A Guitar Built By Michael Gurian

Sort of a slope shoulder Jumbo.

Michael Gurian and The 92nd Street Y

I was working as an assistant buyer for National Shirt Shops. It was 1969 or it was late 1969 on the way to a nearby 1970.  I was married and had been married for close to two years. I was 21. She was 21. We got married young. We got married, perhaps, too soon. There is no way to determine that. Back then in the pre-internet/Google/Search Engine/List Serv/email/smart ass phone age you found out about things by referencing a piece of paper. This piece of paper could take the form of a flyer which was a single sheet of paper or a sign or a newspaper of some sort. Sometimes you found out about things because someone told you. Sometimes you would pass a place and there would be a sign outside announcing something of some sort. Through the graces of one of these methods of archaic communication I found out about a course in guitar construction. It was to be taught by someone named Michael Gurian. At this point the Guitar cognoscenti reading this are supposed to say, “Ooooooo Michael Gurian!!!” (For those of you who are not saying Oooooooo please go to Google and Google his name.) Wait…I’ll make it easy….here:

http://www.vintagemandolin.com/gurian/gurian.html

The classes were taught at the 92^nd Street Y in Manhattan. That’s YMHA for clarity.  I remember the streets around the Y in the evening when I went to the classes. I remember the sun in the mornings when I traveled into the city from Long Island to take classes. I remember making the metal outline for the top of the guitar. I remember driving to the Bronx with Melissa next to me to purchase tools at Constantine on 2050 Eastchester Rd. I remember that day clearly. The quality of the bright sun and the green of the trees as we drove through some park. I can remember buying my planes and files.

She was so interested in what I was doing. It was fun. Around the same time I was offered a job at a company in semi-rural Pennsylvania. It was a great deal more money and it was near her Aunt and Grandmother who BOTH taught at Bryn Mawr College. I took the job and left the classes of Michael Gurian who went on to build wonderful, wonderful guitars. I still had the template for the guitar tops then. I had it for years but I don’t have it now. I don’t have the planes or the files. I also don’t have Melissa.  That was my wife’s name.

So now I collect guitars. I play guitars and, of course, I want to build guitars.  I wish I had finished the class. It might have altered my life profoundly. It would have. Not that I would time machine my way back there if I was science fictioned in some incomprehensible way. My life is good now, Really. But, still, I might have built some splendid guitars in my workshop with the trees in the backyard and a few kids and dogs and a stream I would hope and…well….and.

Who doesn't?

We all want to be something we imagine we might be. We try on the persona we desire and see if it fits and then play make believe as if we were five and a super hero of some sort flying through the air or defeating some extraordinary foe. When I got to Shimer College I came with a guitar and a vague political agenda. Having written lyrics for a music company for a very short time (and not having an iota of success with any of my partners) I thought of myself as...well.. sort of musical and protesty and intelligent and intellectual. After all I came from New York and had actually spent time in THE VILLAGE. I had heard Pete Seeger. I had heard Bruce Murdoch. I had heard Patrick Sky and The Simon Sisters. I had actually bought copies of Sing Out and Broadside. I even had the pleasure of dressing up in the same shirt as three other guys and making believe we were The Brothers Four or The Highwaymen or The Kingston Trio or somebody. I had even written the words and MUSIC to some songs that, honestly, were not all that good. So I showed in the The Middle of Nowhere, Illinois at what was then, arguably, the strangest college in the country. It is not that I was full of myself. But it was not as if I was empty either. I remember the first time I took the beloved Goya N-21 out of it's chocolate brown case and began to play something or other I had written. Someone, and I do not for the life of me remember who, came around to listen. I finished and said, "I wrote that. I write songs." He replied, "Who doesn't?" Boom. I recovered and the fella in the picture up there with the stinking stupid flower in his hair. (A FRIGGING FLOWER!!) is me making believe I was someone I wasn't but wanted to be for that moment when the camera shutter shuttered. I don't know where he went actually. He began to fade as time went on. Now I am not at all sure I remember him all that well. Of course I am still playing around with guitars. I still write songs but, hell, "Who doesn't?"

More About The Greco G-4

This is a description of the guitar I purchased.

"This guitar was not an entry-level guitar in its day – the Greco line was Goya’s mid-priced offering, hand-built in Yugoslavia by Old World craftsmen. This guitar sold for $69.50 in 1965, which translates to about $470.00 in today’s dollars. Grand concert sized, 12 frets to the body. PLEASE NOTE: This guitar needs a little TLC before it is ready to rock. It could really benefit from new tuners, as the stock tuners are of low quality, and are quite difficult to turn. The guitar could also use a setup. It does not appear to need a neck reset - but I’m by no means an expert on luthiery. The guitar does have an adjustable truss rod. That said, this is a really cool guitar. It’s got an alpine spruce top, maple back and sides, possibly a Brazilian rosewood fretboard (hard to tell if it’s Brazilian or Indian, but Braz was still in common use back in 1965), lacquer finish, celluloid pickguard, nicely aged binding on the top and back, and a nice medium chunky neck that is very comfortable to play."

The Greco G-4

It is pretty isn't it?

Changing Strings

This weekend I restrung four guitars. I also oiled the two satin finish guitars and cleaned polished the the other two. The two satin finish guitars were my Guild DCE-1 and the Goya N21. The remaining two were my Madeira A-9 and my Greco....????. Oi. I can't remember the model of the Greco. Small body. Fifteen inch lower bout and shallow. A beautiful sunburst finish though. A wonderful tan going to a brown without any hint of red. I discovered, in the activity, that this is one of the few activities in my life that is timeless. It is almost meditative in that the activity flows in and of itself without relevance to events around it. In addition, in the midst of the activity, I forgot about how badly I was feeling physically. It doesn't matter what was causing the discomfort. Nothing terminal....I think. The ritual aspect of the process became absorbing. The placing of the guitar on my work table. The neck resting in the saddle I made from plastic foam and covered in soft rubber webbing and then covered again in toweling. Then the removal of the strings with the power winder in which I had placed four new AA batteries. After that the cleaning and oiling or polishing. Buffing is next and then the inspection and, in most cases, rebuffing the guitar, Oiling the fretboard and the bridge with a medical swab I had swiped from Dr. Williams' office the last time I went for a blood test. Wiping the excess oil off with a tissue.Next is the opening of the box of new strings after, of course, reading the blurbs on the outside and reconsidering the gauge I had chosen. This weekend I had decided to increase the gauges staring with 1E at 12mm. I was hoping for a firm feel in the picking and the chording and, perhaps, a bigger sound. I used Dean Markley Helix strings for the first time. There is the opening of the envelope that holds the string and, in my case, the shaking of the coiled wire so that it pops open.  Then the placing of the string in the bridge hole and the insertion of the pin in its correct position. Aiming the string in the stem hole on the tuner and carefully using the power winder to tighten the string using one finger to hold the pin in as I do it. Then the hand tightening and tuning and then tuning again as the strings stretch and then tuning them again and again as the strings settle in. After that is the marvelous moment, one hopes, of some sound that causes a momentary elimination of the rest of the world. Just the sound and me. Just the sound and me. Yesterday was a triumph. Well, mostly a triumph, the 6E on the Greco is a wee bit thumpy but I believe it is the guitar itself. The last guitar I worked on was the Madeira A-9 and after it was done and tuned and strummed I looked at it and was transported to a place of transcendent joy, I propped it up on it's bottom on the workbench and leaned it against the wall and then stepped back. It was exquisite. It was beautiful. So very beautiful. I went downstairs and brought Beth up and asked her to look at it and see how beautiful it was. She agreed. Tonight, when I get home, I am going to play the four them sequentially in the same order that I restrung them. I look forward to it with great and loving anticipation.