The Atkins-Dadi Guitar-Picking Association was borne to the world at Issoudun.  I did not attend. Why not? Mystery and bubble-gum. I remember that Marcel called me the following year. I first thought it was a hoax. Once I got over the emotion, he told me that I must absolutely come to Issoudun, that the Liège old boys had all come the year before, all but me.

The more he insisted the more I wondered what was motivating him that much. Compared to his, my fame was the size of a garden dwarf. But, curious as I was, I didn’t turn down his invite.

My word! this could have been the cloning lab of the Raelian sect, swarming with little Marcel Dadis. Frightening!

Still this was no explanation why he so much wanted me there. And let me assure you however that this was no waste of time. Let alone the clones, it was freaky!

There came hundreds of “strummers” from all over Europe. In no time had the association spread across Itlay, Switzerland, Holland, Germany, Belgium, to name but a few.

France had delegates for every single region, except Normandy. Bingo! Got it now? I happened to live in the one and only missing line on the tally. With such canvassing Marcel’s fresh launch was bound to succeed.

Finally I found this rather neat and I felt that he greatly deserved it. But when it comes to sharing a cake, everyone wants the biggest piece.

I think that Marcel meant well: without forgetting about himself he made it a point to help, as best he could, guys like me or others who, isolated though they were, had been slaving away like mad to resist the “electric guitar” craze.

Each of us in their regions, we would organize concerts for him and in return the local guitarists would guest star. A fair deal it seemed. Yet I had dug loud and clear that if he let them do, Marcel-daddy-oh, would have his shirt taken off his back.

Some guys, technically much better, were out doing him already. I had managed to tell him that, in a corner, on the quiet.

I had been right all the way through and the attitude of some literally upset him but, except for me, no one had dared warn him. From then on he hung on to me.

After my return from Issoudun he kept calling me hours long. On the one hand he didn’t want to hurt anybody and on the other he just couldn’t follow my advice and set up a genuine Marcel Dadi fan-club.

His partnership with Chet Atkins was stopping him and… other reasons too, which I felt were much deeper. I offered to help him in writing an article in “Guitare Magazine” where I would expose the drifts.

The Atkins-Dadi Guitar-Picking Association stood so high in the guitar headlines that many pages were regularly dedicated to it in the magazine.

The article came out and with it everything got back to normal. My phone didn’t stop ringing. Guys, that had been targeted or not, were congratulating me for being so bold. The following year, I was invited again. As a big shot.

That was the only time when I had the privilege of shaking Chet Atkins’ hand. Marcel introduced me with these words: “Hello Chet, this is the greatest guitarist”. I still can’t get over it.

I was due to teach a matinee master class, with my ten-string, plus perform in the evening. The classroom was packed with… guitar players only!

At the end I was showered with remarks that I had not expected at all. To me the ten- string steel guitar had but one aim: pave a new way in the world of acoustics. Full stop!

Them “strummers” took it as an insult to the traditional guitar. Some even went as far as accuse me for trying to demonstrate with the results of my research, that the six-string might just as well be dumped.

Call it jealousy! I definitely stirred up greed, the more so as they all wondered where the heck I came from.

The 1,500 or so people present were clapping just to be polite. They were probably tired, and I’d had to play at two in the morning on account of the incredible number of guitarists that had performed before me. Believe it or not, I was 100%… disconcerted.