New York-born/Miami-raised Albert Castiglia is primarily, and by instinct, a blues man. But on his third album the one-time member of Junior Wells’ band displays a wide stylistic versatility along with his considerable guitar chops. As a singer, he sounds so much like John Hiatt in that when he steps slightly to the left of the blues and launches into fellow Miami musician Graham Wood Drout’s Hiatt-like “Celebration,” it inspires a label check.
Castiglia the songwriter shows a knowing grasp of the blues’ variations and nuances and an instinctive feel for what works. This is no one-note man. His “Twister” is a gritty delta-style grinder for the 21st century and he skillfully folds a modern songwriting sensibility and wit into tunes like “Bad Year Blues” without giving any impression of trying to fix what ain’t broken.
The Cuban/Italian Castiglia doesn’t exactly fall into the category of young frat kids who think the vintage Strat and retro amp their daddies bought them combined with adopting a Ricki Lee Jones minstrel-like vocal style make them gen-u-whine blues men. When he sings “gots to” in
“Bad Year” it’s probably a habit he picked up hanging out with Junior.
Whether his Hagstrom is set on maximum overdrive (as on “Twister”) or he’s more low-key (as on Bob Dylan and Jacques Levy’s “Catfish”) and sounding a lot like the Vanguard label folk-blues recordings of the early 1960s, Castiglia, abetted by a first – class band, is always in command. Keyboardist Susan Luther especially helps make the group come off like one of those hard-playing New Orleans bands working Tipitina’s or the Old Absinthe House – likely to jump from Howlin’ Wolf to Hoagy Carmichael with Hank Williams in-between.
When Castiglia embraces blues standards, chestnuts like “Loan Me A Dime” or “Night Time Is the Right Time” it’s just that-an embrace. His unabashed love and respect for the music is lit large. Albert Castiglia is acolyte, priest and proselytizer for America’s great native music. He’s been well schooled and These Are The Days shows he’s more than fit for the part.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s June. ’08 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Johnny Rivers on July 4, 2006. Photo: Elliot Cohen.
When Bob Dylan names your version of one of his songs as his favorite of the more than 25,000 covers done over the past 40-plus years, that’s pretty high praise.
However, Dylan offered that assessment of Johnny Rivers’ recording of “Positively 4th Street,” on Secret Agent Man: The Ultimate Johnny Rivers Anthology 1964-2004, which displays his prowess interpreting such disparate sources as Chuck Berry, Motown, The Beach Boys, Pete Seeger, and Leadbelly.
To date, Rivers has reached the top 40 17 times, with nine singles hitting the Top 10. The list includes hits like “Summer Rain,” “Baby I Need Your Lovin’,” and the achingly beautiful “Poor Side of Town.”
The artist born John Rastemella in New York on July 4, 1942, has had a remarkable career that started years before the public became aware of him in ’64. Rivers had been drawn to the guitar before rock and roll became a national sensation. As a boy, he was influenced by his father and uncle performing traditional songs.
“I would just sit and stare at them,” said Rivers. “And eventually, my dad bought me a $20 Stella guitar.”
The first artist to make an indelible impression on Rivers was Elvis Presley, whom the 13-year old witnessed performing at the local high school in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
“My buddy and I decided we’d catch this country music show, and in the middle (comedienne) Minnie Pearl, who was the host, says, ‘And here’s this new sensation with his new song that’s creatin’ a big stir… The Hillbilly Cat, Elvis Presley.’ He comes walking onstage with Scotty (Moore) and Bill (Black), and they’re setting up Scotty’s amplifier, while he’s kind of jumping around. He was wearing a pink suit and white buck shoes, and people started laughing. He’s up there twitching around, he’s got pimples all over his face. His hair’s all greasy, and I’m thinking, ‘This is the coolest guy I’ve ever seen,’” Rivers recalls with a big laugh.
Two years later, at the age of 15, Rivers had already begun his recording and performing career. On a school Christmas vacation, he ventured to New York to stay with his aunt. At that time, the country’s most famous disc jockey, the legendary Alan Freed, had a nightly radio show broadcast over the equally legendary station, WINS, whose studios were located in Manhattan’s Columbus Circle. One evening, standing outside, shivering in the snow while waiting for Freed to make his grand entrance, the self-assured youngster approached him and said, “Mr. Freed, I have a band in Baton Rouge called the Spades, and we have a record on the radio down there.’ I just handed it to him, and he couldn’t believe it. It was like something out of an Alan Freed movie!”
Freed soon secured him a contract with Gone Records, and convinced the teenager to change his name to Johnny Rivers. Nothing much happened in terms of chart success, but Rivers continued performing, using his 1957 Stratocaster.
“I wasn’t much of a lead guitarist then,” he admits. “And the Strat wasn’t really a good rhythm guitar. It was better for things like blues.”
One day, Rivers was walking down Manhattan’s Canal Street, when he spotted a shiny red Gibson ES-335 in a music store’s window. He went in and had the store owner hook it up. “I loved its big, fat rhythm sound with the humbucking pickups.”
Too short on cash to purchase it, he discovered the proprietor was willing to swap it for $50… and his Stratocaster.
While the red Gibson has been Rivers’ trademark, he laments with a laugh. “Little did I know then that model Strat would become one of the most collectible guitars in the world.”
Rivers spent another five years recording for various labels, cutting $25 demos for singers like Presley and Rick Nelson. However, it wasn’t until late ’63 that he started attracting a following, playing at an L.A. restaurant called Gazzari’s. At the time, Rivers was backed only by a drummer, and he began seeking a bass player. An acquaintance told him, “We know this one guy who’s a disc jockey, but he also plays a pretty good bass.’ A few days later, this guy comes in, and we ran through some songs.”
On the night they were supposed to debut, the bassist came in after they had already finished their first set. “I fired him on the spot. Years later, he put this group together – Sly and The Family Stone!” recalls Rivers, with a big chuckle.
The bass slot was filled by Joe Osborne. However, despite attracting big crowds that included Hollywood luminaries, Rivers was becoming disillusioned by his meager $150 a week salary. He soon switched to the more profitable Whiskey A Go Go. Producer Bones Howe recorded six shows there, and Rivers soon hit the charts with a revamped version of Chuck Berry’s “Memphis.”
The long run of hit singles ended after 1977’s “Slow Dancin’.”
“I made some really great records after that, but I didn’t have the proper machine behind them,” he says. “So I struggled along and put stuff out on my own label, Soul City, with independent distribution. It was really tough.”
Rivers turns 65 this year, but don’t expect the still-very-in-demand performer to even consider cutting down his work schedule. “I try to take care of my health,” says Rivers, who doesn’t look that much different than in his heyday four decades ago. “I don’t do drugs. I drink very little, and I run two to three miles every day to keep my weight down. I try to lift weights three times a week, nothing radical, but just enough to stay in shape.”
And to keep his guitar chops finely tuned, Rivers practices at home with an Epiphone Emperor Joe Pass model. He explains. “The neck is a lot fatter than my 335, so it gives me a little workout to keep my fingers from cramping up onstage. There’s a lot of playing to do when you’re doing rhythm and lead on everything.”
This article originally appeared in VG‘s March 2007 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited. Johnny Rivers – Secret Agent Man
Antonio de Torres was the most important guitar maker of the 19th century, exerting an influence worldwide on the design and construction of the modern guitar that is unrivaled in the history of the instrument. His model has been in continuous usage since its creation in the mid 19th century and today is the de facto model of nylon string players the world over. Of the 300 to 400 or so guitars Antonio de Torres was thought to have made in his lifetime, about 90 are known to survive, so when a previously unknown example comes to light, this is of considerable importance and interest to scholars, collectors, and musicians alike.
Surprise Arrival
In 2004 I received for restoration a highly interesting and previously undocumented Antonio de Torres of 1863 which had been in the same family for several generations. Unfortunately, due to neglect, it was in very poor (unplayable) condition, although it retained its original varnish despite amateurish repair attempts. At some point, possibly in the early 20th century, someone crudely converted the instrument from its original friction pegs to mechanical tuning machines, installing a poor-quality set of machine heads. Internally, the numerous cracks that had occurred had been “repaired” by slathering copious amounts of hide glue around and pressing pieces of paper, cloth, scrap wood and such in a misguided attempt to consolidate the cracks.
The sides of the instrument, which average only .8 mm thick(!) had suffered particularly, as it appeared the instrument had been exposed to wet conditions which allowed the guitar to repeatedly swell and shrink. Given the thinness of the sides, they reacted very quickly and the result was more cracks than could be counted that required attention. The restoration would require removal of the back – major surgery for a guitar.
The back had been previously removed (perhaps on several occasions) and replaced, and shrinkage had caused several bad splits in the mahogany center pane. These cracks were crudely inlaid with non-matching pieces of cypress. A small corner of the back panel was missing altogether, replaced by a hunk of foreign matter. Because the shrinkage of the back precluded closing the cracks and reinstalling the back, after consulting with Mr. Takeshi Nogawa, who works in the restoration shop of Chicago violin dealers Bein and Fushi, we formulated a plan to remove the badly done inlays, close the cracks, add matching ears to the center panel edges to expand the dimension and then double the interior using a matching piece of the same species of mahogany. Doubling is often done on rare violins where soundpost cracks and bridge distortion have created otherwise insurmountable problems. This procedure allowed the crack on the pearwood back panel to be closed completely (rather than inlaid) and for the back to be perfectly reinstalled to the original outline, something that would have been otherwise impossible due to shrinkage. The doubling was done in such a manner to make it invisible from the outside, using a matching piece of mahogany, right down to having a knot in the same position as the knot in the original Torres back panel. All agreed this was preferable to replacing the center back panel with a completely new piece, and allowed the instrument to retain all its original components.
The top showed many cracks, all due to shrinkage. A section on the bass side which had gone missing had been crudely replaced with a piece of unmatched spruce. By carefully closing the cracks, installing a matching panel and re-inlaying some of the larger cracks previously inlaid with better matching wood, the top was brought back to its original outline and re-purfled perfectly, with no loss of original varnish. The Cuban mahogany bridge was worn, but otherwise perfect, retaining the arching that held the top dome, and the worn string holes were carefully filled in to restore the wear of nearly a century of mounting strings. The bridge is a very critical element to the originality of the instrument, second only to the soundboard and varnish, so it was vital to retain the bridge without alteration.
Singularly Unique
The most remarkable feature of this Torres is without question the absence of fan strutting on the top, the only Torres known to have been made in this manner, according to José Romanillos (whom I consulted regarding this guitar). This certainly suggests that Torres did not view fan strutting as a structural element, but rather as a sound-controlling element. The small size of the instrument means that compared to larger bodied guitars, it would not have as much bass response. Adding fans to the top raises the upper frequency response, as does making the fans stiffer, so making the guitar entirely without fans suggests Torres correctly believed this would benefit the lower bass range of the instrument, and indeed, it has surprising depth to the sound, much greater than one would expect for such a small body.
The top after restoration. The original varnish remains intact over the entire instrument. The top averages about 2 mm thick.
The back after restoration. Torres used bookmatched pearwood with a central panel of mahogany. The sides are pearwood, and are only .8 mm thick. The back averages around 2.5 mm thick. There’s only one cross strut on the back, by the lower bout.
Interior after removal of the papers and crack inlays. Note the absence of evidence of fan strutting. The braces on the top are the only ones installed by Torres. Note the glistening surface of the top, left as it was cut with a very sharp plane, without sanding or scraping.
The head with the new Rodgers tuning machines. Note the inside face of the slots, by the second string roller; the faint mark remains as evidence of the original friction pegs.
The fingerboard retained the original graduated-brass-bar frets Torres sometimes used during this period of his work, something of a miracle given the amount of hard playing the instrument had seen during its life. But the fingerboard was badly split due to shrinkage, and the frets and fingerboard surface were severely eroded. So after consulting with the owner, it was decided the best solution was to remove the original fingerboard with the frets intact, and replace it with a copy of the original, which is now preserved with the instrument. This proved a real problem, as identifying the species of wood used for the fingerboard was not easy. After consulting with Robert Ruck and Neil Ostberg, both eminent luthiers with vast experience in these matters, we concluded that the original fingerboard was made of Circassian walnut, a material Torres would have had access to. So it was replaced with the same material using graduated-bar fret stock, as Torres had used originally. The action was preserved as Torres had originally set it, which by today’s standards is fairly low, but typical for 19th century Spanish instruments.
The head is interesting in that its design is different from the classic Torres triple-arch model typically associated with his guitars (a design derived from tombstones of the 19th century). It’s quite similar to that used by Manuel Gutierrez, of Sevilla, with whom Torres shared shop space on the Calle de la Cerregeria when he first moved to Sevilla. A second Torres from 1857 is also recorded by Romanillos with the same head design, this one owned by Yale University (No. 4574). Unlike this 1863 guitar, the 1857 retains its original pegs, although the head has plugged holes which suggest it may have been recycled from an even older guitar, perhaps one made for six courses rather than six single strings. This 1863 instrument has the neck and head made of a very lightweight pine rather than Spanish cedar, and the back of the head has had a wedge added to augment the thickness of the head when it was converted to mechanical tuning. From the front you can see the two smaller holes at the top of the head which were intended for a ribbon to allow hanging the guitar from a peg on the wall, the normal method of storage in 19th-century Spain. The added wedge, which is made of the same kind of pine does not have the holes drilled through it, as the new slots in the head would suffice for the hanging ribbon. The original Torres head tapered considerably in thickness, being much thinner out by the tip than it is by the neck, a normal Torres feature for instruments with friction pegs. A custom set of machine heads by David Rodgers was made to exactly fit the original machines, which were spaced at 35.5 mm.
Original Label
The label is the earliest printed label used by Torres, and the only one he printed that gives his location as Almería, his home town. It is also the only label he had printed with all four digits of the date printed in place: 1852. Romanillos, in his book on Torres, speculates about the many interesting possibilities this suggests, and recently indicated to me that he had seen an authentic Torres guitar with this label that had not had the date altered, presumably made in 1852. All of the other Torres guitars (including several in my own collection) which have this label have had the last two digits altered, usually to either 1863 or 1864, which suggest he ran short of his other labels and, having these leftover (due to the dates being wrong), he used this label as a practical expedient by overwriting the last two digits. In this instrument he wrote “63” over the “52.” This suggests the instruments bearing this overwritten label were mostly made between late 1863 and early 1864. There are known Torres instruments of both 1863 and ’64 with his normal label installed, so my best guess is he ran out of his regular labels temporarily and while the printer was making new ones, used these as an expedient. The only curious fact in all of this is that the family who owns this instrument is from Almería, and it seems the instrument has been in their possession since Torres’ days. Unfortunately, there are no sales receipts, etc., so perhaps it was purchased in Sevilla by a fellow Almerense and brought back to Almería where it remained the rest of its life.
Notable Features
Aside from the lack of fan struts, there are several other notable features. The first is its adherence to English measurements based on the inch. The 632 mm scale is actually a 25″ scale, with the 12th fret falling at precisely 1215/32″, which allows the bridge to be placed with compensation for a 25″ scale. The other dimensions of the body were also measured in inches rather than metric; for instance, the sides at the butt are 33/4″ deep exactly, the body is 163/4″ long, etc. The second is the strong presence of very fine and regular toothing blade marks in the interior work of the instrument. The blade that produced these was not a locally made blade cut by hand, but a very precise highly technical iron of precise spacing intervals. These are the same tool marks I’ve observed in other authentic Torres guitars. Together, these facts suggest Torres was using very high quality tools, probably of English manufacture, not surprising given the precision of his work, but not something one would have thought a simple carpenter from Almeria would have had easy access to in 19th-century Spain. Perhaps this was one of the benefits of moving to Sevilla, which was a major commercial center not only for wood and tools, but also for the marketing of flamenco music, which is where most of his clientele earned its money.
This was the only Torres label that lists his hometown of Almeria, and gives his mother’s last name (Jurado). “Me Hizo” indicates who made the instrument, and as a practice was going out of favor with Spanish makers at the time. The last digits have been overwritten with “63,” the year this was made, when Torres was working in Sevilla (not Almeria).
The linings, carefully crimped to permit bending without a hot bending iron. Note the perfect scarf joint where the center lining meets the upper lining. On the sides are the very fine tool marks left by Torres’ toothing plane (the side cleats were added during restoration). This type of lining was easy to do, but Torres’ execution is masterful beyond requirements of the design, and proves his work has not been surpassed.
Tip of the head showing the wedge added to allow for machine heads.
Also very notable is the design of the bridge, which harks back to the days of the lute and baroque guitars. It does not have the additional bone saddle in front to define the vibrating end of the strings, but instead has a simple forward-sitting tie block which allows string vibrations to be stopped by the loop of the string where it ties on the bridge. The string itself is its own saddle. This gives a different texture to the sound, something more akin to the tonal quality of the lute. Contrary to expectations, the sustain of the instrument is still very good, especially considering the fingerboard is made of walnut, which is much less dense than rosewood or ebony. Several other Torres guitars have been identified with this style of primitive bridge, most notably the very famous “La Leona” of 1856 which was played for many years by Julian Arcas, the 19th-century performer most instrumental in collaborating with Torres when he created his model. The advantage of this type of bridge is that it can be much lighter in weight, having a much smaller footprint on the top. The heavier the bridge, the more the muting effect on the sound. Torres selected Cuban mahogany to make the bridge, a wood that is light and very dimensionally stable, and the bridge still retains the original doming where it was glued to the top.
Working Methods
The interior linings are made of very lightweight softwood, and were crimped with a unique tool to assist in bending them to the outline. Romanillos refers to this technique as “green stick fracture,” and indeed some of the cheap Valencian hack attack guitars used this technique of forcing freshly cut wood around the outline by partially breaking it as you go, but in the case of Torres, this was not his technique at all. He used a very sharp knife edged mandrel, perhaps in a kind of arbor press to very uniformly produce cut kerfs in the very thin (3/32″) linings, allowing them to bend around the very thin and fragile sides without distorting the sides from the intended outline. The linings are installed in three sections around each side, a waist section with the crimps facing the glued side, and an upper and lower section with the crimps facing the interior of the body, with perfect scarf joints where the sections meet.
After the sides were bent, lined and slipped into the neck slots, he placed the tapered top cross struts across the assembly, and holding them in place used his saw to mark and cut their positions in the linings. The saw slightly scored into the already delicate sides as he cut through the linings, but this is how Torres fitted each cross strut so that there was absolutely no gap between the end of the brace and the linings. The triangular glue blocks on the ends of the cross struts fit so tightly they’re almost superfluous, and the tapered cross section means they cannot drop lower. The cross struts were first glued in place and then the top was glued to the side/neck assembly. This is the reason the two reinforcement pieces by the soundhole fall far short of touching either cross-strut. It is also possibly the reason the cross struts are slightly tilted off of 90 degrees to the center line of the top, as Torres probably did this by eye. On the other hand, they are tilted toward the treble, and one wonders if this was intentional, as later makers such as Santos and Barbero intentionally tilted cross struts, as do many modern luthiers.
The top is made of three pieces of unmatched very-fine-grain spruce, with the joint lines falling exactly under the placement of the soundhole reinforcing plates. The interior of the top was left perfectly smooth from a very sharp hand plane, without further sanding or scraping, as were the cross struts where they were rounded over with a small finger plane. The only part of the top that shows tool marks is the area by the interior waist on the bass side where there was a knot in the wood. In this area, only Torres judiciously used the same toothing scraper to deal with the wild grain around the knot. Every luthier who has seen this interior top surface has marveled at the sharpness level Torres must have maintained on his tools to permit this kind of surface treatment. This indicates his sharpening system was highly sophisticated, equal to anything in use today. And his tools themselves must have been made of very high-quality steel, capable of taking and holding such an edge.
Conclusion
It would be easy to dismiss this instrument as a simple “player’s guitar” and indeed, it was probably intended for a player of modest means, but in making this guitar, Torres used every ounce of his sophisticated methods and technology that he used in his most ornate instruments to produce an instrument that, while small and simple in appearance, was heads and tails above the work of his contemporaries in terms of musicality and playability. What a revelation it must have been to pick up this small guitar and hear it fill the room, to experience the huge depth of sound, the brilliance of its carrying power, and the ease of action that made it all so effortless. Players must have been convinced Torres had made a pact with the devil to achieve these kinds of results with such simple materials. Indeed, the devil is in the details.
Acknowledgments
I wish to thank several people who have kindly provided consultation, encouragement, and advice during the long period of restoration this instrument has undergone: Luthiers Robert Ruck (Oregon), Neil Ostberg (Wisconsin), Takeshi Nogawa (Chicago), and my son Marshall Bruné (Salt Lake City). Their sage advice was invaluable. Special thanks to Robert Ruck, who identified the material of the original fingerboard, and provided an aged sample to use for the replacement. My thanks to luthiers James Frieson (Japan) and Federico Sheppard (Wisconsin) who provided information concerning Sturgeon-bladder glues. Thanks also to José Romanillos (Spain) who kindly provided information on Torres’ labels not published in any of his books. Additionally, I wish to extend in advance my thanks to Julia Schultz, research fellow at the Department of Scientific Research of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, who volunteered to analyze the glue proteins of the original Torres glue to determine the precise type, in addition to providing a copy of her research on protein glues and their identification. I particularly wish to thank Arian Sheets, curator of string instruments at the National Music Museum of Vermillion, South Dakota, for her encouragement to retain as much original material as possible, and Jason Dobney, Associate curator of musical instruments at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, who introduced me to Julia Schultz. They have all contributed immensely to the success of this restoration and I thank them all.
Richard Bruné began making guitars in 1966 and is a former professional flamenco guitarist. He has written for the Guild of American Luthiers and other organizations and lectured at guitar festivals and museums including the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. He collects classical and flamenco guitars. He was recently featured on the PBS documentary, “Los Romeros: The Royal Family of the Guitar,” and his new book, The Guitar of Andrés Segovia: Hermann Hauser 1937, was recently published by Dynamic, of Italy. You can write to him at 800 Greenwood Street, Evanston IL 60201, or visit rebrune.com. This article originally appeared in VG‘s May 2008 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
In the lore surrounding Vox Amplification, the AC30 is the king of the hill, the alpha male, the one that first springs to mind. But history reminds us that when they were introduced in the late 1950s, the AC15 actually preceded the AC30 by almost a year, which makes it the granddaddy.
Bolstered by high-profile endorser/players like Cliff Richard’s backing band, the Shadows, and four guys from Liverpool, the AC15 held its own right up until certain performers started demanding high-power gee-tar amplification (damn you, Pete!).
Still, the AC15 has remained a darling in the eyes of Vox enthusiasts, and the company recently began offering an updated version dubbed the AC15 Custom Classic.
A tube-powered combo with one 12″ speaker, the AC15CC sticks to tradition in its use of two EL84s in its output section and two 12AX7s in the preamp, but makes a decided break with the addition of a master-volume control and “global” reverb and tremolo circuit. The top-mounted control panel maintains a traditional aesthetic, playing host to knobs for Master volume, Speed and Depth for the tremolo circuit, Reverb Mix, and Bass, Treble and Volume controls in its trademark Top Boost section, along with a single input jack and switches for Power and Standby. The back panel has two speaker output jacks and a footswitch jack. The included footswitch lets the player engage the tremolo and reverb circuits.
The AC15CC’s cabinet is constructed of Baltic Birch plywood, handsomely covered in the traditional Vox black tolex, with signature Vox diamond-pattern grillecloth. Chickenhead control knobs give a vintage touch. Inside is some very clean wiring, and while the amp isn’t entirely point-to-point handwired, the wiring we could see was flawless.
To test the amp, we used our stock ’70s Fender Stratocaster and a Hamer Sunburst Archtop Custom with Seymour Duncan ’59 humbuckers. We started by plugging in the Strat and setting the amp for a clean sound (Master volume all the way up, Top Boost Volume at about 1/3, Bass nearly all the way up, and Treble just past 1/4) and the AC15CC proffered a very sweet class A tone, very clear and sparkly, with big, solid low-end response. Touch sensitivity and response were remarkable, very smooth, and with no harshness at all – 100 percent Vox!
Vox AC15 Custom Classic control panel.
The tone stayed relatively clean until the Top Boost Volume knob reached the 2/3 point, when it started breaking up very nicely. We pushed it to full and got a higher-gain rock-like tone that stayed tight and full until (and after) it was loud enough for use in a club. The tone was very impressive.
We found the vibrato circuit to be smooth and even, with lots of range from slow to fast. The reverb was a bit springy for our tastes, and sounded a little separated from the circuit. It was fine in small amounts.
Using the Hamer and with the controls set back to clean, we again got a nice, clear, sweet tone with big low-end and nice sparkle; notes positively popped, with fantastic separation. We set the Master volume and volume about 2/3, we got exceptional blues and rock sounds that cleaned up nicely using the guitar’s volume. All pickup positions sounded great, with very balanced frequency response. For being a fairly diminutive amp, the AC15 sounds very full and fat.
Pushing both volumes produced a fat, rich, rock distortion that again, stayed tight.
After noodling around a bit with the Strat and Hamer, the AC15CC was sounding so good that our curiosity got the best of us and we simply had to give it a run with our ’59 Fender Esquire. To nobody’s surprise, the amp gave the same fat, full, sparkly tone, with some of the nicest modern country class A twang you’ve ever heard! For fun, we grabbed a 2×12″ extension cabinet and again got the expected response; bigger, fatter twang, rich, sparkly, and simply exceptional.
The AC15CC is made in China, but again disproves the prevailing wisdom that good stuff can’t come from there. Will history treat this version of the AC15 with the same reverence as its forbears? Can’t say, but with its modern features, and exceptional tone, it may be the most usable AC15 yet, at a surprising price point.
Vox AC15 Custom Classic Price $1,399 (with Celestion Blue Alnico speaker) or $1,099 (with Wharfdale GSH12-30 speaker). Contact Vox Amplification USA, 316 S Service Road, Melville, NY 11747; voxamps.co.uk This article originally appeared in VG‘s October 2006 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
For Jay Farrar, these are the worst
of times and the best of times, to appropriate
and paraphrase a famous
line. As a songwriter and musician
with the spirit of a Woody Guthrie
– or at least, the Carter Family – the
economy and world woes provided
the fire and fury for this comeback
collection of protest music.
Farrar founded Uncle Tupelo, before
that band ruptured to become Jeff
Tweedy’s Wilco and Farrar’s Son Volt.
The late, great original Son Volt, with
multi-instrumentalist brothers Jim
and Dave Boquist, was then laid to rest
– unofficially, that is, with repeated
promises of a reunion. With American
Central Dust, we get “mark II.”
These are the times and the album
Farrar may have been made for. In
“Dynamite,” “When the Wheels Don’t
Move,” and the closer, “Jukebox of
Steel,” Farrar has penned simple anthems
populated by familiar figures
searching for what they thought was
right, only to have the ground pulled
out from beneath their feet.
Throughout, the music is alive with
a raw-boned grace. Farrar’s simple
strummed acoustic-guitar melodies
are wrapped within guitarist Mark
Spencer’s Telecaster lines that have
tone of rusted barbed wire.
American Central Dust is an epic
lament for the soul of the nation, an
album that gets back to the roots of
the problem.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s Dec. ’09 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Eastwood’s EEB-1 and the EUB-1 take their design inspiration from Ampeg’s quirky mid-’60s Horizontal Bass series, the brainchild of Dennis Kager, an amp technician and guitar specialist who worked for the company at the time.
The Ampegs (the fretted AEB-1 and fretless AUB-1) had non-symmetrical double-cutaway laminate bodies with f-hole cutouts that went through the body, bolt-on maple necks with zero-frets, and scrolled headstocks. Adding to the quirkiness was a “mystery pickup” system, an adaptation of the setup used in the Ampeg Baby Bass that used a silectron steel diaphragm and two magnetic pickups that sat underneath the bridge to convert the bridge vibrations into electrical energy for amplification. This allowed for any type of string to be used, i.e. non-magnetic gut strings as well as nickel steel and tape-wound. It also helped give the Horizontal basses the sound of a traditional upright.
Eastwood’s EEB-1 and EUB-1 re-creations (also fretted and fretless, respectively) have the same non-symmetrical double-cutaway solidbody design (albeit with mahogany) with the through-body f-holes, a three-ply black/white/black pickguard, that covers the entire front of the instrument, a 34″-scale bolt-on maple neck with a slotted (instead of scrolled) headstock, chrome hardware (die-cast tuners, dome knobs, adjustable bridge), and a cool retro bridge cover.
The EEB-1 and EUB-1 use a more modern traditional high-output EW Alnico humbucker with a single Volume and single Tone control. Tuners on the slotted headstock are mounted like those on an upright bass (the keys mount flat against the edge, and protrude backward) and do a good job of replicating the original scrolled Ampeg headstock without all the added cost of doing an exact copy of a full scroll. The necks are identical, with 15/8″-width plastic nuts, 12″ radius rosewood fretboards with dot markers on the front and top edge, and a substantial but very comfortable U-shaped neck profile. The lightweight bodies and slotted headstocks give the instruments a balanced feel. All of the Eastwood instruments we’ve reviewed boasted excellent workmanship, with clean fretwork, tight neck joints, flawless finishes, and high-quality/well-fitted components. The EEB-1 and EUB-1 are no exception.
Eastwood’s EUB-1
Through an Ampeg B200-R 1×15″ 200-watt combo, the center-mounted humbucking pickup and 34″-scale helped both basses produce classic, thick electric-bass tones with no extraneous noise and a lot of output. Rolling the Tone control all the way back on the EEB-1 revealed a killer old-school sound with clear, punchy midrange and chunky low-end response, especially when you get aggressive with the picking fingers. While both basses were strung with .040 to .100 D’Addario roundwounds, a set of flatwounds or tapewounds would certainly add vintage flavor of the tone – and likely push the EUB-1 into “upright tone” territory. Given they sport only one pickup and passive controls, the Eastwoods don’t offer a ton of tonal versatility. But they do a fantastic job of creating rock-solid tone, voiced for playing in the pocket.
The Eastwood EEB-1 and EUB-1 basses are more great examples of how Eastwood is striving to market quality, affordable instruments with a cool 1950s/’60s vibe. Both boast excellent workmanship and solid, usable gigging tones with gobs of retro appeal.
eastwood eeb-1 and eub-1 basses Price: $699 Contact: Eastwood Guitars, 75 Main Street S., Brampton Ontario L6Y1M9 Canada V6E 3M4; phone (416) 294-6165; eastwoodguitars.com.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s May 2008 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited. Eastwood EEB-1 Bass Guitar demonstrated by Jeff Jones Eastwood EUB-1 Fretless Bass demonstrated by Joey Leone
John Jorgenson’s latest offering is French Gypsy jazz played by a California boy as recorded in Nashville and honed while touring the world over.
Jorgenson’s fascination with the music of Django Reinhardt goes way back. He began playing Gypsy jazz three decades ago while gigging at Disneyland. By 2004, he was playing Django himself in the Hollywood film Heads in the Clouds as stars Charlize Theron and Penélope Cruz shimmied to his guitar.
Now, Ultraspontane (J2 Records) offers more of Jorgenson’s stylish and adventurous jazz. And yet given his résumé backing Elton John and his role as one of the fabled Hellecasters, there’s a rock’n’roll intensity to the groove. This new album just may be Jorgenson’s masterpiece – at least so far.
“Probably the biggest difference in creating Ultraspontane from Franco American Swing [his last album] is that I have been touring steadily since… so most of the material was developed onstage,” Jorgenson explains. “This helped to foster more dynamics in the tracks and more overall energy, plus my chops were stronger, and I always like to push myself in the studio to up the ante in terms of expression, intensity, and technique.”
Naturally, Ultraspontane includes several classic Django melodies, yet the other 10 tracks here are originals. Jorgenson has been able to break out of the stranglehold Django has over many musicians in this genre.
“One thing I noticed while touring was that the audiences seemed to respond particularly well to my own compositions, especially the ones that contained unusual grooves,” Jorgenson says. “This inspired me to write more, and helped me to feel free to add some of my other influences into the music. I get really inspired by gypsy music of all kinds, from the Bulgarian brass of Fanfare Ciocarlia and the cimbalom-driven rhythms of Taraf de Haïdouks, to the many incredible flamenco guitarists and singers like the Greek gypsy Kostas Pavlidas. I feel like my style is still gypsy jazz, but I am pushing the boundaries in all sorts of directions – classical, funk, world, gypsy, etc.!”
Jorgenson’s own musical journey can be seen in the changes he’s wrought to his composition “La Journée Des Tziganes.” He first cut the melody for the Hellecasters’ 1997 album Escape From Hollywood. “My inspiration came from wanting to have some of the feel and tonality that I enjoyed in the Gipsy Kings music, but played on the electric guitar.”
On Ultraspontane, he’s recreated the song with a greater understanding of Gypsy music.
“The recasting of the main melody for acoustic guitar was not as hard as I thought it might be. On electric guitar, I used a hybrid picking technique of flatpick in conjunction with my ring and middle finger. On gypsy guitar, I needed to do everything with a flatpick. The song worked well live, and gave the Quintet a chance to stretch out and jam a bit. I guess the song has come full circle, inspired by an acoustic group, realized by an electric group, and renewed by an acoustic group!”
“La Journée Des Tziganes” has since become his band’s anthem, a show-stopping jam often rewarded with standing ovations. This can be seen firsthand in Jorgenson’s other new release, John Jorgenson Quintet In Concert, a two-DVD set filmed live in Vicenza, Italy. The setlist here is half Django, half Jorgenson; the musicianship by the Quintet is pure inspiration.
Jorgenson recorded Ultraspontane over a year in Nashville, taking things slow and getting the music right. Rhythm tracks were cut at bassist Charlie Chadwick’s OGM Studio by Jorgenson’s Quintet, including Stephan Dudash on five-string viola and rhythm guitarist Gonzalo Bergara. Solos and overdubs were then added at a studio Jorgenson erected in a rented space on Music Row. Backing strings by the Nashville Chamber Orchestra were recorded at a third studio. The recording, editing, and mixing was done in Sonar 4.
Still, even with such talented and eclectic support, Jorgenson remains the mainstay. On the album, he played the solo guitars, some rhythm guitar parts, clarinet, some percussion, and even autoharp.
For guitars, Jorgenson has quite an arsenal to choose from, and each one provided an inspiration or unique voice for a song. The opening track, “El Camino del Che,” chronicles Che Guevara’s journey through South America as recounted in the book and film, Motorcycle Diaries. Here, Jorgenson was moved by the tone of a 1939 Selmer guitar in creating the tune.
On other songs, he plays a 1942 Selmer oval-hole, a mid-’30s Selmer D-hole, and a ’95 custom Maurice Dupont guitar. He also used his prototype Gitane John Jorgenson guitar and a signature all-black “Tuxedo” model Gitane.
One of the standout tunes on Ultraspontane is “Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me,” which features Beryl Davis as guest vocalist. Davis first recorded this melody in 1938 with Django Reinhardt and the Quintette du Hot Club de France. Now she’s in her 80s, but has lost none of the spark she displayed when fronting Django’s band.
“I found Beryl living in Burbank and invited her to one of our shows a few years ago,” Jorgenson related. “We got along really well and she agreed to perform with us at a couple festivals. The response was so great I knew I had to get her into the studio.”
One of the greatest rewards came this June at the vaunted Django Reinhardt Festival at Samois-sur-Seine, just south of Paris. Jorgenson and Quintet were booked into the headline spot, a rare honor for an American Gypsy jazz band at a French concert. The audience was made up of numerous Romany, many of the world’s Django cognoscenti, and other artists, such as Stochelo Rosenberg, Romane, and Angelo Debarre. “That meant a lot to me,” Jorgenson says. “And I was incredibly nervous!”
“When we finished our last song, the crowd was on its feet and cheering for a long time – it felt incredible! It seemed like we would get an encore no problem, but as we left the stage, the emcee told me they were out of time. When he announced that to the cheering crowd, they created such a roar he told us to get back onstage! We happily accommodated, and I must say, for a California-raised boy who has loved Django’s music for nearly 30 years, it was a defining moment in my life. I still get a chill when I think about it.”
This article originally appeared in VG‘s December 2007 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited. John Jorgenson – Ghost Dance
Technically this early-1961 is an SG Special, but for all practical purposes it’s still a Les Paul. Photo: Billy Mitchell, courtesy Gruhn Guitars. Instrument courtesy Gil Southworth
Gibson’s Les Paul Special was the last of the original Les Paul “family” of guitars introduced, and it was the first to lose the Les Paul name. But that has not diminished its appeal to players and collectors.
The Les Paul was not intended to be a “family,” but the success of the goldtop Les Paul Model introduced in 1952 inspired the development of both a fancier model and a less-fancy one, which were in the prototype stage by the end of ’53. Introduced in mid ’54, the fancier Custom had the carved top of the original, while the plainer version, the Junior, was stripped not only of its ornamentation but the carved maple top cap, as well. It had a “slab” mahogany body, unbound fingerboard, dot inlays, and a decal peghead logo. To make it even more affordable, it had only a single dog-eared P-90 pickup rather than the two soapbar-covered single-coils of the original and the Custom.
The Les Paul Junior caught on, as expected, because it was less than half the price of the goldtop. But it also had an unexpected appeal to players for reasons of playability. As it turned out, not everyone liked the curvature of the top on the goldtop and the Custom (Les Paul himself was among those players who preferred a flat top), not to mention the extra weight that the maple top cap added to the goldtop and Custom. The only disadvantage to the Junior was its lack of versatility as a result of having only a single pickup.
In 1955, Gibson filled in what was becoming a gaping niche between the Junior and the goldtop with the Les Paul Special. A bound fingerboard and pearl logo placed the Special above the budget level of the Junior, although it still had dot inlays. The Special’s two pickups made it the electronic equal of the goldtop and of the Custom (although the Custom’s neck pickup was equipped with Alnico V magnets rather than the Alnico IIs of the standard P-90). The covers on the Special were soapbar-style like the higher models, rather than the dog-eared style of the Junior. Tonally, the differences between the Special, goldtop, and Custom were subtle if not imperceptible. The carved tops of the goldtop and Custom were of maple and mahogany, respectively, and they provided slightly more mass, which could have a minute effect on sustain. The Custom’s ebony fingerboard also made for a stiffer neck (with increased sustain) than rosewood-fingerboard necks of the Special and goldtop. The Custom’s Tune-O-Matic bridge offset those sustain-enhancing features by allowing the strings to move more across the saddles than the “wraparound” stud-mounted bridge-tailpiece of the goldtop and Special.
Like the higher models in the Les Paul line, the Special had its own special finish… almost. It actually shared a finish with the Les Paul TV model that had been introduced at the end of ’54. Gibson called it “limed mahogany” (or occasionally “natural” or “limed oak”) and it varied through the years, ranging from a whitewashed look to an almost opaque yellow finish. The “TV model” was so-named presumably because it matched the popular finishes on TV cabinets and furniture of the day, or else because it would stand out when seen on black-and-white TV telecasts, and the “TV” designation became so closely associated with the finish that it became commonly known as TV Yellow.
The Special occupied the same place in sales as it did in the model line – between the Junior and goldtop. In 1956, the Special’s first full year of production, Gibson shipped 3,129 Juniors, 1,452 Specials and 598 goldtops. Sales of Specials actually increased in 1957, although the other models had started to slip, and the Special would soon follow.
While the original Special was worthy of being grouped with the upper models, changes in 1955 and ’57 drew a clear line of delineation straight down the middle of the Les Paul family, with the goldtop and Custom on one side and the Special and Junior on the other. The first of those changes was the Tune-O-Matic bridge. The Custom had it from its introduction, the goldtop got it in late ’55, but the Special never did. Still, the pickups kept the Special in the same league with the higher models – until ’57. The double-coil humbucking pickup, invented and patented by Gibson engineer Seth Lover, represented the first major improvement in pickup design since Ro-Pat-In (soon to be known as Rickenbacker) introduced the modern magnetic pickup in 1932. In ’57, Gibson began putting humbuckers on all of its high-end electrics, such as the Super 400CES, the L-5CES, the Byrdland, the ES-5, and even the midline ES-175. The Les Paul Model got humbuckers, and the Les Paul Custom got three of them, but the Les Paul Special was left behind with its P-90s.
Despite the upgrade to humbuckers on higher-priced Les Pauls, sales for all four models were dropping steadily. In mid 1958, the Junior got a makeover with a double-cutaway body, along with an optional Cherry Red stain finish that resulted in almost double the sales figures. In ’59, the Special got the same treatment with the same results; shipments jumped from 958 in ’58 to 1,821 in ’59. Then, in late ’59, for no apparent reason, the Les Paul Special became the SG Special. For all practical purposes it was the same guitar, with the same double-cutaway body and the same features except for the lack of the “Les Paul” silkscreen on the peghead and a slightly different pickguard.
The Special designation lived on, of course, through the change to the SG body shape in early 1961, and continued to hold the same place in the SG family as it had in the Les Paul family. (The concept of a four-member model family carried over to the Firebirds of 1963, where the Firebird III was the equivalent of the Special.) The Special’s two P-90 pickups offered an alternative to humbuckers that was preferred by such influential guitarists as Carlos Santana (who played an SG Special as well as a Les Paul Special) and Pete Townshend (who played an SG Special before switching to Les Paul Deluxes).
When the Les Pauls came back in the 1970s, the Special proved more popular than the Junior. In fact, the Junior was nowhere to be seen until 1987, while the Special reappeared as early as 1972 in a single-cutaway version, one of which became the main axe of reggae legend Bob Marley. The double-cutaway version became a separate model when it was reintroduced in ’76 as the Les Paul Special Double Cutaway. In the last two decades, due in part to the presence of humbuckers on some models, the Special has dominated the Junior. (Don’t be confused by such names as Junior II or Junior Special, which were derived from the fact that Gibson’s model coding system treats the Special as a two-pickup Junior.) Proof of the Les Paul Special’s continuing appeal lies in today’s Custom Shop line, where Special reissues are offered in single-cut and double-cut versions.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s June 2007 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
When Roy Orbison walked onstage, the black Gibson ES-335 around his neck wasn’t just for show. Orbison was a pretty good picker, and he holds down a good portion of the guitar on the sides from the Teen Kings and the Wink Westerners included in this comprehensive set. For his signature hits of the early 1960s he deferred to Grady Martin, H arold B radley, Ray Edenton, and Joe Tanner, while B oudleaux B ryant
(“Crying”) and Scotty Moore (“Crying,” “Candy Man”) would occasionally lend a hand. But in live shows it was Roy who usually laid out the iconic lick that kicked off “Oh, Pretty Woman” and crack off more than a few good solos. But Texas towns (like Wink, where Orbison grew up) breed guitar players like deserts breed dust. Though his place in rock and roll history was carved with a peerless voice, Orbison might have made a place for himself in music if he had never sung a note. A 1987 “Saturday Night Live” appearance that came while the buzz was still high for Blue Velvet, the 1986 David Lynch film that helped breathe new life into the careers of Orbison and Dennis Hopper, showed a man in his musical prime. Orbison was only 51 at the time and would leave an unfillable space just a year later, passing away in December of ’88.
He left one hell of a legacy, though, and most of the significant moments of a career that spanned 30 years yet still seems truncated are collected here, faithfully remastered, sounding great, and reminding us that Orbison stood outside time. Songs like “Runnin’ Scared” maintain their cinematic grandeur decades on. Orbison’s voice remained undiminished throughout his life – evidenced by the T-Bone B urnett produced version of “In Dreams” recorded for Blue Velvet; “Coming Home” from his mid-’80s Class Of ’55 collaboration with Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, and Jerry Lee Lewis; and the live selections from the “Black And White Night” television special. It was the same with the various Virgin recordings from the ’80s. Those sessions, with B ono, Jeff Lynne, Don Was, and others producing, came during the period that saw Orbison’s career get a well-deserved resuscitation from his work with the Traveling Wilburys, represented here by “Not Alone Any More.”
Lynne also produced the Mystery Girl album, which yielded Orbison’s last hit, “You Got It” his highest charting single (# 9 in the U.S., #3 in the U.K.) since “It’s Over” in ’64. Included here, it’s a performance as impressive as any in this 107-cut collection – one that can, without equivocation, be called “essential.”
This article originally appeared in VG‘s Jan. ’09 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
The history of the musical instrument business is full of stories, from the drab to the miraculous. Some bean counters will busily push their way to the forefront, grabbing for a piece of history, while others quietly create. Seth Lover peers out at me from the doorway of his humble Southern California ranch house looking for all the world like an elf dressed in worn work clothes. Welcoming me inside as if he’d known me all his life, I enter a home that is rooted as firmly in the past as in the present. The charming Mrs. Lover joined us for our afternoon together, occasionally chiming in from time to time. Electronics manuals and instruments are in every corner, and the inner sanctum, Seth’s crowded two-car garage, is a wonderland of old inventions never marketed, examples of his prodigious career spanning five decades, and enough parts inventory to start a musical instrument company.
A noted creator, Seth Lover’s achievements include numerous amplifiers and circuits, but none have been so highly recognized as his humbucking pickup, which became the Patent Applied For (P.A.F.) humbucker. The following is excerpted from an interview with Seth Lover conducted by VG‘s Stephen Patt in 1996. At the time, Lover was working with pickup designer Seymour Duncan on the SH-55 humbucker, more commonly known as the Seth Lover Model. Lover passed away on January 31, 1997.
Vintage Guitar: Who got you started on the path of electronics? Seth Lover: I was born in Kalamazoo, Michigan, on January 1st, 1910. This year, I’ll be 86 years old. In the early 1920s, a schoolteacher in Pennsylvania began helping me with electronics projects. I was living with my grandparents at the time, and we used to get the Philadelphia newspaper; the radio section showed how to build different circuits. I guess my first project was a one-tube radio, which worked pretty well. My grandparents had died in the 1920s, and I decided to join the Army. Oh, and in between I lied about my age at 17, worked for the railroad, got laid off, and worked for several others. In the Army, I was assigned to Battery C of the 16th Field Artillery, Grey Horse Battery in Fort Meyer, Virginia. We all had grey horses, which sort of explains the name.
While there I was working around electronics, and when I hit the end of my term in 1931, took a radio course from a Washington, D.C. company. This was actually my second course – the first course was in 1925 while I was working on a farm. That was from the Radio Association of America, and they were supposed to send parts for me to assemble a radio. Instead they sent one that was already built! They had bought it from Montgomery Wards! I did buy batteries, and it worked pretty good. Radios weren’t commonplace, and we liked to listen to ball games, especially the World Series.
How did your first radio business come about?
In 1930, with my second course under my belt I went into business in Kalamazoo. I was repairing radios and the like at the Butler Battery Shop. We’d have to recharge batteries, repair radios, and install ’em. But we moved when Butler died, and started our own shop at 465 Academy in Kalamazoo. Eddy Smith, an orchestra leader who played out at Long Lake, was a good customer. I used to build amplifiers for them to use. The poor guitar player would be playing next to the piano, and you could see him moving his hands, but for the life of me you couldn’t hear him play one note! If they let him get close to the microphone he could be amplified and heard. So I worked up there, and in 1935 I went to work for M and T Battery Company, doing the same thing, repairing and installing radios. But then in 1941 Walt Fuller got ahold of me and wanted me to come to work for Gibson. I began working with them full time. They were buying amps from a Chicago company, putting out the EH-125, the 150, and the 185. We’d plug in the tubes and test ’em, and if they worked, well fine, but if not, why I’d have to fix em up. I was a troubleshooter. And when the World War II came along, I joined up again.
In what capacity was that?
They offered me a Second Class Radioman rating, and I ended up in the Navy. I was sent to “Neurotic Heights”, in Connecticut. Then I was sent out to Treasure Island near San Francisco, to radio electronics school for a couple months, and in August I received my First Class rating. I was sent to teach electronics near Washington, DC, and most of my time during the war was spent teaching.
In 1944 it was decided that I had to go to sea, so after a refresher course in Maryland for a month, I was ready. We were allowed to pick a ship, and I got the USS Columbus, which was being built in Quincy, Massachusetts. I was sent up there, and began checking installations and spare parts, and a little later we were sent out to sea. Well, about 500 miles out the drive shaft broke, and we had to turn around. In order to get at the thing, they had to cut a hole through all the decks. Well, before they got the darn thing fixed the war was over! (warm laughter from Mr. and Mrs. Lover). I had enough points to get out, but they said I had to sail down to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. I repaired a few transmitters down there, and then came back in October, and was discharged.
Did you immediately resume your electronics work?
Yep, I went back to work for Gibson, and stayed with them for a couple years until the Navy built a training station in Michigan. With my Chief’s rating, I was a good prospect for them, and was asked to work for them for $5,000 per year, which was a lot of money back then. Gibson was only paying me $3,000, so I went back to the Navy. A few years later, they wanted to transfer me to Minnesota. Ted McCarty asked me to build him a special kind of pickup, which I did by hand, and I’ve probably got the original out in the shed somewhere… He decided that Gibson could afford to pay me what I had been getting in the Navy, so I was back with Gibson again! That was in 1952.
What were some of your earlier designs?
Before I’d gone into the Navy, I’d begun to design an amplifier. The tremolo circuit in typical amps “putted” along if there was too much depth. I found a way to get a tremolo without any noise, using an optical device, and Gibson was building it while I was in the Navy. So in 1952, I began designing other amp circuits. In 1955, I got the idea for this hum-bucking pickup. You see, a single coil pickup, when it got too close to an amplifier, would make a god-awful hum, and the guitar player would have to position himself just right to minimize the noise.
I had designed an amplifier, the Model 90, which had a special hum-bucking choke, and figured I could use the same concept on the pickup itself. It was quite simple, really, just two coils opposed, and they’d pick up the hum and just cancel out. I designed it into the tone circuit of the amplifier, and if you’d swing to one end it would wipe out the bass, to the other extreme it would wipe out the treble. So, the pickup was similar in concept, and it “bucked the hum”, hence the name. We made the patent application in 1955, and it took us four years to actually get the patent on that. Apparently, a number of people had done something similar. They had big U-shaped magnets taken off of speakers, and had a coil at each end. One of them even had two big coils, took the power from the amplifier, and fed it to the coils, so as to magnetize the strings and pick up the vibration.
When did your humbucker actually begin production at Gibson?
We starting building our version in 1955, even though we didn’t have a patent, and that’s when they got the “PAF” stickers to put on them. I understand that those pickups have gotten quite popular. When we finally were granted our patent, we changed the sticker to one with a patent number, but we actually printed the wrong number on the sticker, one that matched our tailpiece. This way people who sent away for copies of that patent didn’t ever get a copy of the pickup! (a low chuckle erupts). We were replacing the P-90, and there were other single coils being used, especially on steel guitars. I did make a humbucking pickup for steels that worked particularly well. The Gibson Electraharp had my pickup on it, and it was a whopper, but they didn’t build too many of them. It was quite expensive. I also had designed a special pickup that had a single-coil across all the strings, then an additional single coil for the treble strings, and a third single coil for the bass strings. There was a switch so you could add a little more treble, or a little more bass.
What prompted your shift from Gibson to their main competitor, Fender?
I stayed on with Gibson until 1967, and then had an offer from my friend Dick Evan who had also worked for Gibson in the ’60s, and was Chief Engineer. Now while I designed most of the amplifiers and pickups, I never did hold that title. I was just a designer. CBS had bought Fender, and they were kind enough to offer me a job. He sent me a ticket to come out and talk, and Fender offered me $12,000 per year. I was only getting $9,000 at Gibson, so I came out and went to work for the competition. I did design quite a bit of stuff for them, but the thing was, if the front office didn’t ask for something, you couldn’t give it away. They just weren’t interested in anything you could come up with. Why I’ve got a special guitar I designed while I was with Fender…here, let me show it to you. It’s in the closet.
(A short walk ensues, and a dusty but serviceable case reveals an odd looking Fender semi-hollow guitar with a smorgasbord of switches and pickups. After a brief search for a cord and an amplifier, loud noises begin to fill the room.)
It’s got a humbucking pickup – my own, of course – and Fender wanted to sound just like Gibson’s. Well, I didn’t feel that way about it. Since Fender had a naturally brighter sound to their pickups, I decided to make this a little different. I used CuNiFe magnets in this one, copper/nickel/iron, and it can be threaded. Al-Nickel really can’t do that, unless it’s molded. This was nothing like Gibson’s. If you look at this guitar, it has regular and “special effects” pickups. There’s a built in octave-generator, as well as the normal guitar sound. Now the second harmonic is pleasant and strong in this pickup. I also inserted an auto-wah on the second pickup, and you can vary the attack (he demonstrates at top volume with a gleeful grin on his face). When I’d worked for Gibson, I built a fuzz-wah pedal using transistors. The idea came from down in Kentucky, where this fellah had an amp that had gone all fuzzy; the plate resistor for the input tube had gone so high in value that the plate load dropped, and the tube would overload and distort. I did the same thing with these transistors, amplifying the signal to the point where it would overload and produce distortion. So here it is, and what a sound it makes! Of course, single notes were best.
What kind of response did your special effects guitar get?
Carol Kaye [noted California bassist] came down to try out this rig in a bass and loved it. Other players from Los Angeles tried the guitar and were impressed. But since Sales hadn’t thought of it, well they just weren’t interested. Now this operates off of a single C-cell, and it’ll last about three months. Gene Fields, a great steel player, now lives down in Texas. He had one of my units built into his steel, and wow, you should have heard that thing! There’s all told about 75 transistors here, and I bet if we went to some integrated circuit manufacturer now to build it, there be no size to it at all.
Fender had a rough reputation during the CBS years.
They had trouble designing solid-state amplifiers. Two things were always a problem; one, that they wouldn’t tighten the screws down enough to hold the power transistors to the heat shields, and they’d blow. Also, the soldering machine was never cleaned, and consequently there were always bad connections. Things just didn’t work. Why, I built test equipment for our production runs, and 40 of the 50 would fail! Always the same problems, so they just abandoned that venture. I did speak up about what the source of the failures was, but they didn’t want to listen.
What other involvement did you have in design, other than electronic?
I had some contributions in guitar design. I thought it was foolish to have a guitar that was round on the bottom and would always fall over if you left it propped up. I figured, make it symmetrical so it could stand up [points out a picture of the Flying V guitar]. It wasn’t a great seller back in the ’50s, but I hear they’re quite popular now. I also designed a body with a bit of a different shape. I called it the “bent beercan” model, ’cause the shape of the top and bottom of a smashed beercan never quite line up. When they brought the prototype back from Chicago, it looked odd. I thought it looked better on paper, to tell the truth. But I gave my drawings to Ted, and that’s what resulted from it.
Now let’s take a little walk into my workroom. [Winding past the kitchen we enter a dark garage suddenly illuminated by fluorescent lights, filled with a sea of parts and amplifiers.] Now this is something I liked – this is the Fender power-speaker, XFL 2000. The power amplifier was at the bottom, then there’s six ten inch speakers, and here’s the head at the top. The idea was, Fender wanted a three-channel guitar amp, one for the bass player, one for the accompaniment, and the last for the lead guitar. There’d be reverb and tremolo on the third channel only. The accompaniment would have the oil-can vibrato, and the bass had a fuzz. But anybody who had an amplifier didn’t want anybody else plugging in to his amp! It’s just human nature. But Fender thought they were building this for trios, and people would lap ’em up. Look, here’s an E-tuner built into the head! I wanted a switch added so the lead guitar could access any effect he wanted, in case some fella decided to use this all by himself. But instead, they came up with jumper cords, to bridge the channels. Nobody liked it, though.
Now, I bet you’ll like this (Lover rummages through an old cabinet, and pulls out a cloth-wrapped something). This is my PAF prototype. It has a stainless steel cover. There’s no high conductivity in stainless like copper and brass, so it worked well. When the salesmen saw this, without any adjustment screws, it was like breaking their arms. They just didn’t have anything to talk about. So, next came the punched-out holes and the adjustment screws. [Now a genuine Seymour Duncan Seth Lover humbucking pickup, model SH-55, is displayed, looking similar to a vintage PAF.] These were sent down to me from Santa Barbara, for a final check. And there pretty darn good.
Was there anything you did specifically for Epiphone?
Epiphone guitars used to have a bunch of push-button switches on their guitars, and every time you’d change settings, it’d go “clunk!” I designed a no-clunk switch, with a rocker panel and a magnet to hold the position (Lover pulls a working model from a drawer). My version was never used, but it worked awfully well. And here’s the Epiphone mini-humbucker. I changed the design so as to offset the screws and look different – maybe better in some ways – than the Gibson humbucker with its straight screws. It wasn’t quite as loud as the Gibson version, with fewer turns of the coil, and it was a bit trebly… but it did the job.
I was recently at the Seymour Duncan plant up in Santa Barbara, and had a chance to view the regular process that they use in pickup manufacture, which is very impressive. The Vice President of Marketing, Evan Skopp, and Seymour himself showed me the special area they’ve set aside for the SH-55 and the Antiquity series. There’s an aged winding machine, which allows the operator to put a little stretch into the winding, just like the originals. How did you and Seymour join forces?
After the patent ran out, Seymour started making the pickups, and he did an awfully good job, not just in appearance, but in materials and workmanship and sound. Everything, down to finest detail, was intact. We had used plain enameled #42 wire. A lot of people would use plastic-coated wire, but the results weren’t the same. We used nickel-silver on the covers originally, sometimes called German silver, again due to its low conductivity. You can’t solder stainless steel, so the nickel-silver worked better. And that’s what you see on these special Duncan-Lover pickups. It’s really faithful to the original. The SH-55 will have my stamp of approval on it, and I’ll even get a small royalty on each sale. Now, that’s something that Gibson never got around to giving me! My name doesn’t show up in too many of these history books, and maybe they didn’t value design in those days. I guess that’s why they never paid me much (a glint in his eyes signals Lover is pulling my leg). I did a lot of work, and now it seems to be getting recognized.
Now here’s an ad that Gibson ran on the 25th Anniversary of the patent for my pickup (displays a worn framed picture of a 1980 print ad for Gibson) promoting the company and recognizing how special my Gibson humbucking pickup was. There’s a signature on here saying “Seth Lover”, but it’s not mine. I contacted the company, and said, “Gee, I would have signed the ad myself if you’d asked,” and they responded, “We didn’t know you were still alive!” (laughs)
This article originally appeared in VG February 1996 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
