With the availability of standard parts like
the potentiometers shown here, along with
today’s CNC technology, are most modern-day
guitars actually built, or are they really
just assembled?
Giving shop tours is one of my favorite
activities, and I’ve done quite a few
over the years. The payoff is always when
visitors get to the point where the guitar-building
process seems so overwhelming
to them, that they get that deer-in-the-headlights
look. As their eyes start to spin
like pinwheels, I’m often worried that I’ve
bored my guests close to death with explanations
of wood-cell structure, equilibrium
moisture content, grain orientation, proper
joint prep, adhesive selection, and finish
atomization. But to my amazement, more
times than not, they explain their condition
with a statement about how they never realized—and are now impressed by—what it
really takes to make a guitar.
I’ve been lucky, because I’ve had the experience
of working in shops that make guitars
from scratch. Sure, there are always going to
be components and sub-assemblies that are
purchased from contract vendors. I mean,
who makes their own tuning machines or
potentiometers? But for the most part, my
experience has been creating instruments from
raw materials to specifications that are not
interchangeable with other guitars. That’s to
say that my fretboard won’t automatically pin
to somebody else’s neck, and “brand X” neck
won’t be pitched in exactly the correct way to
bond to my body. When I design a pickguard,
for instance, my only concern is that it fits
my guitar. Of course, this isn’t always the case
with building guitars. In fact, in terms of sheer
numbers, it’s usually the other way around.
After World War II—and following on
Henry Ford’s earlier lead—Leo Fender perfected
the production-friendly, bolt-on-style
solidbody instrument that has become the
king of all guitar forms. The notion that a
fretted instrument could be screwed together
from interchangeable components and sub-assemblies
was possibly the most brilliant and
revolutionary idea our boy Leo ever came up
with. At the time, the use of what’s known as
“standard parts” was certainly nothing new in
the manufacturing world, but Fender was the
first to apply it to guitars. And though the
term might conjure up visions of industrial
bins brimming with nuts and bolts, it’s really
much more interesting than that. The following
is how the FAA defined standard parts in
their advisory circular 21-29:
“A part manufactured in complete compliance
with an established industry or U.S.
Government specification which includes design, manufacturing, test and acceptance criteria, and
uniform identification requirements … The specification
must include all information necessary to
produce and conform the part and be published
so that any party may manufacture the part.”
Now, I don’t think for a moment that
Leo was systematizing designs for anything
other than internal efficiency. Making a
buck was the name of the game here. But
the very last part of the FAA’s definition is
interesting, because the subsequent explosion
of Fender’s sales—combined with their
product’s simplicity of manufacture—did
indeed create a de facto industry standard.
Patents, trademarks, and the will to defend
them aside—the very nature of the bolt-on
guitar invited replication. Beginning with
the whisper of aftermarket-replacement parts
and, over time, reaching the crescendo that it
is today, the bolt-on slab guitar is the musical
equivalent of the Shelby Cobra, with more
copies available than genuine articles. In fact,
there are so many small shops turning out replica guitars that there is a cottage industry
for parts suppliers that deal only with “builders,”
as opposed to enthusiast musicians.
Sign some endorsement deals
with dudes sporting black nail
polish and plenty of piercings,
hire a few hot babes to wear
your T-shirts at NAMM, and
badda-bing, you’re a brand.
There is also an abundance of CNC
(computer numerical control) machining
woodshops right here in North America.
And they churn out component parts for
what are essentially assembly companies
that market the finished instruments under
their own name. Hell, if you’re lazy enough,
you can just buy the finished product with
your own logo already on it. Sign some
endorsement deals with dudes sporting
black nail polish and plenty of piercings,
hire a few hot babes to wear your T-shirts at
NAMM, and badda-bing, you’re a brand.
There’s plenty of this going on, but if you
really want to go big-time, you’ll need the
capabilities and efficiencies of offshore manufacturing.
And it’s not hard to find. A month
rarely goes by without an email finding its
way to my inbox from some factory in Asia
fishing for business. Some of these outfits I’ve visited, some I’ve only heard of, and others
are complete newcomers, but they all seem
to have pretty much the same wares for sale.
They are the ghost-building powerhouses
that produce and populate what is known as
the “private label” guitar business.
The emails I receive from them include
lots of photos depicting their manufacturing
capabilities—images showing rows of
woodworking machinery and carts stacked
sky-high with easily recognizable guitars in
various states of completion. The final sales
tactic—in an unbelievable breach of confidence—is a list of brand names that have
utilized their services. Not that it’s needed,
mind you, because the logos in the photos
are clearly visible. But hey, I thought those
guys actually made their own guitars!
I know this matters little to most guitarists—those who just want a good instrument
at a fair price. Not everybody cares about
where their iPhone is made, or for that matter,
if their Cadillac is just a Chevrolet with
some bling that’s hot glued to it. On the other
hand, however, consumers will pay extra for
the same factory-made shirt if it has a little
boomerang symbol on it. Don’t get me wrong:
I’m not claiming that private-label guitars
aren’t capable tools. There’s a lot to be said for
nice paint, solid assembly, and a good setup. It
just doesn’t make for a great shop tour.
Jol Dantzig is a noted designer,
builder, and player who co-founded Hamer
Guitars, one of the first boutique guitar
brands, in 1973. Today, as the director of
Dantzig Guitar Design, he continues to
help define the art of custom guitar. To learn
more, visit
guitardesigner.com.