You can't hear me (by Alan Johnson)

'I do not believe the electric guitar is acceptable for Muslims', Sheikh Ibrahim Mogra, chairman of the Muslim Council of Britain's mosque and community affairs committee.

Noel Gallagher's Rickenbacker in the streaming sunshine of Maine Road. More happy shiny dancing people in one place than I've ever seen. A plastic hour. An Oasis.

David Rawlings' guitar behind Gillian Welch's voice! I think this music must have had a real good mother and father. I'm sure it will stand the test.

Patti Smith's Blakean Stratocaster. She's got something to hide called desire and she will get out of here.

Steve Hillage atop an amp stack at Newcastle City Hall, hair falling across his Gibson Les Paul and it's all too much for me to take.

The art of Keith Richards on Exile on Main Street. Genius. A world as interesting as Dickens's London or De Kooning's colour fields. All down the line.

Wilko Johnson, possessed, hacking away the blues with his Solid Sender. He does it right. He does it right.

Bruce Springsteen's Fender Esquire jingle-jangles its way into Rosalita and 40,000 people smile. He got this guitar and he learned how to make it talk.

The joy of the air guitar! (We are fighting for lots of reasons, but not least for the right of all kids to act like those on Feeder's video for Just a Day. Look at them! That's why we, not the joyless Sheikh Ibrahim Mogra, or Allan Bloom for that matter, will win.)

Woody Guthrie wrote 'This machine kills fascists' across his.

David Gilmour's 12-string acoustic, unable to tell a green field from a cold steel rail. Because sometimes it feels like that and you can let the music keep your spirits high.

Me and my mates sitting in a garage in 1978 playing Clash songs on my beautiful wine-coloured Gibson SG copy. Guttersnipes armed with the truth and a practice amp.

My daughter and her mates watching Dave Baksh of Sum 41 in dropped D tuning and in search of a fat lip. They crowd surf at the front. Well, who does want to fall in line, unless it's...?

Scott Gorham, Phil Lynott, Brian Robertson of Thin Lizzy playing Bob Seegar's Rosalie in absolute lock-step until your heart feels like it's inside the Marshall stacks. Bloody hell!

Tom Verlaine, Tom Verlaine, ah, Tom Verlaine.

Joe Strummer, Paul Simonon and Mike Jones rushing to the front of Camden's Electric Ballroom in 1980 and kicking into Safe European Home. There you go.

Ewan MacColl's appalachian dulcimer hymning tribute to his mother, who sounds like she worked as hard as mine. Nobody Knew She Was There.

Young Rich Robinson: The Guitars (ah, I'm jealous again).

Andy Gill walks the stage in tortured circles doing his Wilko Johnson impression before he finds that essence rare. (Flea is watching and he gets it!)

Jonatha Brooke's impossible sad playing on Bleeker Street, like a church bell softly chiming or a poet's crooked rhyme. Comfort in sound.

George Harrison! From the 1950s Model 6218 Gretsch Duo-Jet of Please Please Me to the Cherry Red Les Paul Standard of Revolution. And how did he get that sound on Revolver?

Actually, it was George (and John, Paul and Ringo) who offered one of the best replies to all of the Sheikh Ibrahim Mogras of this world:

You tell me that you've got everything you want
And your bird can sing
But you don't get me, you don't get me

You say you've seen seven wonders and your bird is green
But you can't see me, you can't see me

When your prized possessions start to wear you down
Look in my direction, I'll be round, I'll be round

When your bird is broken will it bring you down
You may be awoken, I'll be round, I'll be round

You tell me that you've heard every sound there is
And your bird can swim
But you can't hear me, you can't hear me

Time to pick up my Fender Stratocaster California Series guitar, and my Bart Simpson Ay Caramba! novelty plectrum, and play. (Alan Johnson)

[Update: Chris Dillow offers some corrections (and Alan responds in the comments).]