Skip to main content

When a Guitar Chooses You

In this episode - When a Guitar Chooses You — And a Musician Steals the Show.

Every so often, something nudges you back into the wide-eyed wonder of being a kid again. It feels like it was just yesterday—for me—June 2, 2023—thanks to a guitar shop, a long drive, and one very talented musician.

I finally made the pilgrimage to Norman’s Rare Guitars—the mythical land where famous guitarists roam and ordinary folks (like me) try not to look like we’re hyperventilating. I walked in clutching my humble Squier Strat like a kid carrying his lunchbox to the Oscars.

Enter Brandon Soriano, encyclopedic guitar wizard and “Spec Check” champion. Within minutes, he had me test-driving Fender Strats like I was choosing a getaway car. Just as I settled on an American Ultra Strat, Michael Lemmo—yes, that Lemmo—walked in, the effortlessly cool host of Guitar of the Day.

He plugged in the guitar I was thinking about buying . . . and suddenly I wasn’t thinking anymore.

“Stevie Ray? He said, "Try this.”
“Van Halen? Flick that.”
“Smooth jazz? Here, let me melt your face gently.”

The man didn’t play the guitar.
The man unlocked it.

And somewhere between a blues run and a chord so pretty it should’ve come with a warning label, I thought:

“Well, there’s no doubt—I guess I’m buying this thing.”

So now I own a Stratocaster played by Michael Lemmo himself—an instant heirloom, a future family legend, and a very expensive excuse to annoy my neighbors.

And as if that weren’t enough, recently the universe added a soundtrack.

Michael—under his band name LEMMO—just released a spectacular new EP: Haunted. It’s moody, melodic, and the perfect companion for breaking in a new guitar (or pretending you’re cooler than you actually are).

Start with “Haunted” and “Recycle.” They hit that rare space between nostalgic and brand-new—a little like holding your first real guitar. Short. Punchy. Musical. And yes—absolutely worth giving LEMMO’s Haunted a listen on Spotify, Apple Music, or wherever your ears hang out.

I’m Patrick Ball. This is On the Fly. Be a kid again, stay curious, ask questions. See you in the next episode.

Comments

Don Hanley said…

Love at first finger flight over strings. I hope you bring your strings when we meet next!




a

Most Popular of All Time

The Compass of Cuba: Mom

🎄  Preview of this week's  On the Fly  blog: A Holiday Tribute to Mom. As the holidays hustle with pixels and beeps, the world scrolls along in a smartphone-y sleep. I log off for a moment—just one little minute— To breathe in the past and to sit myself in it. My mind doesn’t wander to faraway places, Or trips full of tickets and new airport faces. Instead, it drifts backward, as memories do, to Cuba, Illinois, where the best moments grew. To a home full of warmth, in the wintry Midwest, Where my mother—dear “Marcie”—put love to the test. With a smile that could melt the most frigid of dawns, and hugs that hung on you like shivering fawns. She came from La Rochelle in France, brave and bright, Across oceans and war shadows, into new light. A town full of strangers soon felt like her own, And her courage built up the foundation of home. “Oh yes, we know Marcie!” the locals would say— “It's Doc Ball’s French lady! She brightens the day!” She cleaned, and she cooked, and sh...

Feeling Human Again

In this episode, The Unexpected Thankfulness of Feeling Human Again I’ll be honest with you: My triumphant return from France was not the glamorous homecoming I had imagined. No graceful glide back into routine. No cinematic jet-setter moment where I lift my suitcase off the carousel and wink at life like we’re old pals. Instead? I came home and immediately launched into a two-week performance piece titled The Great American Couch Collapse. My days blurred together in a haze of soup, hot tea, tissues, and desperate negotiations with the universe for just one nostril—one!—to function properly. The living room sofa became my emotional support furniture. And any creative idea that dared tiptoe into my congested brain was gently shown the exit with a firm but courteous, “Not today, friend. Try again later.” When life hits the pause button like that—when you’re exhausted, sick, and mentally unplugged—how do you find your spark again? Somehow, today, I felt it. A tiny shift. A clearing of th...

A Holiday Reflection–Mother's Love

In this episode,  How a Mother’s Love Built My Memories– A Holiday Reflection As this holiday season approaches and the world buzzes with shopping, planning, and busy schedules, I find myself embracing something wonderfully simple: taking a moment to pause. Not to check off a list or recharge devices, but to breathe deeply, remember fondly, and honor the person and place that have shaped my sense of home long before I had the words for it. This year, after regaining my strength from a lingering post-travel fog, my mind didn’t wander to exotic destinations or future adventures. It drifted backward—across oceans and time—to Cuba, Illinois, in the early 1960s, and to the woman whose love built the foundation of my world: Mauricette Elaine (Bontemps) Ball. My Mom . We came to Cuba after leaving La Rochelle, France, in 1959—a transition so dramatic I only appreciate its enormity now. My mother, barely in her mid-twenties, stepped off that plane and into the Midwest with a courage that s...

Patience: the Only First-Class Ticket

In this episode, Patience: the Only First-Class Ticket They say travel broadens the mind. After eight days sailing the Rhône with 140 fellow luxury vacationers, I can confirm it also tests patience , calf strength, buffet strategy, and one's tolerance for people furious that France insists on being French. Don't get me wrong—I adored this trip. The river shimmered like liquid optimism. The villages looked hand-painted. The pastries could negotiate world peace. But somewhere between Ship Horn Hello and Bon Voyage, we'd inadvertently boarded a floating behavioral research study disguised as a holiday. Our ship was less a cruise and more a ferry for the Sailors of Status. Some passengers approached relaxation like yogis. Others treated leisure like a final exam with extra credit. I came to believe certain luxury watches emit ultrasonic signals that only their owners can detect. A frequency calibrated to trigger rapid movement toward any line forming for any reason. I saw more ...