Ceil Thompson with her work-in-progress guitar, strung and tuned for a trial strum.
In the August issue, we introduced you to Ceil Thompson, a high-school intern in my shop who’s building a guitar from scratch for her senior project. She finished the neck and body, and now, after squeezing time in-between her other summer job, she’s close to finished.
1) With the body together and close to final sanding, Ceil made a pickguard from quartersawn sycamore with a beautiful lacewood-like grain (the wood is from a 220-year-old sycamore tree that was downed to make way for my shop). She started by making a routing template from laminated hardboard.
2) After choosing a piece, she laid self-stick Mylar on the body, then traced the routed areas and two holes for the bridge as a map for taping down the control plates to their mounting holes.
3) Using a band saw, she gave the pickguard a rough oversize shape, leaving room for the template and router to create perfect edges.
4) With the pickguard on its way, Ceil installed StewMac’s #152 medium width frets (which measure .092″ wide by .048″ tall) using the Jaws fret press up to the body, then switched to a fret hammer for the remainder.
5) Excited with her progress, Ceil mounted the tuners and Mastery bridge/tailpiece so she could strum the guitar. Pleased with the way it played, she removed the parts and did final wood prep for finishing.
6) Once prep was done, she masked the neck and body, which will be different colors.
7) With the neck masked, she filled the pores with a green paste filler. After letting the filler dry for a couple days, she mixed a green alcohol-based stain and wiped it on the body.
8) With the fretboard and edges of the peghead still masked, she stained the peghead overlay black and sealed it with a coat of rattle-can clear lacquer.
9) The peghead overlay is from the same swamp ash as the body; even stained and lacquered, you can see the grain of the wood.
10) After filling the mahogany grain with brown paste filler, she put the body in a garbage bag, masked off the neck joint, fretboard, and fretboard edges, then sprayed an alcohol-based brown walnut stain on the neck, being careful not to get any on the bocote fretboard.
11) After removing the masking tape except for the fretboard and its edges, Ceil began spraying lacquer. Over several days, she did eight coats, with level sanding after the first four.
12) The guitar is looking awesome. Next time, we’ll show you the finished instrument, how she adjusted the action, and started playing it in her band, The Counterfeit Painters.
Dan Erlewine has been repairing guitars for more than 50 years. He is the author of three books, dozens of magazine articles, and has produced instructional videotapes and DVDs on guitar repair. From 1986 through his retirement in late 2019, Erlewine was part of the R&D team for Stewart-MacDonald’s Guitar Shop Supply; today he remains involved with the company, offering advice to the department and shooting video for the company’s website and social media. This column has appeared in VG since March, 2004. You can contact Dan at dan@stewmac.com.
This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2022 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Psych-blues guitar maestro J.D. Simo was the wizard behind the guitar work heard on Elvis, the new Baz Luhrmann film starring Tom Hanks and Austin Butler. Unlike the actors who portrayed a real-life character, Simo recorded parts embodying Scotty Moore, James Burton, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Reggie Young, Hank Garland, Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup, Tommy Tedesco, and B.B. King.
While it sounds like an overwhelming assignment, for Simo it was more fun than a barrel full of monkeys.
How did you become involved with Elvis?
Back in 2018, I was on tour and got a call from Dave Cobb (VG, April ’22). I’ve known Dave for 10 years or so – before the insane success of Chris Stapleton, Sturgill Simpson, Jason Isbell, and everybody else. We were friends but had never worked together. He called and said, “Hey, are you going to be home this weekend?” Luckily, I was heading home at that moment, from a tour. He said, “I’m working on this Elvis movie and I’d like you to play guitar.” That was about it.
I went in for the first round of sessions before Austin Butler (Elvis) was even cast. Tom Hanks (Colonel Tom Parker) was already cast. Luckily, I didn’t know who Baz Luhrmann was; ignorance is bliss sometimes. I showed up and we did the first batch of sessions, then it grew from there. We did tons of sessions spread out over the next two years. We didn’t finish the music until December of 2021. Of course, Covid was in the middle of all that.
Simo uses his ’52 ES-5 (left) for, “…anything blues-related. There’s just no way to sound modern on it.” Simo’s ’62 ES-335 is his “…Lightnin Hopkins guit,” His 1960 J-50 has a Galetta pickup. “Through an amp, it’s rad,” he adds, offering as proof, “Want What I Don’t Have” and “That’s When You Know That You’re Down” from his 2021 album, Mind Control.
As time went on, it didn’t take long to figure out what a monumental undertaking it was, and how it was a big deal (laughs). Initially, it was just Dave calling me to come in for a bunch of sessions for an Elvis movie. I was totally game, and as a side note, the group was myself, drummer Chris Powell, bassist Brian Allen, and keyboardist Philip Towns. The four of us have gone on to work on many records for the last few years for Dave. We’ve become his rhythm section, in many regards, and it was a beautiful way for that to happen. Other musicians also worked on the movie, but most of it was the four of us, and it was absolutely great.
Was Cobb familiar with your ability to re-create older guitar styles?
He knew my background as a session guitarist and friend before I started making records. At the end of the day, what made him call me instead of anyone else, I still don’t know, but I’m grateful he did (laughs). To get to do Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Arthur Crudup, B.B. King, and all those artists was… I just loved it. It was just so right up my alley, and I loved it. Dave knew to a certain extent, but I can’t speak to that. Because it was inevitably going to be such a long process, if I wasn’t the right person, they would have gotten the right person (laughs).
To be clear, you played all the guitars in the film.
Yes. I was nervous at first about making such a statement until I saw the film. Then I was like, “Holy s**t!” Every two minutes, you hear my ass. It’s f***ing crazy! There were 10 or 12 musicians who worked on it, but for most of the stuff you hear, there was four of us that basically did everything. There were a handful of times where artists contributed renditions spliced into the film. Kacey Musgraves contributed “Can’t Help Falling In Love” independent of us.
Jerry Jones Baby Sitar. ’65 Airline Kay mandolin.
How did you approach each character’s relationship to the guitar?
Scotty Moore is a very simplistic player at heart. You have to restrain yourself from doing things he wouldn’t do. We recorded a lot of Scotty stuff for the film. One of the big scenes is when Elvis debuts on “Louisiana Hayride,” and they do “Baby Let’s Play House.” We had a live recording of Elvis and The Blue Moon Boys playing it faster, more distorted, and wilder than the record.
It was really fun. It reminded me of when I first heard the Star-Club recordings that the Beatles did in Hamburg. You hear the Beatles, but everything’s faster, really distorted, the vocals are distorted, and they almost sound like the Sex Pistols. They don’t sound like “Love Me Do.” They’re way edgier and way more punk-rock, which was never heard by the masses.
It was the same thing with the source material for Scotty Moore. I’m a big Elvis fan, and I’d never heard it. So, playing this amped-up version of Scotty was really fun. They had little amplifiers turned up all the way, so of course, it’s going to be more-distorted – and they’re nervous. It’s not like these are hugely professional musicians. They’re young and nervous, so they’re going to play stuff faster and more herky-jerky. They’re going to have more attitude.
There was a lot of stuff I had to play verbatim because Scotty came up with these parts. I was trying to vary them enough so that it’s still a performance and not a mime, because Baz was insistent. “I don’t want you to mime this stuff,” he told me. “I don’t want you to impersonate this stuff. I want you to interpret it as if you’re this person.” With Scotty, it’s trusting his melodies and not extrapolating more than he would.
Simo’s main guitar is this Danocaster with a 1962 patent-number pickup near the neck and a rewound ’56 Tele pickup at the bridge. “Dan Strain built it for himself and it was his personal guitar for a few years, until I played it and had to make a deal,” Simo said. “It’s a magic guitar.” This Echopark Tavares has goldfoil and Valco pickups wound by Wade Coffer. Simo keeps this mid-’60s Jazzmaster tuned down. It has a Musikraft neck and two pickups – one goldfoil and a Valco lap-steel pickup, both re-wound by Wade Coffer, head of the repair shop at Carter Vintage.
James Burton was a hot picker. On live recordings of him with Elvis from the late ’60s and early ’70s, James was wild. He was always looking to throw something hot in, so it’s almost the opposite. With James, it was finding ways to throw something hot in. He was a young whippersnapper and had a lot of facility. This is how I got into the mind of the two guys. Scotty was this reserved gentleman, whereas James was the sharpshooter. He’s from Louisiana, but was a member of The Wrecking Crew at that time and played on tons of hit records in Hollywood. He wasn’t cocky, but he was like, “I’m James Burton (laughs).”
Was it difficult to “become” Sister Rosetta Tharpe?
It was (laughs)! Oddly enough, I’m a huge fan. If anything, that was one of the easier things for me because it’s right under my fingers of how I play normally. I had to do intensive homework for all of it, but the Sister Rosetta Tharpe stuff was my favorite day. The day singer Yola (Carter) came in, she wasn’t even cast – she was just going to supply Sister Rosetta Tharpe’s voice. But she’s amazing, and when Baz met her, he said, “Why isn’t she playing her in the movie? You’re playing her in the movie!” That happened multiple times when Baz met musicians from our community here in Nashville and said, “You have to be in the film.”
Yola was born to play that part and did an amazing job. Not everything we recorded made it into the movie, but it was great to play that style and hear her in the booth killin’ it (laughs). It brought me a lot of joy.
You also cover Hank Garland, Reggie Young, and Tommy Tedesco.
Hank was a methodical player, but very jazzy. With him, it was about restraint, playing more uptown, refined, and perfect. Reggie was a perfect amalgam of both. He had taste and restraint, but he was also a funky dude. Tedesco had a great sense of humor in the way he played, but was one of the finest jazz musicians and sight-readers in music history. He had this precision, but with a sense of humor. For the stuff we cut, Tommy Tedesco is like a grown-up version of James Burton (laughs). He’s got all this stuff to show, and he’ll still show it from time to time, but he’s older, wiser, and has even more ability stacked on top of it. It’s an interesting crew to wrap your head around.
With B.B. King, it was more about his playing in the ’50s. The scenes take place in 1956, and he didn’t have his vibrato yet; if you listen to anything pre-’60s, B.B. played more along the lines of T-Bone Walker. So, I had to make sure there was no big, wide, sweeping Live at the Regal, B.B. King vibrato. I had to make it sound like B.B. King in 1956, which was super fun.
The Scotty Moore sound, in particular, was difficult because Scotty played four guitars through that period, all through a Ray Butts EchoSonic amp, which is super rare and very idiosyncratic. So, we went to Carter Vintage to get a vintage Super 400, L-5, or a 295. We got stuff that had P-90s, staple (Alnico-magnet) pickups, and PAFs. We got a bunch of vintage Super 400s and L-5-type guitars from the ’50s and early ’60s. We took them all back to the studio, and one mid-’50s L-5 had more of the sound than the others. It had big flatwounds and became the guitar for all the Scotty Moore stuff.
Sometimes having the exact piece of equipment didn’t get the sound we were looking for. But, Dave has a gigantic gear collection, so I knew we’d be fine.
Simo’s amp stall houses (clockwise from top left) a Pre CBS Amps Clifford (made by Carter Vintage amp tech Zack Allen), ’49 Alamo Model III, ’64 Ampeg Gemini I, and a ’65 Deluxe Reverb.
How about amplifiers?
We tried a bunch, but Dave had this little ’60s Rickenbacker 10-watt combo that sounded best. If you take a big-body archtop from the ’50s and put it into a Ray Butts EchoSonic and an echo of some sort, it’s not bright enough – a lot of times, Scotty’s sound was very bright, but a lot of those guitars and amplifiers are very dark. We had to find a combination that had twang when we needed it. An old tube Echoplex, that old Rickenbacker amp, and the ’50s L-5 ended up being the Scotty setup.
What was the James Burton setup?
That one was easiest because Dave has a fantastic ’56 Esquire and a ’67 Super Reverb that doesn’t sound like any Super I’ve ever heard. There’s a ping to a lot of the Bakersfield sound and the stuff James played with Merle Haggard – a very specific speaker sound. That Esquire into that Super was like, “There ya go!”
Who was the most challenging guitarist to cover?
Probably Scotty Moore because I just wanted to do it right. It was the thing most in my head. I got my first guitar when I was four; it was the first thing I put my hands on and learned to play. So, it was just trying to embody it in a way that got it right. I did the best I could.
Were there challenges impersonating the other blues artists?
Not as much because a lot of that is under my fingers; I’m already steeped in Big Mama Thornton and Sister Rosetta Tharpe – at least peripherally, week after week, month after month. So it wasn’t as much of a stretch. My ability to get into the vibe on those days wasn’t as intense as, “Oh my God! We have to re-record ‘Hound Dog’ for ‘The Milton Berle Show’ scene in the movie!” Little things like that were great to get right, but it was intense. Scotty played “Hound Dog” three times before recording it to be released as a single, and he plays a different part on every performance. Then he plays the part that’s etched in time. So, what did he play on “The Milton Berle Show”? I’m drilling it in my head, not wanting to play what ended up on the record, which is subconscious.
Did the mystery tunings make things challenging?
Yes (laughs). It was crazy. In the film, Gary Clark, Jr. plays Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup, whose style was something I certainly worked hard on and took very seriously. When I first listened to the source material, I could tell he was in a [different] tuning. Then you go down the rabbit hole of trying to figure out what he did. That was the best I could approximate because nobody knows for sure exactly how he tuned. There is evidence he tuned to an open minor chord, so I did my best to replicate that.
Simo’s pedalboard hosts a Dominion Fuzz prototype, Mythos Argo, Mythos Wildwood Mjolnir, a ’73 Crybaby Wah, Strymon El Capistan, and an Electro-Harmonix Freeze.
The day I recorded the Crudup version of “That’s All Right Mama,” it was difficult mostly because of the timing. When you’re working on this stuff, you don’t know what they will use or not use. But, also, you have no idea of the time or context. With the Crudup stuff, I remember Baz explaining to me how it was going to morph into the ’50s, ’60s, and ’70s and then morph back. I remember him telling me all that, but in my mind, I’m like, “I don’t know what you mean (laughs).” So, when I saw the movie, I was like, “Now I get it (laughs)!” So much of it, you’re flying blind until he goes, “Yeah, that’s great!” “Cool, because I have no idea (laughs)!”
What was your biggest takeaway from the experience?
All of this music is at the heart of the stuff I love the most. I veer toward rhythm and blues, blues, and jazz. The rock-and-roll stuff was very important in my formative time learning to play. It’s not as present now, so this process was full-circle, and playing all the stuff that was literally at the core of who I am as a musician. There was a lot I hadn’t approached as an adult, so to approach it through my eyes today was fun.
The thing that kept happening time and again was my respect for nuance. Most of the time, everyone I had to cop was fairly simple, but how they played was so righteous and cool. There are people I respect who play with restraint, taste, and tone, and are very musical. But we live in a time where there’s overplaying and a lack of dynamics.
Time and time again, I’d listen to some of these artists and say, “Man, check this out! This is just so hip!” It gets stuck in your head, and it’s cool. I loved it. It was a wonderful reprieve to keep coming back to. I’m forever grateful to be attached to the project, albeit in a small capacity.
J.D. Simo: Adam Abrashoff.
What did you think while watching the finished film?
I went into it curious, and I loved it. Talking to family members and other people, I found that if you like Baz Luhrmann’s style, you’ll love the movie. It’s not for everybody, but I think it’s f***ing cool. I dug The Great Gatsby and Moulin Rouge!
The interesting thing I found since is the strong correlation between Elvis and African-American music. Baz did an awesome job splicing Big Mama Thornton into a trap version of “Hound Dog.” He also did an amazing job trying to exemplify the environment Elvis was coming from in a way that’s palpable in modern times. I have a handful of relatives who are old fogies who don’t dig that as much, but I like that they don’t like it (laughs). Because they’re kind of not supposed to (laughs). It’s not for them.
They don’t understand how African-American music of the past connects to African-American music of the present.
Exactly. They’d prefer the entire thing be a 100 percent period film. As a fan of music, I like the correlation. It’s impossible to explain how outrageous Elvis or Little Richard were in 1956. It was a different time, and Baz did an incredible job painting that picture. He also did a great job showing how much respect Elvis had for African-American culture. Elvis wanted to dress like that. He liked it. It wasn’t that he was trying to do anything disingenuous. Black culture was the culture he was immersed in and grew up around. That’s how he wanted to present himself, and how he felt comfortable in many respects. I think that’s a great thing to personify, given the times we’re talking about and the times we live in today.
This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2022 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Like many baby-boomer kids, 11-year-old Vern Juran was into slot-car racing and bikes with ape-hanger handlebars, banana seats, and sissy bars. He also loved guitars, and the second-hand Harmony Stratotone he used to start lessons in the summer of 1967 was his following-in-dad’s-footsteps dream instrument.
The guitar served him well through his first years learning to read music, memorizing notes on the fretboard, and developing the muscle memory involved in chording. But, by his junior year at Rapid City Stevens High School (in South Dakota), Juran had outgrown the short-scale Stratotone and was on the lookout for something new. That spring, he popped into the local Gibson shop and spotted a new ES-120 with a sale price of $150.
“Right away, I called my mother and told her I’d sell the Stratotone to help pay for it,” he said. “We bought the ES-120 the next day. My teacher, who bought and sold guitars and amps, was able to get $40 for the Stratotone.”
After graduating in ’74, Juran began working a job laying water and sewer lines. Scratching that itch every guitarist feels, after a couple years and with money in his pocket, he traded the ES-120 and a couple hundred bucks for a used maple-neck Telecaster. In the fall of ’77, he bailed on manual labor and started teaching guitar, running the Tele through an MXR Distortion+ and his ’59 narrow-panel Deluxe. Giving lessons during the day fit well with his gig in a country/rock band that played bars and clubs in a 150-mile radius. Some weeks they’d play once, others might be every night.
In the summer of ’79, Haggerty’s Musicworks opened in Rapid City and was looking for someone to do guitar setup and repair. Juran inquired, but the owner wanted someone with formal training.
“So, I enrolled in a repair course at the Apprentice Shop, in Spring Hill, Tennessee, and in January of 1980 spent four weeks there, in an intensive course taught by Mike Lennon,” Juran said. The Apprentice Shop was also an authorized (and highly regarded) repair shop for Gibson and Martin instruments run by Lennon and his partner, Bruce Scotten.
Returning home, he went to work at Haggerty’s, which was a full-line store where he fixed banjos, mandolins, violins, cellos, etc. (and their cases). The shop did bang-up business and within a couple years, owner Tom Hagerty opened a second store in Rapid and one 150 miles away in Gillette, Wyoming. For more than a decade, Juran worked on instruments that flowed into all three.
When a friend brought the guitar to Vern Juran’s shop, tiny blue-green paint splatters on the lower treble bout and Bass Rhythm selector switch helped pinpoint its past. While restoring it, he left the specks in memory of his mother, Lillian, who passed away in 1987. The edge near the input jack (right) required the majority of work.
In 1993, he and his wife, Jean, moved to Austin, Texas, where not only did he have extended family, but a traditionally hip roots-music scene was becoming sizzling hot. He hired on as a guitar tech at One World Music, but the gig lasted only a year before the owner was arrested for dealing drugs and sent to federal prison. The Jurans returned to Rapid City, Vern to Haggerty’s.
Though he has always enjoyed the variety of work required of a modern guitar repairman/tech, the physical stress of sanding, filing, grinding, cleaning, and polishing instruments eventually took a toll on his arms and shoulders. After carpal-tunnel releases on both wrists and months of physical therapy to cope with bursitis in his shoulders, in 2007, he scaled back. “I basically had to turn my job into a hobby,” he said.
After the couple retired in Arizona for two years, in 2013, Jean was offered a job in Rapid City and the Jurans returned to a cabin in the Black Hills. There, Vern created a home workshop where he does setups and repairs for friends.
One day in 2019, he was visited by Mark Falk, a local guitar-collector friend who brings instruments for work. In a flash of nostalgia, Vern asked Falk – who has dozens of old guitars of all types in every condition – if he had a Stratotone.
“Mark said, ‘Let me check the junkers in my garage attic,’ then a day or two later, he sent an e-mail saying, ‘Hey, I do have a Stratotone. I’ll bring it by.’”
On his next visit a few weeks later…
Vern Juran with the Stratotone
“He brought in this guitar, without a case, and right away I said, ‘It’s just like my old one!’ But it was really beat. I asked, ‘Where did you get it?’ and he vaguely recalled a yard sale sometime around 1990. It wasn’t playable, so he stuck it in the rafters, where it spent the next 27 years going through 110-degree heat in the summer and sub-zero temps in the winter.”
Giving it a close once-over, Juran was struck by something peculiar.
“I saw these tiny specs of paint on the body, and sort of flashed back to the summer of 1970, when my mom painted our basement with a roller and how tiny splatters of this ugly blue-green paint got on pretty much everything – the record player, records, the old sofa, an old radio, my baseball bat, my dad’s Harmony Monterey, and my Stratotone. None of the stuff had any real value, so we didn’t give it a second thought at the time, but seeing those specks of paint made me realize that this was my old guitar!”
They agreed to swap it for repair work, and Vern set about restoring the Stratotone, starting with fixing a 3″ hole where the input jack was supposed to be, and a large split in the same side. He also replaced frozen pots, restored its still-original tuners, cleaned the “super-dirty” frets and fretboard, and replaced the jack, which was broken and dangling by a wire.
The guitar is now quite playable, and Juran gives it a workout every couple of weeks. Of course he misses its original cool, grey chipboard case, but that doesn’t diminish the joy.
“It’s strange that through all those years, I never had a Stratotone exactly like mine make it to my bench,” he said. “I don’t even recall seeing one for sale in the stores where I worked. And to think that I’ve known Mark since 1980 and visited his house dozens and dozens of times, never thinking he could have it in his huge collection. But sure enough, my old guitar was right under my nose!”
Do you have a classic/collectible/vintage guitar with an interesting personal story that might be a good fit for “Classics?” If so, send an e-mail to ward@vintageguitar.com for details on how it could be featured.
This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2022 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Though he is today largely forgotten, blues aficionados recognize Pee Wee Crayton as a legend. “The little man with a big sound” dominated the charts briefly in the years between T-Bone Walker and B.B. King.
Though his legacy could rest solely on the guitar break in 1954’s “Do Unto Others” (the first significant recording made with a Stratocaster, quoted outright by John Lennon in the opening riff of “Revolution”), he also influenced Chuck Berry, Lowell Fulson, Mickey Baker, Gatemouth Brown, Elvis Presley, Steve Ray Vaughan, B.B. himself, and many others.
Connie Curtis “Pee Wee” Crayton was born December 18, 1914, in Liberty Hill, Texas, near Austin. As a child, he sang in a gospel group then learned to play ukulele and trumpet. He didn’t pick up guitar until he was 20, after relocating to Los Angeles, his interest piqued by Charlie Christian’s “Solo Flight” with Benny Goodman’s band. Like Wes Montgomery and scores of other guitarists, the tune prompted Crayton to acquire a used instrument and begin decoding its licks.
He later moved to Oakland, learned basics from local Eddie Taylor, and in 1944 befriended (and was tutored by) T-Bone Walker, then later by jazz guitarist John Collins.
Steering his career toward blues, by ’46, Crayton secured his first pro gig with pianist Count Otis Matthews’ House Rockers and recorded with Ivory Joe Hunter. In ’47, he made his debut as leader, though his four tracks were shelved until ’49, when they were issued by 4-Star and Gruv-V-Tone. In ’48, he led a trio with stellar pianist David Lee Johnson and bassist Candy Johnson, and was spotted in a San Francisco club by Tony Vallero, who recommended him to producer/entrepreneur Jules Bihari.
Pee Wee’s solo in “Texas Hop” marked a milestone in blues guitar. This excerpt finds him doling out inspired improvisations as he harnesses the power of repetition and short theme motifs a la T-Bone in bars 1-3 with an ostinato that presages similar tactics in early rock. The unison-bend figures are identical in feeling and intent to those later favored by Chuck Berry and other rockers in the ’50 and ’60s, along with their descendants to the present. Note the rhythmic displacement in bar 3, where Pee Wee nudges each theme to land on alternating strong and weak beats – a simple but effective device. Contrast comes in the form of jazzier eighth-note lines in 5-8. Here, distinctive elements from Charlie Christian surface. Check out his use of idiomatic arpeggios (E9 and B7) and stepwise melody in this passage, strengthening the swing-jazz connection of early electric blues. He recalls the unison-bend ostinato in compressed form over F#7 in 9 and ends the chorus with a return to home base, the minor-pentatonic blues sound in 10-11.
Bihari and his brothers were responsible for recording much of the West Coast blues out of Hollywood. Crayton signed with the their Modern label and waxed “Blues After Hours,” a slow-blues instrumental that topped R&B charts for three weeks in November ’48, backed with “I’m Still in Love With You,” a bluesy pop ballad that presaged his crossover tendencies. “Texas Hop,” a shuffling blues romp, was followed by “I Love You So,” a jazz-tinged ballad and his first vocal A side, reaching #5 and #6 respectively in ’49. These marked his commercial peak, established his presence as a versatile blues stylist, and blazed the trail for countless progeny. With an act that featured walking into the audience with a 300-foot guitar cord, he was a favorite performer on Central Avenue and in national blues venues. On June 25, 1950, he appeared at Cavalcade of Jazz, at L.A.’s Wrigley Field alongside Lionel Hampton, Dinah Washington, Roy Milton, and Tiny Davis to a crowd of more than 16,000.
Crayton left Modern in ’51, going to Aladdin, RIH, and Imperial between ’51 and ’55, while producing another batch of influential songs like “Do Unto Others,” “Hurry, Hurry,” “I Need Your Love,” and “Every Dog Has His Day.” These tracks rivaled his Modern work and flaunted his crisp new Strat tone, but failed to chart nationally. By the mid ’50s, his prospects worsened and he attempted to revive his declining career in Des Moines and Detroit, where he befriended Kenny Burrell and deepened his jazz roots while sharing a mutual love of the blues (recently confirmed by Burrell). He cut several noteworthy but unsuccessful tracks for Vee Jay; “The Telephone is Ringing” is a landmark piece from these sessions. He returned to L.A. in 1960 and recorded singles for Jamie, Guyden, and Smash while supplementing his income with truck driving. His fortunes improved when Johnny Otis booked him for the 1970 Monterey Jazz Festival, which led to his ’71 comeback album Things I Used To Do (Vanguard), which updated his sound with electric piano and modern rhythm section and offered a remake of “Blues After Hours.” The title track, Guitar Slim’s classic composition, became a signature song for Crayton, while the program of shuffles, slow blues, R&B, country, and pop revealed an evolving Pee Wee, absorbing influences via Buddy Guy, Jimi Hendrix, Albert Collins, et al.
In ’73, he recorded Pee Wee Crayton: The Johnny and Shuggie Otis Sessions on Blues Spectrum. He subsequently shared album credits with Big Joe Turner and Sonny Stitt on Everyday I Have the Blues (Pablo, ’75), and worked as sideman for Big Mama Thornton and Roy Brown (of “Good Rockin’ Tonight” fame).
“Texas Hop,” Pee Wee’s #5 hit in 1949, paved the way for numerous blues-guitar instrumentalists. It was arguably the first of its kind, and certainly the first such electric-blues piece to crack the Top 10. Set in a brisk shuffle groove, the 12-bar blues in B took T-Bone’s innovations to the next level with spirited improvisations and a blues-vocal theme portrayed in guitar form, with a tightly structured treatment, call-and-response phrases, and riff-based conception colored by half-step bends typical of the period. The major-pentatonic melody and swing-blues phrasing lent a catchy, song-like delivery to the tune, and shifting the theme to a minor in bars 5-6 is a classic maneuver of traditional blues. The major/minor polarity of the blues is further emphasized by the D-D# in bar 11 at the theme closure.
In the ’80s blues renaissance, Crayton’s earlier catalog was reissued and he continued to tour and record albums like Make Room for Pee Wee and Early Hour Blues on the Murray Brothers label. The latter featured remakes of “Blues After Hours” and “You Know Yeah,” the jazz-inflected “E.T. Blues” and funky takes on R&B and blues in “Barefootin’” and “Blues At Daybreak.” He began appearing with Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson and performed until his death from a heart attack on June 25, 1985. In 2019, he was inducted to the Blues Hall of Fame.
INFLUENCES
Crayton’s early influences were Charlie Christian and T-Bone Walker. John Collins (of Nat Cole Trio fame) taught him jazz chords and to fret with all four fingers, which distinguished him from the era’s other blues guitarists. He also claimed the Kings – B.B., Albert, Freddie, and Earl – Albert Collins, Muddy Waters, Lowell Fulson, and Kenny Burrell as favorites.
STYLE
Crayton was one of the most-influential, diverse blues guitarists of the late ’40s. His specialties included slow blues, shuffles, guitar instrumentals, uptempo boogies, R&B, pop ballads, and the occasional novelty tune. His lexicon contained customary blues-scale and pentatonic language, call-and-response figures, speech-rhythm phrasing, swing-jazz lines, idiomatic string bends, and decorative double-timed flurries. His execution was as diverse, ranging from smooth singable licks and hard swinging groove riffs to stuttering rhythmic phrases. His guitar style is often compared to T-Bone yet sported considerable differences, particularly in the embrace of sophisticated jazz chording with substitutions, chromaticism, extensions, and altered tones. “When It Rains It Pours” (heard earlier in “I’m Still in Love” and reprised in an ’83 live version of “Merry Christmas, Baby”) with its intro sequence of 9th and 13th chords, resembles chord passages of Oscar Moore, Barney Kessel, and Kenny Burrell. The chromatic/slurred 9th chords in “Blues After Hours” (3:46) and rhythm-change bridge of “I’m Still in Love” boast an obvious jazz pedigree, as does the ending sonority of “Baby Don’t You Cry,” a tune that could’ve graced Billie Holiday’s repertoire. His jazz-informed single-note lines, epitomized in solos like “Don’t Break My Heart,” similarly expanded the standard pentatonic/blues-scale vocabulary. Unlike his contemporaries, he sometimes relied on a composed hook-oriented approach to “signature” solos – a central tenet of pop rock. In these instances he paraphrased or shadowed the vocal melody line and transcended the looser idiomatic licks of blues improvisation. The tactic is evident in “My Idea About You,” “I Must Go On,” “I Need Your Love,” “Be Faithful,” and particularly “Eyes Full of Tears.” He had a keen melodic sense as a blues player, extant in catchy themes like “Texas Hop,” which presented a blueprint for future instrumentalists such as Freddie King. Moreover, he possessed a gentler, well-modulated singing voice that contrasted markedly with aggressive blues-shouter counterparts and Delta stylists, allowing him to pursue pop crooning and country numbers with an ease and authenticity equal to his blues expressions. Check out “I Must Go On” and “Wondering Why,” interpretations laced with idiosyncratic drawl, twang, and yodel hillbilly nuances.
Crayton’s early playing over varied styles and grooves foreshadowed and reinforced rock’s blues ethic, affecting first-generation rock-and-roll musicians. It’s no stretch to imagine Elvis singing “Yours Truly” and “Hurry, Hurry” or Bill Haley covering “I Need Your Love” and “Runnin’ Wild,” and the signature riff of “Blues After Hours” bears a striking resemblance to the major-pentatonic line running through Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill.” Several elements of Chuck Berry’s style resided in Crayton’s earlier approach. His use of rhythmically charged dyads is exemplary – what could be more endemic than blaring double stops in rock and roll? Not much, if you asked Chuck Berry, John Lennon, Keith Richards, or Angus Young. Recast by Berry in a dozen declensions, then copied by countless blues, rock, pop, and country successors, they are iconic and definitive – but consider the historic source. Crayton played similar passages in several songs that anticipated rock music and also applied some now classic unison-bend riffs, another Berry staple, for good measure, notably in “Texas Hop.” He harnessed parallel-third dyads in “Blues After Hours” reminiscent of Chuck’s moves in “No Particular Place to Go” and also played slurred sixth chords regularly in a manner presaging Lonnie Mack’s solo in “Memphis.” And then there’s the pedal-point dyad figure in “Do Unto Others” (1:31) that contains the essential DNA for the Beatles’ “Helter Skelter” riff.
“When It Rains It Pours,” a slow blues in G from ’51, is a vivid example of Pee Wee’s jazz inclinations. He began the song with a two-bar intro containing characteristic chord enrichments illustrating his application of jazz harmony and idiomatic jazz-guitar sonorities. The opening progression – G9-F9-Eb9-D9 with 13th extensions – reworks a set of standard jazz changes. Note the altered chord, D7#5b9/C, in bar 3. This is a clever use of a blues-guitar shape repurposed to generate jazz content. Joe Pass utilized a similar strategy, as have blues-oriented jazz players like Kenny Burrell, Barney Kessel, and George Benson. Bars 4-7 depict common moves found in Pee Wee’s comping in song verses. Note the extensive parallelisms (T-Bone and Kenny used ’em, too!) throughout, where two typical 9th chord shapes are moved chromatically to produce dramatic figures and connections.
Throughout his career, Crayton favored a clean or mildly overdriven sound on Strat and Gibson guitars. He employed atypical techniques like prolonged tremolo picking (“Barefootin’” 1:22-1:37 and “E.T. Blues” 1:58-2:12), string noises, and non-pitched slurs as texture and punctuation, and, in later years, fretting on the pickup or pole piece (“ET. Blues” 2:15 and 3:03).
ESSENTIAL LISTENING
Crayton’s classic tracks have been compiled on collections from Jasmine, Acrobat, Ace, and on Blues Masters: Pee Wee Crayton and Pee Wee’s Blues: The Complete Aladdin and Imperial Recordings. Serious blues mavens should also listen to Things I Used To Do and Early Hour Blues.
ESSENTIAL VIEWING
“Blues After Hours” and “Things I Used To Do” from Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson’s ’83 tour of Japan reveal Crayton alternated between Les Paul and Strat in his final performances.
SOUND
Crayton began his career on amplified hollowbody guitars. In publicity photos from the mid ’40s, he brandished a blond Vega Supertron with a rosewood fretboard bearing diamond inlays, a single-coil bridge pickup, Volume and three-way Tone controls. By decade’s end, he’d upgraded to Gibson’s flagship Super 400C, an 18″ single-cut archtop with a Charlie Christian neck pickup and custom electronics. He likely used it to cut his Modern hits. In ’54, Leo Fender gave Crayton a tweed Twin amp and one of the first custom-finish Stratocasters – a bright automotive paint called Cimarron Red (which later became Fiesta or Dakota Red) with a maple fretboard, chrome hardware, and gold-anodized aluminum pickguard. Recognized as the first blues guitarist to play a Strat, he used it for more than 30 years and posed with it on Things I Used To Do. In the ’70s, he returned to Gibson guitars – first a sunburst Les Paul Deluxe with mini-humbuckers, then a tobacco-sunburst Les Paul 25/50 Anniversary model. On ’80s albums and in live performances, he alternated between Fender and Gibson tones, briefly played a walnut ES-335 with Ivory Joe Turner, and dabbled with a blue Fender Mustang on The Johnny & Shuggie Otis Sessions. In 2014, Fender’s Custom Shop created a ’54 Relic Crayton Strat in Fiesta Red with maple board and anodized pickguard.
Wolf Marshall is the founder and original editor-in-chief of GuitarOne magazine. A respected author and columnist, he has been influential in contemporary music education since the early 1980s. His books include 101 Must-Know Rock Licks, B.B. King: the Definitive Collection, and Best of Jazz Guitar, and a list credits can be found at wolfmarshall.com.
This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2022 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
GA-20’s Matt Stubbs and Pat Faherty paused for a moment while touring Europe to shoot this VG exclusive video. Pat (left) is on his ’60s Kawai S4T running through a ’61 Gibson GA-18T while Matt uses his signature Waterslide T-Style through a ’59 Fender Deluxe on this fresh version of Bo Diddley’s “Crackin’ Up.” It’s one of the tracks from their new album, “Live in Loveland.” The guys are now back on the road in the U.S. Catch our review of the album in the July issue. Read Now!
1952 Fender 5B4 Super Amp • Preamp tubes: three 6SC7 • Output tubes: two 6L6G • Rectifier: 5U4G • Controls: Mic. Vol., Inst. Vol., Tone • Speaker: two replacement Eminence 10ALP (originally two Jensens) • Output: approximately 25 watts RMS
Though all tweed Fender amps of the late ’40s and ’50s are lauded and lusted after, the V-front Super might be the most iconic – and elusive. So, when a golden-era combo like this was also the compatriot of a player known for his tone, it’s got to be special.
Aside from their undeniably cool and rare appearance as the only Fenders ever offered with wedge-fronted cabinets (having evolved from the early Dual Professional), early Supers are known to sound astoundingly good when kept in decent condition, and are much more versatile than the brown-sounding electrified suitcase one might expect when plugging in. As such, the model has remained highly desirable for its stellar sound, though the equally stellar collectability makes it difficult for mere players to get their hands on one these days, while also making them a tempting fund-raiser for those who already own them.
Such was the case when acclaimed former Hall & Oates/Bob Dylan guitarist and longtime “Saturday Night Live” bandleader G.E. Smith sold this V-front ’52 Super (along with a bundle of other amps) to a Seattle dealer in 2017. The amp then changed hands again, making it available for a closer look.
The individual baffles for each speaker are mounted at angles to each other. The 10″ Alnicos are Eminence replacements.
Arriving just after the founding of the Fender company, the V-front combo presented a number of innovations that helped put its maker on the radar of professional players. Unveiled in late ’46 or early ’47, the Dual Professional was the first Fender that:
• was housed in a finger-jointed cabinet
• offered easy access to the inside of the chassis through a removable back panel
• was covered in tweed (initially a whiter, more linen-like variety)
• carried a tube chart
• was also the world’s first production guitar amp with two speakers.
The final feature spurred Fender to design the unique “split V” baffle for the combo’s front panels, with two slices of plywood projecting the sound from their respective 10″ Jensen Alnico speakers at angles from each other. The effort made for more-complicated cabinet construction, since the top and bottom panels were shaped to match the wedge.
In the fall of 1947, the short-lived Dual Professional was renamed the Super-Amp, but was otherwise similar, barring the circuit evolution wrought upon all Fenders of the era. Some changes, though, were insignificant. The Dual Professional was born with two eight-pin 6SJ7 pentode preamp tubes plus a 6N7 phase inverter, but not long after the name change to Super, the circuit was reworked to use three eight-pin 6SC7 dual-triodes. Pentode preamps can be microphonic, especially when used in rattling, vibrating guitar amps, and even more so in the larger/early eight-pin formats. So, the change to dual-triodes makes sense from that perspective, but it also introduced two more gain stages to the circuit, which could be used independently for their respective inputs.
This Super sports the familiar early-Fender control complement of two Volumes and one Tone. All four inputs are electronically identical within the circuit.
Despite other points of “modernization,” the Super’s circa-’52 circuit remains archaic by today’s standards – or even by the standards of Fender designs to come in just a year or two. One oddity that appears extremely peculiar to those familiar with slightly later circuits is the use of grid-leak bias on the input tubes. To accomplish this, each of the amp’s four individual inputs (two each for Microphone and Instruments, though all are identical inside) run through a .05-microfarad coupling capacitor on their way to the input (the grid) of each of the tube’s two triodes, with a 5-meg resistor coupled between the tube’s grid connection and ground. The cap blocks DC voltage from making its way back to the input jack, while the resistor sets the negative current at the grid, which determines the tube’s bias. It’s a very different setup than the familiar cathode-bias arrangement of almost all notable guitar amps post-’53, and results in a different-sounding preamp that can sometimes be heard as “thick and creamy,” but can also be a little woolly and prone to easier overload.
The tube chart remains in good condition, and declares both its 5B4 circuit and tube complement that gets the job done.
For all that, though, early Supers can sound surprisingly viable in a range of situations. Rather than the woofy, muddy, midrange slop you might expect from a 70-year-old amp, they can be delightfully crisp, articulate, and laden with character – at least when reined in short of significant distortion. Pushed harder, expect succulent blues and rock-and-roll tones with plenty of compression and a delectable touch sensitivity.
The output stage carries a pair of 6L6G tubes that are cathode-biased, generating only around 25 watts RMS at best. That said, the most legendary of tweed Supers, the narrow-panel 5F4 of the late ’50s, typically put out 28 to 35 watts despite often being tossed into the 45-watt camp in colloquial conversation. So this isn’t an especially “quiet” combo by any means.
As is often the case with amps of this vintage, maintenance has been done to keep things ticking. In this case, signal and filter capacitors have been replaced.
Amps this old require regular maintenance to keep them functioning and sounding their best, and both coupling and electrolytic capacitors from this era can be particularly leaky, requiring replacement. As such, new Mallory signal caps and F&T electrolytics have been installed throughout this Super to keep it singing, though the original resistors have been retained in almost all positions other than the power stage. The amp also sports its original transformers. Originally mounted on one of the speakers, the output transformer has been relocated to the back of the chassis, a sensible move alongside the replacement of the original speakers with popular Eminence 10″ Alnico units from the mid ’90s.
In all respects, this ’52 Super remains a prime example of its breed – and one of the most-desirable Fender combos ever created.
This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2022 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Neither of the quartet’s previous two studio albums, Nightlife and Fighting, had sold well. With pressure mounting from Vertigo Records, Lizzy had to produce a hit – or consider folding.
“Despite all our touring, Fighting stiffed amazingly,” said guitarist Scott Gorham, remembering the perilous situation. “The record company had faith in us, but there was a question mark. We thought we were a great band, yet the facts spoke for themselves. We were in debt up to our eyeballs.”
Led by bassist/vocalist Phil Lynott (1949-1986), Lizzy left London to work up new material.
“We rented a place in the country with no distractions, brought in an eight-track, and rehearsed the hell out of everything,” said Gorham, the half-Irish group’s sole American. “We wrote 20 songs, recorded them, and rearranged the parts constantly. We knew that three strikes in this business means you’re out – and the fastball was coming!”
Returning to London, they linked with producer John Alcock and decamped to The Who’s studio in southwest London.
“Ramport was a very rock-friendly studio,” Alcock recalls. “It had a single room, so the atmosphere was conducive to relaxed recording. [Engineer] Will Reid Dick and I went for an open, live sound; Scott Gorham and Brian Robertson’s stacks were miked with Neumann U67s, as I recall. There was a lot of gear at the studio. At some stages we may have used some of The Who’s 4×12 Hiwatt cabs, and maybe an amp head or two.”
Tone-wise, Gorham and the Glasgow-bred Robertson were part of the generation that defined the Les-Paul-and-Marshall sound. Gorham took the more melodic solos, often using phase shifter, while Robbo was an aggressive wah specialist.
“Our gear was all Les Pauls and Marshalls,” Gorham noted. “Brian played Customs and Standards, and I had a sunburst Deluxe with the mini-humbuckers. I saw a Les Paul Standard in the store I really wanted – but the band couldn’t afford it at the time. So I ended up with the Deluxe.”
Robertson jammed on a black ’73 Les Paul Custom that became his signature axe. However, he remembers it with little fondness.
“It was a piece of sh*t (laughs)! I just picked it up because it looked great with my white jeans, but it played like a bitch and I sold it in L.A. on the Bad Reputation tour in ’77. For echo, I used an old WEM Copycat tape echo unit for my guitar, something I wouldn’t do today, but it worked well at the time. My wah was a Colorsound.”
At Ramport, Thin Lizzy recorded a number of fierce hard rockers, including future FM anthems like “Jailbreak,” “Cowboy Song,” “Warriors,” and “Emerald.” There was another song in the can, but Lizzy wasn’t sure it would make the cut.
Thin Lizzy: Trinity Mirror/Mirrorpix/Alamy.
“We came up with the short list of songs for the album – and ‘The Boys Are Back in Town’ was not on that list,” Gorham said. “I guess because of the stiffed albums, we lost confidence in our judgement of what a hit song should sound like. The only reason we eventually used it was because our manager, Chris O’Donnell, said, ‘Wait a minute… you’ve got this song, “The Boys Are Back in Town,” the lyrics are great and that guitar riff is happening. You’ve got to put it on the album.’ So we thought, ‘Well, here’s one guy who likes it, so we’ll take another one off and put ‘The Boys’ on there. It became the single and Jailbreak became a hit – and got us out of debt.”
Beyond strong songwriting and Alcock’s punchy production, the guitar work was a revelation. Gorham reflected on the ingredients that went into Lizzy’s potent guitar duo.
“Brian and I were a real guitar team. He would really study my style and I’d study his, even to the point where we’d be checking out each other’s vibratos.”
“Our chemistry was more or less there from the start,” added Robertson. “With drummer Brian Downey and Phil on bass behind us, we really had an open field to take the guitars to a different level. Also, we didn’t work things out; it was one of us coming up with a melody line and the other one trying to pick the right harmony for it.”
By the end of ’76, Jailbreak had ascended to #18 on the U.S. album charts, despite reviews unfavorably comparing Lynott’s voice to the whiskey-soaked whispering of Bruce Springsteen. The six-string harmonies developed by Gorham and Robertson also became a cornerstone of the Thin Lizzy sound – though its origin was rather humble.
“The harmony guitars came about as an accident,” Gorham noted. “I had come up with a guitar line and we recorded it on a four-track or an eight track, and somebody said, ‘What would that sound like if we put a harmony to that?’ I knew Wishbone Ash did harmonies that go way back. Brian and I weren’t trying to copy anybody – we just stumbled upon harmonies by chance.”
Today, of course, “The Boys Are Back in Town” is one of the most beloved classic-rock songs of all time. So, what’s it like to have produced a multi-generational anthem – one played and broadcast around the world every day?
“Strangely, with the passage of time, there’s a disconnect for me since it was 45-plus years ago, almost as if it was another me that produced the record,” mused Alcock. “Of course, it was immensely pleasing to have been involved with Thin Lizzy and their most successful recordings – though it’s sad that Phil died so young. I think he could have become an even more influential poet and performer.”
This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2022 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Despite the way collectors and dealers freely apply the term “lawsuit guitars,” documented examples are few. One time it did happen was triggered by the Vox Symphonic Bass.
Rick Huxley of the Dave Clark 5 with a ’64 Symphonic.
A report in the June ’65 Musical Merchandise Review included the headline “Fender Files Infringement Suits” and detailed action in a federal district court with the defendant listed as the Thomas Organ Company, which for a year had been U.S. distributors of the Vox brand. The same issue (a NAMM convention special) partly illustrated why in a bound-in Thomas Organ ad/catalog trumpeting Vox as “The Million Dollar Sound – the sound of money.” Besides Beatles-endorsed amps, Vox guitars were heavily featured, many looking like Bizarro World Fenders. “The top Beat Groups have made a lot of money with Vox,” Thomas crassly announced to potential dealers. “So can you.”
Fender could ignore this when JMI distribution was confined to the U.K., but not after SoCal-based Thomas Organ began aggressively promoting Vox in the U.S. With CBS’ corporate money flowing, Don Randall announced, “No longer will Fender try to stop imitators by amicable negotiations.”
There’s little further evidence of how this progressed, but for the next few years it didn’t keep Thomas from enjoying a windfall with Vox, though it did remove one instrument from the U.S. line.
The ’64 and ’65 Symphonic.
In that catalog, it was called the Stingray Bass; earlier literature used its original U.K. name – the Symphonic Bass – and even Fender dealers had to squint at the illustration to see the instrument wasn’t one of theirs.
The Symphonic Bass first appeared in England in late ’62 (shortly after the Phantom IV) as JMI/Vox’s second “professional” four-string with a (very) Fender-like body and 34″ scale. Like the Soundcaster guitar, this curiously warped copy had an “almost but not quite” appearance, with subtle deviations from the Precision’s lines. As Fender’s U.K. distributor, JMI had plenty of opportunity to study them in detail; even the distinctive Phantom and Teardrop models had a structural design and hardware plainly derived from Leo’s ideas.
The Symphonic has features from both the Precision Bass and Jazz Bass. The most-original piece of design is the two pickups – one middle position, the second near the fretboard. This gives the bass an arguably greater range of sound than the Jazz Bass, with its second pickup by the bridge. In the mid ’60s (when basses were expected to be thumpier), this could be perceived as an advantage. Controls were two Volume knobs and a master Tone, like the Jazz.
The 1963/’64 Vox catalog described the Symphonic as “An electric bass in the modern style. Two fine quality pickups. Its smooth styling makes this 6nstrument attractive and elegant. Full contoured body, slender reinforced adjustable neck. Independent fine tuning bridge, units are built into the tailpiece unit. Available in red, white or sunburst. All hardware is polished chromium.”
The Symphonic Bass kept its early V1 pickups until 1964/’65; a year earlier, the Phantom had been given improved V2 pickups with individual string magnets. The bass versions were adapted straight from JMI’s guitar pickups (which were based on Strat pickups) with four larger magnet poles. They’re similar to Fender’s original ’51 Precision pickup, though probably no one at JMI was aware of this. At any rate, they offer a more-powerful sound – bright and well-defined – and are less-microphonic than their predecessors. Their positioning yields an interesting range of tones.
The bolt-on neck is like a slab-board Fender down to the truss rod, though adjusting it requires some dismantling. The neck feels like a slightly slimmer P-Bass, with a just-narrower 111/16″ nut width that neatly splits the difference between the two Fenders.
JMI’s Dartford factory did not fabricate all the parts of their guitars. Symphonic necks (and some bodies) from ’63 on were primarily sourced from U.K. furniture maker G-Plan. JMI also sourced components elsewhere, but Symphonic parts were consistently from this subcontractor, signified by an ink-stamped “G” on the heels. The necks were made from domestic sycamore and given rosewood fretboards inlaid with pearloid dots. The bodies are usually a West African mahogany identified as agba.
A TV promo still of the American-in-England heartthrobs, The Walker Brothers (top). That’s Scott with a Symphonic (right) and John with a Vox Soundcaster, both likely handed them by JMI’s notoriously persuasive artist reps. An unknown European band (above) with a Symphonic (left), Soundcaster, and Consort.
In different years, they show subtle changes in contouring and position of the neck joint; for some reason, the earliest models had the neck spaced an extra fret out from the body. In either case, the Fender-derived shape makes it the most comfortable of the long-scale Vox basses – the Phantom and teardrop-shaped Mark IV may have more visual appeal but those cutaways are there for a reason!
The bridge was a close copy of Leo’s, down to individual threaded saddles; it and the center pickup sat under chrome plates modeled on the P-Bass. The bridge cover gained an embossed “V” logo in ’64. The pickguard is three-layer plastic with a stunted Fender outline. Most had a “tug bar” below the strings, again in imitation of Fender.
The Symphonic’s Fender-like headstock changed over time. Early ones are larger, with a noticeable curve to the upper edge to accommodate large-shaft bass tuners with slim butterfly keys. Sometime in ’65, Vox added Kluson keys with smaller shafts that allowed the headstock to be a bit more compact and with a straight upper edge. In both cases the visual effect is still “Fender in a funhouse mirror.”
The headstocks exhibit the slightly changed shape from ’64 (left) to ’65.
Priced slightly higher than a Phantom, at £ 94, it was much cheaper than a Fender – a red Precision would run you 135 Guineas in ’64, a Jazz Bass a whopping 162. In the U.S. the reverse was true; shipping costs and import duties made Vox instruments comparatively expensive stateside.
In 1964-’65, JMI lost distribution rights for Fender products in the U.K. Various reasons are cited, including the reluctance of JMI to push sales of Fender amps and the similarities of many Vox guitars to Fenders. This did not stop them from cloning Fenders for the U.K. market; one of JMI’s offerings for ’66 was the New Escort, a blatant Telecaster rip-off.
The Stingray Bass in Vox’s June ’65 catalog.
U.K.-made instruments filled Thomas Organ/Vox catalogs in 1964. By the middle of ’65, models sourced from Eko (in Italy) began to appear, replacing English instruments in Thomas’ inventory (VG, January and February ’14). After the Spitfire Bass was dropped, Thomas did not commission a similar Eko, leaving the Phantom IV and Mark IV the only full-scale U.S.-market Vox basses.
The Symphonic basses you see here were made about a year and a half apart. The one with chrome-covered V1 pickups has a neck dated May 1964, while the other is November ’65. Both necks were made by G-plan, and neatly illustrate the headstock variations. The bodies sport JMI’s version of Fender’s Fiesta Red, in polyester finishes that have worn better than many Fenders from the period! This was the most popular color for the model, followed by Sunburst and White. The ’64 never had a plastic finger rest, an eccentricity common on U.K.-made Vox instruments.
The Symphonic Bass wound up in the hands of few pro players. The Dave Clark 5’s Rick Huxley had an early version, along with several Fender basses. He was spotted with his Symphonic through ’68.
Even with its short catalog run, a few Symphonic/Stingrays did make it to the U.S. One popped up with one-hit wonders Bob Kuban & the In Men. For the most part, teen garage bands who were Thomas’ most ardent Vox customers preferred the aggressive Phantom or Mark IV styling; if they wanted a Fender bass, it was easy enough to find a real one.
The Symphonic bass disappeared from Vox’s U.S. line after mid ’65, but remained in U.K. price lists into ’67, likely as existing stock. The April ’67 U.K. price was £95 17S – same as the Mark IV. Shortly after, JMI was reorganized and their U.K. guitar operation folded. By ’69, leftover Vox guitars were being marketed by Dallas Arbiter. The Symphonic bass was listed as Arbiter Model 4537 at the bargain price of £69. These can have necks dated as far back as ’65 but typically have no Vox decal or serial number, though the V on the tailpiece cover remains.
The Symphonic Bass’ blatant copying of Fender was, in retrospect, a stylistic embarrassment for JMI. For the U.K. market, Jennings likely felt their less-expensive clone would woo players away from the real thing, but few were interested despite the instrument having many good points. And of course, today, original Vox designs are much more highly regarded.
This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2022 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
New to the musical-instrument side of speaker building, but far from neophyte, Misco introduced its ToneSpeak guitar speakers in 2021 with five American- and British-voiced models and a hemp-cone option.
We asked the company to send its 50-watt Austin 1250 and New Orleans 1250, the 75-watt Birmingham 1275 and Liverpool 1275, and the 90-watt Manchester 1290 – all 12″ with 50-ounce magnets and 1.75″ voice coils. Each was loaded onto a baffle that could be quickly installed in an open-backed cabinet, and we enlisted six veteran guitarists to listen to a 30-second audio clip of varied techniques played through a push/pull 6L6 amp and stored in a looper. They heard each clip twice through each speaker – first on the clean channel, then the dirty channel. After listening to the audio clips, the panel then listened as one of them played live through each speaker.
After hearing all five in rapid-fire succession, two points emerged – number one was that all sounded good, with individual and varied characteristics, and none were markedly unpleasant or harsh. Second, in testament to the subjectivity of “good” tone, only two listeners agreed on a favorite.
The New Orleans, with a hemp cone, was considered the most well-balanced, with a roundness to both clean and dirty tones. The Austin exhibited more high-end sparkle with tighter low-end response hinting at a scooped-mid profile, but not to the point that would require midrange tweaking on the amp. It was overall very pleasant and natural-sounding.
The Manchester was noticeably quieter and tighter, which is to be expected with a heavier cone to handle 90 watts.
The 75-watt Birmingham and Liverpool sounded closest to each other, with similar high- and low-end profiles; the Liverpool had more-pronounced high-mids (“lotsa mids” was a common sentiment) while the Birmingham was stronger in the lower mids (“chunky” was the adjective of choice).
Comfortable price points make these U.S.-assembled speakers a viable option when considering a new or replacement speaker.
This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2022 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
The ultimate unsung hero, Moore made a seismic impact on heavy guitarists, without being a huge star himself. That’s the thesis of this well-researched biography, describing a virtuoso with high standards, a fiery temper, and crippling fear of flying, accounting for his relatively small fan base in America.
Gary Moore: Orionstar.
Over 360 pages, this tome covers Moore’s stints with Thin Lizzy, Colosseum II, and solo. Lizzy’s 1978-’79 lineup forged the epic album Black Rose, and Moore’s explosive guitar work with Scott Gorham is fully examined. On the ensuing tour, the guitarist clashed with frontman Phil Lynott, who was increasingly addicted to hard drugs. After Gary’s exit, the two men didn’t speak for four years.
Moving to blues-rock in 1990, Moore worked with a combative Albert King in a London studio, as well as easygoing bluesman Albert Collins – whom Gary had never heard of before their sessions. He even sparked a friendship with George Harrison and played George’s Beatles-era guitars. Moore’s sudden death in 2011 is covered, stemming from a sordid turn in his personal life.
In all, The Official Biography lives up to his name, delivering the most comprehensive picture to date of the Irish guitar man’s life and music.
This article originally appeared in VG’s November 2022 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
