Perfection
Perfection. Is it possible? Does it exist? Is it worth striving for? It can seem like such a long, difficult road to reach one’s idea of perfection in any art or craft. Every different art has its own unique challenges. All require passion, a bit of talent and, most of all, lots of hard work to overcome.
My thoughts dwelled on the subject of perfection on a Sunday evening, riding the train home from Bognor Regis, where I had watched the last part of a competition for classical guitarists, at the Chichester Festival of Music. I was really moved by many of the performances there; the sheer love of the guitar, the evident ambition for excellence, and most of all, by the fact that sometimes, the most stirring performances had their imperfections and mistakes.
I have reached a stage in my guitar making where I am redoing anything and everything - any small mistake of workmanship - until I’m satisfied that my work meets, or at least almost meets, my idea of perfection; so that every guitar leaves the workshop perfect. For classical guitars in my price range, it is genuinely important. I think it’s the right approach; often I learn a great deal in the act of redoing a task. However, at the same time, sometimes I feel crazy, spending what can seem like forever redoing tasks, repairing ‘mistakes’ that perhaps no one would have noticed anyway. It can be difficult to find a balance between seeking perfection, and obsessing to the point of counter productiveness.
At the Chichester Festival of Music, it was wonderful for me to see people on a similar artistic journey, and particularly interesting to notice that some guitarists were dissatisfied with their performances that I had enjoyed so much. It made me remember some ideas and philosophies that I know will help me in my path towards excellence in guitar making. For example, as a kind of salve for anyone on a similar quest for perfection, there is the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi (nothing lasts, nothing is finished, nothing is perfect). I also reflected on the fact that I often prefer an artist’s, author’s, or guitar maker’s early work, while they are perhaps still struggling to define who they are and are not yet a master.
An example from my own work
I’ve just finished redoing the lacquer on the sides of an upcoming guitar. The guitar could have been finished a month ago, but I was unsatisfied with the job I’d done filling the grain. (Some woods have deep grain that needs to be filled, to create a perfectly flat surface for polishing). The grain needs to be filled with a filler that compliments the colour of the wood. After completing the varnishing process on this guitar, and looking over the guitar in the sunlight, I felt that the filler I used actually detracted from the beauty of the wood. I felt particularly bad as the wood had been given to me by the luthier Rik Middleton, who confided to me it was his favourite kind of wood. Aiming to follow my own principle - that the closer you look at a guitar, the better it should get - and wanting to do Rik’s favourite wood justice, I removed the varnish and tried to solve the issue. It actually took about three tries and a few weeks! it was a struggle but the issue is now solved.
Was it worth it? Would anyone have noticed anyway? Now that it’s fixed I feel much more confident about the guitar and the standard of my work. I also learned a great deal in the process of fixing it, not only about the problem itself, filling to grain, but other things too. For example, during the long process of fixing the grain issue, I ran out of 2-inch brushes, and was forced to apply the lacquer with a 1-inch brush instead. I’d have thought this would be too small, however I was delighted to discover that I could achieve a more even layer of lacquer with this size brush.
I think my conclusion here is that although no, I don’t think any guitar player would have noticed anything wrong with the grain, I do think in this case, the relentless pursuit of excellence has improved me as a maker. I’m sure it won’t be the ‘perfect guitar’, but it will be the absolute best I can do at present.
Striving to do one’s absolute best is a far better goal than striving for perfection. Any artistic creation that is unique, imbued with character and passion is far more impressive than something perfect. I greatly enjoy reading, but there is not one single perfect book in existence. Perfectionist tendencies can become too much, and can cause a person to enjoy their passion less. Such tendencies work best, when the artist pushes themselves to do their best, but at the same time is loving the process, recognising that really, nothing is perfect and in the grand scheme of the universe, it really isn’t that important. I would say that most artists must have in their brain, in a state of flux, a cocktail of not only perfectionist thoughts, pushing them to do their finest work; but that the healthiest artists also have, in balance, wabi-sabi type ideas, compassionately mitigating the perfectionism.
Examples of perfectionism in other arts
There are a few composers I know of with some marvellous pieces but a very small output. One example is Maurice Durufle; he wrote some beautiful pieces, such as an amazing organ suite, a requiem and sets of motets. And although his perfectionist nature led to these marvellous works, it did inhibit him from writing more, and he couldn’t appreciate his own, wonderful, fantastic work. So he was constantly revising and updating his work, even after publication.
Apparently the artist Leonardo Davinci was a notorious perfectionist, leading again to a smaller output and many unfinished works.
Sometimes it’s good to look at examples of bad art, a painting, or to read a poorly written book, or watch a bad film, to remember that some level of pride and perfectionism is important; only it should be in balance, there but in a healthy way.
Tools against perfectionism. What is wabi-sabi?
Wabi-sabi is everywhere in Japan, having imbued the culture for many centuries. It is difficult to translate such a deep idea into English. My first encounter with the idea was the phrase, ‘nothing lasts, nothing is finished, nothing is perfect’. It is an appreciation of the beauty in imperfection, in impermanence, of the effects of time on a beautiful thing.
I think in western culture, we perhaps don’t realise how much we idolise perfection. But nothing in nature is perfect! In regards to guitars, I don’t want to put down good workmanship (I’m a victim of perfectionism myself when it comes to my own workmanship) but far more important than that, are elements such as style, character, meaning and depth. Workmanship/technique alone doesn’t move peoples’ emotions.
When I think of wabi-sabi, I think of my Grandpa’s guitar. I can picture it leaning against the curtains in my grandparents house, next to the back door leading into the garden. The vivid greens of the garden and blues of the sky are a bright splash of colour against the warmth of the living room, and the light of the garden frames the guitar. The guitar is more than 50 years old, its soundboard cracked in many places, aged a golden brown, its polish a beautiful patina; it has probably been knocked over more than a few times by the many grandchildren; it looks so comfortable - at home. In a way that a new guitar never would.
Visiting the Chichester Festival of Music Guitar Competition:
I ought to describe the event that led me to this deep-think on perfectionism. I had asked if I could display a guitar of two at a guitar competition at the Chichester Festival of Music. I have found that there are pockets of classical guitar communities, people who really passionately enjoy the guitar, not only around the country, but around the whole world. It’s lovely to seek out these communities and meet the people, and bring along with me my work; I find it really informs my guitar building. I really learn a lot from these events. This Chichester Festival of Music competition was actually held in the town of Bognor Regis, near Brighton.
I didn’t grow up learning the classical guitar, and hadn’t attended any guitar competitions before, so didn’t really know what to expect. I have been to three competitions for guitar makers. They’ve all been brilliant learning opportunities, forcing me to push the boundaries of my work to new levels, see what other people are doing, and network amongst people with similar passions and goals. I have found however that I’ve always been too nervous to properly enjoy the experience.
The Chichester festival of music, and there on the blue table is an Edgeworth guitar on display.
At this competition, there were different categories that guitarists could enter, and prizes for the best performances in each. After each category was over, the adjudicator would give the players feedback and award the prizes. The event was marvellously hosted and organised by Sasha Levtov, a true force of guitar nature, who is not only a lifelong guitarist, but has inspired many of England’s classical guitarists as a teacher; whose sheer presence in the room and brilliant nature noticeably eased the nerves of all who were to perform. The event was adjudicated by Paul Gregory, who teaches and also sells guitars; when he was giving feedback to the players on the performances, it was such a delight to hear the outpour of musical passion and knowledge, so articulately expressed, even though I’m sure it must have been nerve-racking for the players. Sometimes he would talk about the history of a piece, and the composer’s intention, casting a whole new light on the piece just performed.
I didn’t attend the first day but arrived around noon on the second day, sitting next to Connor and Ivonne, who were to perform in their guitar trio later. I noticed the hall was an interesting shape, it seemed to have been built for chamber/guitar music. It was great to hear the range of different guitar sounds, see the different playing styles of the performers, and notice their different song choices. Everyone did fantastically, I was filled with admiration for them all. It also makes me more intent to actually play guitar more, so at similar events I might be able to play something small, and at least share in the vulnerability of performing, instead of just observing.
I particularly enjoyed Ian’s performances of some classic Spanish pieces, especially Granada by Albinez. I also loved Joe’s pieces, and for days after, the piece that stuck in my head was the Cancion from Suite Compostelana by Federico Moupou, which I’m fairly certain was played by Joe. He also had an interesting guitar; it was loud and he got a lovely tone with it; I thought his instrument seemed powerful in an uncontrollable way, like a big beautiful kite in a storm, so Joe had to keep it under control. This idea added a sense of story and drama for me and was my favourite performance of the day. I loved the tone quality and the arrangement in Connor and Ivonne’s (and one other person’s) guitar trio. A funny moment was when the adjudicator Paul had awarded Linda a prize for an awesome performance; he looked closer at the trophy, and in surprise noticed and read aloud just how many times Linda’s name was already inscribed as winner on the trophy, going back over 20 years. There is something magical about the classical guitar that inspires such lifelong passion and interest, and it really happens all over the world.
In conclusion
The drive for perfection can result in amazing work; it is of course important to always try to get better and better. But perfectionism unfettered can stifle enthusiasm for one’s work, and stall progress. I think perfectionism mixed with a wabi-sabi philosophy might just be a winning combination towards excellence in art, promoting both quality of work as well as compassion for oneself as an artist. Listening to the guitarists at the Chichester Music Festival, with my limited knowledge of actually playing guitar, I could just listen and enjoy without worrying about the small elements of technique that the players were probably obsessing over. Instead, I was wonderfully moved by the music, and amazed at how they had developed this amazing skill to such a high level. I saw my passion mirrored, and think people probably view my art in a similar way to how I viewed theirs.
What are double-top guitars? What are lattice guitars?
Guitars are fascinating instruments! Their design is constantly being experimented upon and improved, in the search for better tone, volume and projection. It is fascinating to track the guitar all the way from the baroque period, until today. Guitarists have always been eager for improvements, and guitar makers ever willing to innovate. Over the past 30 years, two innovations in particular have taken the classical guitar world by storm: the double top guitar and the lattice guitar. What are they? How, why and from where did they appear? What do they sound like?
The guitar before lattice and double top bracing:
You are probably aware that different guitar makers specialise in using different bracing patterns. Many makers develop their own designs, and it’s these different designs that give guitars their unique sounds. The narrow lengths of wood we call ‘bracing’ support the interior of a guitar's soundboard, keeping the guitar from caving in on itself under the pull of the strings. In balance with this structural purpose, the bracing is also designed not to be so stiff or heavy as to inhibit the vibration of the soundboard.
Throughout the 20th century guitar makers mostly used what we now call ‘traditional bracing’. This kind of bracing was pioneered in the late 19th century by a maker called Antonio Torres. A traditionally braced guitar in the Torres style generally has a soundboard with a thickness between 1.8mm and 2.5mm, the interior of which has 7 struts made of spruce laid out in the shape of a fan. 20th century makers built on this design, finding their own unique sounds within this concept. For example, French maker Robert Bouchet added a brace going across the soundboard under the bridge, and reduced the number of fan braces to five. A Spanish guitar builder called Ignacio Fleta started using cedar, as opposed to spruce, as his material of choice for the soundboard, and he increased the number of fan braces to nine. Within this general framework - a solid spruce or cedar soundboard with fan braces - many great guitars have been built and continue to be built. This fan braced instrument in all its variations is what we think of as the traditional classical guitar.
The lattice braced guitar:
The basic idea of lattice bracing had been around for a while. Using bracing across the guitar soundboard was not a new idea, though the rationale behind its use had been different. Lattice bracing not only has strutting along the grain of the soundboard, as in fan bracing, but also has struts across the grain of the soundboard. The bracing forms a grid-like trellis structure, which is stronger and stiffer than regular fan bracing. Due to the strength of the bracing, the thickness of the soundboard can be made much thinner, between 1mm and 1.5mm and in theory the result is a louder guitar and with a different sound quality.
Often the term ‘lattice guitar’ is associated not only with the bracing, but with the fact that many lattice guitars also have very thick back and sides, and are generally very heavy. However, not all lattice braced guitars are like that; this is just one way that they can be constructed. Guitar makers are exploring many possibilities of lattice bracing; some makers use carbon fibre to reinforce the lattice structure to make it really stiff; some makers conversely only use wood bracing; some lattice guitars are constructed with thin back/sides, others with thick. The very heavily built lattice guitars are associated with the Australian school of guitar building and particularly with the luthier Greg Smallman, who was one of the pioneers of the lattice guitar.
The lattice guitar began to rise to prominence and be accepted in the 80s. It seems that Australian guitar builder Greg Smallman, Japanese builder Kohno and English maker Paul Fischer all separately came up with lattice based designs at that time, and probably other makers did too. I like the story of Greg Smallman developing his guitar; if I recall correctly, he would doggedly try to get feedback on his guitars from players (particularly collaborating with very famous guitarist John Williams), trying to understand what guitar players wanted and needed from their guitars, and adjusting the design of his guitars in accordance. What he eventually came up with was something quite far from the traditional guitar. In England, Paul Fischer collaborated with a scientist called Bernard Richardson; together they experimented on designing a bracing pattern, for a guitar with increased projection. The result was Paul’s Taut model. Technically, both Paul and Greg’s guitar models have lattice bracing, but they are very different guitars. Well known and fantastic players such as John Williams (on a Smallman guitar) Xuefei Yang (Smallman and Fischer), Jason Vieaux (Fischer), play using lattice guitars, showing that this type of construction must have some merit.
The double top guitar:
Many luthiers over the centuries have searched for some innovation to make a drastic improvement to the guitar. But I don’t think any such innovation has been quite so successful at making such a huge impact on the guitar world, as the double-top guitar.
The construction of the double-top is clever and modern. “Double-top” refers to the soundboard, which, rather than being one solid piece of wood, is actually made up of three layers: two very thin layers of wood - hence ‘double-top’ - and sandwiched between them, a layer of a man-made material called nomex. Nomex has a honeycomb structure, so there’s a lot of empty space. It feels a bit like paper, quite light and fragile. However, once the nomex is glued up between the two layers of wood, the whole structure is very stiff and strong. Each layer of wood can be around 0.3-0.6mm thick! Extremely thin. The whole rationale behind double tops is to decrease the overall weight of the soundboard, and the resulting sound is supposed to be much louder.
There are two guitar makers associated with the creation of double top guitars. They are Mathias Dammann and Gernot Wagner. I believe it was Dammann, in his search to build his ideal guitar - and dissatisfied with attempts so far - who initially experimented with double top ideas, in the late 80s/early 90s when he was in his early 30s. I believe initial attempts involved using strips of wood as the middle layer of the double top, but he soon discovered the material nomex, and was able to see its potential for guitar building. I do admire the ingenuity of the double top invention, particularly as nomex was initially developed for use in fields completely unrelated to guitar making
While Dammann was building the first double tops, fellow German luthier Gernot Wagner had reached similar conclusions while trying to improve the sound of his guitars. He had realised that when he used the lightest material for his soundboards, he came closer to achieving the sound he wanted. He would therefore immediately see the merit in an idea that reduces the weight of the soundboard considerably. Somehow, the two luthiers met and exchanged ideas, around the time when Dammann was building his first double tops. I think such a collaboration is quite enviable! And from it has emerged the double top classical guitar that we know today. As with lattice guitars, and traditional guitars, there is a spectrum of double-top guitars, and many different construction styles. They tend to sound differently to traditional guitars, but each double top builder will have their own unique design and sound.
So, double top, traditional or lattice?
Usually, it’s best to simply judge every guitar on its sound, playability and aesthetic, and not worry initially about what the interior construction is. There are many stereotypes regarding materials and construction methods, such as: spruce sounding more articulate; cedar’s tone being darker and louder; double tops and lattice being louder but with a less pleasing tone. It’s important to be aware of the different construction methods out there, but I would recommend disregarding such preconceptions and try to judge each unique guitar impartially. Also, you will have different priorities, depending on if you’re a professional constantly touring musician, a student, a teacher, or someone who likes to play guitar in their free time. There are professional guitarists playing all different types of construction, so there is no clear consensus as to what is better; it is really down to personal taste.
So far, I have built mostly traditionally braced instruments. There is a huge gamut of tones, colours, loudness levels etc to be found, even only among traditional guitars. It is in fact extraordinary to hear the wide range of possibilities. I have experienced this when attending guitar making competitions - where there is the opportunity to hear many guitars in comparison with each other - and when visiting classical guitar dealers, where of course you can try many guitars. I have built one experimental double top guitar, which I wasn’t at all happy with actually, but it was just an experiment; in the end it was a loud guitar but with a voice that barked rather than sung. I would say that knowing how to build a good double top, or lattice, is its own art, as valid as building traditional guitars. I think it’s fantastic that lattice and double tops exist; I think it broadens the possibilities of the classical guitar, and increases the chances of finding the ideal sound for you.
I was able to meet Gernot Wagner, one of the first double top makers, while visiting London Guitar Studio one December. Since, Gernot was scheduled to arrive soon, the owners said I should stay and get get some feedback on a guitar I’d built. Gernot, like many luthiers, is extremely open about his methods, for the sake of furthering the craft. I had the fortune to receive from him what he called a free lecture. He told me in particular about his general building principles which eventually led him to building double-top guitars. When I was studying at college, I attended a lecture by guitar maker Paul Fischer. He developed a kind of bracing, not dissimilar to lattice, that he called taut bracing. It takes a certain curiosity and bravery to really push the limits in guitar making, and a lot of talent to do so successfully. I do admire the lattice and double-top guitars of the world. I don’t know whether my quest for my perfect sound will lead me down the double-top/lattice path in the long run. Having said that, I am building my first lattice guitar now, in collaboration with a guitar maker called Rik Middleton. I look forward to seeing how it sounds.
Excitingly, many luthiers who are considered quite influential today, such as Smallman, Wagner, Dammann, Friedrich etc, started to settle upon their signature sound around their early 30s. I’m approaching that age! I’m at a time in my career, where worries about craftsmanship are getting smaller as skill increases and my perfectionism regarding my guitars is more satisfied. That leaves the sound as the main focal point of my attention, and I look forward to seeing what sound-paths I tread in the coming years.
What is a handcrafted classical guitar and who are they for?
As far as classical guitars go, handmade reigns supreme, as shown by the fact that just about every professional plays a handmade guitar. This is different to the steel-string or electric guitar world, where factories and big-brands are king. For me and many others, it is one of the most charming things about the classical guitar. But for those newer to the classical guitar, or perhaps asking themselves questions such as, “Am I good enough for a handmade guitar?”, this article is for you.
Looking inside the soundhole of a guitar, you see a label and on that label a name, the name of a man or woman who dedicated perhaps much of their life towards honing the sound of their instruments, and diligently refining their unique aesthetics. That is at least how I felt as a teenager, peering into the soundhole of my grandpa’s old, quite cracked but well loved Harald Petersen guitar; I felt I was holding a small piece of an artist’s work. A piece of art I could hold, play, look at, listen to - experiencing it in many different ways.
The artistry and craft of a classical guitar maker lies not only in the visual aspect, though each maker decorates their guitar uniquely to distinguish their instruments from others, and display their technical ability. It lies not only in the functional aspect - for example how comfortably the neck is shaped - or in the tactile aspect, such as which polish has been used and how well. Many would say the most important aspect is the sound, and partly I would agree; each guitar maker chases their individual idea of the perfect sound, refining their unique sound throughout their career. But I would really say that the best guitars bring all these aspects together and that this is the aim of the handmade guitar. But there is also an additional element; it would be better to say that the aim is to bring all these elements together, in a way best for that particular customer, as the maker and guitarist can correspond during the building process or perhaps just know each other anyway.
This aim is for the most part quite beyond classical guitars built in a factory. Part of the reason is that every single piece of wood is different and needs to be treated differently. The properties of each piece of wood can vary from piece to pieces, even when cut from the same tree. This is particularly true of wood for the soundboard on a classical guitar, which influences the sound most of all. Factories, due to the demands of mass-production, build every instrument exactly the same, despite variations in wood. Not only that but the priorities of factories don’t necessarily correspond with what is best for a great classical guitar. Priorities such as needing to limit returns and repairs, therefore building for robust instruments, and prioritising speed, so finishes like French polish are usually out of the question. This situation is unique to classical guitars, mostly arising from the fact that it’s a difficult job to make a classical guitar sound really good. It’s much easier to build a bad sounding classical than a bad sounding steel-string. Conversely, the priorities of factories and players of steel-string/electric guitars, usually more or less align, therefore factory guitars remain popular with those players.
Classical players choose their guitar maker by a number of factors. Perhaps the guitarist is initially drawn in by the aesthetic style and craftsmanship of a particular maker, and the aesthetic details. Maybe a maker has a particularly brilliant signature sound. Perhaps a guitarist has gotten to know a maker and likes his ideas.
Let’s zoom in on some of these different details. Firstly, the craftsmanship. Often, classical guitar makers, apart from putting their name on the label inside the soundhole, will distinguish their guitars by decorating them in a recognizable manner/style. There is limited scope to do this, since the guitar is a classical instrument and not much in the design can be changed. However, if you look at the headstock, here the maker distinguishes himself with a unique design. It has to be unique, something he has thought up himself; it is actually considered poor form to copy someone else's design here. Therefore, you can usually recognise a guitar maker by their headstock design. There is also the rosette, the pattern around the soundhole. There are guitar makers who make every rosette unique and different; others buy the rosette; but there are some that create a distinctive design here and use the same design on each guitar. Growing up, I always loved the Paul Fischer rosette (a guitar maker from Oxford, UK. A maker with a distinctive rosette today is Philip Woodfield. I personally like it when you can distinguish a guitar’s maker by the rosette design. It somehow ties together their whole body of work. Some makers also decorate the tie block on the bridge with a pattern corresponding with or complimenting the rosette. If you look at guitars throughout the careers of many makers, often at first the design varies, then as they mature they begin to build essentially the same instrument design over and over, as they fine tune their ideal design.
Aside from the aesthetic design choices, there is also the level of workmanship. I think the best makers are very exacting in their workmanship. The workmanship represents the guitar maker’s pride in his work. I think with the best guitars, the closer you look, the better it gets; rather than the opposite with guitars with poor workmanship.
Secondly, the sound. There is such variety in sound with classical guitars, it is a truly brilliant situation! A small anecdote: years ago, I attended a violin making competition in Malta. Some of the judges lamented the fact that all the violins there essentially sounded the same; this is because violin players and makers idolise Stradivarius and Gueneri violins, and achieving that same sound has become an art. The situation is so different with guitars. There are fan braced guitars of many different varieties; fan bracing is what we consider traditional bracing. Newer innovations are common such as double top guitars and lattice braced guitars, and such designs are ever being refined. Older types of bracing exist too, such as ladder bracing, from the 18th and 19th century. Within each type of bracing, many sound-worlds exist. Some of these sound-worlds become associated with particular guitar makers. For example, a guitar maker who lived in 20th century Paris named Robert Bouchet, inspired by a 19th century guitar he had, began to brace his instruments with a cross brace under the bridge, giving his guitars a distinctive sound which became very famous. That type of cross brace is now known as a ‘Bouchet bar’.
The sound is the real meat of the matter when it comes to the classical guitar. Personally, I think a classical guitar maker will have long mastered the craftsmanship aspect of guitar making before he masters the sound. Often when guitarists try out a guitar, the sound is really the thing they pay attention to. A louder guitar, sweeter, more colourful, bassier, responsive, dry, crisp. A guitar maker plots his course in this deep forest of sounds. The guitarist must go into that forest too, and in there find the guitar maker most suited to him.
Finally there is the aspect of collaboration between maker and guitarist. Although often the best results can be achieved when a guitar maker is left to build his signature design, sometimes two people can come together and create something better than one person could ever do alone; two people inspiring each other
With that background covered about what a handmade classical guitar is, we can answer the question about who they are for. The answer is that they are for many groups of people. There are musicians who like to enrich their lives by playing the classical guitar as a hobby; there are professional touring musicians, students, teachers. For some players the handmade guitar is a luxury, a feast for the senses, and in a way I actually think it is this group of players who most appreciate the classical guitar maker's art. For professional classical guitarists and serious students, it is essential for them to have a guitar that doesn’t limit them. Just as long ago a warrior might prefer to go into battle with a well crafted and sharpened sword, the professional musician needs a serious instrument too. For them, the handcrafted guitar is not just a luxury, but an essential tool. Once a player has discovered the vast range of sounds possible with handmade guitars, it is difficult to return to worse instruments. As a player progresses and grows as a musician, they might notice limitations in their instruments that they weren’t able to perceive initially. I would think when that happens that they are ready for something better. A guitar can seem limiting for any number of reasons, soundwise, visually, or due to functional issues such as neck shape or intonation.
This blog post has me thinking of many of the guitar makers through the ages whose different sounds and designs I admire greatly. I think if we were to ask them, who their guitars are suitable for, they would agree that if you will play the guitar, enjoy it and take care of it, then you are ready for a handmade guitar.
Constantly improving the guitars
I've been thinking about the subject of constantly improving as a guitar maker. This line of thought was prompted by a podcast I listened to recently, in which a guitarist talked about her journey of improving as a guitarist, attending conservatories, masterclasses and competitions etc and she spoke a lot about receiving feedback. I noticed many parallels to my career making guitars, and I guess it's similar for anyone trying to master an art/craft.
An upcoming guitar, currently being polished
Seeking out and interpreting feedback is an important part of making guitars. There are several different sources of feedback, each with different priorities and backgrounds, providing different and useful viewpoints. I have sought feedback from other guitar makers, guitar players - both amateur and professional - as well as guitar shops/dealers. For me, and I'm sure the same is true for many artists and musicians, I'm my harshest critic.
I think a good first step to improving at any skill is to have a clear picture of what you're aiming for. I think this is one reason guitar making is quite difficult, because the main goal is the sound, which is something intangible and quite subjective. Other goals in guitar making are easier to imagine, such as having excellent workmanship and varnishing skills, building up a collection of good quality, seasoned woods, creating an aesthetically good looking design/personal style of working etc. But the sound is definitely the most important and alluring aspect. Eventually, all other elements, workmanship, design, playability etc will or should be mastered and all that remains to focus on is the sound. If you track a guitar maker's career, in the early years the design/bracing of their guitars will probably vary quite considerably, but as they mature they will probably find the general sound they are looking for, and focus on one or two designs, fine tuning their sound for the majority of their career.
Feedback from players, makers and dealers is important, and from each group it's different. A good player can really put a guitar through its paces and say if they like it or not, and whether or not there's something lacking. Sometimes a guitarist won't like something, but won't be able to say why. Sometimes they’ll say a guitar is good, in order to be polite, but they're clearly not feeling it. This is why I consider interpreting feedback to be a sort of art. For example, a player might think the action is too high, when really the neck is poorly shaped and uncomfortable, so it's the job of the guitar maker to find out what the real cause of the problem is. Regarding sound it should be borne in mind that a player's ear might be tuned to whatever guitar they already have. Naturally, learning from other guitar makers is crucial because they can not only point out issues, but give real, practical solutions and advice on how to obtain a better sound. It is also interesting to get feedback from guitar dealers, because they see so many guitars, and therefore likely have their ear well tuned in, they can give hopefully accurate assessment of a guitar maker's guitar, and notice the fine details to be improved.
Having a well tuned-in ear is really important as a guitar maker. I’ve found it difficult to do in the past, as most of the work is in the workshop at the workbench, but activities such as going to guitar societies, concerts, going to a guitar shop/dealer and trying lots of guitars, have proved crucial for getting my ear attuned to what a good guitar sounds like, what the possibilities of the guitar are and what I want my guitars to sound like. I went to a guitar society meeting a few months ago, and enjoyed discovering the sound of a particular Christopher Dean guitar. It was a deep, large, luxurious sound. Although I don't want to emulate that sound on my own guitars, I did really like it and it slightly expanded my understanding of the sound of the classical guitar. When I went to a guitar making competition last summer, some of the guitars, in terms of volume, power and protection, exceeded what I thought was possible with traditional bracing. Another option for a guitar maker would be to find a guitar with an undoubtedly excellent sound, keep that guitar in the workshop and use it as a reference point.
The possibilities of the guitar’s sound are really vast even within the realms of traditional bracing, let alone lattice braced guitars, double top guitars and other potential future innovations. My upcoming guitar which is being polished now, is borne out of a meeting with guitar maker Paul Fischer. Over a year ago now, I showed him a guitar as well as a plan of the bracing. We talked it through together and agreed on some changes. I'm really looking forward to hearing this guitar. And so the guitar making journey and quest to find the ideal sound continues.
Two Zoe Barnett guitar concerts, in Ampthill and Bedford
I went to two concerts last year of the classical guitarist Zoe Barnett. She is a young guitarist and I believe studied or is studying at the Royal College of Music in London and also is very active, doing concerts all around the UK. I live in Bedford and classical guitar concerts happen only a few times a year, so when I saw a one scheduled not too far away in a town called Amptill, I excitedly decided to go. At that time I was working on a prototype guitar, one of the first examples of a design I’m hoping to finalise next year, and I took it with me, hoping to get some feedback.
I had never been to Amptill, but having a habit of arriving to a place a little early, to get my bearings, I got an earlier bus and went for a walk around. It seemed nice, though perhaps too much so, bordering on Hot Fuzz vibes. The concert was in a church and was pretty full with an audience of both young and old and there were overall good vibes. The concert was held by ‘Katherine Concerts’, who organize weekly classical concerts there throughout the year.
I remember feeling that the guitarist Zoe Barnett was clearly extremely talented with great musicality, and I liked the pacing of the programme, which if I recall correctly included two pieces I knew; a piece by Manuel Ponce and Suite Compostelana by Frederic Mompou - and the rest was new to me. I also liked the sound of her guitar, which was spruce with maple back and sides made by a luthier called Nick Bramwell. I guessed the guitar was probably quite traditionally and lightly made. I almost felt I could recognise the exact type of sound from my memory of guitars I had made myself with a similar construction, though perhaps I imagined it.
After the concert there was tea and cakes served in a room upstairs and most of the audience went up there. I sat and discussed music with people. The two people to my right were members of a choir, which was great because I love choral music. The person to my left was an organist, and so for the first time in my life I could discuss the organ composer Durufle with someone, and we agreed on a probable pronunciation for his name. I got the chance to show Zoe the guitar I had made, and got some valuable feedback. I like the thought that the sound of my guitars are shaped by talented guitarists. I find it useful to get the thoughts of as many talented musicians as possible. Opinions on the sound of a guitar of course vary, but sometimes trends appear in their feedback, which is useful. For example, regarding my earlier guitars, players often commented that they weren’t too loud, although the tone was there.
Luckily and to my great delight, Zoe had another concert scheduled in Bedford the next month. This was a lunchtime recital at the church called St Pauls. I have a friend who who works near me; we often go on lunchtime walks, and we decided to go to the recital together, feeling like two extremely refined gentlemen to be attending a classical recital in the middle of the day, This concert had the same programme, but was different in that the hall was much bigger and this time the sound was amplified. It was done extremely well and sounded great, I think I even preferred it. I hope if my guitars are ever amplified, that it’s done in a similar way. It’s great to recall these two concerts and am looking forward to my next Zoe Barnett concert.
Sustainability and ethics in guitar making
I’ve been thinking about sustainability in guitar making recently because as I’m at the point in my career where the designs of my guitars are being honed closer to their final state, I’m therefore looking towards building faster, building these same designs again and again; that means buying more wood and on a more regular basis. Before I embark on this next stage, I need to get my ducks in a row regarding where to responsibly source wood, and figure out what my position on the matter of the environment is. It’s quite easy for a guitar maker to not think about these things, and particularly ordering wood online, it feels like it pops out of thin air and sometimes you don’t consider where it comes from. Often, tonewood suppliers don’t list where they have sourced the wood.
Fortunately, this year I read a fantastic book called ‘The Guitar: Tracing the Wood back to the Tree’ by Chris Gibson and Andrew Warren - a brilliant and easy read, I recommend it strongly. It went into particular detail regarding woods used for steel string guitars and by guitar factories.
One might argue that the impact a single guitar maker has in terms of trees cut down is negligible. However, the guitar is such an important, popular, cultural symbol worldwide, that guitar makers are in a position where they can call more attention to environmental problems, because so many people are interested in guitars. Furthermore, I think a buyer would definitely be disappointed if he/she discovered the materials used for his guitar were not sourced carefully and ethically, or if perhaps the guitar maker didn’t know where the materials came from. Wood is something special and precious, taken from a magnificent tree that perhaps took hundreds of years to grow, then transported thousands of miles; I feel if a maker can convey this to the buyer they will cherish their guitar all the more.
The standard woods used for the classical guitar today are Indian rosewood, maple, cypress spruce, western red cedar, Spanish cedar and ebony, as well as a variety of other tropical hardwoods for the backs and sides. Brazilian rosewood used to be the wood for back and sides, but as the forests in Brazil were decimated and all the old growth Brazilian rosewood is practically gone, its use was banned by an international organisation called CITES. Guitar makers now use Indian rosewood instead, which due to its felling and processing being carefully controlled by the Indian government, is more sustainable. Indian rosewood is grown in plantations and only a certain number of trees are allowed to be cut, processed and sold each year.
Ebony, the jet black wood used for fingerboards, is an terribly endangered wood mainly grown in Cameroon in Africa. Also the situation around its felling seems so chaotic. It’s difficult wood to replace, but I have found one source which looks reliably sustainable, which is an ebony plantation founded by Bob Taylor of Taylor Guitars (Bob Taylor is a figure in the guitar industry who is particularly forward thinking regarding sustainability and tonewoods), and co owned by tonewood supplier Madinter. There is also a UK brand called Rocklite offering eco-friendly man made alternatives to ebony and rosewood, for things like bindings, fretboards and bridges.
Some UK luthiers also advocate the use of native tonewoods; such woods include maple, yew, walnut, poplar, beech, birch, eucalyptus and more. As many of these trees/timbers are not usually cut to guitar dimensions, and not on a large scale, it can be difficult to find these timbers to build with and when you find it, the wood available is often not up to guitar standard. However, I have seen some sets of native woods, particularly walnut, birch, apple, maple, that are truly stunning, and I would love to use them on a regular basis. Unfortunately, often when trees are felled in the UK, they are simply destroyed no matter how great their potential for musical instruments might be. There are some small companies who rescue such trees and turn them into usable wood. One excellent example is a business called Conway Tonewoods; the quality of the native woods there is sometimes stunning, showing that ‘built with local timber’ doesn’t necessarily mean 'built with lesser timber’. I hope such businesses spread and suitable native woods are used more often. Another similar option is to use reclaimed woods, for example wood taken from large old furniture.
English Yew Tree
Extremely usefully, a study has been carried out over the past 15 years, called the Leonardo Guitar Project; a study showing the suitability (or non-suitability) of different non-tropical woods for the different parts of the guitar. This study was carried out scientifically and many luthiers took part as well as two guitar making schools. The results serve as an excellent foundation for any guitar maker looking to move away from tropical woods, because that initial period of uncertainty and experimentation when using new woods, is already completed by this study.
I have noticed that British guitar makers are quite forward thinking in their use of tonewoods. When Paul Fischer was at the start of his career, he got a Winston Churchill fellowship to travel to Brazil, to try to find alternatives to Brazilian Rosewood. Guitar maker Kevin Aram often uses native wood, and often fells the trees and has the wood processed himself. Gary Southwell often uses relatively recently discovered native timber called Bog Oak. One of my old teachers, Adrian Lucas, often uses reclaimed timber. So young guitar makers in the UK, like me, have excellent examples to follow, and I think this has also resulted in customers also being open to woods other than those considered traditional. It’s something I really like about the guitar, compared to for example the violin. There is room for change, and development and expression in the guitar world.
It’s difficult to form a definite conclusion to this blog post at this point, as the wood industry really seems so chaotic, and what I’d really like to do is visit some countries and their sawmills, and see the different situations in person. For now, when I do use tropical timbers, I will favour tonewood suppliers who are most transparent where it’s sourced, and will keep my eye out for native timbers of high quality too.