How to Get Discovered at Guitar Center.

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This is Axle Hendrixxx, legendary guitarist and YouTuber, and in this video, I’m gonna teach you how to get discovered at Guitar Center.

First off, move to New York City. It has the highest density of music execs. In fact, anytime you see someone wearing a suit, that’s a music exec, and he’s itching to find the next big thing.

After your move, you need to pick which Guitar Center you want to get discovered at. The one at 44th and 7th is bigger, but it’s where the sellouts play during their lunch. The one in the Village is most likely where Bob Dylan bought his first Fender Starter Pack, which has more street cred. Either way, it’s your destiny.

Both open at 10 AM sharp, but rock ‘n’ roll (and the subway) is never on time. Open those doors at 10:17 AM and enter as smooth as Mick Jagger circa 1971. If the talent scout or say, Steve Albini, is early, they’ll want to see your strut. Now, put your silky mane in a ponytail and start rockin’!

Let’s run through the setlist.


You wanna be the best? Then you gotta copy the best, brother. Head straight to the biggest amp you can find, grab a Gibson, and start shredding. If the employees ask you to turn it down or to at least tune up, ignore them. They’re just jealous they never got discovered, and they know you will. Hell, crank it even louder. How else will talent scouts hear you? By playing some Simon & Garfunkel whisper rock? Unlikely, my dude.


After you tear the house down with your Axe, pop on over to the acoustic room and play this all-time classic by the greatest band of all time. The Red Hot Chili Peppers are more than just rockstars, man. They’re the Alpha and Omega of the Californian-Funk-and-Psychedelic-Jam-ish band movement, alright? Worship them and if anybody criticizes their legacy it’s your duty to get visibly upset.

You need to absolutely kill this one, so don’t hold back on your Anthony Kiedis impression. It’s incredible and you know it. Your ex was just having woman problems when she said you sounded like a Neanderthal impersonating a seal.

Alright, sick. You nailed that solo. Two down, two to go. You know what that means…

Give ‘em the Clap.


Make ‘em weep, my sweet child. Make ‘em weep.

By now, the scout should be wiping tears and begging to hear more of your throbbing talent. He’s never heard anything like it. He’s thinking you could save Rock ‘n’ Roll, and you’re way more talented than those bratty pop stars on the radio these days.

I mean, like, how do those pop stars—who perfected control over their voice and diaphragm after years of training, and tirelessly studied the singers who laid the groundwork for appealing to millions of people while still creating art that’s deeply personal—even call that music? Don’t even get me started on producers, who are typically self-taught in several complicated music software programs and have mastered the various ways to manipulate sound in order to develop sounds that are not only unique but also speak to their life and creative process. Computers? Those aren’t real instruments.

They might be posers, but you aren’t. You’ve spent your life fetishizing groups of mostly white men who abused drugs and played guitar like really, really fast. Forget that nonsense your ex said about being misogynistic because you hate all female pop stars! You’re simply trying to restore order back into music, so total kickass Rockstars, who happen to be men, can once again rule the airwaves. You’re totally ready to take on the world of Rock ‘n’ Roll, a genre that’s declined in popularity for the past twenty years or so.

Last song!


I know what you’re thinking. This ain’t no middle school gym. This is Guitar Center, where dudes come to aimlessly walk around, shred, and get discovered. But hear me out, that talent scout needs to hear you play something powerful, man, and is there any song more powerful than Don’t Stop Believin’?

Think about the lyrics: a small-town girl who gets on a train, a city boy who also gets on a train. It’s the most inspiring song about trains in existence.

Alright, bro. That should do it. You’ve been discovered. Put that guitar back on the wall and—SIKE!


He’s gonna be down on his knees once you’re done with him. Make that talent scout worship you. After you nail this 11-minute slice of Heaven, you’ve got yourself a record deal.

There is a small chance that the talent scout wasn’t in the right place at the right time and missed your performance, but hey, that’s his loss. Just come back tomorrow and do it all over again.

Now go home and refuel with Rockstar Energy Drink. You deserve it, kid.


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