If you were interested in playing guitar in the 1930s and 1940s, you were probably a fan of singing cowboys. The old Western teleplays on the radio were vehicles for marketing all kinds of products, like toys, costumes, and, of course, guitars!
Today, we’re familiar with the names Gene Autry and Roy Rogers, but back then, any cowboy fan would have also known Carson Robison. Robison was born in 1890 to a champion-fiddler father and a dance-caller mother. In the 1920s, he was one of the first cowboy singers to become a radio performer, famous for his virtuosic whistling ability. He wrote over 300 songs in his career, including his 1948 hit, “Life Gets Tee-Jus, Don’t It,” featured in episode 123 of the original Muppet Show, which is how I first heard of him.
The Montgomery Ward catalog offered Carson Robison-model guitars from 1930 through 1941. The 6-string changed a little every couple of years, ultimately ending up with eight different variations. The subject of this month’s column is the rare eighth variation, also called Model 964, made only for a short time in the fall of 1941 by the Kay Musical Instrument Company. According to the original catalog, it has a “Selected Spruce Top” and mahogany back and sides, and the top is solid wood as far as we can tell. The back and sides, however, are made of a few disparate pieces. The body on this guitar was shrunk from the previous grand auditorium size (41 1/4 x 16 1/4) to a smaller grand concert size (39 1/2 x 14), and it has a distinctive oval-shaped soundhole. Like the other Carson Robison guitars, it has his signature painted on the body, below the bridge.
Also known as Model 964, this version of the Carson Robison is the eighth variation on the original.
Photo by Madison Thorn
This particular example has had a number of repairs over the years. The tuners are newer, and it’s had a bone saddle installed. Its amber sunburst finish has some overspray, likely covering a past repair. It’s also had a refret and a neck reset, and it’s playing better than ever. The neck has a chunky V-shape, which is typical for these early-20th century guitars that were made before truss rods. It’s got a bunch of dings, finish-checking, and evidence of past repairs, which I think adds character. I like to imagine this guitar had a dynamic early life, being played and loved by some rowdy siblings.
While researching this model, we at Fanny’s House of Music in Nashville came across a clipping of the 1941 Montgomery Ward catalog this guitar was listed in and found something curious cut off on the left side of the page. Featured right next to the Carson Robison guitar was a 6-string bearing the name of Louise Massey. Could it be that not all singing cowboys were boys? I found myself in the throes of a deep Google search when our old friend Frank Hall came to the rescue.
“I like to imagine this guitar had a dynamic early life, being played and loved by some rowdy siblings.”
Frank Hall was a fixture here in Nashville. He was a member of the Serendipity Singers, a folk group that performed at Woodstock. He was also a lifelong guitar collector and one of the world’s preeminent “catalog guitar” experts. He came into Fanny’s often to tell us stories about these old guitars, and when we were lucky, he’d play us a song. Frank passed away in early 2021, but he left us with a wealth of knowledge, and importantly, for our purposes today, a tome called Cowboy Guitars by Steve Evans and Ron Middlebrook.
Time and wear have given this guitar a character as craggy as the old West.
Photo by Madison Thorn
The owners of Fanny’s, Pamela Cole and Leigh Maples, plopped it open on our front desk to page 106, where I read the history of Louise Massey and the Kay-made Montgomery Ward guitar that bears her name. Louise was known for her hit song “My Adobe Hacienda,” a beautiful tune calling back to the real heroes of cowboy culture, Mexican vaqueros. Her signature guitar was only made for a few short months in the fall of 1941, at the same time as our Carson Robison. As far as we know, it is the only cowboy guitar to feature a woman artist. Not even the Queen of the West, Dale Evans, had that honor!
This wonderful Kay acoustic took us on quite a journey. We love the stories in these old guitars, and we especially love seeing them write new stories with new owners. Sometimes all it takes is a neck set, and a little flattop like this one is all ready to inspire a new generation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go scour eBay for a Louise Massey guitar.
I met my guitar teacher, Mike Hoover, when I was in 8th grade. Forty years later, I’m still learning from him.
“For us to live any other way was nuts." —Ray Liotta as Henry Hill in Goodfellas
Never imagined I'd be here, but currently I'm homeschooling my 4-year-old daughter. Teaching has taught me that beneath my Zen Hippie Cowboy façade lies a rigid nerd, weirdly unforgiving and bad at concealing my frustration at both myself and the student. I'm the kind of uptight teacher I would've dreaded as a kid. My incompetence makes me appreciate the good teachers I've had in my life.
For a person who doesn't seem particularly bright, I've spent a surprisingly long time in school (17 years). In all that time, not a single educator taught me a fraction of what my guitar teacher, Mike Hoover, taught me.
I met Mike in 8th grade. By then I'd been playing violin (poorly and mandatorily) in the school orchestra for four years. My mother had also signed me up for group guitar classes during the summers, where I learned my basic chords. Sitting in a circle strumming “Tom Dooley" felt about as fun as math class. Sensing this was going nowhere, mom signed me up for private lessons at Hansen Music, a local music store where electric guitars and amps lined every wall, and long-haired dudes in bell bottoms hung out and jammed, sometimes past closing time. Mike greeted us at the front desk looking like a member of the Outlaws and smelling like he'd just smoked a left-handed cigarette. I was a little surprised my mother left me in his care. Like that old Buddhist proverb: “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear." Mike was my guy.
In the first lesson, Mike sat across from me with his tobacco-burst Les Paul Artisan and showed me the first position of the pentatonic scale. Mike explained how you can make your fingers dance around that box and come up with melodies. I played some chords while he ripped some blues. It was the first time I saw lead guitar up close: Truly, at the time, this was coolest thing I'd ever seen. Then he said, “Now I'll play the rhythm and you take a ride." That was when playing notes became playing music—something I'd never experienced in four years of orchestra.
My brain's reward system gave me a serious hit of dopamine and I felt positively high. I've been chasing the dragon ever since. This set me on a lifelong, often ill-fated, wildly frustrating yet immensely satisfying journey. For better or worse, this is where I belong and I'm grateful to be living my life rather than one of the other more obvious, yet ultimately wrong, options. I'm thankful to my mother for being cool and to Mike Hoover for the guidance.
Not only did Mike unlock music, he taught me you can actually make a pretty decent living playing it. To illustrate the point, he hired me to play in his band and paid me way more than I'd ever made in my many crap teen-friendly jobs. Gigging with Mike revealed the working musician's playbook. Mike taught me to appreciate guitar craftsmanship and tonewoods, and to write off gear purchases on my taxes. He taught me to wear something cool onstage so you look like you're in the band, not a member of the audience (and write-off those clothes as well). Mike taught me to tip when somebody pours you a drink, even if it's on the house. Perhaps most importantly, Mike taught me that being a musician means you're selling fun, so have as much fun as possible, and if you're not having fun, pretend you are and usually the fun will kick in. He also cautioned me about having too much fun and taught me how to overcome a hangover. My father calls Mike my music father; that's accurate.
I called Mike tonight to tell him about the 1980 Gibson L-5S I recently purchased. In 9th grade, Hansen Music had this guitar on the wall. At first I thought it was just a Les Paul. Then Mike pointed out the deep-carved, figured maple back with a matching wooden control cover, the ornate binding wrapping the thin body, and the 3-piece L-5 maple neck with abalone inlays running up the ebony fretboard to the flowerpot on the bound headstock. I've wanted one ever since and can't believe I bought the same guitar I saw 40 years ago. As an added bonus, the L-5 had been played for decades by a local guitar hero, Ron Schuster (whom I mentioned in my last column). Mike pointed out that Ron's mojo is on this guitar. Civilians think the concept is nonsense but we know that the mystical is real. When I offered to send the guitar to Mike, he laughed and said, “No man. If I don't play my two Les Pauls, they get mad at me and start acting up. They always get resentful if I leave them alone too long." Four decades later, this guy is still teaching me. Mike is the Zen Hippie Cowboy: I remain the student.