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The Creation
Apollo wasn't trying to make a noisy, metallic instrument; he was attempting to create the "Perfect Lyre"—a sublime instrument that could capture the sound of the entire cosmos. Apollo wanted to impress his people with a new version of the lyre. One that embound the sound of the original lyre. Apollo’s first thought was to sketch what he wanted this new instrument to look like. He took the two parallel arms of the lyre and made it one, and the strings would be combined with the arm. And to make sure that the springs were attached to the instrument Apollo added knobs so then the strings can be tuned properly. He shaped the soundbox as a “heritage VIP”, this is what Apollo liked to call it. Then Apollo sets out to gather the materials he would need to make this grand new instrument. He uses a block of white marble (symbolizing classical perfection and stillness) for the body. For the strings and neck, he uses celestial sun-gold. Since Apollo wanted to change the lyre, the mistake occurred when he attempted to add the "voice of the gods." He gathers a mixture of vibrational energy from the muses and a surge of raw power from Zeus's lightning and thunder. Instead of a resonant lyre, the uncontrolled electrical power warps the sun-gold strings and electrifies the marble body, giving the instrument a piercing, metallic voice—a sound that is too raw, too loud, and too chaotic for the refined temples of Olympus. It shatters the marble into a lighter, sleeker wooden shape, leaving only a hard, polished marble fretboard. Apollo first tries to find a place for this new instrument, but when played it was too much of a horrific sound. Apollo, frustrated by the instrument's untamed nature, deems it a "Discord" and a failure in his quest for harmonious perfection. He decides it does not belong in the realm of gods and, in a fit of pique, hurls it down to Earth, aiming for the most isolated spot he can find.
The Finding
Charlie Arpeggio was, by every measure, entirely ordinary. His life was defined by the humble work of his parents, who had recently uprooted their lives to survive by cleaning and fixing the homes of the incredibly wealthy. It wasn't a glamorous existence, but it was just enough to keep food on the table. Their new employers, the Rindge family, had allowed the Arpeggios to live on the outskirts of the exclusive Malibu Movie Colony. From this small, tucked-away residence, there was a path leading down to a private stretch of beach. They had access, yes, but only with a strict mandate: to clean up after the privileged people who lounged there. One afternoon, worn down by a particularly long and bossy day of labor, Charlie felt a deep, immediate need to escape. He slipped away from the house, moving down the private path as discreetly as a shadow, praying that no one would see or hear him. When he reached the shore, the beach was miraculously empty. It felt like an absolute blessing—a silent, sun-drenched reward. Charlie, aching from the day's toil, knew he deserved this moment and dropped onto the sand, finally ready for a good, uninterrupted lounge. Charlie's precious relaxation lasted barely five minutes before he heard voices drifting down from the path above. Panic seized him. If he was caught lounging on the beach without a cleaning towel or bucket, his parents’ already tenuous position would be instantly ruined—they would know he was flagrantly breaking the rules. He scrambled instantly, sprinting toward the immense rock wall where the roaring waves violently smashed against the ridged coastline. As he glanced back, he caught the beams of flashlights cutting through the twilight; the people were coming down. Taking a desperate chance, Charlie decided to climb over the slippery, wave-battered rocks to the far side. He made it, miraculously, though not without a painful tumble and a muffled grunt against the jagged stone. Once safely beyond the ridge, he found he was standing on a smaller, more quaint beach. His first thought was that he had found an oasis; nobody seemed to know this tiny cove existed. It was carpeted with thick, decaying seaweed, which, paradoxically, confirmed its secrecy—if anyone had ever seen it, the Arpeggios would have been ordered to clean it up immediately. Walking further into this hidden stretch of sand, he noticed a small, distinct cave carved into the rock face. Charlie only observed it for a moment, but as he scanned the untouched area, the cave seemed profoundly out of place, almost magnetic. He ran a hand over the cool, dusty stone and peered inside. Seeing that the opening led into a deeper, dark recess, and with the impulsive curiosity of any teenage boy, Charlie decided he had to venture inside to discover the secret the mysterious cave held. As Charlie ventured deeper, the cave air grew surprisingly fresh, carrying an almost sweet, unearthly scent that was deeply puzzling for a place of damp rock and salt. It wasn't dark, either; instead, the cavern was lit by shimmering, tiny specks of floating light that made the path perfectly clear. A sudden, visceral feeling urged Charlie to turn back, but just as he pivoted, a deep, metallic vibrating sound resonated from the cave's interior, making him jump. Drawn forward against his better judgment, he rounded a bend and found an unusually large, polished rock formation that seemed to cradle a single object: something he could only describe as a guitar. He had seen old, dusty acoustic guitars before, but this one was nothing like those familiar wooden instruments. This was a vision: sleek, shimmering white, and startlingly modern, like an artifact stolen from the future. Compelled, Charlie drew closer. The moment his finger brushed the strings, the instrument sang—not a pluck, but an instantaneous, full-bodied boom that was both the metallic vibration he'd heard and a sound unlike anything human ears had ever processed. As if recognizing its master, the rock that held it tight instantly receded, dissolving its grip to allow Charlie to lift the magical instrument. He held it instinctively, like a natural extension of his own body, and strummed a single, tentative chord. The instrument responded with a majestic, resonant sound that filled the cavern. But panic quickly replaced awe. Charlie held the guitar away from himself, realizing this strange, powerful object did not belong to him. He tried to place it back on the receded rock, but the instrument stubbornly resisted, clinging to his touch as if two opposite magnets were fused together. Shaken, Charlie dropped the unyielding instrument onto the pebbled floor and bolted, scrambling back up the winding path toward the ocean. When he emerged onto the shore, panting, he was horrified to see the brilliant white guitar lying exposed on the sand. He snatched it up, spinning around to return it, only to find the entire cave was gone. The rock wall was seamless and solid; the hidden entrance had simply vanished.
The Impact
After the bewildering events in the cave, Charlie waited nervously for the last people to clear the beach before he darted back to his house, the pale guitar clutched tightly under his arm. He wrapped the strange instrument in an unused bedsheet and immediately shoved it deep beneath his mattress. He hadn't touched it since that night. A few days later, Charlie returned home from school, shut the door, and froze. The guitar—the instrument he had so carefully concealed—was now lying unwrapped on top of his bed. He initially feared his parents had discovered it, but the chilling silence as he walked through the door told him otherwise; his mother would have certainly erupted. Shaken, Charlie shut and locked his door, confirming he was alone. He picked up the sleek, white instrument and tentatively plucked a string, but the sound was dead—just a dull, flat thud. Panic flooded him; he was convinced he had somehow broken the beautiful, magical thing. As he turned to retrieve the sheet to hide his shame, his eyes caught two objects that definitely had not been there moments ago: a heavy, black cable and a small, metallic box. Bewildered, he examined the objects, immediately making the intuitive assumption that they must be connected to the guitar. He placed the metallic box next to the silent instrument and plucked the strings again, but still nothing. Charlie then observed the long, black cable. He realized it wasn't rope but an electrical cord, terminating in a metal jack. He instantly recognized the input on the metallic box and plugged the jack in, then looked for a matching port on the guitar. He found it, plugged the other end into the pristine instrument, and took a deep breath. He plucked a single string, and this time, the guitar responded with that same loud, mesmerizing, electrified sound. Elated that the magnificent instrument was working again, Charlie grinned—just as a sharp, sudden rap sounded on his door.
“Charlie! What was that?”
“Oh! I don’t know! I heard that too.” Charlie thinks quickly. “I’ll go and see what that was.”
Charlie frantically scooped up the strange instrument and its metallic accessories, stuffing them into his laundry basket. He then rushed out the back door toward his private sanctuary: the forgotten, overgrown public park where the rusted, skeletal play equipment guaranteed absolute privacy. Taking out the guitar, Charlie was immediately compelled to play. Though he had never once touched an instrument in his life, his fingers moved across the frets with the precision and passion of a seasoned master. The sounds that erupted were vibrant, loud, and gloriously chaotic, yet they instantly coalesced into a fully formed, compelling melody. This music didn't just come from him; it invoked a powerful, untamed side of his soul he'd always sensed but never knew how to release. In that moment of self-revelation, Charlie realized this sound was too new and too magnificent to be hoarded. To keep this music to himself would be an unforgivable sin. The very next day, driven by his epiphany, he dashed into town. He climbed onto the rim of the central fountain and, without introduction, unleashed the electrifying sound for everyone to hear. Initially, people looked at him like a madman—a boy making a deafening racket with a bizarre white plank—but soon, the primal, compelling music worked its magic. A crowd gathered, transfixed by this unfamiliar rhythm and raw power. After his first piece, people clamored for lyrics, but Charlie, inspired, proclaimed: "The words are already in the music! If you want to hear more, wait for the true inspiration to strike!" It was then a person in the front, stunned and smiling, shouted, "That sound is electrifying!" Charlie seized the word, baptizing his instrument on the spot: The Electric Guitar. Charlie Arpeggio thus became the first Electric Guitarist, whose electrifying sound inspired every musician who followed. He went on to play his guitar all over the world, sharing his passion and earning enough money to ensure his parents could retire immediately, never having to clean a wealthy home again. Though the full details of the divine accident and the vanishing cave often became jumbled in the retelling, one detail always remained sacred and unchanged: the name of the man who started it all, Charlie Arpeggio.
Divine Materials
Don't stop here! Continue this endeavor and find your new way of learning!
Find your passion like Charlie. Inspire and encourage by clicking the link to start your journey!
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Learn how to play guitar! This is a great way to learn a new skill and have a real connection with music!
Go and see historic guitars! This is a great way to learn about the many musicians who drew inspiration from Charlie.