CONFESSIONS OF A LUTHIER ...
If guitars could talk, I’m certain the instrument laying across my bench would recount innumerable tales of late night rock ’n’ roll excess and halfremembered gigs. One can imagine the countless ballads accompanied in smoke-filled folk clubs, or hear thrashed powerchords on a sweaty open mic night. The corrugated surface of the cedar top was worn away beyond the finish long ago, scarred by the relentless attack of plectrums and fingernails digging into the soft timber. This instrument is an icon and celebration of the power and energy of live music.
Unfortunately, though, it has strummed its swan song. A long split along the treble side of the soundboard creaks open as the strings are detuned. A gnarled nut falls off the guitar in a couple of pieces, and the splintered headstock yawns open like the jaws of some dying animal.