1967 Gibson EDS-1275 Double 12 and a EMS-1235 Double Mandolin.
It’s hard not to associate doubleneck electric guitars with images of Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page or fusion guru Mahavishnu John McLaughlin in the ’70s; however, the fact is that by the time the Big Js were stopping shows with these multi-headed beasts, they were already relics of the past.
Doubleneck Spanish guitars got their first widespread exposure thanks to the mid-’50s TV high-jinks of country ace Joe Maphis and his young sidekick, Larry Collins, who would simultaneously paly each neck of a doubleneck guitar/octave neck custom made by Semie Moseley. The idea of multiple necks was not new, of course, two or three having been a mainstay of Hawaiian guitars for some time, but two necks on a Spanish has the kind of extra drama that never fails to bring down a house.
Gibson began making doublenecks in 1958. Because of their expense, they were available only on a custom-only basis. The first were the EDS-1275 (with six-and 12-string necks) and the EMS-1235 (six-string and mandolin). Both were hollowbodies with carved spruce tops and no sound holes. In ’62, Gibson changed the design to the now-familiar solidbody – a beveled-edge mahogany SG stretched sideways to make room for the second neck. The bass and six-string EBSF-1250 was added at the same time.
Gibson doublenecks were offered until ’68, which makes the pair of rare beauties shown here final representatives of the era. Since all were custom-ordered, you find variety in appointments and neck configuration, but certain elements pertain; all had the stretched-SG bodies, the six-string neck on the bottom, bound rosewood fingerboards, humbucking pickups, stop tailpieces, and one set of two of Volume and two Tone controls that governed both necks.
The EDS-1275 is very similar, here shown in the natural mahogany finish often referred to as “walnut.” The mandolin neck has only one humbucker, due to the much shorter string scale. The headstock ornament and dot inlays are not typical, but then, what is on custom-made guitars?
Thanks to renewed interest generated by folks like Page and McLaughlin, Gibson reintroduced the doubleneck in 1977, and you can still buy one new, if you, too, are searching for a unique stairway to heaven.
This article originally appeared in VG Classics #01. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
If restoring dusty, neglected old tube amps built more than half a century ago isn’t challenging enough, restoring amps with delicate built-in tape-echo units, no fixed schematic, and quirky hand-wired “rat’s nest” circuitry should drive any level-headed tech insane. Regardless, Frank Roy of Toronto, Ontario, says “Bring ’em on!”
Roy, a trained IT professional – and Telecaster player – has been restoring vintage electronics since the late ’80s. Lately, though, he has made a specialty of bringing rare and highly valued Ray Butts EchoSonic amplifiers back to life, both electronically and cosmetically.
Ten of the 11 tubes in the EchoSonic, on the crowded underside of the chassis, alongside two multi-section capacitor cans and a large power transformer.
“Ray was a genius of our time,” Roy enthuses. “He helped pioneer the sound that eventually led to the next 50 years of mainstream rock music.” History maker or not, Butts’ amplifiers offer plenty to drive the less well-grounded repairman batty. “The amps run very hot, so tube failures are somewhat common, and some power transformers have failed… [and] the tape transport needs constant maintenance. The motor bearings and wheels need to be oiled, the tape loop needs to be replaced regularly, and the tape heads and contact points need to be demagnetized from having been in contact with the magnetic tape. As well, the pinch rollers and idler wheels almost always need to be replaced as the rubber hardens and develops wear over time…” In other words, he has his hand full!
To compound matters, however, learning the art of EchoSonic restoration isn’t simply a matter of boning up on Butts’ design – or, the question would be, which design? “Each EchoSonic is almost unique, as Ray would often work with the customer to achieve, if desired, a specific sound,” says Roy. “Over time, we see alterations such as slight variations in some component values, changes in transformer orientation, tape-head mounting modifications, adjustments to the tape head circuitry… But [EchoSonic amps] are exceedingly rare, as only a dozen or so of them still exist today from the 68 ever built, and I have not seen them all.”
The control panel of this EchoSonic chassis cleaned up beautifully once it was out of the cabinet, with the knobs removed.
Despite being a seemingly simple amplifier based around a pair of 6L6 output tubes (6V6s in some early models), Roy notes that the EchoSonic was never just a generic amp with a tape-echo tacked on, and there are several quirks to Butts’ circuit. The chassis carries 11 tubes, six of which are dual-function, and the deceptively simple single tone control (marked “Bass|Treble”), rather than being the passive treble-bleed network familiar from most early amps, taps an interactive Baxandall-style tone stack that genuinely emphasizes bass when turned left, and treble when turned right. The wiring itself is extremely meticulous, too, entirely point-to-point, and includes top-quality components throughout, though to the uninitiated it can look like a tangled web.
To the uninitiated, Ray Butts’ circuit may appear a veritable rat’s nest, but it is solidly wired, with high quality components.
In addition to the amplifier circuitry, the EchoSonic’s tape delay mechanism was a minor electromechanical wonder of its day, though the application here does present its own difficulties. “The practicality of having a magnetic tape echo device built into such a compact medium had inherent space limitations, which affects the device. Magnetic tape starts to degrade after a certain amount of use, and in the case of a tape loop, the smaller it is, the faster it wears out.” Squeezing all this echo into such a small space required a short loop, and therefore, frequent tape changes.
So, such thorough detailing and repair of an ailing EchoSonic constitutes plenty of hassle just to get a dusty old tube-powered suitcase rolling again – but look at it as breathing new life into the original sound of rock and roll, and it is clearly worth the effort.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s April 2012 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
In the January and February installments, we looked at Gibson’s Thunderbird, an instrument condemned by its maker to a quick demise only to be reborn due to late-blooming popularity. Another early bass represents a flipside to that tale – one that was in production for years before becoming a major success.
Most players today are familiar with the Rickenbacker Model 4001, which since the early ’70s has been one of the most popular basses. But few realize its roots reach back to the ’50s.
The modern Rickenbacker story begins in 1953, when F.C. Hall had been very involved in Leo Fender’s early success, as his company (Radio and Television Equipment Company, or Radio-Tel) handled the distribution of Leo’s products. Hall saw a profitable future in electric-guitar sales, but he and Leo had a strained relationship, so Hall looked into establishing a brand he could control. Adolph Rickenbacker’s small and nearly moribund steel-guitar-and-amplifier operation, dating to 1931, was an easy in to that end of the business, since the aging Adolph was eager to sell both the trade name and the factory.
After Hall purchased Rickenbacker, Leo felt he was competing with Fender while acting as a distributor. Leo and head Fender salesman Don Randall found the situation untenable, and in ’55, Hall was edged out of Fender. Still, with his own already-established brand and small (but experienced) production facility, Hall remained in position to exploit the growing market for electric instruments.
This included a still-unproven concept – the electric bass. Radio-Tel initially had the uphill job of marketing the Fender Precision, a revolutionary product, but hardly an instant success. And despite its slow start, Hall surely saw its potential. Still, it was several years before the newly reorganized Rickenbacker put forward a similar instrument (which even so, was not the company’s first bass). Rickenbacker briefly offered one of the very first electric basses; derived from the upright, the ’35 Rickenbacker bass had no acoustic body, just a fingerboard and pickup mounted to a cast-metal frame. It was not a market success, and disappeared before World War II. Seeing Fender’s growing sales of the guitar-like Precision, Hall no doubt encouraged his staff, including German-born luthier Roger Rossmeisel and factory manager Paul Barth, to devise a suitable design. What emerged was very different from not only the Fender, but anything else built at the time, with elements already used on some of company’s guitars combined in a novel way.
Introducing the Model 4000.
Introduced in the spring of ’57, the original Model 4000 is the ancestor of all subsequent Rick basses. It was the first long-scale challenger to the Fender Precision, a strikingly original design that still looks modern today. Rossmeisel is generally credited with the overall look, though Barth and Hall had input, as well. Beyond pure aesthetics, the Model 4000 has an unusually clear, high-fidelity sound that took years to emerge from muted, flatwound ’50s tonal expectations. In the ’70s, Rickenbacker billed the 4001 as “The instrument that moved the bass player to center stage” – in ’57, that was simply not a place bassists were expected to be!
Ready for success– the ’63 4001.
The Model 4000’s most important construction element was a solid neck-through-body centerpiece, with body and headstock sections glued to it – a method already in use on some Rickenbacker guitars. The extended neck had a 331/2″ scale, slightly shorter than Fender’s 34″. The body shape was described as “extreme cutaway,” making all frets accessible. Visually, the resulting curve was a radical step beyond Fender’s form-follows-function design. Much of the face of the body was covered by a large, gold-backed lucite pickguard shaped in a sweeping upward curve. At the other end of the neck, a large, sculpted headstock carried big Kluson upright tuners and a gold lucite logo plate. This headstock subtly mirrored the body shape – an elegant aesthetic touch. The center neck/body unit was initially carved from mahogany, then walnut was tried, and finally, maple, which by 1960 proved the hardiest material. This neck was reinforced with a novel double-truss-rod design, the work of engineer Paul Barth, who likely designed much of the hardware for the 4000. Some elements resurfaced on his ’59 design for Magnatone, the short-lived Mark VI Bass – the 4000’s only “relative.”
Compared to its radical body styling, the Model 4000’s electrical equipment was hardly novel. In fact, it was little changed from George Beauchamp’s original 1931 pickup design – a coil with large horseshoe magnets surrounding both it and the strings. Despite its venerable origins, this unit gave a rather direct hi-fi sound, described by Rickenbacker as “Uniform volume of true tone quality for all notes…” whatever that means! Oddly, this famously brightest-sounding of basses does not actually have a “treble” pickup – the horseshoe unit was mounted in a position similar to the pickup on Fender’s Precision. Between its natural brilliance and the instrument’s maple construction, the 4000 and subsequent models maintained a clear, crisp response without needing a pickup nearer the bridge.
Another feature with a slightly leftover feel was the bridge, built from the guitar unit, including the base plate with six string holes and six-string adjustable section, but only four saddles. Within months of its introduction, the Model 4000 received its first alteration – an adjustable mute. Mounted inside little clear plexiglass rails, the chrome bridge cover could be moved forward, pressing its foam mutes over the strings. It looked a little awkward, but worked fairly well. Fender’s bass had foam permanently attached under the bridge cover, and could be disengaged by removing (or on early basses, reversing) that piece. Rickenbacker’s was the first adjustable system, and perhaps indicates that initial response from players was that the 4000’s sound could use a toning down!
The 4000 in the ’59 catalog.
The 4000 was introduced with a full-page layout in Rickenbacker’s 1957 catalog and listed in the ’58 price list at $289.50 (plus $59.50 for a case). Historically, it’s the fourth important American bass, after the ’51 Fender Precision, ’52 Kay K-162, and ’53 Gibson EB-1, and by far the most expensive when new.
The Rick also felt fundamentally unlike any other bass. Easily the most abstract design of the group, its “neck-through” construction would eventually prove very influential. At the time, though, it was hardly a commercial success; the exact number shipped is open to debate, but was miniscule compared to the competition.
The Model 4000’s most visible initial user was James Kirkland, bassist in Ricky Nelson’s on-screen TV band. Rickenbacker secured an endorsement with the Nelson organization, so Kirkland and lead guitarist James Burton often appeared with the company’s instruments when Ricky did his musical numbers on the family’s TV show. Of course, in the recording studio, Burton played a Fender Telecaster, but this connection was Rickenbacker’s first exposure to a mass rock-and-roll audience, and a warm-up for the ’60s. Country star Jim Reeves’ band, the Blue Boys, endorsed Rickenbackers for a while and appeared with a specially made powder-blue set circa 1960. Buck Owens’ band reportedly were early testers, along with more-obscure acts like the Miller Brothers Western Dance Band. Generally, the first Rickenbacker basses appear to have primarily gone to acts that were using/endorsing a full Rick lineup, rather than bass players who selected them independently.
One oddity in this period’s Rickenbacker history is a relative dearth of promotional materials. Fender issued yearly catalogs in the ’60s and Gibson would come out with something every couple of years, but subsequent to the ’57 catalog, Rickenbacker used the same rather stingy one-leaf foldout from 1960 through ’68. This brochure was seriously out-of-date by the Beatles rush of ’64; not only were the guitars pictured no longer representative of the models being sold, but the bass was given only a small, half-tone illustration on the back. It’s little wonder few players were sold on the Rick bass – even the maker showed little interest!
Starting in ’61, the bass began to show structural evolution. The slab-sided body was slimmed and contoured, making it lighter and more comfortable. The chunky neck was also slimmed, and compact Kluson tuners added, allowing the headstock to be made smaller, as well. With these changes, the 4000 became sleeker and easier to handle. The new Fireglo sunburst finish became standard, with natural and solid color options available. Basses from ’62 have the lighter body with the long, gold pickguard covering most of the face, an extremely rare combination. By ’63, the pickguard was restyled into the now-familiar version, in white. This accompanied another noticeable change – a new cast-metal tailpiece replaced the old leftover guitar pieces. This large chrome-plated piece remains a distinctive feature today, though some players find it awkward. The casting incorporated the tailpiece – a separate, adjustable bridge drop-in and, in front, a new dial-up mute (conveniently using two of Rickenbacker’s proprietary strap buttons as dials). This was probably the most useful such period device, especially since the bridge design made palm-muting somewhat difficult.
The elaborate headstock on the 4000.
At the end of ’61, Rickenbacker took another big step on the bass ladder with the addition of the 4001. Even more visually striking, it was essentially a 4000 dressed with Rickenbacker’s deluxe guitar features – a checkerboard-bound top, bound neck, and large triangular fretboard inlays, plus a second pickup (a standard guitar “toaster-top” unit mounted close to the neck, not a specially designed bass pickup). A very few circa-’61 experimental single-pickup basses were built with deluxe features, but the idea was not followed up. The 4001 was the first high-end electric bass with this level of flash. Fender had introduced the two-pickup Jazz and Gibson followed with the EB-3, but neither carried the ornamentation of the 4001. But, was there a market for a bass that was flashier than most guitars – and more expensive than many?
Jim Reeves’ Rickenbacker blues.
The 4001 was first listed on the July ’62 price list at $389.50 – only $40 more than the 4000. The 4001 was cataloged only in Fireglo (though other colors exist) while the 4000 came in natural, as well. By the July ’64 price list, Rick’s bass prices had gone up; the Model 4000 to $377.50, the 4001 to a whopping $429.50, plus $59.50 for the proprietary silver case! By comparison, a custom-color Fender Jazz was $293.47, while Gibson’s new long scale/two-pickup Thunderbird IV could be had for $345. The 4001 was easily the most expensive four-string U.S.-made bass; only Ampeg’s British-made Wild Dog listed higher ($449.50), and as a result are so rare as to be almost unknown.
How many of these Rick basses were built, then? Production from this era is not fully documented. Richard Smith’s 1987 book, The Complete History of Rickenbacker Guitars, tabulates figures for the ’50s and ’60s, but Rickenbacker says the totals listed were based on incomplete information, with actual numbers being somewhat higher. Even allowing for that, production estimates for all Rickenbacker basses before ’64 are astoundingly low for such a well-known instrument – likely not more than a couple of hundred.
The sliding mute cover on the 4000.
A few features evolved into the mid ’60s; the square neck heel was rounded off, and the fancier 4001 gained silver-top knobs in ’64. One subtle variation is slightly different styles of horseshoe pickup flange, which often looked like leftover steel-guitar parts, anyway! By the end of ’63, the 4001 was recognizably modern.
With the combination of high prices, minimal promotion, and a lack of artist endorsements, the 4000 and 4001 were only very rarely seen with American players until the late ’60s. Roy Orbison’s Candymen used one on “The Ed Sullivan Show” in 1964. Before the British Invasion, to see a Rick guitar with a top act was a rarity – the basses were practically unknown. Given this relative lack of success, a large company like Gibson would likely have thrown in the towel on this expensive-to-produce design, but Rickenbacker persevered. Before ’64, Rickenbacker was still a small, specialized firm, supported by student- and steel-guitar sales while evolving its distinct professional line. They could afford to let their market develop, as indeed it did. When the Beatles phenomenon hit the U.S., Rickenbacker found itself holding a veritable tiger by the tail. Though it would be a slower process than with the 300 series guitars, the Rick bass would owe its eventual success to players “over the pond” in England, eventually becoming more popular than even F.C. Hall likely ever imagined.
Special thanks to John Teagle.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s April 2012 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
For more than 60 years, aluminum has been used as a component in guitar construction. Exactly whose idea it was originally has never been a cut-and-dried matter of fact, but has amply provided cud for the world’s guitar animals to chew upon.
In his November ’04 column “The Different Strummer: Al-u-minium!,” VG contributor Michael Wright offered an in-depth look at the use of aluminum as a structural element in guitars, noting how it was seen as a solution to the inherent instability of wood necks, with the occasional exception when it was used to render different tones.
Once upon a time, of course, stringed instruments were made only of wood and were strung with “gut.” As Wright points out, the adoption of steel strings began after the mandolin was introduced to America in 1880, and as more mando – and guitar – players transitioned to steel strings, the necks, bridges, and bellies of their instruments began to suffer the consequences of the inherently higher tension. The solution was, Wright recalled, “…the trapeze tailpiece, [which relieved] stress [from] the belly and bridge. By the 20th century, guitars were made with pin bridges for gut and trapezes for steel.” The next game-changing use of metal came with the truss rod, which by the ’30s was common.
John Beauchamp and Adolph Rickenbacher were the first builders to use aluminum as a primary element in the construction of an instrument when, in 1931, they devised the all-aluminum A-22 Hawaiian guitar – a lap-steel.
As a means to stabilize the neck of a Spanish-style guitar, credit has tradtionally gone to Italian artist Wandré Pioli (whom Wright featured in the November and December ’99 issues of VG), an architectural engineer who loved motorcycles and began designing guitars in the mid 1950s; in ’59, he began using a flat-faced, semi-circular aluminum bar as a neck, with a rosewood fingerboard glued to its face and a back formed with molded PVC.
“Pioli employed three neck designs,” said Wright. “One was a traditional bolt-on, but most intriguing was a neck-through concept with the aluminum extending to a chevron-style [tailpiece].” Later builders who employed aluminum necks included Jacobacci, in Paris, and Messenger, which was founded in the late ’60s by Bert Casey and Arnold Curtis in San Francisco. John Veleno, a guitar player/teacher and machinist whose day gig was in a machine shop that made aluminum electrical housings used in early rockets, began building guitars in ’66 using necks cast of Almag 35, an aluminum/magnesium alloy. They were the only axes of the bunch to use an aluminum fingerboard. Travis Bean, another motorcycle enthusiast, used aluminum necks to avoid wood-related twisting on his koa-bodied guitars, which were known for the machined “T” cutout on the headstock. Bean necks have a chunk of aluminum at the end which served as an heelblock, solidifing the neck-to-body joint.
The most commercially successful use of aluminum necks happened with Kramer guitars, which originally sought to improve on the Bean concept: Gary Kramer and Dennis Berardi used a T-bar, with the top of the T taking the fingerboard, and their headstock had a wishbone shape very similar to Bean’s T but without the top bar. Kramer necks have two wooden inserts plugged into the sides of the T stem, so the only aluminum the player feels is a narrow strip along the back. By ’81, though, wood necks had all but supplanted aluminum at Kramer. Beyond that, a few guitar hardcores might remember a brand called Hustler, which used aluminum necks and were promoted briefly in mid ’79.
The headstock of Mat Rile’s Burke.
Recently, however, the emergence of two unique instruments has thrown guitar history yet another curveball…
“Before the Messenger, before Kramer, before Veleno and Travis Bean, there was the Burke guitar,” said Mick Flynn, a guitar dealer in Kirkland, Washington, who recently got a call from a man who had found an unusual instrument at a Goodwill store in nearby Eugene, Oregon. Having no idea what it was, the man took it to a big-box music store, where, Flynn said, “A manager identified it as a homemade guitar that was ‘worthless and should be burned!’ And yes, that’s exactly what they told him!”
Rightfully miffed at the ignorance displayed by the big-box guy, the man began researching the brand online, where he found a snippet on the website belonging to Flynn’s store, Guitar Archeology; it turns out that after finding a Messenger guitar, Flynn and his staff did some leg work to find out what it was. Then, “We posted pictures and told everything we knew about the guitar,” Flynn said. “There was a lot of interest.”
Then, Flynn got an e-mail that started with the cryptic passage, “So the myth continues…”
The note came from Colleen Pulley, whose father, a former area resident named Glen Burke, had designed an aluminum-necked guitar well prior to the introduction of the Messenger. And she wanted to set the record straight!
“I am surprised more people haven’t realized the Tuning Fork Guitar Company preceded the Messenger guitar by at least eight years,” she told Flynn. “I think it’s time my father is given credit.”
Tuning Fork Guitar Company? Flynn was curious. So he started once again to dig, beginning with a contact offered by Pulley – Daniel LeBlanc, a one-time sales rep for the company.
LeBlanc told Flynn how Tuning Fork Guitar was founded by Burke and based on a “kit guitar” that gather sourced parts to “bolt” to an aluminum neck that attached to wooden body segments.
“I met Burke in late April of 1965,” said LeBlanc. “At the time, I was employed as a security guard at the Tongue Point Job Corps in Astoria, Oregon, and Glen was instructing students there on how to construct guitars using his Tuning Fork kits. The students loved building the guitars, and because of the aluminum neck, they sounded great.”
LeBlanc’s relationship with Burke evolved to the point where the former quit his job to work as a distributor for Burke, focused on Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and Alaska. The two conducted sales presentations and bought parts – fretboards, strings, bridges, pickups, etc. In ’66, Burke moved the company to Grants Pass, Oregon. There, LeBlanc would compile the parts to make kits, and assemble some to sell as completed guitars. And though both were dedicated to the effort, they soon faced significant hurdles.
“I remember going with Glen to purchase parts at a large music outlet in Portland,” LeBlanc said. “Glen was talking to the owner while I looked around. Then, he asked me to wait outside while he talked to the guy. Later, he told me how the shop owner told him word had come down from two large American guitar manufacturers, instructing him not to sell parts to Glen.”
The development all but halted Burke’s operation, and within a few months LeBlanc was forced to move his family and find work in California. To this day, he’s saddened by the story because as he saw it, Burke poured his heart and soul into the effort, and LeBlanc himself saw – and still sees – so much potential in Burke’s concept.
“When the students at Tongue Point built the guitars, you could see the excitement, the pride, and the sense of accomplishment they had when ‘their guitar’ was finished. Glen’s vision was to see the same thing happen everywhere – people all over the world building their guitars and playing their music.”
In their short run, LeBlanc recalls that most of the Burkes assembled were six-string guitars, along with several 12-strings. And because they could be dressed with whatever finish the builder wanted, he saw instruments in everything from standard paint to odd variations like cowhide and tooled-leather coverings. Their common element, of course, was the neck shown in the drawings for the 1960 patent, with, as described in the filing “…a hollow aluminum neck which extends entirely through the guitar to the base and has the body portion attached to the sides thereof.” The illustration shows the topless aluminum box that made up the neck-through element.
“Before we got the e-mail from Colleen Pulley, I had never heard of Burke guitars, and neither had anyone I knew here in the Pacific Northwest,” said Flynn. “But while doing the research so we could put the bit on our website, I found Glen’s patent filing. Within six months of posting everything we knew about Burke guitars, we were contacted by the couple who found the guitar at Goodwill.”
The Burke discovered in Oregon and documented by Mick Flynn.
Soon after that contact, Flynn made his way to Eugene, where he expected to simply pay a visit to one very rare bird of a guitar. But…
“When we got there, it had been taken apart,” he recalled. Such a scenario can be a dealer’s worst nightmare, but this time, it was key to a pleasant surprise. “I could read what was written inside – and it was amazing!” There, written in pencil on the wooden back of the instrument, between the aluminum forks, were the words, “Built March 8, 1960, to last until 2060. Builder Glen F Burke, 4025 E 17 Ave. Eugene, Oregon.” Then, inside the bass bout, it says, “When this is opened, I’ll probably be long gone from the worries of the world, so if you’ve had good luck with this guitar, you can wish me good luck wherever I am. G.F.B”
“We believe this is one of Glen’s first guitars – if not very first, given that it pre-dates, by five months, the patent filing,” Flynn said.
So, what’s it like to hold and play a Burke?
“It has a very unique tone, completely unlike any other guitar,” Flynn noted. “It’s very resonant and bright, but not brittle. Chords sound full and rich. It really is a shame they weren’t given a chance to catch on, commercially.”
Another Burke owner is Mat Rile, in Toluca Lake, California; his weighs just shy of eight pounds.
“It’s very light compared to similar instruments by Messenger, Travis Bean, or Kramer,” Rile said. “Its gold-foil DeArmond pickups are amazing. The output on both read almost 12K, and they can cover many genres of music, from country/rockabilly to rock, with distinct twang. When driven, it can also get real nasty yet maintain full character. Also, because the body is hollow, it possesses a banjo-like acoustic tone, which you’d never expect. The bottom line is, it sounds so good!”
Rile’s guitar has a master Volume and master Tone controls and a three-way toggle switch. “The pickguard assembly is unique,” he points out. “The pickguard has no screw holes. It’s mounted to four pots and the switch, as they’re routed through holes inside the body, then they’re attached to the pickguard, secured with a nut and washer.”
Three “extra” holes under each pickup indicate Burke (or someone else) experimented with pickup placement. The DeArmond pickups on Rile’s guitar have goldfoil-inlaid coves, a DeArmond wiring harness, CTS pots, Switchcraft jack, Valco tailpiece (with custom gold coloring), Gibson control knobs and switch caps, Kluson tuners, a “Custom Made” plaque as seen on certain Gibson models, and a gold-colored Grestch Space Control roller bridge.
Though Burke’s body shape is non-traditional – even odd – Rile says the guitar is comfy to play. “It’s designed very well, and is actually quite comfortable and fits the player’s body,” he noted. “Even better, it fits like a glove when you’re sitting down.”
The guitar’s scale measures 257/8″ and Rile describes its neck profile as a “meaty/mild D shape,” and as one might expect, “The aluminum gives it a totally different feel and truly plays fantastic, with a neck angle that results in a real player instrument, like all the desired brands of yesteryear.
Handwritten note in the body of the Burke documented by Mick Flynn.
“I’ve owned many rare aluminum-neck guitars in the past – Davoli/Wandre, Messenger, Veleno, Travis Bean and even top-of-the-line Kramers,” he adds. “But nothing plays or sounds similar to this instrument, either in terms of natural acoustic projection or plugged-in tone. If you ask me, Burke was the Picasso of guitars.”
“I’ve often wondered what might have happened if Glen had better luck,” added LeBlanc. “What if he had been able to overcome those who kept him from succeeding? And regardless, the industry should recognize Glen and the Tuning Fork Guitar. It was Glen’s idea, which he patented, worked, and sacrificed for! If I had the resources, I’d bring it back myself.”
This article originally appeared in VG‘s April 2012 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
You may not know the name Vic Flick, but you know his signature motif–that reverby lick from the James Bond theme, recorded in 1962 for Dr. No, the first in the long-running film franchise. Flick played on every Bond smash through Diamonds are Forever, and even recorded with Eric Clapton on the latter-day 007 soundtrack, License to Kill. You can further hear the guitarist in the film scores such as Midnight Cowboy and The Return of the Pink Panther, as well as cult shows like “The Avengers” and “The Prisoner.”
Flick’s career, however, has not just been limited to visual mediums. In the swingin’ ’60s, he recorded with a veritable who’s who of pop royalty, including Beatles producer George Martin, Burt Bacharach, Herman’s Hermits, Henry Mancini, Jimmy Page, Cliff Richard, Diana Ross, and Nancy Sinatra. He played on pop smashes like Petula Clark’s “Downtown,” Dusty Springfield’s “I Only Want to Be With You,” and Tom Jones classics like “It’s Not Unusual” and “What’s New, Pussycat?” And before he found fame with 007, Vic played pre-surf instrumental rock with the John Barry Seven, led by the composer/arranger who’s name became synonymous with the Bond soundtracks. This lineup scored its own instrumental hit with “The James Bond Theme,” hitting #13 on the U.K. singles charts back in ’62. So while you may not know Vic Flick’s name, again, you’ve heard his guitar licks a thousand times, as have the millions of people who’ve enjoyed the Bond movies.
Today, Flick lives in Las Vegas, but the Surrey-born guitarist will always be associated with suave secret agents and Brit-pop hitmaking.
Vic Flick’s autobiography, Gutarman: From James Bond to the Beatles and Beyond, is filled with stories about his live and studio sessions backing Britain’s finest performers.
Who were your early guitar influences?
When I first picked up a guitar in 1951, there weren’t too many players to be influenced by, especially on the electric. But in the early years, I listened to Barney Kessel, Jim Hall, Wes Montgomery and of course, Charlie Christian. My greatest influence, however, was Tal Farlow. His interpretations, chord comping, and fluid musical jazz lines were an inspiration to me. I recommend younger readers to listen to The Swinging Guitar of Tal Farlow album and they will likely become inspired, too. “Like Someone In Love” is a great example of his playing.
What was your first electric guitar?
I studied piano from the age of seven until I was 14, when my father started a dance band. Not needing another pianist in the band, I acquired a small-bodied Gibson Kalamazoo for five pounds – a lot of money in those days. But I practiced like crazy and eventually joined the band. To make it louder, I attached an Army-issue tank commander’s throat mic to the guitar’s headstock and plugged it into my father’s radio. The sound was a bit louder, but certainly not quite up to the amplified sounds of today. Like an idiot, I traded in the Gibson for a dreadful banjo when I joined a trad-jazz (British dixieland) band.
My first actual electric guitar was a Höfner President I bought with the money I earned from laying concrete floors in a summer break. I was so proud of it, with all its decorative inlay and built-in electronics.
Describe a typical film or T.V. date in the ’60s.
Most of the time, musicians had no idea what artist or music a session was for until they got to the studio. And even then, not ’til they opened the pad on the stand. With titles like “3M2” and “6M4 ,” there was no indication of the production’s name. The level of musicianship needed for film and T.V. sessions was, and still is, extremely high, since you had to sight-read whatever was put in front of you. T.V. was more relaxed, as more preparation was necessary due to the visual side of the productions. But for musicians, if it was a T.V. series, after the first episode you could just sit back and enjoy.
Your work with the John Barry Seven pre-dated the instrumental and surf-guitar sounds that came a few years later, in the early ’60s. Who was the band listening to in the early days? Duane Eddy?
Duane Eddy, with his “Rebel Rouser” and other hits, were certainly an influence, as were tunes like “Peter Gunn,” composed by Henry Mancini. I had the pleasure of working with him several times. But mainly, I just played whatever was needed and developed my own style from there.
Flick (with guitar) in the John barry Seven, late 1950s.
Do you have any recollection of the James Bond studio sessions at CTS Studios, in London?
Bondmania hadn’t taken off yet, so the Dr. No session where we recorded “The James Bond Theme” was just another session. The Bond producers had their backs to the wall, running out of time and money, so John Barry was selected to vamp up one of (composer) Monty Norman’s old show tunes. To give the Bond films a unique identity, we provided a strong, dynamic opening theme. As the films took off, the sessions had more excitement and atmosphere as we realized we were onto something good. I could have done without the times where John Barry pointed at me with an expectant look on his face! He was hoping I’d come up with something good on guitar, as I did in the scene when Pussy Galore’s lady pilots were landing in Goldfinger, and the Gypsy encampment scene in From Russia With Love.
You’ve said in the past that you had a fair amount of leeway in interpreting composer Monty Norman’s theme on guitar. Can you explain?
Monty Norman was commissioned to compose the music for Dr. No. As the film was located in Jamaica, Monty and the crew went off to the Caribbean. With a tape recorder, he recorded a few hours of local music, but it wasn’t dynamic enough for the Bond theme. So again, John Barry was asked to update a tune Monty had written for one of his shows, to create the theme. With my guitar sound and his brass arrangement, I think the result has proved itself. I overplayed the guitar to give the sound a bit of urgency and kind of pushed the beat a little to add to the excitement. The sound of the 007 theme was also a breakthrough in recording due to its technique. In the early ’60s, the orchestra would record only one take, using what the studios referred to as “compatible stereo.” This method allowed for the sound of the guitar to bleed into adjacent microphones of the orchestra, adding a lustrous, ambient quality to the final recording.
Vic Flick’s Fender Vibrolux and maestro Fuzz Tone.
On that session, you used a guitar most U.S. players likely have never heard of – a Clifford Essex Paragon De Luxe.
Label on the back of the headstock of Flick’s Clifford Essex guitar.
The guitar is very English. Clifford Essex was a luthier and banjo builder who established himself in London in the ’30s. Though predominantly a banjo maker, he made some great guitars, mine being one of them. Guitars are built for the current styles and fashions, hence the success of manufacturers like Fender. My Paragon De Luxe was an excellent rhythm instrument and designed to be played in a dance orchestra. Its sound would complement the drums and bass, and cut through the wind instruments. Interestingly, when the great guitarist Chris Spedding came to London to make his fortune, his first job was workng at the Clifford Essex factory.
Flick’s Clifford Essex Paragon De Luxe. Photo by Madeline Newquist.
Your Essex was in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and more recently was featured at the official launch of the National Guitar Museum.
Yes, it was on display in Cleveland for about three years, and the National Guitar Museum asked for the Paragon to be on show in its touring exhibition.
Some of your other gear included a DeArmond volume pedal and a 15-watt Vox amplifier.
In the studio, I rarely changed volume, as the sound man had all his knobs adjusted for the mix. Mostly, I used a DeArmond pickup through a DeArmond pedal and then into a Fender Vibrolux amp. I purchased the Fender amp in ’62, just prior to the Bond recording that June. There’s a picture of the amp and an original Maestro Fuzz Tone pedal in my book. I did have a 15-watt Vox at the time, but it fell off a stage.
Were you ever able to visit the 007 movie sets or meet Sean Connery?
The music sessions are amongst the last production elements completed, so the filming and set work was done long before I got involved. I do recall Sean Connery appearing briefly at one of our sessions. And once, actor Timothy Dalton enjoyed sitting at the bar in CTS Studios talking with us musicians. I don’t remember any of the other Bonds joining in.
In the Beatles film A Hard Day’s Night, you played on “Ringo’s Theme” using a ’62 Strat and Vibrolux amp. By that time, was Fender gear coming into popularity in the U.K.? Was it because of Hank Marvin?
Following an endorsement policy by Jennings Music – the importer of Fender products – Strats and other Fender guitars were being used more in the U.K. Macari’s Musical Exchange, in London, was the outlet for Jennings Music, and Fender, and they gave Hank, myself, and a few other guitarists new Stratocasters. Hank, through his work with Cliff Richard and the Shadows, was more well-known than other players, so most people think he was the chosen one. I was given my Strat in 1960, only to have it stolen at the beginning of ’62, which is one reason I used the Clifford Essex on “The Bond Theme,” and I’m glad I did. Later that year, however, I purchased another Strat for $250 with the insurance money.
You played on big ’60s hits for Dusty Springfield, Shirly Bassey, Petula Clark, and Tom Jones, plus you also worked on various B.B.C. television themes. Any special studio memories of those days?
In my humble opinion, the ’60s and ’70s were the best time to be in the recording industry. It was a period of innovation, excitement, a lot of work, and a great sense of camaraderie amongst the studio musicians. A great thing was that artists, musicians, and production staff were friendly, equal, and just interested in getting the best possible out to the public. For example, I had known Dusty for some time before she became a star, and she was always professional and passionate about her performances. Pet Clark was more on the demure side, but both were excellent singers. We had a lot of fun on the Tom Jones sessions, especially when “imported” video entertainment made the sessions even more interesting. The TV themes were recorded in a more formal and business like fashion by the B.B.C.
Do you ever get tired of playing the James Bond riff?
The reception I get whenever I do play it far outweighs the drudgery of repetition. I’m grateful to be part of the James Bond world, having had no idea at the time that those few notes I played in 1962 would follow me down through the years.
Special thanks to H.P. Newquist.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s April 2012 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Clapton in 1990 with his signature model Fender Stratocaster. Photo by Ken Settle.
In many ways, 2004 marks a return to the crossroads for Eric Clapton. With his latest disc, Me And Mr. Johnson, the guitarist pays homage to one of his principal influences – the incomparable Robert Johnson. For Clapton, Johnson is the true master of blues guitar, and completing this album was a mammoth achievement. Although Clapton recorded several of Johnson’s tunes while with John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers, Cream, as well as during his solo career, this time he dedicated an entire album to the musician.
The disc began as a diversion from the recording of another album containing only original material. When needing a break from his own reserve, he turned to his roots for inspiration, enjoyment, and a separate creative outlet – bringing his band along for the ride. But soon enough, what was a side project became the stronger venture. Clapton was reluctant at first, but then took it on as a personal challenge, practically daring himself to accurately learn 14 of the original 29 songs Johnson recorded during his brief career in the 1930s. For listeners, the resulting album is a conjoining of the greats – two of the most prestigious artists meet and put forward their very best. Johnson provides the material and inspiration for Clapton to deliver some of his finest work as a player.
VG was invited to a one-on-one meeting with Mr. Clapton in New York City, where he spoke enthusiastically about his experience creating Me And Mr. Johnson, as well as the variety of events coming in the months to follow. As we learned, Clapton will kick off his next tour with a weekend extravaganza dubbed the Crossroads Guitar Festival. Scheduled for June 4-6, the festival will include a selection of workshops and manufacturers’ displays, capped by a star-studded concert at Dallas’ Cotton Bowl. Although the list of participants is still being finalized, artists such as B.B. King, Brian May, Eric Johnson, Steve Vai, Jimmie Vaughan, Joe Walsh, Sonny Landreth, and ZZ Top have already confirmed.
Following the festival will be a second charity auction of more than 50 of Clapton’s personal instruments, June 24 at Christie’s in New York City. The instruments will be displayed first during the festival in Dallas, then exhibited in Los Angeles June 8-12, and finally brought to NYC for the sale, with gallery viewings June 19-24. While the June, 1999, auction of many of Clapton’s guitars drew a great deal of attention, this one seems poised to surpass it by including some of Clapton’s most prized axes, such as his beloved ’50s parts Strat, “Blackie,” and the legendary Gibson ES-335 he has had since his days with the Yardbirds. Additionally, several other artists, including Pete Townshend and Steve Vai, have donated personal instruments, adding to the excitement. Proceeds from the auction will benefit the Crossroads Centre that Clapton founded in Antigua in 1997.
So without further ado, for the first time ever, VG proudly presents an exclusive talk with the one and only Slowhand.
Vintage Guitar: What was the inspiration for recording an entire album of Robert Johnson’s music? Eric Clapton: It’s something I had probably been intending to do all my life, but I don’t think I ever considered that I was in a position to do it until I reached this age.
I think it has something to do with maturity, self-confidence, and all kinds of things that I was fairly intimidated by – him as a performer, a writer, a player, and a singer. But I had always been influenced by him, and at the back of my list of influences, he’s kind of the core man.
When I play lead, it doesn’t really relate directly, but the essence of what I do really hinges on what I originally felt about Robert Johnson, and heard. So I kind of looked back at my career and thought, “I’ve done so many songs of his over the years, but there’s still so many left that I haven’t done. So why not take this opportunity to kind of round them all up. Round up what’s left, and even do some that have been done, like ‘Love In Vain,’ that the Stones did, and ‘Stop Breakin’ Down,’ and just dedicate an album to that.” It has always been in the back of my mind, but I never seriously considered it until now.
How did you go about selecting material?
A lot of the songs I chose came off of the first album that was released before the other stuff was discovered. So, most of my initial choices were made on the basis that they were the songs in my head from my earliest exposure to him. Things like “Kind Hearted Woman,” “Stop Breaking Down,” and “When You Got A Good Friend” were on that first album. So I went through the ones that were the obvious choices. And then when we got about five down, I started wondering if we would benefit by even thinking about trying to do something like “Hellhound On My Trail.” Because to me, some of those songs are incredibly difficult – or just appear to be undoable. And that was the chief one that I thought, well, I’ll never ever… And we actually had to work on that one. We had to listen to his version over and over again, and figure out, well… there are a couple of things here where he adds an extra bar, and we’ve got to change that. And there’s an odd note there… And we learned it as a band. We actually learned his piece as a band, and dissected it, and put it back together again. \
I was really pleased in the end because when we could, we did everything live, and there are only a couple of songs where I overdubbed the vocal. I was amazed that we pulled it off.
But to begin with, the first ones we chose were “Kind Hearted Woman” and “Traveling Riverside Blues.” Then we worked our way down to the ones that I would not think about because they were too difficult. So I’d kind of put them to one side as not being possible.
So you worked your way up to those more difficult songs?
Exactly. I had to. By the time we’d done three or four, I could see it was possible. Because when we started the thing, I wasn’t sure we’d ever finish it! We did the obvious ones because they seemed to be easy and they were accessible. Now when we got to the more difficult stuff like “32-20” or “Hellhound On My Trail,” I thought that maybe it would show me that I really can’t do this, and we’ll just have to put this project on the back burner or shelve it and think about it later. But then each time we’d finish a song, I’d think, “Well, God! I didn’t think we’d be able to do this!” I got a great sense of achievement out of it.
Each time. You see, the real story of the album was that I was actually in the middle of another project. I had started an album of original compositions with my partner, Simon Climie, and we’d half-written a lot of the stuff. I said to him, “Let’s try a little experiment. We’ve got the band here. When it gets difficult with our own stuff, let’s kind of have a break, and go and do a version of a Robert Johnson song – just so we could clear our heads and come back to our stuff from that perspective.”
And that’s the way it started. It was really just going to be an escape clause, and it actually became the powerful venture, and the one that had the most feeling. So that means we’ve still got an album to wrap up.
Did you record any tracks that didn’t make it onto the album?
We did two versions of “Come On In My Kitchen,” and that was it. When we stopped, we had 12, and then we had 13, but I didn’t want 13 tracks, just because I’m superstitious. So we did one more.
Really, I don’t think there’s anything left that I would add. There are a couple of things that are in the same kind of mode. For instance, we did “Milkcow’s Calf Blues” and “Traveling Riverside Blues” and those represent a certain category of the things that he did. “Milkcow” is very much like “Crossroads,” and it’s also very much like “Terraplane Blues” in that it has the same motif. So I wouldn’t have considered it a good idea to do all three of those because they would probably sound just the same as one another.
So there are a lot of songs still left in his repertoire that I could do, but I chose the best representatives of each category of his, in my opinion.
And did you also choose the ones which were best suited to you as a player?
Yes.
You recorded a lot of the tracks live. Was the band playing together in the same room?
Yes. The only thing was we would sometimes have the drums baffled a little bit. And if there were electrics and acoustics playing at the same time – like if Andy Fairweather-Low would be playing acoustic, or if I would be playing acoustic, then we’d be baffled, too, but we’d still be in the room. The only kind of exception to that was a harmonica, where that was going to be straight into the microphone, so we’d have him in a separate room. But it actually wasn’t overdubbed, and was performed live. We could all see each other and hear each other while we were playing. Eye contact is important.
Describe the gear used for the recording of Me And Mr. Johnson. Did you incorporate a variety of setups for different sounds?
Yes. It was basically either the two Fender Twin amps that I use. One is an original ’50s blond tweed model that’s rewired and restored. That gets used a lot. Then there’s the copy that Fender made for me. They made a copy that has all the same materials, basically. It’s a lot more robust and I can use that on the road, too. And then it was really just like a variation of guitars.
Most of it was done either on a Strat or vintage Gibsons, like a Byrdland and an L-5 with the Alnico pickups. Those are ’50s guitars. Then there were also a couple of Martins. There’s an OM-45 that I have – a pretty old one – and I used the Martin signature guitars a lot – the 000-42ECB and 000-28ECB. So that’s about it, really. There wasn’t a lot of equipment involved.
Were the Strats you played newer or older instruments?
They were new ones. There was the one I play pretty much all the time, which is the one that Crash painted. It’s a multicolored graffiti guitar. It’s just abstract. Crash is a graffiti artist from New York. He’s from the Bronx and he used to paint the trains. There were a few guys – Crash, Futura, Lee, Daze, and Haze. These guys used to paint subways, until it was outlawed and the city found a way to make the new trains with a chemical treatment so that the paint won’t stay on it. Crash is in his mid 40s and he was obviously a train painter when he was like 14. Now he’s legit and he paints on canvas, but still uses spray paint. I met him in the early ’90s and we became friends, and I asked him to paint a couple of Strats for me. I have a collection of new Strats and each one has been painted by one of these famous graffiti artists. But that’s the one I use most of the time.
Other than the Crash guitar, have you played any of the other custom-painted guitars onstage?
No, I don’t. That’s the only one.
How do you use different instruments to achieve particular tones and emotions? And how do they bring out different attributes in your playing?
It depends on what I’m trying to evoke. If I’m trying to evoke something from the ’50s, I’ll use an old Gibson. They’re quite tricky to play because I use fairly thick strings on them, so they’re louder and fatter. But it means that when I go to bend a note, I’m not going to be able to do exactly what I want. It’s pretty resistant. So I end up playing – or attempting to play – a little like T-Bone Walker would play, with that kind of sound. So it’s more of an implied bend than a full bend. I don’t really get to the note I’m trying to bend to. I kind of half get there, and then the string is too stiff. I love those Alnicos, but I have to dicker a lot with pickups so the bottom-end isn’t overwhelming, because they’re really rich bass pickups. I kind of have to let down the bottom-end, and then raise up some of the pegs in the pickup to get up to the E string and the B string.
And then I play with my fingers, too, which adds a whole other dimension to the way it’s going to sound. And in fact, on most of that album, even with the Strat, I didn’t use a pick at all. When you play live, I think there’s something about using your fingers that gives it more intimacy. It’s all an intuitive thing. If I play with a pick, it’s a stage approach. I’m going for maximum attack and volume. And I don’t really follow that thinking when I’m in the studio and when we’re playing as an ensemble. I want to get inside the mix and so I’ll use my fingers. When I’m using my fingers, I’ve got much more control about how subtle it could be.
Do you fingerpick with all five fingers on your right hand?
I use the thumb and first two.
On how many tracks did you use a pick?
A couple.
Have you ever experimented with different picks?
No, I always use the same standard heavy pick.
What are the gauges on your Strats?
They have the stage strings on them, but I’m not sure what that is. Maybe an .011 or .010…
How is the action on your guitars set? Do you prefer different types of setups on particular instruments?
It’s funny, because when I start a project or if I haven’t played for a while and I go into rehearsals, I need them quite high at the bridge end. It’s almost like I need to get my finger on the side of the string to be able to push it over, because so much about what I do with an electric guitar is about bending. On an acoustic guitar, it’s the opposite thing. I want them low to begin with, so there’s not too much effort in holding them down in a chord.
So it’s two different principles coming to play. But as I get more and more accomplished in my playing, like during the third week of rehearsal or even in the beginning of the tour, I’ll ask Lee (Dickson, Clapton’s guitar tech) to lower the strings on the electric and maybe even raise the acoustic. On the electrics, I probably want them to get lower as the tour goes on because the strength in my fingers has increased and I can push them easier.
Do you have a designated warm-up guitar that isn’t one you play onstage?
No. Normally, Lee will leave me an acoustic that I’m going to use, and the electric that I’m going to use. They’ll be in the dressing room in case I want to warm up. But I often don’t do any warm up at all. And I like doing it that way. There’s something innocent about that. I don’t want to dilute any of the performance before I actually play a show. I want that fresh impact to be in reserve for the stage.
Is that so you can give 100 percent onstage?
Exactly.
How have your choices in gear evolved over the years? What are the most essential characteristics you need to hear when you’re selecting an instrument?
Well, I think everything has got to have a very healthy midrange. I’m very suspicious of too much top or too much bottom. I mean, I respect and love all of the brands, but I always found it most difficult to, for instance, get on with Gretsch because I’m not quite sure what they sound like. I could never really get them quite right. And it’s important that any of the guitars I play have healthy attack. What I’ve gotten used to – and I suppose I’ve become spoiled by – is those Lace Sensor pickups that Fender kind of evolved. And the problem is, of course, that they’re really loud, and once you get used to that, it’s difficult to go back to the old single-coil. My old Strats are beautiful things, but when I plug them up, I think, where is it? I’m so used to the power of the Lace Sensor, especially the noiseless ones. They’re great pickups. So I’m kind of spoiled by that now. But I still like to go back to the Gibson Alnicos or the humbuckers to get that richness.
Do you prefer newer guitars?
I think that Fender is doing pretty well with their contemporary stuff. They’re the ones I would turn to for a contemporary guitar. But for a vintage guitar, I think Gibsons are unmatched, especially L-5s and Byrdlands.
Do you feel there may have been more consistency in the older Gibsons than in the older Fenders?
Probably, because it seemed like they were being handmade. Whether they were or not, I don’t know, but there was a certain amount of human supervision involved. But in a sense, I think the early Fenders were more like hotrods. There wasn’t a great deal of finish required. It was a different kind of animal. It was a solid guitar, and it was kind of rejecting a lot of the old guitarmaking principles.
So there were two very different choices. The vintage Gibson was more like a Stradivarius, in a sense. It had a history and there were traditions involved in its making that Fender kind of walked away from. Fender invented its own tradition.
Let’s discuss the upcoming Crossroads Guitar Auction. You already sold off a large portion of your collection in the first auction at Christie’s, and this second sale is going to include more than 50 of your personal instruments. What are some of the highlight instruments being offered?
Well, the ones I didn’t want to sell the first time around! The “A” team. There’s a selection of really good Martins – 1930s Martins and a 1927 00-45, and there are a couple things like the Unplugged guitar – the 000-42. Actually, there are two 000-42s. They’re seriously good guitars. There’s Blackie, and the red ES-335 that I’ve had ever since I was in the Yardbirds. I think that’s probably the star of the show because it’s got so much provenance. It’s been around in all aspects of my career. I’ve used that on nearly every album I’ve ever made.
Are there any instruments you would absolutely never consider selling?
I think the Crash guitar I’ve used over the last five years will be mine forever. It’s the multicolored Strat that’s probably the one that’s most recognized now. That was like the first of its kind. Crash has done another one especially for this guitar festival. I’m going to play it for the first part of the tour and then I’ll put that into the auction. He’s painted that guitar to be the spearhead guitar for the whole campaign. But I’d never part with the original.
What about amplifiers? Are there any amps you’d never part with?
My tweed Twin. I love that thing, but every time I use it, it blows up! When it’s sounding really good, that’s the time to watch out!
What will you be playing on the upcoming tour?
The new Crash guitar, and I think I’ll probably be using the Fender Twin – the copy Twin.
Will you have any pedals or effects?
I’ve kind of mucked around with that AdrenaLinn – the Roger Linn piece. I think that’s a fabulous piece of equipment. It’s basically a sequencer, but it’s got some great sounds. In the end, I’ll probably fool with it in rehearsal, then just shelf it.
The only thing I still use from time to time is a wah pedal. I have the original Crybaby – an old ’60s Crybaby. Otherwise, I kind of go without. My friend Doyle Bramhall is going to be playing in the band, and he loves all of that. He’s got so much of that stuff. It’ll be interesting to see how much of that he’s going to bring along. I just get confused if there are too many options. The simpler it is, the better it is, for me.
What advice would you give to musicians on developing their own style and sound? Listen. Really learn to listen. The most important thing is to listen, and enjoy listening, too. But it’s not as easy as it sounds to listen without other stuff going on in your head. You know, just shut down the agendas and listen to what you hear. Listen to music all the time and enjoy it.
What do you listen to for enjoyment?
Anything. Anything. I love to listen to the blues, but I love to listen to jazz, too. I like ’60s jazz a lot. It’s where I go to relax. We’re talking Clifford Brown and people like that, like Thelonious Monk. I listen to that a lot because it is refreshing and it feeds the other kinds of music that I play in a very indirect way.
Are you more inspired by listening to musicians who aren’t guitar players?
Yes, very much. The people that I tried to emulate were actually players like King Curtis and Little Walter, who played with the same kind of attitude towards music, but their instruments were different – tenor sax and harmonica. And I was also inspired by Junior Walker. To play guitar like Junior Walker played saxophone is good fun.
Many guitarists with distinct styles learned by listening to and emulating musicians who play other types of instruments.
Yes, when they take it from another area they can pick up something that’s different. It’s not as interesting and not as illuminating when they’ve only learned from listening to other guitar players.
Talk about the Crossroads festival. How did you go about choosing the other performers?
The main body of the festival will be on the Sunday, June 6, when we’ll play at the Cotton Bowl. Friday will be the opening day, then Saturday will be workshops and there will be bands playing in the fairgrounds around the Cotton Bowl.
I just put together a wish list of everybody I wanted to see play, and to play with. I’ve asked them to come, and hopefully, they’ll all turn up. The only thing is that now I’ve got to figure out how I fit into it, and how to design it. We’ve got to sit down at some stage and design the program of who’s going to play where, and how long, and who goes on when. That’s a mammoth task!
Booker T & The MGs is scheduled as a house band, like at the Bob Dylan tribute concert you were part of in 1992.
Yes. Well, that’s what inspired a lot of this, actually, because so many people showed up for that, and there was such good will and so much fun. I want to see people play, and I don’t necessarily want it to be where everyone comes on and does two or three songs. I mean, some people need to play an hour.
Is there a theme for the musicians to follow in selecting the songs they will perform at the festival? Will the artists be playing material from your catalog, like they did at the Dylan tribute show?
No, I’ve got no guidelines on that. I want them to do what they want to do. If they want to do my songs, that’s great. But I wouldn’t take it on myself to tell anyone what to do.
I’m inviting them to be there under any auspice they choose. And it’s all to promote the Crossroads treatment center. So the idea came up to do the festival, but I hadn’t even thought about how we’re going to make money to cover the expenses, because there will be a lot of overhead. Some people will be able to come, but if they bring their musicians, you’ve got to pay them, and then there’s hotel and travel expenses, and all of that.
But I think we’ll do well, financially, with the auction, which will follow on after the festival.
It’s possible that this next auction may surpass the first in both sales and excitement.
I think so, unless everyone’s got bored with that! You never know. When I was thinking about this, I was wondering if sometimes these kind of events go and kind of hit a zenith, and people say they’re tired of this memorabilia stuff. But I thought, “Well, I’m going to do it no matter what happens because it needs to be done, and it’s something I want to do. And I actually have got to get rid of these guitars!” I do! Because I feel bad just keeping them in storage. And what would happen if I lost them when I had the fire years ago? So it’s better that they go into the hands of either other collectors or players.
The Signature
FENDER’S ERIC CLAPTON STRATOCASTER
Fender’s Eric Clapton Signature Stratocaster was introduced in 1988. The current model, introduced in 2001 as part of Fender’s Artist series, is updated with Fender’s Vintage Noiseless pickups, active mid-boost, and TBX circuits, making it one of the most tonefully versatile instruments offered by Fender. Other features include a soft V-shaped neck and blocked original vintage synchronized tremolo.
Body: Alder Neck: One-piece maple, soft V shape, satin poly finish. Machine Heads: Fender/Gotoh Vintage-Style. Fingerboard: Maple, 9.5″-radius. Frets: 22 Vintage-Style. Pickups: Three Vintage Noiseless. ontrols: Master Volume, master TBX tone control, master active mid boost (0-25dB) Bridge: “blocked” American Vintage synchronized tremolo Hardware: Chrome. Pickguard: One-ply white. Scale Length: 25.5″ Neck Width at Nut: 1.650″ Price: $1,899
MARTIN 000-28 ERIC CLAPTON SIGNATURE MODEL
Martin’s 000-28EC Eric Clapton signature model employs the body size and 24.9″ scale length designed for fingerstyle and blues guitarists who prefer its delicate, balanced tone. Martin has also issued the 000-28ECB, which boasts Brazilian rosewood back and sides, as well as the 000-42EC and 000-42ECB, both of which sold in limited quantities in the mid 1990s.
Top: Solid spruce with herringbone rosette. Bracing: 5/16″ scalloped Special Features: Fine pattern herringbone trim around perimeter of top Back: Two-piece East Indian Rosewood with HD-28-style zig-zag back strip. Sides: East Indian Rosewood Neck: Solid Genuine mahogany with ivoroid heel cap. Neck Shape: Modified V-shape with adjustable Rod, old-style pointed-heel shape.
Headstock: East Indian Rosewood with old-style decal logo.
Fretboard: Ebony inlaid with Abalone diamonds and squares, with Clapton signature at last fret. Bridge: Ebony. Binding: Grained Ivoroid with Matching End Piece (Like Custom HD-28). Saddle/Nut: Corian/Micarta. Pickguard: Tortoise-color, beveled/polished. Scale Length: 24.9″. Tuners: Martin open-geared chrome-plated with butterbean knobs. Price: $3,719
This article originally appeared in VG June 2004 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
The Body of the ES-5 with the fancy truss rod Cover.Engraved truss rod cover.
In 1949, Gibson did something nifty, introducing the ES-5. The number 5 had special significance for Gibson, dating back to the Lloyd-Loar-inspired master Models of 1924. Each of these – guitar, mandolin, mandocello, and mandola – bore that numerical designation.
And, when a deluxe and pricey electric made its debut, what better name than “Electric Spanish 5?” With a cutaway, body size and style borrowed from the acoustic L-5C, and with slightly plainer versions of the L-5’s neck, fingerboard, and headstock, the model was in many ways a new electric version of the L-5. It was quite an impressive thing in its own right, but its three pickups made it downright groundbreaking.
Trouble was, its Spartan complement of controls left it functionally, well…awkward. With a Volume potentiometer for each pickup, a master Tone control, and no selector switch, all the pickups in the world weren’t any use if you couldn’t coordinate them quickly and easily. As many players will attest, pots do not make good switches. Gibson soon remedied all of this with the ES-5 Switchmaster, unveiled in 1955. The Switchmaster designation not only conjured up images of deluxe ’50s automobile instrumentation, but heralded the inclusion of separate Volume and Tone controls for each pickup, linked to a swanky master four-position selector. Gibson’s attention to detail extended even to the daintily engraved plastic switch surround. With these modifications, the guitar had arrived. The next evolution occurred when Gibson replaced the P-90s with their new humbucking pickups in late 1957.
The two ES-5 Switchmasters pictured here are of this last variety. Both incorporate similar tightly grained maple throughout, with stunning figure. Both are endowed with gleaming natural finishes and, bearing serial numbers less than a 100 apart, both are unmistakably from the same batch. These gorgeous deep-bodied blond twins would be difficult enough to track down individually, let alone reunited like this in a pair. They are surviving representations of the most practical incarnation of the three-pickup hollowbody technology, and some of the most desirable and valuable as well. The carefully engraved metal truss rod cover that graces the headstock in the close-up bears the name of the guitar’s original owner – Sue Griffiths. An option that was offered by the company to those who purchased the guitars, personalized name engraving is encounted only occasionally by collectors today. Most have long since been discarded or changed. The fact that this one survives is a testament to the owner’s love.
The Front and Back of a 1959 Gibson ES-5 Switchmaster.
From their curly maple necks and laminated bookmatched backs to their opulent gold-plated parts; from their neatly bound f-holes, fingerboards, and body edges to their decorated curlicue tailpieces and pantographed switch-plates, these two are pristine examples of a lost cultural icon and one heck of a guitar.
This article originally appeared in Vintage Guitar Classics No. 1 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
The Tal Farlow is one guitar in a quartet of full-depth Gibson Artists models first cataloged in the early 1960s. Introduced in ’62, it was based on the ES-350 – the guitar Farlow used with Red Norvo and his own trio in the mid ’50s. A truly professional instrument, built in the tradition of ’50s Gibson electric archtops, the Tal Farlow met with only mild success, perhaps not only because Farlow had retired from active playing almost six years previously, but because the era of full-depth archtops was coming to a close.
Though top-line guitars like the L-5CES, the Johnny Smith, and the modestly priced ES-175 sold well, the real action in Gibson’s stable was the semi-solid thinlines, the pinnacle of the company’s electric-guitar development in reality, if not catalog prestige.
Like the ES-250 and the ES-350 Farlow played in the ’40s and ’50s, the Tal Farlow is 17” wide, full depth (at 3”, not the usual 3 3/8”), and constructed of laminated maple. The woods usually have figure ranging from a subtle quilt to gorgeous tiger stripes. The Venetian cutaway used a strip of binding materail on top to give the cutaway a scroll effect. The four-point pickguard is cut to follow the line of the cutaway and accent the scroll. The other distinguishing appointments are less ambitious; position markers are J-200-style crests inlaid upside-down on the rosewood fingerboard, and the headstock ornament is two crowns in mirror image. Hardware is standard Gibson for the period. The tailpiece is the heavy trapeze type, again hinting at its ES-350 heritage, and this has a wood insert with the model name engraved on a plaque. The humbucking pickups were mounted into the top and wired in the classic two-Volume/two-Tone/toggle-switch harness. Tune-O-Matic bridge and Kluson Sealfast tuners completed the package. Originally, hardware was nickel-plated, then chrome-plating appeared in 1965. The only finish listed in the catalog was Viceroy Brown.
Today, the Tal Farlow is the rarest of the ’60s archtop Artist models. Peak production was in ’65, when 77 guitars were shipped. In contrast, Gibson shipped 1,750 ES-335s that year. Though it wasn’t officially discontinued until 1971, no Tal Farlows were shipped after ’67. Total production was 215 units. Gibson reissued the Tal Farlow in 1993.
This article originally appeared in VG Classics #01 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Have you heard the line, “If Hendrix had a Magnatone, Strats would be worth $200 now?” A highly debatable proposition, for sure! But if Paul McCartney had not used a Höfner bass through much of the Beatles’ career, few collectors would remember the Höfner line today.
Unlike other German-brand guitars, such as Klira, Hopf, or Framus, some Höfners are prized vintage pieces, especially those with a connection to the Beatles.
The bass, however, is not one of them. Representing Höfner’s mostly forgotten solidbody line, it remains an example of how European guitar makers took inspiration from the era’s American giants, then went off in their own, often eccentric, way. The design owes a lot to Fender, but the pickup layout, scale length (30”), and, most obviously, cosmetics are a world away from the Precision Bass. Textured naugahyde covers the body (black-to-red sunburst was available, as well) which, if not as eye-popping as the accordion plastic favored by Italian concerns, still looks a bit strange. The pickups are the same “staple-pole” models found on the Beatles-era 500/1 bass and the pearloid-button tuners are similar, though the alternating-color plastic position markers are a feature the 500/1 never sported.
This bass dates from the era when insatiable demand for electric guitars of any kind was felt worldwide. In Europe, where Fender and Gibsons were very expensive (or unavailable), most up-and-comers used home-grown mid-priced guitars like these. The English bands of the early ’60s made extensive use of Selmer-distributed Höfners, about the best guitars in the U.K. at that time. Club 40s, Club 50s, larger archtops, and huge hollow President basses were standard issue to most Liverpool bands of the era.
As American guitars began to appear and British competition (eg., Burns and Vox) picked up, Höfner lost its dominant place in the U.K. market. Luckily, the U.S. beckoned and the 500/1 became a good seller stateside. Höfner solidbodies never had such luck. Though interesting and relatively well-made, if not particularly wonderful-sounding, these instruments today take a back seat to their more glamorous hollowbody cousins.
This article originally appeared in Vintage Guitar Classics No. 2 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
So what is it? Its original black-finished spruce top is simply ladder-braced from within, but its back and sides feature Brazilian rosewood with dramatic bookmatched figure. Its unbound 18-fret fingerboard –also of rosewood – sports only a few small, round dots for position makers, yet intricate multicolored wood purfling graces much of the rest of the instrument, including the top body edge, rosette, and back centerseam. Its configuration of flimsy, stamped-steel trapeze tailpiece and simple movable bridge (usually the hallmark of a budget flat-top) stands in stark contrast to the high quality and craftsmanship demonstrated throughout the guitar. It is curiously both deluxe and plain.
But what is it? It’s wide, flat fingerboard straddles the body at the 12th fret, its relatively thick V-shaped neck is topped with a squared-off slotted headstock, and its antiquated nickel-plated tuners, with pinion gears above the worm gears – are all indicative of a small, turn-of-the-century parlor guitar. Its gigantic body, measuring 19 ¼” across, puts it in a class with the largest guitars ever built. Bear in mind that Elmer Stromberg’s massive Master 400 archtop, designed to project through the increasing din of the big-band era, measured a mere 19”. Perhaps this guitar was intended for the world’s largest parlor?
Among the few makers who constructed such behemoths during this period were the Lyon and Healy Company and the Larson brothers, both of Chicago. At least one Larson brothers’ flat-top has surfaced that was bigger still by several inches. Our guitar in question is quite unlike that one and bears none of the telltale Larson construction details. Their laminated X-bracing, their characteristic binding and trim, and their quirky fingerboard inlay patterns are all notably absent.
It’s a Lyon and Healy, then? Yes and no. Circa 1900, the firm was so large it manufactured under a host of sub-brands; Washburn is perhaps the most recognized, though Leland, Lakeside, and American Conservatory are still seen. American Conservatory was responsible for a line of “over-sized” instruments, but the neck and the tailpiece of this one are more akin to those of a Lakeside. This is so much hair-splitting, however. When an instrument of this caliber survives almost a century and in such fine condition, when it continues to play cleanly and easily, when it exhibits a tone that its present owner describes as “quite deep and dark,” it is already more than we ask of most vintage instruments. No further explanation should be required. It just is.
This article originally appeared in VG Classics #02 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
