The Black Pig
You can take renovation too far.
Henry Marsh, also an accordionist, played keyboard with a group called Sailor. Some time in the Eighties, when I was playing at the Oakley Centre, Henry Marsh, disguised as Darth Vader, came as a guest with Paul Elson who was playing drums. Although he usually played keyboard, Henry played guitar for me. We managed a five minute rehearsal before the gig. Anyway, to cut to the chase: I got him a state of the art keyboard (worth £1,200 to £1,500) for about £800 plus expenses incurred by my journey to London to purchase it. When he collected it from my shop he gave me a 1957 Les Paul – the one he had played at my gig – for which he had been offered £250 (a stupidly low offer) in London. This was for the great favour he felt I had done and out of respect for my musicianship: “You’ve got more charisma on stage than anyone I’ve ever played with,” he said. He has kept in touch over the years and has often phoned for personal advice.
I loved that electric guitar. It had P90 pick-ups that someone who had released records in the Sixties had owned. It was made before the company designated their products into Les Paul Standard and so forth. It was scruffy: I remember that part of the purfling on the underside (as you play) had been lost but it had been played such a lot that the wood was smooth, not rough where the purfling had been. I used it when I played with the Skunk Band and all the younger musicians fought over it on jam nights.
After a few years someone bought it off me for £1,500 – well, £750 plus two guitars. Henry Marsh maintained that it had always been black, certainly from when he had it in the late Sixties. The new owner had it restored – scraped back – to reveal a Les Paul Gold Top. Perfect. With the finish still intact. The restoration cost him £800. He sold it for £3,000 – possibly more.
It had been a good, useable stage guitar and although it was beautiful restored, it didn’t feel like the Black Pig. It was less comfortable. Something more than paint had been taken away.
Georgian Treasures
Regardless of anything that was happening during my four trips to Georgia: heat, tornadoes, hailstones, snakes, being ripped off, getting drunk, being feted as a Blues Legend, eating lavishly, driving a tractor, being disappointed, getting arrested, trying to cross roads, having headaches, talking to Cora Mae, escaping persecution, watching crap TV, wearing mirror shades, being broke, getting shot at – regardless of anything and everything my interest in musical instruments never failed. Every such encounter is recorded in my mind and in my journal. My interests and my good business brain always work in harmony no matter what the circumstances.
Visited some vintage guitar shops and clocked different prices of English amps and cheap American products in the UK. Bought a 1928 Tricone, mint for year: $5,000. Just have to find the money now…called at pawn shop. Interesting Stella 12 string – 1940s: $90.00 but how do I bring it back?...On the way back called to see a couple of interesting instruments: 1947 Gibson 8 string pedal steel $500,00 and 1928 National Tricone, beautiful but $5,000 and not that impressive on tone but requires a good clean and set up. Got my picture taken with it though…arrived first music shop, sold 2 pedals Fuzz Face: $150. MXR Phase 90 (orange): $75 and good contact: Marty’s Music…phone or fax: vintage instruments, pedals, Hiwatts etc. 2nd shop sold my National…(6)
Even during the fourth rather unsuccessful visit to Georgia, beset by ill health, awful weather and loneliness I noted the following:
meat run via music shops in Atlanta. Some nice guitars: ’46 Martin 0021 – $4,500. Great. National Triolion: $1,500 sensible and some cheap disc mics… stopped at Dirt Cheap Music bought ’58 ES 125 mint – $550 and a Guild D40 $450 ideal for here plus Shure condenser $80. Great. On to posh Atlanta shop and bought MX 802A in sale – $70. I’m smiling now. Some posh condensers: $599 down to $99 mmm!...to music store bought 6 mics – $500 and MX802A – $60.(7)
I think I always manage to combine my enthusiasm for the beauty of the instruments with some down-to-earth valuations and an eye for a bargain, but I’m always fair or try to be. I bought the stuff on my card and that’s how I ended up with no beer money!
Reason To Go Acoustic
If you look – sometimes if you don’t look – there’s a story behind every transaction. January 2007: I watched a young man painstakingly unwrapping a guitar from two black bin liners. Then a tiny amp emerged: a hundred quid’s worth altogether. He wanted an acoustic guitar so I tuned it for him. I hoped for some sort of exchange. The quiet young man sat down to play the new acoustic guitar – £99 on the price tag – he took no time at all to decide. “Yes, I’ll have that. I used to have a band but I got electrocuted and nearly died. My dad says hiya – Mike Harradine.”
The decisive young man of few words was only 24 years old. His was a very good reason for changing to acoustic.
I had also been decisive: thirty seconds to decide the deal. Sometimes it takes considerably less. Slowed down, this is the process: the guitar he was trading was a popular instrument: a Vintage SG Electric. I hadn’t got one in the shop and I knew it would sell. I had two more of the acoustic guitars he bought so I could let that one go without a thought. The amp and the electric guitar balanced exactly the value of the acoustic guitar. It was a fair deal. He had a compelling reason to sell; I had a sound reason to buy.
“Say hi to your dad,” I said as he left the shop. I’ve known Mike Harradine as a customer for a while.
Guitars On The Move
A man (mid thirties) came to the shop with five guitars: all in very good condition. He had wanted £600 but ended up taking a black Les Paul Studio (worth £595). I told him that if he wanted the copper Les Paul it would cost him another £200. So in he came on the following Monday, bringing in another guitar plus a big pedal multi-effects and returning the black Les Paul. He gave all these to me in exchange for the esteemed copper Les Paul. No money had exchanged hands.
One of the six guitars – a BC Rich – had a snake design on it and I didn’t think it would shift. It was the last guitar I’d have bought in but this was part of a deal. It was the first to go.
Guitars were on the move. A young man came in on the same Monday as the great Les Paul exchange and bought it – the black one – along with a Marshall Half Stack. This time money exchanged hands: £550.
Parallel to this, another instrument – a nice twelve string Crafter Acoustic – had a deposit the equivalent of a hundred quid on it, part of which was a guitar and another one was out on approval, on trust, to a man I’ve known for thirty years. Some transactions take longer to go through than others and it’s a process you shouldn’t rush.
In April 2007 Reg brought in three guitars. One was a cutaway resonator. Another was a tenor guitar: it’s got the same chords as a banjo though you can tune it to play like the top four strings in a guitar. I thought Des might be interested in that. The other was a Dobro Lap Steel.
There we are – surveying the wares like punters at an antiques fair; for a while there is an air of unresolved deeds. Eventually, and without anything perceptible happening, the deal is agreed: I give Reg two lap steels and Reg gives me two guitars and £250.
There’s not much call for tenor guitars or lap steel guitars: they’re just the quirky type of thing that turns up and you never know who will want them.
A Beautiful Gypsy
Some guitars are inherently special, or special because of their connection with a person. Or for both reasons. Near Christmas 2006 a Tacoma came into my life. I bought it for £325. I liked it. I liked the fact that there were no markers on the fret board – why spoil a nice piece of ebony by cutting it and inserting pretend abalone or pretend mother-of-pearl? I liked the fact that the ebony was wider, more like a vintage guitar. It fitted my hands better. Size matters. There’s a Taylor Dreadnought in the shop; it’s worth £1,000. It looks impressively large but it is normal for that type, though too big for me. It’s all about the waist. I fit better with a slimmer waist – that’s what the Tacoma has in its favour – the ones w
ith a thinner waist fit on the leg better.
The rosette reminded me of a Spanish guitar and it also had a see-through pick guard like on a flamenco guitar. Many – probably the majority of electro-acoustic guitars – have an equalizer that compresses sounds, evening out the highs and lows. I don’t like that. The electrical feature of this one didn’t do that and I was thinking of keeping it for that reason, and also in order to protect my vintage guitars from over-use and wear and tear in pubs.
I think talent should be respected; a musician should have an instrument worthy of their talent. A beautiful young girl with auburn gypsy hair and classical good looks came to the shop with her father. A talented guitar player, she was looking for an instrument and I suggested this recent American acquisition: the Tacoma . She played it and her face lit up – a good sound. I told them that even if they didn’t buy it from me, they should think about getting a guitar that matched her talent. They said they’d think about it.
They didn’t come back. So I’ve been playing that guitar as if I’ve been playing it all my life. It has a lovely mellow sound and it makes me happy and I lose myself in the music for a while. It was love at first sight and also linked in my mind with the beautiful guitarist.
Post Script
The girl’s father did get in touch again about the guitar. I told him he was too late: I had withdrawn it from sale. It’s the only electro-acoustic guitar I have and I like it. I think they’re worth in excess of £1,500 new.
Falling At The Last Hurdle
You can never tell whether a person will buy or not. They can be on the point of buying then for some reason they don’t. If they don’t do it there and then the chances are they won’t. A musical instrument is an important and intimate purchase so this doesn’t surprise me. One day in May a tall black girl in a striking white jacket came in to look at a flute nested in a dusty black box with a torn label. She was about to start flute lessons. She was interested in how it fitted together and I was able to reassure her that I had such instruments checked out by someone with more knowledge than myself. She was completely absorbed and anyone present would have been convinced she intended to have it. When we got round to the payment she couldn’t remember her PIN. I sensed the girl’s disappointment when she couldn’t take the flute with her. She promised to return.
But she didn’t.
In my business you get used to the psychology of buying and selling; you have to assimilate the indecisiveness of people. One moment they’re being ruled by their head, the next by their heart. Sometimes they just want to look and have no intention of buying, even if they behave as if they do. Some are genuinely indecisive – vague about what they want or afraid of making a mistake. In this case it might have been embarrassment that kept the flautist away or perhaps forgetting her PIN was her subconscious mind saying no.
That’s Why I’ve Got No Tattoos!
Speaking of indecisiveness : a man with an uncertain air about him brought in a Marshall amp and speaker. He asked what the cash deal would be.
“£400. The deal would be worth more if you took a guitar.” There was much silent pondering and things were being weighed up. It wasn’t clear what the man wanted though he hadn’t said no to the guitar offer.
“Acoustic or electric?”
“Electric.”
“Anything in particular?”
“I’ve already got a Fender and a Strat.” He didn’t seem to be drawn to anything in particular and the uneasy silence continued. Then he indicated one.
“What about that one? How much is that?” This was a black Les Paul Studio.
“I could do you that one for £400. You see them from £395 to £495.”
“What’s it sound like?” I couldn’t get to it without climbing on the amps. And while I weighed it up the man switched his attention to another one: a Gibson Sonex. So I climbed on the amp to get that one down and the man plugged it into his own amp and tuned it. It sounded mellow. He turned it over and over, looking the length of it. Then he asked to look at the previous one: the black Les Paul Studio. So I got that down.
“There’s some weight in this one!” He crouched down to tune it, play it. He looked at the head. There was a deep sigh. I switched an extra light on.
“It’s had a bit of use, this.”
“It’s twenty-five years old, innit?” The man with the shaved head and the earring looked along the body to the head as he did with the previous one.
“Any case for it?” I brought a case and the man put the guitar into it.
“Give us a swap for that.” He had made a decision. I took the hanger off it, closed the box and snapped the catches.
“That can only go up,” I assured him.
The man lingered to buy plectrums and strings and then showed interest in another guitar: a white guitar with a satin finish. This was a Washburn that was made in the US. I got that down for him and he was very drawn to it and I knew this; I understood this air of uncertainty I’ve witnessed so many times.
“I’m shut till Thursday. See how you get on with that Les Paul for a couple of days then you can swap it if you want.”
“Might see you on Thursday. Might do.” But he still didn’t go. Something in the window caught his eye: an Effect Processor.
“It does everything but make tea,” I told him. “If you don’t know anything about pedals, this is what you have until you do.”
“I need a really good all-round amp for the guitars I’ve got. It’s the sound I’m after – like AC/DC.”
“Well – start by sussing out what sounds you actually use then you can get pedals that do that. Buy it, take it home, try it, swap it or have your money back if it won’t do.”
“I’ll see how I get on with this.”
And off he went, the man whose heart responded to a guitar he didn’t take with him but who might be back. He had actually taken the guitar he first asked about: the black Les Paul Studio but his heart went out to the third one: the Washburn. He could have had that plus a hundred quid in exchange for the amp and speaker. I was pleased with the Marshall amp. It was light enough to go on an aeroplane; you could probably take the speaker as well. And it was equipment from the late Sixties which is like hens’ teeth to get hold of.
The indecisive man came back several times to change his guitar. “That’s why I’ve got no tattoos – I can’t decide!” He ended up with a copper top Les Paul Studio. I think he should forget about tattoos. It’s a slippery slope!
My hero is Ritchie Blackmore of Deep Purple. I named one of my sons after him and had his name tattooed on my arm. If you look closely there is only a black area where the name should be. I had to have the name blacked out because the tattooist had spelt it, “Blackmoor”.
Wayne Davies (Slim). (8)
Presumably the same level of scholarship that produced “Hendricks” on another unfortunate arm.
Sometimes you just don’t know what the agenda is because it looks as if no-one is sticking to one – they’re all over the place. You don’t know if people intend to buy anything or just want a browse; you don’t know if they want to buy what they say they want to buy. You don’t know which transactions are about necessity and which are about love. There’s usually a blend of reality and fantasy and prejudice when people buy musical instruments. It’s like a courtship ritual: it can’t be hurried; you shouldn’t interfere and the choice is often incomprehensible to a third party!
To Banjo Or Not To Banjo?
One scenario involved two men in black hats, rival banjos, an elusive acoustic amp and two twelve strings – one of them derelict. The men came into the shop on a fresh spring morning in April.
“Do you have any banjos about?” asked Desperado Number One.
“Only the cheap one in the window and this one here.” I showed him the pewter Bombay banjo and both men were immediately impressed by it.
“I’ll tell you what I’m after; I want a decent acoustic amp.” It was Desperado Number Two. I shook my head.
“It’s a brilliant place, isn’t it?” said the other. He was having a good look round.
“What I’d really like is an Ashdown amp.”
“They’re all made in China these days.”
“But the Ashdown’s a British amp.”
“Yes but it’s made in China for a British company. Peavey and Marshall ones are the best, but dear.”
“I didn’t get on with the Marshall but I did OK with an Ashdown. Can I just try that banjo?” The man who wanted an amp tuned and played the Bombay banjo. I showed them the case. They were both impressed by it being a gun case.
“It was worth the trip just to see that. I wish you’d got an amp though.”
And this is how things meander. But it was interesting as an example of how people do know exactly what they want in spite of their butterfly minds, and in spite of my attempts to find what I think they want or what would be better for them. I thought we were talking banjos and acoustic amps and we were but only on the surface. Neither of the banjos I had in could come up to the imagined excellence of a Mastertone played in Winsford and I had, moreover, failed to have an Ashdown amp.
There was another agenda, hidden at first: a cheap guitar to renovate. The man I thought was most interested in a banjo wanted to buy the Montana twelve string acoustic – presently a heap of junk belonging to someone else and waiting to be mended – in preference to the Framus twelve string acoustic which at forty quid was a better proposition.
Ain't Bad for a Pink Page 30