I love playing music and sampling new instruments, but my access to new instruments has always been hampered by my limited access to cash. Then, in the winter of 2009, through the miracle of the internet, I happened upon the website of an instrument builder in South Africa who specializes in oil can guitars. This epiphany then led me to the forums of Cigar Box Nation, where self-made luthiers were showing off their homemade cigar box guitars. Another click of a link transported me to Australia, where a man was teaching impoverished children how to build banjos out of cookie tins and fishing line. The final straw was stacked when the trailer for Davis Guggenheim’s guitar-geek wet dream, It Might Get Loud, hit theatres. There was pallid rock waif Jack White, demonstrating that a rotten piece of lumber, a Coke bottle, two nails, a steel string and a pickup were all that you needed to rig up your very own electric slide guitar. Suddenly, I realized what I had known all along, but was afraid to admit: it was well within my power to supply myself with any new stringed instrument I could dream up. When my parents flew into town for Christmas, my dad and I spent a good portion of the time out on our tiny balcony, building that first oil can guitar from scratch. That Frankenstein’s monster broke within a day of stringing it up, but since then, I’ve built a handful of other instruments that have lived. It’s a hobby bordering on obsession now. I’d be lying if I said the thought of becoming a proper luthier hadn’t crossed my mind, but I think it behooves me to pursue one pipe dream at a time.

As I prepare to embark upon Phase 2 of my adventures in lutherie, it seems a perfect time to revisit and reflect upon my first five instrument builds.  Each one offered its own challenges and rewards, but each turned out unique.

No. 1 — Oil Can Guitar — OCG001
Completed January 11, 2010

An industrial monster in fire engine red, the OCG001 emerges from a vat of molten steel to claim its place on the pedestal of “first handcrafted instrument.”  Surprisingly decorative truss-head screws mate the slender oil can to the atrociously-carved, through-the-body neck.  Two wooden dowels tenuously connect the headstock to the neck, and in less than twenty-four hours, this laughable joint will fold under the tension of the steel strings.  Wood screws double as fret position markers as they hold down the impractical fretboard—a plank of 1/4″-thick poplar with steel wire wrapped around it in a continuous coil.  Wilkinson deco-style tuning machines—Chinese cheapies—can barely hold the strings in tune.  The electronics—dual P-90 style pickups with separate volume & tone controls, inspired by the Epiphone Casino, believe it or not—fight for breathing room both inside and outside of the squashed body of this guitar.  Painful to play, inaccurate as all get-out, destined to implode… but she’s my first.

No. 2 — Electric Tenor Cigar Box Ukulele — CBU001
Completed May 19, 2010

Now we’re getting somewhere!  A modest build with some visual flair, this tenor ukulele features alternating veneers of oak and pine on the neck, fretboard and headstock.  Aluminum tubing acts as a tailpiece and holds the cow bone saddle in place.  A wing nut screwed into the headstock centers the middle strings over the nut.  The amber-colored volume knob hints at the homemade piezo pickup installed inside the box, but the lack of a preamp makes for one weak signal.  This little number—a birthday gift for my friend Greg—now resides on his wall, among the real-deal Fenders, Gibsons and Washburns.  Quite an honor.

No. 3 — Washtub Bass — WTB001
Completed September 1, 2010

While visiting family in Seattle, my wife and I chance upon a rollicking sidewalk performance by bluegrass trio Cast Iron Maidens in front of the original Starbucks at Pike Place Market.  While the frontwoman strums a steel guitar and trades harmonies with the gal on the fiddle, rhythm comes courtesy of the fella wearing split-leather work gloves who alternates between slapping and stomping out the beat on his half-crushed washtub bass.  ”That looks so fun!  I want to play one of those!” Karen exclaims.  Though rarely impressed with street buskers, the raw beauty of the Cast Iron Maidens’ sound enchants us into snatching up one of their CDs, packaged in a hand-decorated, brown paper lunch bag.  Karen learns to be careful what she wishes for when I surprise her with her own washtub bass for her birthday.  She’s still waiting for me to paint Hello Kitty’s face on the tub, as promised.  I’m still waiting for her to actually play it.

No. 4 — Cigar Box Hardanger Fiddle — CBF001
Completed November 15, 2010

While I don’t often speak in superlatives, I think it’s safe to say that my most challenging and proudest creation to date could also very well be the world’s first cigar box Hardanger fiddle.  Not many people outside of the Norwegian culture are familiar with the Hardanger fiddle; I had never heard of it, myself, until I saw one in the instructional book that would spawn this creation.  Like a standard violin, the Hardanger fiddle features four overstrings that are played with a horse hair bow.  However, the Hardanger fiddle boasts an additional four to five sympathetic understrings running along a hollowed-out channel carved underneath the fingerboard.  These understrings are not played directly but resonate when the overstrings are bowed, creating a very full—sometimes haunting—sound.  Hardanger fiddles are also renowned for their intricate, quill-and-ink detailing and they traditionally feature an imposing dragon’s head carved into the scroll.  Seeing as my fiddle centers around a lowly cigar box, though, I decide to simplify and go a bit more whimsical with it.  I eschew the ink detailing, cut robust Gibson-style F-holes in the box, and forgo the dragon’s head scroll for a carved likeness of our dog, Lady.  Acrylic paint decoration and arduously hand-carved tuning pegs round out the folksy vibe of this fiddle.  Amazingly, when played by a professional violinist (like my friend Ellen), this instruments truly sings.

What the fiddle sounds like when I play it:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

What the fiddle sounds like when Ellen plays it:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

No. 5 — Cigar Box Guitar — CBG001
Completed November 19, 2010

Taking a long, deep breath and a big step back, I decide to recharge my batteries after the months-long process of crafting the Hardanger fiddle and tackle this simple-by-comparison cigar box guitar.  After all, it seems silly that I haven’t yet built the basic instrument that provides the foundation of my other builds.  Of course, I can’t resist adding a few special touches to this “simple” build.  Instead of one centralized sound hole, I drill a series of symmetric holes in the lid of the box and tap brass grommets into the holes for decoration.  I also pound some tiny grommets into the fretboard as fret position markers.  I carve the nut and saddle out of cow bone, install a junk pickup that the technicians at World of Strings donated to me, and add three superfluous, high-pitched drone strings next to the three playing strings.  To be honest, I hastily build this guitar for the sole purpose of recording a single song.  The self-made luthiers’ forum CigarBoxNation has put out the call for its members to submit covers of traditional holiday songs, specifically recorded on cigar box guitars, to add to their annual Christmas album.  I know exactly which song I want to cover: “Carol of the Bells.”  However, it will be a very loose, gritty, bluesy interpretation.  I’ll play slide on my new CBG, play bass on the washtub (which will double as a drum kit), add some fiddle embellishments, and round it all out with some thoughtfully chosen sound samples from the computer.  What’s “Carol of the Bells” without a few bells ringing, right?

Carol of the Bells
Right-click (Ctrl-click) this link to download MP3.

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Gibson guitar factory, just a block off of Beale Street in Memphis, Tennessee.

Tagging along on my wife’s working vacation in Memphis, Tennessee leads to a unexpected discovery: Just a block off of The Beale sits the Gibson guitar factory. One of four Gibson factories—miraculously, all still based in the U.S.—the Memphis branch takes responsibility for crafting all of Gibson’s archtops, semi-hollow bodies and, surprisingly, the holy grail of all guitar wank: the double-necked electric.

Stepping into the factory’s corner retail shop, one finds a modest assortment of some of the best-made guitars on earth. Slashes of red Sharpie negate the MSRP on every price tag, but the sales staff will inform you that the ballpark discount is only 30%—nothing to write home about, as you would find the same pricing at Guitar Center. Notable, though, are the handful of vintage and limited edition rarities up for grabs. A weathered, white, double-necked electric from the 1960s guards the lobby entrance, while a reproduction of Eric Clapton’s “Beano” shares a pedestal with the electronics-and-cheeze-heavy Dusk Tiger. Quirky eyesores like the Reverse Flying V and Reverse Explorer hang in the window for curiosity’s sake. A few feet away, five or six variations on the classic red SG vie for shelf space.

All of that is fine and dandy, but what truly piques my interest is the scrolling marquee outside the store.  ”Factory Tours!” it proclaims, every hour on the hour. My eyes light up. How could I pass up an opportunity to peer behind the curtain of this internationally renowned guitar manufacturer? I press one of the sales staff to reveal the best time of day to take the tour: “When does the real action take place?” Turns out 2 o’clock is the magic hour. Everyone’s back from lunch, back to work, and there’s no imminent shift change. I make a reservation two days in advance to see these craftsmen and women at work.

The day of the tour rolls around. I show up early to ensure my spot in the queue, with plenty of time to browse the store and noodle around on guitars I could never afford, much less know what to do with them once purchased. Twenty-some other tourists do the same.

Finally, the tour guide gathers us together.  She instructs each of us to fetch a pair of safety glasses from the nearby bucket. We step through the secure double doors and stroll down a long corridor lined with numerous examples of the Gibson brand. Through another set of doors, and we enter the land of Oz.

The first sight that grabs my attention are the floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with hundreds of sawdust-kissed guitar cases. I don’t know if these are already pregnant with finished guitars or still waiting to be filled, but the enormity of the operation bestills my beating heart. Glancing skyward, I see the water misters steadily spritzing the entire plant, maintaining the delicate tonewoods at 55% humidity and weighing down any free-floating sawdust (amazingly, none of the woodworkers feel compelled to wear dust masks). Dozens of guitar neck blanks, stacked waist-high on pallets, await their turn to be shaped and fitted to a body. We see the CNC routers whose main responsibility is to cut out the basic shape of the guitar’s body and route the mortise half of the neck-body joint. Impressively, there are precious few mechanized processes throughout this factory. Aside from the computerized router and the hot press that puts the “arch” in archtops and the curves in side panels, skilled human hands can honestly claim the lion’s share of the work that goes into crafting each fine instrument.  All of the carving, shaping, sanding, fitting, gluing, clamping, drilling, binding, spraying, scraping, screwing, soldering, stringing and final testing are performed by the full-time staff of sixty men and women in departmentalized roles.  When you take that into consideration, it’s no wonder Gibsons command such a premium at the cash register.

Each Gibson guitar takes three weeks from inception to completion, and this particular plant turns out 45 guitars per day.  However, the one bit of trivia that drew the most gasps from our tour group had to do with the fate of those guitars deemed “inferior” by the final quality control technicians.  Suffice it to say that it is official Gibson policy—and, doubtless, a point of pride—never to sell “factory seconds.”  If, after stringing-up and playing a finished guitar, a technician finds inexcusable flaws in materials or workmanship that cannot be easily remedied, that guitar will be unceremoniously fast-tracked to the bandsaw, which will quickly reduce it to so much sawdust.

The Gibsons at Graceland

Elvis Presley's 1956 GIbson J-200N, on display at Graceland.

Elvis's 1965 Gibson EBS-1250—a custom-made, double-necked electric boasting both a six-string bass and a six-string guitar—from the movie Spinout.

If I expect to continue improving at the art (and commerce!) of lutherie, I need a better workbench than the one I’ve used for my first four builds. The oil can guitar, cigar box uke, cigar box Hardanger fiddle and cigar box guitar were all built on top of a ten-buck IKEA patio table whose base now wobbles drunkenly and whose once-smooth, white Melamine surface now reads like a butcher’s block. No, this just won’t do anymore.

You can buy a workbench for under $200 from a Chinese tool importer like Harbor Freight, but it’s bound to fall to pieces if you look at it hard enough. So, I resolve to make one from scratch, the old-fashioned way. Trolling the internet for somewhat simple, somewhat affordable workbench plans, I stumble across Tom Caspar’s Torsion Box Workbench, touted as a bench that can be built on the cheap with low-grade plywood and the most pedestrian of power tools in just one weekend. Sounds good to me. I modify the plans to my liking, carefully calculate my lumber needs, and head to nearby Ganahl Lumber in a rented cargo van to stock up on plywood. Four weeks later, my “weekend workbench” is finished.

Marvel at my spacious workshop, strategically located on the rear balcony off of the master bedroom! I can hop right out of bed and get to work.

Yeah… plenty of room to move around. (Yikes!)

My first modification to the blueprint: a solid bench top. The Torsion Box Workbench is essentially four “boxes,” constructed much like the walls in a house—evenly spaced 2×4 studs covered by sheets of plywood—and held together with incredible tension by running threaded steel rods through the base. But in my mind, using a torsion box for the benchtop creates a surface that’s more bouncy than solid, and sounds like a giant kick-drum if you dare to hammer on it. Living in such close quarters with our neighbors as we do, that seemed like a bad idea.

Therefore, I chose to comprise my benchtop of four layers of 3/4″ A-C plywood, strategically glued & screwed, and topped it off with 1/2″ of medium density fiberboard (MDF) for flatness and replaceability. 3-1/2″ seemed like the perfect balance for my benchtop; thick enough to provide a solid, immovable work surface, yet not so thick that I would have to run out and buy ridiculously large clamps to secure anything to the bench.

My second modification: double rails with double the dog holes! The original plan allows for a tool trough at the rear of the benchtop—traditional to workbench design, but only marginally useful to me. I’d rather have a more generous work surface with added clamping capabilities than a trough to clutter with tools and clog with sawdust.

I saturate the MDF benchtop with linseed oil and coat it with furniture wax to increase its durability and make cleanup easier—dried glue should wipe right off of this surface. Dig the unintended “cowhide” coloring of the MDF!

I install the cheapest quick-release vise with the widest jaws I can find. That turns out to be the Anant 10-1/2″ Quick-Release Bench Vise & Dog. The cast-iron face of the vise is 10-1/2″ wide, but the jaws open to 14-3/4″ deep. You could clamp a 2×12 in this vise, lying flat! I embed the vise about an inch into the table, so I can cover the rear plate with wood and bring it flush with the rail. Covering the iron vise faces with wood prevents them from marring any workpieces.

I add a couple of removable brackets to the design, in the off-chance that I find myself sawing a lot of long pieces of lumber. The brackets support the otherwise-sagging end of the board while it’s clamped in the vise.

Handmade bench dogs! Scraps left over from cutting 2x8s on the table saw become handy—albeit primitive—clamping aids. I rub a bit of Stewart-MacDonald’s Fretboard Finishing Oil on these “puppies” (sorry, couldn’t resist) for a thin, protective finish.

The wooden “spring” holds the bench dog in place in the dog hole, pressing against one side of the workpiece. The 12″ handscrew, installed at the end of the rail as a sort of tail vise, presses against the opposite side of the workpiece, clamping it tightly for chiseling, planing or sanding.

My dual-rail design with dual handscrew tail-vises opens up the possibilities for clamping large workpieces—heck, even benchtop power tools—to the workbench.

I’m still a young guy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean my knees and back are in the greatest condition. An anti-fatigue foam floor mat should alleviate some of the strain of working on my feet.

Your run-of-the-mill blue tarp offers protection from the occasional rainfall and year-round sticky soot of Southern California. Good night, benchie.