Why people can't put it down
Some décor just hangs there. This one sings.
Hang it where the wind can find it, and the goldtop does the rest — a soft, unhurried melody that drifts through the morning coffee, the evening glass of wine, the quiet in between. It's the sound of a guitar resting in the corner of the room, played by nothing but the air.
For the player who has every pedal, the fan who has every record, the parent whose music filled the house — there's nothing quite like a guitar that plays itself. Watch their face when they realize what it is.
