The Electric Guitar: the cock of rock ‘n’ roll—and its swagger too. At least that’s they way the instrument is often played, especially in hard rock and heavy metal. But, like heroin and cars, rock ‘n’ roll is a woman, isn’t she? Maybe not so much anymore. Rock is certainly masculine in the hands of Metallica, Rob Zombie, and Seether. (I saw Seether perform at a guitar manufacturer’s trade show party and people couldn’t help shouting “Hail Theether… fun times.) But I believe rock also embodies the female aesthetic in the classic examples of the art form: Lou Reed, Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, the Who, even Flaming Lips and Porcupine Tree. So I supposed rock is both, that is to say, properly and seductively androgynous. Cock and balls, tits and temper, and a presence and spirit that is feminine in its complexity and masculine in its primal angst. This makes the electric guitar the ultimate girlfriend for the “sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll” type of musician. Sexy and beautiful, responsive to your touch, she makes you appear better than you actually are, and her fret board is like a hard on, something most men have great experience in strumming. For the emo players, many of the intangible and nonphysical things that a woman possesses to make you pine for her are also parts of the whole electric guitar.

Guitarists listen to their guitars, so they know what she is feeling and how to get her to express those emotions for you. Does she need a tough caress to let out the sobs or a rhythmic thrashing or should you pull her close for the intimate and tender cries around the 12th fret? Tea and sympathy or whiskey and brawling? Does she surrender herself to you—letting you take her all the way to the edge and keeping her there as she lets loose with the most urgent primal growls—pushing the envelope of intensity; the boundaries of emotion and control, art and noise, love and fuck, Jesus and the almighty beaver.

Even if you have never even touched an electric guitar, it is clear they are something more than just a stringed wooden instrument and a nice paint job. Pianos are beautiful too, but simply looking at one doesn’t exactly remind you of sex unless, of course, you’ve shagged on one… or have recently attended a Tori Amos concert. (Talk about masturbatory!) Then again, pianos are much more satisfying to do it on than a Les Paul, and doing it on a Stratocaster is seriously dangerous given the double cutaway and that tremolo bar.

Yes, the shape of a classic guitar shape is modeled after a classic woman. Perhaps that shape elicits some primal response that makes folks want to hold it against their junk. Even the non-traditional shapes of a Flying V and an Explorer reflect the sexy feminine, to me. (On some days, though, so can a car key and most consonants—what is it about primal urges and base stupidity? I bet even Stephen Hawking has suffered sexual musings derived from studying black holes through a telescope.)

Maybe the allure of the electric guitar comes from 50 years of rock concert images we have stored in our pop-collective unconscious—that catalog of great rock guitarists loving, playing, fucking, killing, sacrificing their instruments on a smoky psychedelic stage. Then there are the young men and women at their feet swooning in response to the music, the musician, the instrument. There are so many great photos capturing the moments of crisis that make up a guitar solo—powerful imagery to accompany the sonic imprint of a brilliant rock guitarist getting off. Maybe that is where the mystique comes from? Perhaps.