Happy July...uh, August everyone! We had hoped to get the newsletter out in July but had quite a month getting our NEW WEBSITE up and running! We've been hard at work revamping, editing, writing, revising, writing, reviewing, writing, and... well, writing over the last few months in preparation for this launch. It's up now and we are excited to share it with all of you! Be sure to check it out and let us know your thoughts as well as if you pick up on any errors. It's still a work in progress. Now, on to the newsletter! We have some interesting things to share with you this month. Chris begins a series called You Can Only Keep 5 Pieces of Gear. The basic premise is, "If you could only keep 5 instruments or pieces of gear from your collection, what would they be?" It's a fun exercise and Chris has challenged some of us to participate. So, look for those coming your way as well! One of our very own, teacher extrordinaire, Bucky Motter, will be performing at Songfest in Marietta on August 19th. Details below! And finally, Lindsay continues his series on Guitar Conversions, taking small, shorter scale guitars and making them Terz Guitars. Terz? What? It's all explained in the video and article. See you next month!
Chris Speaks!
Five Pieces of Gear He Has To Keep
Bucky Motter at Songfest!
Terz Tuning Fender Squier Mini Jazzmaster • Martin LX1E
Converting Small Guitars for Terz Tuning
Guitar Conversions and the Improvised Secret Weapon
Part Three: Marty the Terz
“Resurrected, reconnected, elevated, recreated—
The celebration of the rejuvenation, OH YEAH!
I'm not saying everything can be saved.
Just take a good look before you throw it away.”
The Billys (Billy Melanson & Billy Jonas), The Wheel Song
“It’s alive!!!” Dr. Frankenstein, Lindsay Petsch and Jake Sharp
Being the child of musician-guitar-store-owners, I have grown up around a great deal of improvisation—not so much musical improvisation, given my parents’ preference for classical music, but more life improvisation, particularly with respect renovation projects. When resources are scarce or when the need is unusual, one must get creative and resort to making do with what is on hand. After wrangling with enough such experiences, one is certainly inclined to adopt a “waste not” approach to life that some might see as a dangerous and ironic flirtation with one of the darkest demons of materialism: hoarding. Contrary to testimony of friends and accusations of lovers past, who may have observed my excitement when encountering a random discarded piece of wood or metal on a Sunday stroll, I have never been possessed by a hoarder demon! That said, I find myself ever awash in churning sea of creative impulses and disbelieving despair for wastefulness of the modern world that prompts me to derive unintended utility from objects that many would disregard.
Now, the practice of salvaging and upcycling is obviously rooted in pragmatism, but it has also become somewhat en vogue these days. This is understandable, as one could certainly argue that these exercises are as much propelled by curiosity as they are necessity. The inherent challenge of creating new purpose and function, and the gratification of achieving that aim are tantalizing prospects for anyone with a little DIY in their soul, especially for those with a strong artistic bent. For example, my mind is filled with tons of half-baked inventions made of cobbled together curb finds that should work… in theory… from what all I know of engineering, physics, chemistry, and quantum mechanics. Those remaining mental faculties that aren’t engaged in delusional pseudo science are generally redirected to fantastical visions of all the cool art I could make with this or that found object. Of course, the harsh reality is that any effort at invention generally fails and thus becomes “yard art,” itself (if it isn’t Hulk-smashed, shot, or blown into oblivion first). Meanwhile, much of my cache of found objects designated for artistic efforts remains a pile of quantum potentialities, because of…, well, “life stuff,” like: working for money, walking the dog, shopping for beer, and the puzzling persistent shortage of decent flux capacitors and affordable tesseracts at my local Ace Hardware.
Given my proclivity for tinkering with trash, it should be no surprise that the fates chose to put Marty the Martin in my path. He arrived on our doorstep in the arms of Buckhead mom, just like his little brother Sammy the Piccolo, who was featured in Part II of this series. Poor Marty had met his fate in some terrible child-induced accident, which was conveniently inexplicable (as is usually the case in any instance where something of value is damaged by a child). So, much like the archetypical scene in an emergency room TV drama, where some unlucky soul in hopelessly critical condition is desperately wheeled in to the operating room, we were forced snap off our gloves and deliver the grim news to the family that Marty was DOA, having sadly succumbed to his injuries. There were tears and condolences exchanged as camera withdrew and the scene faded…
Okay, that is a bit overly dramatic and not entirely accurate. Marty had indeed been badly crushed: his back was both broken in half and entirely separated from the sides; many braces were also separated and fractured; sections of the kerfed lining were broken and/or missing; and, to make matters worse, the rim had become distorted, due to the fact that the strings had been left at pitch without the reinforcement of the back. Did this translate to certifiable passage to the great beyond? Well, as we explained to the customer, no, not necessarily. In the words of Miracle Max in the Princess Bride, we informed her that “it just so happens that our friend here is mostly dead. There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead—mostly dead is slightly alive.” Unfortunately, Marty’s narrative did not involve vanquishing a pompous royal dickhead for the sake of true love, nor did he have a passionate Spaniard and a gentle giant to champion his noble cause when the cost to resurrect him was deemed prohibitive (and, let’s be honest—had either been the case, we would have fixed Marty for free, especially if Andre the Giant told us to). Thus, the agitated Buckhead mom, who was now displaying an obvious irritation with the imposition of a needless trip to the guitar store that superseded her interest in much of anything we had to say, chose to abandon any notion of repairing Marty and charged us with disposing of his remains.
Believe it or not, the scenario described above occurs fairly often, such that a graveyard of inexpensive guitars or bottom-of-the-barrel cheapos (a.k.a GSOs or Guitar Shaped Objects) eventually develops in our repair shop. This is a bit irritating as these languishing cast-offs occupy precious space! Subsequently, there is always pressure to make these obstacles disappear as soon as possible. In the case of those that are “all dead,” we salvage what parts and materials we can and dispose of the rest. Otherwise, we train with or repair anything that could potentially function as instrument and then donate it. Due to his smooshed state and the fact that he was mostly constructed of synthetic materials (the Martin LXMs have an HPL or High Pressure Laminate body and a Stratabond neck), Marty was a bit of a conundrum: There wasn’t much of value to harvest; and, getting a distorted and smashed body to come together successfully was an uncertain prospect. So, like most reasonable guitar store people, we chose to ignore the problem until it either became a genuine nuisance or eventually melded into the store’s décor.
As a result, a year or more passed before I finally got fed up with tripping over Marty, the mooshed Martin LXM, during my perennial efforts to generate storage space out of the ether by reshuffling cases. Like rolling a corpse out of the freezer and unzipping the body bag, I pulled Marty’s gig bag out of whatever corner it was stuffed in and re-examined the forgotten contents. Perhaps, at that moment, a twinge of sympathy percolated up in me; or, more likely, my procrastination engine was stoked by some odious administrative task awaiting me in the office. Whatever the reason may have been, I decided at that moment that Marty deserved to be resurrected… and that the repair department manager, Jake, deserved to be involved. So, Jake and I fired up the shop’s Tesla coils, pulled out the potions and various scientific implements and prepared to work a minor miracle. Hilarious as it may seem, Jake and I repaired Marty using nothing but some patience, a crapload of cyanoacrylate/CA, and accelerator. (For those unfamiliar with some of this terminology: “cyanoacrylate” is what haughty guitar repairmen and craftsmen call superglue to make themselves feel important; “crapload” is a technical term from England indicating a liberal amount of a given substance; “accelerator” uh, well, accelerates the chemical reaction of glue by virtue of a magical mixture of not-so-fragrant carcinogens; and “patience” is a rare radioactive isotope occasionally found in humans who are repeatedly exposed to excessive amounts of abstract art, post modern music, or lengthy newsletter articles ).
Now, supergluing a guitar together might seem suspiciously amateur, but it was necessary in Marty’s case as traditional wood glue does not bond well with the HPL composite used for the body of the LXM. That aside, the first order of business was to mend the broken back. The pieces were aligned; a crapload of cyanoacrylate was applied. The next step was to fix the broken braces and reapply them to the back. The proper pieces were aligned; half a crapload of cyanoacrylate was applied. Then, we moved on to the broken sections of kerfed lining. Missing chunks were fabricated, pieces were aligned, on quarter of a crapload of cyanoacrylate was applied. The last and most significant challenge was to re-glue the repaired back to the distorted rim. Though we exercised good judgment by putting the rim in a mold and doing dry run fits before involving a messy and fast-acting bonding agent, the distortion of the rim proved a little more stubborn, thanks in part to the behavior of the synthetic material. Even so, pieces were ultimately aligned; three and a half craploads of cyanoacrylate were applied, along with accelerator and copious profanity—a nameless agent in this enterprise didn’t notice some squeeze-out while manipulating an opposite side and glued his hands to the sides of the guitar.
Freshly resurrected and hanging out on the guitar recovery rack, Marty had a new lease on life with a bright future that was filled with potential. As many survivors of near-death events will attest, going back to their previous mode of life seems impossible after being given a second chance. Thus, it seemed inappropriate to simply string Marty up and return him to a fairly mundane life as a travel guitar. With that in mind, and inspired by my father’s mid-‘30s Martin 5-18, I decided to transform Marty into a Terz-tuned guitar.
Though relatively obscure, Terz tuning has been around for quite a while, dating back to the early 19th century. Simply put, Terz tuning is a minor third higher than a standard guitar tuning, with the pitches from low to high being: G-C-F-Bb-D-G. Though one can achieve a similar effect by capoing a guitar at the third fret, there is an appreciable difference in the timbre of a ringing open string relative to a fretted note. Subsequently, the unique tone quality of a Terz-tuned guitar is definitely beautiful and enthralling enough to warrant owning/crafting one. In the Martin line, Terz guitars are designated as Size 5 and first appeared in sales ledgers in 1854 (earlier examples may well exist, however). Size 5 models were extremely popular through the early part of the 20th century, particularly for vocal accompaniment, as their higher pitch carried very effectively—this was especially true prior to the age of steel string guitars. Though, not as widely recognized today, these guitars have been utilized in popular music, most notably by Marty Robbins and Sting.
Given the higher tuning and concomitant additional tension, Martin Size 5 models have a very short scale at 21.4” or 22,” depending on the year of production. The scale of the Little Martin models (e.g., LXM, LX1) is a little longer at 23,” but these can still support the Terz tuning as long as the strings are light enough. Should you decide to attempt a conversion like Marty’s, I recommend using an extra light acoustic guitar set (.010” - .047”), like a D’Addario EJ15. Incidentally, many children’s electrics (e.g., Fender Mini Strats) also have 23” scales and are excellent candidates for Terz conversions, but one should probably use a super light gauge string for these (.009” - .042”).
Assuming the action of potential Terz conversion was appropriately set prior to replacing the strings and tuning up to G, you probably won’t have to make many changes to the guitar’s setup other than a truss rod adjustment, and some refining of the intonation, in the case of an electric. Of course, you won’t know for sure until the guitar has sat at pitch for a little while. For instance, one potential hitch is starting with a nut that has been aggressively slotted for a player with really light touch. In this instance, the thinner gauge strings might sit lower in the slot and thus create a buzz where there was none before—this can readily be addressed by replacing the nut (the most costly option), shimming the bottom of the nut, or filling it with mastic made of bone dust and CA and then re-slotting it. There is also the possibility that the top might rise by a subtle margin, thereby increasing the relative height of the bridge and thus the string clearance at the 12th fret. If so, one can readily reduce saddle height to compensate.
All in all, with the right string gauge and a little setup work, one can readily transform a modest travel or child’s guitar into what many might consider a much more interesting instrument, a Terz guitar. And, as Marty’s story hopefully demonstrates, such potential might even exist in something that others might overlook as junk—you just have to use a little ingenuity and have a little faith that you, too, can breathe some life back into something that is actually just mostly dead. - L. Petsch July, 2022
