Today, I was thinking about the differences between players and collectors. Like, how do you view your passions when it comes to the guitar? Right now, I play a little and collect a little, but that’s changed over time. Some players scoff at the idea that they are collectors just because they buy and sell a ton of gear, always searching for some tone or sound. Others revel in the idea of collecting and having a trove of gear stacked like cord wood, basically insulating their homes! And yet, there remains another classic of the genre where there is either delusion or confusion—a hazy, gray-area group.
There was a time when I was a faithful responder, meaning I answered every email or query that came my way. I was in the habit of coming home from work, making dinner for everyone, and then retreating to my basement where I would spend a few hours researching and answering questions related to guitars. Sometimes I would simply be a librarian answering with facts, and other times I would play psychologist by assuring people of purchases and potential buys. It was here that I discovered the haziness of us guitar folk, the ones caught betwixt and between.
For instance, the players were often the coolest peeps. They asked the fewest questions and often looked at instruments as tools. Collectors also didn’t ask many questions, because this group was looking more at rarity, resell, and looks—like art collectors! But the group of people in between those designations couldn’t figure out what they were. They often thought of themselves as gigging musicians, but I think most rarely left the house. This group of guitar enthusiasts were as eclectic and bizarre as the guitars!
Here is where I encountered someone we’ll call “Bob.” Bob could go either way when it came to our conversations. Bob had discovered my website and was particularly interested in vintage Italian electrics; he would send extremely long emails that went this way and that. He told me about his grandiose exploits and how he was a studio musician (which he wasn’t), and he would often ask the same questions over and over, even though I had answered him beforehand. Anyway, things became totally surreal when I posted a picture of a recent find, an Imperial Tonemaster 30V that was made by the Italian Crucianelli Company in the mid 1960s.
In short, Italian electrics had a so-so run of imports to the U.S. Most of the companies in Italy were making accordions, and many of them switched to guitars in the early ’60s since the supply chains were already in place. But pretty soon the Italian guitars were pushed out of the market by Japanese competition. The Italian electrics were also pricey, right in line with some Fender electrics of the time. Finding these old Italian guitars can be difficult, and I’ve only ever had about 12 examples in my collection. Most of the Crucianelli guitars I had were rather well-made, but often electrically complicated, as in all the push-button combinations you can see on this model. Perhaps the two coolest things on this guitar are the pickups, which are amazing mini-humbuckers, and the finish. It’s really hard to photograph, but it’s like this zig-zag, black-and-silver, television-static pattern that’s just gonzo—like pearloid gone wild, in the true style of the Italian designers. Of course, when Bob saw the pic of this guitar, he had to have it.
“Sometimes I would simply be a librarian answering with facts, and other times I would play psychologist by assuring people of purchases and potential buys.”
Somehow, Bob knew that this particular pearloid finish was rare, and he basically obsessed over it, saying how it would “pop” on stage. Then the incessant questions: How does it sound? Aggressive and crunchy. How does it play? Not too well. Is the case original? Don’t know. What do the switches do? They activate the pickups. And so on, and so on, every day the same questions about the smallest details. Was he seeing cracks in the finish? Why wasn’t there a zero fret? What’s the fretboard radius? Are the frets nickel or steel?
It never ends with these Bobs. Mostly, they’re just tire kickers with some sort of compulsion; this gray group of Bobs never seem happy, and I’d guess they just want to be heard, but I don’t know for sure. Now that I think of it, they’re sort of gonzo gray—like the finish on this Imperial Tonemaster!
