Once upon a time, I thought I would tell the story of my guitars, but that
would probably be meaningless to anybody but me. But maybe it would be
interesting to talk about the beginning of what might constitute a collection I
never set out to buy red guitars, or any colour, but for a while they seemed
to dominate the house. Well, as much as a few guitars can dominate
a house with a grand piano in the dining room.
The Ghetto Bass
The name came from my youngest
daughter. Until she renamed it, it was just my bass. It happens to be my longest
held possession. Officially it is a 1962 Gibson EB0 in cherry red. It is
old enough to have lived through the era of instrument abuse as an art form.
I consider myself to have rescued it from an abusive relationship.
I had been saving
for months to buy a fretless Fender Jazz bass when I came upon this tattered
Gibson. In spite of having a room full of Fender posters, this Gibson called
to me. I could imagine what it would look like without a broken neck and
the burn scar. I didn't know enough to contemplate the practicalities, or
the life expectancy of the guitar. I just knew that there weren't many choices
in the small town I lived in and that it would be a long time before I could
save enough to buy something new. I handed over all the cash I had and said
I'd be back in 10 days with more money and carry it away - in the meantime
don't TOUCH it. I don't have any idea how I cobbled together another month's
pay in 10 days, other that a vague recollection of being amazed how many odd
jobs you could hustle up if you were desperate.
So the guitar
went home and got some loving attention. It cleaned up pretty nicely, felt
nice and sounded different than anything else - very deep and bassey. I decided
to finish the massive speaker cabinet I had built in a matching colour. That
went horribly wrong and I ended up with an orange cabinet that I gave away
to some rock star hopeful who came to a garage sale 25 years later. The
important thing was the bass didn't twang and the cabinet didn't rattle.
As fate would
have it, people started to be willing to pay me money to play. Before many
months went by I'd recovered everything I'd spent. It was more satisfying
than the average high school part time job. With that beginning, how could
I ever part with it?
PRS Custom 22
I started seeing PRS guitars in the
early 90s when I was traveling for work. I spent at least one evening a
week playing different guitars at whichever local music store had the best
selection. I was mostly just keeping off the streets and killing time, but
couldn't help from noticing things I liked and fantasizing about what I might
get if I came into some extra money. I was still quite taken with the Les
Paul Custom I'd bought a couple of years ago, so not really suffering for
a quality instrument, but a part of me was thinking it might be nice to get
a Strat some day and complete the holy triumvirate (I already had a Tele,
but it was a distant second to the Les Paul if I was in an electric frame
of mind).
I kept playing Stratocasters, but
none of them ever really spoke to me. I was quite in lust with a Parker
Fly, but then I saw a PRS Dragon. Damn, what was that guy thinking? I visited
it a number of times and burned a fair bit of cell phone time talking to
my wife about buying it. She was supportive, but I was determined to pay
off my mortgage as fast as I could, which meant turning over all raises and
most of my bonus money to the bank. In hindsight, the fairly modest 4 figure
price tag probably would have been one of the best investments I could have
made.
Fiscal prudence aside, I was clearly
bitten. I no longer went to music stores; I hunted out the PRS dealer.
In those days, most of the cities I went to had only one dealer. I tried
the different styles, followed the changes each year, and made a list of
which stores I liked enough to buy from. In the mid 90s I happened to be
in the right time and circumstances to take a job that meant less travel
and promised the opportunity for significant financial rewards. I was confident
that I could earn the bonus money, but not quite so sure it would get paid.
When it looked safe, I had to check the local PRS dealers. There were half
a dozen within 100km, so I went to them all, some several times. The hands
down winner was a little shop in Port Credit. It didn't have the biggest
selection, but The Guitar Shop was a great little store and the owner, Brent
Moss clearly cared about guitars and what guitar players wanted.
I remember deliberating over the
red flame custom 22 and a tortoise shell quilt for quite a while - and may
have come close to wearing out my welcome. In the end the red flame custom
22 won out because it was essentially the dragon without the inlay: dragon
look body, dragon pickups. I paid my money and took my prize. Over the
next couple of years several of my team went to The Guitar Shop to pick up
their PRS bonus. Proof that it is a disease that is unstoppable.
PRS Hollowbody
After buying the custom 22, I continued to watch what PRS
was doing. I also continued to visit The
Guitar Shop periodically. Once I
happened to show up on the day he had received an early version of the hollow
body that was to be shown at MIAC (A Canadian music industry show). He let me
give it a try and it was definitely worth owning. It was a much more
comfortable guitar than the Lucille I thought would be nice to own one day. It
sounded far better than the nameless semi acoustic I had stolen from my father
and had to play mostly 2 strings at a time because that was all that would stay
in tune – and had long since been dissected. The hollow body was just loud
enough acoustically that I could play it while everybody else was
sleeping. And it was awfully pretty with
that flame maple on both sides. I would have been happy to have a different
colour, but this was the only one in the country, so red it
would be.
Brent checked what he had to check, I agreed that the guitar
could go in the show and I would collect it after the show. He thought the
guitar should have an adjustable stop tail, so that became part of the deal. I
handed over a credit card to ensure the guitar would be mine. This was the
first time I had ever purchased two instruments from the same store. I don’t
really have a loyalty problem, but I am pretty fussy about who I do business
with.
On Friday I went to the show to visit the guitar, but
apparently being the owner wasn’t sufficient credentials to gain admission. I
could have picked up a business card at any music store and gained admission,
but I decided uncharacteristically not to buck the system and went to work
instead.
When I picked up the guitar, Brent took a last admiring look
at it and noted “That’s two”. And the flood gates cracked open, though it was a few
years before I felt compelled to buy another guitar.
But that’s another story that began in the
paint room on a private tour of the new PRS
factory where a spectacular guitar was hanging – and of course it was red.
Taylor 12 Fret
I would have sworn that I didn’t really like dark
coloured acoustics. To me they just look old and tired.
Tops in spruce, cedar or Koa just look right. But one day I was looking for
something a bit mellower, a bit softer sounding. I had played a couple of Koa
12 frets and they lent themselves to a calmer tone than a typical steel string
guitar. I was curious how much of that was due to the wood and how much was due to
the somewhat smaller body size. And how much was due to the altered format that
put half of the string over the body, which physics would suggest would give
the mid range harmonics a more prominent voice. Of course, maybe this was all
just an excuse to play around with some guitars.
While doing this ‘research’ I noticed that some really old
guitars had this smaller 12 fret format. In particular, I started seeing some
treasured Martin’s from the 20s or 30s that looked almost child size, but were
in fact full scale, slightly shorter than a modern guitar but clearly made for
an adult’s fingers. Interesting, but that is a couple of generations before my
time, and I’ve never felt the need to go back in time. I’m quite happy to take
advantage of advances. And I have no desire to pay a premium to acquire something
from a past age. I’d rather buy something new and keep it. If I make a good
choice and keep it, someday it will be that treasure from a past age, like that
sweater that is too comfortable to get rid of, even if it is starting to get a
bit tattered.
Then one day not long ago, I walked into a room filled with
acoustic guitars in a wide variety of styles and made from a number of
different woods. I admired the look for a while, and did a bit of gentle finger
picking on some of them. There were easily half a dozen that would have
comfortably found a home in our music room. A conversation started about woods,
and body sizes, and scale lengths. What makes things big and bold? What can be
played softly without losing its voice? What has a unique character? And out
from the middle of 5 kinds of spruce tops, backs made from various rosewoods
through to Koa and Tasmanian blackwood
stands guitar made completely of mahogany. It didn’t punch you in the face with
its volume, but it could definitely be heard. The smallish body size (grand
concert in Taylor terminology) with
the 12 fret neck snuggled into your body like a small child. And the sound was
quite sweet. And really, what colour could you make a
mahogany guitar but red – just like my wife’s piano.