Ain't Bad for a Pink (37 page)

The mother wiped tears from her eyes and they both went off to their empty car which waited across the road. The poignancy of the situation had everyone in tears. I can listen but how do you help people who have lost someone? I usually say that crying helps.

Not every encounter is emotionally demanding. Performers come into the shop with travelling tales and we swap musical anecdotes and sometimes compliments. A type of transaction I really enjoy is when I can use my musical knowledge to solve problems. A lady wanted to buy a banjo for her son. Hers was a musical family: she played guitar and sang gospel but she was a bit anxious about being able to help him with a banjo and this was what he wanted. I showed her a six string banjo: a surprisingly large and round object, two-tiered and with a chalky skin. It was a Remo Weather King Banjo head made only in the USA. I thought this would be the compromise between a guitar and the conventional banjo. The son could then go either way: to the guitar or the five string banjo. I reassured the lady that she would be able to help him, since it was open tuned and she could play guitar. She left a deposit, told me she was delighted to have met me and promised to be back. A mutually positive experience.

I’ve noticed that things can be a bit bizarre at times: nothing to do with madness or alcohol or musical high spirits. There’s a different kind of surreal strangeness I can’t explain. Fairies with pink organza wings at the window the same moment a bus with “SNAKES ON A PLANE” on it sailed past, for example.

One August day, Bob “The Builder” brought in some partially renovated guitars for me to complete or re-contract but that is not the most interesting thing. He had also brought a selection of fossils for me to show to my father-in-law. Each item in the collection was individually wrapped and labelled and incongruously stuffed inside a briefcase complete with combination lock. A briefcase full of stardust.

The same summer – picture the scene: the shop is dominated by a guitar case containing a new-looking bass guitar, open on the floor, like a coffin. Myself and several lads are standing round it, like mourners. Apparently the pick-up has fallen out. There’s a gig tomorrow and the earliest I can give it any attention is Thursday. They ask if I can hire out a bass guitar. No I can’t. Do I know of anyone that can? No I don’t. The sick bass guitar: a reissue of a 1950s Fender Precision – £500 new – is beyond immediate help. There’s a defeated, hopeless atmosphere about the place and particularly around the defunct guitar. The chief mourners: The Designs, from Winsford, slowly close the case, pick it up and file out in silence.

A couple of minutes later there’s a cheery face at the door and a man of medium build in a black suit and black tie enters soundlessly. He has what can only be described as a habitual smile. He is softly spoken with a Welsh accent and it turns out he needs a Mini Studio to put his guitar through. I’m always happy to serve this regular customer – it pays to keep in with the local undertaker!

I had a battered speaker that had seen a lot of mayhem. It had the dust of a thousand gigs on it and was more grey than black, scrawped down the sides and where the wood showed through you could see that good quality plywood had been used. At this point in my observations Jo Elensky came in: a man with a clipped, brisk, manner and an active mind; on the move all the time and nobody’s fool.

“Need a bass guitar, Pete – cheap – for a beginner. No – he might need something a bit more styley. I know this is the current vogue. I think he wants something a bit more rock – he’s a beginner. Got anything else coming in?”

“You want something about a hundred quid?” I made a phone call while Joe paced about restlessly.

“You got any rocky looking basses about £140? I’ll pop up later or tomorrow for it.”

Jo had decided to return on Friday. Meanwhile he was regretting something he didn’t buy years ago! It was always hard to follow what he was saying because his thought processes are faster than he can express them. He’s always moving on, mentally and physically.

“Is this a genuine – ?”

“No it’s Chinese. Actually, they’re not that bad, you know.”

“The problem is they went for cheap.”

“Plastic bits fall off; I asked if they could make them stronger. They said yes. Why haven’t you then? No-one asked us.”

“Crewe’s not big enough to support three shops, is it?” The conversation had taken a sudden swerve.

“No.”

“I could do with a decent drum kit. If someone comes in – silly money – something modern and tasty. I’ve set up a stage at the factory.” Another swerve.

“I actually turn quite a bit of stuff down; quite honestly there are not that many people playing. I’ll have to pop up and see the new set-up.” (I rarely stock drums – they take up space and I don’t know enough about them.)

“I’m not tempted to play again myself, though. Still doing vintage guitars?” He was on the move again.

“Not so much vintage: just older. Everyone knows what they’re worth. There are inflated prices for certain things.”

Jo Elensky – the man in a hurry – left in a hurry. He had been here less than five minutes but speaking in the short hand of two men involved in the music business, we had covered a great deal of ground. I met Jo many years ago at Wasp Music in Manchester. He set up a business at the same time as me, making speaker cabinets originally in Salford. He decided to go for the top end of the market, split off from Salford and bought a state of the art computerised factory in Knutsford. This became Ohm Industries and he was into big money. Jo’s latest venture is the Vienna Opera House where he has fitted a sound system.

The rebated speaker cabinet I was contemplating when Jo Elensky zoomed in is one of Jo’s…

I make most of my money from expensive items. In the old days sales were staggering, never mind the profits. Things like leads and strings and straps I considered more of a service rather than for profit. My prices for strings, for example, haven’t changed for twenty-five years. But times have changed: the Chinese Industrial Miracle is upon us; there’s no longer any money in being a recording star; people don’t pay for CDs and live music has degenerated into tribute bands. Yet some things stay the same: finding bargains, making something from very little, close encounters with musical instruments and their owners are still a pleasure.

In this business it isn’t all about cash or plastic. If I know and trust somebody I will be patient about payment. I suppose it’s more about knowing the value of things than about insisting on cash. People can pay for goods by exchanging or part-exchanging instruments. I’ve been doing this for a long time and I can very quickly assess a business situation. I won’t be messed about and I don’t like people underestimating me. If a deal isn’t completed and then someone wants to re-open it, I’m likely to change the starting point. If someone won’t give me a fair price I’ll wait for someone else who will. I don’t get tense and I don’t pressurise anyone. I try to think what’s best for the customer and I will order stuff or send them to another shop. If people come on my day off I’m not afraid to send them away until I am officially open. At one time I allowed people to hassle me for things after closing time but it got ridiculous and now I’m more protective of my time. If people are interested they will come back. Anyone phoning out of hours will hear the snooty phone lady saying,
“
Your message will not be recorded.”

I also know that once people go out of the shop they might not be back, whatever their present intention. But it’s on my terms. It’s my territory. That’s why I could never do a car boot sale of my goods. I have too much self-respect; I wouldn’t be on my own territory and it would be bad publicity.

I’ve spent my life bartering – it doesn’t matter what it is.
Sea Feather
was exchanged for a Trimin and a Ford V8 Coupe: a two-seater with a dicky-seat in the boot. I swapped a V12 Jag for a Les Paul and some other odds and ends because I had a company car and wanted to sell the Jag after six months. An appreciation of one good machine or vehicle can easily be transmuted into an appreciation of another type. Bartering is not just about money – you have to add in the pleasure you have had from temporary ownership.

I know Reg Banks well because he used to run the Hanley shop: Custom of Crewe. I remember having nearly eighty classic guitars in stock in the Seventies – we often discuss the system of bartering that took place then. Motorbikes, bikes and even a crossbow were traded in for instruments and equipment. I took the crossbow to show Jo Olenski at his factory in Salford. There were photographs on a wall and Jo indicated one: “I hate that bloke!” he said so I aimed at the image and shot the bolt. Unfortunately, I had overestimated the sturdiness of the partition wall and it went right through into the electronics factory next door, scattering the startled employees!

My personal sound systems came as the result of a combination of bartering and scavenging. I need a system for my modern equipment: radio, CD player and DVD player; I need a different system for my record player.

Some people make a good living from the throwaway society; they have a licence to salvage from skips at the tip. It’s amazing what people dump and some of it ends up in my shop. I know a couple of “scrappies” and one of them who has a contract and a container at the posh peoples’ tip at Brereton brought me a modern amp – worth £300 new – for which I paid a tenner. I use this with my modern equipment.

My 1960 amp has old-fashioned valves like turned pepper pots and industrial sized knob controls. Its origins are noteworthy. It came in for repair and Barry repaired it. Impressed by this example of old British engineering, I asked the owner what he would be using it for. He wanted to use it for his modern recordings. I offered him a modern transistorised amp to try. The customer was impressed by the improvement on the valve amp when it came to playing recordings made by modern technology and we did a swap. I was pleased to be able to use the old technology for my vinyl records and the customer likewise had the appropriate means.

The valve amp is more suitable for vinyl, for which it was designed, along with the vintage Sixties speakers I have. If I want it to sound like music, if I want atmosphere, it’s a record I listen to. If I want to analyse it, I use a CD. It’s clean; it’s clinical; it’s not music – just a computer simulation of it. A lot of musicians are coming round to favouring vinyl. CDs are not, as was thought, indestructible; vinyl has longevity if you take care of it.

I’ve collected stuff for thirty years. I have stuff only guitar dealers would have anyway but nowadays you wouldn’t find most of it even there. It’s obsolete. It’s really satisfying to root through it and find a replacement slot head screw for an old guitar.

Most modern screws used on guitars have the Phillips heads: the cross head.

Having the correct replacement parts is important and makes you feel satisfied with the completed job. I had a vacant-looking guitar: worn and without strings in the shop for twelve months. It was a Gallotone Champion – the same guitar used by Quarryman John Lennon – that had seen better days. This guitar belonged to someone I’ve known since he was a teenager – the Gallotone being his first guitar. He asked me to do it up and I found the right replacement machine heads for it. I was pleased because I believe that replacements for old instruments should be in keeping with the character and original structure of the instrument. You have to be aware of idiosyncratic features like the variations in distance between the holes in a headstock or the headstocks being three to a plate rather than separate. The distance between pegs and the holes on the actual spindle of a machine head both matter. It’s important that the spacing on a machine head is the same as on the actual guitar. It’s also important where the hole is on the actual peg to ensure it will clear the headstock and allow the string to go through the said hole.

Some machine heads, such as Gallotones, have the hole at the centre of the peg and some have the hole close to the end of the peg. It’s important that this hole clears the headstock to allow the string to pass through it. Barry renovated the plate for the Gallotone and fitted it on. It looked good.

Classical guitars also have three on a plate, like the Gallotone but modern electric guitars have separate machine heads. The position of the holes is critical because it needs to clear the wood. With more modern guitars the hole is in the centre and modern machine heads are more difficult to repair because they are made of diamond chrome, which is almost impossible to drill. They are also a specific tapered shape. All idiosyncrasies in design create difficulties if repairs or modifications are attempted and that’s why I always try to renovate instruments with original and authentic parts if possible.

Speaking of Gallotones: one of mine was purchased for £10 at a car boot sale and brought into the shop where it malingered in a corner for two years. One day Keith asked me if he could turn it into money and then we would share the proceeds. It fetched £400 and was shipped to Canada.

My requirements for a Skunk Band situation are specific. None of the guitars in the shop would suit my purpose unless I re-stringed them with thicker string for finger picking. I managed to get two suitable guitars for next to nothing – from scrap. Objectively speaking they’re worth £100 but not really for sale.

This is the story. Lee wanted a Telecaster I had. He gave me £100 and an old Squier which had Seymour Duncan pick-ups worth £200.Yet the guitar itself wasn’t worth that – the body had been rubbed down and it sounded all right till you started going up the neck. Anyway, Slim sorted that and now the Squier is rehabilitated and of course it has these posh pick-ups. Guitar number one.