This guitar had a long and tortured history. I bought one of those "build your own guitar" kits from a music store years ago. I didn't even really bother with the actual construction aspect of it-- I assumed most of the hardware was crap, and besides, I just wanted to paint the body to look like Eddie Van Halen's guitar. (Red with black/white stripes-- you know the one. Only I used blue instead of red). Anyway, lots of cans of Krylon later, I had a pretty cool-lookin' body.
I wondered if it would ever be playable. I took one look at the schematics for installing one's own pickups etc. and thought, "Ha ha ha no." So I took it to a luthier's.
He said that the guitar pieces could be assembled into a technically playable thing, yes. I told him I wanted a single humbucker in the bridge position. I also showed him the neck I had bought from Warmoth.com. He took it all in stride.
I wondered if it would ever be playable. I took one look at the schematics for installing one's own pickups etc. and thought, "Ha ha ha no." So I took it to a luthier's.
He said that the guitar pieces could be assembled into a technically playable thing, yes. I told him I wanted a single humbucker in the bridge position. I also showed him the neck I had bought from Warmoth.com. He took it all in stride.
When the guitar was finally assembled, despite my helping the guy, it was indeed a functioning instrument. Except it was all solid white, my snazzy EVH paint job having been covered by a starker base coat for further artistic renderings.
The guitar looked cool but was pretty unpleasant to play. The small frets meant I had to exert myself mightily just to press the strings down. The neck, for some reason, felt dry and sticky. It had all the slick, lissome playability of a flypaper strip. The coolest thing about it was probably the locking Floyd Rose bridge. I could flail on that sucker all day and it would stay in tune nicely. Songs I would play none, but I could get a melismatic shriek out of this beast no problem.
One day, after drinking lots of coffee, I decided to wreak my will upon this poor Frankensteinian guitar once more. Using some fine tipped markers, I decided to doodle upon it anything that took my fancy. It wound up being bright and oddly affable. (I also wrote the names of numerous guitarist-type heroes around the pickup itself, in an incantory fashion).
And there you have the story of the psychedelicized guitar... at least so far. Heart.
The guitar looked cool but was pretty unpleasant to play. The small frets meant I had to exert myself mightily just to press the strings down. The neck, for some reason, felt dry and sticky. It had all the slick, lissome playability of a flypaper strip. The coolest thing about it was probably the locking Floyd Rose bridge. I could flail on that sucker all day and it would stay in tune nicely. Songs I would play none, but I could get a melismatic shriek out of this beast no problem.
One day, after drinking lots of coffee, I decided to wreak my will upon this poor Frankensteinian guitar once more. Using some fine tipped markers, I decided to doodle upon it anything that took my fancy. It wound up being bright and oddly affable. (I also wrote the names of numerous guitarist-type heroes around the pickup itself, in an incantory fashion).
And there you have the story of the psychedelicized guitar... at least so far. Heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment