We’ve seen custom colors, bursts, and relic jobs come in and out of favor. What’s next?
The electric guitar has a long relationship with automobiles, particularly the American hot rod. For the most part, it has been a one-way correspondence, with the automotive trade signaling the messages and the guitar industry tagging along. Bright chrome hardware, swoopy curves, and angular fins appeared on electric guitars after being pioneered by vehicle manufacturers.
In an era when a car was the most exciting big ticket item around, the electric guitar followed, hoping to cash in on the flashy action. Gibson launched its first solidbody electric in shimmering gold like a brand new Cadillac. A decade later, they hired an automotive designer to freshen up their line, creating the Firebird and Thunderbird. Fender unabashedly named products after the iron rolling out of Detroit and England, finished appropriately enough with automotive paint colors. Mosrite dazzled Ventures fans with metallic lacquer, and even Gretsch got into the act with opaque car colors. By the mid-1960s, it seemed as though the electric guitar had left its old-world lineage in the rearview mirror.
Then, in 1966, something remarkable happened. A handful of young guitarists started gigging with older, used guitars that were finished more like the back of a violin than a Shelby Cobra. Keith Richards, Michael Bloomfield, Eric Clapton, and Peter Green all put their stink of approval on guitars that bore more resemblance to a 17th century dining table than a Corvette. Whether it was the sound and romance of old guitars, or just a changing of the guard, isn’t clear, but it was a ripple in the ether that slowly grew into a giant wave. By 1970, the “Burst” had become the holy grail, and sunburst finishes were giving solid colors a run for their money. The vintage electric trade was in its infancy—but the die had been cast. By the turn of the century, the sunburst, figured-maple top had become the gold standard. Builders invented terms such as “Ten Top” and “AAAAA-figure” to signal their product’s supremacy in the burst wars.
“Keith Richards, Michael Bloomfield, Eric Clapton, and Peter Green all put their stink of approval on guitars that bore more resemblance to a 17th century dining table than a Corvette.”
As all things do, guitar fashion requires occasional reinventing. The basic layout of the electric guitar is so set in stone that, similar to clothing, it’s mostly the visuals that get sliced and diced to keep things interesting. If you’ve been around long enough, you’ve seen the fashion world repeatedly dip into the past to satisfy the need for new trends, and so it is the same with guitars. We’ve already gone through the distressed period—the guitar equivalent of ripped jeans. This practice also paralleled the “Rat Rod” custom-car movement, where a worn patina can be faked on a new build without shame. Fender’s Relic Series, instigated in 1995, was an outlier, yet now all manner of beat-up guitar finishes are accepted in the mainstream. In fact, there are now some builders who have never offered instruments in any other form. Logically, a distressed and highly flamed sunburst is the penultimate, as it attempts to be the best of both worlds. However, guitar companies are possibly sensing the market’s yearning for a change, and “burst fatigue” may be on the rise. If sunbursts are on the way out, and the relic look is getting long in the tooth, what could be new and cool?
Predicting the future is a fool’s game, so I will tread lightly. Of all the options that seem likely (and already apparent), it seems easy enough to raid the past again. How about custom colors? Sure, there have been Gibson guitars in metallic colors, more recently with the Dave Grohl/Trini Lopez in Pelham blue and white. But why not try out a bunch of Krazy Kustom Kar Kolors on instruments? Why not a PRS in creamsicle metallic copper and white burst? I think that there have been plenty of custom shop Fenders in rainbow-hued metalflake, so why not make the everyday guitars sparkle too? I’m split on whether these should be distressed or offered in shiny extra-thick 1970s polyurethane—at an extra cost, of course.
The reality is that generations have lusted after the beauty of the burst. Although solid colors and airbrushed graphics (along with their relic cousins) will periodically enjoy time in the sun, the burst isn’t setting in the west anytime soon. But with all the borrowing from the automotive industry, maybe it’s time for payback. I’d like to see a new Corvette in faded tea burst, with some Bondo showing on the fender flares. Maybe Cadillac could make f-hole hood vents a thing. Should the wood-sided station wagon stage a comeback? What about a car with built-in amplifiers and a keyboard? Oh wait, that’s the 1967 Voxmobile. In the meantime, I’m buttering up the popcorn and settling into my La-Z-Boy to watch the show.For starters, says Hamer Guitars cofounder Jol Dantzig, avoid stock typeface at all costs.
There was a time when the shape of an electric guitar was all you needed to see to know who made it. That seems quaint now, right? There are so many builders, and so many guitars that lean heavily on previous designs. I’m as guilty as anyone of synthesizing styles, but the sheer volume of entries into the marketplace can cloud your vision. This is nothing new for orchestral instruments whose forms have been practically identical for centuries. Usually, you’ve got to look at the logo to be sure if it’s a Yamaha or a Conn. (I have to do this with cars nowadays.) As the guitar industry gets increasingly crowded with “tribute” instruments, it becomes difficult to know exactly what you are looking at. Because of this, the brand logo becomes more important than ever.
In simple terms, a logo is a graphic design element that represents a product, brand, or organization. It can be a symbol, words, or a combination of both. Designers will tell you that a typeface is not a logo unless it is so specialized as to not be mistaken for anything else. Coca-Cola, Gibson, and Fender spring to mind. Over time, and with lots of advertising, typeface logos can become embedded in the public consciousness. Studies have shown that children recognize and associate symbol logos before they can read—think Pepsi or Apple—so those designs really hit us at a deep level. Logos are also a point of pride for customers of each product tribe, and it seems everyone is searching for that.
Other aspects a good designer will take into consideration is if a logo will readily adapt to different mediums. A full-color logo might not translate when cut out of steel in reverse, whereas a properly constructed symbol will. If you’re going to produce guitar logos of mother of pearl to be inlaid into a headstock, you have to be cognizant of the limits of your routing capabilities, as well as whether or not the logo will be a single or multiple-piece part. Just because you can draw it doesn’t mean it can be made easily. More parts equal more cost and effort. However, there are lots of companies that supply finished shell-inlay parts for big manufacturers and small shops, too. They can guide you with their decades of experience when refining your logo for production use.
Besides inlay, there are quite a few ways to apply a logo to an instrument. Centuries ago, instruments might have been signed in ink, or have a paper label decorated with the builder’s name. Eventually, names migrated to the headstock, where potential buyers could see them from a distance, such as in a shop window. This also allowed performing musicians to promote individual makers by merely appearing in public. As instruments moved towards being a commodity, the burden of identification fell more and more to the brand logo.
In the 20th century, factories started to build ever larger quantities of guitars, and handlettering became inefficient, and lacked consistency. The job was replaced by industrial processes, including cloisonné or printed metal tags which were glued, nailed, or screwed to the peghead. Another popular method was silkscreen. Like T-shirt screening, an operator placed the headstock into a fixture with a hinged-screen frame. The frame closed down on the headstock and the operator swiped screen ink with a squeegee. Gibson still uses this technique to replicate their golden age instruments. For costlier guitars, mechanical routers and pantographs were able to accomplish pearl inlay logos at a fraction of the cost of handwork. Today, computer automated routers do this work in even small shops.
The most ubiquitous method today is the waterslide decal. Invented in France in the 1700s, the printed decal—or décalcomanie—consisted of a printed image suspended in a thin film on a piece of paper. The image is released onto an object with water. Those who grew up building model airplanes will instantly recognize the process. These decal logos are inexpensive to make and can be applied quickly, making them perfect for mass production. Used by many guitar makers including Gibson, Fender, and Martin, they can be added over the finish or topcoated after application. You can even make them on a computer printer using decal paper.
When designing a logo for your band or brand of gear, you might want to avoid that stock typeface no matter what type of process you use. When we founded Hamer in 1973, graphic designer Max LeSueur chose a stock font (bookman bold italic) for our brand. I liked it because it was the font that Italian frame builder Colnago used on their world-beating racing bicycles, but now it looks like dozens of other dated 1970s examples. So, whether your logo is a painstakingly executed inlay, silkscreen, or decal, it is your call to action, your personal identity, and your tribal flag all rolled into one. Choose wisely.