The author standing next to a Richardson gunstock lathe purchased from Gibson’s Kalamazoo factory. It was used to make six necks at a time at Gibson in the 1950s and 1960s.
Keep your head down and put in the work if you want to succeed in the gear-building business.
The accelerated commodification of musical instruments during the late 20th century conjures up visions of massive factories churning out violins, pianos, and, of course, fretted instruments. Even the venerable builders of the so-called “golden age” were not exactly the boutique luthier shops of our imagination.
Most likely, the majority of the workers who toiled in those facilities were not necessarily end users of the product. But despite the preponderance of private-equity interests at the top of the music-biz food chain, there have always been musicians down in the trenches.
Today, if you’re employed in the business of creating musical gear, more than ever, you are likely to be a musician. A positive shift in consumer attitudes about small brands, often operated by musicians, has added to this as well. With many players thinking that building pedals, guitars, or amps is a dream job, I thought I’d share what I think it takes.
In many ways, building gear is very similar to being a musician. In the beginning, you have to learn any way you can. You might go to school to get an introduction to machining, electronics, or woodworking to get a leg up. There are instrument-building schools as well, but be advised that you may be only learning one way to do something—their way. An alternate route is to learn from a successful person or enterprise—and I don’t mean viewing videos. When I am asked about how to “get into the business,” my advice is to find a job working for a reputable, successful company that is doing what you like, and stay there for at least three years and learn everything you can. I didn’t do that, but sometimes wish I had—it would have saved me a lot of misery. I learned on the job but luckily had two secret weapons: massive curiosity and the willingness to admit when I didn’t know something.
It takes a bit of an ego to succeed at most anything, but I know firsthand that it can also hinder your progress. A little knowledge can be dangerous. There’s a delicate balance between being confident and being humble enough to shut up and take advantage of the information that’s right in front of you. Arrogance seeks to surround itself with people who will lick boots, but smart people aren’t afraid to work in the shadow of those who are more accomplished. There have been numerous studies that show that when college roommates are chosen at random, the roommate whose GPA is lower will often study harder and raise their own average by a significant amount. The old saying goes something like: You can’t learn anything if you’re the one doing the talking.
Similarly, if, as a musician, you play with people who are better, you have to step up as opposed to just coasting along. It’s humbling to be at the bottom, but humility can be the best way forward. I’ve taken a lot of entry-level jobs at machine shops and factories, and the education served me well. The best advice here is to show that you are eager to learn, not how much you know.
“When I am asked about how to 'get into the business,' my advice is to find a job working for a reputable, successful company that is doing what you like, and stay there for at least three years and learn everything you can.”
Perhaps you’ve heard the story of someone who started out sweeping the floor who eventually rose to the top. Maybe in today’s corporate world, where a degree might be considered more desirable than actual experience, this isn’t a good strategy, but I can tell you that a lot of menial jobs afford you a perspective that will come in handy later. Pay attention to everything.
At one job assembling precision equipment, the supervisor asked me to report to the loading dock to fill in for a couple weeks. Instead of grousing about being demoted to a lower rung, I decided to learn how that department worked. I focused on doing well, learning, and gathering information about shipping and receiving. The shipping guys were happy to pawn off responsibilities on the “new” guy. That knowledge helped immeasurably when I had my own business. The very same scenario presented itself in a succession of industrial and creative jobs. In essence, I was being paid to go to school. People will share their expertise if you show respect for it—and that costs you nothing.
Regardless of what you’re trying to learn, it’s a better education to be a wide-eyed small fish in a big pond than a big fish in your own little puddle. The same goes for any job. Start in a position where you aren’t expected to know everything. This is where pride may derail you, but remember, you’re there to learn, and they’ll be watching. The smart money is on doing a great job sweeping that floor without a trace of complaint, because the way you do anything is the way you’ll do everything.
A bookmatched maple top glued and clamped up.
The type of glue a builder uses can make a big difference in their process, but when it comes to tone, does it matter?
Guitarists searching for their ultimate instrument are an interesting bunch. So many factors to consider, so much energy to expend on the journey towards guitar nirvana. A player may be satisfied with a certain shape—like a Flying V or Explorer. Others are obsessed with pickups, hardware, fretboard radius, scale length, or fret size. I’d venture that most of us consider a lot of these things and more when choosing a guitar. But there is a certain place in my heart for those infatuated with the type of glue used to construct a potential purchase. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not listening to Ford Thurston and thinking what he needs is a little more hide glue in his tone, but somebody might be. This obsession probably stems from the mythology of vintage instruments more than any sonic observations.
Instrument makers have used animal-based glues for centuries, mainly because it was all that was available. Adhesives can be made from a variety of animal remains: bones, hooves, hides (skins), and even fish parts. These organic items are basically proteins that can be boiled down to a gel-like substance which, when heated, becomes sticky, spreadable, and can be used to bond a wide range of materials, including wood. For this discussion, I’ll refer to all of these as hide glues.
Woodworkers used hide glues almost exclusively until the middle of the 20th century, when synthetic glues became available. Adhesives such as PVA (polyvinyl acetate) are sometimes referred to as yellow or white glue. Over time, and as instrument building became more of an industry as opposed to a boutique craft, PVA became the standard in large-scale commercial instrument manufacturing.
Industrial PVA glues dry quickly, are extremely shock resistant, and do not require heat. They have nearly no odor, and they can be stored ready to use for long periods of time. They are also incredibly strong. Unlike hide glue, which requires a precise parts fit, PVA is gap-filling which is great for factory tolerances. PVA’s setup time is short, and under some circumstances, clamps can be removed in as little as an hour. That certainly allows more production to flow through a factory or shop.
“Hide glue is very brittle when cured, which has led some to say that it encourages the transmission of vibration from part to part.”
On the other hand, hide glues need to be warmed in a heat pot to around 140° F, and have a shorter shelf life at room temperature. Although some builders learn to love the smell of hide glues, others find it revolting. I don’t mind the smell, but some don’t want the “dead animal” smell on their clothes. Hide glue can also have a shorter “open” time before it locks up, which doesn’t allow for much adjustment to parts during assembly. Additionally, once clamped, hide glue needs to remain so for much longer—most shops let it dry at least overnight.
I believe that a lot of the mystique stems from old-school repair people who would prefer to work on older instruments constructed with hide glues, which are easier to disassemble. A distinct advantage is that unlike PVA, epoxies, and superglues, hide glue can be easily loosened for repair with heat and water. That’s a real bonus for shops that specialize in neck resets, fretboard replacements, and all manner of acoustic guitar repair. Old hide glue can be successfully removed from a joint and new glue can be applied for a repair—as the new glue will bond directly to old glue.
Another characteristic of hide glue is its self-clamping action when the fit of parts is very tight to begin with. The glue pulls parts together as it dries and can be good for jobs like book-matching tops and backs—even without clamps. Hide glue is very brittle when cured, which has led some to say that it encourages the transmission of vibration from part to part. This, along with the tight fit aspect, may be the primary source of the “hide glue is better” sentiments that get repeated as gospel in some circles. Of course, if you leave your hide-glued guitar in a car trunk on a hot summer day, you may regret it as much as the repair shop loves it.
As you can see, there are a lot of benefits to each of these glue types, and I haven’t even gotten into any discussion about epoxies or superglues, which are being used more and more frequently today, along with so-called hybrid hide glues. The question remains, is the adhesive used in building a guitar a deal-breaker? As much as I admire instruments built with old-school glues, I’m not sure Ford Thurston or I could hear the difference. And if that particular guitar does sound wonderful, I couldn’t say it was because of the glue. Besides, with its 1-piece neck and four-screw neck joint, a Stratocaster doesn’t have use for a lot of glue anyway.That’s a brand-new nitro lacquer burst finish on one of our columnist’s builds.
Nitro, poly, and more: what they’re made of, and why we love them.
In previous columns, I’ve touched on the subject of lacquer checking and the rise of relic finishes, but I thought a discussion of finishing materials might be in order as well. The terms nitro, poly, and lacquer, as well as other vague descriptions, are often used, and just as often, they’re misused and misunderstood. While I’m not a chemist and don’t pretend to know everything about coatings, I’ll try to outline some basic facts and how they relate to your guitar’s look, sound, and durability. But first, a little history.
Possibly the oldest decorative coatings are red and black lacquers from China that date back thousands of years. Chinese lacquer was primarily used to beautify luxury goods. Early lacquers were made from tree sap mixed with other organic ingredients for color and stability.
Shellac, made from the sticky secretions of the tiny lac insect, appeared in Asia and India around 1200 BCE. In the 17th century, shellac became popular in Europe among furniture and instrument makers. (Fun fact: It can take up to 90,000 insects to produce one pound of shellac.)
The word “lacquer” is a catch-all term for coatings made from resins, including tree pulp, sap, and chemically manufactured synthetics. These resins can be diluted with solvents, but not water. However, there is now a class of water-soluble finishes that are referred to as waterborne lacquer. Confusing, isn’t it?
For practical purposes, let’s divide coatings into two groups: thermoplastic, which cures by drying (solvent evaporation), and thermoset, which cures by a chemical reaction alone. All of these finishes are diluted with solvent in order to allow them to be sprayed or applied by a brush. A thermoplastic coating will release the carrier solvents over time, leaving the solid material behind. This can take from a few days to several weeks depending on the lacquer’s particular formulation and the temperature and humidity of the paint room.“While back in the day it was difficult for builders to find suitable coatings that didn’t check, today it’s hard to find a lacquer that will.”
Nitrocellulose lacquer is thermoplastic. Made from trees, it’s loved for its ease of use, warm feel, and attractive sheen. To visualize the finishing process, think of thermoplastic like mud. Dirt (solids) plus water (solvent) equals mud. It’s easy to smear it on a surface, and when the water evaporates, it’s a somewhat hard finish. If you put water on your dried surface, it becomes mud again. In a similar way, a thermoplastic finish never completely cures. Nitro lacquer is able to be repaired easily with more nitro. The solvents in the repair material soften the original finish and they “melt” together. This also makes these finishes susceptible to damage from certain aggressive solvent-based cleaners like alcohol or turpentine.
Thermoset finishes, like polyester and catalyzed polyurethane, are for the most part impervious to most solvents because they are chemically cured. Thermoset coatings are typically two- or three-part mixtures which, when combined before application, react chemically (catalyze) to harden. Once they “lock,” they are set indefinitely. Anyone who has mixed two-part epoxy will be familiar with this process. While more difficult to repair, damaged thermoset finishes can be fixed with proper surface prep. Although the edge of a spot repair on a thermoset finish can be hard to disguise, some modern cyanoacrylate (superglue) repairs can be practically invisible. The ability to mass-produce thermoset chemicals, and their fast curing cycle, has made it the leading type of finishing material for the auto industry starting in the 1950s, and the guitar industry in the 1970s.
Another appeal of thermosets from a manufacturing standpoint is resistance to chipping and cold checking. During the guitar boom of the 1960s, lacquer checking was such a concern that many factories moved to catalyzed thermoset finishes. These are sometimes called “polys,” but they actually encompass a wide variety of products including polyesters, catalyzed urethanes, and two-stage conversion varnishes. Although guitarists have recently embraced the beauty of this “defect,” most manufacturers of new instruments have switched to finishes in the thermoset family to avoid it. The downside is that some can feel sticky, especially on necks.
The truth of the matter is that today, even nitrocellulose lacquers are blended with enough additives that they can be hard to cold check. Which brings us to the relic aesthetic. While back in the day it was difficult for builders to find suitable coatings that didn’t check, today it’s hard to find a lacquer that will.
There’s really more to this story than space will allow. We haven’t touched upon acrylics, conversion varnishes, epoxies, and French polish variants, let alone the question of whether or not finishes affect sound. That’s for another day, but for now, you know that finish type makes a practical difference that you can see and feel.