When my Dad fell asleep playing is guitar a few years ago (narcolepsy, it happens), he panicked. He had dinged the guitar his brother built him. He called a reputable luthier at a local guitar shop, who laughed and said he was sure he could fix the trim.
Dad gets his guitar in there, and they're like, 'Let's see this guitar your brother built you.'
Then, 'Who the hell is your brother?' Followed by 'What kind of wood did he use for the trim?' Because Kenny hadn't used ivoroid plastic on Dad's classical. The binding was wood, holly specifically.
Then a few years ago Kenny built me an heirloom. A Bennedetto-school archtop. He does these things. You know, in his spare time. When he's not restoring my Great Grandfather's violin a horse stepped on.
So my Bro got his Memorial Day weekend. Brazillian rosewood back and sides, a flat top to make an Olson owner drool. I can't wait to check it out in person. Meantime, I'll share the pics Bro emailed me.
And yes, this is 100% handmade. If you saw the size of Kenny's workshop, you'd be even more amazed. I'm not sure my bathroom isn't bigger.
6 comments:
Sweet gee-tar. Very sweet.
My wife plays guitar. I'm a drummer. Before my wife got the OK from command to come over to Germany, I found this little guitar shop in the town where I lived. They had a cherry-red 1955 Stratocaster. 600 Euro. Such a deal, but I didn't have 600 Euro. Oh, Teh Sh4m3.
Me no speaky guitarese. : P
That's an awesome awesome guitar.
Future Antiques Roadshow: "When we saw you in line with that McBride guitar we all started hyperventilating!"
Well, they've got some time before they become antique. I suppose Kenny's banjo, his original project, is probalby 30 years old now. Maybe a little over 30.
My great grandpa's fiddle would be older, of course. Really older, like 19th Century I suppose. I believe he was the one who had a heart attack on the tracks walking home from work in the round house. Well, it's thought probably a heart attack. He was laying on the track, and the engineer of a freshly turned around locomotive thought his coat flapping int he wind was a sack caught in the tracks, so he didn't try to stop.
They didn't do post mortems on dead railroadmen back then (1906 sticks in my mind, but I'd have to check with my Dad to be sure). I do know the railroad cited him for trespassing, so the family that had just lost its breadwinner, had a fine to pay. As wrong as our lawsuit happy culture can be, you'd think they'd at least waive the fine for being on railroad property off the clock for a DEAD guy. Maybe offer to help with the fucking burial. All that milk of human kindness stuff.
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