Posted on January 11, 2010May 14, 2025 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Mario Maccaferri In Memoriam: Mario Maccaferri Passed on April 16, 1993 by John Monteleone Originally published in American Lutherie #35, 1993 and Big Red Book of American Lutherie Volume Three, 2004 My first contact with Mario Maccafferri was fourteen years ago, the result of looking up Mastro Industries in the Yellow Pages. I already knew by then that he was the creator of the wonderful guitars made by Selmer of Paris which were made famous by Django Reinhardt. His plant on Webster Avenue in the Bronx, a city block in size, was a shrine to a self-made man. The exterior of the building had the look of a factory built in the forties and dedicated to serious manufacturing. There were several large silos behind the factory which once held the many different colors of plastic pellets used in injection molding machines. The factory had many rooms and seemed to ramble on and on. Once inside, I walked into a room which once had forty huge molding machines running, each one the size of a locomotive. At this time there was only one of these machines in operation and it appeared to be the last gasp at the end of a long and successful, not to mention prosperous, era; The Golden Era of Plastics. I am referring to a special time of invention and pioneering, a time when Mario was a major contributor to the field of injection molding plastic. He proudly showed me the complete Mastro line of marbleized plastic wall tiles, clothes pins, toys, mosaics, clothes hangers, acoustic ceiling tiles and musical instruments. Mario was the holder of over fifty U.S. patents for these items and the processes by which to manufacture them. Among his many inventions, he was very proud of his plastic ukulele. I discovered a warehouse room filled with several thousand guitars still sealed in their original cartons since 1954. There were many other rooms that were filled with all sorts of machinery and assembly lines. And there was the reed section. I was at that time unaware of the French American Reed Co. and its history. On the walls of Mario’s office were many personalized photos of all of the great saxophone and clarinet artists of the day. In the early years, the big band years, Mario ghost-manufactured reeds for every one of the other reed companies. It was there at one of the reed machines that I met Mario’s wife, Maria. She was a hard working woman of grace and beauty. And she was ready to revive the reed business that had gone by the wayside in the ’50s when the plastics plant was in full swing. But now, the plant was winding down all operations and Mario was retired and getting ready to take a rest. I visited Mario quite often back then in the early ’80s. I would take the day off and jump in the car. After several visits he asked me if I could make him a guitar. He handed me a blueprint of his classical cutaway model. I was at the same time both surprised and eager to accept the challenge. While I was making this guitar for him, Mastro was getting ready to hold an auction. This was in November 1981. It was a sad time for him and Maria. Their whole life was on the block and before them, disappearing piece by piece. This was yet another transitional time in Mario’s life and I was there to watch it happen. Mario Maccaferri, left, with John Monteleone, 1985. Photo courtesy of John Monteleone. After I completed his new guitar I brought it to him. Upon seeing it his eyes lit up. And then I began to witness the intensity and devotion that he had when he was back in Italy, young and in his prime. Right away he wanted to make a change to the guitar to make it respond easier, to “wake it up,” as he would say. Without hesitation we went into the shop where he had retained some of his benches and tools from the auction hammer and I cut off the back. Time was of the essence so I was compelled to use a bayonet saw. I was sick about having to do this because I had used some of my best Brazilian rosewood for the back and sides. But there was no time to waste and it had to come off quick. And quick it did, ZIP! All of the fan bars were cut out and he made new fan set and glued them in and secured them with masking tape. We came back after lunch and made a new three-piece back and had it glued on with the tape. Masking tape was all that we had. We didn’t have any clamps on hand, since I hadn’t planned on operating so speedily on a guitar that I just delivered. Mario had it strung up the next morning and called me to tell me that it made a good improvement. We had a lot of laughs about it later on. Well, that was the way it was with Mario, and I couldn’t have been happier because it soon got the juices flowing for the next project. I learned an invaluable lesson from him that it was more important to follow your instincts than to stand on pride alone. After a little prodding, I convinced Mario to make some wood guitars again based on his original designs. It was decided that we would make six classical and six jazz guitars. He had some forms for the back and side laminating but we didn’t have any veneers to work with. So we piled into the big green Cadillac and hot-footed it over to Constantine’s where we picked out enough Indian rosewood and poplar for the whole project. The next day I brought up some tools and clamps and we got right into it. The level of excitement was tremendous for me. I was about to learn first hand from the master himself how to make a Maccafferri guitar. And I could tell that Mario was feeling like a kid again and it helped him, I think, to get his mind off the retirement thing. Maria was happy to see him get involved in something constructive. Mario and Maria always went to work together every day since they first met back in 1936. He regularly wore a suit and tie to work. And right up to 1993 it was no different. I will never forget the great times that we had. Lunch time was usually a time to relax in Mario’s office while Maria would prepare a simple continental lunch for the three of us. There was always a guitar handy and Mario would play. His talents extended beyond the workbench as well. Not many people were aware of what a great guitar player he was. His style was very classical, romantic, melodic, and confident. His technique was impressive, to say the least. It was such an honor to not only make guitars alongside one of the greatest figures in the guitar world, but to be serenaded by him too. I cherished those lunches with just the three of us. After coffee, desert, and guitar talk, we were off to the shop again to see if the glue was dry yet. He carried one of those little metal aspirin boxes in his pocket that jangled with his every step. Inside the box were his heart pills that he must have been taking for the last forty years. He also loved hard candy and always had one for each of us after lunch. It was Mario’s wish to go into the guitar business and he offered me his cooperation, his plant, and his name. I faced an extremely difficult decision. Was I going to make Maccafferri guitars, or Monteleone mandolins and guitars? I decided to follow my own destiny, but not without utilizing my experience with Mario. His designs were a big influence on the Hot Club and Django models that I went on to produce later. Although I went on my own I remained in close contact with Mario and continued my visits to the Bronx. All of those people who knew Mario were constantly amazed by his level of energy and great stamina. Once we had finished making the twelve guitars, I showed Mario my first violin that I had just completed. His reaction was to show me his secret stash of four sets of violin wood that he had brought with him when he escaped from Europe in 1939 just before the Germans invaded France. His face lit up once again and we were suddenly in the violin business. This renewed interest in the violin instantly sparked an old challenge in Mario. He had always wanted to make a plastic violin that would posses all of the finest attributes of a fine old Cremonese instrument. With this in mind, he drew a set of prints for the molds and went to work without hesitation. He was by then only 88 years old. He debuted the first plastic violin at Carnegie Hall on March 8, 1990. Mario continued to pour all of his concentrated efforts into further developing the plastic violin until his dying day. He was disturbed by the fact that he could no longer play the guitar. His age was beginning to catch up to him after the move of the plant to Mount Vernon. He didn’t let it get him down. He would always call and say to me, “Can I come and work for you?” I would take it as a compliment and then think to myself, “If only we had met fifty years ago!” And then I’d imagine, “What if?” I had always thought of Mario going on forever. No one expected it to end so quickly. Time has its own way of doing things and it finally caught up with Mario Maccafferri on April 16, 1993. At his funeral, from the choir loft, a solo violin (the same one that was played at Carnegie Hall) touched our hearts with some of the pieces of music that he loved to play on the guitar. It was a befitting farewell and tribute to a friend who gave all he could to anyone who was willing to listen. I often think of Mario as I go about my work. It’s like he’s there working with me sometimes. It was the greatest privilege of my life to have known and worked with him. It was an experience that I will never forget. Mario leaves behind his beautiful and loving family. He was very close to them, especially his Maria. We all adored him. And we shall all miss him.
Posted on January 11, 2010May 14, 2025 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: José Ramírez IV In Memoriam: José Ramírez IV May 1953 — June 2000 by Tim Miklaucic Originally published in American Lutherie #63, 2000 and Big Red Book of American Lutherie Volume Six, 2013 I met José Ramírez IV for the first time in the early 1980s. He was thirty-two at the time, a man of average height with broad shoulders, a full beard, and thick fingers. Our first dialogue was about the size of the Ramírez guitars; I complained about the difficulty of playing them. The bearded Spaniard insisted that they had to be exactly as they were and that reducing the string length would diminish the sound. I remember he described the hands of Yamashita, showing me how small they were, and offered that as proof that playing a Ramírez was only a question of proper technique. That was how our personal relationship started more than fifteen years ago. José Ramírez IV was born in 1953, the son of one of the greatest guitar makers of the 20th century, José Ramírez III. His father had built guitars for practically every accomplished guitarist of his generation, including Segovia, Parkening, and Bream. Ramírez IV grew up in a home where Segovia and his most respected students were both friends and clients of the family business. He knew that if he were ever to become a respected luthier, he would have to please the Maestro and those who followed him. In 1971 he went to work in the Ramírez workshop at the age of eighteen. At first he worked as an apprentice, but in 1977, he became the “oficial de 1a” — a title given to the most accomplished master craftsmen. In 1979, several guitars were brought to Andrés Segovia to choose the one he preferred. Unknown to Segovia, one of those instruments was made by the young José, and it was that guitar which he selected. The young maker was so elated that he dedicated it to the Maestro and added this to the label. (The instrument was recently sold to a collector for $50,000.) Still, Ramírez IV believed that he had only succeeded in building the same instrument designed by his father and wondered how he could improve on it. Soon after, he began to consider how to make the instrument easier to play while preserving the quality of sound and the overall volume. In 1986, he produced a smaller instrument (C-86) which had a smaller scale length and a smaller body as well. The sound was charming, but didn’t have the same robust character as the original “1a” guitars. He still had some work to do. The Ramírez workshop (l to r): Ricardo Sáenz, Marisa Sanzano, José Enrique Ramírez IV, Amalia Ramírez, Carmelo Llerena, Marcos Moyano (apprentice), Cayetano Álvarez (retired February 2000), and Fernando Morcuende. Photo courtesy of Amalia Ramírez. In 1988, José IV and his sister Amalia took over the business from their father. Amalia had also been trained in guitar building along with her brother. She, too, had made superb instruments under the direction of her father, but also had strong business skills, which allowed José IV to concentrate on a revised construction of their concert model guitar. The same year at the Music Messe in Frankfurt, I visited José IV and Amalia. Once again, we discussed the smaller Ramírez design and shared ideas about the relationship between volume of the instrument, size of the box, and string length. It was also during this Music Messe that I met Ana, their trusted translator, who later became my wife. “Pepe” and I had many differences of opinion over the years. In less than a few months time he offered me the exclusive distribution agreement in Taiwan and then angrily took it away when he discovered that my first guitar was going to pass through the USA on its way to the South China Sea. That was the other side of his absolute loyalty, both as a friend and in business. It was only after I became his exclusive distributor in the USA that I could fully appreciate this part of his character. During the early ’90s, Pepe and Amalia were rethinking and rebuilding the business from an operation under their father’s direction making 1,000 guitars a year to today’s workshop making 120 guitars per year. This was no easy feat in a country where it is nearly impossible to downsize a company due to the strong social democratic labor laws. Somehow they did it, kept the business going, and continued to improve on the quality control of the instruments. In 1993, they moved the business back to a smaller workshop with only a few journeymen supervised by both Pepe and Amalia. It is ironic that only now as the Ramírez distributor am I finally able to buy and sell the guitar I requested fifteen years earlier, and it is especially ironic that it was Pepe who produced it. This was, in my view, his most important achievement in guitar making. In 1991, he redesigned the Ramírez 1a concert model and introduced the Traditional and the Especial model. These two models resembled those of 1960s in sound and construction while utilizing the standard 650mm scale length and a full-size body. With this, he achieved exactly what he thought to be impossible in our first meeting. José Ramírez IV died on June 5, 2000, survived by his wife, sister, and four children.
Posted on January 11, 2010May 23, 2025 by Dale Phillips Letter: Settling-In of Guitars Letter: Settling-In of Guitars by Chris von der Borch Originally published in American Lutherie #40, 1994 Dear Guild, I have been constructing classic, baroque, and steel string guitars since around 1960. It is a long-term hobby of mine, as is guitar playing (in real life I am a professor of marine geology). I have made about sixteen instruments, with latter classicals being based precisely on measurements of several well-known Fleta guitars, including top thickness gradations and strut dimensions. I have used a variety of highest-quality soundboard wood (cedar, Sitka spruce, European spruce) and Brazilian rosewood. Recently I completed my first Smallman-style guitar using a wafer thin cedar soundboard (1MM) combined with web strutting of balsa and carbon fibre and a series of rather heavy internal braces to reinforce soundboard support. Of all the above, only two are really satisfactory. One is a Sitka spruce Fleta-style guitar which matured after several years into a top instrument. The other success is the Smallman-style guitar, despite a slight fall off in “zippiness” from initial tune-up. Other guitars typically sounded brilliant, usually 24 hours after initial tune-up. This brilliance typically persisted for a couple of weeks, after which the tonal quality and sustain deadened somewhat and never returned. These guitars, on maturation, have become pleasant, run-of-the-mill instruments, but not world shakers! These observations imply, I feel, that the essential ingredients for superior tone were initially present, but a mechanical and not an acoustical problem has occurred. In short, stresses have set in, or the soundboards have lost some of their initial tension. I should add that up to now, all of my guitars have been constructed under careful humidity control and in such a way as to minimize any inbuilt stresses. Become A Member to Continue Reading This Article This article is part of our premium web content offered to Guild members. To view this and other web articles, join the Guild of American Luthiers. Members also receive 4 annual issues of American Lutherie and get discounts on products. For details, visit the membership page. If you are already a member, login for access or contact us to setup your account.
Posted on January 11, 2010May 28, 2025 by Dale Phillips Review: Acquired of the Angels by Paul William Schmidt Review: Acquired of the Angels by Paul William Schmidt Reviewed by Linda Manzer Originally published in American Lutherie #59, 1999 and Big Red Book of American Lutherie Volume Five, 2008 Acquired of the Angels Paul William Schmidt Scarecrow Press, 1998 ISBN 1578860024 In the fall of 1983 I had the good fortune to be invited to study in the shop of James D’Aquisto. I confess that while I knew James D’Aquisto was a respected and famous archtop builder, I didn’t know the half of it when I walked through those doors the first time. As I worked side by side with him, listening to his stories, watching him work, and watching various characters in his life come through the doors of his workshop, I realized I wasn’t just at a workshop but I was witness to a very magical moment in guitar history. The tools, the woods, the layout of the shop, the music we listened to, the stories he told, and most of all his guitars, all were another world for me. These impressions were the groundwork for my own path as an archtop builder and for many other builders. So when I learned that Paul William Schmidt had written Acquired of the Angels: The Lives and Works of Master Guitar Makers John D’Angelico and James L. D’Aquisto I was very curious to see how his impressions would compare with mine. Become A Member to Continue Reading This Article This article is part of our premium web content offered to Guild members. To view this and other web articles, join the Guild of American Luthiers. Members also receive 4 annual issues of American Lutherie and get discounts on products. For details, visit the membership page. If you are already a member, login for access or contact us to setup your account.
Posted on January 10, 2010May 14, 2025 by Dale Phillips In Memoriam: Taku Sakashta In Memoriam: Taku Sakashta December 11, 1966 – February 11, 2010 by Tom Ribbecke Originally published in American Lutherie #101, 2010 Besides making world-class guitars, Taku Sakashta was part of our local community of artists. In the blink of an eye he is gone, at the hands of a brutal career criminal. Nothing prepared us for the loss of our friend like this. It can really test one’s faith. He is survived by his wife Kazuko. As she worked with Taku, she now is bereft of an income as well as a husband. Taku came to America and achieved the respect and admiration of his peers. As my former apprentice Isao Abe said about the Japanese culture, “The highest nail is hammered down first.” But here, Taku was an unstoppable lutherie force. He developed his own aesthetic and created extraordinary designs. As Rick Turner pointed out, Taku achieved his dream. Losing him is not easy. When an artist of his stature dies, so do the many guitars he certainly would have left to the world had he lived. Taku would come to visit without warning. I would turn around and he would be standing in my shop in his apron, usually with one of his students or an assistant in tow. I used to tell him he looked like my grandfather Hideo (who later became Henry) and he would laugh. He would round up the Japanese apprentices from Ervin’s and my shop, and take them camping, or out for beers. He was really caring for this group of men, and was always there for them. Photo by Jonathon Peterson. So there we sat in the front row at Taku’s memorial service at the request of his family: Larry Robinson, Steve Klein, Ervin Somogyi, Rick Turner, and myself, with our 200 years of collective instrument making experience. I was honored to be in the company of these outstanding people, who all share the same love of the art and the craft of lutherie. My apprentices call us the “old Gs” of guitar making. It felt like we were burying one of our children. The family did not want the media there. It was a small and lovely service, half in English and half in Japanese, honoring his life. Tuck and Patty performed, and we were treated to slides of Taku as a wild young man and as a little boy. This was the story of his life outside of guitars. Taku was a remarkable, brilliant, unstoppable, unflagging force for lutherie. But I will always remember him as a better person.
