THE ART OF AGEING

Many of us love old guitars because of what they are. And it seems we even love guitars that look like old guitars, because of what they pretend to be. The knocks and dings that a real old, worn guitar accumulates are mementoes of actual events. That bash there happened when it fell down the stairs at that terrible session, remember? This bit here is where my elbow’s rested the last x-hundred-and-something gigs. Flip it over and that’s where my fave belt buckle has left its unreadable signature.

An aged new guitar, however – the type we often call a relic – is an ersatz axe. And usually it’s someone else’s take on the history of dings. Nonetheless, you could take matters into your own hands, a potentially dangerous move that might involve sandpaper, steel wool, hair dryers, freezers, bunches of keys, bathroom cleaner, vinegar, gougers, files, cold tea or coffee, oxidising fluid, Tung oil, French polish, razor blades, and other fearsome tools of the trade.

In their favour, relics are good to go, anywhere you like, without the fear of damaging a valuable vintage collectable. There’s always the worry with a wallet-emptying vintage piece over the authenticity of the paint finish, the rightness of a pickguard screw, the veracity of its solder joints. A new-old guitar at least takes away any nagging doubts about originality.

FENDER FINDS A RELIC

Early in 1995 when Fender showed off a few early samples of its new guitars with aged finishes at the NAMM gear show in Anaheim, some of the repairers who wandered by must