BigSteve22
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As I said back in July, before starting the build, there's a long story behind most of the design aspects of The Jazz Baron. It's is named after, and dedicated to, my second guitar teacher, Mr Dave Baron.
I all started in 1963 when I saw the Beatles American debut on the Ed Sullivan show. For the entire year thereafter, I begged for a guitar, finally getting one for Christmas. I was 9 years old. Dad was a working man, but begrudgingly sprung for the ungodly sum of $5 for half hour lessons.
My first guitar teacher, Mr Patrick, was an older man and very proper in his teaching method: Sit up straight, thumb behind the first fret, hold the pick just so.... We did not get along well. I was not a sit up straight kind of kid. I was transitioned to a new teacher by the end of 1964.
That's when I met Dave Baron. Dave was definitely NOT Mr Patrick! Dave he was probably about 25 or so. He was a young jazz/blues musician from Brooklyn who taught music as a side gig. And he was black. It could not have been easy for him, teaching little white bread kids in a neighborhood known as "Little Germany", in the mid 1960's.
Dave's teaching was totally different from Mr Patrick's. Dave wrapped his thumb over the neck, slouched over, and kept time by nodding his head along with tapping his foot. He started teaching me chords right off, something Mr P had never done. Dave wrote out songs in my notation book from memory. And he played like I had never heard before.
As time went on, it became abundantly clear that my parting with Mr P was not entirely due to personality. Seems I was much more in love with the thought of playing guitar than interested in putting in the effort necessary to actually learn how. Dave recognized this and took steps to correct it.
One day I walked into the studio, and Dave was holding HIS guitar. Not the one he kept there, he told me that it was the one he played on stage. It was a big, hollow body, jazz box, in natural curly maple, which he called "Violin Wood". It had a single Florentine cutout, two pickups, and a tortoise pickguard. He explained that it had been made for him by a man in Manhattan, who measured his hands and fingers to insure that it fit him exactly. He said it cost him almost $2000 dollars. (That's as much as a new car cost back then!) He played it for a few minutes, demonstrating how beautifully it sounded. Then he handed it to ME! He actually handed his prized instrument to an 11 year old kid.
He let me play it as I fumbled through the entire, poorly practiced, lesson. At the end of that half hour, he put it back in its case, looked me straight in the eye, and told me I could play like he did, if I really practiced and applied myself. Then he told me that something that changed me forever, he said that if I didn't want to practice, I should not waste his time and my parents money!
Wow, I was devastated. That really hit home. I started practicing every day, and kept at it until I learned each lesson by heart. A year later, I got my first electric guitar for Christmas. My Dad told me that Dave had called him to suggest it, he said I had earned it!
My family moved to the Bronx the following year, and I never saw Dave again. If Dave hadn't let me play his guitar and spoken so plainly, I would probably have given up. As it turns out, he gave me a gift that day that has been cherished every day for the last 50 years.
Thank you Dave, this one's for you.
I all started in 1963 when I saw the Beatles American debut on the Ed Sullivan show. For the entire year thereafter, I begged for a guitar, finally getting one for Christmas. I was 9 years old. Dad was a working man, but begrudgingly sprung for the ungodly sum of $5 for half hour lessons.
My first guitar teacher, Mr Patrick, was an older man and very proper in his teaching method: Sit up straight, thumb behind the first fret, hold the pick just so.... We did not get along well. I was not a sit up straight kind of kid. I was transitioned to a new teacher by the end of 1964.
That's when I met Dave Baron. Dave was definitely NOT Mr Patrick! Dave he was probably about 25 or so. He was a young jazz/blues musician from Brooklyn who taught music as a side gig. And he was black. It could not have been easy for him, teaching little white bread kids in a neighborhood known as "Little Germany", in the mid 1960's.
Dave's teaching was totally different from Mr Patrick's. Dave wrapped his thumb over the neck, slouched over, and kept time by nodding his head along with tapping his foot. He started teaching me chords right off, something Mr P had never done. Dave wrote out songs in my notation book from memory. And he played like I had never heard before.
As time went on, it became abundantly clear that my parting with Mr P was not entirely due to personality. Seems I was much more in love with the thought of playing guitar than interested in putting in the effort necessary to actually learn how. Dave recognized this and took steps to correct it.
One day I walked into the studio, and Dave was holding HIS guitar. Not the one he kept there, he told me that it was the one he played on stage. It was a big, hollow body, jazz box, in natural curly maple, which he called "Violin Wood". It had a single Florentine cutout, two pickups, and a tortoise pickguard. He explained that it had been made for him by a man in Manhattan, who measured his hands and fingers to insure that it fit him exactly. He said it cost him almost $2000 dollars. (That's as much as a new car cost back then!) He played it for a few minutes, demonstrating how beautifully it sounded. Then he handed it to ME! He actually handed his prized instrument to an 11 year old kid.
He let me play it as I fumbled through the entire, poorly practiced, lesson. At the end of that half hour, he put it back in its case, looked me straight in the eye, and told me I could play like he did, if I really practiced and applied myself. Then he told me that something that changed me forever, he said that if I didn't want to practice, I should not waste his time and my parents money!
Wow, I was devastated. That really hit home. I started practicing every day, and kept at it until I learned each lesson by heart. A year later, I got my first electric guitar for Christmas. My Dad told me that Dave had called him to suggest it, he said I had earned it!
My family moved to the Bronx the following year, and I never saw Dave again. If Dave hadn't let me play his guitar and spoken so plainly, I would probably have given up. As it turns out, he gave me a gift that day that has been cherished every day for the last 50 years.
Thank you Dave, this one's for you.
ccasion14: 
