick up worked - but like an old painting, I just knew there was something hidden below the collected detritus. So I bought it for £90, cleaned it all up, got the pick-ups rewound and generally nursed it back to fitness, and I have never wanted to replace it with anything else. That's not to say it don't have misfitted bits, the tremolo arm is wrong and the pick-up changer button is black - these were meant to be temporary but became things I just never got round to replacing. But back then it was a lifetime purchase, I had been saving for months and even traded my old Epiphone for it as part of the deal. Its the whole deal, it very rarely goes out of tune and still plays like a dream. Jean Baudrillard, in one of his pessimistic rants, said, 'the West's great undertaking is the commercialisation of the whole world, the hitching of the fate of everything to the fate of the commodity...' But you know, I just can't agree with this. I could buy a shiny new Fender today if I really wanted to but I cling to this restored lump of wood with an affection that goes beyond aesthetic pleasure. Its a work of art, beyond beautiful and ugly, made at a time when we cared about wood and form. Just thought I would say - he's my proud and joy
