Author: Michael Wright

Whether all collectors are as attached to nicknames as guitar enthusiasts is unclear. Do salt-and-pepper shaker collectors have fond shortcuts for, say, a Popeye and Olive Oyl set? “Spinach Special?” Maybe!

One thing is certain: guitar players and collectors love to come up with affectionate epithets for their favorite objects of obsession; “Black Beauty,” “goldtop,” “frying pan;” all refer to specific instruments and conjure warm emotions. But the sobriquets are not always positive. Witness the 1969 Fender Palomino, commonly referred to as a “broomstick” – a term not always intended to convey good vibrations!

Some manufacturers, try as they might, just don’t seem to have any luck with certain categories of instruments. There’s probably no more respected maker of bolt-neck electric guitars than Fender. Ditto for Gibson and its set-neck guitars. Neither has had much success in crossing over, constructionally speaking. Similarly, Martin has never been successful with solidbody electrics. Fender has never done very well making acoustic guitars. Luck aside, this track record is about marketing, not necessarily the guitars themselves. Fender set-necks, Gibson bolt-necks, Martin electrics, and Fender acoustics all have fine representatives that just never caught on with players.

The broomsticks represent Fender’s first foray into the world of acoustic guitar manufacturing (although they did sell some Harmony-made acoustics before this) and are tied to Roger Rossmeisl’s influence on American guitars.

Rossmeisl (born 1927 in Graslitz, Germany) was the son of Wenzel Rossmeisl, who became one of the top luthiers in Germany and maker of the respected Roger guitars, named after his son. Wenzel was also involved in Este guitars, and while he most likely didn’t invent the notion, Wenzel’s guitars featured a relief around the edge that became known as a “German carve.”

After World War II, Roger decided to cast his fate to winds and in 1952 emigrated to the U.S. He got a job with Ted McCarty at Gibson, though no one seems certain what Rossmeisl did at Gibson, and McCarty himself recalled that Rossmeisl left after about a year to play Hawaiian music on a cruise ship.

No one seems sure of Rossmeisl’s exact next move, either, but he resurfaces working for F.C. Hall and Rickenbacker. Some think he was hired in 1954 to help Paul Barth design the first Rickenbacker Combo 600 and 800. That may be true, but the Combos show nothing of Rossmeisl’s handiwork and greatly resemble Barth’s later designs for Magnatone and his own Natural Music Guild. It is known that Rossmeisl transformed the Combos into the 650 and 850, with “extreme cutaways” giving access to the 20th fret and, more significantly, introducing the top edge relief (or “German carve”) to American guitars.

Other Rossmeisl designs followed, including the legendary 4000 Bass with the “cresting wave” body shape, followed by the Combo 450 and 425, and the Capri series in 1958. Rossmeisl also did Rickenbacker’s acoustic and electric jazz boxes and flat-tops, the former all with German-carve tops. Most of these were made by Roger himself.

In ’62, Rossmeisl approached Leo Fender about designing a line of bolt-neck acoustic guitars. The Folk Revival was still in high gear and there was a great demand for acoustics. Leo agreed, and Rossmeisl quit Rickenbacker, bound for Fullerton. The result was the King, Concert, Classic, and Folk models introduced in 1963. All had bolt-on necks and Fender-style six-in-line heads. Models with pickguards had them screwed onto the top. The first 200 to 300 or so examples did not have the famous “broomstick.” This suggests that adding the 1″ rod made of aircraft aluminum was not part of the original design and probably was a fix to a stability problem. Of course, the addition of an internal bracing wasn’t new. The Larson Brothers in Chicago had used this method to relieve stress on the top in the early part of the 20th century, and it’s seen on some European guitars, which is probably where Rossmeisl learned about the technique. The broomsticks don’t seem to have much effect on the sound, so they’re probably meant to compensate for the lack of a heel and the dovetail joint into the heel block.

The King was the top of the line and, according to the catalog was available in a number of exotic wood options, including Brazilian rosewood, Indian rosewood, zebrawood, or vermilion. In ’66, its name was changed to the Kingman, and various finishes were available, including sunburst, Antigua, black, and custom colors.

Other acoustics followed under Rossmeisl’s tenure, including the Shenandoah, Malibu, Villager, and Newporter. In ’66, Rossmeisl hooked up with a Danish inventor who had developed a way to inject dye into the roots of growing beechwood to color the wood prior to harvesting. This “Wildwood” was used on the Kingman and the Coronado semi-hollowbody guitars, as well as acoustics given the Wildwood model name. In ’68, the Palomino and Redondo joined the line.

The Palomino shown here has a neck date of January 26, 1969 (serial number 26784). This was a little further down the line than the King, but still had a solid spruce top. The binding is single-ply (as opposed to the triple binding on the King). The back and sides are lightly figured solid mahogany. The neck is maple. If you imagine a Strat neck adapted to an acoustic guitar, you have it close enough!

If the idea of a bolt-neck acoustic isn’t very attractive or just seems wrong, know that this guitar plays very nicely and sounds quite good. It’s better in open-chord tunings than standard tuning, but that’s true of many acoustic guitars. You wouldn’t confuse this with a premium Martin or Gibson, but you wouldn’t be ashamed to play it, either. And it certainly would give you a unique look!

The Fender/Rossmeisl acoustics ended in around 1970, and Rossmeisl lasted not much longer. But not before he created the Thinline Telecaster and the Montego jazz boxes. Rossmeisl returned to Germany in the early ’70s, where he died in 1979 at the age of 52. Nevertheless, he left a considerable legacy for fans of American guitars, not the least of which are these Fender “broomsticks!”

This article originally appeared in VG‘s November 2007 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

In the world of archtop guitarmaking, the legendary luthier James L. D’Aquisto (1935-’95) is considered one of the greats. A jazz guitarist, D’Aquisto was an apprentice to perhaps the greatest archtop maker of all time, New York’s John D’Angelico, from 1952 until the luthier’s death in 1964. Toward the end, D’Aquisto was essentially making all D’Angelico guitars and eventually D’Aquisto struck out on his own.

Today, his creations are desirable (and expensive). However, like many another famous luthier, there were some periods in his career when D’Aquisto worked with a large company to design guitars intended to be factory-produced. For D’Aquisto, those companies were Hagstrom and Fender.

D’Aquisto’s first venture into such an arrangement began circa 1968, when the Hagstrom company of Sweden recruited him to design a line of archtop jazz guitars for them. Ironically, most of us associate Hagstrom with those little double-cutaway guitars covered in vinyl with plastic “swimming pool” pickup assemblies. Great necks, but a little goofy. However, below the surface you’ll find some sophisticated and interesting guitars, many of surprisingly good quality. By the early ’60s, the company was making the Corvette and Impala, with some of the first heelless neck joints (and the pastel “vegematic” controls were a definite plus!). Hagstrom struck again in the early ’70s with the ribbon mahogany, single-cutaway Swede that picked up an endorsement by Larry Coryell. But perhaps the piéce de resistance of the Hagstrom run was their electric/acoustic archtop, the Jimmy, designed by D’Aquisto.

The Jimmy debuted in ’69 as a downsized archtop with 16″ body that was narrower and thinner than a full-sized jazzbox. It had an arched (not carved) laminated spruce top, unbound f-holes, birch body and neck, and bound rosewood fingerboard. It also featured the asymmetrical D’Aquisto-style head with a large pearl inlay, twin pickups, a small, thin D’Aquisto-style two-point Florentine pickguard, and a large cast “harp” trapeze. Most models had pearl dot inlays; it’s not clear if some had blocks. They were made in blond and sunburst.

Although 480 Jimmys were produced in the initial run, they were more in the nature of prototypes because Hagstrom intended to farm out production to the Swedish Bjarton factory. But before it could happen, Bjarton closed its doors.

In any case, the late 1960s was not a great era for guitar sales. Valco/Kay went out of business in ’68, followed by Danelectro in ’69. So Hagstrom stopped the project. But it didn’t abandon the dream; D’Aquisto’s headstock was used on the Swede and Hagstrom’s Viking thinlines in the early ’70s.

In ’76, Hagstrom called for D’Aquisto’s help again, to make a few refinements, and get the line into production. Hagstrom reintroduced the original Jimmy, with a slightly more conventional pickguard and pearl block inlays. Bodies were laminated birch, with a two-piece birch neck flanking a mahogany strip. Tuners were Grover Imperials with the groovy stairstep button. The Jimmy was available in Cherry, Sunburst, Golden Sunburst, White, and Natural.

These Hagstrom Jimmys are fine-playing guitars, delivering a range of tones from crisp trebles to a throaty, jazzy bass on the neck pickup. The pickups are not as hot as those on contemporary American guitars, but these were not intended for producing tons of volume and distortion. The workmanship is excellent. As you’d expect on a Hagstrom, the neck has a very thin profile. The 16″ body is very comfortable. You can’t compare it to an acoustic jazz box, but it was, after all, designed both for production and amplification, and the guitar delivers for either electric jazz or fusion. Between 1976 and ’79, a little more than 1,200 f-hole Jimmys were built.

The f-hole Jimmy was joined by another D’Aquisto-designed model in ’77. Basically this Hagstrom Jimmy was identical except that instead of f-holes it sported an oval soundhole. These are actually much rarer birds than the guitar shown, since only a little more than 350 were produced by the time the model ended in 1979.

In ’78, the venerable double-cutaway Viking thinline was also identified as being part of the D’Aquisto legacy. It had already incorporated the D’Aquisto headstock, so why not? Whether or not D’Aquisto was actually hands-on involved with these is unknown. These Jimmy Vikings also lasted only through ’79.

Jimmy D’Aquisto’s second cooperative venture with a big company was to design part of the Fender 1984 Master Series. The Masters included the chambered solidbody Esprit and Flame, designed by Dan Smith, and the D’Aquisto archtop. These were conceived as set-necks that would compete with Gibson. They were originally to be made in Fullerton, but a reality check shifted production to Fuji Gen Gakki, the Japanese factory known for producing Ibanez (and Fender Japan).

Made of flamed maple instead of birch, the Fender D’Aquistos had a lot in common with the earlier Hagstroms, including an almost identical body and the Florentine pick-guard. The head featured an extended open book design instead of D’Aquisto’s French curve, announcing the challenge to Gibson. Instead of the large cast tailpiece, Fender D’Aquistos had a carved ebony violin-style tail. Two models were produced, the Elite (with an ebony fretboard, block inlays, and one Schaller D’Aquisto humbucker in the neck position) and the Standard, with a rosewood ‘board and two humbuckers. Both were identified as D’Aquistos with an engraved headstock inlay.

Neither the Hagstrom Jimmy nor the Fender D’Aquisto are really D’Aquisto guitars, because he merely designed them. But from another perspective, they really are D’Aquistos because he designed them. Both brands are esteemed by players and have devoted fans. They will be dramatically less expensive than a D’Aquisto-made D’Angelico or a handmade D’Aquisto. Still, they’re a significant part of a minor chapter in guitar history… and a little piece of the Jimmy D’Aquisto heritage.

This article originally appeared in VG‘s June 2005 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

For aficionados of copy guitars – replicas of mostly American classics that give U.S. manufacturers apoplectic fits – perhaps no company is more respected than Tokai, whose 1970s and early-’80s Love Rock and Breezy Sound models are among the most desirable of that breed and command relatively big bucks in the collector market. But in an irony that periodically surfaces in guitar history, while Tokai doesn’t eschew its copy days, the company’s flagship guitar line is its high-tech Talbo guitars, with modern alternative materials wrapped in an almost timeless modern package.

According to company sources, Tokai entered musical instrument manufacturing in 1947, when it began making Harmonicas for domestic consumption… or would that be exhalation? Both. Anyway, in May, 1965, Tokai began producing acoustic guitars. Shortly thereafter, Tokai began to make solidbody electric guitars. Perhaps Tokai’s most interesting ’60s solidbody was the legendary Hummingbird from ’67 – a sleek, streamlined take on Semi Moseley’s flipped-over designs, complete with a German carve (a modern Korean-made reissue is now available). As far as is known, these early Tokai guitars probably stayed in Japan and were not exported.

Tokai’s acoustic guitars were of sufficient quality by 1970 that American manufacturers were looking at them to provide a less-expensive alternative to compete with growing competition from companies that were having success with budget-priced Japanese guitars carrying brands such as Ibanez, Electra, Univox, and Aria. In ’72, Tokai contracted to supply C.F. Martin with its Sigma acoustic line, and the parts that were assembled in the U.S. as Martin’s Shenandoah guitars. In ’73, Tokai also began to provide Martin with its first imported solidbody electric guitars, also carrying the Sigma brand. These early Tokai-made Sigmas included two Gibson SG copies, a Fender Tele copy, and a Fender bass copy. As with most Martin attempts to market electrics, this effort was short-lived, and these Tokai Sigmas were history by 1975.

Almost exactly at the moment that the “copy era” was coming to a close in the U.S., Tokai began making its solidbody electric copies of American classics, including a Les Paul copy called the Les Paul Reborn, probably in ’76, and the aforementioned Love Rock and Breezy Sound in late ’77. By the early ’80s, Tokai had progressed to producing superb replicas of a range of historic American guitars, true to both the originals’ physical specifications (neck profile, colors) and sound.

Armed, no doubt, with the sophisticated expertise it acquired in developing these accurate copies, Tokai turned to creating a guitar unique unto itself. The result was the Tokai Talbo Blazing Fire, which commenced production January, 1982. Talbo is actually an acronym for Tokai Aluminum Body.

Made of cast aluminum alloy AC-4B, which is commonly used in racing car engines, the Talbo’s design is simple and elegant, combining new and traditional elements. Basically, it’s like two superimposed teardrops with the tips pointing right and left to yield a bi-level, sculptured double cutaway. Its headstock decal reads “The New Legend Of The Guitar History.”

The idea behind the Talbo was to create a cool design that would also serve as shielding for the electronics. Most of the body is solid, but there’s a large cavity under the pickguard that serves as a sound chamber, and lessens the weight. The neck is straightforward maple attached with four bolts at a scalloped contoured easy-access neck joint. This Blazing Fire features a pickup combination that anticipates the layout later favored by Yamaha. Controls are two volumes and one tone. Two-humbucker models have been seen, and there may have been more layout options. Certainly this was the case with later versions.

The Talbo Blazing Fire is a swell guitar, comfortable, easy to play, with a great sound. If there’s a limitation, it’s that the three-way select limits the tonal potential, although this is mitigated somewhat with the two volumes. Perhaps the most famous appearance of the Tokai Talbo in the 1980s was in the hands of the band Devo.

Tokai Talbos were promoted briefly in American and European markets for perhaps a couple years, but after 1984 seemed to disappear from the radar. They didn’t actually go away, though. The Talbo appears to have continued in production in Japan since its ’82 debut. And what’s more, it continued to evolve. What had been called the Blazing Fire became simply the Talbo, in its present state offered with twin humbuckers. Then in ’99, Tokai introduced the Talbo Woody, an all-wood version made of two hollowed-out pieces of maple. A more interesting variant was the Talbo Junior that debuted in 2000. It takes the teardrop-shaped sound chamber and encapsulates it in cast aluminum, then hollows the top of the body and cutaway horns, making them just a frame. Then, to spice things up, it adds a built-in amplifier under the strings. That same year, the Talbo’s body was extended and turned into the Talbo Bass. And finally, Tokai brought back the Blazing Fire moniker on a fantastic blue-tinted transparent plexiglass version, still with the 3-D Talbo shape, but with narry a hint of aluminum. These are produced in Korea.

If you’re lucky enough to have a Tokai Talbo, you should have no trouble dating it. Tokai used a simple coded serial number scheme. In the 1980s it consisted of Y0P####, with the first digit indicating the year followed by a zero, followed by where it fell in the production run (1 = early, 4 = late, etc. ). This specific guitar’s 3042110 indicates a late production run guitar from 1983. In ’89, Tokai switched to indicating the year with two digits: 89#####.

With the advent of these new Talbo models, tentative global promotion resumed, so you should be able to cop one of the more recent variants. The older Japanese Talbos are pretty rare (they seem to turn up more in the U.K.), and if you find one, expect to pay a pretty penny for it. While the Tokai copy guitars are definitely cool beans, in the eyes of most collectors, it’s the totally unique Tokai Talbo Blazing Fire that takes the prize.

This article originally appeared in VG‘s March ’06 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

It’s hard to imagine a more poorly “documented” guitar brand than Slinglerland. The company has been around since before World War I and made a lot of guitars and banjos until the start of World War II, including the circa-1933 May Bell Amplifying Guitar.

Slingerland was primarily a down-market supplier, so precious little documentation exists. One frequently reprinted brochure, often labeled “1920s,” is more likely from 1936/’37 and features some of the company’s better instruments. Another source is Bob Cook’s The Slingerland Book, but it’s highly anecdotal and almost entirely about drums. One oft-repeated mistake is that Slingerland was a drum company that got into stringed instruments. In truth, it was entirely the other way around!

Henry Headen Slingerland was born in Manistee, Michigan, in 1875. As an adult, he liked to wager, and probably operated a gambling ship on Lake Michigan, until it burned down. He won a lot of things in card games, but the frequently repeated story that Slingerland began when H.H. won a ukulele manufacturer in a poker game just isn’t true.

Though he was not a trained musician, at some point, Slingerland apparently worked for a family-run music studio where, by 1909, he learned enough to open the West Side Conservatory of Music, in Chicago. The school offered lessons in strings, winds, singing, and elocution. We know little else, but it is almost certain that the instruments were provided free when you signed up for lessons. They would have been inexpensive, beginner-grade, and not yet made by Slingerland.

Slingerland also had some unclear relationship with the Chicago Correspondence School of Music, supposedly established in the late 19th century. This company offered a free instrument to customers who committed to mail-order lessons. Cook says the instruments were sourced from Germany. The owner passed away and Slingerland purchased the school in 1914, changing the name to the Slingerland Correspondence School of Music, still advertised in 1923, offering a “$20 value” violin, guitar, mandolin, ukulele, five-string banjo, tenor banjo, banjo uke, banjo mandolin, and cornet with the lessons basically priced to cover the instrument.

Slingerland reportedly continued to source instruments from Germany until they were no longer available, probably not long after the War broke out. According to Tom Wheeler’s American Guitars, Slingerland incorporated in 1916, probably as the Slingerland Manufacturing Company. Cook states the company contracted with a German luthier to make instruments out of his garage until he could no longer meet demand. Slingerland then rented factory space and expanded production. In 1923, Slingerland built its own factory and registered the May Bell brand name. It probably became the Slingerland Banjo Company around this time. Cook asserts it began making ukes, then banjos and guitars. In ’28, the company became the Slingerland Banjo and Drum Company.

Factory photos show guitarmaking jigs and other evidence suggest Slingerland did make some of its own stringed instruments. It’s almost certain that Slingerland built its own better banjos. However, as we’ve seen, Slingerland sourced instruments from other manufacturers right from the start, especially its cheaper models, and this continued throughout its history. A number of the illustrations on that 1923 ad look to be made by Harmony. By the time of the late-’30s catalog, some guitars were built by Regal and at least the cheapest banjo was a Kay. While it’s not certain, the bodies on Slingerland’s better May Bell Violin Craft archtops may have been sourced from other manufacturers, possibly Harmony. The necks were made by Slingerland, as were the contemporary Songster electric Hawaiian and Spanish guitars.

Regal guitars are slightly better-documented than Slingerlands. The brand was born in Indianapolis as part of the Wulschner Music Company, founded by Emil and Flora Wulschner circa 1895. In 1904, the trade names, unsold inventory, and supplies were sold to Chicago’s Lyon & Healy (L&H), which began producing Regals in 1908. After 1911, Regal operated independently of L&H and in 1930 ended up with L&H’s factory, producing its own and other brands. Beginning in ’32, these included some Dobro resonator guitars for National/Dobro. Thereafter came a variety of “resonator” guitars “inspired” by the National/Dobro patents!

Among the models made for Slingerland by Regal was the circa 1933 May Bell Amplifying Guitar seen here, which has a mahogany-finished birch body typical of inexpensive guitars of that era. Its glued-in neck appears to be birch, the fingerboard is rosewood-stained hardwood, the two wire screens on the upper shoulders do indeed cover two sound holes, and instead of an aluminum resonator cone, it has a round spruce plate or soundboard. You get a circle of spruce instead of a whole top!

As a fingerstyle Spanish guitar, it plays well enough, but sounds like most birch-bodied guitars from the ’30s – thin. Played with a slide, it yields a complex sound that’s easy to warm up to. The separate spruce soundboard gives it a little more volume than a regular flat-top, with a bit more funk to the tone.

Slingerlands never used serial numbers, so there’s no data on quantities or dates, but we know these faux resonator guitars were gone by ’35. This was one of the lower grades, below a mahogany version and the fancy Cathedranola.

Circa 1926, H.H. Slingerland got into a conflict with William Ludwig (of Ludwig & Ludwig drums) over an Army contract bid, and in ’27 began making drums. Slingerland guitars didn’t survive World War II and H.H. Slingerland died in ’46, but by then the company had acquired Gene Krupa’s endorsement and was solidly a drum manufacturer. Since 1994, Slingerland has been part of the Gibson empire. This guitar’s associations make it an important link in the strands of American guitardom.

Special thanks to Mike Newton.

This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2012 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

In the depths of the Great Depression, people turned to entertainment for distraction. Not that there was much to be had when cash was in short supply, but two inexpensive forms were the radio and the movies.

On the radio, one pleasure would have been listening to one of the many “barn dance” variety programs that featured Western music popular at the time. In the theater, another thrill would be watching a horse opera featuring one of that new breed on the scene – the saddle serenader. In either venue, people were likely to encounter one of the era’s great stars, Orvon “Gene” Autry.

Autry, born in 1907 in Tioga, Texas, came to fame as Oklahoma’s Singing Cowboy on KVOO radio in Tulsa in the late 1920s. That and a couple sides for Okeh landed him the “Gene Autry Program” and a spot on the “National Barn Dance” for WLS, the Sears megastation in Chicago. His star was on the rise. Following the pattern set with the Bradley Kincaid Houn’ Dog guitar (VG, July ’04) in 1932, Sears commissioned its subsidiary, Harmony, to build a guitar for Autry. That model was the Supertone Roundup, a standard-sized guitar showing cowboys rounding up cattle, and Autry’s signature on the belly.

In 1934, Autry was recruited by Nat Levine of Hollywood’s Mascot Pictures to make his first film, In Old Santa Fe, thrusting him to the front ranks of singing cowboys in the movies. Overnight, a new movie genre was created, mixing good guy/bad guy Western action with a love interest and a hero who’d break into a song with a guitar at the slightest provocation. The following year, Sears briefly marketed an Old Santa Fe archtop.

In 1935, Harmony increased the size of the Roundup to a 14″ concert and changed the neck to 14 frets clear of the body, like the 1938 version shown here. This had a spruce top and reddish mahogany-finished birch body. Like all Harmony models, the timbers were solid and the inlays were real pearl dots. This guitar, like most small-bodied, ladder-braced Harmonys of this era, has a nice response and a bright tone that’s pleasing in intimate settings. And by this time, Harmony had established the practice of stamping the date of manufacture on the inside, so these are easy to date.

This second version of Autry’s Roundup guitar lasted until 1939, when it was replaced by a 15″ grand-concert-sized model in spruce and maple without the decals, but with Autry’s signature on the fingerboard.

Autry continued to make horse operas through 1953, adding television to his repertoire beginning in 1950. In later years, of course, he concerned himself with a form of mass entertainment quite different from cowboys and music, as owner of the California Angels baseball team. Nevertheless, guitars such as this Supertone Roundup preserve the voice of the Depression and the nostalgic sentiment of being “back in the saddle again, out where a friend is a friend.”

This article originally appeared in VG‘s December 2004 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

The notion of a stereo guitar became almost implicit when guitars started having two pickups. But it didn’t become a reality on an actual production guitar until the great tapping player Jimmie Webster persuaded Gretsch to come up with the legendary White Falcon in 1955. The stereo option didn’t arrive right away, but by ’58, a stereo Falcon was available. The following year, Gibson introduced the stereo ES-345, and stereo guitars were on their way. Two pickups through two different amps! Or at least two different channels.

In ’66, the Holman-Woodell company of Neodesha, Kansas, produced stereo guitars for the Wurlitzer company of Elkhardt, Indiana. In 1967-’68 – much closer to the psychedelic era – the San Francisco-based Messenger introduced its aluminum-necked stereo guitars. This budget-level Japanese-made St. Moritz guitar appeared at some point in this time frame, a poor man’s alternative to the White Falcon or ES-345.

It’s difficult to determine just who sold the St. Moritz brand name. In the ’60s, the Japanese guitar industry was pretty chaotic by American standards. There were many factories, but parts may have been made by smaller/family entities. Then guitars were sold to trading companies who handled the business end of things. They sold guitars to various importers in the market countries, usually with the importer’s brand name, but sometimes with the trading company’s own brand. The importer may or may not have been the distributor. If not, the importer sold the guitars to a distributor. By contrast, American Gibson or Martin guitars were made by Gibson or Martin and sold by their reps to retailers or were occasionally handled by a distributor. Much cleaner. In the ’60s, the St. Moritz brand could have been Japanese, Asian, American, Australian, or European – it’s something of a mystery.

We also can’t be absolutely positive who made this guitar, but the evidence is fairly persuasive; the finger points to Fuji Gen Gakki, one of the most advanced guitar manufacturers in the world, and most famous for producing Ibanez and Greco guitars.

One of the most telling indicators of Japanese guitar makers is pickups. Almost every one had unique pickup designs. Early Ibanez guitars, made by Fuji, had narrow pickups with white-grey ceramic bobbins. The identical metal surrounds and ceramic bobbins on this St. Moritz point directly toward Fuji.

Furthermore, there’s the quality of construction that suggests Fuji. It and Matsumoku were the two best guitar factories in Japan at the time. Nothing here suggests the latter. Ever played one of those 3/4 Teisco thinlines? No question about loving it… not! This guitar is seriously constructed; solid maple neck with a five-bolt attachment. Count ’em – five! The truss rod works fine and the binding looks like multi-ply, but like so many Japanese guitars of the era it was cheaper to have single-ply celluloid painted to suggest alternating plies! Imagine the amount of work compared to simply using multi-ply! The maple body is probably laminated, but that’s not certain because the f-holes are bound. Besides, on an electric thinline, who cares?

When was this guitar made? Again, there’s no reference material to tell us. But the high quality of the finish and solid construction suggest later in the ’60s. Japanese guitar finishes into 1968 were okay, but not great. The finish on this guitar is pretty darned good. This would tend to place it somewhere between 1968 and 1970 or thereabouts. This is consistent with other Fuji products. However, the pickups argue for slightly earlier; by the late ’60s most Japanese pickups had moved beyond these ceramic bobbins. But then again, this may have been an almost experimental guitar using stuff left in the factory.

Finally, there’s the innovation of the stereo idea. Teisco was pretty innovative in certain aspects, but this is clearly not a Teisco product. Matsumoku was pretty innovative, especially with pickup switching, but this is almost certainly not theirs. The whole idea of this guitar’s electronics is compatible with early Fuji experimentation. Thus, while this conclusion could be wrong, this guitar was probably made by Fuji Gen Gakki, makers of most Ibanez guitars.

By now you’ve probably deduced that this guitar is pretty high-quality. It is. But the real interest is in the electronic ideas. Actually, this guitar would be curious for the look of the pickup alone! But here’s how it plays out from a sonic perspective. Each of the six poles has its own coil, but they’re wired in two stereo channels, with strings 6-5-4 in one and 3-2-1 in the other. The result is actually a series of three coils for each pole piece instead of just one around all three. This makes for a pretty powerful output, especially compared to the older single-coils on early Ibanez guitars. This guitar sounds surprisingly good.

The separate channels are controlled by three on-off slider switches; two control the individual channels. The center switch is for Mix, which gives you mono output through a mono plug, but only if both channels are in the “on” position. The downside is the components themselves. Like most ’60s Japanese guitars, this has super fine gauge wire, chintzy switches, crummy pots, way too little solder on the connections, and almost useless capacitors. This guitar works as intended, but you generally have to fiddle with the switches to get them to function properly, and the jack must be in the correct position. Using the tone pot lets you dial in treble and… more treble!

Nevertheless, this is a brilliant guitar concept, boldly executed. If it had the benefit of better components, it would be a remarkable achievement!

Whether this is a rare bird or not is unknown, but the Ibanez brand itself did not reach very high production runs for most of its models until the later ’70s. Only one other example of this style of guitar has ever been seen by yours truly, so it’s probably not plentiful. Very cool!

This article originally appeared in VG‘s November 2008 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

Most of us are – or should be – aware of the enormous contributions of the late Chet Atkins, the Country Gentleman, to American popular music, from his complex fingerpicking style to producing early rock records. Not to mention the classic Gretsch hollowbody electric guitars that bore his name.

But far fewer know how his quest for sustain yielded two of the more obscure Gretsches of the 1970s – the Super Axe and its humbler sibling, the Atkins Axe. Or that Roy Clark almost got the credit!

The Super Axe was a product of the Baldwin era of ownership at Gretsch. The Super Axe was actually designed circa 1976 by Gretsch manager Duke Kramer in collaboration with Atkins, who recalls that Atkins was always investigating ways to increase sustain in instruments, from modifying bracing to experimenting with glass nuts.

Built in Arkansas, the Gretsch Super Axe was a fine guitar. A solidbody (for sustain!), it had a glued-in neck and a very slim, bound mahogany body that tapered toward the edges, making it very comfortable to play. These guitars were fairly wide for a solidbody, closer to a hollowbody, probably reflecting Chet’s preferences for that mode. The S-curve shape of the upper bout and cutaway was similar to other designs popular in the mid ’70s, including the Aria Pro II Prototype, and ultimately derived from the Rickenbacker Combo designed by Roger Rossmeisl. The bound ebony fingerboard had cool triple-block inlays. The pickups on Gretsch guitars by this time were produced in Japan, and they kick butt. The guitars came in two transparent finishes, orange and gray.  

At the heart of the Super Axe concept was a built-in effects circuit. Atkins preferred just two. In addition to master volume and tone controls, the Super Axe had compression and phaser circuits, each with its own on/off switch. With compression on, the sound waves get “squashed” or compressed, yield-ing increased sustain. This circuit had a sustain control that governed the amount of compression. The phaser circuit had a control for the rate of phasing, plus a second knob to let you determine how much of the phasing effect was blended in with the final output. In other words, you could have some background phasing effect or full-out grooviness. The result is an extremely playable guitar with remarkable tonal flexibility, but without the complexity that plagues many guitars with more onboard effects.

There was some discussion about naming this guitar after Chet. However, before the guitar was introduced in March of ’77, a copy was given to Roy Clark, who was performing regularly in Las Vegas. Roy liked the guitar and began using it in his show. Some folks began to refer to the guitar as the Roy Clark model, which didn’t sit too well with its designer! Perhaps it was foreshadowing. The guitar with the effects was called the Super Axe, a version without, the Atkins Axe.
 
The Super Axe appears to have been made for only about a year. By ’78 Atkins had severed his relationship with Gretsch, making the Super Axe his last model. How many of these Atkins Gretsch swan songs were made is unknown, but given how seldom you see one, probably not many. But if you get a chance to play one, you’ll be sure to say, “Thanks, Chet!”

This article originally appeared in VG October 2003 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.