That's why it's worth doing, and that (and being the first to do it, like G & F) is a huge part of the value equation. I wanted so bad to like those guitars, even before I picked them up.īut I left with profound lesson in the power of marketing. We see the phrase 'I wanted to like it' all the time here on TGP, but that was quite literally what I experienced at the Carvin factory. I walked in to that showroom basically sold and ready to buy. So your comment about marketing cuts both ways. I left after two hours or so feeling bewildered, somewhat misled, and slightly violated. One lovely looking, nice feeling and utterly mediocre-sounding guitar after another passed through my hands. One by one, I began to try the ones that interested me.Īnd one by one, the cognitive dissonance between my ridiculously high expectations and the reality of these instruments began to resolve itself. When I stepped inside, there they were-all those gorgeous guitars in all their glory, shimmering in the carefully thought-out lighting of the showroom. I distinctly recall my heart pounding with anticipation as I pulled into the parking lot for the first time. Well, fast forward a few years, and I found myself living in SoCal less than an hour from the factory store. I just had to have one.īut there was nowhere to try one, not on the East coast anyway, and I wasn't the sort to take a chance on a sight-unseen purchase like that, even with the liberal return policy. They made those guitars seem so wonderful, and at such a reasonable price. This was in the days before the internet, so I would obsess over the catalog, fantasizing about different models, options, and top woods. And I'm confident that I wasn't alone in my fascination with the beautiful-looking guitars and intriguing amps in that catalog. Like many other guitar players, during the '80s and '90s I received the Carvin catalog in the mail once or twice a year. I've lived on the East coast for most of my life.
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