pres·tige – noun; having or showing success, rank, wealth

in·fa·my – noun; extremely bad reputation or strong condemnation as the result of a shameful, criminal, or outrageous act

The Gibson Les Paul played through a Marshall JCM800 stack; the Fender Stratocaster through a Fender tweed or Twin Reverb; the Hammond B-3 organ through a Leslie rotating speaker cabinet; and the Fender Jazz Bass through an Ampeg SVT. These bits of kit are iconic in rock ‘n’ roll, representing elegantly simple technological milestones for creating and performing modern music.

Looking back through the ages of popular music, these instruments were chosen because they were simply the best tools available at the time. As you move toward the present, another factor was added to their popularity—prestige. Sacrilege I say! Prestige has no place in rock ‘n’ roll music. There is, at best, a fine line between prestige and celebrity, and rock music was born out of a backlash against such hollow ideals. For anyone old enough to have enjoyed rock music prior to MTV, it’s abundantly clear that celebrity is the cancer killing rock ‘n’ roll today. It is as clear as the difference between Lenny Kravitz and Jimi Hendrix. No wonder so many people in their early ‘20s and teens have an affinity for original classic rock. And I don’t mean the stingless B’s (Boston*, Bon Jovi and Bad Company). I mean Led-Fucking-Zeppelin, the Who, the Jimi Hendrix Experience, the Stooges, Patti Smith, Black Sabbath, and many others you’ve probably heard of. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure that if you pick any three albums from the artists listed above and play them repeatedly it will keep you from getting Alzheimer’s**.

Remember the VH1 Concert for NYC right after 9/11? That emotional rock spectacle the whole country watched out of patriotism, if not out of a love for rock ‘n’ roll? From Bowie to Backstreet, and Mick, Paul, Keith and Ringo, act after act came out and touched our hearts by playing emotionally driven sets honoring victims and heroes. Clap clap clap, sniffle sniffle, “We love you New York!” we responded sincerely, while real tears fell into our beer. Then the Who came out and hammered our souls relentlessly with four very loud songs, giving us the great healing mercy fuck we all so desperately needed, while at the same time putting the fear of Allah in the vile scum who attacked us. Pete Townshend did more for the war on terror that night than 100 aircraft carrier photo-ops and a month of Baghdad air raids could do. And he did it with a Fender Stratocaster and a Fender amp***.

His Weapon of Massive Distortion was the only WMD that ever really existed. Pete didn’t choose a Fender Strat and amp that night because of their prestige. He picked them for their infamy. He used them because we were all suffering enormously after 9/11 and Pete, being a founding father of rock ‘n’ roll, knew exactly what tools to use to help us heal and grieve, honor our dead and wounded, and defend our honor as a people who generally mean well. All of this from a man old in years that once wrote and no doubt believed, “I hope I die before I get old.” As long as Pete can carry a Strat he never will be old. Unless of course he carries that Strat out of prestige, which is as close as I’ll ever get to blasphemy in this column.

Killing prestige and celebrating infamy is why the Who destroyed their instruments, it’s why Jimi lit his Strat on fire in Monterey. Nirvana lays claim to being the last band to destroy their gear out of infamy. Anyone else who does it post-Nirvana (the Who notwithstanding), no matter how drunk, loaded or sincere you may feel in the moment, you’re doing it out of prestige. So fuck you.

Look man, no offense. I once smashed a Japanese Fender knock-off in my ‘80s band. The first swing of the guitar from over my shoulder to the concrete slab we were forced to play on felt good. I mean really good. But by the third whack I started feeling slightly embarrassed—like you sometimes do at company picnics. But by then it was too late. I had already started my wanton act of prestigious destruction, and I had no choice but to see it through. Stopping halfway would have been worse somehow. When it was over I knew I had committed a selfish act of karaoke at the end of an otherwise fine gig.

Because of that horrific memory, I feel I have the right to tell you not to do it. Just don’t. For me it was too late, but you can still save yourself. Thank God I did mine in the pre-YouTube era. If you do this now, chances are you will be YouTube’s next Star Wars Kid. Now that’s celebrity.

Watch: Jimi Hendrix “Destroy His Guitar“  [at Youtube.com]

* Tom Scholz is a tech-genius, Brad Delp (RIP) was the real deal, and Boston’s relatively small catalog was played to death.

**Not scientifically proven—yet.

*** If you’re keeping score, Pete played Eric Clapton Signature models with modified necks. The amp was a Fender Vibro King with 10” and 12” JBL speakers. Hat tip to Joe from thewho.org for this techy bit.