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Of course, the license must be difficult to obtain. It should not be a mere multiple-choice test. The practical exam would be a gauntlet: the applicant must enter a room, face a panel of weary sound engineers and angry former bandmates, and perform the following: change a broken string under two minutes, play a 12-bar blues without looking at their left hand, execute a palm mute, and—most critically—turn down their amplifier when told to do so. The final test of the RGL is not musical; it is psychological. The applicant must listen to a recording of their own playing without making excuses.

Furthermore, the RGL would revolutionize the music industry’s economy. Imagine a world where Craigslist ads for “Guitarist Wanted” no longer include the phrase “Must have own gear and be able to keep time.” Under the RGL system, your license rating would be a verified credential. “Looking for RGL-3 jazz guitarist for wedding gig” would guarantee that the musician can modulate keys and read a chart. This would increase the baseline quality of live music, raise the wages of competent players (by eliminating the race to the bottom with amateurs), and finally give drummers a legal mechanism to refuse to play with a guitarist who cannot count to four.

For decades, a silent war has raged between the six-string elite and the cacophonous masses. Walk into any guitar center on a Saturday afternoon, and you will witness the phenomenon: a wall of amplifiers turned to “11,” spewing a muddy, out-of-tune rendition of “Stairway to Heaven” played by someone who learned three chords yesterday. This is the consequence of an unregulated instrument. It is time to admit the painful truth: the guitar, in its current state, is a public health hazard. To restore order, we must establish the —a mandatory certification for anyone who touches a fretboard in public.