17th October 2012
Photo with 23 notes
Smashmouth Bass guitar
This electric bass guitar was played by Philip Endicot, who worked for General Radio back in the late 40’s - early 50’s. He scavenged parts there like a fat man in a bologna factory. His real passion was a 5 piece jazz band he belonged to called “Reform School”. This was one of the first jazz groups to go electric in Concord. He would use the pilfered parts on his bass in a quest to find “smashmouth boom”. Caught stealing red handed at G.R. in ‘58, he was sent to jail where he died in a fight over cigarettes, non-filtered Pall Malls to be exact. His brother inherited the bass and stuck it in his attic until 1998 when I bought it at his garage sale. It has the ultra rare contactor, a cool dark tone reed, and the infamous type 740 capacitance test bridge that G.R. was supposedly developing for a guy named Leo in Fullerton. (Never proven.)
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13th September 2012
Photo with 85 notes
Shondracaster Electric Guitar
Here’s an odd electric guitar. The Spiritualist Heron Trippe built 3 Shondra platters in 1961. He named them after his wife, Shondra. They were designed to channel never before heard music into the physical world. No one was sure if he was scamming or sincere, but he claimed to have met with varying degrees of success. The one fastened to an accordian was destroyed in a bench fire at his workshop. Another is in a museum in Prague, screwed to a microphone. No one knows how it got there. This is the 3rd, attached to an electric guitar fashioned by Trippe in an effort to pick up “freak ghost chords”. Trippe died in 1963 and left no instructions on how to use it. Anyone for freak ghost chords?
Details and pics at
5th February 2012
Photo with 62 notes
This electric guitar was modified in the early 60s by a young lady who inherited a spiral brass Spirit Cylinder from her Father. Spirit Cylinders are containers for “thoughts left behind” by souls who have departed and no longer need them. At least that’s what merchants told her Father in the Moroccan bazaar where he purchased it. He perished a short time later. The daughter was a struggling musician in Southern California and paid some electric guitar tech guru $100 to hook the Spirit Cylinder to her bridge pickup. She then pawned the guitar and ran away with an AWOL sailor to live with gypsies in Hungary. It’s not known if she ever had nerve enough to play the guitar after the modification. I won’t do it … perhaps you’d like to try.
18th January 2012
Photo with 8 notes
Awesome 2012 Ohio Guitar Show!
You should have been there! Thousands were. Guitar heaven. Ready for the next gig? I better get to work making more guitars:-)
21st November 2011
Guitar Stimulus Sale 2011
30% off listed price of any guitar ! ! !
November 23-30, 2011
Give & get a gift of an amazing original custom eccentric electric guitar!
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then choose your guitar on the linked website from our list of Guitars for Sale.
Hurry - Sale is limited.
21st November 2011
Photo with 5 notes
John Redstone was rehabbing The Old Dog Saloon in Finster, Wyoming. He found this behind some double thick sheet rock in what had originally been the ladies’ room. It had an unreadable note taped to the strings and a diagram of how to wire up the red button marked R below the tone knob. Both come with the purchase. Brown stain on back probably isn’t blood. This guitar might be Fat Jelly Marburn’s “Big Green”. Let’s hope not.
Could this be Fat Jelly Marburn’s “Big Green”? Like on FB for detail photos at www.facebook.com/TonyCochranGuitars for this new listing.
15th November 2011
Photo with 3 notes
GUITAR STIMULUS SALES!! UNVEILED TOMORROW!! BIG!!
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1st November 2011
"Is this a three quarter size bass guitar?" I asked. "Yeah, got it from a dude in New Hampshire. He had a clown act he did at parties and such and a full size bass stuck out of his pants too far." I didn’t ask for elaboration. Didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. "Thirty bucks? Why so cheap?" Oh jeez, aren’t I the master of haggle? "It’s a piece of crap," he said. He was obviously the master of salesmanship. "Take twenty?" I waved the bill. "No, thirty, and that’s firm." "Twenty-three?" I pulled some crumpled ones out of my shirt pocket. "Done," he said. It was the extra 2 knobs and the little box wired to the side that caught my attention. I needed to compare it to a diagram I had at home, but it looked like a dual amber capacitor housing and, if it was, this was a very good thing. Sixteen of these were made by Robby Hubson in 1968 exclusively for the Winslow and Sharp guitar works. They never worked like they were supposed to and, even worse, no one knows now what they were supposed to do. Just as it sat, it could easily fetch a grand and, if it lit up when amped, the sky was the limit. I whistled happy happy tunes all the way home.
28th October 2011
Link with 1 note
Buying guitars must hyperactivate your kidneys. I was making really good time home in the truck, but nature’s call had progressed from a gentle urgency to “if I don’t find a bathroom real soon, I’m going to blow bladder all over the dashboard.” I stopped at a UDF and scurried inside. After I had taken care of the situation, I grabbed 2 jerkies and a Stuarts Cream Soda. The girl behind the counter flashed a smile showing teeth that could only be called teeth in the most polite sense. “I see you buy guitars.” She motioned at my truck. “Yes.” I was trying not to look at her mole. She had a mole on her chin that looked like Abe Vigoda’s nose, only in HO scale. “I don’t have a guitar, but I have a case for one.” She gave me my change. “No market for cases. Sorry.” I smiled and hoped the charm I exuded didn’t pass for flirtation. “It’s monkey skin,” she said. “I keep it here. Mom says it’s creepy and she doesn’t want it in the house. My boss lets me keep it in the back by the dog food. She had me at ‘monkey skin’. “May I see it?” She disappeared through 2 banged up aluminum doors and reappeared before they even stopped swinging. She plopped it on the counter. Yikes! This was the most grotesque guitar case I’d ever seen. “My Uncle Donny skinned a big monkey that he found dead in his swimming pool. He made it into a gig bag for his electric guitar. See?” She pointed to a raised area. “I think that’s his nipple.” No knowing about the legality of owning such a thing, I passed. But I can give you the address if you’re interested.
21st October 2011
The Russian guitar under the house trailer wasn’t Russian at all. It had a hammer and sickle stenciled on it and the guy claimed that a communist named Keith Richards had owned it back in the late 60s before he was a Rolling Stone. I told him, as far as I knew, Keith Richards was an avowed capitalist. “He is now,” he answered, “but this was his back when he was poor and stuff and a member of The People’s Army.” That’s when I knew the guy was delusional. He could see that I was leaving. “Then he sold it to a guy in the Yardbirds,” he tried next. “Eric Clapton!” He looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “No,” I said. “Jeff Beck?” He was pleading now. The thing was, I liked the pickups on it. I had never seen anything like them. Dark, narrow rectangles that looked like the tops of tiny ancient car batteries … and triangular magnets! Who ever saw triangular magnets? But the neck was warped like a rotini noodle and the body appeared to be a fine combo of linoleum over plywood. Junk. I flipped it over in my hands. My heart almost thudded to an elated halt.
18th October 2011
He offered the guitar to me like it was a giant fudgesicle. “I got it in a deal with Satan,” he said. He was short, fat and all his visible skin was covered with badly drawn tattoos: flames, skulls, devils, you know, generic wicked. I laughed. “I don’t know what you gave him for it, but apparently Satan only had to cough up a $50 piece of crap from Kmart.” How is it these idiots make so many deals with Satan? Why don’t they hit up St. Joseph or Raphael or somebody like that? Casper the Friendly Ghost would come up with a better guitar than this. It was pink, I swear. Barbie pink. Mary Kay pink. Hannah Montana pink. The kind of pink you’d see on the diseased toenails of a cheap cheap hooker. “It’s pink,” I said and my lip curled in perfect disdain. I walked away. It you go guitar hunting, beware the old pat “Got it from Satan,” story. Satan doesn’t make guitars and if you believe he does you’re probably already signed up in his minion book. Pink? Give me a break.
14th October 2011
Link with 6 notes
The highway through Pennsylvania is boring and I felt my mind wandering. When buying guitars, you have to know where to draw the line. One time a guy tried to sell me three fourths of a guitar. He heard I traded in the bizarre and the macabre … Mr. Guitar Noir, so to speak. The bottom 1/4 had been cut cleanly. So cleanly it looked like it was done with a chainsaw. The bridge was gone, so the strings were splayed willy-nilly like a spastic granddaddy long leg. “This looks like it was hacked off with a chainsaw,” I said. I pricked my finger on an errant G string. “That’s because it was hacked off with a chainsaw,” he replied. “Bobby was playin’ Freebird on it when Mayella kilt him with a wild swing of a two stroke Craftsman and Bobby had just put on a fresh chain too. He was gonna cut far wood after the game.” He pointed to what looked like a dried up Earth worm on the volume knob. “Skin, swear to God. And if you look at the back, the blood stains make the face of Castro!” My friend, there is a fine line between a storied guitar and just court evidence for a troubled marriage. I walked away. I told him the guitar was just far wood.
20th September 2011
He said “I got a guitar that’s made of witch wood and galvanized bucket metal.”
"It’s not acoustic is it? I don’t buy acoustic guitars." A gentle belch punctuated the end of my sentence. He spit on the ground. It might have been tobacco juice or maybe just spit. "Oh, it’s electric all right," he said. "You can see char marks where it shorted out or something one time. I never played it. I swapped a guy for a log splitter I could never get running right, but turns out it just needed a plug and a little starting fluid. I was really ripped off, turns out. It’s real witch wood though. You familiar with witch wood?" I said that I wasn’t. He smiled. "Witch wood is wood that is from a tree that a witch was hung from until dead." He smiled again. "Rather than just until she was gasping mightily?" I asked. I’m a total riot sometimes, I swear. "Huh?" he said. "Never mind," I said. He spit again. "Anyhoo, it’s at home in my gun safe. Wanna see it? It’s pretty cool." I have an inner instinct that tells me when to roll the dice and when to pass. It fails me a lot. But it’s the only inner thing that still talks to me. "Let’s go," I said. "I’ll follow you." The Russian guitar in Pennsylvania could wait a bit longer.
15th September 2011
Guitar hunting makes me hungry, so I made a pit stop at Jim’s Fatboy in Marietta. I ordered a carotid clotting, double mayo, double onion. I would pay for that later. Some lanky guy, wearing the world’s dirtiest ball cap, walked up to me and said “Thatcher Truck?” I said that it was. “You buy guitars?” he asked. I paused before replying. I was in a hurry and did not want to look at one more banged up, neck warped, knob missinged, Stratocaster inspired First Act guitar that some bozo bought back when he thought he would be the next Randy Rhoads. I couldn’t say that I didn’t buy guitars because the door on my truck announced that I did, indeed, buy guitars and announced it in 10 inch letters, no less. At the end of my mental debate I decided it best to not anger one of the locals, and a mean looking one at that, and said “What do you have?” I regretted it immediately.
10th September 2011
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I better go gas up the truck. I’m heading over to East Pennsylvania today. Someone phoned me about a guitar he found in the crawl space under his godmother’s house trailer. I asked him if it was preserved from the elements in any way and he said “Yes” but would not elaborate any further no matter how I hinted around. I don’t think the crawl space under a house trailer is ideal for the preservation of an electric guitar no matter how well it’s wrapped up. I’m not expecting much. But he did say, the trailer is a rare 1949 Noonan Land Baron Deluxe and there are not many of those left, my friend, especially with the copper plated side trim intact! So I’m going to look at the trailer mostly and hopefully the guitar will be a bonus. He told me it’s Russian. And Russian electric guitars … well, when’s the last time you saw one? He said the pickups are wood and pitch with little triangle shaped magnets. Woo Hoo! I’m outta here.