sparquelito

21 guitars. (Including bass guitars, uke, acoustics, etc) 11 amplifiers. (Including specialty amps for bass, keyboards, digital drums, etc) I probably should slow down. 😉

I love it. That's the model of Tele that strikes me as the most versatile, and gig-ready. You will have to let us know, of course. 🙂

Of the three, I love the Modern the most. 😉

So THAT is what they were trying to copy! Looks like they used Wite-Out correction fluid or something. 😑

MANY details are decidedly non-Gibson. * Shape of the headstock * Overall appearance of the sound hole sticker, as blurry as it is * Composition of the bridge * Style of tail-piece * Type and shade of sunburst finish And that weird 'jester' head stock inlay is very interesting, but also nothing that I can find on any Gibson model of any vintage. My gut says it's a fake, Elizabeth. 🙁

And by the way, I love the look of that white-over sunburst relic job. It's really cool, in my book. But then again, I've always been a fan of two-tone paint jobs. 😏

Sarah, I'm with the rest of the contributors on the diagnosis of finish crack. I think that's all it is, and there's no problem. My belief is that when you do the 'neck wiggle' test, you'll be satisfied that it's fine. Cosmetic at best, and funny, considering it's a relic'ed instrument in the first place, so no big deal. jdgm hit the nail on the head with his observation on guitars with white finishes. Aged white Nitrocellulose has a habit of cracking, on nearly every brand of guitar. I had an old white Stratocaster that had similar cracks near the neck pocket, and when I consulted with some guys on tdpri, they all had the same situation. It's like service stripes, eh? Or crows-feet around the eyes. Character-building. 😉

John felt many hands upon him and, in his dazed state, the sensation of being dragged and then descending into the ground beneath the rubble. He stumbled and fell, and was assisted into an odd ox-cart, and pulled along for many long minutes down a long, earthen corridor, and then so finally out into the night air. His ears pounded with a high keening noise from the blast. Clumsy wooden forms and concrete bits and rough screws had pierced his flesh, and they fell away as he was loaded into an Eastern European lorry. He sensed the aroma of a sea-side highway, and the salty fragrance and crisp, nighttime imagery of a grassy bluff overlooking the ocean. The doors slammed, and the vehicle lurched forward and then so down a lonely two-laned road. John began to speak, and then skilled, gloved hands set about putting an IV into his left arm. He objected at first, and then the medications dropped into his bloodstream like a load of bricks. He reeled. A familiar voice intoned, “Lie still, Uncle. Everything is going to be okay. You are in good hands.” John coughed for a moment, and then yawned. His ears popped as the vehicle descended down a long, cliff-side road and then merged onto a highway of sorts. The jostling of the lorry became a soothing rhythm that lulled him into a deep sleep. Highway sodium lamps flashed by, one after the other. The road hummed beneath the wheels of his transport. John dreamt of his cot back in the cell, the rough sheet, and the sodium lamp that had hummed above his head for so many years that he had lost track. “This isn’t healthy. I shouldn’t dwell on such notions of this.” A distant memory, and a voice. His counselor. “Happy Christmas then, John.” In his sleep, he responded, and the rescuers who held him tight on the gurney looked at each other in bewilderment. “Happy Christmas. And to all a good night.” 😐

Neil Young's Out On The Weekend - on my old Takamine six string acoustic. 🙂

These guitars are interesting to me. They are packed with unique features, not the least of which is a modular pickup mounting system, which allows you to swap your pickups out quickly and easily. Have any of you held, played, or owned one of these Swiss-made guitar? 😐 https://youtu.be/bZUPurfxKO8

Very nice!! Some Adrian Legg stuff going on there too. 🙂

Bienvenue, monsieur Bremand. Nous sommes honorés de vous avoir à bord. Possédez-vous des guitares Gibson, par hasard? 🙂

I went home with a waitress the way I always do How was I to know she was with the Russians, too?

An old Irish blessing for you and Deb, friend Butch. (and for Sundance too) These things, I warmly wish for you: Someone to love, some work to do, a bit of o' sun, a bit o' cheer and a guardian angel always near. The angels protect you, and heaven accept you. 🙂 (And a happy belated 40th to you and your missus too, rct. ) Congrats to all.

Played electric. And acoustic. All through Jr High and High School. Never rode a skateboard. Can't recall anybody I knew in all my travels who rode a skateboard during my Junior High and High School years. It just wasn't a thing where I was (in Germany, and then lower-Alabama), I guess. I mean, we rode motorcycles and raced motocross and all that. But skateboards weren't around. My younger brother got into it, and it was a thing apparently out and around, after I went off into the Army in 1978. I must confess that I am glad I missed it. I would have busted my ***, surely. 😑

As only mildly-familiar as I am with the original song, I must admit the timbre of her voice became grating after one chorus and one verse. It's a bit sterile, and saccharine, compared to Pete and Roger's original. After another listen, I can only imagine that her version would work well in a stream of Muzak, emanating from the overhead speakers during a long elevator ride. 😑

I'm not one to comment on that point, good sir. I know that it must feel like a great big, giant blasphemy. For her to do that to a sacred The Who album. I get it. But I must admit this much. The Who were a band who went right by me back in the day. I was aware of them, of course. I can name some The Who songs, and I can recount some notorious Keith Moon road war stories that I read about over the years. But I never owned any of The Who records, and I certainly never heard of (or listened to) The Who Sell Out. Here, I'll type out a complete list of such bands and artists that I never really listened to or ever learned to appreciate; The Who The Doors The Grateful Dead The Band Jimi Hendrix Janis Joplin Jethro Tull The Yardbirds I heard of Quadrophenia at one point. But never listened to it. Wrong place, wrong time, I guess. Same with Tommy. Heard of it. Never listened to it. Went right by me. Here, I'll add to the list. Utopia. Heard of them. Never once in my life listened to them. I discovered Todd Rundgren years later when he produced an album for Grand Funk Railroad. And many years later I fell in love with A Cappella. And really enjoyed 2nd Wind and Nearly Human. In the end, does it matter? Many people loved Paul McCartney and Wings, but never really got into The Beatles. Okay, I'm gonna shut up now. 😐

Sparquelito rolled over on his cot, tried to get comfortable, and then sat up and shook off his bed sheet. "Blast it. Sleep eludes me. And no matter how hard I pursue it, true slumber is always out of my grasp." He rubbed his eyes and then gazed with bleary, blood-shot eyes at the clumsy mirror he had fashioned from hammered ration tins during his first year of of confinement. The mirror. It hung on the stone wall two meters away from where he sat. John's face and upper torso were distorted and clown-like from this distance. Though from just eight inches away, he was able to divine a reasonable reflection of his face, in order that he might shave, and clean his teeth with the primitive brush and polishing compound that was afforded to him. Ten meters above his head, the sodium lamp burned brightly, and hummed its maddening frequency. His cell was just two meters by five meters. By ten meters tall. No window. He had his cot, a clean sheet that was changed out every three days directly he returned from the showers, a sink below his hand-crafted mirror, and a squat, bidet-like commode. No bookcase, no amenities, and no luxuries. The God-awful light above was a luxury, in a manner of speaking. There was a period of time when it had been extinguished, and he had been forced to sit alone in dark. For how long? There was no telling. But now he was grateful for the lamp. In this place it was difficult to tell time. The normal alternating darkness and light that triggered the usual circadian rhythms was absent. John had taken to absurd flights of fancy, and he began to fantasize about a life before this place. And a life after this place. Though such thoughts were dangerous. He had been advised by his interrogators on this matter, many times in the past. Best to focus on the here and now. Let go of thoughts of freedom, and the life that he knew before this place. One or two of the inquisitors actually showed him human kindness, and even offered him sweet treats. An Austrian man who questioned him for two weeks in a row actually offered him brandy one evening. Sparquelito accepted it gratefully, of course. With no thoughts of subterfuge or malfeasance. Or retribution. "Happy Christmas then, John," the man sad simply after they had shared the better part of a bottle. The prisoner blinked. "It's Christmas?" he inquired. "Ja. Yes, of course. You didn't know?" "I lose track of time in here. I had no idea." The man corked the bottle sadly, summoned the guards, and bade John a good evening. Lately, alone in his cell, John began to hear things, and to question his sanity. This week, in particular, there was a humming sound. It was maddening. And it came every night, but just for brief periods of time. Late, late at night, close to the time when the guards conducted their shift-change. The humming, almost grinding sound. Getting closer and closer, or so it seemed. "Hello, what's this?" he exclaimed. There it was again. The noise. Louder this time. John could almost feel it beneath his feet, beneath the flagstones in the floor of his cell. Subtle at first, and then louder. And louder. And so finally it stopped. "Am I now insane?" he cried. "Have I finally lost my mind?" At that moment, one of the flagstones gave with a brief iron tapping noise, and upended slightly. John lifted his feet off the floor, and recoiled in horror. The stone shifted upward, settled down a half inch, and then finally popped up and out of its mortar altogether. He held his breath, afraid of what was to follow. A small rolled-up tube of paper appeared. It pushed up out of the cavity left by the upended flagstone, and rolled innocuously beneath Sparquelito's cot. He quickly reached down and retrieved the note, unrolled it, and read the words on the scrap of paper. The note read, HUNKER DOWN IN THE CORNER, AND PLUG YOUR EARS, MATE. THIS IS GOING TO BE VERY LOUD. John blinked. It took a moment for him to digest the message, and then he fairly leapt off the cot and fell into a heap in the corner by the commode. At that moment, the floor exploded with a great heave of earth, and bricks and mortar. Fragments of the sink went flying hither and yon. He became buried under the rubble, and cried out, meekly. "God, please. Mercy." He coughed, ears ringing, and extended his hand out of the rubble. 😶

I have no idea who Jason Isbell and Amanda are, but I will say this much; People often confuse the term, "country music" with the entity "the Country Music Association". They are not one and the same. Just as many out there confuse "rock and roll" with "the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame". The suits who would presume to tell us what is good and what is country music aren't allowed to speak for the country music fans and thousands of performing artists. Popularity with clueless business dorks and nonsensical trending in TMZ polls does not equal goodness and quality. I could go on an on with relevant comparisons and analogies. But it would mean naming names, describing power/money-hungry political Parties, and crooks at all levels and strata in our society and popular culture doing damage to the integrity of otherwise good music markets, film-making, and assorted media. And that is out of bounds for this good and steady guitar web forum. Jason, Amanda? Ronnie, Bobby, Mickey, and Mike? Just make good music and stay true to your principles. And sing your own stuff. Leave the computer-lilted Vocoder out of the mix. The rest will work itself out. 😐

I'm no expert on the Floyd Rose tremolos, but I'm under the impression that the 1000 Series is called 'a series' because there are a variety of models in that particular line. Just at a cursory glance around the inter-webs: The 1000 Series (standard issue) The 1000 Series Pro The 1000 Series Pro (low profile) The 1000 Series Special Does it work well and stay in tune? Rock out on it, and enjoy it! 😉

I can't find any near me, but this Striker is available on Reverb for four hundred bones. Shipping out of Jacksonville, FL. Nice condition too. 🙂 https://reverb.com/item/2203437-kramer-striker-90s-psycho-splatter

That is a fabulous looking guitar!! I love a happy ending. 🙂

There's worse problems, Mate. 😉

Okay, I found the answer. Some guys on the TalkBass web forum were having the same discussion in 2012, and one of the fellows sent a message to Loz Netto, the guy playing the guitar in that video. https://www.thegearpage.net/board/index.php?threads/any-idea-what-this-guitar-is.1927931/ Loz Netto responded: The guitar you refer to was an old Hayman body that I had a neck made for by Rob Armstrong, all the harware was Gibson including 1970's PAF pickups, it was a nice instrument but unfortunately got stolen while we were touring the U.S.A Ever since I've had a passion for putting together unusual guitars or buying interesting looking ones, So 'Scales was correct. It was a Hayman Thinline 2020, heavily modified. Here's an original, unaltered Hayman: Okay, I'm gonna shut up now. 😐

I could write a rock opera with that as the title, I think. Almost A Hagstrom. 😗