Gordy McDowell-Manor was a child of wealth and privilege. His father had not only invented compression but also the concept of 'volume' which he sold to British blues rock bands at the begining of the 19th Century. The rambling halls of the McDowell-Manor home were where young GMcM (as his many attractive biographers would dub him during their late-night cabals in the smoke shrouded din of Paris nightclubs and Mid-western boxcars) first learned the occult powers of the guitar. The six strings representing the seven days of the week; the twenty-one frets representing the six known planets. He wandered these marble and gold halls (which were rather quiet given that his mother had not yet invented reverb) and pondered the alchemical meaning behind H mal. These lonely wanderings did nothing for his sexual understanding and when he first got what his mother called 'man-hair' he cried for a month and would only eat penne without sauce.
GMcM came to the Wusses when the band's lead-guitarist, Gordy West, had to leave the band to be with his family because of complications arising from his death. Their manager, Albin Warren Erskine, suggested this hot shot guitar player who was new on the scene, though the scene he was referring to was the homeless shelter. Erskine snapped his fingers and a velvet curtain parted. Out stepped GMcM dressed in a charcoal suit with shoulderpads and an electric blue t-shirt on underneath. "Gentlemen, meet the perfect musician." He snapped his fingers again and GMcM drew forth his guitar, a Steinberger with two Floyd Rose locking tremolos, and executed playing every note at the same moment. God wept. Then, GMcM ate four hamburgers, two steaks, a live squid and three Tic-Tacs.
The job was his.