Posted on January 17, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Felix Manzanero In Memoriam: Felix Manzanero July 27, 1937 – August 18, 2019 by Ronald Luis Fernández Originally published in American Lutherie #139, 2020 By 1966, my father, John Fernández, was importing guitars from Félix Manzanero Cabrera. He sold most of them through Seiko Sesoko in Anaheim. Some of these were bought by Laurindo Almeida and Manitas de Plata. I got to know Félix in 1967 when I attended summer school at the Universidad de Madrid. His shop was the first working shop I had seen, and I was amazed. We became friends and occasionally stayed out late, visiting strange eateries or playing tangos on his laud and my guitar in local mesons (traditional taverns). Among my memories in his shop was meeting Sabicas when he returned to Spain after a thirty-year absence, and playing farrucas with his brother, Diego. Photo courtesy of Iván Manzanero Félix was born in 1937 in Madrid during the Spanish Civil War. His father was a musician. At age fourteen he apprenticed at the shop of José Ramírez II, where he spent twelve years. He made over a thousand guitars there, and those guitars are identified by his initials stamped inside. I once repaired a “Ramírez” flamenco owned by Neil Diamond identified by that stamp. Of significance is the fact that Félix was making guitars under José Ramírez III, during the time that the modern 1a classical, which Andrés Segovia eventually embraced, was evolving. In 1964, Félix opened a store at 12 Calle Santa Ana in the La Latina section of Madrid. There he built Madrid-school guitars from old wood and taught his two sons to do the same. He also built experimental instruments such as an elliptical guitar, one without braces, several with soundboards of both cedar and spruce, and a laud with twelve sympathetic strings. He developed a method for testing soundboards before permanently affixing them to the body. Over the decades of his career he acquired over a hundred old instruments dating back to the 18th century. This collection is presently available for viewing on the web at: www.guitarrasmanzanero.com. In 1985 he was invited by the Mexican Government to present a course on Spanish guitar construction in Paracho, Michoacán. This was an important opportunity for Mexican makers. German Vazquez Rubio in Los Angeles, California, told me he attended that course. My friend Félix was fun to be with; warm, friendly, and open. He loved his wife and family. He liked to travel. He drove all over Spain. He came to visit California a few times and hand-carried an unvarnished flamenco to me. He went to Cuba and Egypt with his wife. I would refer people to see him in Madrid, and he would take them to his local bar-restaurant across the street and treat them royally. Félix had a thick Madrid accent. His family had been in Madrid for many generations. Félix had a brother Pedro who had worked at the Ramírez shop and apparently did repairs, but I never met him. He is survived by his charming wife Soledad and his sons, Félix Jr. and Iván. Iván makes guitars, preserves the collection, and runs the business in the original shop. Oh, yes, before I forget: comedies and ham. Félix loved Spanish dried ham. In his Madrid flat he had a full leg of Patas Negras (the best Spanish ham) on a special holding device for easy access. And in his living room he had small statues of the Marx Brothers and Laurel and Hardy. Adios, Félix.
Posted on January 17, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Leo Bidne In Memoriam: Leo Bidne June 20, 1954 – March 6, 2019 by Tim Olsen Originally published in American Lutherie #137, 2019 Unless you have been a Guild member for a very long time, you may not remember Leo Bidne as a GAL staffer. But he was, back in the long-gone days of the mid-’70s when it was a strictly volunteer position, and we would sweep the chips off the workbench to paste up the copy, then hand-collate and staple the newsletter. GAL staff members in 1975. From left: Bon Henderson, Leo Bidne, Bob Petrulis, and Tim Olsen. Deb Olsen was holding the camera. These hippies posed in front of our current GAL headquarters, which is the same building as Tim and Deb’s house. At that time it was the location of Tim’s lutherie shop, where Bob and Leo joined Tim in lutherie pursuits. (This photo was part of the slide show, The Making of a Newsletter, which was prepared in 1975 for the 2nd GAL Convention held in Evanston, Illinois, which Leo attended with Tim and Deb.) Both photos by Deb Olsen. From left: Tim, Leo, and Bob at the 2014 GAL Convention. Bob continues to serve the Guild as a member of our Board of Directors. Leo was a guy who could just do things. It seems like anything that caught his interest, he would simply do: repairing and building guitars; writing and arranging music; playing most any musical instrument. And then, as he grew older and our paths diverged, he moved into audio and video recording and production, and became the proprietor of a music store. He was a family man with children and grandchildren, for whom he would build amazing things like a full-sized R2D2, and produce elaborate Star Wars fan films starring the neighborhood kids. I guess he never lost that naive belief that by doing the fun and create stuff that came naturally to him, he could make the world a better place — which he did, for American luthiers and for many others.
Posted on January 17, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Fred Campbell In Memoriam: Fred Campbell August 12, 1952 – February 17, 2019 by Tom Ribbecke Originally published in American Lutherie #137, 2019 Frederick William Campbell died at his home with Elizabeth Holmes, his partner of eleven years, at his side. The cause of death was prostate cancer. He leaves adult twin sons, Ryan McKinley Bumpbell and Douglas Scott Campbell. Fred was born in Indiana, where he learned woodworking from his grandfather and his father. He served as an Army Ranger in East Germany, then came to California and worked in the shops of several luthiers including Hideo Kamimoto, Charles Fox, and Tom Ribbecke. He started his finishing business when he was at Kamimoto’s shop, and named it Fred Campbell and Sons although his kids were still tiny at the time. Photo courtesy of Carol Keig. Fred was very active in the South Bay Scottish Society and was marshal at the Scottish Highland Gathering and Games. He was also a guitarist and loved to play at open mikes. I have a fond memory of Fred arriving at a friend’s house for rehearsal dressed in kilt and regalia with a 19 ft. caber on the roof of his old station wagon. Fred often talked about how he missed the dog love of his life, Boomer. The last time I talked to Fred before he died, I told him I hoped he would meet Boomer at the rainbow bridge. A celebration of Fred’s life is being held on June 1 at Ribbecke Guitars, a place that has seen many lutherie parties where Fred was present. Donations in memory of Fred can be made to the National Veterans Foundation or the Rainforest Action Network.
Posted on January 17, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Wesley Brandt In Memoriam: Wesley Brandt August 24, 1954 – September 17, 2021 by Chris Brandt, Michael Yeats, Dan Compton, and Mark Moreland Originally published in American Lutherie #145, 2021 My memory of Wes began in the mid-’70s when Jeff Elliott’s apprentices loosely banded together to co-rent shop space. It was an exciting time with various instruments underway including a Baroque guitar, a hurdy gurdy, violin bows, mandolin family instruments, and even a bass viola — all under one roof. Eventually this led to The 12th Fret, and by then, Wes had become a full-fledged member of Portland’s scene. As far back as I can remember, Wes had wanted to work, study, and live in Europe. At one point he owned a house in Southeast Portland which he was able to rent out to a fellow luthier during one of his early forays to Europe. He became a man split between two countries. I remember him telling me, “I don’t want to live in a country that sells cheese in an aerosol can.” (OK Wes, point taken.) Conversations with Wes easily turned into quality events. This was absolutely the case when discussing instruments and all things related. But he had a wide range of interests and had even volunteered on an archeological dig. He read, he listened, he thought, and he was curious and engaged with the world. But towering above all of this, he had an enormous drive to be an instrument maker. During the last years, when he both lived and worked above The 12th Fret, I began having the same feeling that I used to get when I visited Robert Lundberg. I can’t just call it respect, because that was always what I felt from the beginning. But, by this time, he had grown in his skills so far that something else emerged. Maybe I felt a kind of reverence, or something close to it. It was an honor to work with him and have him as a friend. My regret is that I didn’t spend enough time really talking to him, getting down to the deeper, essential Wes. He was in many ways a private man. He gave generously of his knowledge and skill. He was enormously supportive during a transition of The 12th Fret, and everyone I’ve talked to seems to say that they always wanted to know him better. He struggled and reached for a dream. Just as it seemed as if he had finally arrived, he tragically left this world. He will always live in our hearts. — Chris Brandt Photo courtesy of Michael Yeats. So many of us hold music as our main passion, and Wes was no exception. He enjoyed eclectic music from all over the world, created his own music, and, of course, made instruments beautifully. His repair work is legendary; most of the professionals I know wouldn’t trust their instruments to anyone other than Wes. He was a caring, passionate person who carried visions of excellence within and continually strived to achieve them. In addition, he was bright, funny, and always interested in sharing ideas. He cooked for the family when he visited; he always wanted to contribute. His absence will be a presence forever among those he knew. — Michael Yeats The loss of Wes has left a huge hole for a lot of us. He had a unique genius in his understanding of what makes a stringed instrument sound its best, whether it was one he designed and built himself, or one that he repaired or set up. I think Wes did work on every fretted instrument I own at some point. He was also great company, and a cup of coffee with Wes could stretch to a couple of hours of wide-ranging conversation. Wes made many gorgeous instruments: viols, guitars, mandolins, and his own hybrid creations. The most memorable for me is a parlor guitar he made a few years ago: light to the touch, beautiful to look at, resonant and responsive to play, perfectly balanced. Not too flashy, but deeply astounding — not unlike the man himself. He’ll be greatly missed. — Dan Compton Wes Brandt was a long-time respected luthier in the Pacific Northwest. My encounters with him were numerous over the years through shows and his visits to the Portland shop where I was employed for several decades. His fretted instruments were something to behold; the detail and careful execution of craftsmanship was amazing. Though I knew Wes in those years, our paths rarely crossed, as I was deeply involved in bowed instruments and he with fretted instruments. After my wife and I left the NW for several years, we returned to start our own shop, where we specialize in cello making. At this point, Wes was specializing in viols and gambas and our lives came together more. We spent hours conversing on so many different ideas, and I came to really treasure those times. We even shared a client; I built a cello which was purchased by a well known artist, and Wes later made him a gamba. The loss of such a gifted and passionate maker and individual is hard to comprehend and accept. Wes was special and lovable, and his joy for his work was infectious. He was sincere, thoughtful, creative, incredibly curious, quite shy, and soft spoken. Since his passing, I have learned more about Wes and have grown to appreciate his work and accomplishments even more. I am so sorry that Wes is gone, but his work, and his interactions with those of us lucky enough to have known him, live on. —Mark Moreland
Posted on January 16, 2010February 7, 2024 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Jim Mouradian In Memoriam: Jim Mouradian April 2, 1950 – January 24, 2017 by R.M. Mottola Originally published in American Lutherie #130, 2017 Boston area luthier and repairman Jim Mouradian died on January 14, 2017, at the age of sixty-six. With his son Jon, Jim ran the largest guitar repair shop in the New England area. He was also an electric bass player and played for a long time in the R&B band, Ronnie Earle and the Broadcasters. Jim was a masterful repairman who brought the same level of precision and care whether working on the instruments of famous professionals or beginning guitarists. He was probably the most happy and content guy I have ever met. He expressed gratitude daily that he got to do work that he loved for a living, and that he got to work beside his son. His list of clients and list of dear friends were one and the same. He was generous to a fault, particularly with his time. I met him before I had any connection with lutherie. I had brought him a cheap electric bass in need of a part. We talked for a long time — about the bass, people we knew in common, and about hot rods (Jim was an avid fan of muscle cars from the 1960s). Then he rummaged around in a parts box, pulled out the part needed to fix my bass, handed it to me, made sure I understood that he was confident that I could do the repair myself, and sent me on my way, no charge. His death brought forward dozens of similar stories of his generosity. His rates were more than reasonable and he regularly lowered them substantially for folks with limited ability to pay. Photo courtesy of Jon Mouradian In addition to repair work, Jim built a couple of different lines of solidbody electric basses. He got into lutherie in what he has described as “backwards.” His very first lutherie project was a custom electric bass for Chris Squire of the band Yes. This instrument is played in the band’s Owner of a Lonely Heart video. I personally owe Jim a great debt of gratitude for having gotten me started in lutherie. From his initial suggestion that I build an instrument, through his continued advice and guidance and encouragement, he gave me a focus and a purpose at a time of great need in my life. I miss him terribly.
