Guitar Archeology

I had to admit, Norlin had a great idea. Get Bob Moog and Les Paul together and come up with a musical instrument amplifier for the new age. Sounded good. The first corporate consideration was a name. “Gibson Amplifier” already had a funky reputation among the players. Gibson had never made an acceptable Rock unit. It had to be all new. I flew to Texas with some prototypes to show Billy Gibbons. Our friendship began in ’69 when Jimi Hendrix gave Billy his old Sunn amplifiers. I could testify to Jimi’s endorsement of the young Gibbons. I tracked Billy down early on the Gibson job because he owned one of the most famous Les Paul’s in the business. “Miz Pearly,” as in Pearly Gates or the sound you hear in heaven. It was the guitar he held in every picture. Billy was the most loyal of Gibson players, and a natural to help launch an amplifier line. ZZ had just released their fifth album on Warner Brothers and were already known as a relentless touring act, building a reputation and record sales around the world. Billy thinks big. I flew into San Antonio with engineer Roger Cox, an old friend from the Sunn days when he was with Ampeg, now Norlin’s amp wizard. We were met by two Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, or ZZ Top’s version thereof, who insisted on carrying our bags to the curb and the cherry red, w/white top 1956 Cadillac convertible with Mister Gibbons behind the wheel. He handed us cowboy hats and explained different parts of the country had different “rolls” and cowboys could tell where a dude was from by his roll. We were in Texas now. We then took a four hour drive to South Padre Island where Billy’s vacation house “Big Pink” was located right on the beach. Another brace of cheerleaders met us at the house, unloaded the car, turned on the lights and the stereo, excused themselves and disappeared. Mister Gibbons knows how to entertain. For the next three days we fished and drove to a small Mexican restaurant across the border that had live music, where the second night Mister Gibbons announced he and I would be sitting in, and we did, and for those three burnin’ songs I contemplated a comeback as a musician.

I finally had a unique instrument to work with. Since John Entwistle had almost single-handedly introduced the Alembic bass to the music business, Norlin thought he would be the perfect player to evaluate the Gibson RD 77 active-electronics bass. Could we talk to him? Actually, I couldn’t wait to get him involved. It wasn’t about the free instruments. At that point in his career he had a truck full. It was more about the exposure. Gibson has a huge advertising and promotion budget. They can put your face in music stores across the world. They can put your name on an instrument that will live on way past your record contract. This wasn’t a Who deal, this was a John Entwistle deal, and as far as I was concerned, payback for all the things he’d done for me. Like every other picker on the planet, John grew up with a Gibson catalog under his pillow, and now he would be one of those faces staring out from the pages. John and I flew into Chicago and met an assembled platoon of Gibson managers and Norlin brass from New York. It was a strange meeting of cultures. Norlin’s musician-guitarist-expert on the payroll was Bruce Bolen, a Chicago Jazz guitarist looking for his first record deal. Bruce wore the plaid pants, wide lapels and ugly tie and tried to be one of the corporate guys. It was obvious that all the managers knew about the Who and the legendary tales of destruction. They were visibly surprised that Entwistle was such a soft-spoken gentleman. During John’s tour of the offices, people hung back in awe as if waiting for the pyrotechnic finale. By dinnertime John had the group eating out of the palm of his hand. They hung on every thickly English accented word. At dinner we sat next to each other at the table with half-a-dozen other corporate heavies. Toward the end of the meal, John reached out and picked up an expended wine bottle. “Do you know why they leave this little bit of wine in the bottom of the bottle?” John asked. No one knew. “Because of the sediment” he said, illuminating the bottom of the bottle with the table candle. “Oohs”, and “Aahs”. John put the bottle down and returned to his desert. The waiter walked up to the table, picked up the wine bottle and poured the dregs into John’s glass. “Anyone care for any more wine”? John turned to me, lowered his head and gave me “the look” over the top of his glasses.

I finally found an artist to endorse the Gibson S-1 (Strat copy). Ronnie Wood had paid his dues with Rod Stewart in the Small Faces and now he was joining the Rolling Stones. He wanted his friends to know about his promotion, and what better way than a high profile advertising campaign by Gibson? I was telling the photographer not to print any pictures showing Mr. Wood playing through the Fender amplifier.

In the 70’s the Gibson guitars artist relations office was operated out of Buck Munger’s home basement recording studio in northeast Portland, Oregon. When the first half-inch video cameras hit the market Buck grabbed one and started shooting low key back stage interviews with Gibson artists directed at the plant workers and field reps to boost morale and increase sales. This is an intro to the first Artist Relations field tape. Buck introduces a trashed Les Paul given to him backstage by Pete Townshend. The guitar was destroyed by Pete because he discovered it had a faulty neck. When he became convinced that something was wrong he bashed it against the wall and indeed the center core of the neck was rotted. So he told Alan Rogan the roadie to save it for that guy from Gibson. In this video Buck also touts the Bo Diddley “Mark Series” model acoustic. In truth, at the time, the Mark Series acoustics were the first costly boondoggle by Gibson’s new owners the Norlin Corporation, having spent thousands to develop a whole new bridge concept outside the Gibson design team. Unfortunately, also outside the design team they added a plastic ring around the guitar’s sound hole, which instantly turned off the players and killed sales. Munger picked up the little square guitar in the office of Gibson’s Kalamazoo plant while visiting the factory with John Entwistle of the Who. After walking through the factory collecting instruments Entwistle were invited into Carl’s office. A row of unfinished prototype instruments lined the wall. One instrument stood out. A little square guitar with the new Mark Series bridge. What in the heck is this. “Oh that, says Carl. The New York Norlin guys discovered Ovation guitars (with a plastic back) and they instructed us to build them a prototype so they could evaluate the acoustical properties of plastic.” “I could see Carl was not comfortable telling this story, says Buck, these were his corporate bosses he was talking about and I was the corporate Artist Relations guy.” “Carl said he looked all over for something plastic like the back of a guitar and all he could come up with was this refrigerator vegetable drawer.” So the Gibson craftsmen, who had established the baseline for excellence in the guitar building business were forced to build a guitar on a refrigerator drawer. “I asked for it, and after all the Entwistle freebies I guess Carl was glad to get rid of it.”

WATCH THE VIDEO HERE

Buck Munger w/ Pete Townshend\’s Guitar 1975

HOUSTON FEARLESS

I was now living the Large life. Handling talent, hanging with popstars and having my phone calls returned. My associations with Hendrix and the Who generated a multitude of opportunities to roll the musical dice and I knew I’d never get a better place at the table. With producers like Dave Hassinger (Stones), Terry Melc…her (Byrds) and Charlie Greene (Springfield) in and out of the Sunn office I had a variety of role models: Hassinger, the engineer, Doris Day’s golden son Terry and Charlie Greene, king of the street. Charlie was still basking in the glow of the Iron Butterfly, which had ushered in a whole new bag and generated so many sales that the RIAA had to create a new album award, called a “Platinum” record. Labels were throwing money at Charlie for acts and he was scrambling to find talent to fill the demand. The current LA Sunn demo band was a strong four-piece of nice young kids. Lead guitar, bass, drums and screaming Hammond B-3. (Vanilla Fudge meets the Grateful Dead). Bob Wall, the guitarist, sang lead and wrote most of the material, Harley Baker the organist was the volume hog, wild man, Joel Krasomil was Entwistle-steady and the band’s glue and the drummer Bill Combest played hard and looked exactly like Paul McCartney. Another set of Sinatra-lawyer management contracts and I was back in business. I shopped them to Charlie Greene who got them an album deal with Imperial. I would produce the album for Charlie’s York-Pala Productions in exchange for publishing. For the single we would cover a UK hit, “Race With The Devil.” I changed the named of the band to Houston Fearless, which came from a movie camera tripod manufacturer in west LA located right across the street from the Warehouse 9. Every night when I left the club with the Stillwaters, and drove past the sign, I thought what a great name for a band. Sunn had big plans for Houston Fearless. I reached out to the Hammond organ and Slingerland drum companies, pitched them my program and got them to agree to an endorsement deal with advertising, and tour support. A free organ and three sets of drums, and more importantly, two national advertising campaigns.

Here are a couple more Fender Custom color guitars.  A Lake Placid Blue Precision Bass and a Sonic Blue Stratocaster.

1961 Fender Stratocaster Sonic Blue

Dupont Number: Duco 2295
Model Year: 1956 Cadillac
Years Fender Used it: 1960 – 1972

1965 Fender Precision Bass in Lake Placid Blue

Dupont Number: Lucite 2876-L
Model Year: 58 Cadillac
Years Fender Used it: 60-73

Here is one I picked up a few years ago.  Jimmy Page’s Original Orange Matamp Serial # OR 264. This one is rated at 200 Watts !

Jimmy Page's Orange Matamp

Jimmy Page's Orange Matamp Serial # OR264

Jimmy Page's Orange Matamp Serial # OR 264