Author: Peter Stuart Kohman

Americans tend to link the beginnings of the Beatles phenomenon to a specific date – February 9, 1964, when the group first appeared on “The Ed Sullivan Show.” The truth, as always, is that the band’s records had crashed the American charts weeks before, and the run-up to this seemingly overnight phenomenon had taken years.

The Beatles runaway success in the U.K. began in early 1963, which means it has been 50 years since their breakthrough from regional popularity to dominance of the U.K. music scene. Despite all that has come since, no musical act has been more influential. They changed the way pop music was made, sold, even thought of, and brought the guitar even more to the forefront. It’s amazing how many players continue to cite the band as an influence, and new generations discovering their records are captured by the ingenuity, scope, and talent of the (in John Lennon’s words) “Band that made it very big.”

Recently, this was highlighted by a period publication titled Big Beat Boys, issued by Britain’s top music weekly Melody Maker in the spring of 1963. There are thousands of souvenir booklets from the heyday of Beatlemania, but this early one is a bit different. The focus of this “look at the thriving international beat scene – in which Britain is playing a bigger part than ever before” was on the Beatles and other “beat” bands in their wake – alongside a few already established acts still rated as “Beat” performers. Melody Maker was aimed at music biz professionals and serious fans, especially musicians. All advertising in Big Beat Boys is for guitars and amps – the tools of the revolution, aimed not at a female fan base, but budding players. “Just get an electric guitar” every page hints, and this could be you! Not just the Beatles, but every act featured has a guitar-centric lineup, and it shows how inextricably linked this musical explosion was to the electric guitar. Of course, between the street-level skiffle of the late ’50s and the rise (from 1960) of the instrumental quartet The Shadows, it’s safe to say the youth of the U.K. were already in guitar-oriented mode. The Shadows had established electric guitar as a viable, even career-making solo instrument, and similar bands had sprung up all over England. Despite Decca producer Dick Rowe’s rejecting the Beatles in early ’62 with a pithy “Groups with guitars are on the way out, Mr. Epstein!” the truth was the groundswell of singing, jiving guitarists had not yet even been seriously tapped!

Even at this early point, the Beatles combined guitars, drums, and vocal in a compelling way. Compared to the polite vocals of most English artistes, Lennon and McCartney’s full-throated singing and bracing harmonies were a revelation. The combination of uninhibited strumming and “big beat” drumming was less unusual on their Liverpool home turf, but to the rest of the country an excitingly novel sound. The more studied and controlled echo-soaked instrumental approach of the Shadows was the 1962 template for most English bands. The beloved “Shads” were still rated as major stars in Big Beat Boys, with a full feature. Others cut from the same cloth were also profiled. Top among them were Jet Harris and Tony Meehan, the Shadows’ rhythm section, who had quit the group but re-teamed as an instrumental duo. Their twanging, Duane-Eddyesque early-’63 smash “Diamonds” was led by Jet’s six-string bass; when he tried to sing, the jig was up! Another was The Tornadoes, producer Joe Meek’s chart-topping quintet that achieved a lone success in the U.S. with the inimitable single, “Telstar.” The record’s combination of unearthly electronic keyboard and shimmering, echoed guitar was certainly unique, but lost appeal quickly when the Beatles ushered in the new “singing, swinging” Beat style. In early ’63, these older bands were still rated as stars.

While hardly achieved overnight, the Beatles’ U.K. success proved unprecedented in scope. By the spring of ’63, the band’s audience had been building for more than two years; domination of the massive Liverpool scene was secured in January, 1962, when the band won the first Merseybeat popularity poll. Their initial Parlophone 45, “Love Me Do,” released in November of ’62, was huge in the north (possibly juiced by manager Brian Epstein “buying in” thousands) but only a middling national hit. And while this catchy (if fairly crude) sing-along gave little indication of the songwriting talent of its authors, it was the fact that those writers were also the band’s vocalists that was noteworthy. While some American rock and roll artists composed their own material, in Britain it was almost unknown. At the time, the use of harmonica was trendy due to hits like Bruce Chanel’s “Hey Baby” and Frank Ifield’s U.K. smash “I Remember You.” Viewed as a bit of an oddball record by the U.K. press, “Love Me Do” was a solid start but it was the Beatles next single that would really launch them – and the Beat era – into the stratosphere.

“Please Please Me” with its combination of vibrant harmony, pumping bass, harmonica, and guitar and drum hooks (and surprisingly urgent lyrical leer) was not like anything heard before. Released on Friday, January 11 1963 this record quickly stormed the U.K. charts, ending up at either #1 or #2 depending on which chart one consulted. Within a month, the Beatles were called to EMI’s Abbey Road studios to record a full LP. This first album was intended as a quick cash-in, but the Beatles insisted, despite the limited time and budget, that every track be given the same care as their singles. “We’d been through buying LP’s filled with rubbish,” Lennon recalled years later, explaining the groups’ insistence that the collection stand on its own merits. Luckily, EMI producer George Martin concurred, and the public responded – the band’s first LP would spend 30 weeks at #1 on the Record Retailer chart – only losing that spot to the group’s second LP late in the year! The group’s April 1963 single “From Me To You” shot straight to #1, consolidating their status – and the reputation of the Lennon-McCartney songwriting team.

At the time Big Beat Boys was published, this was the sum total of the Beatles’ output (unless you count the earlier “My Bonnie”) but they were already described as “The most exciting sound ever to hit British records… Their crackling in-person performances knock out audiences all over Britain.” The band was then trucking up and down the country through one of the harshest winters in memory, touring with (and gaining headline status over) established stars including teen sensation Helen Shapiro, Americans Chris Montez and Tommy Roe, and even the great Roy Orbison. “Booming Beatles Beat All – They have the whole pop world in their hands,” mused Big Beat Boys author Chris Roberts. Of special interest to guitarists, this fabulous run-on sentence specifically credits the “Boys’” instruments: “John, who plays an American Rickenbacker guitar, used his harmonica as an experiment on a few dates of record, with George’s whining Gretsch guitar sound close behind, and Paul’s Höfner bass bouncing along beneath.” Interestingly, the pictures show Lennon’s Gibson J-160E, which was not mentioned. “And John, Paul, and George find time to sing – in snappy coloured voices – at the same time,” the text goes on, in charming phrasing. There’s only a passing mention of those “famous” haircuts!

Other talent from their hometown was also featured. In March, 1963, “Please Please Me” was followed up the charts by Liverpool rivals Gerry and the Pacemakers, also under the wing of Brian Epstein and beneficiaries of a unique Beatles castoff. When George Martin signed the Beatles, he had a song that he thought perfect to launch them into the charts – “How Do You Do It,” an upbeat pop number by Londoner Mitch Murray. A defining moment in Beatles history came with the group – Lennon in particular – rejecting the idea. The band worked up an arrangement and recorded it in a brisk if half-hearted manor, but made it clear they preferred their own material. This refusal to be molded by an all-powerful producer was unprecedented in British pop. To his eternal credit, Martin acquiesced, but simply handed the arrangement to Gerry Marsden and his group, who scored an almost instant #1 hit in March of ’63, followed by a second with “I Like It.” Big Beat Boys’ Gerry proudly cradles his new Gretsch Tennessean on the back color cover.

Several other northern acts were profiled – Liverpool musicians’ favorites The Big 3 merited a two-page spread showing them with a classic U.K. “pre-fame” instrumental lineup of a hollowbody Framus Star Bass and Japanese-made Guyatone solidbody. Epstein protege Billy J. Kramer & The Dakotas got a feature. From nearby Manchester came Freddie and the Dreamers, alongside a very young Hollies, still clad in leather like the Hamburg-era Beatles. All of these acts had released but one 45 at this point. London instrumental bands Peter Jay and the Jaywalkers and Sounds Incorporated merited mentions, as well – both brandished saxophones alongside guitars, but had limited chart success despite being crack performing outfits. Vocal/instrumental groups Shane Fenton and the Fentones, and Brian Poole and the Tremeloes, were in the older star-plus-backing group mode – the latter being the band Decca signed instead of the Beatles in 1962!

The ’63 “Big Beat” umbrella covered more than Beatlesque bands. Joe Brown and His Bruvvers were an older-sounding act mixing rock and roll with English music-hall echoes. The Springfields were a pop-folk trio who hit with “Silver Threads And Golden Needles.” The group was short-lived, but gave the world the glorious voice of Dusty Springfield, who went solo soon after. An even more unusual crew was The Karl Denver Trio, fronted by an aging Scottish yodeler! They are shown with a Framus Star Bass, Guild X-350, and Karl’s Martin D-28E. Several veteran American performers rated write-ups, including Jerry Lee Lewis (re-starting his U.K. career), Duane Eddy, the Everly Brothers and the late Buddy Holly, with an update on the Sonny-Curtis-led Crickets. Still, the focus was clearly on emerging home-grown performers.

Of interest to guitar fans, Big Beat Boys carries ads from most major British instrument importer/distributors. The inside cover was taken by Selmer, the 800-pound gorilla of U.K. guitar sales. Guitar specialists since the ’30s, Selmer represented both Fender and Gibson in England, plus long-time staple Höfner, from Germany, and the budget Futurama house brand, applied to various foreign-made pieces. The company had just begun importing the unusual Höfner 500/1 violin bass due to demand from players who had seen it in Paul McCartney’s hands. All these Selmer-distributed brands would be associated with the Beatles at some point, from George’s early Futurama solidbody through the silverface amps used in Let It Be. Arbiter had the inside back cover, featuring Gretsch guitars and the notoriously oddball Trixon drums. Rose-Morris did not yet have the Rickenbacker line – at this point John Lennon’s signature guitar brand was not officially available in the U.K.. The product proffered in Big Beat Boys was Ampeg amplifiers, which had little impact in the land of Vox. Rosetti offered the Epiphone line featuring the semi-hollow Rivoli bass, already a hot item in the U.K..

The U.K.’s top musical manufacturers, JMI/Vox and Burns, had full-page ads, as well. Burns was relatively straightforward with typical pseudoscientific prose, introducing their ill-fated transistor amps and picturing the rare SplitSound six-string bass. JMI showed the Shadows (in full color) but oddly enough without guitars or amps, apparently so confident in their Vox gear they could relax “away from the bustle of show business and its attendant worries…”! Smaller fries Watkins/WEM and Fenton-Weill also had format ads – WEM’s an attractive (likely expensive) full-color spread. Both offered mid-priced gear popular with up-and-coming acts but rarely seen in professional groups. Watkins features the well-regarded Copicat echo and “New Circuit 4 Guitar” which had not yet been named the Rapier 44. There are interesting ads from the three top retailer’s in England’s north, where the “Beat boom” was still centered. Frank Hessey’s and Rushworth’s of Liverpool, along with Barratt’s of Manchester, touted their famous beat group customers and listed their extensive guitar offerings. Rushworth’s and Hessey’s counted the Beatles as customers – the Bigsby for Lennon’s Rickenbacker was fitted at Hessey’s, while their J-160E’s were ordered through Rushworth’s.

With its breathless but musician-friendly tone, Big Beat Boys is a fascinating snapshot of the Beatles and early Beat scene when it was an emerging phenomenon, confined to the U.K. and viewed as a novelty. It must have seemed like a guitar-twanging flash in the pan at the time; it’s likely nobody had any inkling of what the Beatles would become or how great their influence would be – pop groups were expected to have a lifespan of months or perhaps a few years in the limelight. Still, it made showbiz seem like good fun, if nothing else! Few besides hardcore fans remember Carl Denver, Shane Fenton or even the once-mighty Big 3 today, but they were all part of this initial U.K. beat explosion. Guitars, electric basses, and drums (with the occasional harmonica or keyboard) were suddenly the most important thing in the world to any self-respecting teenaged boy (and even a few girls). While most of these acts are largely forgotten, thanks to the talent, determination and sheer brilliance of the Beatles, we’re still feeling those Big Beat reverberations 50 years on.

This article originally appeared in VG May 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

The Vox brand may be quintessentially English, but it made a huge impact in the U.S. Riding in with the 1964 British invasion, Vox even displaced Fender for a time as the land’s most desired amplifier. Vox guitars lacked the same impact (the Beatles didn’t play them, after all) but were seen prominently in the hands of the Rolling Stones, Hollies, and others. In retrospect, Vox guitars are most often associated with a ’60s-/garage-band aesthetic. Fashionable for a time, by the end of the decade, Vox guitars and amps had fallen out of favor along with the Beat Group sounds they provided. Still, the best – or at least best-looking – Vox guitars continue to provide an instant cool ’60s vibe (check out the latest Toyota Corolla TV commercial).

The Vox brand hit U.S. teens like a hurricane with the Beatles arrival, but Vox instruments were initially unobtainable, which added to the mystique! Jennings Musical Industries (JMI), a relatively small company in Dartford, Kent, experienced explosive growth supplying the British Beat Boom with its signature amplification. This runaway success was a double-edged sword; needing capital to build the vast amounts of equipment on order (but not paid for), Jennings had no choice but to seek outside financing. By September of ’63, the Royston group (a British electronics concern) had bought a controlling interest from founder Tom Jennings. Amps were the bulk of the business; most Vox guitars were cheap beginner’s models, though by the beginning of ’64 some professional-quality instruments were in-hand. Royston/JMI had no distribution in the U.S. when the Beatles opened this vast market, but one American company had a foot in the door…

By the summer of ’64, Thomas Organ Company was JMI’s exclusive U.S. distributor. Like Hammond and Baldwin, Thomas made mostly large, expensive console organs for the upscale home market. These were big business in the early ’60s, and Thomas was a major player. If, in retrospect, they seem rather unhip (at least compared to Hammond), at the time, Thomas was building some of the most technically advanced organs of the day. Still, in ’64, their big endorser was Mitch Miller; Lawerence Welk was featured in the ’65 ad campaign, the spotlight product being an organ with lighted keys showing students which note to hit! They had no footing in the Beat market, not even building small portable units like Vox supplied to likes of the Animals or the Dave Clark Five.

Thomas was actually a relatively young company – founded in 1956 – and by ’64 a subsidiary of Warwick Electronics, which was a major builder of portable TV sets. Thomas was an early pioneer in high-end solidstate technology – in ’59, the company introduced transistor organs, offering an unusual five-year guarantee. They even sold home organs with a built-in stereo phonograph!

Thomas’ gung-ho founder and president was one Joe Benaron, a big believer in aggressive marketing. In ’62, the company advised music dealers, “Strong, aggressive merchants are selling Thomas – or should be! Join Thomas now… don’t wake up to discover yourself selling against it!” Even so, Benaron was watching its share in the overall market shrink as teenagers everywhere turned to guitars. By late ’64, even Piano Trade magazine was running features like “Guitar – The Instrument with the Golden Future!” Benaron, like many in his shoes, wanted a piece of that action!

Personally, Benaron had much common ground with Tom Jennings, who also started with electric keyboards. Jennings admired the big “Classy” products Thomas built, and it’s been suggested he considered his amps, guitars, and organs to be less-admirable creations despite their success. Jennings was pleased to distribute Thomas organs in the U.K., and in turn Thomas secured exclusive American distribution rights to Vox. At the British Music Trade Fair on August 30, 1964, Thomas placed an order for $1 million worth of Vox equipment; at the time the largest single order for musical merchandise ever made with a U.K. firm. This was followed in mid November by a second order for $1.5 million and, in early ’65, with another for $2 million. Add various exports to Europe and the Far East and the situation for JMI looked rosy – on the surface. The challenge came in supplying the product!

Compared to the American market’s appetite for Vox, the trickle of amps, guitars, and organs JMI was able to supply was a pinprick. Seeing this, Benaron deduced that exploiting it fully meant not just distributing Vox – he wanted his company to be Vox in America! This eventually led to what could be described as a bait-and-switch operation on a massive scale. Instruments sold under the Vox name in the U.S. became the product of a collaboration between English, Italian, and American concerns, many well-removed from their Dartford roots. Vox amplifiers proved very expensive to import. Thomas gave them English-sounding names like Berkeley, Buckingham, and Royal Guardsman, but soon enough they were actually being built in the U.S. At first, Thomas assembled imported chassis into locally-built cabinets, then began substituting domestic components, eventually the only English-made part was the speaker. Using their transistor technology, Warwick/Thomas re-engineered the Vox tube amps designed by Dick Denney at JMI into something completely different, made in a huge plant in Sepulveda, like Warwick’s TVs. In terms of design and construction, these American-made solidstate amps were by no means junk – they have endured better than Fender’s transistor efforts – but they were worlds away from the English “valve” amps they were marketed as being equivalent to.

Vox guitars, too, were re-engineered for the American market, but not in Sepulveda. Guitar making at JMI ran a distant second to amplifiers; despite interesting designs, production relied on sometimes-spotty subcontractors. Solidbodies were assembled in the U.K., but JMI tried several Italian guitar builders as sources for plywood hollowbody guitars nobody in England had the facility to make. After working with Welson and Crucanelli, by early ’65, JMI settled on the Eko operation in Recanati, Italy. Run by founder Oliviero Pigini, Eko was (according to themselves) the largest and most advanced guitar factory in Europe. It already exported to England and America, and was more than willing to pick up contract work on Vox guitars. In ’66, JMI/Royston, Eko and Thomas entered a partnership named EME, to further Vox production worldwide. Jennings, Benaron, and Pigini all had ambitions for the operation, but the goals were not always the same. Eventually, Thomas and Eko essentially cut JMI out of the loop, running their own pipeline from Italy to the U.S., even while the guitars still carried the tag line “Vox – The British Sound.” What Benaron really cared about was clearly advertised in June, 1965, to U.S. music dealers: “Vox: The Sound Of Money… The top beat groups have made a lot of money with Vox… so can you!” Vox was sold to the public with slightly less crass slogans like “VOX: The Greatest Name In Sound,” “The Sound That Travels with the Stars,” “VOX – King of the Beat,” and most famously, “Vox: It’s What’s Happening.”

Amplifiers for European sales, and small numbers of guitars, were still made in the U.K., but by the summer of ’65, most guitar production shifted to Eko. Practically all guitars imported into the U.S. after the first wave were of Italian origin, though JMI-made budget instruments like the Shadow, Clubman, and Super Ace seem to have been brought over in some quantity as early stopgaps. U.K.-made guitars imported in 1964-’65 can be seen in the hands of some early users, but Italian examples soon predominate. Thomas’ early-’65 Vox “King Of the Beat” catalog showed a mix of English- and Italian-made models; by the next catalog, it was all Eko product. The Eko/Vox line was extensive, including distinctive JMI originals like the trapezoidal-bodied Phantom line and teardrop-shaped Mark, alongside others “inspired” by the likes of Gibson’s ES-335 and even the Mosrite Ventures model.

Differences between English and Italian interpretations of Vox designs are often small but significant. JMI used at least three subcontractors for guitar necks and results were inconsistent, especially the fretwork. Most JMI necks are one-piece with a rosewood or ebony fingerboard and have a thinner finish, even when the body is swathed in polyester. Eko necks carry heavy poly finishes, but the actual construction and especially fretting are more consistent. Italian necks used maple (originally one piece, later often multi-laminate) with a bound ebony fingerboard and a truss rod adjusted via an easily accessible plug at the body end. This rod was coupled with a metal T-shaped center section under the fingerboard, and has sometimes worked too well over time – some Eko-made Voxes today show neck and fingerboard crack issues where the rod has been overtightened. Still, at the time, the Italian neck seemed a more-reliable improvement. It’s easy to tell the difference – Eko necks have “Made in Italy By Vox” in small print on the back of the headstock.

Other problems can emerge as the guitars age. Eko’s heavy polyester finishes sometimes crack or check heavily. Unlike JMI versions, the Italian pickguards used an unstable plastic and many have shrunk and warped, though this was not a problem at the time. Much of the hardware was well-made and nearly identical – both used similar Van Gent tuners fitted with stamped metal Vox-branded covers, and Eko copied JMI’s bridge and vibrato designs very closely. An important sonic difference was the pickups; Eko-made units look much like their English antecedents, but produce a thinner sound and weaker output. Most Thomas Vox guitars shipped in a distinctive oblong grey case – attractive, light, and handy, but fairly flimsy, as well with a plastic handle that has an annoying habit of snapping off.

Vox had a ready-made teen market, but Thomas still engaged in energetic promotion, sponsoring Teen Fair and Battle Of the Bands events in California. Thomas’ blatant exploitation of the newly hip “teen” culture seems somehow equally savvy, crass, and somehow endearing almost 50 years on! JMI’s U.K. market strategy of getting gear into the hands of any newly prominent artist proved impossible in the U.S., so Thomas did the next best thing – milking Hollywood connections to get Vox featured on film and TV, sometimes over objections by an endorsee; the Bobby Fuller Four appear in AIP’s Ghost in the Invisible Bikini with a full Vox rig – which a Fender-toting Fuller strongly resented. Bands sometimes appeared on TV with a Vox lineup they likely only saw that day! The Gentrys, Beau Brummels, Seeds, Electric Prunes (who recorded a promo for the Vox wah pedal), local faves the Guilloteens, Dino, Desi and Billy, and many other mostly-L.A.-based acts appeared on TV shows like “Hullabaloo,” “Shindig!,” and “Shebang” with Vox rigs. Garage legends The Standells were sometime Vox endorsers who used their own guitars in their golden movie moment in AIP’s Riot on Sunset Strip (with Vox amps) but the other bands in the film (the Chococolate Watchband and the Enemies) both appear using an identical Violin Bass/Mark VI /Bobcat guitar lineup that was likely part of the set! The Who mimed with matching Vox guitars on the Smothers Brothers show – convenient for Townshend’s smashing routine! As intended, this exposure gave the impression Vox guitars were in much wider use with major groups than was really true!

Looking beyond California, Thomas published its own nationally distributed “Vox Teen Beat” newspaper full of propaganda, and expected aggressive promotion from Vox dealers who were encouraged to sponsor local battle-of-the-bands contests and other teen events. The wildest promotional hardware of all was the Voxmobile, built by L.A. customizer George Barris in the shape of a giant Phantom bass. This traveling $30,000 “guit-car” had 32 guitar inputs, three built-in amps, hidden speakers everywhere, and a dual-manual organ on the trunk. Fender somehow missed that idea! For a time, there was even a Vox retail outlet in Hollywood.

Thomas pursued endorsements in the R&B market with Ike and Tina Turner, and most successfully, James Brown, who for a time featured Vox gear on the back of his LPs. “Instruments by… Vox” was an album credit. His band can be seen with Vox lineups in 1967-’68, and it’s interesting to speculate what brother James’ crack players thought about these relatively flimsy instruments replacing their Gibson guitars and Fender bass!

Another unlikely Vox act was Velvet Underground, the seminal New York cult band. While now considered one of rock’s most influential acts, when active they were a commercial non-starter. Still, thanks to the patronage of Andy Warhol, the band received a package of Vox gear in ’66, which can occasionally be spotted in use.

Thomas’ Hollywood connections entered a surreal phase when Samantha Stevens from TV’s “Bewitched” (played by Elizabeth Montgomery) strummed a Vox Apollo with psychedelic paint livery in the 1968 episode “Hippy Hippy Hooray.” By September of that year, the fading brand received its wildest TV endorsement, equipping Hanna-Barbera’s live-action Saturday morning cartoon stars the Banana Splits! The Vox Ultrasonic and Starstream played by Fleegle and Drooper may have been the last nails in Vox’s credibility coffin. Thomas shut the operation down not long after, plagued by a shrinking market, fading sales, and quality issues. From the Beatles and the “World’s Top Beat Groups” to the Banana Splits in just five years – the Vox brand had a uniquely strange journey. The aesthetic of electric music changed rapidly, and by the early ’70s Vox was as uncool as it had been cool in ’64. Still, Vox amps – even some of Thomas’ transistor babies – maintain a devoted following that has only grown over time. The guitars have not fared as well, but have an enduring appeal to some players – at least for their visual style. Next month, we’ll look at some interesting models from this most varied – and storied – line.

This article originally appeared in VG January 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

Duh-Duh-Duh-Duh-Duh, Klunk!

It’s not the most artful musical introduction, but it was effective. And by the time a screaming Hammond organ slides in over the pounding bass-and-drums, most listeners are hooked. The song is “Gimme Some Lovin” by the Spencer Davis Group, and the 1966 record is a showcase not only for the vocals and organ of a young Steve Winwood, but the sound of the Harmony H-22 bass in the hands of his brother, Muff.

While budget-priced four-strings are rarely given their due, the hollowbody H-22 has more than once proven a surprisingly efficient low-end tool – and made its mark on classic recordings.

The H-22 Hi-Value was Harmony’s first electric bass, debuting in 1962 and featured on the catalog cover. The name was descriptive, if unromantic (like Kay’s Value Leader), still, Harmony was the largest student-level guitar maker in the country and this model helped make the electric bass obtainable for kids everywhere. It had been a long time coming – 10 years after Fender’s first bass and local rival Kay’s response. Kay was America’s premier upright bass maker, and in a quick reaction to this new low-end idea created the hollowbody bass in late ’52 with the flat-top/arched back K-162 Electronic Bass. The H-22 bore a general resemblance to the original, but at a much lower price – and it hit just in time for the ’60s rock explosion.

The H-22 was well-conceived despite being built with price as a primary consideration. “The value built into it is unsurpassed!” claimed the catalog, and it’s hard to argue. A full/16″ body – thin-rimmed, flat-topped, and hollow (it almost looked like an archtop) – gave the instrument better balance than many short-scale basses. There was a lot of space between the simple wooden adjustable bridge and the tailipece, so it required long-scale strings though its scale was just 30″. And it’s hard to imagine a pickup design simpler than the DeArmond Golden Tone Indox mounted near the fingerboard; a flat single-coil with an internal magnet, it puts out a surprisingly powerful tone with plenty of definition. Indeed, the Harmony offered a much clearer sound than the upscale Gibson EB-2 and Epiphone Rivoli basses, with more output than similar Höfner, Kay, or Framus instruments. The wiring was basic but functional, with Volume and Tone knobs and a lever-activated Klunk switch for a baritone effect.

The H-22’s oddest feature was a large white plastic pickguard that covered much of its face, with a vaguely batwing shape along the lower edge. This carried a rosewood finger rest below the strings, and both were often removed. One of the best features was the maple neck with an “ebonized” fingerboard and Gibson-style truss rod that keep it functional long after many other cheap bass necks of the era had packed it in. The instrument’s weakest point was its tuning pegs – instead of tuners with large shafts, it was given the same open-back Waverly strip units Harmony used on banjos. In this, Harmony followed Danelectro, the other notable purveyor of bargain basses.

Overall, the design was visually similar to a Kay and Gibson, but closer in price to the Dano – a Lincoln look at a Ford price!

In action, the H-22 was very light, handy, and surprisingly professional-feeling bass. It debuted at $95 in 1962, only $10 more than the boxy shorthorn Danelectro model and $15 more than Kay’s Value Leader 5961, which had a 24″ guitar-scale neck and felt more like a toy. Other lower-end four-strings like Danelectro’s Longhorn, Supro’s Pocket Bass, and Kay’s full-scale 5965 Pro were $150 or more. Harmony’s price rose to $99.50 in March of ’63, then $104.50 in ’65 and 109.50 by ’67. Even with the increases, the H-22 was still the best value on the market – lending truth to Harmony’s slogan, “The best you can buy… for the money you spend!”

The H-22 was produced in fairly large quantities in the mid ’60s. Along with Danelectro and Silvertone basses, it was a popular choice to equip the first-time bassists of many budding surf and garage bands across the U.S., including the pre-“Wipe Out” Surfaris. One notable user was the San Diego combo Count 5, remembered for the 1966 hit “Psychotic Reaction.” Still, if they kept at it, many young bassists would buy a Fender or other professional-quality bass as soon as they were able, leaving the Harmony in the garage.

However, such was not always the case across the pond!

The Harmony line was marketed in England by Boosey & Hawkes; the H-22 was listed in ’62 at just under £40, up to £45 by mid ’65. Either way, it was one of the best values in a bass for the U.K. in the mid ’60s. Professional-level semi-hollow U.S.-made choices like the EB-2, Rivoli, or Gretsch cost four times that – even a Fender Precision was triple the price. Others in that range were mostly dodgy imports from Europe or Japan. At 31 guineas, Selmer’s single-pickup Höfner Senator was the only similar bargain, and arguably neither as good-sounding nor as hardy. Whether for economic or stylistic reasons, two soon-to-be-celebrated R&B groups embraced the H-22 and took it with them to the top of the charts – and into pop history.

Birmingham’s Spencer Davis Group started in mid ’64, playing American R&B, and soon caught a buzz among musicians and critics as one of the country’s best unsung bands. Throughout ’65 it was tipped for success if it could just score the elusive hit single. Even at this early stage, bassist Mervyn “Muff” Winwood and the other members (including Spencer Davis) were rather in the shadow of Muff’s younger brother, Stevie. After all, the kid could sing like Ray Charles and play organ like Jimmy Smith! Still, the hits which lifted them to the top of the U.K. charts in late ’65 – “Keep on Runnin’” and “Somebody Help Me” owed a lot to the bass player’s contributions. Both were Jamaican-influenced numbers written by island expat songsmith Jackie Edwards, but the records were powered by the thudding hammer of Muff’s bass riffing under Stevie’s powerhouse vocal and trendy fuzz guitar. Unusually, the group had recorded a full LP before gaining hit status, but the two singles made them bona fide stars in the U.K. This was repeated with the worldwide breakout of “Gimmie Some Lovin’” and “I’m a Man” a year later, which made them a top act in the U.S. Both were produced and co-written by Jimmy Miller, who would go on to produce Steve Winwood in Traffic and Blind Faith, then work with the Rolling Stones. By the spring of ’67, Steve Winwood had moved on to form Traffic, bringing about the end of the original Davis band. During the group’s two-year run, Muff Winwood was occasionally seen with other basses (like a Höfner 500/1), but the Harmony remains his signature instrument, visually and sonically. The whole band was even Harmony-equipped for a while – Davis himself brandished a Stratotone Jupiter, as did Steve Winwood for a time, before picking up a Fender Jaguar (and most famously the Hammond organ).

The H-22 was also the instrument of choice for a London band, the Small Faces, which broke on their home turf at nearly the same time. Bassist Ronnie “Plonk” Lane was nearly always seen with a Harmony – his first H-22 was the spark that ignited the group to begin with. The core of The Small Faces, considered the ultimate mod band, met when Lane went to the J160 Music Bar in east London looking for his first bass. He bought the H-22 from fast-talking salesman Steve Marriott – at “A whacking great discount!” Marriott glommed the Gretsch Tennessean Lane had intended to trade in, and the two struck up a musical rapport that would carry them through the ’60s. Marriott and Lane became the creative team that powered the Small Faces, writing and singing their increasingly sophisticated material. While they never became stars in the U.S. (despite a top 40 hit with “Itchycoo Park” in ’67) the original Small Faces are revered as one of the finest of all English pop groups.

Thanks to a fiercely energetic stage show, their gear took a lot of abuse. The group also showed no compunction about modifying instruments. Mariott’s Gretsch guitars changed finish and hardware over time, and Lane’s H-22 took a beating. As 1966 went on, the bass lost its knobs, the pickguard became black, then went missing entirely. “The… thing to suffer is the equipment,” Lane reported to Beat Instrumental in May of ’66. “My Harmony bass has been through so much action – there were no Volume controls left and I had to turn the volume up and down with a pair of pliers. I’ve just bought another couple…. The old friend is being renovated.” Lane’s loyalty to the H-22 is unusual, but he stayed true to his first love at least until he met her posher sister!

By late ’66, Harmony expanded its bass line to three instruments. The H-22’s price dropped to $99.50 again as it gained two classier siblings. The H-27 was much fancier; it kept the 16″/thin-rimmed form but as double-cutaway, fully arched, laminated maple hollowbody with a honey-brown sunburst finish. “Styled and electronically equipped to meet the highest professional bass tone standards,” was how Harmony announced it. The H-27 carried two fancier DeArmond pickups, each with a double row of adjustable poles in an interesting variation on Fender’s offset-bobbin idea. The strings terminated on a nifty metal bridge and tailpiece with adjustable saddles and detachable covers. There was no pickguard but two body-mounted finger rests with tortoise celluloid tops and a conventional four-knob/one-switch wiring rig. The maple neck led to a large oddly droopy Fenderesque headstock, also faced in tortoise plastic and equipped (at last!) with actual bass tuning machines. In a sign of the times, these were of Japanese origin. The H-27 listed at $199.50 – double the price of the H-22, but by the standards of ’66 still an excellent value. While it feels classier, the H-27 does not handle or balance as well due mostly to the heavier headstock and different bridge placement.

The new model did find one enthusiastic fan – Lane bought the first H-27 into England from central London’s St. Giles Music Centre, fresh off Boozey & Hawkes’ display stand at the September ’66 British Music Trade Show. “Plonk has gone for the very first of a new line in harmony Bass guitars,” reported Beat Instrumental. This bass can be seen (and heard with a persistently flat E string!) on the band’s September, 1966, German TV “BeatBeatBeat” broadcast, available on DVD, which captures them at peak power. “The sound I want is chunky and sharp,” Lane explained, and based on this footage, he succeeded! The bass in the hands of a prominent player created a buzz, but few other pros took up the H-27. And while they are rarer than the H-22, today they are also far less sought-after.

Also introduced around that time was the solidbody H-25, given the ungainly moniker, Silhouette Solid Body Deluxe Multi-Voice Electric Bass. This was a vaguely Fender-shaped solidbody initially built with a centrally located pickup and rocking tone switches – a second pickup was soon added. Neither distinctive or attractive as its hollowbody sisters, The H-25 was never popular and saw few professional users. At $139.50, it remained a budget instrument, but had none of the stylish look (or distinctive feel) of its hollowbody siblings. Offering little advantage over many similar imported Fender-like basses in the late ’60s, the rather warped looking (if decent-playing/-sounding) H-25 made minimal impact.

In the meantime, the original H-22 moved through the decade with a few changes. The tailpiece, originally a block of rosewood screwed to the top under a metal cover (the same stamped metal piece seen on Gibson lap steels before World War II!) became a cheaper integral unit that performed both functions. The major change came in ’68, when the H-22 went to a double-cutaway body shape. This made little functional difference, but the classic look was lost a bit. By the early ’70s – dawn of the era of stadium volume – hollowbody basses fell out of favor. Former user Muff Winwood had laid down his upon leaving Spencer Davis in ’67, moving into production as an A&R man for Chris Blackwell’s Island Records. Among his notable production credits are Sparks and the first Dire Straits album. Ronnie Lane (no longer going by “Plonk”) stayed with the Small Faces in ’69, after Steve Marriott departed (replaced by Rod Stewart and Ron Wood). Lane’s love affair with Harmony ended as well, and he switched to Fender then Zemaitis basses. Lane left the renamed Faces in ’73, but his enduring talent and charm were much admired on the English music scene, despite an aesthetic allergy to commercial success and slow decline in health due to Multiple Sclerosis.

The H-22 was gone by Harmony’s 1972 catalog; the other basses remained, but in an era of cheaper imports the once-mighty Harmony faced a shrinking market and ceased operation in ’75. They outlasted domestic competition from Kay, Valco, and the like, but could not compete with the increasingly sophisticated Japanese product that eventually cornered all but the highest levels of the market. The mostly forgotten H-22 became a pawnshop prize or garage-band revivalist’s trophy in the ’70s and ’80s.

After this long period of obscurity, there has recently been a revived interest in the H-22, from younger bassists taken by its vintage sound and look. There’s even an Asian-made reissue. Somehow, the H-22’s unique visual and sonic character summons a time when the electric bass was more fun, before rock got “heavy.” Really not a bad legacy for 40 quid!

This article originally appeared in VG August 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.