Beck, I’m certain, was also the likely model for Spinal Tap’s Nigel Tufnel. There’s even a scene in the movie when Nigel is reading a magazine about hot rods – a well-known passion of Beck’s.

Nigel Tufnel, of course, was the guitarist whose amp famously went to 11 (‘It’s one louder, innit?’) His tongue flicking, guitar-as-penis moves made it impossible for any guitarist with credibility to ever do them again. Guitarists still do them, of course – just none with credibility.

Beck’s contemporary guitar god Eric Clapton is also coming out to Australia, but can anyone be bothered? And is it true his name is an anagram of narcolepsy?

Hey, I think Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs is one of the best albums of all time. I’m also glad for Clapton that he survived his heroin addiction and his obsession with his best friend’s wife - even it wasn’t good for his music. Somewhere along the line (possibly 1992, when the unplugged, bossa-nova version of Layla came out) Clapton became easy listening.

I’ll admit guitar solos aren’t for everybody. I tried to convince an old friend to come along to see Jeff Beck, but he declined, saying dismissively that he wasn’t sure he wanted to watch Beck stroke his guitar neck for two hours. (But why not?) Mind you, my friend is one of those lame piano players, so what do you expect? Just jealousy, is all.

We could get Freudian and suggest my obsession with the guitar (I play real guitar, too) is about compensating for something. It’s not. At least, that’s my line. Although, there are times when I just sit in front of the TV and stroke my guitar lovingly, like … like a woman. Phew.

Maybe that’s it. The guitar, the most phallic of all instruments, is also the one most resembling a woman. A muse. Mars and Venus, finally brought together in a beautiful union (Meenus?)

Have a look at the Fender Stratocaster:

But enough of Freud. It’s the sound, folks. Frank Zappa, whose predilection for writing songs about sex with vacuum cleaners has tended to obscure his talents as a guitarist (and composer), said this:

On a saxophone you can play sleaze. On a bass you can play balls. But on a guitar you can be truly obscene...Let's be realistic about this, the guitar can be the single most blasphemous device on the face of the earth. That's why I like it...The disgusting stink of a too-loud electric guitar: now that's my idea of a good time."

Yeah. It’s hard to improve on that, really.

The Zappa guitar thing is something you either get or you don’t. Sometimes I get home from work before my wife and crank up the Shut Up and Play Your Guitar albums – two hours of blissfully uninterrupted guitar solos – to an offensive volume. When she gets home, and eventually attracts my attention, the expression on her face is not one of appreciation.

That’s OK. Not everybody gets great art.

Even guitar heads don’t get Zappa, generally. He’s the antithesis of the guitar hero, I suppose. Zappa rarely played anything even close to the blues/rock form beloved of most guitar heroes (except as parody), and he usually played phrases in speech-influenced timing – irregular, stretched out, and with little relationship to the beat behind him. And he wasn’t into wearing the guitar, like a fashion accessory. He played the thing.

But in terms of improvised melodic invention, and tone, there’s few better. Here he is with another guitar hero, Steve Vai.

Self-indulgent? You betcha. Heavenly self-indulgence.

What about Australian guitarists? All the ‘guitar heroes’ have tended to come from the US or Britain. Have we produced a truly great guitarist?

It is of course entirely subjective. Would you rather hear Steve Vai’s virtuoso shredding, or Ed Keupper’s wall-of-sound chords? Keith Richards’ primal riffs or John Butler’s spacey slide guitar?

My money’s on Jeff Lang. He’s yet to cut through to a mainstream audience – and it may never happen – but Lang is among the two or three best musicians Australia has ever produced.

His virtuoso slide technique is one thing, but it’s Lang’s synthesis of blues, rock, folk and even world music influences into a singular sound that makes him special. Like his late soul brother, Chris Whitley, with whom he recorded the roots masterpiece Dislocation Blues, Lang betrays the sensibilities of his influences but completely transcends them.

As an improviser Lang is peerless among Australian guitarists. He’s able to consistently take audiences on the kind of musical journey that can make the sticky floor and the obnoxious drunk patron next to you disappear into a sublime purple haze.

I’ve been lucky enough to get an advance copy of a collaboration between Lang, legendary kora player Toumani Diabate, and tabla player Bobby Singh. It’s called Djan Djan, and it sits somewhere between blues, raga, and the music of Mali. It’s heavenly.

If peer recognition counts for anything, Lang’s got that too. John Butler, something of a guitar guru himself, once said that going to hear Lang was like going to church (in a good way). Ian Moss just said: “Lang is f**king amazing”. And Moss is good.

On a good night – and most of his shows are good nights – Lang is as probably good as Hendrix. It’s a big call, but there you go. And unlike most live Hendrix, Lang stays in tune.

Mind you, Hendrix didn’t always need to be in tune.

With its explosions, machine gun fire, police sirens, and wordless howls, is there a better evocation of the tumult in America at end of the Sixties? This is Hendrix as sound, breaking every rule for how the guitar was supposed to be played and single-handedly expanding its sonic vocabulary, exponentially.

I could go on for ages - in fact I already have, haven’t I? But let’s wrap up with my top five Australian guitarists:

1. Jeff Lang

2. Ian Moss (Cold Chisel)

3. Ed Keupper (The Saints and solo)

4. Jim Moginie (Midnight Oil)

5. Chris Cheney (The Living End)