While we’re all caught up in the online-gear-shopping rat race, our columnist wonders: Is there a better way?
Without a doubt, America’s greatest contribution to civilization is consumerism. It’s not only the “engine” of our economy, but I’ve read it’s the force behind everything good worldwide. (I know you come here for insight on how to make your guitar sound like Eric Johnson and Buddy Miller at the same time, but trust me, this is important.) Our obsession with guitar gear is outpacing our ability to shop, but I’ve got a next-level solution. With my track record of predicting the future, I’m betting on this, so buckle up, people.
How many times have you wanted immediate satisfaction? You think you know what you want, and maybe even where to find it. Or, maybe you are just bored with those endless hours of fruitless noodling, and need a brand new muse to break the cycle. First stop? The internet, where everything is at your fingertips. It’s a vast ocean of options where you can get lost in the undertow of specifications, features, and demo videos. Before you know it, you’ve grown a (longer) beard, and your path to the bathroom is blocked by pizza boxes and empty bottles of Pedialyte.
I know what it’s like on multiple fronts. In my shop, I have a 1946 Northfield bandsaw that weighs 950 pounds, and is one of the few things that’s not on wheels. Generally, that’s not a problem, but if I want to move it for any reason, I have to break out the 6' Johnson bar and crab the damn thing around a few inches at a time. So, one evening, I got the idea to put “Old Northie” on a set of leveling casters. This would allow me to not only level the machine, but I could then move it when needed. I have a similar set on a 3' x 4' cast-iron-surface-plate table, and let me tell you, they work great.
“While an online purchase wouldn’t have even been boxed up yet, you’d be jamming hard on your brand new gear, happy as a clam.”
The problem was that the foot of the saw’s casting required a certain amount of clearance because the underside was slightly hollow. So, just like an online guitar safari, I began to search out specifications and, if possible, a technical drawing of potential purchases. Much like shopping for guitars, those specifications were harder to find than I would have liked. After more than an hour of poking around, I found some rudimentary dimensions and clicked “buy.” I figured the package would arrive in less than a week, and if they didn’t work, I could just send them back. It wasn’t instant gratification by a long shot.
While I waited, I started questioning how thorough my research had been, and began to second-guess my judgment in buying the items at all. It seemed like the problem wasn’t worth the cost of the solution. This wasn’t the first time I’d gone through this exact scenario, and I wondered if there was a better method. What if there was a way to determine if products were going to work without all the hassle and stress that online shopping creates? Then it hit me. I could see the future of commerce, when decisions can be made on purchases with almost 100-percent certainty; a future where you could be sure that the hype of ad copy was true to the product, and you could get it right away!
I thought, “What if there was a place I could drive to in under an hour and actually put my hands on the product?” I’d be able to measure the levelers, feel the quality, and check for any unanticipated hangups that might scuttle the job. Then I thought, “What if you and I could handle a guitar or an amp, to feel the quality, playability, and even hear what they sounded like, all before putting down any cash? What if there was a specialist at this place who could give you some real-world tips on how the gear worked, and other options you might consider?” I’m not talking about some hack “influencer” who is shilling for the manufacturers, but a real, live person who you could vet in real time.
This could be a total game-changer—you could be back at home that same afternoon or evening with the product, without the worry that you’d made a mistake. While an online purchase wouldn’t have even been boxed up yet, you’d be jamming hard on your brand new gear, happy as a clam. Like I said, I’ve had a pretty good run as a predictor of trends, so stay tuned, and watch out for the launch of some new startups called “Store Places.” It’s gonna be epic. Oh yeah, and I’m still waiting for those levelers.
Here are the good and bad habits to look for when you’re watching a builder at work.
It’s fun to binge-watch YouTube videos, and for guitarists there are a plethora of them to behold. There are mashups of metal and funk, as well as never-before-seen footage of classic acts in every genre. Then, there are the how-to videos that have helped me and countless others learn new fretboard moves. My favorites are the ones that decode songs, unlocking finger positions and chord voicings that have eluded me for years. But next to that, I enjoy watching guitar-making videos. As a builder whose 50-year career has allowed me to tour and work in dozens of guitar factories and shops, you might wonder why on earth I would subject myself to this. The answer is that you can always learn something new if you know what to watch for. New and correct information is certainly what most of us are hoping for when we spool up a video.
The first thing I look for is if a shop is organized and relatively clean. I say relatively, because woodworking is, by nature, somewhat messy. All that cutting and sanding creates shavings and dust that’s hard to control completely. Most decent shops have some sort of dust collection, so when you spy ankle-deep wood shavings, you might wonder where the priorities are. Wood dust is flammable at best and explosive at worst, so if you buy a guitar from a shop that’s a ticking time-bomb, you may not be able to count on any long-term customer service. I’ve written before about the benefits of being well-ordered, and I think that it speaks volumes about the builder’s attitude. Clutter slows things down as little interruptions in the workflow add up to mistakes or even bankruptcy. I’m not saying that great work can’t be done in a messy shop, but I’m not a gambling man either.
“Wood dust is flammable at best and explosive at worst, so if you buy a guitar from a shop that’s a ticking time-bomb, you may not be able to count on any long-term customer service.”
For a guy who hates hammers, I’ve got a lot of them. Sometimes it’s the only tool that will get the job done. One task that a hammer isn’t good at is fretting. Sure, that’s the way it used to be done back in the good old days—you know, when all those unplayable budget guitars were being sold at department stores. I cringe when I see builders smacking a neck with a hammer, and you should too. In a repair shop, there’s room for the hammer as an adjustment tool, but it takes hundreds of hours to get really good at it.
The problem is that hammers aren’t very consistent, and seating frets properly demands uniformity. Hit the fret a little too hard and it’s buried, not hard enough and you get a high fret. That’s why the best shops use a mechanical press of some sort.
This brings me to another chilling moment in guitar videos: the fret leveling. Fretwire manufacturing is a precise art with tight tolerances well within the range of good playability. That means if the fretboard is true and all the frets are seated properly, no fret leveling is needed at all. So, when a video is about doing a “fret job” on a brand-new build, you know that something was botched in an earlier step. Fret filing is reserved for compensating for uneven fret wear or impact damage. Of course, if the fretboard radius is sloppy, there’s no way the frets will be level regardless of how you put them in. I roll my eyes when I see a hand router on a plywood fixture used to crown a fretboard. It’s certainly faster than sanding with a radius block or swing fixture, but not nearly as accurate. To be clear, if a router is followed with a more precise shaping process, it’s perfectly acceptable. But you can see that if the first step isn’t right, it’s just kicking the can down the road as everything after that compounds the issue.
Finishing is another area that separates the good from the bad and ugly. A good spray painter is amazing to watch, as they systematically layer smooth and consistent passes over an instrument. You don’t want to see the painter waving the gun around from side to side with a lot of wrist movement like they’re watering a garden. The trick is keeping the speed and distance consistent. When done correctly, clear coats lay out flat and shiny and barely need to be buffed. It takes a long time to learn, but when you get it right, it’s like magic.
There are a lot of great ideas and unconventional yet effective methods to be seen in how-to videos. I’m always happy when I see something brilliant and noteworthy, but occasionally it’s the opposite. Just like the “lessons” that don’t quite get the chords right or ignore the fact that a song was recorded in an open tuning, home-guitar-building videos are not always insight into best practices. That’s doesn’t mean that they can’t be entertaining. So, get out the popcorn and settle in for some luthier jump scares.
What’s does a Shelby Cobra and a vintage Les Paul have in common? And what comes next?
Dave was minding his own business, waiting for the traffic light to turn green, when the driver in the next lane got a little crazy. It was a lovely day—the kind of bright Saturday when you might want to roll the windows down and just go for a drive. The guy was waving his hands and motioning to make eye contact. He clearly thought that a busy intersection was a good place to have a conversation with a total stranger. Because Dave is a very friendly and outgoing guy, he played along and engaged. His new friend only wanted to know one thing: “Is it real?” This wasn’t the first time someone had asked the question. It came with the territory when you were in public with a genuine early-1960s Shelby Cobra.
Despite racing success and an outsized reputation, the Cobra enterprise wasn’t a slam-dunk, and there were quite a few points where the whole thing could have gone south before it actually did. In the end, the Cobra only lasted a handful of years. Most sports-car fans know that there are a myriad of small builders who make replicas of the legendary Shelby creation—that’s usually what you see on the road today—but very few examples of the original cars, now worth millions of dollars, are routinely out on the town. So, it’s understandable that when fans spot what appears to be the real deal, they might want to confirm their suspicions. Not everyone cares, but if you are a member of the tribe of motorsports, it’s pretty exciting.
The same sort of queries get tossed out in the guitar world, which readers of this column know is a parallel I like to point out. The most obvious example is probably the 1958-1960 Les Paul Standard “Sunburst.” Similar to the Cobra, the ’burst was made for only a few years, and is recognized as the best of the breed. Another similarity is that both icons became desirable not just because of their incredible performance, but by the legendary owners who wielded them while attaining their own fame.
It might be a stretch, but I happen to think that the car and the guitar are also similar in other ways. Both are known for their power and appearance, and the fact that they’re not for everybody. But the allure remains so much so that Ford (who provided the motors for the Cobra) and Gibson continue to trade on the name and reputation created by a small number of originals made long ago. It has to be said that Gibson does a much better job of recreating the experience than Ford, though.
Both icons became desirable not just because of their incredible performance, but by the legendary owners who wielded them while attaining their own fame.
Of course, there are hundreds of examples of the same kind of thinking in the musical instrument industry. My own roots in the “modern vintage” angle stemmed from attempting to fill a void in the marketplace when the big factories abandoned production of their golden-age instruments. Since that time, musicians have rediscovered the sound, feel, and romance of gear from decades past. What might have been seen as business suicide back then, has proven to be a workable model today—and not limited to the guitar industry either.
The idea of paying homage to the glorious roots of guitar-based music by emulating the looks and the sounds of the past, while employing modern advances in manufacturing, is everywhere. From the obvious reissues of amps, guitars, and effects, the same playbook is being applied to digital simulations of speakers, microphones, and outboard recording gear. If you don’t want to throw down for the real thing, buy a simulation!
For certain, there have always been products that ignore nostalgia and attempt to push boundaries. Stages, studios, and bedrooms are chock full of merchandise that may or may not live on for future consideration. Some fade into obscurity while others become entrenched in the new vocabulary of music making. It’s hard to know which ones will persevere to take their place alongside the icons we love. But like the story of Dave’s Shelby Cobra, I’ll bet a lot of it depends upon superior performance, with a big dose of artist association. Shelby’s reputation is certainly bigger than the actual enterprise, which ironically has added to the lore. They say the cream rises to the top, but a lot of luck doesn’t hurt.