This was my backpacking guitar until I backed over it at a trailhead in Idaho two summers ago. The back popped off and the neck buckled, but it was somewhat intact. It sat in my basement like Norman Bates’ mother until last Saturday, when I decided it was time to drive the coffin nail home, rock-and-roll style.
I know smashing a classical guitar isn’t that rock-and-roll, but it was still a lot of fun.
Now THIS guy knows what he’s doing. I’m not worthy.