I. Golden Eras
Natural instruments were favored by musicians who appreciated the vintage, or “golden,” eras of instrument makers, as well as the interplay of earth elements (wood, steel, ivory, brass, tortoise shell, abalone, gut) in the craftsmanship of the guitars. As a player, I favored the pre-war, vintage Martin guitars of the 1930’s, although I enjoyed many guitars before (Gibson, Fender, Martin). Strangely, I had a coincidental part to play in the resurgence of “new” vintage Martins, unbeknownst to the Martin company in Nazareth, Pennsylvania.
II. Humpbacks
The original, vintage Martins were very expensive in terms of the costs of today. Most were flawed due to changing ownership over a number of years, not to mention neglect and age. As was my custom, I was sampling guitars in a music store. I played a vintage Fender electric, strange for me as I played mostly acoustic guitar. The Fender was fitted with a V-neck, which was not planed, or rounded, for ease and comfort and faster playing. The humpback had slower action (string to fretboard separation), which most modern players did not desire.
I was working on my first song cycle about the humpbacked flute player, Kokopelli. The Fender V-neck was a humpbacked neck, I reasoned. Then, I discovered vintage era Martins specifically were “humpbacks,” according to the specs available. No “vintage” Martins, however, were being built in 1994. The closest model was a custom guitar, the C-15, which sported a few golden era specifications, including the humpback. By the time I received this guitar, a new official vintage line had begun. Thus, the C-15 became the HD28-VR, the vintage (HD) dreadnaught in rosewood.
So it went for acoustic history. The point was love of the natural instrument, its craftmanship and sound, and the interplay of earth elements. They gave the player, in a sense, a relationship with the instrument’s soul. And, if you believed me, the V-neck also has a different, deeper sound.
III. El Sombrero
My vintage Martins have communicated this truth to me often. With the HD28-VR mentioned above, I did not open its case to play the guitar for a few weeks after bringing it home. It sat in its case on the floor of my room while I waited for a sign to play it. One sunny afternoon, I was talking to my wife and my son when I interrupted the conversation because I heard the name of the guitar. It was not a literal, spoken voice, that is, a hallucination. It was more an impulse of thought or telepathic, mind communication, not unlike text or e-mail on mobile devices.
The “voice” said, “Sombrero.” When I asked it to repeat its name, it again said, “Sombrero.” Thus, El Sombrero was born. My other guitars yielded their identities in time: my first Martin custom twelve-string, in maple with a slotted "folk" headstock, was a D18-12VMS, known as “Starbeard,” or “Stars Be Oared." My second Martin custom twelve-string in rosewood, an HD28-12VRS, was named “Sea Bear,” or “Salmonberry;” and my vintage practice Martin, a 000-28VS, noticeable for having no pickguard, was christened, “Sagebrush.”
IV. A Family of Guitars...and One Piano
El Sombrero, “the Hat,” carried the water for the group. It was the old soul watching over the rest of the misbehavers, especially the two twelve strings, Starbeard and Salmonberry, who liked to show off in recording and/or performance situations, often going haywire with twelve string-tuning craziness. The shy, more diminutive Sagebrush, worked with me as a writing guitar, as well as the guitar to pack in a gig bag for adventures on foot.
Curiously, the four guitars shared the same major letters, “S” and “B” in their names. They reflected the Martin energy of the first four song cycles: El Sombrero was well-matched with "The Song of Kokopelli," Starbeard likewise with "The North Atlantic Graveyard," Salmonberry with "The Land Bridge of Bering Strait" and Sagebrush with "The Wedding of Squash Blossom."
While pianos featured a harp of steel strings in a cabinet of wood, they were not really guitars, in shape or substance, obviously. My piano, an old, five-foot baby grand, manufactured by Knabe, was named “Yosemite,” after another dream where I found him in an antique store. The owner referred to him by this name when I indicated my interest in him. A singer's instrument, Yosemite had been one of "the official piano(s) for the Metropolitan Opera, which started in 1926."
