A real Tele. And that alone would be enough.
But this one carries an extra story, because it once belonged to Sandro — a seasoned Roman musician, the only possible interpreter of a Frank Zappa & The Mothers of Invention tribute band. And “only possible” isn’t an exaggeration: Sandro is Zappa. Physically, mentally, musically. A rare, lateral talent — the kind that doesn’t follow paths, but builds them.
I regularly check his Reverb listings. Not out of obsession, but because Sandro owns dozens of remarkable instruments, chosen with unmistakable taste. When a guitar comes from hands like that, it arrives already carrying a grammar of its own.
This Highway One Telecaster is no exception.
It has that unmistakable twang — physical, direct, unfiltered. A guitar that doesn’t lead you: it walks beside you, at your pace.
And then there’s a detail that matters deeply to me: rosewood. I’ve always loved Fender rosewood fingerboards — they feel more intimate, less exposed. The tone is slightly darker, more contained, as if it speaks to you before speaking to anyone else.
With this Tele — and this is the most important part — I started studying again after many years. That’s largely thanks to Angelo, his engaging, grounded approach, made of lived music rather than abstract explanations. He passed on the beauty of music experienced firsthand, and introduced me to something I had never truly done before: thinking like a musician.
It doesn’t matter that I’ll never be a virtuoso — not even close. What matters is that I understand more, that I’m constantly curious, and that I’ve learned studying isn’t about chasing unreachable goals, but about keeping the mind agile, alive, open.
Maybe it’s maturity, they’ll say. Perhaps.
I believe instead that it’s never too late to learn — and that at a certain point, it becomes necessary. To keep doing things that make you feel slightly uncomfortable, in order to keep growing. Not to stay young, but to stay present.
This Telecaster — once Sandro’s, now mine, played today with more awareness than yesterday — is exactly that.
An instrument that promises nothing, but asks for everything.
