Plane update

As you can see, I’ve started carving/shaping the plates for archtop #5.

I’ve been using the two new planes that I showed you a couple of posts back. The flat length, curved width one does, indeed, work incredibly well for removing wood around the outside edges.

And the curved length, flat width also functions as intended, although I have to admit that I did reshape the sole by increasing the curve.

Had I bought the planes, I’d have thought it money well spent, but how immensely satisfying to use a tool that you’ve made yourself!

Archtop #5; The Rim

 The rim for archtop #5 has been completed; it consists of the walnut sides, which are held together with two blocks, the linings and the end graft which, is purely decorative.

The neck block is laminated from two pieces of sitka with a central piece of walnut; for extra strength, the walnut’s grain runs at 90 degrees to the sitka.  Due to the orientation of the neck block, end grain is exposed, so it’s sealed to reduce any chance of shrinkage.

The tail block again is laminated, this block takes the screws from the tailpiece and will also have a 12mm hole for the endpin jack, so laminations are essential to reduce the likelihood of splitting.

 Over the years I’ve used tentellones, kerfed, reversed kerf and solid linings; they all do the job of increasing the surface area for gluing the top and back on. However, I much prefer solid linings as they add considerable stiffness to the rim. Mine are made up from 2 x 2.5mm layers, individually bent and then glued in place.

With the linings in place, and some structure given to the rim, I mark out and route the mortice for the neck joint. 

And last, but not least is the end graft, visually it’s important to get the proportions of this correct, even though most of this won’t be see as it will be under the tailpiece!

Wood glorious wood

Like my fellow luthiers, I’m always buying wood! And here’s this week’s addition to the wood pile.

Mostly for archtops: a couple of Sitka tops and although I really like Sitka, I thought I should give Adirondack a go, so four of them! and nice piece of Brazilian cedar which will make the core of the next chambered body emando…………

Chambered body electric mandolin: COMPLETED!

As the title says, I’ve now finished the latest emando. So, below are some of my favourite photos of it and of course the season finale video! In the video, on a couple of occasions you’ll hear the emando without amplification and it demonstrates how the concept of increasing the natural resonance of the instrument, by building in “chambers” does, in fact, work.

This emando was, by far, the most challenging one that I’ve done, but hopefully you’ll agree that it was worth the effort. Will I make another? Of course! Ideas whirling away in the ol’ brain-box already!

And the video..................

E mando- putting it together: 2

The next step is to assemble the various components that have wires attached! If you’re making an electric instrument, like a Strat, with all the components attached to a pick guard then things are fairly straight forward. However, if you want to run the wires through the body, things get a bit fiddly! First, I wiggle some green garden wire through all of the holes- this wire has just the right rigidity to allow you to push it, yet it bends around hidden corners. 

Once the garden wire is through, the electrical wires can be taped to it and pulled through the various channels inside the e-mando.

And with all the components fixed down, the soldering can begin. Again, this is fiddly because you have to solder so close to or even inside, the freshly finished instrument. So, you need to protect it- you often find, with multi-core solder, the hot molten flux inside it, will spit and trust me, you don’t want any burn marks!

With all of the electrics in place, the nut gets fitted. This is just a tight-fit, I don’t like gluing nuts in place, for fear of the potential damage in removing them.

And then we’re ready for the strings and for the mandolins first test. But before that! Everything that can be scratched by the sharp end of a string is protected with low-tac masking tape.

E mando- putting it together: 1

When I do my final assembly of an instrument, out of habit, I always start with the tuners. The shafts of the tuners get a coat of paraffin wax to lubricate them, helping them to rotate more freely as they “bed in” over time. 

Perceived wisdom says that you fit the bushes first. However, I like to fit the tuners and then the bushes as the shafts act as a guide to keep the bushes true. I can only do this because I have a very special tuner bush fitting tool- actually it’s the handle from a multi-bit screwdriver set which just happens to work perfectly!

The tuners are high quality Gotoh MA40; this set has ivoroid buttons which complement the maple bindings and as there is no pearl used throughout the mandolin, pearloid ones didn’t seem appropriate, but it is beyond me why they cost an extra 20 quid!

Then the fret board gets its last coat of lemon oil before the strings go on.

All the “metalwork” gets a final once-over with a fine abrasive pad- I like a “brushed aluminium” look rather than an overly shiny one.

Where I need to, I prefer to use stainless steel screws, all these are cleaned-up for that same brushed look. Each screw goes into an electric drill which is used as a mini-lathe!

Some thoughts on craftsmanship and the lone luthier.

Back in 2009 I wrote a blog post, “So you want to be a luthier?” At the time I was getting quite a number of enquiries from would-be luthiers, so the post seemed appropriate and I think what I said then, is still relevant.

12 years on and I’d like to share my thoughts on working as luthier/craftsman (on his own) who, wishes to make the best possible instruments that he can.

Using the word craftsmanship implies a level of quality that a product (in my case a fretted instrument) has. The better the craftsmanship displayed, the better the product. However, from the perspective of the craftsman, I would suggest that the word craftsmanship isn’t just about the end product, it’s a state of mind, a continuous striving for improvement- more of a journey than a destination; something that the Japanese call Kodawari. But, what does it take to be a craftsman?

There is no denying that natural ability, talent or whatever you wish to call it, comes into play when you are trying to learn and eventually master a skill. With practise, perseverance and sheer bloody-mindedness you can attain a certain level of achievement, but you need that x-factor of natural ability to excel in your chosen area.

What are those talents needed for craftsmanship? Well in my opinion; manual dexterity, hand-eye coordination, the ability to visualise an object in three dimensions, a certain aesthetic appreciation, problem solving skills and, I’m sure, there are more attributes that I’m unable to articulate.

But of course, how many people do we know who have wasted their talents? Raw talent is not enough, you still need practise, perseverance and sheer bloody-mindedness to reach a high level of craftsmanship!

It’s often said that you need 10,000 hours of practise to master a skill; I think I’d agree with that. I’d equate it this way- say it takes on average 100 hours to build a guitar/mandolin by hand, build 100 instruments and there’s your 10,000 hours and I’d hope that you would have reached a high level of expertise by then. These days, the internet might allow you to skip hours of your own instruments’ design development, by allowing you to piggy-back on someone else’s experience, in how-to, YouTube videos. But, what you don’t get is the experience of handling hundreds of different pieces of wood and learning, empirically, their characteristics. Or gain the muscle memory of using tools, bending sides, the feel of applying polish with a pad etc. That’s where serving your time comes into play.

I was fortunate enough to attend the London College of Furniture back in the late 1970’s and literally everything was done by hand. I built 13 guitars whilst I was there; each piece of wood was thicknessed by hand plane and cabinet scraper, rebates for the purfling and binding were cut with a self-made purfling cutter and chisel etc. It wasn’t until my 54^th guitar that I invested in a thickness sander for working on backs and sides!

If you are starting out now, there’s an abundance of specialist tools and jigs available, pre-shaped parts, and CNC machinery. Unless you’re determined to work with hand tools the experience that you gain will be very different and consequently, you will develop a very different skill set.

Once you can master the tools and techniques of your trade, the next step to being the best craftsman you can, is about your mental attitude towards your work. Is this too a natural aptitude or sheer bloody-mindedness and discipline? I don’t know.

If you finish a task by saying something like, “that’s good enough” or “that’ll do” then it’s implicit that the standard that you’re accepting is less than you are capable of. Maybe there is a pressure of time or labour cost, maybe you’re just bored with that particular task but whatever the reason, is that how you want your work to be? If you finish that task by saying something like, “I don’t think that I could have done that any better” then you are on the road to improving the quality of your work.  And you should also remember any lessons learnt, so that the next time you do that task, the result can be even better. That way you get closer to the unrealistic ideal of perfection.

Of course, mistakes will happen, the important thing is how those mistakes are dealt with; is the part remade, repaired or lived with to demonstrate the hand of the maker? Wood is very unforgiving and I think one the hardest parts of being a luthier is trying to work to near-engineering tolerances in a material that can twist, warp, split, expand and shrink, have wild, unpredictable grain, whilst using tools that depend on our hands to control them. Turning a piece of steel to a close tolerance on a lathe is a very different task to carving a curly maple neck with a spokeshave or rasp.

In order to achieve work of the highest standard, concentration is essential, you must be fully focused on the task; be in what is known as a flow state. For many years I worked with the radio on, or a CD playing in the background, but these days I generally prefer to work in silence, without any outside influences; just me and my work. If you habitually use social media to continually post images of your work or have your phone by your bench, then the ability to focus, uninterrupted, for the necessary period of time that it takes to complete a task, must be diminished.

When evaluating your work, you have to be honest with yourself; look hard at what you’re doing and be super critical. Kind souls will spare your feelings and tell you how good you are, but only you will know if your work is acceptable and gives you pride and happiness. And I use the word acceptable, deliberately because ultimately no matter how good the outcome, if you are a true craftsman, you will be thinking of the next instrument and how it can be better.

Following from that you must be willing to work without recognition or acclaim; the satisfaction coming from the pleasure of producing good work, not the praise of others. Financial reward cannot be a motivator, as the time that you need to spend perfecting the smallest of details would price your work out of the market.

One of the challenges of building guitars or mandolins is that apart from trying to make a beautiful object, you have to build something that functions. It must be comfortable and easy to play and, of course, sound good too. These properties may be subjective but they are paramount to the success of an instrument (and ultimately the luthier). It can be argued of course, that a well-built, well-crafted (and well-designed!) instrument will sound and play well, but the function of the instrument mustn’t get lost in the pursuit of its visual appeal.  

Another challenge is applying the finish. Making the instrument needs woodworking skills, but once it’s built, it needs a finish applied and that finish must be of an equally high quality. I know some makers farm out their finishing to another specialist craftsman. And there’s the rub, if you’re a lone luthier like me, who wants to do everything yourself on an instrument, you need to develop a parallel set of skills in wood finishing and become an expert in that craft as well.

Do you need to be creative to be a craftsman? It’s fair to assume that if you make things, you must have some creativity in you. However, an incredibly skilled craftsman may be part of a large company, using his skills to fabricate or repair a part designed by someone else or perform a single task to an extraordinary high-level on a production line. Equally, they may follow in a tradition and make artefacts that have been well-developed over time and do not require any design input or they may make replicas of classics designs. Their high level of skill cannot be denied but are they creative? I think that a creative craftsman is one who designs and develops the object that he makes, and that is the category that I feel the lone luthier should fall into.

That said, it is hard to maintain those aims, day in, day out without wavering. Doing the best that you can, has to become instinctive and not an approach that you switch on when you feel like it. When you push the envelope, there will, as the wood or your tools reach the limit of what is actually physically achievable, be disappointments. But, hopefully, there will be more highs than lows, as you gain pleasure from a job well done and you find your ikigai.