But this was serious bass equipment in more ways than one. The couple had brought in more than musical equipment: they had brought the heaviness of their grief.
The woman’s son had been diagnosed with cancer and died seven weeks later. At forty-one. He was a customer – his parents had found one of my business cards among his papers – described as slim with a blond pony tail. I couldn’t place him because this description is an archetypal one when it comes to bass players. Their distress was palpable and there was nothing I could say or do other than the practicalities of selling their son’s equipment: “Can you leave it till Thursday? I’ll have a look at it and give you a price.” “It was all working.”
Unlike the poor guy.
The mother wiped tears from her eyes and they both went off to their empty car which waited across the road. The poignancy of the situation had everyone in tears. I can listen but how do you help people who have lost someone? I usually say that crying helps.
Six String Banjo
Not every encounter is emotionally demanding. Performers come into the shop with travelling tales and we swap musical anecdotes and sometimes compliments. A type of transaction I really enjoy is when I can use my musical knowledge to solve problems. A lady wanted to buy a banjo for her son. Hers was a musical family: she played guitar and sang gospel but she was a bit anxious about being able to help him with a banjo and this was what he wanted. I showed her a six string banjo: a surprisingly large and round object, two-tiered and with a chalky skin. It was a Remo Weather King Banjo head made only in the USA. I thought this would be the compromise between a guitar and the conventional banjo. The son could then go either way: to the guitar or the five string banjo. I reassured the lady that she would be able to help him, since it was open tuned and she could play guitar. She left a deposit, told me she was delighted to have met me and promised to be back. A mutually positive experience.
Off-Centre: Fairy Dust, Coffins And A Speaker
I’ve noticed that things can be a bit bizarre at times: nothing to do with madness or alcohol or musical high spirits. There’s a different kind of surreal strangeness I can’t explain. Fairies with pink organza wings at the window the same moment a bus with “SNAKES ON A PLANE” on it sailed past, for example.
One August day, Bob “The Builder” brought in some partially renovated guitars for me to complete or re-contract but that is not the most interesting thing. He had also brought a selection of fossils for me to show to my father-in-law. Each item in the collection was individually wrapped and labelled and incongruously stuffed inside a briefcase complete with combination lock. A briefcase full of stardust.
The same summer – picture the scene: the shop is dominated by a guitar case containing a new-looking bass guitar, open on the floor, like a coffin. Myself and several lads are standing round it, like mourners. Apparently the pick-up has fallen out. There’s a gig tomorrow and the earliest I can give it any attention is Thursday. They ask if I can hire out a bass guitar. No I can’t. Do I know of anyone that can? No I don’t. The sick bass guitar: a reissue of a 1950s Fender Precision – £500 new – is beyond immediate help. There’s a defeated, hopeless atmosphere about the place and particularly around the defunct guitar. The chief mourners: The Designs, from Winsford, slowly close the case, pick it up and file out in silence.
A couple of minutes later there’s a cheery face at the door and a man of medium build in a black suit and black tie enters soundlessly. He has what can only be described as a habitual smile. He is softly spoken with a Welsh accent and it turns out he needs a Mini Studio to put his guitar through. I’m always happy to serve this regular customer – it pays to keep in with the local undertaker!
I had a battered speaker that had seen a lot of mayhem. It had the dust of a thousand gigs on it and was more grey than black, scrawped down the sides and where the wood showed through you could see that good quality plywood had been used. At this point in my observations Jo Elensky came in: a man with a clipped, brisk, manner and an active mind; on the move all the time and nobody’s fool.
“Need a bass guitar, Pete – cheap – for a beginner. No – he might need something a bit more styley. I know this is the current vogue. I think he wants something a bit more rock – he’s a beginner. Got anything else coming in?”
“You want something about a hundred quid?” I made a phone call while Joe paced about restlessly.
“You got any rocky looking basses about £140? I’ll pop up later or tomorrow for it.”
Jo had decided to return on Friday. Meanwhile he was regretting something he didn’t buy years ago! It was always hard to follow what he was saying because his thought processes are faster than he can express them. He’s always moving on, mentally and physically.
“Is this a genuine – ?”
“No it’s Chinese. Actually, they’re not that bad, you know.”
“The problem is they went for cheap.”
“Plastic bits fall off; I asked if they could make them stronger. They said yes. Why haven’t you then? No-one asked us.”
“Crewe’s not big enough to support three shops, is it?” The conversation had taken a sudden swerve.
“No.”
“I could do with a decent drum kit. If someone comes in – silly money – something modern and tasty. I’ve set up a stage at the factory.” Another swerve.
“I actually turn quite a bit of stuff down; quite honestly there are not that many people playing. I’ll have to pop up and see the new set-up.” (I rarely stock drums – they take up space and I don’t know enough about them.)
“I’m not tempted to play again myself, though. Still doing vintage guitars?” He was on the move again.
“Not so much vintage: just older. Everyone knows what they’re worth. There are inflated prices for certain things.”
Jo Elensky – the man in a hurry – left in a hurry. He had been here less than five minutes but speaking in the short hand of two men involved in the music business, we had covered a great deal of ground. I met Jo many years ago at Wasp Music in Manchester. He set up a business at the same time as me, making speaker cabinets originally in Salford. He decided to go for the top end of the market, split off from Salford and bought a state of the art computerised factory in Knutsford. This became Ohm Industries and he was into big money. Jo’s latest venture is the Vienna Opera House where he has fitted a sound system.
The rebated speaker cabinet I was contemplating when Jo Elensky zoomed in is one of Jo’s…
Buying And Selling
I make most of my money from expensive items. In the old days sales were staggering, never mind the profits. Things like leads and strings and straps I considered more of a service rather than for profit. My prices for strings, for example, haven’t changed for twenty-five years. But times have changed: the Chinese Industrial Miracle is upon us; there’s no longer any money in being a recording star; people don’t pay for CDs and live music has degenerated into tribute bands. Yet some things stay the same: finding bargains, making something from very little, close encounters with musical instruments and their owners are still a pleasure.
Bartering And Haggling
In this business it isn’t all about cash or plastic. If I know and trust somebody I will be patient about payment. I suppose it’s more about knowing the value of things than about insisting on cash. People can pay for goods by exchanging or part-exchanging instruments. I’ve been doing this for a long time and I can very quickly assess a business situation. I won’t be messed about and I don’t like people underestimating me. If a deal isn’t completed and then someone wants to re-open it, I’m likely to change the starting point. If someone won’t give me a fair price I’ll wait for someone else who will. I don’t get tense and I don’t pressurise anyone. I try to think what’s best for the customer and I will order stuff or send them to another shop. If people come on my day off I’m not afraid to send them away until I am officially open. At one time I allowed people to hassle me for things
after closing time but it got ridiculous and now I’m more protective of my time. If people are interested they will come back. Anyone phoning out of hours will hear the snooty phone lady saying, “Your message will not be recorded.”
I also know that once people go out of the shop they might not be back, whatever their present intention. But it’s on my terms. It’s my territory. That’s why I could never do a car boot sale of my goods. I have too much self-respect; I wouldn’t be on my own territory and it would be bad publicity.
I’ve spent my life bartering – it doesn’t matter what it is. Sea Feather was exchanged for a Trimin and a Ford V8 Coupe: a two-seater with a dicky-seat in the boot. I swapped a V12 Jag for a Les Paul and some other odds and ends because I had a company car and wanted to sell the Jag after six months. An appreciation of one good machine or vehicle can easily be transmuted into an appreciation of another type. Bartering is not just about money – you have to add in the pleasure you have had from temporary ownership.
I know Reg Banks well because he used to run the Hanley shop: Custom of Crewe. I remember having nearly eighty classic guitars in stock in the Seventies – we often discuss the system of bartering that took place then. Motorbikes, bikes and even a crossbow were traded in for instruments and equipment. I took the crossbow to show Jo Olenski at his factory in Salford. There were photographs on a wall and Jo indicated one: “I hate that bloke!” he said so I aimed at the image and shot the bolt. Unfortunately, I had overestimated the sturdiness of the partition wall and it went right through into the electronics factory next door, scattering the startled employees!
A View From The Skip
My personal sound systems came as the result of a combination of bartering and scavenging. I need a system for my modern equipment: radio, CD player and DVD player; I need a different system for my record player.
Some people make a good living from the throwaway society; they have a licence to salvage from skips at the tip. It’s amazing what people dump and some of it ends up in my shop. I know a couple of “scrappies” and one of them who has a contract and a container at the posh peoples’ tip at Brereton brought me a modern amp – worth £300 new – for which I paid a tenner. I use this with my modern equipment.
All Change At Crewe
My 1960 amp has old-fashioned valves like turned pepper pots and industrial sized knob controls. Its origins are noteworthy. It came in for repair and Barry repaired it. Impressed by this example of old British engineering, I asked the owner what he would be using it for. He wanted to use it for his modern recordings. I offered him a modern transistorised amp to try. The customer was impressed by the improvement on the valve amp when it came to playing recordings made by modern technology and we did a swap. I was pleased to be able to use the old technology for my vinyl records and the customer likewise had the appropriate means.
The valve amp is more suitable for vinyl, for which it was designed, along with the vintage Sixties speakers I have. If I want it to sound like music, if I want atmosphere, it’s a record I listen to. If I want to analyse it, I use a CD. It’s clean; it’s clinical; it’s not music – just a computer simulation of it. A lot of musicians are coming round to favouring vinyl. CDs are not, as was thought, indestructible; vinyl has longevity if you take care of it.
Time, Patience And A Drawer Full Of Odds And Ends
I’ve collected stuff for thirty years. I have stuff only guitar dealers would have anyway but nowadays you wouldn’t find most of it even there. It’s obsolete. It’s really satisfying to root through it and find a replacement slot head screw for an old guitar.
Most modern screws used on guitars have the Phillips heads: the cross head.
A Guitar Fit For A Quarryman
Having the correct replacement parts is important and makes you feel satisfied with the completed job. I had a vacant-looking guitar: worn and without strings in the shop for twelve months. It was a Gallotone Champion – the same guitar used by Quarryman John Lennon – that had seen better days. This guitar belonged to someone I’ve known since he was a teenager – the Gallotone being his first guitar. He asked me to do it up and I found the right replacement machine heads for it. I was pleased because I believe that replacements for old instruments should be in keeping with the character and original structure of the instrument. You have to be aware of idiosyncratic features like the variations in distance between the holes in a headstock or the headstocks being three to a plate rather than separate. The distance between pegs and the holes on the actual spindle of a machine head both matter. It’s important that the spacing on a machine head is the same as on the actual guitar. It’s also important where the hole is on the actual peg to ensure it will clear the headstock and allow the string to go through the said hole.
Some machine heads, such as Gallotones, have the hole at the centre of the peg and some have the hole close to the end of the peg. It’s important that this hole clears the headstock to allow the string to pass through it. Barry renovated the plate for the Gallotone and fitted it on. It looked good.
Classical guitars also have three on a plate, like the Gallotone but modern electric guitars have separate machine heads. The position of the holes is critical because it needs to clear the wood. With more modern guitars the hole is in the centre and modern machine heads are more difficult to repair because they are made of diamond chrome, which is almost impossible to drill. They are also a specific tapered shape. All idiosyncrasies in design create difficulties if repairs or modifications are attempted and that’s why I always try to renovate instruments with original and authentic parts if possible.
Speaking of Gallotones: one of mine was purchased for £10 at a car boot sale and brought into the shop where it malingered in a corner for two years. One day Keith asked me if he could turn it into money and then we would share the proceeds. It fetched £400 and was shipped to Canada.
Two From Very Little
My requirements for a Skunk Band situation are specific. None of the guitars in the shop would suit my purpose unless I re-stringed them with thicker string for finger picking. I managed to get two suitable guitars for next to nothing – from scrap. Objectively speaking they’re worth £100 but not really for sale.
This is the story. Lee wanted a Telecaster I had. He gave me £100 and an old Squier which had Seymour Duncan pick-ups worth £200.Yet the guitar itself wasn’t worth that – the body had been rubbed down and it sounded all right till you started going up the neck. Anyway, Slim sorted that and now the Squier is rehabilitated and of course it has these posh pick-ups. Guitar number one.
Enter Lee number two. Lee had a Fender Strat and wanted me to take off the pick-ups and pick guard and fit a different setup altogether. I asked him what he wanted to do with the originals and he wasn’t sure. So I offered him £75 and we did the deal. I had a Fender body I’d paid £25 for years ago and a neck which I had by me as a weapon against potential robbers, and Slim grafted them together. Then the electrics were done with the Fender pickups and wiring harness, and a white scratch plate with US on it. The ‘weapon’ neck completed by Slim looks well against the deep green he has used. He would accept nothing for the job and the guitar was now ready for my appearance at the Whitmore Barbecue. Guitar number two. Both guitars had components worth more than the saleable value of the instruments.
Everyone Wants Valve Amps
I have a Simms-Watts hand-built British amplifier I exchanged for a drum – equivalent value of £60. Someone had left it at the tip. I put one new valve in and cleaned it up internally. It will go on the internet for about a grand but there’s no way of calculating the value of the intuitive knowledge that led to the transaction and the subsequent refurbishment of the amp. Everyone these days wants valve amps since they were resurrected by The White Stripes. Musicians also want point to point wiring – wiring done by hand – rather than circuit boards, which are machine made.
A lot of car boot items find their way to my shop, especially banjos and guitars. I have a G
rampian PA set in a box which dates from the late Forties and which cost £20 from a car boot sale. It is worth £250 to £300 on the open market. I tend to accumulate items and then focus on photographing and selling them on the internet. Well – my son Matthew does.
To eBay Or Not To eBay
My son buys and sells on eBay. Everyone buys and sells on eBay. I know I should be more interested in eBay but I can’t be bothered with it. Buying and selling is complex enough without bubble wrap and queuing at the post office. Reg told me he sold a 1958 Vox AC 15 amp – broken – for £2,000 on eBay. The guy wanted it for the case. Slim buys new Chinese guitars because it’s the cheapest way to get the parts for the guitars he makes. But I really can’t be bothered with it – it’s part of the madness of commercialisation.
I use eBay to shift stuff from the shop that might otherwise take some time to move in a business this size and in this town. The internet gives scope to find that specific customer for that particular piece of equipment.
Matthew Johnson. (5)
Sixties Guitar Collection
A pair of ornaments or a full set of dining chairs always has greater value than the single divorced item. It’s similar with guitars. Historical significance and being in a collection adds interest and value. I had a collection of electric guitars representative of the type of thing young aspiring musicians of the Sixties would have coveted. Originally, they were not worth very much but sold as a historical collection to a London shop in the early Nineties, they went for £600: a considerable amount for what I regarded as a heap of junk not worth the effort of selling individually.
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