The Left-Handed Compás: Flamenco, Guitars, and the Great Guitar Hunt

Sometimes, being a left-handed Flamenco guitarist feels like being a poet in a world without paper—there’s rhythm and fire in your soul, but no place to put it. Anyway, life could be worst.

The first thing they don’t tell you when you take up Flamenco as a southpaw is that the world wasn’t made for you. The second thing? That the world of guitarists—already an eccentric circus of gear acquisition syndrome (GAS)—becomes something more like a desert mirage. You see the perfect guitar shimmering on the horizon… only to realize it’s another right-handed beauty you’ll never get your fingers on—at least not without flipping it, re-stringing it, or selling a kidney to commission a luthier in Granada.

A Lefty Among the Rumba Kings

I remember watching the Gipsy Kings tear through “Bamboleo,” and noticing something strange. Some of them were playing upside-down—literally. Right-handed guitars, strung in reverse, bass strings on the bottom, and still flying through rasgueados and picados like they were born in another dimension.

For a brief moment, I considered joining their ranks. Playing a righty upside down. It seemed rebellious. Muy Gitano/Very Gypsy. Ingenious really. But then I tried it and nearly sprained a wrist just fretting an F chord. Respect to the legends—but I realized quickly: that that path was not for me. My lefty pride was intact, even if my options weren’t. Still, after playing for so long, I can pick up a Righty and do a little something something, but my mind doesn't work that way, so I stay Lefty out of convenience.

G.A.S.—The Great Equalizer

Here’s the funny bit though. Guitarists are known for hoarding guitars like dragons hoard gold. We don’t need one more guitar—we need ten. One for rumba, one for bolero, one for that one rainy afternoon when inspiration hits in B Phrygian or F# Flamenco... you feel me.

So in that sense, being left-handed finally put me in good company. I wasn’t gigging through a collection like other players. But I was definitely searching for them. Endlessly. Obsessively. Repeatedly. I was part of the tribe—if not by acquisition, then by aspiration. I even dropped 2k once on a Righty that was luthiered the famous Conde Hermanos. Man that thing could sing, just not in my hands. I eventually sold it, and got a Lefty from one of their sons. A beautiful cutaway! Fishman pickup! Flamenco sounding, and Rumba ready. It has literally become my favorite Guitar. But because I found that gem (it was actually made for me). I started feeling like I might find others.

My browsing history is full of desperate combinations like “Left-handed Flamenco negra under $1,000” or “Lefty Spanish guitar NOT classical, nylon.” It’s a niche within a niche. And don’t even get me started on trying to find one in a brick-and-mortar store. It’s always the same: a wall of right-handed guitars gleaming like forbidden fruit, and one dusty lefty in the corner that sounds like it was made out of particle board and lost dreams.

Regrets, I've Had a Few (But Then Again...)

Sometimes I do wonder: What if I had learned right-handed? Or just bit the bullet and trained myself to play upside down like Tonino or Paco Baliardo? Maybe I’d own a few more instruments by now. Maybe I’d even have options.

But then again, this struggle shaped my style. Made me resourceful. Gave me an ear for tone, because I couldn’t afford to be picky about looks. And when I finally do find a good left-handed Flamenco guitar, it’s not just an instrument—it’s a conquest. A love story. A guitar that was meant to be found, against all odds.

Final Strum

So here I am, a lefty in a right-handed world, keeping compás with a stubborn streak and a worn-out wishlist. I may not have 15 guitars in my closet (I have 5)—but I’ve got compás in my fingertips, and a sense of humor about the whole ordeal.

And let’s be honest: every guitarist is chasing something they can’t quite afford or find. I’m just doing it backwards… literally.

Olé to that.