Monday, March 22, 2010

1962 Gibson J-45, part 1

"I've come to look for America"

Fort Lauderdale beach was the original college Spring Break destination during the 1960s, the perfect hiatus for those of us who'd weathered months of trekking to class through blizzards and ice storms. We'd jam as many guys as would fit into a car and head south, stopping only for gas, for a week of tanning and carousing in the warm Florida sunshine. The days flew by way too quickly, but my acoustic guitar insured having the most fun possible in the time available...


It was the last day of Spring Break and I had an hour to kill before the long trip north, so I grabbed my guitar and headed for the beach to bid farewell to the sun and scenery. Picking a spot with a strategic view of dozens of sunbathing college girls, I sat down on the hot sand and started improvising a tropical sounding tune.

One group of girls nearby seemed particularly interested in what I was doing, whispering animatedly among each other while glancing over my way. Finally one pushed another off her beach towel into the sand and gestured toward me. The girl got up, brushed off the sand, adjusted her bikini straps, strolled over, and sat down directly in front of me, "We're having a party at our hotel room tonight, would you and your guitar like to come?"

"I'd love to," I replied, "but I rode down with a couple of buddies from Michigan State, they're driving back today."

"Awwww," she pouted, "Couldn't you stay just one more day? My boyfriend had to leave yesterday and I'm the only one that doesn't have a date!" She paused... then smiled irresistibly and upped the ante, "You can crash in our room if you don't have anywhere to stay."

"Hmmm..." I pondered, strumming a couple more chords, trying not to appear too eager, "I guess I could hitchhike back to Michigan tomorrow."

She flashed a thumbs-up to her friends indicating she'd secured her date (and live entertainment) for the evening festivities. Of course, it was my guitar that promoted me to the top of her invite prospects, even though there were hundreds of other available and interested males on the beach nearby. She could have had her pick.
"Kathy," I said, as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh
"Michigan seems like a dream to me now."
It took me four days to hitchike from Saginaw
I've come to look for America
Words and music by Paul Simon
Unlike the poor soul in Paul Simon's lyric, it took me only 4 rides and less than 24 hours from Florida to Michigan. Hitchhiking was quite commonplace back then, and without a car during most of my college years, I hitched a lot - all over the country, often making my destination in about the same time it would have taken to drive. The formula for success was simple: dress like a clean-cut college guy and carry a guitar with a destination sign taped to the case. The guitar had the same magic attraction for rides on the highway as it did for the girls on the beach, so I rarely had to wait long for a ride.

My traveling companion on these adventures was my 1962 Gibson J-45 flattop acoustic:


If there is one guitar that defines the legacy of Gibson acoustics, it is the J-45 model. Introduced in 1942 with a list price of $45 and marketed as a durable no-frills "workhorse guitar", it has since become Gibson's most famous and popular acoustic guitar. I bought mine in 1962 for $165, with a case. The current list price on a J-45 is over $3000, without a case!

This guitar has certainly proven its durability, and is in remarkably good shape considering the thousands of miles on the road through every conceivable kind of weather and climate. It has lived with me in Michigan, Colorado, Florida, South Dakota, South Carolina, New York, the Jersey Shore, Atlanta, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and several years in Honolulu. The original chipboard case didn't offer much protection, and the extreme variations in temperature and humidity have taken a toll, so there's lots of hairline checking in the lacquer finish, a thin crack in the top that runs from the bridge to the tail block, and a couple of stress cracks caused by the celluloid pickguard shrinking over time. The cracks are over 40 years old and don't seem to have seriously affected the tone or structural integrity of the top. Other than occasionally leveling worn frets, replacing the tuners and bridge pins, and installing a pickup, it hasn't required much work to live up to its "workhorse" reputation.

The most serious problem with my J-45 came factory installed: the infamous adjustable bridge, not one of Gibson's best innovations...


To make it adjustable, Gibson used a heavy porcelain and steel saddle assembly. The height is adjusted by screws that rest in studs secured to the top and bridgeplate with nuts and washers. There are also bolts hidden under the pearl dot inlays next to the bridge pins, presumably to keep the bridge from flying off when the inadequate glue joint fails. Though it's not obvious in this photo, the rear edge of the bridge has started to pull away from the top. I'd imagine by now only the bolts and bridge pins are holding it all together.

I plan to replace this monstrosity with a much lighter conventional bridge and bone saddle secured with a proper glue joint. This should considerably improve the volume and tone of an already fine sounding guitar. While the bridge is off, I'll peel up the celluloid pickguard and repair the cracks in the top. With any luck, the pickguard will come off undamaged so I can reuse it, otherwise I'll have to craft a new one. The frets are worn down enough that I may also have to do a complete refret job. The superficial road scars and checked lacquer finish give the guitar character, so a good polish and buffing will suffice, but I will strip the lacquer off the neck and refinish with an oil varnish for a satin smooth feel.

Whew! There's a lot of work ahead, but the reward will be a guitar that feels brand new with 50 year-old vintage tonewood sound.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Because It Has a Song

It's been a relentless winter this year, and though the ground is still covered with a thick blanket of snow, the first hints of spring are finally appearing. While walking my dog this morning, the sun was shining high in the sky, the roads were dry for the first time in weeks, and the trees were filled with the sounds of birds chirping their joyful songs...
"A bird sings not because it has an answer.
It sings because it has a song."

– Chinese Proverb
Like a songbird, where each species has its own distinct songs, every guitar seems to prefer certain songs. There's something about the way a guitar feels in my hands, its tone and timbre, that evokes a particular style of music or maybe even one particular song. Often, when I'm learning a new song or style of playing, everything will come together effortlessly, as if the guitar was deliberately making it easier because it liked what I was doing. Yet the same song on another guitar can be a struggle every lick of the way.

On very rare occasions, something mysterious and magical happens. I will pick up the guitar, not intending to play anything in particular, just mindlessly noodling around, perhaps contemplating something else entirely, and begin to play music I've never played (or even heard) before, as if the guitar was playing me instead of the other way around. If I just let it happen without intent, allowing my hands to simply follow the sounds, it emerges as a whole song seemingly born from inside the guitar. However, if I try to analyze what I'm playing, or force it in any way, the song simply vanishes and no amount of coaxing can bring it back. There's probably a better explanation for what's happening, but I prefer the mystery and magic of it all, the notion that the song comes from the guitar and I'm merely the catalyst.

When I mentioned the Ten Guitars and an Oud project to my friend Bucky, he suggested that I write a song for each guitar after I've finished restoring it, a song for that guitar only. His challenge was not only intriguing, it struck right to the heart of what I'm trying to do, and why! I'm not merely fixing up a few neglected guitars with the hope that I might be tempted to play them more often, although that seemed reason enough when I started. No, my real purpose is to discover the songs already inside each guitar, to make whatever sawdust is necessary to prepare the guitar (and myself) so it might be willing to reveal its unheard song.

I will play... and it will sing... because it has a song...