By designing and building small batches of handcrafted, high-quality guitars from solid woods right here in the United States, Heritage is able to pay attention to those crucial details that define a great 6-string.
Heritage Guitar has a history of going its own way. While other guitar manufacturers increasingly build their instruments in Mexico, Korea, China, Indonesia, and other places known for inexpensive labor, and in a market where computer-aided manufacturing is the norm and mass-produced instruments dominate, the team of craftsmen at Heritage do the exact opposite. By designing and building small batches of handcrafted, high-quality guitars from solid woods right here in the United States, Heritage is able to pay attention to those crucial details that define a great 6-string.
“You can instantly hear it if you are a professional, and usually you can feel it,” says Rendell Wall, a second-generation guitar builder at Heritage. Wall has been making guitars in this same factory for 48 years—26 with Heritage and the previous 22 with Gibson, where he worked in research and development. His father worked for Gibson for 37 years.
“One of our guitars that runs $3,400? You can go downtown to one of your cheaper places and find one that looks like ours—from a distance—for maybe a couple hundred dollars,” Wall says. But the similarities fall away quickly when you compare the feel of the neck, the sound, the materials, and the traditional construction methods.
If Heritage is starting to sound like a throwback, we’re only getting started. The building that houses the Heritage factory is almost 100 years old and is the former home of Gibson Musical Instruments in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Wall is just one of the many Heritage employees who have been building guitars for years in this same plant, some of them for more than five decades.
Jim Deurloo and Marvin Lamb, two of the Heritage founding partners.
All in the Family
To really get the entire Heritage story,
you’ve got to go back more than a century.
Kalamazoo is steeped in guitar history.
It’s where Orville Gibson, inventor of the
archtop mandolin and guitar, founded the
Gibson Mandolin-Guitar Manufacturing
Company Limited in the late 1890s.
Production of Gibson musical instruments
began in the factory at 225 Parsons Street
(now the home of Heritage Guitar), in 1917.
It’s the birthplace of the Gibson F-5 mandolin, now-vintage Gibson hollowbodies, Les Pauls, and SGs that propelled jazz, blues, country, and rock music into our contemporary age and made Gibson an iconic American brand.
Lloyd Allayre Loar, the mandolin virtuoso and acoustical engineer for Gibson who’s credited with numerous mandolin and guitar design innovations—including harmonically tuned carved tops, violin style F-holes, tuned longitudinal tone braces, longer necks, adjustable bridges, and the design of the Gibson L-5 Master Model archtop guitar—trod these dusty floors in the early 1920s.
The Heritage-Gibson relationship goes further: Heritage uses many of Gibson’s original tools and production methods, and many former Gibson craftsmen now run the shop and business.
Marvin Lamb, a founding partner of Heritage Guitar, has worked in this same factory, originally as a Gibson employee, since May 31, 1956—but his connection is still deeper: His father worked here in the Gibson mill room for 17 years. “I own the last guitar [a Les Paul 30th Anniversary] built here in the Gibson factory,” Lamb says. He also has one of only five cherrywood Les Paul 20th Anniversary guitars, and a Les Paul 25/50, commemorating the 25th anniversary of the design and the 50th anniversary of Les Paul’s musical career.
But Lamb isn’t a musician. “I don’t consider myself a guitar player now. I’m a builder,” he says. “I was around guitars so much, I let up on it and lost interest in playing. Maybe that’s what it was—I was around so many guitars.”
A New Generation
In the heyday of the late 1960s and early
’70s, says Wall, Gibson had 175,000
square feet of production with close to
1,000 people manufacturing 500 guitars
per day. In 1974, Gibson expanded, opening
a modern manufacturing facility in
Nashville. In September 1984, Gibson
closed the factory in Kalamazoo.
In the spring of 1985, Lamb, formerly the Gibson plant superintendent, plant manager James A. Deurloo, and J.P. Moats, the quality control man, founded Heritage Guitar with Bill Paige and Mike Korpak (also former Gibson employees). “I could have gone down to Nashville, but I married a girl from here,” Lamb says. “I didn’t want to go. Our goal was just to make a good quality, original-type guitar as best we could, and stay where we were.”
The first model Heritage produced was the H-140, a solidbody, single-cutaway electric guitar that was introduced at the NAMM show in the summer of 1985. Now, with 20 employees, Heritage creates between four and six guitars per day and has a lineup of 25 models, including several solidbody electrics. But most of the company’s output—as well as its reputation—is based on vintage-inspired, archtop electric semi-hollow and hollowbody guitars.
Rim bender with guitar-shaped mold.
Natural Selection
“It starts out with the wood selection,” says
Deurloo, who began his guitar-making career
in “white wood”—making and sanding necks
and guitar bodies—for Gibson in 1958.
Heritage buys spruce for guitar tops from Fred Tebb and Sons in Tacoma, Washington. For most of their necks and solidbodies, Heritage uses pattern-grade tropical American mahogany—chosen specifically for its smooth texture and straight grain—supplied by Newman Lumber Company in Gulfport, Mississippi.
The curly maple comes primarily from the Great Lakes region. “We want it music grade,” Deurloo says. “It has to be clean and as figured as we can get it.” The “figure” refers to the grain pattern, which could be flame, bird’s-eye, or another grain pattern. Heritage sources ebony and rosewood fretboards from Luthiers Mercantile.
Heritage craftsmen begin creating their handbuilt hollow and semi-hollowbody guitars by cutting and bending strips of maple to form the sides, which are known as rims. The maple strips are first sawed and sanded down to .095". Next the rims are soaked and shaped over one of several molds, depending on the model, and then steamed until all the water is removed.
Rim assembly for a double-cutaway.
“That mold that you see is really a stove. It’s gas fired,” Deurloo says. “I get that hot enough that when you drop water on it, it turns to steam immediately. So you bend the rim as hot as you can, and then it takes maybe five to eight minutes to form it and dry it out, so it holds its shape.”
Using clothespins, the maple rims are then fitted with mahogany linings.
To bend the rims, the maple strips are secured on the front of the mold, also known as a platen, and bent all the way to the back. Foot pedals are used to press the wood to the mold and keep the rims under pressure. To bend cutaways, the wood is soaked overnight to make it pliable enough to take the sharp curves next to the fretboard.
Front to Back
The rims are then attached to a solid softmaple
center block, which adds stability and
tone. This block is notched to accommodate
the electronics, volume, and tone controls.
The rim assembly is then fitted with a
mahogany lining and corner blocks, which
provide a gluing surface to attach the guitar’s
top and back. Standard rim widths are 1 3/4"
and 1 5/8", and the guitar bodies range from
16" to 20" long, and 13 1/4" to 16" wide.
“The rim assembly looks kind of like a little airplane kit,” Wall says. “You’ve got a head block, tail block, you’ve got rim lining, a few stays, and corner blocks that add support. We put the top and back on the blocks and then glue them together.”
Freshly pressed laminated curly maple guitar
back. Notice the imprint of a double-cutaway.
The tops and backs of many Heritage hollow and semi-hollowbodies are made of laminated maple. “Basically, we make plywood,” Lamb explains, “using curly maple veneers for the inside and outside over a basswood core.” The wood grains are crossed, which adds strength and stability, and the three sheets are glued together and put into a die press, nicknamed Bulldog, which is powered by a 20-ton jack. Once the plywood sheets are seated, “registration” holes are drilled into the wood, which help seat and center the wood during other building processes, such as the installation of “the patch,” which fills the concave portion of the guitar tops and backs to provide a glue surface for the center block. Bulldog then stamps the domed shape of the hollowbody into the wood. The fronts are chosen for their grain patterns, or figures, and then matched and numbered with backs.
Left: Using clothespins, the maple rims are then fitted
with mahogany linings. Right: The Ferris Wheel.
Solidbodies are formed from two joined boards. The pieces are glued together and then held tight in a rotating rack, nicknamed the Ferris Wheel, until the glue sets in the center seam. The wheels can be turned to accommodate many bodies and save time, effort, and space. The bodies are then planed to the appropriate thickness.
Left: Heritage’s custom carver. Right: Fretboard saw.
Necks and Other Body Parts
Heritage solidbody guitars are cut with a
band saw, then the domed tops and bottoms
are shaped using a carving machine
conceived by Deurloo. The pattern to be
traced is placed in the bottom wheel, and
the wood to be shaped is placed on the
top wheel. Both are then spun, and as the
arm on the bottom traces the dome of the
pattern with a ball bearing, the arm on top
duplicates the curve and carves it into the
guitar’s top. When the arm gets to the center,
a micro switch turns the machine off.
“It’s a simple device,” Lamb says, “but it’s pretty neat, you know? It’s almost like a duplicator, a pantograph machine.”
To remove grooves from the router, the guitar bodies are then passed through a belt sander before the necks are attached. To cut fret slots in the fretboards, Heritage craftsmen use a small swing saw, also known as a fretboard saw. The fretboard is seated, and then 22 blades swing across the board, simultaneously cutting the fret slots. “It’s all laid out—perfect to the thousandth,” Wall says. “It’s a time-saver.”
Left: Ray Noud installs the inlays and then frets, binds,
and finishes the fretboards. Right: Custom-built fret press.
After the fretboard has been routed for inlays and fret markers, Ray Noud chisels the corners to seat each mother-of-pearl inlay and glues them in with epoxy, which he tints with the wood dust from each neck. He then finetunes the curve, or radius, of the fretboard by sanding to achieve a 12" radius. “I can tell a lot by where this curl lands,” Noud says, pointing to the wood dust on the fretboard.
Next, after the frets are cut from a spool, glued, and tapped into the fretboard, it’s put into a custom hydraulic press. Inside the fret press is a “shoe” to match the 12" radius on the Heritage fretboard. The fretboard is laid into a tray, which self-centers within the shoe. The craftsman then hits a button and the hydraulic press raises and simultaneously seats all the frets at the same height. The press reaches full pressure and then releases. Finally the fretboard is removed and set aside to dry. “We used to do it by hand, but that’s archaic, really,” Wall says.
Left: Freshly cut five-piece maple and mahogany necks. Right: Truss rods are inserted into “bendy straws” to keep the glue off them, tapped into the neck
and covered with a strip of maple.
In addition to setting the frets more quickly, the fret press does a much better job of leveling the frets, Lamb explains. “It’s very difficult to press frets in one at a time and get them fairly level. If they are not level, when you go to do your fret filing, you have to take more off of one than another to get them level.” After the fretboard has been fretted, binding is applied and the fretboard is ready to be attached to a neck.
Rather than using computer numerical control (CNC) or computer-aided manufacturing (CAM) programs to produce necks, Lamb carves most of the necks himself and then “rolls” each of them individually, shaping the neck’s profile on a belt sander. “All guitar players like something a little different,” he says. “If they specify what they want, we’ll get it to that thickness and feel: cheeky, less cheeky, C-shaped, D-shaped.”
Heritage creates three standard neck constructions for their guitars: A five-piece curly maple neck with a 25.5"-scale ebony fretboard and 20 bound frets; a one-piece mahogany neck with a 24.75"-scale rosewood fretboard and 22 bound frets; and a one-piece mahogany neck with a 24.75"- scale rosewood fretboard and 20 unbound frets. The five-piece maple neck is constructed with three pieces of curly maple sandwiching two strips of mahogany. Inside is the truss rod, which is seated and covered with another strip of maple.
“Why five pieces? That’s kind of an artistic thing,” Deurloo says. “It’s traditional but it also develops the feel. When you introduce a glue line between two pieces of wood, it introduces stability.”
Another notable feature of Heritage guitars is the severe angle of the headstock. All Heritage necks have a 17-degree headstock pitch, which aims to enhance sustain by increasing string tension at the nut. “We do it the old way,” Lamb says. “We take a block of wood and get two necks out of it—the bigger the angle, the wider the block has to be.” Many other manufacturers cut the necks with a smaller angle so they can use a thinner piece of wood and increase the yield from each block, he explains.
Top-Left: The neck center and angle are measured and
set. The tenon and mortise are covered in Titebond
glue, the center and angle rechecked, and
clamped until dry. Top-Right: Arnold Hileski checks the neck pitch of a Heritage
Kenny Burrell Groove Master. Bottom-Left: Heritage guitars are bound, then the binding is secured
with ropes until the homemade glue is set. Bottom-Right: Custom jazz guitar with spruce top, curly maple
back, rims, and neck, Heritage floating humbucker
pickup, and finger tailpiece, which eliminates feedback
by varying the pressure on individual strings.
The necks are joined with a simple mortise-and-tenon joint, which offers better support for the fretboard than a dovetail, Lamb says, because the tenon, or “male” part of the joint, extends further into the guitar body. “If you don’t get the proper fit and angle, then nothing works. We don’t seem to have a lot of problems with loose neck joints. It works.”
Binding and Hardware
Heritage guitars are bound with ABS
plastic. Craig “Curly” Spink (who has
been with Heritage for 11 years, but has
also worked as a carpenter and trained to
be an art teacher) first bevels the edge of
the binding so it lays closer to the guitar
body. Then he lays glue into the bevel and
secures the binding to the guitar body
with strapping tape.
To follow the curve of a cutaway, Spink increases the binding’s pliability with a heat gun and then wraps the guitar in rope overnight until the glue sets and the body can be sanded. He makes his own glue by dissolving shavings and leftover bits of the ABS plastic binding in acetone. When it dries, the glue is invisible.
Heritage includes a variety of pickups in its lineup, including their own Heritage Pickups, Lollar P-90s, Seymour Duncan ’59 SH-1, TB59, and SH-55 Seth Lover humbuckers. Seth Lover and Walter Fuller, both former Gibson employees, are credited with designing and developing humbucker pickups and creating the Patent Applied For (PAF) pickup that Gibson Musical Instruments introduced in 1955.
“We’ll also install any pickup that fits our routing,” Lamb adds. Most Heritage guitars sport Grover tuners and TonePros bridges and tailpieces.
Left: Patrick Whalen shows a freshly painted, almond
sunburst Heritage H-555. Top: Ted Beville scrapes the bindings to remove shading and sealer before clear coat is applied. Bottom-Left: Millennium Pro, customized for Wendy Kells Brown with abalone knobs
and ebony tuner buttons. Bottom-Right: Ebony tuner buttons for
Wendy Kells Brown’s customized
Millennium Pro.
The Finishing Touch
As is every preceding step in the creation
of a Heritage guitar, the finishes are done
one at a time and with painstaking care.
“We don’t do anything that’s not in nitrocellulose
lacquer,” Lamb says. “That’s
the old-fashioned way, again. When the
guitars age, they get lacquer checks.” Of
course, he adds, that’s just what happens
to high-quality vintage guitars from the
’40s, ’50s, and ’60s.
Patrick Whalen, a local artist who has been with the company for four years, and Floyd Newton, who painted the original Gibson Les Paul goldtops in the early ’50s, shade and finish Heritage guitars.
“They are such incredible pieces before they even get up here,” Whalen says. First he applies the shader and then rubs it into the wood with alcohol to make the wood grain “pop.”
The guitars are then shaded with lacquer and sealed. The bindings are then scraped by Ted Beville, who has been scraping bindings—first for Gibson and now for Heritage—for more than 40 years. Lamb notes that the job requires incredibly strong hands and wrists, as well as excellent hand-eye coordination. “Most guys will slip and be into the wood, and there it is—a repair,” he adds. Next, the guitars receive four applications of clear coat and are then allowed to dry for 10 days before they go in for buffing.
Almost a third of Heritage guitars are custom built to specification—from the ornamentation to the hardware and pickups— and almost 80 percent of the business is for export, Deurloo says. “More than half of that goes to the Orient: Hong Kong, China, and Singapore. That’s the developing market. Germany and the Netherlands have always been pretty strong for us, too.”
Lamb says he’s not anticipating any major design changes and that new models are released whenever an idea takes hold, such as the Millennium Pro, which was shown at the 2012 NAMM show.
“We build as fine a guitar as there is in the world,” Lamb says. “We put a lot of tender, loving care into our instruments. We’re not mass-producing them. We only run small quantities—that is where we put our quality.”
That quality is the cumulative result of a highly skilled team. “Every guitar we build has a little different feel because they are all handmade,” Deurloo says. “Each time a person does their part of the process, it adds individual character to that particular guitar. The sum of the people who contribute to each step—that’s what makes our guitars.”
Another day, another pedal! Enter Stompboxtober Day 7 for your chance to win today’s pedal from Effects Bakery!
Effects Bakery MECHA-PAN BAKERY Series MECHA-BAGEL OVERDRIVE
Konnichiwa, guitar lovers! 🎸✨
Are you ready to add some sweetness to your pedalboard? Let’s dive into the adorable world of the Effects Bakery Mecha-Pan Overdrive, part of the super kawaii Mecha-Pan Bakery Series!
🍩 Sweet Treats for Your Ears! 🍩
The Mecha-Pan Overdrive is like a delicious bagel for your guitar tone, but it’s been upgraded to a new level of cuteness and functionality!
Effects Bakery has taken their popular Bagel OverDrive and given it a magical makeover. Imagine your favorite overdrive sound but with more elegance and warmth – it’s like hugging a fluffy cat while playing your guitar!
The riffmeister details why he works best with musical partners and how that's been successful in both Alice in Chains and his solo career, including new album I Want Blood.
This passionate builder designed a custom Strat/Tele pair, both adorned with hand-painted replicas of The Starry Night.
Okay, I plead guilty to having owned over 150 electric guitars in the past 60 years. So, for kicks, with my experience by way of Fender, Gibson, Ricky, Gretsch, PRS, Guild, Teisco, and others, I decided to attempt to make my own axes from scratch. I found that this endeavor was synergistic—much like envisioning, composing, performing, and recording a song. With my long-time San Diego techie, Val Fabela, doing the assembly, I started carefully designing, engineering, and procuring all of the components.
Our winning guitar builder, Edward Sarkis Balian.
The Vincent van Gogh Stratocaster, aka “Vinnie,” was the initial project. Starting with a Canadian alder body, an artist in Italy (who wishes to remain anonymous) applied the Starry Night painting to the front, sides, and back. The heavily flamed, roasted maple neck has the typical 21 frets with a 25.5" scale, and sports yellow pearl-dot inlays. After careful consideration of my playing styles, I went with a configuration using Fender ’57/’62 Stratocaster pickups. I used an upgraded, noiseless, 5-position Switchcraft assembly for the switching circuit. Fender locking tuners, a custom-fitted bone nut, and a Kluson K2PTG 2-point whammy system and brass bridge complete the low-action setup. Overall gold hardware completes the look. Vinnie’s fighting weight is 7.1 pounds.
This is what stars look like from further in space, at least as far as this special build is concerned.
I was so happy with this Strat that I decided it needed a brother, so I started on a Tele. Logically, I named the Tele “Theo,” after Vincent van Gogh’s younger brother. Again, with a Starry Night body painted by the same artist, I coupled a Canadian alder body with a lightly roasted, flamed-maple Stratocaster neck. (Hey, if it was good enough for Jimi to experiment with a Strat neck on a Tele body, why not try it?) And, as expected, my techie Val did a brilliantjob of joining the neck to the body.
The Van Gogh Tele, aka “Theo,” built to similar specs as the Strat and also featuring a lightly roasted, flamed-maple Strat neck.
For pickups, I went with Fender’s vintage-correct ’64 Tele set. As for a harness, the super-quality Hoagland Custom 4-position switching is unique, in that it gives a 15 percent boost and a very killer tone in position 4! Fender locking tuners, a custom-cut bone nut, and a Gotoh GTC201 brass bridge completes its setup. Gold hardware complements the overall look. Strangely enough (or perhaps hereditary?), the Tele matches his Strat brother’s weight exactly, at 7.1 pounds.
It's not in a museum, the the Theo guitar is certainly a work of art.
But how do they sound? Magnificent!Throw in my trusty Keeley compressor, Fulltone OCD, and Fender or Mesa/Boogie tube amps, and the van Gogh boys both easily equal or surpass my White Penguin, White Falcon, PRS Custom 22, Lucille 345 stereo, 335, SG TV, Les Paul Standard, Esquire, or Joan Jett.
I’m hoping the real van Gogh brothers would have been proud of these two magical, musical namesakes.
Beauty and sweet sonority elevate a simple-to-use, streamlined acoustic and vocal amplifier.
An EQ curve that trades accuracy for warmth. Easy-to-learn, simple-to-use controls. It’s pretty!
Still exhibits some classic acoustic-amplification problems, like brash, unforgiving midrange if you’re not careful.
$1,199
Taylor Circa 74
taylorguitars.com
Save for a few notable (usually expensive) exceptions, acoustic amplifiers are rarely beautiful in a way that matches the intrinsic loveliness of an acoustic flattop. I’ve certainly seen companies try—usually by using brown-colored vinyl to convey … earthiness? Don’t get me wrong, a lot of these amps sound great and even look okay. But the bar for aesthetics, in my admittedly snotty opinion, remains rather low. So, my hat’s off to Taylor for clearing that bar so decisively and with such style. The Circa 74 is, indeed, a pretty piece of work that’s forgiving to work with, ease to use, streamlined, and sharp.
Boxing Beyond Utility
Any discussion of trees or wood with Bob Taylor is a gas, and highly instructive. He loves the stuff and has dabbled before in amplifier designs that made wood an integral feature, rather than just trim. But the Circa 74 is more than just an aesthetic exercise. Because the Taylor gang started to think in a relatively unorthodox way about acoustic sound amplification—eschewing the notion that flat frequency response is the only path to attractive acoustic tone.
I completely get this. I kind of hate flat-response speakers. I hate nice monitors. We used to have a joke at a studio I frequented about a pair of monitors that often made us feel angry and agitated. Except that they really did. Flat sound can be flat-out exhausting and lame. What brings me happiness is listening to Lee “Scratch” Perry—loud—on a lazy Sunday on my secondhand ’70s Klipsch speakers. One kind of listening is like staring at a sun-dappled summer garden gone to riot with flowers. The other sometimes feels like a stale cheese sandwich delivered by robot.
The idea that live acoustic music—and all its best, earthy nuances—can be successfully communicated via a system that imparts its own color is naturally at odds with acoustic culture’s ethos of organic-ness, authenticity, and directness. But where does purity end and begin in an amplified acoustic signal? An undersaddle pickup isn’t made of wood. A PA with flat-response speakers didn’t grow in a forest. So why not build an amp with color—the kind of color that makes listening to music a pleasure and not a chore?
To some extent, that question became the design brief that drove the evolution of the Circa 74. Not coincidentally, the Circa 74 feels as effortless to use as a familiar old hi-fi. It has none of the little buttons for phase correction that make me anxious every time I see one. There’s two channels: one with an XLR/1/4" combo input, which serves as the vocal channel if you are a singer; another with a 1/4" input for your instrument. Each channel consists of just five controls—level, bass, middle, and treble EQ, and a reverb. An 11th chickenhead knob just beneath the jewel lamp governs the master output. That’s it, if you don’t include the Bluetooth pairing button and 1/8" jacks for auxiliary sound sources and headphones. Power, by the way, is rated at 150 watts. That pours forth through a 10" speaker.Pretty in Practice
I don’t want to get carried away with the experiential and aesthetic aspects of the Circa 74. It’s an amplifier with a job to do, after all. But I had fun setting it up—finding a visually harmonious place among a few old black-panel Fender amps and tweed cabinets, where it looked very much at home, and in many respects equally timeless.
Plugging in a vocal mic and getting a balance with my guitar happened in what felt like 60 seconds. Better still, the sound that came from the Circa 74, including an exceedingly croaky, flu-addled human voice, sounded natural and un-abrasive. The Circa 74 isn’t beyond needing an assist. Getting the most accurate picture of a J-45 with a dual-source pickup meant using both the treble and midrange in the lower third of their range. Anything brighter sounded brash. A darker, all-mahogany 00, however, preferred a scooped EQ profile with the treble well into the middle of its range. You still have to do the work of overcoming classic amplification problems like extra-present high mids and boxiness. But the fixes come fast, easily, and intuitively. The sound may not suggest listening to an audiophile copy of Abbey Road, as some discussions of the amp would lead you to expect. But there is a cohesiveness, particularly in the low midrange, that does give it the feel of something mixed, even produced, but still quite organic.
The Verdict
Taylor got one thing right: The aesthetic appeal of the Circa 74 has a way of compelling you to play and sing. Well, actually, they got a bunch of things right. The EQ is responsive and makes it easy to achieve a warm representation of your acoustic, no matter what its tone signature. It’s also genuinely attractive. It’s not perfectly accurate. Instead, it’s rich in low-mid resonance and responsive to treble-frequency tweaks—lending a glow not a million miles away from a soothing home stereo. I think that approach to acoustic amplification is as valid as the quest for transparency. I’m excited to see how that thinking evolves, and how Taylor responds to their discoveries.