The NAMM SHOW

Why Did I Go? What Did I Learn?

I had plans to go the west coast, so I decided to attend NAMM for the first time this past January. For those of you who don’t know, NAMM is a huge music trade show that’s been going on for decades. Hundreds of retailers and thousands of musicians descend upon LA every January and do business. Fellow guitarist and friend, Alex Skolnick, offered to give me a pass since he was performing at the conference.

I’ve known a a handful of people who enjoyed attending NAMM in the past— heard a few cool stories over the years, Stevie Wonder showing up, Allan Holdsworth or Buzz Feiten sitting in a booth somewhere playing a prototype of a guitar. I guess I thought I’d have a decent chance of hearing some good music, meeting some interesting people, checking out the latest gear, or making connections…but connections to what?

Well, I felt completely out of place. Let me try to describe the experience.

The first thing that hit me was how gigantic this thing is. I passed building after building, pavilion after pavilion, totally disoriented as to where I was on the grounds. God only knows what was being sold in all those hospital-white caverns, pro audio, music stands, modular synths, the latest in music computer technology, I guess. A ton of stuff I didn’t need. The level of planning was awe- inspiring.

I stepped into the guitar pavilion, and it was like staring up at Mount Everest. I couldn’t even see the other end of the hall it was so wide, acres and acres of booths where a seeming infinite number of salesmen were peddling gear. And then the noise hit me. Have you ever been in Guitar Center when a couple of guys are noodling endlessly at too high a volume? Pretend 200 people are doing that. And 2000 people are talking, or… actually, yelling. My whole body felt under assault.

But I was still hopeful that something interesting lay in wait.

I found The Collings Guitar booth. I love these instruments. I sat down to play their latest models, but it was like yelling into a hurricane. I could hardly hear myself. Any hope of unlocking the subtlety of the guitars was hopeless. I meandered and passed about 50 booths that held little attraction. It was a circus. I played a badly constructed, but cool looking guitar. I stared at some weird -shaped rosewood guitar picks that were overpriced. I found a long row of some of the greatest amplifiers being made today, Two Rock, and I tried to get the attention of the salesman. He looked like he’d just been dragged behind a horse across the desert. If he wasn’t deaf already, he was going to be by the end of the weekend. He grudgingly plugged me in to one of their amps, but somebody was wailing away at astonishing volume right next to me. I just didn’t have it in me to play anything. I stared at the amps longingly. So close and so far.

Pedal after guitar pedal, hundreds of them, how many could I play in one or two days? After 12 of them, I found one I liked. Too expensive. I staggered outside where I knew a concert was about to begin. The incredible guitarist Mateo Mancuso was taking the stage. “Now,” I thought, “This is starting to feel like something worthwhile.” When he began though, I thought a couple of jumbo jets had just flown by. It was so loud that I had to quickly cover my ears so as not to sustain hearing damage. It wasn’t Mateo’s fault. Blame the sound man. A tsunami of amazing notes hit me as I scurried for cover.

(These pedals are made by Caroline Guitars— worth checking out)

I tried to find something to eat. The lines to the food trucks were dozens deep. I found a reasonable sandwich and sat outside in the sunshine, enjoying the relative silence.

LA —

Lots of hair gel. Elaborately torn jeans and tattoos whose ink looked like it just dried. Piercings by the dozens, tight fit chinos, immaculately trimmed beards, and unconvincing tans. And yes, biker chicks and rocked out dudes out of 1970’s central casting.

I hustled over to the one talk that I thought might be interesting, a youtube panel with Rick Beato, Mateus Asado and Tim Pierce. Keep in mind there were dozens of talks all day, and not a single one of them held much interest. The list was a blur. A bunch of stuff about AI, how to be a creative high school band director, crypto and the music business, how to maintain customer loyalty. What’s AI going to do to me? Take over my gigs at Barbes? Run my camp for me? Teach me how to play like Kurt Rosenwinkel? I don’t think so.

OK to be fair, AI is an important topic. But it would’ve taken me 15 minutes just to find the room where the talk was taking place. I would’ve had to suffer through a lot of nattering just to get five sentences that would’ve been useful. I reasoned that I might as well save a little time and energy and just go back to my hotel and ask AI what the problem was with AI.

Here are three lectures I would’ve attended had they’ve been offered (it would have been a different conference):

1. How to be a better guitar teacher

2. How to get a decent paying university job that doesn’t torment you.

3. How to run a small record label without running out of money.

But back to Beato—I thoroughly enjoy watching his youtube channel, I need all the advice I can get running my podcast series. These three panelists got on board the social media thing early, they were smart, and they ran with it, ran like Usain Bolt. They were committed and knowledgeable. The main lesson for me? I should’ve started taking this stuff seriously 15 years ago. And it’s a business. It’s not party tricks to these fellas. Spent years just whining about it!

Tim told a story about how a number of years ago TikTok had approached him about a partnership. He thought TikTok, then a new item, was kind of stupid, so he passed. He told us how foolish that had been, if he’d only been willing to embrace the latest thing, he could’ve made a mint, could’ve been there when it was all taking off. His words of wisdom were, “You’ve got to embrace the new technology. You can’t sit there and moan about how things used to be. Everything is moving forward, and you have to find a way to move with it.”

Fair enough. For a recalcitrant old hippie who’s got Tech Avoidance Complex (TAC) this was serious advice.

So then: what’s my takeaway?

a) If you have any connection to the music business at all in 2026, you absolutely must either hire someone or master the art of social media advertising if you want to make any money. It’s a serious commitment and the metrics change all the time, and you’ve got to be able to keep up.

b) With what I do, I will never attain the volume that these guys have achieved. But I don’t need to, I would never do the things required to make that happen. It’s not me. And if you’re reading this, it’s probably not you. There are those who seek to make their living from youTube, and those for whom it is a tool to increase visibility just a little bit more. That’s enough. Sadly, you basically don’t exist without it. Weird, huh?

By the way, the line to get into that talk was about a half mile long. These guys are kings. I tried to find Rick as soon as the talk ended, but he disappeared from the hall as if by magic.

Now it was late in the afternoon, I was feeling fatigued. They had a huge rock ‘n’ roll jam session planned for that night, and I could only imagine the hearing damage it would’ve been inflicted. My blood pressure was rising. I felt 10 years older. Fighting off jet lag I did manage to see Alex play a late -night set with a group that included the great drummer Chad Wackerman. It was pretty incredible. A good end to a very long day.

I probably missed lots of other good music. But I had never heard of 99% of the showcases, and I was just too knackered to be curious.

Next day? More music on the big stage that was ok. I mean…well executed. I looked in vain for somebody who played jazz, maybe somebody who played classical music. Forget it. Now and then I’d stumble across a booth where some young metal god was shredding in a way that was not to be believed. Notes spewing forth like wind from a tornado. I heard a bass solo of indefensible speed. It defied the laws of the physical universe.

Check out this guy. Unfortunately I can’t remember his name. Amazing player! And his band…chops of doom. (Listen to all the background noise!)

I admit that after a while I imagined the soul of Jim Hall flying above me, angelic. He was singing a tune, “Joel go home, Joel go home.”

To be clear, I know NAMM is important to many retailers. I’m sure it has utility for many, many people. But it was never more obvious that what I do exists outside of all normal retail channels in the music business. At NAMM, and in the country at large, non-commercial music like jazz is not even part of the story. It’s barely an afterthought.

I thought I’d see some people I knew. Finally, a pal from NYC, Rez Abbasi wandered by. Here we are with Alex.

And then I saw an old friend from the Bay Area, John Mader, a fantastic drummer who was performing with Carl Verheyen from Super Tramp. It had been 28 years since I saw him! He sounded great, as did Carl. John recorded music I wrote in 1993—whew…

Then something really got my attention. Alex told me there was a boutique guitar exhibit a couple of miles away. Hallelujah!

We hustled over there and spent a couple of hours playing some gorgeous instruments in a blessedly quiet space. How did all these people have the time and wherewithal to make these cool-looking instruments? Grez Guitars was a standout. I walked out of there with one of his guitars, a beautiful baritone pictured here. I’ve always wanted a baritone, and it’s hard to imagine a better one than this.

I had planned to go into LA that night and hear Michael Landau. But the thought of navigating the LA freeways for close to an hour with how depleted I felt prevented me from even considering it. I stayed back in Anaheim, one of the most bland and generic cities that humanity has ever built. I think Anaheim exists solely so Mickey Mouse can have a home.

I checked my blood pressure again when I got back to the hotel. It was even higher. I went out to dinner with Alex, had some barbecue and a beer. Thoroughly enjoyable. And as I lay my head on the pillow to go to sleep that night, I was glad that NAMM was over.

So then…why did I go? I

I’m always curious about what’s happening around me. I’m interested in the business of music, even if I can’t possibly participate in certain ways. I like knowing what people are doing outside of jazz and classical music, to stay in touch with today, and not play the part of the grumpy old guy who thinks everything was better yesterday. (Even if it was, what are you gonna do?)

I’m sure I don’t need to back to NAMM. It’s like the rest of consumer society. Mostly shallow and a lot of stuff you’ll never need or be able to afford. My colleagues and I are essentially refugees from mainstream society. We’re looking from the outside in, looking at a world that we have very little to do with. We gather together in small pods outside of all this action, somewhere in a wilderness of our own making, and laugh a lot, and try to figure out who we are.

Thank God for my tribe. My tribe of weirdos, misfits, the ones playing all the notes that don’t sell. It was never so clear to me how precious it is.