This Fender Custom Telecaster has the coveted slab-rosewood fretboard, only available from 1958 to 1962.
My father, Louis Owens, purchased his 1960 Custom Tele in 1962 from a friend who needed cash to pay his family’s bills, for the princely sum of $75. The instrument had a slight burn mark on the front of the body that made it identifiable. (This is what we call foreshadowing.) Oddly, the last of its six Kluson tuners was plastic instead of metal, but it had a chrome coating.
When Louis Owens purchased this guitar in 1962, it had a red finish with white binding. After it returned to our columnist, it was given a facelift in tobacco burst, a new bridge, and rope-style binding.
This guitar floated around my house, mostly unused, for years until I got interested in playing electric guitar as a teen. But at that age, I wanted something more rock ’n’ roll looking, so I went to a music store here in Nashville, where I saw a low-priced Les Paul I was interested in trying. The store wanted some collateral to let me take the guitar home to try it, so I brought the Tele in for them to hold while I tried the Les Paul out for the weekend. (You might see where this is going.)
I was so upset by this rip-off that I told all my friends at other music stores in town about what had happened and gave them all the serial number of the Tele.
I didn’t like that Les Paul, so I brought it back on Monday to get my Telecaster back. They informed me that wasn’t the deal: It was a swap, and they had already sold my guitar. Of course, I was devastated, and being young and inexperienced I just accepted that the guitar was gone. I walked away like a safe was on my shoulders. I was so upset by this rip-off that I told all my friends at other music stores in town about what had happened and gave them all the serial number of the Tele.
A marker of this guitar’s rarity is the location of the serial number, stamped at the bottom of the neck-joint cover. It is among the first 25 examples of this model ever made.
Fast-forward 11 years. I got a call from a friend that worked at Gruhn Guitars who said he believed he’d found my dad’s Telecaster. I went down to the shop to verify the guitar, and sure enough it was my dad’s 1960 Custom. Unfortunately, the guitar had already been sold. It made me very sad to get that close, but Gruhn’s told me they would give the buyer my information and explain what had happened in case he ever wanted to sell it. About six months passed, and I got a call from the buyer. He’d found a 1952 Fender Telecaster he was interested in and wanted to sell me the 1960. He even offered it to me for $1,000 less than what he paid, so he could quickly get money to buy that ’52 Tele. I immediately reached out to family members to put the money together to get the guitar back, and it was soon mine again.
Some years later, I went to work for Gibson in California as the product specialist and development manager for the Dobro guitar company, which they’d purchased. The Fender Custom Shop was just down the road, and we occasionally swapped parts for different projects. (They were trying to make Telecaster-style resonator guitars.) I became friends with Fred Stuart, one of the master luthiers at the Custom Shop. He had just done his now-famous herringbone Telecaster and was looking for other types of binding. Dobro had moved into using rope binding, in the style of Weissenborn guitars from the 1920s, and Fred wanted some. So, I asked him if he’d help restore my dad's Custom Telecaster, which had a lot of wear.
The 61-year-old pickups on this Tele have produced tones for Vince Gill, Albert Lee, and James Burton, and appeared on various recordings by Richie Owens and the Farm Bureau.
Since he was interested in rope binding for Telecasters, we decided to do it to my guitar. We changed the finish to a tobacco burst, which was painted at the Dobro factory to save money. Fred also did some research on the guitar, which has its serial number stamped on the bottom of the plate. That’s rare—only a very few Fender Custom Telecasters made in late 1959 and early 1960 have this. He found it was one of the first 25. He also put new-old-stock pots in, replacing the scratchy originals, and added a better-intonated Danny Gatton 3-piece bridge. We also added an NOS headstock logo.
The results were amazing, and I’ve been lucky to have three of my Tele heroes—James Burton, Albert Lee, and Vince Gill—say it’s one of the best Telecasters they’ve ever played, with lots of clarity, definition, snap, and gorgeous midrange. I will never part with this guitar, accidentally or on purpose, again—even though I’ve seen 1960 Custom Teles listed for more than $30,000 and much higher.
Thanks for sharing this column with me. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading my 6-string stories as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them.
These Supro resonator variations were terrible-sounding acoustic guitars, but with the addition of a pickup? Magic.
Back in '64, when it was priced at $137.50 new, Supro advertised this 6-string as "the most powerful non-electric guitar of them all! The original self-amplified guitar." Of course, that's hyperbole, because that was without the crucial addition of the DeArmond, which may have been added by the guitar's original owner. More on that later, too.
This example was assembled at the Valco factory as a hybrid of Airline and Supro body parts. During a slight neck repair at Nashville Used and New Music, its original red neck was refinished black to match the body.
Meanwhile, you want some background on Valco? Well, that history of resonators story I mentioned has plenty. But what's important for understanding the roots of this month's guitar is that Louis Dopyera, one of the founding brothers of Dobro, was a co-founder of Valco. And the Dopyeras were innovators who saw the trend toward round-neck electric guitars pretty much when the first electric lap steels hit the market in the early 1930s. That same eye for the new put fiberglass on their radar in the 1950s, when it came into its own with Corvettes, surfboards, and other iconic pop-culture designs. One more essential piece of information: Valco specialized in making guitars and amps for other brands—most notably Harmony, Kay, Supro, and Airline—until it closed in 1968.
Vintage DeArmond gold-foil pickups like this were a popular modification for these guitars in the '60s. Plastic-screened soundholes were just another of Valco's cost-saving measures.
Now let's get back to our Valco-made Supro Folkstar. It has a thinline body with a single resonator cone under a distinctive cover plate—are those the tips of tridents or sideways Es?—and two small round soundholes with cream-colored plastic screen covers in the upper body. (On a Dobro, those screens would be metal.) That body, with its beveled, molded top providing a slightly arched look, is made of two pieces of the fiberglass material called Res-O-Glass, with a rubber binding seam in the center to attach both halves and inhibit internal rattling. The Kord King neck is described in the catalog as magnesium-reinforced wood. It has the classic "Gumby"-shaped headstock that's a Supro signature, and Kluson tuners with oversized butterfly-style buttons. Another advantage that the always-budget-aware Valco saw in Res-O-Glass—besides its light weight—was the ability to use colored resin, reducing the amount of finishing necessary. This Folkstar model came in two colors: red for the Supro model and black for the Airline model. The latter sold through Montgomery Ward stores and catalogs. As cool as Folkstars look, they don't sound good at all—at least as the acoustic instruments they were intended to be. Their tone is muted, with almost no sustain. That's why so many of these vintage axes have pickups installed.
The rubber binding seam in the middle of this model was used to attach both halves of the body and decrease internal rattling.
Here's something weird: While this guitar's body has the black finish of an Airline model, that's clearly a Supro logo on the headstock. Seems crazy, right? But one of my gigs at Dobro was working as the company's archivist, where I learned that it was not uncommon for them to use parts from one line on another, or for them to make a custom one-off. Gibson also did this back in the '40s, '50s, and '60s—or used leftover parts from one production era on a new generation of instruments. When this Supro/Airline hybrid arrived at our shop, the neck was actually red and had some slight damage. When it was repaired, we refinished it black—but given that it already had the pickup installed as a mod, that refinishing shouldn't influence its value, which we estimate at about $1,199.
While this instrument's black finish says Airline, the headstock's "Gumby" shape and logo scream Supro.
The DeArmond gold-foil is where the magic really happens with this guitar. And the truth about these old pickups is that no two seem to ever sound the same. But this one brings the instrument to life in a way that would please fans of North Mississippi hill country blues or Ry Cooder soundtracks. I hope whatever bluesman or blueswoman—or maybe even voodoo priestess—gave this guitar that pickup also got all the mojo he or she wanted out of it. And I think there's still plenty left for the next owner.
Thanks to its Bigsby vibrato tail and mini-humbuckers, this guitar had to be special-ordered in 1968. It was a one-owner instrument before it arrived at Nashville Used & New Music this year.
I, too, covet this guitar, which carried a hefty-for-the-times price tag of $475 when it was new. Now, vintage Rivieras like this one go for about $4,000. (Out of my price range! LOL!) It's also from the era when Gibson and Epiphone parts were used to make both brands, which means it's got a little extra juice in its veins.
The excellent condition of the original case and the guitar itself speaks to its history as a well-loved instrument. Only 300 Rivieras were made in 1968, and just 19 with Bigsbys.
Except for the closed-back Grover tuners, all of the parts on this classy sunburst E360 TDV are original, and so is its case. The mini-humbuckers and Bigsby tailpiece were options for the Riviera that first became available in 1967, which is why it needed to be special-ordered. Without those appointments, the guitar's price would have settled in closer to $400 at the time.
But before I talk about that, here's a story we heard when this guitar was brought into the shop by the wife and son of its deceased original owner. They explained that this Riviera was special-ordered from a music store in Indiana and used by their husband and father to play gigs from '68 through a good part of the 1970s. In 1975, while loading out of a heated club into Montana's sub-freezing outdoors, the finish immediately weather-checked due to the abrupt temperature change, leaving a striking pattern on the guitar's back that resembles the kind of finger painting Jack Frost does on icy windows. I think that pattern gives this vibey guitar even more character.
In the case of the Riviera and the ES-335, the major differences were in their tailpieces, pickups, and headstocks.
The Riviera began its original production run in 1962, as Epiphone's cheaper answer to Gibson's ES-335 and Epi's own Sheraton. The sunburst finish became standard in 1965, and the original run of Rivieras ended in '69. Famous players who've hefted Rivieras onstage and in the studio include Lenny Kravitz, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Lou Reed, Nick Valensi, and Noel Gallagher.
Now, let's get back to those parts. This month's '68 Riviera, serial number 521820, is among the guitars that collectors sometimes call "Gibson/Epiphones." Here's why: The Chicago Musical Instrument Company, also known as CMI, already owned Gibson when it purchased Epiphone—then Gibson's most direct competitor—in 1957. Along with the purchase came an abundance of unused Epiphone guitar parts, from the company's New York City plant, which were then blended with Gibson parts in Kalamazoo to complete new Epiphone instruments. The use of Gibson parts to make Epiphone guitars continued until 1969, when Epiphone production was moved overseas.
With the production of Epiphone and Gibson models happening side-by-side in the '60s, sometimes the only difference between similar production guitars—like the Riviera and ES-335—was the headstock.
So, Gibsons and Epiphones of that period where literally made side by side, most often with the same materials, finishes, and construction. Sometimes the only real difference was the headstock. In the case of the Riviera and the ES-335, the major differences were in their tailpieces, pickups, and headstocks. Both guitars are semi-hollow with a solid maple center block and solid maple top. On our Riviera, there's binding on the sides and along the fretboard, which has parallelogram inlays. The neck on this Riviera is slimmer than most Gibson/Epiphones from this era that I've played and reminds me of early 1960s Fender Telecasters. This is not a complaint! I like that 24 3/4" scale. The control set is the usual four-dial setup. And with mini-humbuckers, this 6-string is not as dark as most Gibson ES-335s with regular humbuckers that I've played, so the low-mid tone is nicely defined.
In 1975, the owner of this guitar was loading out of a heated Montana club into sub-freezing temperatures, and the finish immediately weather-checked due to the abrupt temperature change, leaving a striking pattern on the guitar's back.
Let's talk about those mini-humbuckers. The minis that Epiphone created for their jazz/archtop series were introduced to other models once Gibson/CMI acquired the company. With a brighter and clearer sound—kind of between P-90s and humbuckers—this was a sweet option.
I'm a big fan of mini-humbuckers and love the tone they give this Riviera, which was clearly loved. The tobacco burst finish has aged well, and there's just a little wear where the headstock meets the neck from hanging in a cradle mount. That back-side body-finish checking might be a turnoff to cork-sniffers, but I think it really adds to the personality of this instrument. I love, love, love this guitar!