This week’s rotation brought something deep to the surface.
The Clapton Strat has been my faithful companion for months—always ready for a quick phrase, a climbing scale, or a quiet moment of stress relief. But lately, she’s resting. And in her place, the Collings 290 has stepped up.
Five-minute sessions turn into meditative blues melodies. She’s light, responsive, and unburdened. Her sound is immediate, intuitive—almost like she reads what I feel before I play it. She’s not just easy to reach for… she asks to be played. She might just be my No.2 now, right behind the Clapton.
But this evening, I brought the R6 and the 1985 Les Paul Standard back into the fold. Just 15 minutes with the ’85 and she reminded me—she’s a voice of her own. With thick, vintage tones and long, singing sustains, she draws from a deeper well. Add a touch of treble boost, and she speaks fluent rock. She’s not trying to outshine the 290—she’s speaking from another era entirely. Her low action helps balance her physical weight, and at 40 years old, she holds her head high.
And the R6? She’s elegance. Class. There’s a Gibson authority in every note—unapologetically bold, unapologetically heavy.
The truth is, it’s not fair to compare the 290 to the R6 or the ’85.
They’re all different stories.
All different moods.
All valid.
The Gibsons carry history. They ask for presence.
The 290 brings immediacy. She offers expression.
The Clapton brings clarity and comfort. She is home.
Some guitars are “go-to.”
Some are “go-deep.”
I’m lucky to have both.