"When humidity drops below 40%, guitars start to suffer. The wood contracts, the top sinks, and suddenly your action feels off. You might notice sharp fret ends poking out—because the fingerboard shrinks while the frets stay the same size. Cracks can appear in the body, and tuning stability goes out the window. It's not just inconvenience—it's damage to the voice of your instrument."
"Humidity is like the invisible caretaker of your guitar. In summer, too much moisture can swell the wood. In winter, too little dries it out. The sweet spot is around 45–55% relative humidity. That's where your guitar feels at home, resonant, balanced, and ready to sing."
• Use a case humidifier: Slip one into your guitar case—it keeps the microclimate stable.
• Room humidifier: If you keep guitars on stands, humidify the whole room.
• Monitor humidity: A small hygrometer costs less than a set of strings, but it can save your guitar's life.
• Avoid extremes: Don't leave your guitar near radiators, fireplaces, or cold windows."
Now, if you've ever played music for seniors, you know: they don't just show up, they show out. And that night, about 60 or 70 of them were waiting for me, dressed head to toe in costumes—witches everywhere, laughter in the air, and that kind of anticipation you can feel before you even plug in a guitar.
One woman leaned in as I was setting up and said, "We thought you were coming at 3:30!" It was 3:45, and I wasn't scheduled until 4. I just smiled and said, "Well, thank you for looking forward to being me." That's the kind of energy they brought—ready, eager, alive.
I recognized two of the older women from my last visit, and that felt like coming home.
This time, I leaned less on my usual ambient blues and gave them more of the classics. I sang Otis Redding, Ray Charles, Willie Nelson, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Creedence Clearwater Revival. And let me tell you—when you hit those first chords of "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay" or "Proud Mary," you can see the years roll back in their eyes.
After the set, one person came up to me and said, "You took me back."
And I thought—that's it. That's why I do this. Music isn't just sound; it's a time machine. It carries us to the places where we first danced, first loved, first believed we could be more.
The setup was simple: one amp, one guitar, one mic. Clean tones, Bluetooth backing tracks. I used a Shure mic—the kind you see aerobic instructors using. I'll admit, I was clumsy with it at first, but once the music started, none of that mattered.
Because in that room, on that Halloween night, it wasn't about perfection. It was about connection.
So here's my takeaway for you, brothers and sisters: never underestimate the power of showing up with what you have, keeping it simple, and giving it all. Sometimes, the smallest setup creates the biggest impact.
Thanks for listening. Until next time—keep playing, keep believing, and keep building your legacy.
