This was first published in "The Final Note" in WHAT'S UP, Feb 2007

I try not to get too excited about any one guitar. It's a tool, plain and simple. Yes, some are certainly more inspirational than others, but a fantastic guitar in the hands of a mediocre player is exactly that. There has been one guitar though...

Let's go back twenty years to the Arlington Vintage Fall Nationals, a huge guitar expo/swap meet in the shadow of The Ballpark where the Texas Rangers play. I used to hit a couple guitar shows a year, learning about different makes and models, histories, types of woods and construction techniques.

The vintage guitar scene by that time had become big business, but there were stilll bargains to be had. I was doing my first walk through in this cavernous convention center, hundreds of vendors each with scores of instruments, parts, accesories, recordings, everything related to guitars, especially old guitars.

I happened upon this booth stuffed with guitars on racks and stands and one worn case lying closed on a table. Years of experience snooping around pawnshops and flea markets had taught me about what lives in odd little cases. I went right for it. In it was a 1952 Martin 00028 or more accurately, pieces of one. It appeared to have come completely unsprung, the glue joints had all let go, I think the guy said it had been sitting for years in someone's damp barn. The rosewood sides were intact and still attached to the heel and end blocks. The spruce top had a design carved into it by an artistically-inclined owner but also had the most amazing weathered, patinaed finish and would be worth salvaging. The fingerboard and bridge had been messed with too badly and would have to be replaced. The neck was a question mark. There were also parts missing, most noticeably a portion of the rosewood back. Price for this bag of bones was $300. I bought it.

Spare time over the next few months was spent piecing together what I had and fabricating what I didn't. I built one of my patented huge necks - 1 7/8 inches at the nut and just the right contour. I used rosewood on the fingerboard because that feels more natural to me than the original ebony. The end result was on the ratty looking side of beautiful, but good sounding. In fact, very good sounding. The manager at Whites Music Box would comment, "I like listening when you're using that guitar for teaching."

It doesn't have the "boom" of a larger instrument, and the wood is a little more flexible and worn, so it isn't as bright as a new one. It has an intimate sound, forgiving, with a soft glow. It's a guitar that always sounds good, no matter when I pick it up, like it's trying to please me, just happy to be a guitar again.

I've used it for several recordings over the years, it's on half of the tunes on my CD, "The Blue Hand". That's me playing it on the back cover. I used to take it to gigs sometimes, but it's pretty fragile and doesn't take climate changes easily, so now it mostly stays at home. Every now and then I have to loosen the strings to give the body and neck joint a break from the tension. I'll let it sit for a few weeks, then crank it back up and play it for hours at a stretch.

I haven't been to the guitar shows for years. I was getting sidetracked, spending more time looking for the Holy Grail of axes when I should have been concentrating on the music.

Collecting guitars is addictive. The "grass is greener" theory applies, and they are infinitely fascinating little creatures. Think of the inside of an ancient acoustic guitar, especially deep in the body where light hasn't penetrated for decades. Or what's it like in the control cavity of on old Les Paul when it's played really loud? Is it smooth and peaceful and serene, or is it vibrating and rattling and snarling like the assembly line in some old Eastern Block factory.

But like I said, it's the music. I'd much rather talk about Joe Diorio's or Marc Ribot's or Janet Feder's playing than some funky old guitar, except maybe that old Martin propped against the wall in my practice room.