The two legends in that photo? Thanks to one, I became aware of the other.
I first heard of Jimi Hendrix—and this is a bit of a sad story—in April 1968 when my neighbour and seventh-grade classmate—Alfie—came over to my house and asked, “Hey, you want to go and see Jimi Hendrix?”
“Jimi Hendrix?” I asked, “Who’s he?”
Yeah, that’s the first time I had ever heard of Jimi Hendrix. And as a budding thirteen-year-old guitarist myself, I had no idea, not at that time, that Hendrix was a magician on the guitar. I also had no idea that he would go on to great heights, and I also had no idea that his flame would, a short time later, be forever extinguished.
And because I had no idea—about anything—that’s why I turned Alfie down.
“Never heard of him,” I said. And that’s an unfortunate decision that I rue to this day.
It was only a few months later that I finally got to hear Jimi Hendrix. And, as soon as my local radio station played All Along the Watchtower, I remember being blown away, gobsmacked and hooked.
“How can,” I remember thinking, “anyone play guitar like that?”
And I, of course, immediately thought of my missed opportunity. I could have seen him live! And that’s also when I began kicking myself for turning down the chance to catch Hendrix’s show.
So yeah, Jimi Hendrix was (and is) a giant and a legend, and the guitar that he played—perhaps thanks to the man himself—quickly became a legend too. Yeah, a Fender Stratocaster is still considered, by many rockers, to be the GOAT.
And I think that’s why, when I was writing my rock novel about Stabb Bell, a 1970s guitarist and rock star, I immediately knew that his axe of choice would be a Fender Stratocaster.
And as a sort of recompense for my oh-so-glaring missed opportunity, I also decided that I would have to include a sort of clandestine cameo of that great guitarist named Jimi Hendrix.
And then maybe—finally—I could stop kicking myself.