A dream traded for an algorithm
Spring 2024 was a difficult time for me. I was dealing with a loss—the kind you experience only two or three times in a lifetime, if even that. One coping mechanism was my GAS. To some extent, it helped numb the pain, but it also prevented me from truly processing what I was experiencing.
Fortunately, I wasn’t alone. I had people to talk to, especially my brother, who understood both my grief and my GAS.
When he picked up a Duesenberg Starplayer TV (link here), he was full of enthusiasm about the guitar and its exceptional craftsmanship. I got curious about the brand and found out that Chris Cornell appreciated it too (one of my heroes, read this post).
Based on that, I searched online and found a few options. I eventually spotted a black Starplayer TV that was quite beaten up, with plenty of scratches on the back and some dents here and there. The price was right and the owner was in Rome, so I reached out to him to arrange a meeting and check out the guitar.
After a 30-minute drive, I got there and met the owner. He was very kind, and you could tell he was a good person, willing to open up about the guitar and what he was going through at the time.
He bought the guitar in 2008 (manufactured in September of that year) to play blues and rock with a newly formed band. You can tell he did a lot of bending on the G string and played plenty of open A chords, judging by the fret wear. There was a dreamy quality in his eyes as he remembered those days, but there was something more than just nostalgia—a kind of sadness. Initially, I thought he was sad about the trajectory of his musical career. However, he then explained the reason why he had decided to sell this beautifully worn Duesenberg: he had left the band and wanted to focus on creating content for TikTok and Instagram. To do that, he needed an acoustic guitar.
In many ways, this story reflects a broader trend: music has become a mere commodity, and in many cases there’s been a drastic shift from being a musician to becoming a content creator. As a music fanatic, I find it difficult to accept; and yet, that’s just the way it is now.
Returning to the owner, as he told me how he’d tracked down the guitar—even having to persuade a major music store in Rome to import a single Duesenberg since they weren’t distributed in Italy yet—I started realizing that his sadness was rooted in something other than the changing music business or his role in it.
He was waving goodbye to an old friend, a companion—the one he had shared his dream with, that worn Duesenberg. Every scratch was a scar, every dent a memory.
I knew exactly what it felt like to let go of something that held an entire lifetime. Then, a question came naturally: ‘Are you sure? Do you really want to sell it?’ There was a long pause, and then he said, ‘Yeah, I’ve had it for many years. We had fun together, but now I need to move on. But please, send me pictures of her from time to time, especially if you play her out somewhere.’
I’ve given this Duesenberg a special place in my collection, not just as a guitar, but as a way to keep my promise and honor the memories of those we’ve lost.
