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#Old Guitar Amp
toms-amps · 10 months
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1953 Gibson BR-6
Matchmate to my 1952 GA-20. 2 6V6, original Jensens 12″, 1 channel, volume only - still rocks out. Available for Detroit Studio Rental from Toms-Amps.com, The Home of Vintage Tone. Royal Oak MI 248-808-2951
Players welcome to come play my 160 1932-1968 rare and unique tube amps, no rental required.
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vintage-tigre · 3 months
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undercityrezident · 1 year
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I can’t believe I forgot to talk about how it feels like retroactive storytelling brilliance that Kohga fell down a massive pit in Breath of the Wild, only for us to discover that there’s a massive underground beneath Hyrule, and we just gave Yiga Clan the chance to jumpstart taking it over.
And bonus points for how that same pit is still another entrance into the Depths in TotK too.
In retrospect, I wonder if the devs let us send Kohga down that pit knowing what they were going to do in TotK...
...or if they just remembered that goofball falling down the pit and decided, “Hey, let’s do something with this pit... and add 30 more around Hyrule... and a massive underground zone to connect them all...”
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eggsploded · 9 months
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sorry for my absence i was drawing old man yaoi of animal crossing villagers
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hidefire · 4 months
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stop no i am suddenly thinking abt like. rain's whole thing about becoming a musician comes from her not knowing anything about herself or how to create a self for her, so she just kind of takes what her brother had for a dream. and i think a lot of what jj did was a lot more like. rock-y, not exactly angry music. so rain having a phase where she tries to play music like that before she just says fuck it and screams into the mic while playing her brother's old guitar
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feline-evil · 5 months
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Blood drooling from my mouth I neeeeeeeeed to get back into making music i neeeed to i do i need to. I fucking. Foaming at the mouth frothing at the mouth i haven't played an instrument in so long.
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guitarbomb · 6 months
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Exploring Poison Ivy's Guitar Mastery in The Cramps
Exploring Poison Ivy’s Guitar Mastery in The Cramps. Poison Ivy, the iconic guitarist of The Cramps, is renowned for her unique sound that combined punk’s raw energy with a retro rockabilly vibe. Her distinctive approach to guitar equipment and music production played a crucial role in shaping the band’s signature sound.  Poison Ivy Poison Ivy Rorschach, born Kristy Wallace, is an iconic figure…
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View On WordPress
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muirneach · 7 months
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hobbies georg
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toddington111 · 1 year
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Maxwell street Chicago 1950s. Colorized black and white photography.
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june-again · 9 months
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:/
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toms-amps · 2 years
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1939 Silvertone Suitcase PA System
Amp and speaker in 1 cab, plus a matching extension cab. 2 6L6 globes for 25 watts, 2 10″ speakers. Great cleans and big OD. No pedals in demos as always. Available for Detroit Studio Rental and players are welcome to come play any of my 141 1932-1968 vintage tube amps. An experience you can’t get anywhere else. By appointment, see contact info.  Clean demo followed by crunchy. Erik Gustafson - Demos
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youtube
youtube
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girlwithfish · 4 months
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who wants to buy me a bass
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miraclelevel · 7 months
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9/22/2022
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alma-ciega-rock · 11 months
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The pics only graphic 1972 - ROOT OF THE ORANGE SOUND
🍊🍊🍊I love old british orange amps 🍊🍊🍊
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tatoasting · 2 years
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Having one of those dont want to leave the house days but I have 5 places to go today :(( I just want to stay home and play bass!! The world is cruel for this
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renoed · 1 year
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wound too tight | h. brown
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❥ — PAIRING hobie brown x gn! bassist! reader
❥ — SUMMARY you and your neighbour are the loudest people in your apartment building - drowning out the sound of each other's music with your own. You hadn't realised that your neighbour saw it less like a competition and more like a collaboration.
# A/N i keep seeing “drummer reader” this and “drummer reader” that so, as a fellow bassist, i’m giving us little guys some food
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Your neighbour did not like you.
Luckily for them, the feeling was mutual.
Whenever you had a spare second, you'd take the opportunity to grab your bass and unwind, pulling out a CD you had burnt with all the songs you could play. You had strong feelings about paying a subscription fee to listen to music without ads, so you opted for totally legal youtube to mp3 converters.
You had never really been a noisy neighbour, keeping your amp as quiet as possible and stopping as soon as you knew people would be going to bed. Generally, the people that knew you in the building were fond of you.
So when the old lady in the flat next to you moved out, needing to live with family for the support, and a young man your age turned up, guitar case slung over his shoulder, you were curious. Eager to be friends, even.
The first week was quiet. There was an occasional clatter on the wall that connected your flats, but other than that you could've forgotten your old neighbour had even left. You occasionally saw him entering his apartment as you left, or vice versa, and he'd spare you a momentary glance as you offered a smile. A little rude, in your opinion, but not uncommon.
After that first week, your curiosity had died down and you had been following your regular routine, sifting through your CDs. You had one with a specific set of songs and you couldn't find it anywhere. After an hour, you had turned your entire apartment upside down to no avail and frowned at your own mess. You'd clean it up later.
Not bothering with a CD, you plugged it into your amp and checked the tuning of your bass, instinctively playing the familiar bassline of Boys Don't Cry - it had become habit for it to be the first thing you played, having been the first song you learnt.
What you didn't expect was, hardly five minutes later, an incredibly loud guitar strum to echo throughout your flat, barely muffled by your neighbour's walls. You listened in (not really having a choice due to it's volume) and recognised that he was playing a song you knew; one of the ones you had on that missing CD. It was a favourite of yours.
Biting the inside of your cheek you listened to him finish the first verse, aware that you couldn't practice with him making so much noise. When he reached the chorus, however, you used your foot to bump up the volume of your amp and play along, hoping that he could hear you (and that he was smart enough to realise he had been disturbing your practice).
It carried on like that for at least an hour, both of you gradually increasing the volume in an attempt to overpower the other.
When you finished, you immediately felt guilty for being an annoyance to just about everyone else in the building. You'd apologise for the disturbance the next morning.
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That morning, you made a quick trip to your local cornershop, buying some baking ingredients so you could apologise with more than just a promise not to get carried away again.
None of your neighbours disliked you, easily accepting the apology and baked goods when you sputtered out an explanation for all the noise. A couple of them even invited you in for a cup of tea, which was always welcome.
"That boy," the middle aged woman across from you leaned closer, a devious glint in her eyes, "the one that just moved in, are you friends?"
"Uh, no," you tilted your head to the side, feeling like you were 17 again and being questioned by aunts about 'when will you bring someone home?', "we haven't even spoken, actually."
"Oh," you watched her deflated, "that's boring. I thought you two would've been fast friends."
It was difficult not to laugh at her lack of subtlety and you took it as a sign to leave before you had to dodge any more questions. Maybe in another universe she was a pestering aunt - you didn't think you'd hate that.
As you walked across the hall to your apartment, you noticed your neighbour was leaving, no guitar in sight.
You caught eyes momentarily before letting unlocking your door. As you made your way inside, you couldn't help feeling like there were still eyes on you.
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This became a frequent routine - you'd practice bass, only to get interrupted by your lovely, polite neighbour deciding he wanted to play guitar whenever you didn't want him to, and a war over who could play louder would ensue.
It would've been funny the first time, but it was causing you to lose enjoyment out of practicing and a significant portion of your paycheck was being spent on ingrediants that you didn't even get to enjoy the results of. You were certain that the patience of your other neighbours were running thin, too.
So, like any normal person would, you began waiting for the familiar click of your neighbour's door closing before you even thought about touching your bass. The door, for whatever reason, had always been a sound you could hear from your apartment - you'd mostly tuned it out but now it proved vital in letting you practice bass in peace. And it worked.
For all of two days.
The last thing you expected when walking past your neighbour on the stairs was for him to reach out and grab your arm, stopping you in your tracks. His fingers were calloused, undoubtedly from guitar, but soft on your skin.
The contact made you turn to face him and you both stood like that for, what felt like, minutes. Just looking at each other. You hadn't noticed all his piercings. You hadn't noticed that he was as attractive as he was irritating.
"You the bassist?"
His words took you by surprise. Obviously he knew it was you - you didn't live with anyone, so there couldn't be multiple suspects.
"Yeah, I am."
His face broke out into a smile, grip tightening so he could pull you into him, slinging an arm over your shoulders. He smelt of aftershave and what you could only think to describe as an old library.
Since he had moved in, a word hadn't been spoken between you - a smile hadn't been shared. Now he'd nestled you under his arm, after just one admission from you.
"Mate," he was buzzing, "you are the sickest bassist I think I've ever heard. Every time you play I gotta join in, you're jus' too good!"
All ill-will towards the man melted away at his words: he was just joining in. It was cute, almost.
"Thanks," you offered, "I hadn't realised that's what you were doing, to be honest."
He didn't respond, catching sight of the plastic corner-shop bag in your hands. Flour, eggs, sugar, chocolate chips. Today you were making chocolate-chip muffins, it was one of the bakery recipes left in your cook book that you hadn't tried yet.
"You baking?"
"For the neighbours-"
"For me?" his smile only brightened, unintentionally leaning closer to you, "What's the occa-"
"To apologise for someone's noise," you shot back, not missing a beat. The statement had paused him in his tracks, lips pursed together and arm dropping away from you. It felt like you were missing something as he pulled away. If you didnt know better, you would've thought he hadn't even spared a second thought to your neighbours, or the volume of his amp.
"Hadn't really thought about that, I guess."
He'd proven you wrong; you didn't know better.
With the lull in conversation at his statement, you took a step away from him, offering your sweetest smile as you outstretched your arm with the bag, "I think I'm overdue some help, don't you?"
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reblogs are hugely appreciated ♡ [part two, three | masterlist]
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