Vintage Trouble

How do you know a man has a vintage guitar collection? More often than not, he’ll tell you. Vintage guitars are seen as the ultimate in the guitar world; the pièce de résistance; the crowning glory that befits someone who has dedicated their life to wood and wires, and people pay handsomely for the pleasure of owning such old slabs of dead tree.

There are rumours that the older wood used gives a better tone, or that years of being played and vibration mean the guitar sounds better in some intangible way. It’s completely subjective, and despite my best efforts, I myself have started to ascribe to the notion that older can indeed mean better. Recently, we began work on Cardinal Black’s second album, recording it in the picturesque town of Maur, just outside Zurich. PowerPlay Studios is set next to a lake and all the natural beauty that comes with it. Not only is it nestled in surroundings more befitting of a chocolate box, there’s some wonder and amazement inside the walls as well. Europe, the famed 80s rockers, wrote and recorded ‘The Final Countdown’ there, as well as being a favourite haunt of Prince. Stevie Nicks’ Neve console is nestled in one of the downstairs studios, and upstairs in the office sits a plethora of vintage guitars, basses and amplifiers that would make Joe Bonamassa’s underwear twitch.

I settled into the session with an army of four - a 1964 Fender Precision with roundwounds, a 1965 Fender Precision with flatwounds, an 1989 Japanese Precision and a 1969 Fender Mustang bass. Out of this line up, the one that will get the vintage brigade going the most will be the 1964 - the year CBS took over Fender (to split hairs, most 1964 basses had their parts built in 1963 or even earlier, and are considered Pre-CBS basses). And what a machine it is.

I’ve played many Precision basses in my time, and this one is the best I’ve ever played by a country mile. So what makes it good? First off, it feels stiff. The body and the neck feel like they are one solid unit, not two separate pieces joined by screws. As a result, the body resonates wildly into your ribs like a jackhammer. It’s a joyous feeling. The neck is slimmer than other Precisions, with dainty little frets and deep, onyx-like rosewood. It really is as slick, flat and fast as a racetrack. Lastly, the pickups are vocal, throaty and borderline aggressive, machine-gunning the signal through the output jack and into whatever piece of equipment is lucky enough to be on the receiving end. Small wonder that this bass ended up in a first rate studio.

So, how did the others compare? Well, the 1965 Precision was a bit dull and blunt; almost lethargic, with the thickest baseball bat neck I’ve ever struggled to get my hands around. It certainly has its place as a mean dub machine, but it wasn’t as well oiled or as slick as the ‘64 bass that preceded it. The 1989 Precision was at least in the same ball-park as the ‘64; it had that legendary Japanese build quality and felt solid, but the difference was still leagues ahead in favour of its older sibling. The Mustang was an altogether different beast; deft and quick in the hands, it was a Harley Davidson in a fleet of vintage of Muscle Cars, but more on the Mustang another time.

On a grander scale, how does the ‘64 Precision bass compare to every other bass I’ve ever played? Simply put, it’s one of the greatest basses I’ve ever had the pleasure of handling. The general rigidity of the body and neck is the most rewarding feature. Modern basses tend to remind you of their cumbersome size by way of a wobble or small flex in the neck. Even the best modern basses have a hint. The ‘64 feels military grade, appearing not to be made of such an inconsistent material as wood. It’s also exceptionally light, well balanced and hugs your body just so. Couple those features with the raw power of the pickup which excels in achieving the rockiest, crunchiest tone imaginable and you’ve got an absolute winner.

On top of all that, the body felt nicely worn and the sunburst finish displayed its scars with pride. Picking it up, it gave the impression that it had done great things in its life; it had mystique. It made you want to play at your absolute best, as though you needed to prove yourself to this old girl. After playing one, you can certainly see why so many people are chasing a Pre-CBS Fender, but at an estimated £15,000, it’s out of reach of most mortal human beings.

And that’s where the story becomes a bit less interesting, because it’s very rare you’ll find someone who will actually use it for its intended purpose after buying it. You won’t want to take it down the Dog & Duck - the pick guard alone will fetch over £900 on eBay. Heaven forbid you leave it resting on your amp whilst you enjoy your pre-gig pie and chips. Many people who are in the position to afford a Pre-CBS Precision bass will seldom play it, which is beyond criminal. Ultimately, they’ll end up as wall-pieces or sat behind a glass display in a collector’s repository where the new owners will be checking their Vanguard accounts as well as prices on Reverb to see how well their investments are doing. Wood and wires have transcended the very job they were designed and built for; promoted out of their skillset.

Is there a way of getting the best of both worlds; having the penny and the bun? Sadly not, but if you take the tangible aspects of the ‘64 and focus on bringing those to a more modern package, I think there’s at least a halfway house. Recently, I’ve worked with Bruce Hartley at Bassworks, a Leicester based luthier, who has made some pretty wonderful basses. I’ve been given the pleasure of road testing a Bassworks JPJ4: a Jazz-bass bodied, Bartolini PJ-pickup wielding race car of a bass, and what stands out to me is that is has the same stiffness as the ‘64 Precision. The raw finish on the back of the neck puts you in mind of the old vintage beasts without being too pitted or gouged. I like it a lot. I’d go as far to say as there are even notable improvements over the vintage offering, such as the more ergonomic body shape and Bruce’s trademark rounded fret ends (which are individually done by hand). The only thing it lacks is the mystery of a vintage instrument: old guitars are swathed in folklore in a way that modern instruments simply haven’t earned yet. It is, however, a good excuse to take the best modern instrument you can find out on the road and give it a few stories to tell, a couple of nicks on the body, maybe even a scar or two. So that’s what I intend on doing with the Bassworks before it gets carted off to sit behind some glass on a shelf. Let’s give it a life.