Before I get into this story, I should say this: This post is a continuation of something I wrote earlier in “Strings Attached” a piece where I admitted a pretty consistent pattern:
I seem to sell every acoustic guitar I ever buy. Steel strings came and went. Classical guitars stayed. And I wondered whether I’d ever truly connect with a steel-string acoustic at all.
Then I found the guitar I didn’t know I needed. Turns out, I was waiting for the right one.
Thinning the Herd (Again)
This past year, I sold off guitars I wasn’t playing and a handful of pedals aging on the studio shelf. My goal was to simplify and finally bring in a really exceptional acoustic, the kind of guitar that wouldn’t be a placeholder, but a partner.
Around that time, I had picked up a Taylor Academy 12e. Nice guitar, no doubt. Comfortable, clean, honest. It has spark, but it wasn’t the kind that would light the fire.
After writing Strings Attached, I promised myself: no more settling for “good enough.”
A Night in the Acoustic Room
Part of what drew me back to Guitar Center was some unfinished business and a touch of remorse.
In late summer of 2025, I sold my Takamine GN93CE NEX. It wasn’t a forever guitar, but it had been mine, and letting it go hit harder than expected. A few weeks later, I found myself feeling that mild, unexpected sting of seller’s remorse.
Then one day, scrolling through Guitar Center’s used listings, I saw an older Takamine pop up, at my local store. I took it as a sign. Maybe this would scratch the itch. Maybe I’d close the loop.
So my wife and I headed over one evening after work.
Technically, I was there for that Takamine.
But the second I grabbed for it off that wall and my hand wrapped around the neck, the nostalgia vaporized. It felt like gripping a baseball bat. Thick and clunky. Game over. I didn’t even bother taking it off the wall.
Instead, I drifted back into familiar territory: Taylor. I played every Taylor in the room. Then Yamaha. Fender. Guild. I even showed my wife an older Ovation; she looked at the rounded plastic back like it was some strange ergonomic experiment. I told her how, in my thinner years, Ovations used to roll away from me. Now, with a dad bod? I’d stand no chance.
I’m Not A Martin Guy
While I noodled, she wandered the room.
“Hey, what are these?” she called out.
“Martins,” I said. “I’m not a Martin guy.”
But, to show her how much better Taylors sounded, I grabbed a Martin GPC-X2E in ziricote, expecting the usual stiff, thin “bluegrass box” tone I’d always associated with Martins.
Instead, the first chord made me look up in disbelief.
Full. Warm. Alive.
My wife raised her eyebrows. “That sounds pretty amazing.”
And for the first time in my life, I agreed with someone praising Martin.
I tried a few more Martins that night. All of them surprised me. I left thinking not about Taylor… and definitely not about Takamine…but about Martin.
The shift had started.
The Afternoon That Changed Everything
A few days later, my wife was meeting her mom for tea, and I found myself with an afternoon to kill. Naturally, I ended up back in the acoustic room at Guitar Center.
This time, I tucked into a corner with a Taylor 222ce-K. Beautiful koa, comfortable neck, the kind of guitar that should have felt like “the one.”
But as I played, I remembered something from Strings Attached: classical guitars stayed because they invited me in. Steel strings left because I never connected with them.
That thought clung to me as I scrolled specs on my phone, and then I noticed it.
A Martin GPC-16E.
Hanging dead center in the room.
Spruce top. Rosewood back and sides. Quiet confidence.
I sighed internally. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”
And then I picked it up.
Connecting With an Acoustic For the First Time
The first chord felt like opening a door I didn’t know existed.
The neck felt effortless. The sound was huge, rich bass, shimmering highs, balanced mids. It had that Taylor sparkle, but deeper. Warmer. More alive.
An hour passed without me noticing.
I bought it that day.
And unlike every acoustic before it, the ones I bought, tried to love, and eventually sold, this one didn’t go to a studio corner. It went straight into the living room
I couldn’t put it down.
It made me want to play, the way David Crosby described the magic of a truly great acoustic.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t just like an acoustic. I connected with one.
A Guitar That Shook Up My Beliefs
What surprises me most about this Martin isn’t just the tone or the feel; it’s what it’s done to my entire belief system about guitars.
For years, I’ve had this identity in my head: I’m a modern guitar guy. Fender and Gibson are cool, but every time I chased some vintage dream, some reissue or “old school” magic, I’d end up thinking: this sucks.
That’s why PRS and Taylor have always made sense to me. They’re the new kids. The innovators. The ones who looked at the old guard and said,
“Yeah… but what if we made it better?”
Clean lines. Modern necks. Precision. Comfort. That’s always been my world.
So the idea of me connecting with a Martin, the company that practically invented the old guard, felt impossible.
But this GPC-16E? It turned everything upside down.
It showed me that tradition and innovation don’t have to be opposites. A guitar can be rooted in history while still feeling modern, expressive, and alive.
I still can’t believe Martin pulled me in… and the wildest part is that they did it with a modern design.
This guitar didn’t just change my playing, it changed what I thought a guitar should be.
A New Chapter: The Guitar That Stays
In Strings Attached, I wrote about wanting one guitar that wasn’t another stop in the revolving door, something that felt like a companion, not a compromise.
This Martin GPC-16E is that guitar.
It’s the first steel-string acoustic I’ve ever owned that feels like it has a soul. The first one that feels like it’s supposed to be here, with me, part of whatever comes next.
This guitar doesn’t feel temporary. It feels like home.
And after years of buying, playing, doubting, and selling… the cycle might finally be over.
I’m excited to see what songs this one helps me write. This one’s staying.
Missed Part One? Start Here
If you haven’t read where this journey started, you can find it here:
Strings Attached — Why I Sold Every Acoustic I Ever Owned