Solder, Sweat, and Canare
Some cables scream for attention. Neon sleeving. Rainbow braids. Glitter. Basically a party in your gear bag. Canare? It just shows up, does its job, and keeps its mouth shut. Quiet. Reliable. Straight-shooting. The cable that doesn’t need to post selfies to prove it’s worth a damn. (No offense to the brave souls rocking rainbow braids — keep doing you.)
I got my start on Canare back in the HeadRoom days, under the watchful eye of Tyll Hertsens — the guy who took a niche and dragged it into the spotlight with brains and heart. Solder technique? Learned that from Mike "Big Werm" Olson — the steadiest hands this side of the Yellowstone. Handle Canare right, and it’s like the cable is whispering, “Relax, I got this.”
We didn’t chase flashy. We didn’t chase hype. Sleeving was a suggestion, neon was scary, and rainbow braids were considered witchcraft. This was the cable you didn’t have to second-guess.
Years later, I’m running this full-time, doing things the same way. Reliability. Precision. Work that speaks for itself. Canare taught me all that. And if you’ve ever handled one, you know it: this isn’t just wire. This is history. Education. A little spark of magic tucked inside a black sheath, carrying signal like a boss.
Other cables might scream. Canare doesn’t. But when it matters? Canare whispers — and the world listens.