Gear Acquisition Timeline (GAT)

Now that I have reduced the number of guitars to just three here in the Short Punks house, Pearl has suggested I create a great archive. I think of this as my Dickens-like holiday review of guitars past. Do I miss any of these? Not really. They served a purpose and marked certain periods in my life and when those times were done, the guitars and I had to move on. I have photos of most of these instruments so I may add illustrations as I find them. Unfortunately there is no existing picture of my Mickey Mouse guitar. I'm sure it will look much better in your imagination than it did in real-life...let's see, where shall we begin...?

1990...The Mickey Mouse guitar. After listening closely to Lou Reed, Paul Westerberg, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, and The Edge, I found I had the urge to learn guitar. My parents took me to a Toys-R-Us on Cape Cod (we were on vacation) and I found a plastic toy with plastic strings and a chord sheet. I learned all my cowboy chords on this guitar.

Christmas 1990...an Applause student-model acoustic guitar my mom found for me at T.C.'s Pawn and Gun in Waterbury. I played this guitar for years, did a lot of gigs with it, wrote a lot of songs. I think my mom gave it to my cousin, so it's got a good home.

Spring 1991...fake Les Paul from T.C.'s Pawn and Gun. This guitar looked kind of like a Les Paul, Jr., which some kid had assembled in shop class. It had cardboard shims in the neck and a horrible wiring job. On the plus side, it was easy to play, had two great humbuckers (which had been sabotaged by the faulty wiring), and a brass nut. I think my cousin has this one, two, or it's been recycled and gone back to the earth which spawned it.

Winter 1991...a Grand Prix Telecaster. I bought this for $75 at Blue Mountain Guitar in West Lebanon, New Hampshire. Within a week the nut had fallen off the neck and I tried to repair the guitar with super-glue. It never stayed in tune and had a pointy head-stock, so it was the unholy union of amber-colored Tele body with a hair-metal neck. I pawned it at T.C.'s for my next instrument...

Winter 1993...a Peavey Fury bass. In the fall of 1992 I joined my first band. I couldn't get very far with my Grand Prix guitar and Matrix amp (sort of like a Gorilla practice amp without the fake "tube" overdrive), so I rented a bass and bass amp and, within twenty-four hours, I was a bass player. I needed a bass for my first gigs in early 1993 and ended up back at T.C.'s trading my barely-playable Grand Prix for a Peavey Fury with a warped neck. I used a shoelace to keep the A-string intonated. A small family of trolls could have lived in the huge gap between the strings and the fretboard. A few years later I asked Duke (dukeplaysbass.com) to fix the neck. His response? "Nice log. You got a fireplace to go with it?"

Winter '92/'93...Fender Squire Stratocaster. Made in Korea. Great neck, comfortable body. This was my first playable guitar. I got it for Christmas, but the day my dad came up to Dartmouth to take me home for the break, I had a massive hangover. Having never gotten drunk before, especially on cheap red wine of all things, I was afraid my parents would take the guitar back to Blue Mountain. When we got back to Connecticut that evening I tried playing it but I still pretty toasted.

I will add details to the next set of guitars as soon as I get back from Christmas shopping...

Summer 1994...Rickenbacker 335 from Banko's Music in Ansonia, CT. I traded this in at Blue Note Guitars in Northampton, Mass., in 2004 just before Pearl and I moved to Louisiana.

Fall 1994...Yamaha 12-string acoustic from--you guessed it--T.C.'s Pawn and Gun.

Fall 1996...Gibson Les Paul Studio from Banko's Music in Ansonia, CT.

Summer 1998...Fender Tex-Mex Telecaster from Lasalle Music in East Hartford, CT.

Summer 1999...Martin D-15 acoustic from Banko's.

Spring 2000...Danelectro reissue Longhorn bass from Banko's.

Summer 2000...Rickenbacker 335 12-string from Banko's.

Fall 2000...Fender reissue '62 Jazzmaster from Lasalle's Music.

Spring 2005...the Great Gear Sell-Off! Green Ibanez bass from some little shop in Baton Rouge, LA.

Spring 2005...A red MIM Fender Stratocaster from C & M Music in Baton Rouge.

Spring 2005...G & L L-2000 Tribute Bass from Fat Katz Music in Baton Rouge.

Spring 2005...Fender American Jazz Bass from Fat Katz in Baton Rouge.

Summer 2005...Used MIM green Fender Stratocaster from the Old Town School of Folk Music garage sale.

Fall 2005...Martin SWOMGT acoustic from Old Town.

Winter 2006...MIM Fender Precision Bass from Guitar Works, Ltd., in Evanston, IL.

Spring 2006...MIM Fender ash-body Telecaster..from Guitar Center (say it ain't so!).

Summer 2006...G&L L-2000 bass from some little shop in the Chicago suburbs.

Fall 2006...Ibanex Artstar hollowbody from The Music Shop on Irving Park Road in Chicago.

Winter 2006...gold MIM anniversary Stratocaster from Guitar Works in Evanston.

Winter 2007...Reverend Flatroc from Ax in Hand in Schaumburg, IL.

Spring 2007...Reverend Charger from Ax in Hand.

Summer 2007...Reverend Buckshot from Ax in Hand.

Summer 2007...MIM purple Fender Standard Stratocaster.

Fall 2007...Gibson Les Paul Studio Vintage Mahogany from Fat Tone Guitars in Northbrook, IL.

Fall 2007...Fender American Telecaster from Midwest Buy & Sell in Chicago.

Only THREE of these guitars remain. If you can correctly guess which three, I will buy you the Mountain or Hawkwind album of your choice! Have at it!

The Newest Member

It's official -- SPiL has added a member to the band.

His name is a Jackson. A 2 pound Velveteen Lop. In two days he's already proven that he considers himself an integral member of the band: he peed on Brian's amp.

Finally, I'm not the only critic in the band.

Look for more pics of Jackson in the coming weeks.

The Feet

If you've never seen us play live then you've never seen one of the more unusual elements of Brian's set-up when he plays. Aside from the two amps (Peavey and Crate), aside from the pedal board with the boutique pedals, and aside from the two Reverend guitars, Brian also brings his own little blue rug to play on and he plays barefoot.

I began to realize this was unusual when I would get our digital camera back from people who I would ask to take pics for us at shows. Invariably there would be several shots of Brian's feet, naked as the day he was born, on his blue rug.

The bare feet have become so commonplace for us that we don't even notice it anymore. But others notice because here is a guy, shredding on his guitar, playing barefoot on a blue rug.

"Why is that so strange?" Brian asked one night after a show.
"Because the last time anyone did that it was 1967."
"Oh yeah." He eats a spoonful of cereal. "No wait. The guy In Living Color sang barefoot."
"Who's going to remember that?"

And so here's Brian's feet next his pedal board. Why the bare feet?
"I want to feel like I'm in my living room."
It's true. On stage he looks exactly as he does when he's in our living room. He sits on the floor in front of the TV, an amp next to him, the pedal board in front of him and he plays.
"See? It's just like when I'm at home."
So, this is probably why we're not cool. If you see us in a club, we act like we're at home. We're not 'rock stars' -- we're people who should be playing music at home but we're playing outside.

In Chalk

Both of us write with chalk all the time. We're teachers. Chalk is an occupational hazard. Five days a week, Brian and I come home with white, chalky patches on our clothes. Some days I see a whole hand print of chalk on his pants from where he rested his own hand. Meanwhile, I've spent whole afternoons with a white smudge mark on my chin. A woman in a store once pointed it out to me when I was waiting to check out.
"You have something on your face," she said.
"Oh God..." I said. Then I when I saw the white residue on my hands, I added "I'm a teacher," and smiled weakly.

But on Saturday, for the first time in years, I was happy to see chalk.

So, here it is everyone, Short Punks (minus "the Love") in chalk.

Chicago Guitar Show Gear Hunt, pt. 2

Since there's been such a huge demand from folks wanting to know what I found at the Chicago Guitar Show (which was in St. Charles, not in Chicago) a couple of weeks ago, I thought I should provide an update. So, here goes! You'll see a photo of some of the items I stumbled across. Let's start with the basic stuff first and work our way up:

To the left, you'll see an old Digitech Digiverb. As best I can tell it's one of the American made ones. Whoever owned it before me removed the screws from the bottom plate and forgot to replace them and also lost the original label with the serial number. However, it has a great spring reverb sound, and I'm also a fan of the reverse reverb setting for those moments when I want to imitate Robert Plant's vocal wails or, better yet, My Bloody Valentine's patented skronk. To honor its DOD ancestors, the switch doesn't always work! Those of you who owned DOD pedals bought from the local pawnshop in the late '80s and early '90s will know exactly what I'm talking about. Oh, in case you don't know about the skronk, let Lester Bangs teach you here.

Next up we have some fine reading material from the late jazz guitar genius and teacher Ted Greene: Chord Chemistry and Single Note Solos, vol. 1 (www.tedgreene.com). For those of you who thought I used weird chords before, things are about to get even stranger (and if you haven't heard Ted's version of "Danny Boy" from his album Solo Guitar, you should download it right now!).

I also finally tracked down a DVD copy of Jim Weider's Get That Classic Fender Sound. Many of you will know Weider as the guitarist in The Band in the '80s and from his group The Honky Tonk Gurus (Jim's site is here: www.jimweider.com). Here's a clip from the DVD you can watch on You Tube...Jim shows you cool gear and then teaches you how to play it:

Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Robbie's "Mystery Train" Lick but Were Afraid to Ask

Jim's one of my favorite guitar players and I've learned a lot from his teaching and playing styles. You will too--watch the clip!

And now we have come to the two most important finds at the show. Let me start with the vintage 1980 BOSS DS-1 Distortion pedal. Was it made in Japan? Yes. Does it have that TONE? Absolutely. Does it have a silver thumb screw? You know it. And did I get it in trade? Of course. Pearl's response to it: "Don't you have one already?" Yes, I said, but not a made-in-Japan 1980 silver-screw model. She conceded later that it sounded "pretty warm."

Now, this last item hasn't arrived yet...I've decided to trade my Reverend Flatroc for it, and this new guitar should appear sometime before Christmas thanks to the wonderful folks at Ax in Hand (www.axinhand.com), our favorite guitar shop in Schaumburg. I won't say any more. I will let you follow this link and look at its majesty. And, yes, they finally put a decent bridge on it so it will stay in tune. Pearl likes the purple/gold color combination:

The Purple and Gold Rock Monster

That's it. Now let me get back to my preparations for the Van Halen reunion show coming up at the United Center in a couple of weeks. They better play "Hang 'em High."

GEAR ALERT: The Chicago Guitar Show

This post isn't about gear. Chick Drummer knows next to nothing about guitar gear. This is post is about Brian, who loves guitar gear. And this post is about how happy shopping for guitar gear makes him.

Today was the second day of the Chicago Guitar Show in St. Charles, Illinois. Like a kid on Christmas morning, Brian kept waking in the middle of the night "Is it time to go to the Guitar Show?" At 7:00 AM he gave into anticipation and got up to wait the hour or so until he could drive to the show, an hour away. At 9:00 AM he set off for the show, a canvas bag full of pedals in tow. "For trade," he said, as he kissed me good-bye.

At 12:00 PM he called me from the parking lot. Breathless, like a kid fresh from the toy store, he told me all the things he bought and traded. Alas, for you gear-heads, I don't remember any of the gear. I remember the framed picture of Ricky Nelson and James Burton. I remember an orange Boss pedal, "silver screw," he said. And there were more pedals. He pulled them out of his canvas bag when he came home like he was the Santa Claus and not the kid. In elaborate detail (which I cannot recall) he gave me their history and their vintage.

If you're interested in knowing what they are, then you should pester Brian in the comments to send pictures and descriptions. He's proud of every one of them.

Right now, he's gone to a gig. The new pedals safely clipped into his Boss pedal board, waiting to be debuted in Brian's solo set (sans Chick Drummer, alas).

So there has been a gear acquisition and like a good cliff hanger, you will have to keep tuning in to find out what he purchased or traded. Oh, and in case you're wondering... he got a guitar, too.

Can't Wait John Waite

It is a little known secret of Short Punks that all of the songs can be broken down into three major influences: Paul Westerberg, Lou Reed, and....Rick Springfield.

Brian's unabashed, unapologetic, completely sincere admiration of mid-80's top forty hits means that on any given night we can be found at a state fair, municipal civic center, or small club waiting for an 80s pop star to relive his or her glory. It could be The Fixx or Van Halen or Rick Springfield. If the artist is now or was at any time featured on a K-Tel album then Brian's gone to hear it.

So last night we were at the Schaumburg September Fest swatting mosquitoes from our our ankles while we waited for John Waite to take the stage. The only song of his you probably remember if you watched MTV in the mid-80s is "Missing You." And along with a couple hundred people lounging on blankets and tarps with beers and barbecue chicken, Brian and I waited for John Waite. It was a cool and pleasant summer night. The tilt-a-whirl swung back and forth in the amusement park behind the stage and there was the distinct smell of cotton candy and popcorn in the air as we threaded our way through crowds of high school students in their last night of summer glory before the end of Labor Day Weekend.

"I feel like I'm on hall duty again." Brian said as we walked past mobs of teen-agers.
I didn't respond as I looked for the food vendors. I didn't eat dinner and the idea of a bratwurst with mustard was appealing to me.

The field in front of the stage was covered with blue tarps and blankets. Whole groups of people had staked out their five by five foot square with coolers and chairs. Brian and I stood at the edge of the field, holding hands.
"Where are we going to sit?" I asked. We came spontaneously and brought no blankets or chairs.
"I don't know."
To our right I saw a path of green, the last bit of grass showing through the blankets.
"Let's go that way." I pointed.
We stepped over bottles and plates of half-eaten chicken and made our way to the front of the stage.
We found a spot in a crowd standing up front. The stage was bigger than I thought it would be and the front was roped off for VIPs and technical crew.
"So what's the appeal of John Waite for you?" I asked.
"He's awe-some!" Brian said. "I like the stuff he did with The Babys but his last solo album was really good too."
"Okay." I said. Brian continued talking. He described John Waite's early bands, his solo projects, his favorite songs, and I half-listened. I was hungry. The show was due to start in15 minutes.
"I have to go to the bathroom. And I have to eat." I said.
Brian stopped mid-lecture. I have this way of interfering with his flights of fancy that brings him slamming back to earth. Brian often forgets he's hungry, sleepy, or that he has to pee. When music is involved he goes to some other world and he forgets that he's not made of ether. I, on the other hand, always remember that I need to eat.
"I'm hungry." I repeated.
"Do you want me to come with you?" He asked.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Just wait here."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure."
I threaded my way back through the field towards the amusement rides looking for food.
After twenty minutes I came back, a box of popcorn in my hand.
"That's what you got?" Brian asked.
"I only had three dollars." I shrugged.
"Why didn't you say so. I had money."
"Don't worry about it." I licked salt from my lips. "This is good."
And it was good. Standing in line in front of a brightly lit booth swathed in the smell of cotton candy and corn dogs, I was swept back to childhood. I was ten years-old again clutching a dollar bill waiting to buy a caramel apple at the annual carnival in Mt. Morris, New York. If I had money left over, I thought, I was going to try and win a gold fish from the booth where you toss ping pong balls into fish bowls. But carnival games are more expensive than they used to be and there wasn't any change.
John Waite's opener was a the crowning of Miss Schaumburg. A row of giggling girls in burgundy prom dresses stood on stage. I missed the crowning while I was getting popcorn, but I passed them on the way back. They clutched roses and beneath their dresses they wore flip-flops.

It may be hard to imagine, but John Waite can rock. He's got a strong voice reminiscent of 80's anthem singers like Steve Perry and he has good sense of how to push a song with his vocals.
And the band rocked. All solid session musicians with a sense of precision that I could never imagine having myself.
When Brian and I are at a show together, listening to a musician, it's not unlike when we're on-stage playing with each other. I know what he's thinking when he's listening. So conversation has a half-spoken quality, as if you were only hearing one side of it.
"You could do that." I say as the guitarist plays riff.
"Yeah that could work in the new song. And you should do that..." He says.
The drummer just ended with a big tom fill.
"I suck at the big toms. Not fast enough."
"You'll get there."
"How about that?" I say.
The bass player had just played a descending line.
"I do that already."
"Oh yeah."
And then there was a big guitar solo. I laughed out loud. Brian smiled. There's something about those big guitar shredding solos that make me laugh. Brian loves 'em. Every note of them.
"Why don't you do a solo like that?' I ask.
"I couldn't if I tried."
John sang for another hour. Brian watched every movement of each musician.
At the next rehearsal I know what to expect. He'll play 80s sounding guitar lines and he'll expect me to punctuate them like an 80s rock drummer. I'll try, but fail, and then Brian will get bored with major chords and throw in suspended ones and before we know it we'll sound like Short Punks again.
John had one encore. A Zeppelin tune. And he rocked it. The band rocked it. The crowd exploded.
"I wished they had played Zeppelin all night." Brian said as we were leaving.
"I'm sure they wished they could have done that too.""
The fireworks had begun and the night sky exploded into red, green, and purple blooms.
We drove through empty suburban streets and down the interstate back to the city. We skipped rehearsal to go to the show, but in a lot of ways, it was better than rehearsing. If it wasn't for Brian I wouldn't explore musicians outside of my narrow interests of jazz and blues and if I didn't hear guys like John Waite and his band, I would have fewer ideas to work with.
For Brian it's a lot simpler than that -- pop songs make him happy.