At Grass Valley this year someone had a deal on a CD purchase that included a set of the recently released Tony Rice Martin guitar strings. The box said “Monel” on it, which piqued my interest; reminded me of the “Gibson mona-steel” strings that used to be around. Sure enough, the Tony Rice wound strings are silver-colored. And I tripped off down memory lane.
When I was a lad in Crockett, California, and just starting to learn guitar there was a Rexall drug store down near the C&H Sugar Refinery. In those days, tiny Crockett had two (!) pharmacies. We patronized the one that was much closer to our house, unless we were looking for a custom-made fountain drink. The Rexall store had a soda fountain where you could get a cherry Coke for about a dime, maybe 15 cents.
It was much tastier than the chemical-tasting “cherry Coke” that comes in cans today. And even better, the girl who worked there was a Teen Angel, an Unapproachable Goddess of Stunning Beauty, a Princess in a white uniform with a little head thingy not unlike what nurses wore. I could rhapsodize about soft drinks and ice cream (and the fountain girl) for the rest of this column, but really, this piece is about guitar strings, which the Rexall man kept in a dusty drawer behind the counter.
I expect I was the first person to come in there looking for guitar strings in years. Guitar players weren’t exactly thick on the ground in Crockett in 1957. The prices had been marked probably a decade earlier and the kindly druggist sold them to me for the 1940s prices. They were Black Diamond strings, in red envelopes inside a black cardboard box. Over the next few years I believe I bought all he had, at which time he got out of the string business.
The point of all this is that the strings were silver colored. And strings remained that way through my college years, but then one day somebody came out with “phosphor bronze” and the world changed. Over a period of maybe a year everybody wanted the gold-colored (supposedly brighter sounding) bronze strings and eventually I didn’t even see the silver ones any more.
And now the big news: “Tony Rice plays on monel strings!” Whoa! What is going to happen now? Will there be a vast shift in the preferences of guitar players, or will monel be a niche market? I’m not playing a lot of guitar these days and the strings on my guitar are still in good shape. I’ll reserve judgment on Tony’s strings until I get to play on them for a while.
A few years ago a company in Knoxville, TN, came out with Blue Chip picks. They are made of an expensive, proprietary alkyloid material and cost a bunch. They’ll take returns so I sent off for a $50 thumb pick which I not only kept but eventually I bought another. Not only does the blade slip off the string with special ease, but the stainless steel band is firm on my thumb and the “tail”never gets caught in the fourth string as so many other picks do.
Noticing all the top pickers at our festival and on TV and in magazine photos — most of them seem to have the distinctive shiny band that tells you they are playing a Blue Chip. Blue Chip certainly hasn’t wiped out the plastic thumb pick market, but they are selling enough that they could afford to send a fellow out west and set up a booth at Grass Valley this year. (They also make a variety of very expensive flat picks, which I haven’t tried.)
I await developments.
PS: While thinking about this topic, I dug through some instrument cases and file drawers to find some old string packages I have had for years that will bring back memories for readers of a certain age. I uploaded them to the California Bluegrass Association Facebook page.
At top left is the classic Black Diamond string as sung about by Larry Cordle in the song of the same name. Top right is from Lundberg’s guitar shop, where everybody in the 1960s and ’70s hung out in Berkeley. A couple named Jon and Diedre Lundberg owned it. I think they got divorced, Diedre went elsewhere and after some years Jon went into the vintage clothing business. I bought my pre-war (First World War) Gibson mandolin there.
Middle left is the Gibson strings box and below that the envelope proclaiming the “tone-power-durability-non-tarnishing” quality of their mona-steel strings. Middle right is from Gryphon Stringed Instruments in Palo Alto. I haven’t bought Gryphon strings in some years — their envelope may still look just like this.
Bottom right are from McCabe’s Guitar Shop on Pico Boulevard in Santa Monica. This is a famous place in Southern California. Besides a huge collection of instruments and top repair people they do concerts in the place from time to time. I was only there once, about 20 years ago, and bought a set of strings that never made it onto my banjo.
The back of the McCabe’s packet is devoted to long letter of endorsement dated April 30, 1963:
“Dear Mr. McCabe,
“I think you will recall how, back in 1927, I wrote to you in regards to your banjo string, which had just appeared on the market. At the time I felt that your string was really something to get excited about, and now, over a quarter-century later, I would like to say that it has stood the test of time.
“I use it on all my stringed instruments, including the fiddle (!) and the treble portion of the auto-harp. And now, what with the introduction of your extended necked banjo, I find your string maintains its admirable sound-lustre even when stretched over three additional frets. Three cheers for the McCabe string.
“Bernard G. (Cheyanne) Schatz, one man band”
Banjo strings on a fiddle. Now there’s a concept.
Praise and Awe for Luthiers
Today’s column from Bruce Campbell
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Growing up, I remember that there were always a few dads in the neighborhood who were really good with their hands. Of course, it seems that ALL the dads in the ‘hood could build a fence if needed, and probably a doghouse, or maybe a bird house. But there were some whose garages will filled with mysterious machines and tools.
Some were mechanical whizzes. They enjoyed working their own cars in their spare time, and would usually be glad to help a neighbor get his or her car running like new again. They could listen to a car, and know just what part needed to be replaced or repaired. The inner workings of a car were nothing mysterious to these people – they had an innate understanding of the systems.
From what I could see, working with metal was a brute force affair. The skills required were the understanding of the mechanisms, the ability to precisely measure what parts were needed and where, and if a part couldn’t be bought, then a lathe would laboriously force a piece of metal to be the right shape, and then precisely located bolt holes would ensure its proper and triumphant installation.
And there were woodworkers too. Like the other craftsmen (I’m not being sexist – allthe ones I saw were men – in the mid-60’s, women weren’t encouraged to explore their acumen with tools as such), they spent their time working in the medium of their choice – wood.
Wood, is a more organic and temperamental medium. The woods come from different kinds of trees, and each has its particular characteristics with regards to grain, strength, workability and durability. You could brute force a cut on a piece of wood, but how well it will serve its purpose might necessitate a cut along the grain, or against the grain. Wood requires feel, and finesse.
I took both metal and wood shop classes in Junior High (they were required, but I think I would have took them anyway). I did learn that some training, and good tools can go a long way. But I was never a “whisperer”, and the materials never whispered to me, either. They just sat there, and never gave me a hint as to how finesse them into objects of amazing utility or beauty. I did make a jewelry box for my mom, and she had it until she died, so there’s that.
Then, as I got into music, I began to meet people who made musical instruments. Not just facsimiles of musical instruments, but real, professional quality instruments. They took pieces of wood, coaxed them into the right shapes and bends, smoothed all the right spots, affixed pieces together, installed frets, and bridges and nuts, and made beautiful, functional instruments.
Here’s the remarkable thing – none of the people I know who can do this will acknowledge that it’s magical. They’re nonchalant about this sorcery!
“Oh yeah, I used bookmatched Martian Mahogany for the back and Venusian Spruce for the top. Made a 21” scale with 22 fat frets on a Jovian Ebony fretboard – it was…interesting.”
They’re just as nonplussed about taking an instrument apart – another process I find incredible. “Oh yeah, I steamed off the back, removed a squirrel’s nest and scalloped the braces, reset the neck, then threw ‘er back together – all before breakfast.”
They probably can’t remember a time when working with wood wasn’t in their blood…These are wizards – complete wizards. And I admire the heck out of them.
