I Played in Glenn Branca's Hallucination City and All I Got Was Mass Hypnotic Transcendence

After nearly a century of being ritually smashed, set on fire, and wielded as a phallus, the electric guitar has lost some of its subtle mystery. The notes had seemingly all been played. Yet, on a certain high-school evening, some Thurston Moore­–loving, prog-rock-leaning friends introduced me—a child reared on guitar heroes of all varieties and learned in the various show-off techniques of butt rock and bebop—to Glenn Branca's guitar symphonies, and the mystery was forcefully, harshly restored.

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