The guitarist who chose the left-handed life

For most guitarists, handedness is settled before the first chord: the dominant hand picks, the other hand presses the strings, and the instrument follows the body’s familiar logic. Nina Vale took a different route. Right-handed since childhood, she now plays exclusively left-handed guitars, a choice that has shaped her technique, her sound and the way audiences read her onstage.

The Montreal-based indie guitarist has spent the past decade moving between jangling rock, atmospheric folk and sharp-edged electro-pop. Her decision began as a practical experiment with a borrowed instrument and became a creative rule. In a scene where small details can define an artist’s identity, the upside-down assumption has become part of Vale’s musical language.

The first guitar was facing the wrong way

Vale grew up writing with her right hand and throwing with her right arm, so there was little mystery about her dominant side. When she received her first standard guitar at 13, she naturally held it in the conventional right-handed position. The instrument felt comfortable enough, but the coordination never became instinctive.

“I could make chords, but I was always thinking about the mechanics,” she says. “My fretting hand felt busy and uncertain. The rhythm hand was doing the emotional work, yet I didn’t trust it to carry the song.”

A friend later left a left-handed guitar at her flat before a rehearsal. Vale picked it up without changing the strings and found that the strumming arm suddenly felt anchored. The neck was in her right hand, which gave her greater control over bends, vibrato and quick chord changes. It was awkward in a new way, but the awkwardness seemed useful.

A right-hander learns a new physical language

Playing a left-handed guitar is not simply a matter of reversing the instrument. Vale had to rethink muscle memory, posture and the relationship between rhythm and melody. Her right hand became the fretting hand, responsible for precise movements, while her left hand developed a looser, more percussive role.

“At first I was terrible,” she says. “The notes were late and the chords buzzed. But I liked the sound of having to slow down. I stopped decorating everything and started listening to the gaps.”

That restraint now sits at the centre of her style. On recordings, she often lets open strings ring across minor chords, then interrupts the pattern with clipped strokes. The result has a slightly unsettled quality, somewhere between folk intimacy and post-punk tension. It is a technique born from limitation, though Vale does not describe it as a gimmick.

“I’m not trying to look unusual. I’m trying to make the guitar answer the song.”

Why the instrument changes the performance

A guitarist’s physical choices become visible from the first row. Vale’s left-handed instrument changes her stage silhouette, especially when she shares a bill with conventional right-handed players. It can create a small visual pause before the music begins, as people work out what they are seeing.

She has learned to use that pause rather than fight it. Her current guitar is a battered offset model with a faded cream finish, a replacement bridge and a strip of black tape around the output jack. The body is familiar to indie audiences, but its left-handed construction makes it feel slightly contrary.

“There’s a moment when someone notices and says, ‘Hang on, are you left-handed?’ I say, ‘No, that’s the funny bit.’ Then we get on with the set.”

In Australia, where audiences often call an evening show a “gig” and discover emerging acts through community radio, that visual identity can travel quickly. A clip from a Melbourne band room or a Brisbane support slot may reach listeners before the song does. For an independent artist, a recognisable setup is useful when it points back to the music rather than replacing it.

The cost of finding the right gear

The practical side is less romantic. Left-handed guitars are harder to find, particularly when a player wants a specific pickup layout, neck profile or vintage finish. Vale has bought instruments from specialist shops, waited for custom orders and once rewired a right-handed guitar because the model was too good to ignore.

“Every purchase involves a compromise,” she says. “You might find the perfect neck on a guitar with the wrong bridge, or the sound you want in a body that is uncomfortable. I’ve become very good at repairs.”

The Australian market brings its own complications for left-handed players. Import prices, shipping distances and GST can turn an affordable overseas listing into a serious expense. A musician in Perth may wait weeks for a part that a player in Montreal can find locally, while independent shops in Sydney and Melbourne often have to balance niche stock against limited floor space.

Vale says the answer is not to treat the difficulty as a reason to stop experimenting. Her advice is to test balance, reach and tuning stability before getting attached to the finish. A beautiful guitar that strains the shoulder will not survive a long tour.

Details that matter before buying

• Neck thickness and fret access
• Bridge position and intonation
• Pickup height and wiring options
• Spare parts that can be sourced locally

The songs came before the explanation

Vale’s left-handed approach became more noticeable after her first EP, Small Weather, rather than before it. The record moved between clean arpeggios and distorted bursts, with songs that felt carefully arranged but never over-polished. Reviewers began mentioning the guitar’s unusual attack, often without knowing why it sounded different.

“That was a relief,” she says. “I didn’t want every review to begin with a novelty fact. The best response was when someone described the guitar as restless or off-centre.”

Her songwriting process is deliberately low-tech. She records rough takes on a handheld recorder, marks promising sections with voice memos and only later brings the material into a studio. The guitar is usually tracked live with the vocal, which preserves the slight push and pull that developed through her reversed setup.

That approach will resonate with listeners who enjoy discovery rather than a polished campaign. Blogs, independent playlists and local radio still matter for artists without major-label budgets. A music fan might find Vale through a Montreal showcase, a community station in Geelong or a free download such as this MP3 archive, then follow the trail to a full release.

Playing left-handed in a right-handed scene

Rehearsal rooms are usually built around right-handed assumptions. Guitar stands, shared instruments and quick gear swaps can all become inconvenient. Vale carries her own spare cable, tuner and set of picks because borrowing equipment is rarely straightforward.

There is also a social pressure to explain the choice. Some musicians ask whether she is secretly left-handed, while others assume she is making a visual statement. She has encountered both reactions at festivals and support shows, including a Canberra bill where a soundcheck conversation about string direction lasted longer than the line check.

“I understand the curiosity,” she says. “But people sometimes want a neat reason. The real reason is that this is how the instrument started making sense to me.”

Her answer reflects a broader shift in independent music. Artists are increasingly allowed to build a technique around their own bodies instead of copying a recognised template. In Naarm/Melbourne’s dense guitar circuit, where a band might play a tiny Brunswick room one night and a larger warehouse venue the next, a distinct method can help a performer feel grounded amid constant movement.

What Vale keeps in her touring case

• A left-handed backup guitar with a familiar neck
• A compact screwdriver and spare bridge saddles
• Coloured tape for marking pedals in low light
• A notebook of alternate tunings

The sound is bigger than the trick

Vale is careful about the language used to describe her playing. “Left-handed” explains the instrument, but it does not explain the music. Her influences include the clipped guitar patterns of new wave, the patient harmonies of folk and the bruised volume of alternative rock. None of those references depends on a novelty setup.

The strongest moments in her work arrive when the method disappears. On “Northbound Static”, a single-note line hangs above a low drone before breaking into a broad chorus. On “Borrowed Light”, her right hand moves across the fretboard with unusual delicacy, leaving space for a dry drum machine and a close, conversational vocal.

She also rejects the idea that a non-standard technique must produce a strange sound. Some of her cleanest parts are straightforward, almost traditional. The difference is in how she reaches them: the physical route has changed, and that route affects timing, pressure and confidence.

“For me, the point was never to sound left-handed,” Vale says. “The point was to stop fighting the guitar.”

A choice that keeps opening doors

The decision has given Vale more than a recognisable stage image. It has encouraged her to question inherited rules about instruments, genre and performance. She now teaches beginner players to try several positions before deciding which one is supposedly correct, especially when discomfort is being mistaken for lack of talent.

Her upcoming release is being recorded with a small ensemble: bass, drums, modular synth and a second guitar played by a conventional right-hander. The arrangement makes the contrast audible without turning it into a contest. Vale’s parts often sit slightly behind the beat, while the other guitar pushes forward, creating a tension that feels conversational.

For Australian listeners, the record’s path may be as independent as its construction: a digital release, community-radio support, a few carefully chosen dates and perhaps a late-afternoon festival slot rather than a major national tour. That route suits music that grows through word of mouth, from a share between friends in Adelaide to a late-night listen in a Sydney share house.

Vale’s left-handed guitars began as an experiment in comfort and control. They remain a reminder that technique is not a fixed set of instructions. The practical takeaway is simple: when an instrument feels wrong, changing the rules may reveal the version of the music that was waiting underneath.