An orthopedic surgeon who builds guitars? Must be fate...
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 |
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.