The Guitar That Was Going to Make Me Famous

I used to look at my guitar and genuinely believe that one day, this thing was going to make me famous.

I could picture it. Standing on a stage in front of thousands of people, playing songs I’d written, with the entire crowd singing every word back to me. The lights, the noise, the feeling of knowing that something I’d created meant enough to somebody that they’d learned every word.

That was the dream.

It never quite happened.

But looking back now, more than twenty years later, I’ve realised something. That guitar did change my life. Just not in the way I thought it would.

It Started With an Argos Guitar

My first guitar wasn’t anything particularly special. It was a cheap Encore dreadnought acoustic that I’d bought from Argos.

Hardly the sort of instrument you’d expect to change someone’s life.

But it was a guitar, and that was enough.

I wasn’t thinking about recording techniques, production or running a music magazine. I just wanted to play.

Like countless other people growing up listening to guitar music, I wanted to learn the songs I loved. Oasis were a huge part of that. There was something about those songs that made picking up a guitar seem like the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t need a degree in music theory or thousands of pounds’ worth of equipment. You needed a guitar, a few chords and the desire to make some noise.

And once I’d started, I couldn’t really imagine stopping.

I remember sitting in my room in the RAF with that old acoustic guitar, my best mate Andy Rooney encouraging me to keep playing. I probably wasn’t very good back then, but he kept telling me to stick with it. It’s funny, because I doubt either of us realised how much music would eventually become part of my life.

A Cherry-Red SG and Dreams of Stardom

The guitar I remember most from those early years, though, wasn’t the Encore.

It was a cherry-red Epiphone SG that I owned while serving in the Royal Air Force.

That was the guitar I’d look at and imagine a completely different future for myself.

I could see myself on stage. Not just playing somebody else’s songs, but playing my own. Songs that people knew, songs they’d sing along to, songs that might actually mean something to them.

I was writing music back then, too.

I had a mate called Mark, and we’d spend time having a few beers, playing guitar and writing songs together.

I’d love to tell you that we were two dedicated young songwriters, carefully working on the next great British rock album.

But the reality was probably closer to two pissed RAF lads with guitars.

And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

We weren’t particularly concerned about recording contracts or building a career. We were just enjoying ourselves, making music and seeing what happened.

I lost contact with Mark after leaving the RAF. I don’t know what he’s doing these days, but I still remember those times.

Funny how music can make ordinary moments stick with you.

Somewhere Along the Way, Things Changed

As I got older, my relationship with music began to change.

I still loved playing guitar. I still wanted to write songs. But I started becoming increasingly interested in what happened behind the music.

How did my favourite records sound the way they did?

Why did one guitar recording sound enormous while another sounded thin? How could a drum sound completely change the feeling of a song? What made a recording feel alive?

Before long, I was exploring microphones, recording equipment, mixing and music production.

And that opened up an entirely different world.

I discovered that I enjoyed the process of making records almost as much as playing the music itself.

There was something fascinating about taking a collection of individual sounds and turning them into something that felt like a finished song.

It wasn’t about being famous anymore. It was about understanding music, experimenting with it and trying to make something I was proud of.

Eventually, that passion became Infinity Studios.

From Making Music to Writing About It

Infinity Studios began as an extension of everything I’d learned and enjoyed about recording and production.

But something else started happening.

I found myself wanting to talk about the records I was listening to.

Not just whether I liked an album, but why I liked it. What worked, what didn’t, what the artist was trying to achieve and whether the music actually made me feel anything.

So I started writing album reviews.

And I enjoyed it far more than I expected.

There was something satisfying about sitting down with a record, giving it my full attention and then trying to put my thoughts into words.

Some albums were brilliant. Others weren’t. And I quickly realised that I didn’t want to pretend something was good just because everybody else seemed to think so.

I wanted to be honest. That same curiosity about what music means to people is at the heart of our look at why Britpop’s sound has endured.

Those reviews eventually grew into something much bigger.

Imminent Infinity.

What started as a recording studio had gradually become an independent music magazine, covering albums, emerging artists, interviews and the stories behind the music.

It wasn’t some grand business plan I’d spent years putting together.

It just happened naturally.

One thing led to another, and suddenly I was doing something I hadn’t even considered when I first picked up that cheap acoustic guitar.

I was talking to musicians, hearing their stories and helping introduce people to music they might otherwise never have discovered. Interviews like our conversation with Fright Years became part of that journey.

And I absolutely loved it.

I Still Want to Stand on That Stage

Here’s the thing, though.

I haven’t stopped dreaming about playing live.

I’d still love to be standing on stage with a band, playing music we’ve written and enjoying every minute of it.

But I don’t need thousands of people singing my songs back to me anymore.

I don’t need to be famous.

If anything, the older I’ve become, the less appealing fame seems.

I’d rather make music with people I enjoy spending time with. I’d rather record something that I’m genuinely proud of. And through Imminent Infinity, I’d rather help a brilliant little band find an audience than spend my life chasing celebrity.

That’s not to say the younger version of me was wrong to dream big.

I think those dreams are important.

They give you a reason to pick up the guitar in the first place.

But sometimes, as life goes on, you realise that what you actually wanted wasn’t necessarily fame.

You wanted to create something.

You wanted to be part of something.

You wanted to leave your mark.

And that’s what I want now.

I want to make my mark on the world while I’m still here. Whether that’s through a song I’ve written, a recording I’ve produced or an article that introduces somebody to their new favourite band.

It doesn’t have to make me famous.

It just has to mean something.

The Guitar Never Really Left

I don’t actually know what happened to that old cherry-red Epiphone SG.

I think I sold it at some point, although I couldn’t tell you when or why.

It’s strange, really.

For a while, I genuinely believed that particular guitar was going to change my life.

And then, somewhere along the way, I let it go.

But the thing is, I never really let go of what it started.

I’m still playing guitar. I’m still writing songs. I’m still learning about recording and production.

And now I’m running a music magazine that has brought me into contact with artists and people in the industry I once could only admire from a distance.

None of that was part of the plan.

When I was younger, I thought success meant standing in front of thousands of people and hearing them sing my songs.

These days, success looks a little different.

Sometimes it’s finishing a song I’m proud of.

Sometimes it’s discovering an incredible band nobody seems to be talking about.

Sometimes it’s getting a message from an artist telling me how much they enjoyed an article I’ve written about them.

And sometimes it’s simply sitting down with a guitar and remembering why I fell in love with music in the first place.

I spent years thinking that guitar was going to take me somewhere.

I just never imagined it would bring me here.

It never made me famous.

It gave me a lifetime of music.

And looking back, I wouldn’t swap that for anything.