Post by scorpiodog on Jun 27, 2019 11:23:14 GMT
Is there an Eko in here? My Guitar Story.
I started playing a nylon strung guitar at the age of about 13 in 1966 or 67. Took some lessons for a few months (classical), moved away from where my lessons were and the guitar (a horrible bloody thing) sat in the corner of my bedroom for months. Then a schoolmate of mine who was (and still is) a consummate musician came over to my house, saw the guitar and suggested we do some music together. He played an accordion and you couldn’t hear me which was probably just as well.
Then my niece broke my guitar in half, and I bought a much better classical (10 quid it was – a lot of cash in 1968) and started to go to folk clubs. It was then that I decided that classical guitars just weren’t cool enough and I hankered for a 12 string. But I did play that classical a lot while I was saving up for the object of my desire.
Eventually at Christmas in 1969 I had saved up over 30 quid and I went to Duck, Son and Pinker in Bath to buy what I thought would be a great guitar. There was one I could afford (but it had a tailpiece – and I had a hankering for a pin bridge) and my Dad advanced me the extra cash so I could buy a shiny new Eko Ranger XII. The tight old bugger made me sell the classical to pay him back. I got more than I needed for the classical and bought a woven strap with the extra.
The guitar cost £37/19/6 including stamp duty and Dad had to sign all the paperwork because I was under 18. I couldn’t afford a case to go with it.
That guitar was my pride and joy. I thought it was the best guitar in the world. There were others in the local folk clubs who had Ekos and I always thought we (the Eko owners) were the luckiest guitar players there were. The travelling guest artistes were all playing stuff that wasn’t Eko, and I couldn’t understand why they bothered, because the Italian stallion was obviously where it was at. I thought Eros owners were OK, because their guitars were obviously the same but different colours. But why on Earth would Keith Christmas play a Fender Palomino? Why would Wizz Jones play an Epiphone? Why would Fred Wedlock play a Martin? (a what?!).
It went everywhere I went. Hung downwards over my back ready to whip round into playing position. I my head I was Arlo Guthrie, despite the fact that I only knew the chords to maybe a dozen songs which nobody wanted to hear.
That guitar got me into parties, jam sessions and trouble. It even got me laid once. It got scratched and dented. Some thug tried to put my head through it (I married his sister the following week). But the one thing about Ekos is that they are built like tanks. You could drive a car over one and it would still be in tune. No matter how badly it was treated it always came through.
When I got married, my wife subtly discouraged me from playing. So I gave up for 5 years or so. But after we’d split up I bought a new set of strings (I hate to think what they were – I had no knowledge of guitars and they could well have been electric strings) and started to play the same stuff I’d always played, but then only to myself. I bought a six string at one point, but I hated it and only played the Eko.
Then I married again and my wife subtly discouraged me from playing (I have obviously chosen the wrong wives), so away the guitar went again and I didn’t play for about 20 years except for a few songs I sang with my small children on odd occasions.
Things started to get a bit unpleasant at home (not with the kids) and I had a conversation with a lovely, rather Bohemian and very blunt friend of mine to whom I always go for advice about the fairer sex. She suggested I needed a hobby. She remarked on my right hand fingernails, and asked why I didn’t still play the guitar. I told her my wife didn’t like it and she said “Tell her to **** off, then”.
I didn’t do that.
However, I did buy some new strings, got the old guitar out of the loft, and started playing again. If I’d been sensible, I’d have taken some lessons at that point, but I’m not sensible and didn’t. But what I did do, was start buying guitar mags and used the new fangled Youtube thingy to kickstart me and take me out of my comfort zone. It was a new beginning for me.
I learned a little about what makes guitars tick, went to a few guitar shops just to ogle and try and I discovered that my beautiful Eko Ranger XII was really a hunk of crap. So I bought what I thought was a real fab guitar (it is!) from eBay for a 50th birthday present to myself, and that’s how I ended up as an enthusiast. With GAS.
For that reason I hardly ever play the Eko now. But it’s still there in my music room, strung with good strings. Polished about once a year, and played every so often for 5 minutes before I decide to play a proper guitar instead. It bears all those battle scars. The finish is cracked and worn. The metal parts are a bit the worse for wear. But it rarely needs more than a tweak to get it into tune. It still carries that woven strap I bought for it in 1970.
I’m lucky to own a collection of really lovely guitars now, but the one that will be with me til my dying day (and I might even have it buried with me) is that dear old Eko. It’s imbued with many episodes from my life. I can still see the barely perceptible crack where my future brother in law smashed my head into it. All the chips and dings mean something. But whatever happens it still sounds bloody awful.
I do apologise for the length of this rather unremarkable story, but once I got started I couldn’t stop.
I started playing a nylon strung guitar at the age of about 13 in 1966 or 67. Took some lessons for a few months (classical), moved away from where my lessons were and the guitar (a horrible bloody thing) sat in the corner of my bedroom for months. Then a schoolmate of mine who was (and still is) a consummate musician came over to my house, saw the guitar and suggested we do some music together. He played an accordion and you couldn’t hear me which was probably just as well.
Then my niece broke my guitar in half, and I bought a much better classical (10 quid it was – a lot of cash in 1968) and started to go to folk clubs. It was then that I decided that classical guitars just weren’t cool enough and I hankered for a 12 string. But I did play that classical a lot while I was saving up for the object of my desire.
Eventually at Christmas in 1969 I had saved up over 30 quid and I went to Duck, Son and Pinker in Bath to buy what I thought would be a great guitar. There was one I could afford (but it had a tailpiece – and I had a hankering for a pin bridge) and my Dad advanced me the extra cash so I could buy a shiny new Eko Ranger XII. The tight old bugger made me sell the classical to pay him back. I got more than I needed for the classical and bought a woven strap with the extra.
The guitar cost £37/19/6 including stamp duty and Dad had to sign all the paperwork because I was under 18. I couldn’t afford a case to go with it.
That guitar was my pride and joy. I thought it was the best guitar in the world. There were others in the local folk clubs who had Ekos and I always thought we (the Eko owners) were the luckiest guitar players there were. The travelling guest artistes were all playing stuff that wasn’t Eko, and I couldn’t understand why they bothered, because the Italian stallion was obviously where it was at. I thought Eros owners were OK, because their guitars were obviously the same but different colours. But why on Earth would Keith Christmas play a Fender Palomino? Why would Wizz Jones play an Epiphone? Why would Fred Wedlock play a Martin? (a what?!).
It went everywhere I went. Hung downwards over my back ready to whip round into playing position. I my head I was Arlo Guthrie, despite the fact that I only knew the chords to maybe a dozen songs which nobody wanted to hear.
That guitar got me into parties, jam sessions and trouble. It even got me laid once. It got scratched and dented. Some thug tried to put my head through it (I married his sister the following week). But the one thing about Ekos is that they are built like tanks. You could drive a car over one and it would still be in tune. No matter how badly it was treated it always came through.
When I got married, my wife subtly discouraged me from playing. So I gave up for 5 years or so. But after we’d split up I bought a new set of strings (I hate to think what they were – I had no knowledge of guitars and they could well have been electric strings) and started to play the same stuff I’d always played, but then only to myself. I bought a six string at one point, but I hated it and only played the Eko.
Then I married again and my wife subtly discouraged me from playing (I have obviously chosen the wrong wives), so away the guitar went again and I didn’t play for about 20 years except for a few songs I sang with my small children on odd occasions.
Things started to get a bit unpleasant at home (not with the kids) and I had a conversation with a lovely, rather Bohemian and very blunt friend of mine to whom I always go for advice about the fairer sex. She suggested I needed a hobby. She remarked on my right hand fingernails, and asked why I didn’t still play the guitar. I told her my wife didn’t like it and she said “Tell her to **** off, then”.
I didn’t do that.
However, I did buy some new strings, got the old guitar out of the loft, and started playing again. If I’d been sensible, I’d have taken some lessons at that point, but I’m not sensible and didn’t. But what I did do, was start buying guitar mags and used the new fangled Youtube thingy to kickstart me and take me out of my comfort zone. It was a new beginning for me.
I learned a little about what makes guitars tick, went to a few guitar shops just to ogle and try and I discovered that my beautiful Eko Ranger XII was really a hunk of crap. So I bought what I thought was a real fab guitar (it is!) from eBay for a 50th birthday present to myself, and that’s how I ended up as an enthusiast. With GAS.
For that reason I hardly ever play the Eko now. But it’s still there in my music room, strung with good strings. Polished about once a year, and played every so often for 5 minutes before I decide to play a proper guitar instead. It bears all those battle scars. The finish is cracked and worn. The metal parts are a bit the worse for wear. But it rarely needs more than a tweak to get it into tune. It still carries that woven strap I bought for it in 1970.
I’m lucky to own a collection of really lovely guitars now, but the one that will be with me til my dying day (and I might even have it buried with me) is that dear old Eko. It’s imbued with many episodes from my life. I can still see the barely perceptible crack where my future brother in law smashed my head into it. All the chips and dings mean something. But whatever happens it still sounds bloody awful.
I do apologise for the length of this rather unremarkable story, but once I got started I couldn’t stop.