Tag Archives: B.B. King

Those wonderful lost-then-found famous guitars

The news of Peter Frampton’s condition, a degenerative muscle disease called inclusion body myositis, and announced by Frampton himself on February 23, 2019, is of course bitter news made bearable by the fact he’s not dead, but will just be slowing down some. Those blisteringly fast and sublimely melodic solos that he has created during 50 years of touring and recording will remain, as will he and that amazing smile. I am sure, even after he completes his upcoming blowout tour, there will still be a lot for Peter to complete.

The Frampton Les Paul on the full-length cover of “Comes Alive.” Just one more reason why double albums are more fun than digital downloads.

Reading the news of his condition in a New York Times story led me to an another Frampton-related article from 2012, which talked about his reunion with his iconic triple-humbucker Les Paul Black Beauty that went missing after a cargo plane crash in 1980.  The article, by New York Times writer James McKinley Jr (Twitter: @jamesmckinleyjr) describes how the instrument escaped a fiery obliteration in Venezuela, only to be adopted by an individual in Curaçao, then discovered by a customs agent who repairs guitars in his spare time, and returned to Peter with the help of a diehard fan in the Netherlands as well as the head of the island’s tourist board.

Frampton was naturally delighted to get his guitar back and it didn’t take him long to be sure it was genuine. That’s one of the benefits of being a full-time pro-guitarist. You get so intimate with your individual instruments, you can recognize them by touch alone. He took the pickups to Nashville to be replaced, but he kept the scorch marks on the neck.

Peter Frampton on the left, Myles Goodwyn on the right, each with their long-lost guitars safely home. Hmmm. Is there something about losing a cherished guitar that makes rock stars turn to plaid?

A similar thing happened to April Wine frontman and composer Myles Goodwyn, who got his 1962 Gibson Melody Maker stolen in 1972 and returned only last year, December 31, 2018. He, too, knew it was the real thing as soon as he got got back in his hands.

It’s weird to see my two musical heroes in almost the exact same pose (and clothes) celebrating the exact same happy ending to a multi-decade mystery.

Me playing “Could Have Been a Lady” with a Frampton ending.

(As a side note, in tribute to these two great guitarists, I play a version of Could Have Been a Lady with a Frampton solo at the end, which always goes over well. You can see video of it here.)

I am sure there are many, many stories like this. The love for a particular guitar is made even more poignant by the fact that these artists can afford to buy as many guitars as they want, or have guitar manufacturers give some to them in exchange for an endorsement. When George Harrison lost his Gretsch Country Gentleman (it fell off the top of their tour van on the M1 in 1965 – read the story at the BeatlesBible here), he admitted he could have as many guitars as he wanted, but he had grown attached to that particular one. B.B. King’s Gibson, Lucille, enjoyed a better fate when it was rescued from a burning hotel. It was just that precious.

George Harrison and Lucy

Mentioning George Harrison inevitably leads to the amazing story of Lucy, a 1957 Les Paul Goldtop that had been repainted red. It had been owned by Rick Derringer, John Sebastian, and Eric Clapton before arriving at George’s Beverly His home. It was then stolen and taken to Mexico where it was essentially held for ransom. The full story is available in Beatles Gear, All the Fab Four’s Instruments, From Stage to Studio by Andy Babiuk. An excerpt, focusing on Lucy, is also available at B&B Guitars here as well as in my post here.

Guitars have a style and a personality all their own, and these models, epitomize this. Great tunes were written on them, concerts were played with them, and many famous hands touched them. As such, the artists’ souls and physical selves have blended with the wood and the finish and they have all changed and matured over time.

As for Peter Frampton, he will always be one of the greatest guitar virtuosos of rock. His solos were not just blues scales – they sang. There was melody to them. George Harrison, (of course), Eric Clapton, and Myles Goodwyn – all that beautiful music. And part of it came from the inexorable connection between the artists and their guitars.

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Ike Turner’s Pantsuit is in Beijing

The Bar at the Hard Rock Café, Beijing

The Bar at the Hard Rock Café, Beijing

Just got back from a trip to Beijing – a wild place – the biggest city I have ever seen – glass high-rises form the canyon walls, eight-lane streets from the canyon floors, and they extend in every direction. In Beijing, drivers use the gas-pedal-and-horn technique. No braking. Cars slip in and out of lanes like fish moving around  a coral reef, and if there’s no room to park on the street, then they park on the pavement.

A welcome respite from the furious, progress-tinged pace of Chinese life is the Hard Rock Café, located sort of up-and-to-the-right of the Forbidden City, nestled in a grove of upscale Western hotels, not too far from Embassy row. As fascinating as Chinese life is, the Café is a wonderful oasis, where the music of Elvis, The Pretenders and the Stray Cats complement onion rings, burgers and (gasps with delight) Guinness. The large central area has a stage, already set up with drums, guitars and mikes. And around the walls are the glass cases containing guitars from McCartney’s Wings, Tom Petty, and Prince, just to name a few. One-piece outfits belonging to Elvis, Ike Turner and even Fred from the B-52’s stand silently in glass cases, and there’s even a row of signed drumheads.

I guess the Hard Rock is like Starbucks for the musically inclined: a consistent customer experience that varies little from city to city. Beijing is a fabulous place, especially if you like high speed and crowds, which I do, but I tell you, two hours at the Hard Rock was an oasis of the cool, beautiful glamour of Rock, Soul, Blues and Motown.

Hard Rock Café Memorabilia

Hard Rock Café Memorabilia

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Walkin’ in Memphis

Memphis - Beale Street

Memphis: Beale Street. Everyone who is anyone has played here.

I went down to Memphis in the Spring of 2010. I wish I could say we went down as a band, but that time has not quite come yet. I went down on business, but mainly so that I could walk the streets of that hallowed city. It isn’t hyperbole to say that there truly is something in the air down there. Beale Street at midnight. That’s where it happens. A couple of blocks closed to traffic, and almost every establishment jumping with the sound of blues, soul, funk, played by people who really should be doing it professionally, on tour with the greats of the business. Who knows, maybe some of them do. I stepped into B.B. King’s and watched in awe. One guitar player looked like Matt “Guitar” Murphy. The other looked like John Byner, the comedian. He played a Strat upside-down, the way Hendrix did, but musically he played like Stevie Ray, except his face constantly was contorting with grimaces and and open-mouthed stares, as he pulled every note – note perfect – out of himself and through his beat-up instrument.

Memphis breathes music. Around the corner from Beale Street is the Rock ‘n’ Soul Museum, where sequined and fur-lined jumpsuits belonging to the King, as well as to Isaac Hayes and a host of other giants, nestle quietly and forever, alongside the mixing consoles from Sun Studios and from Stax Records, and guitars from Carl Perkins.

Between Beale Street and the Museum, and just up a slight rise that makes up part of the banks of the Mississippi, is a statue of a young Elvis, hips and acoustic guitar swinging.

Steve outside Graceland

Steve outside Graceland.

I had a driver who took me to Graceland, which was once a stately mansion, but now looks more like “just” an affluent home. Nice, to be sure, but not on par size-wise with the mega-homes of the Billy Joels of the world. Elvis might have owned two planes (they’re parked across the street), but he couldn’t have taxied either one of them into the foyer, which I think Billy Joel can, and John Travolta still does. My driver patiently took my picture outside the gates of Graceland, and was able to keep the shot tight enough so that the gas station and the fast food restaurants that now flank the estate did not make it into the picture. But of course, the mansion’s true size is in its history. What it stands for as a home and shrine. It is worth the detour to see it.

I have been lucky to have visited many cities in my day, but few come close to having the palpable air of the love of music that Memphis has. New Orleans, yes. Parts of New York City, perhaps. But it seems to all come together, there, next to the big gray river, and it’s a place to which I long to return.

– Steve

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