Ain't Bad for a Pink

by Sandra Gibson

  1923 Martin 0018: Best For Ragtime

  I’ve had the 1923 Martin for twenty years. Like the Gibson it’s nicely proportioned but blonde, not brunette. Early Martins don’t have a name on the headstock; both name and serial number are inside. This guitar came from Andy’s, in Denmark Street London: one of the biggest vintage guitar dealers of the time, which, as we speak, is being sold because all the buying and selling which was its stock-in-trade has moved to eBay. Someone from Andy’s had a Gibson Les Paul of mine worth £600 for which he wanted to give me a 1923 Martin 0018. I awaited the package.

  When it arrived at the shop I just left it there. On the floor. An acquaintance in the shop wanted to open it. I prevented this. I drank tea for an hour, contemplating it. I opened the packaging to reveal the cased instrument. The annoying acquaintance again tried to interfere. He wanted to take the guitar out. I vehemently prevented him. Drank more tea and did some more contemplating: looking at it from various angles lying in the case. Finally – and by now the insensitive gooseberry had gone – I took the instrument up. (I nearly said I took it into my arms!)

  Andy had said the guitar had a mahogany body – incidentally some more modern Martins are made out of mahogany – but it hadn’t, even though it was a 0018. It wasn’t featureless like mahogany. This was koa: a hardwood from Hawaii used for making ukuleles. This 0018 Martin was doubly unusual: it was made of koa, not mahogany but it was wood-slashed koa, not quarter-sawn koa used for the Martin 0028 models which were more ornate, the wood having been cut in cross section and having herringbone trimming.

  What was the explanation? I believe that a piece of koa deemed to be too big for use on a ukulele was used to make this Martin 0018 unique. There’s another way in which it’s unique: models made of koa have K as part of the serial number. This one doesn’t. It’s a one-off.

  Koa is a precious wood from Hawaii and its use was banned in the Twenties because it was becoming scarce. You had to put your name on a tree and hope it would fall down if you wanted an instrument made of koa.

  I like the way that everything in the Martin is understated. The fingerboard is ebony but they’ve not over-embellished it. Other sizes have more ornamentation but this is modest. It’s also very light – like a violin – and has ivory tuning pegs nicely yellowed and mellowed, the brass machine heads handmade. Everything about this guitar is lovely in what I can only describe as a modestly right way. I love and respect this guitar. It’s more limited than the Gibson but it’s still a fabulous instrument and a great guitar for ragtime: very precise like a piano, very crisp, unlike the Gibson which has a drawl, a slur, making it suited to the blues. The little Gibson swears, if you like. The Martin has a warm resonant depth. Between the Gibson and the Martin I’ve got everything I need.

  People ask if the Martin is my favourite. I don’t have a favourite instrument; which instrument I play depends on my mood and what I am trying to do. Certainly some things sound better on the Martin but the Gibson is versatile enough to play anything. I hope I never have to choose.

  Unfortunately neither the Gibson nor the Martin is much used these days because there is no longer an audience for them. But I love them and I use them.

  1932 National Style O Resonator Guitar

  Whole books have been written about the resonator guitar: it had its own art deco style that placed it between the two World Wars and made a short, glamorous impact before the electric guitar strutted onto the stage, flinging out redundancy notices.

  The era of the Big Band created a demand for more volume in a guitar so that it could be heard in larger venues. Banjo players could play and be heard in a jazz or dance band context but guitarists couldn’t – hence the creation of an instrument with greater resonation in performance and recording. Resonator guitars are made mostly of metal and have an aluminium dish that resonates and acts as a loudspeaker. Various methods were used: the Weissenborn is a Hawaiian guitar whose body goes right up the neck, giving bigger volume for resonance. Nationals used the same idea, increasing the resonating surface. Django’s guitar had an inner table to increase the volume and resonance. It’s such a Heath Robinson thing it’s untrue! A French guy’s quirky design idea. He went on to develop plastic guitars in the Fifties. They weren’t bad – nice plastic.

  The first resonator guitar was developed by the Dopyera brothers, using plywood made out of hardwoods but later they diversified into other materials. The National guitar, invented by the Dopyeras, and produced in Los Angeles between 1926 and 1939, was the bridge from acoustic to electric instruments. The brothers fell out over the Tricone – one of the most expensive guitars ever made. Nationals were about $62 new; the Tricone would retail at two to three times that price. There was a split and that’s where Dobros entered the scene. The Dobro was cheaper.

  Resonators were doomed to a short life for two reasons. Parallel to their development, pioneering work was taking place in the Thirties on the electric guitar, which would put an end to all amplification worries. Rickenbacker, then part of the National team, was making electric lap steel guitars at this time and Gretsch, also part of the National team, was developing electric guitars. Fender, the other contender, was a radio repairman who produced an electric guitar in a modern design that was easy to manufacture. The first electric guitar was produced by Gibson as early as 1936 and as soon as Charlie Christian started playing electric guitar, the sky was the limit.

  The second reason was that the development and production of both types of instrument was discontinued because of the war effort . Resonators didn’t survive the War; electric guitars did.

  My 1932 National Style O resonator is the loudest guitar I’ve ever played. It’s the resonator equivalent of the little Gibson – it slurs and swears in the same way. Vast and resonant, rich and blue: it’s a blues guitar with a wonderful tone.

  The body is German silver – not plated but silver all through. Later, as the world political situation worsened, leading up to the Second World War, steel and brass were used instead of silver. That’s how I can date it at 1932.

  Complete with serial number, this guitar has the appearance of being well used. There are two pale brown patches on the front where you can see the different coloured metal underneath. There would be steel then copper then nickel over the body. The surface plating has worn and the typical engraved patterning of Hawaiian trees on the back is now very faint. It doesn’t tarnish. The resonator is made out of spun aluminium and costs £50 to replace. They probably use pressed aluminium today.

  It’s metallic and machine-like and perforated and decorative. The reflecting metal takes some getting used to after the traditional wood, though it retains the traditional curved ‘female’ shape. It is also strange side-by-side with the more angular, dynamic shape (often with phallic protuberances) and bright shiny colours of the electric guitar. But I like to imagine it owned by somebody rejoicing in its modernity and reflecting the foxtrotting couples who were soon to be parted by war.

  These vintage instruments are imbued with history. Although aimed at white dance bands and Hawaiian musicians, the resonator was used by blues artists and white hillbilly performers. The blues sounded good on this instrument which adds depth and drama to a performance. Also, being a combination of art and technology, Nationals and Dobros looked very contemporary and desirable, like some cars do.

  Until 2006 I owned three Nationals, collectively worth about ten grand. Such instruments are special and precious but not only in terms of wealth. Once, when I was broke, I advertised a National for sale at £800. Someone said he’d buy it off me. “Just a minute – don’t you want to play it first?” “Oh – I can’t play!” “You can’t have it then.” So I ended up selling it to someone for £600. But he could play it as well as I could so I was happy to let him have it.

  1936 National Tricone: Came Out The Back Door

  Whereas the 1932 National took me into the realms of the imagination, my 1936 National Tricone took me into the library of research. This i
s another one-off instrument I own, though its story is contentious. In 2002 I made some enquiries about its provenance and value, and had a very helpful letter back from National. (7) They say the guitar is definitely a unique piece though I don’t agree with their conclusions.

  This guitar appears to be an early 1930’s National Tricone, Style 2/Wild Rose pattern with a Spanish neck. At some point in time a craftsman has lovingly modified the original engraving pattern and supplanted it with one of his or her own liking. This is most unusual. I would say it was probably done sometime in the 1960’s as the musician is playing an Appalachian dulcimer which had gained popularity during that time. The headstock and fretboard have non-original inlays and outlays that were probably done during the same period. This guitar, in original condition, would sell here in the States [depending on condition] between $4000 and $6000 US Dollars. However, being modified, it is hard for me to say if that price would increase or decrease. It is my opinion that collectors and/or vintage dealers would tend to decrease because the original ? of the instrument has been modified.

  The serial numbers of these instruments were stamped into the body below the tail piece/strap button in the late 20’s and early 30’s. Later, the serial number was stamped into the headstock. Double check those areas. The number would help in dating the original guitar.

  Regards, Donald L. Young, Vice President.

  There are a number of things I can say in refutation of this letter.

  I don’t agree with what they say about the Wild Rose style – it’s quite crudely done and not up to the standard National achieves. It seems unfinished and amateurish to me and it doesn’t have the same consistency of engraving standard, being quite shallow. I think it might have been done by an apprentice as a practice piece and then scrapped. Then I think one of the workers had the reject body.

  This point is borne out by the fact that there is no serial number stamped into the metal below the tail piece or on the headstock.

  When I got this guitar there was no pillar inside it. A guitar has to have this or it will collapse, so I think it was made as an ornament and not as an instrument. I had the pillar put in because I wanted it as an instrument.

  It has been alleged that the engraving on the back of the guitar was done in the Sixties. They say the man looks like Elvis. In those boots?! They also point to the Appalachian dulcimer in it as being a Sixties thing, yet the Appalachian dulcimer has always been popular for certain types of music. The folk boom of the Sixties popularized it but it was around before then.

  Another reason I don’t think the engraving on the back was done in the Sixties is that in order to do this, the owner would have to take off the nickel, do the engraving and then re-nickel it. Now I think my guitar has the original nickel. It looks like 1930s nickel. So the engraving would have to be done at that time, before the plating went on, not stripped off in the Sixties, engraved then re-plated.

  So, I think National are wrong in their conclusions.

  This guitar is a one-off – a bastardisation of the style 97: the rarest one. The neck is a standard National with inlay work in mother-of-pearl and abalone. The body is brass nickel-plated. German silver ran out because of rearmament in the Thirties and that’s how I can place it at 1936. There are fairly conventional designs on the front but the back is a complete surprise. There’s about eight hundred hours of work in the design on the back, which I think comes up to the National standard even though the person who sold it to me said, “Someone’s drawn on the back of it with a screwdriver” – a travesty of the truth!

  I gave £2,000 for it. The cheapest plain Tricone I’ve seen was $6,000. The amount of decoration on these instruments varies. Style One would be plain, Style Two would have a bit of decoration, Style Three would have a lot of decoration and Style Four would be extravagant – covered in bloody chrysanthemums! But mine has a whole picture.

  So this guitar is an amalgamation. It is typically National but there are a couple of things that are atypical and a unique back. I think someone has taken it home and worked on it, assembled it and had it plated at the factory. It has a badge: a deep red shield with “trade National mark” written on it. National badges were manufactured like a stick of rock then sliced. This badge isn’t verifiable although I have found similar badges. The fact that it has no serial number also indicates that it was put together outside the factory.

  Oh – and the sound? It has a wonderful tone: soft and mellow. Three cones and a brass body give a more subtle tone altogether than the style 0or other Tricones made from harder materials. The 1936 National would suit jazz musicians or Hawaiian music but with this guitar my imagination wanders – and wonders – more in the direction of the mystery engraver.

  1934 National: Amazing Grace

  I had a third National in the collection until 2006. It was a 1934 model of manufactured plywood and although this instrument was less glamorous than the other two, I was surprised by its volume and depth of resonance. It had a more ‘ancient’ sound than the others and I think the wooden ones sound a bit better than the metal ones. It seemed appropriate to play “Amazing Grace” on it. I sold it in 2006 for £1,000. It went to a good home in Liverpool.

  Electric Dobro Made By Mosrite Under Licence

  I’ve had an electric Dobro made by Mosrite under licence for about fifteen years. It’s made of decent quality mahogany, though not the best. Tom Hubbard had the twelve string version of this. It’s extremely rare and works acoustically too, though it does sound better as an electric guitar. The only modification is the fact that there is no cover over the bridge. The best reason for this that I can think of is that it was made for country players – they place the palm on the bridge to get a different sound. Zero fret is another Mosrite feature. It’s a great idea for setting the action because it doesn’t rely on a nut being cut so precisely. The neck is very much like an electric guitar and too thin for me. I like a chunky neck.

  I like the sound. It has dignity: there’s a remote, old-fashioned sound to it.

  My Mosrite Dobro has been greatly admired. Interviewers have asked me about it and people have wanted to own it. About four hundred of this particular type were made under licence in the Sixties by Semie Moseley.

  Twelve String Dobro: Good In Any Language

  This particular twelve string Dobro was made in 1966. I bought the guitar and the case for £120. I have subsequently been offered three grand and it’s probably worth more.

  There’s a photograph of Roy Rogers playing a twelve string standard maple Dobro and it’s a beautiful instrument. My twelve string Dobro is made of flame maple with tiger-striped sides. To have this type of maple would cost £700 extra. I bought it in 1976 from an American guy who was going back to the States and who didn’t want the bother of it.

  If the provenance of this guitar as the one owned by Hendrix could be proved, it would be worth £200,000.

  I have the same interest and pride in guitars as is often shown by the owners of vintage cars and pedigree animals, so I have personal knowledge of the whereabouts of four of them: my own, the one owned by my Georgian connection, Tom Hubbard, the one owned by famous American slide guitarist Roy Rogers, and the one I saw advertised on the internet described as a “Jimi Hendrix type” but having no provenance. I have a photograph of this so-called Jimi Hendrix 12 String Electric Dobro (estimated value £4,000 to £6,000) which was auctioned at Bonhams for £7,000 on 18th August 1994. I feel dubious about it: the serial number is not available and the year of manufacture is alleged to be the late Sixties, when this is actually from the mid Sixties. No authentification is provided. Moreover, although I have seen Hendrix play such a guitar, it was a blond one, like mine, not mahogany like the one in the photograph. Bonhams should put me on the payroll!

  When I was staying in Georgia with Tom Hubbard I did enjoy the rarity of having two twelve string Dobros around. An entry from my Georgia journal testifies to this:

  Spent 1-2 hours rebuilding Tom’s 12 string maho
gany Dobro…played 2-3 hours with Tom – 2x12=24 …lowered the action on Tom’s 12 string courtesy of Hoyt’s farm workshop…the only brace of 12 string Dobros together. Will photo them later and probably record them.

  Banjo In A Gun Case: The Bombay Connection

  There are a couple of instruments that are not guitars but which I like to have around for a variety of reasons. I have a pewter banjo with a lovely sheen, made in Birmingham in the 1920s by Riley-Baker, an arms manufacturer, then exported to Bombay and retailed by F. Rose and Co. This piece took the eye for more than one reason. Its metallic nature is reminiscent of a machine component: there is something cog-like about it. The back of the banjo is like a National, with engraved designs. The screws are gun screws, and the headstock is ornate and shaped like the headstocks of Indian instruments. It’s a curious amalgamation of Western manufacturing and Eastern ornamentation, understandable only when you know it was destined for the Indian market. There’s another surprise: its red satin-lined leather case is a gun case. I have a leather case I used for my own gun and the type of case used for transporting a gun is very similar to this banjo case. I love the way all these old cases have individual clasp designs. There are also cartridge spaces inside the banjo case and that clinches it for me. I’m fascinated by the similarity and it is curious that the banjo and its case, linked as it is with an arms manufacturer, somehow links together two of my own passions. I came by this extraordinary instrument when someone brought in a family heirloom for refurbishment. After refurbishment they decided to sell the instrument to me. It always attracts a lot of interest. It’s currently worth £750.

  Defeated The Experts