Guitar Archeology

I took Billy Gibbons across the street to meet his neighbor with the car for sale. Mister Gibbons had been camped at the Two Louies mansion for a few days and had noticed the little red 1960 Rambler parked across the street. I knew it had been for sale for over a year with an original asking price of $6,000. My neighbor was a bit stunned to be confronted on his porch by a pop star, but Billy made sure they hit it off and after a twenty-minute bargaining session Billy bought it for $1,500. This, after Billy explained that he intended to make the car famous. Mister Gibbons maintains a fully staffed automobile restoration facility in Los Angeles. He said he intended to jack up the little red Rambler and turn it into a 4 by 4 monster car. My neighbor, the ZZ Top fan, saw a chance to be part of rock auto history. The ZZ Top tour bus pulled up with a tow-bar attached and the little red Rambler headed off to a new life in the ZZ Fleet. A few months later I got a faxed invitation to a coming out party for the “Little Willy 4X4” in Los Angeles.

I was honored to be among the first to receive a Gold record from Tom Petty. “You’re Gonna Get It’ was Tom’s second album, but the first to go Gold. The first lp sold only 6,500 units in the first three months; the second went Gold in 60 days. It was a big deal. I liked Tom Petty and his Heartbreakers. They reminded me …of my Marine band buddies, the Mark V. Good ol’ southern rockers. In my experience as a player, southern musicians just seem to have a shade more soul, and like southern girls, they blossom early. The Heartbreakers were from Gainesville, Florida. Not the Florida where the Yankee tourists go, the central, rural, old south, Confederate-battleground, Florida. Gainesville is also the home of the University of Florida and a well-established music scene. We shared knowledge of southeastern rock radio and swapped stories of playing the college fraternity party circuit. Tom went to high school with, and took guitar lessons from, another of my Gibson artists, Don Felder of the Eagles. In 1974, Tom, guitarist Mike Campbell and keyboardist Benmont Tench, were signed by Denny Cordell to Leon Russell’s Shelter records as “Mudcrutch.” They moved to Hollywood to record, but no Mudcrutch product was ever released. Two years later Leon had left the label and Tom and the boys had become Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers. This relationship was unlike others in my earlier career. Where before, my knowledge of music publishing and production agreements fueled our friendship, these guys were already hip to the game, and not too happy about it. Shelter had been sold to MCA and they were claiming Tom owed them $575,000 in un-recouped advances, or another six albums. Tom responded by declaring bankruptcy, and in a compromise, agreed to record for the MCA subsidiary Backstreet Records. This wasn’t the last time Tom gave MCA Heartburn. In 1981the label announced a new “Superstar Pricing” structure adding a dollar to the normal $8.98 retail price. Tom balked and threatened to name the album “Eight Ninety-Eight”. The label gave in and the album was delivered to stores a month late. The pendulum was finally swinging the artist’s way and Tom Petty was at the forefront of the change.

I hadn’t seen John Entwistle since the Portland Memorial Coliseum gig in 1982. This was ’85, and I knew that since the Who had officially “disbanded” in ’83, John had been working on another solo album and a video instructional series for bass guitar. He traveled a lot and played the odd gig in the major metros of the world. Entwistle was an icon. He was welcomed everywhere and certainly to my house, although I knew his home had fifty-five rooms and thirteen bathrooms, I figured we’d pretend it was the old days and he and Moon had to bunk together, only this time, John lucked out and got his own room. To complete the Keith Moon vibe, I hid the bed and laid a futon down on the hardwood floor. Mister Entwistle was taken aback, but for just a moment, for old times sake. When the word got around that John was coming to town to hang out, my phone started ringing. The new owners of Sunn wanted to show John their new models, in my studio if possible. Sure, as long as John doesn’t have to drive anywhere. I had to think of things to do with John to both entertain him and make use of his celebrity for Portland’s music agenda. John attended some of the first Portland Music Association meetings, which only reinforced the groups’ feelings that as a music scene, we were now playing in the big leagues. John’s long history with Sunn made him especially qualified to vouch for Portland’s significant place in Rock & Roll. He said “Louie Louie” was bigger in the UK, than America. We rehearsed John and scheduled the meeting with the Mayor. Marv Mattis of BMI had already softened Bud up with visits to the Goose Hollow and glowing reports of Portland’s highly respected original music scene. John Entwistle would be the closer. It was a warm gathering in Mayor Clark’s office. Bud was up to speed on the Who and John’s relationship with Sunn and declared a “John Entwistle Day” in Portland. World Famous Pop Star visits Emerging Original Music Market. For those few moments, it was just like Nashville, the perfect blend of politics and show business.

I hadn’t played drums since sitting in with Billy Gibbons in Mexico years ago, but the request seemed simple enough. Play a simple drum track on a song demo for a friend in Los Angeles, Michael Jaye. Mike had a Masters in Journalism from USC and we had met at producer Charlie Greene’s office in Hollywood years before. Till now, Mike had been content to be a creative wonder boy in advertising. After his exposure to Charlie’s world he decided to turn his copywriting skills to songwriting and become a rock star via his new act, Tyrants In Therapy. Always willing to help, I agreed to fly in for the session. The drum kit was entire crap. Wobbly stands, funky foot pedal, crappy snare. Mike’s songwriting partner was about eight and a half months pregnant and would play the piano and sing. Mike introduced me to the bass player, who I noticed had driven up in a new Porsche. I was preoccupied with getting the drums set up and didn’t really catch his name but he was friendly and looked competent. We’re doing one song, how hard can it be? It was hard. Really hard, and I sucked big time. I couldn’t find the groove and the time eluded me. It was the worst musical experience in my entire life. It didn’t help that I hated the song. After way too many takes with me stinking up the joint Mike called it a day and joined us in the studio. The bass player was wrapping up his cord and Mike called us together. “Buck is the Gibson guy” says Mike. “Gibson guy?” says the bass player, whose name apparently is Kenny Gradney of that hugely popular Los Angeles band, Little Feat…Little Feat! I showed my musical ass to the bass player of Little Feat! Right now on the charts with the best live album ever, “Waiting For Columbus”, part of the rhythm section with not just one, but two great drummers, Richie Hayward and Sam Clayton? I had wimped out on tape in front of that guy? This was going to cost me, (or Gibson) big time. I pinned Kenny against the wall and informed him that, in exchange for keeping his mouth shut and not telling the music world, and especially Richie Hayward, about this recording session, he could be featured in a big Gibson advertising campaign and buried in instruments. Kenny knew the guitar gods were now smiling down upon him.

In the middle between Bob Moog and Les Paul. What sounded like a great idea in the conference room in New York didn’t make much sense on stage. Les Paul was from a different school. Bing Crosby did not require him to play that loud. That was my favorite Les Paul story, how he got the job playing for Bing. He waited in front of an elevator he knew Bing was on, and when the door opened Les let him have it with a flaming guitar solo. He got the job. There were others. Les Paul was history on the hoof. How the first tape recorders came to this country from Germany after the war, and how Bing Crosby got the patent. Every meal or meeting was a history lesson. I’m not sure how many times Les Paul and Bob Moog hung out, but in the half-dozen times I saw them they were hitting it out of the park on a variety of subjects. But the Lab Series guitar amplifier wasn’t destined to be one of their big winners. I don’t know how much actual input they had on the Lab Series but the end product met with little interest. The world had moved on to the big amplifiers like Marshall and this was a little amp, the kind a Jazz guy like Bruce Bolen, the Gibson clinician, would use. The high point for Lab Series visibility came in the highly promoted movie “Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” starring Peter Frampton and the Bee Gees doing Beatles material. What a great idea that sounded like. When rendered, it was quite possibly the worst musical on film, and you could tell that reading the script beforehand. I had wormed my way in through Peter Frampton who had just broken all album sales records with Frampton Comes Alive, pictured on the album cover with his Gibson Les Paul. Naturally, in the movie his character would want to play a Les Paul. He got several. George Burns was also a picker in the movie so we got him a Les Paul too. I became prop master Barry Bedig’s right hand man. Provided every musical instrument called for in the script. Before the introduction of “Product Placement.” All the cheesy Gibson S-1s and Mauraders, a Polymoog and rows and rows of Lab Series amplifiers and it didn’t cost Norlin a dime. In the months it took to shoot and edit the film I was able to mail still photographs of the set back to the Norlin brass. They thought I was on fire. Then the movie came out.

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