I’ve always been a
firm believer that
when it comes to
the admiration
and appreciation
of guitars, there
is literally one
degree of separation
among us.
And man, do I
have a cool story
to support this
theory.
Needless to say, we’ve been pretty jacked up
about putting together this month’s hot rod
theme issue. The resurgence of those eighties
tone monsters reminds us that now, more than
ever, we are enabled and encouraged to create
the guitars of our dreams. Whether you’re turning
a gank repair opportunity into a complete
visual makeover, expanding the tonal possibilities
of your favorite axe or creating a suppedup
beast from the ground up, you are limited
only by your imagination and your wallet.
Back in the day, we were on our own. Do you
remember Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo duct-taping
that Big Muff to the body of his Strat
in the early seventies? I can recall hot-rodding
my $100 Japanese mail order Strat copy
in the eighth grade—it had a natural finish
with a knock-off large seventies headstock.
The single coils were lame, so I routed a hole
big enough to cram a Dimarzio Super D in
the bridge. That’s a standard surgical procedure
today, but boy was I scared to go down
that path back then. I pulled it off, though—it
sounded great, but geez was that route job
crude! I had to pull a pickup ring off of an old
Aims MPC 38 Les Paul copy (remember that
built-in fuzz and phase shifter?) to conceal
the mutilation.
So get this—as my nostalgia and the excitement
about the production of this issue
were coming full circle, I fell flat on my ass.
Literally. We’re talking slip-on-the-ice, up-in-the-air and crash-back-down carnage, Fred
Flintstone style. I broke my ankle in three
places! The cracking sound is something I’ll
never forget. Son of *****, that’s going to
leave a mark.
Dr. Paul Dayton and his hand-built guitars |
Something uncanny happened in the emergency
room. As Dr. Paul Dayton, DPM, was
checking out my x-rays and telling me that
I had also ripped all the tendons and connecting
tissues in my ankle, and fractured my
Fibula (son of a *****!), he offered the inevitable
small talk. He asked what I do for a living.
Imagine our mutual surprise and genuine
interest—FUBAR leg situation notwithstanding—when I told him I publish a guitar magazine
and he told me he makes guitars as a
hobby. The conversation quickly turned from
hot-rodding my ankle to hot-rodding guitars.
Dr. Dayton is a thirty-year veteran guitar
player, collector and a pretty darn good guitar
builder. I mean, this cat is into it. He has
two sons who share the passion, too.
My next visit with the doc was a pre-op
consultation and a chance for him to show
off two guitars he had just built. He cuts
his own body blanks and does all his own
routing from scratch. He even does his own
finish work and assembly. Before I knew it,
they were wheeling me in for surgery while
Dr. Dayton and I were still talking about
flamed maple, lower ohm pots, neck radius,
pickup choices, etc.
The surgery went well. A few ankle screws
and bolt-on necks later, our conversations
about intonation are getting deeper, and my
ankle is showing signs of recovery.
The moral to this story is simple: the sanctuary
of tone and the undeniable passion
for guitars is universal and always just
around the corner. I look forward to continuing
my newly found gearhead friendship—
perhaps we’ll hot-rod a few guitars
together after we finish hot-rodding my
ankle. The guitar doctor was in when I
had my mishap, and I am grateful. I’m also
damn glad I didn’t break my arm.