“Liz Meets Liz: A Tale of the Backwards Gibson”

c. 2007 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-07)

Note to Readers: Recently, Gibson Guitar Corporation has offered an interesting ‘Guitar of the Week’ series of instruments. These limited-edition items became collectable from their first day out of the factory. For example, week number 29 yielded a ‘Reverse Flying V’ with the traditional 1958 body shape inverted. Instead of looking like an arrow, the electrified twanger has the guise of a twin-horned, tonal antenna. I never expected to lay hands on one of these, since the production run was limited to 400 units. But something strange happened, one evening in Solon…

My erstwhile editor, Bob Lipkin, used to say of writing professionally: “It could be worse. I could have a real job!”

Such thoughts reverberated recently, as Liz and I made a journey to interview one of the area’s most enduring and prolific performers. It was another moment when duty and pleasure took a similar course.

Over the summer, I covered a local appearance by Dennis Chandler and the Stratophonics. Their show inspired a pair of newspaper features, and some entertaining cyberspace chatter about rock history. But our interaction produced something more – an invitation to visit the Chandler homestead in person.

My wife, Liz, was rightly impressed. She reckoned it was a great opportunity for wordsmithing on my favorite subject, music. It also seemed likely to help ease the effects of chronic G.A.S. – Guitar Acquisition Syndrome. By commiserating with a fellow collector, I would be less inclined toward seeking out expensive relics on eBay, to ease my symptoms. Her logic was persuasive.

Still, work responsibilities kept me from following through for several weeks. I was busy with a long-term project, in Jefferson. Liz continued to remind me of the offer, while suggesting dates to meet. I corresponded with Chandler, and spent clandestine moments searching for vintage axes in cyberspace. Fortunately, I was outbid on every item. There were no ‘accidental purchases’ I’d have to explain later.
Finally, the moment arrived on a Wednesday.

I fumbled with my notepad, pens, camera, and spare batteries, while we headed for Solon. It was a comfortable, fall evening. Nearly surreal in its stillness.
Liz was amused as I sorted tools of the trade. “Why are you so jumpy?”

I snorted. “Just want to do a good job on this. Ask the right questions, and take good notes. Don’t you understand?”

She giggled. “Stop worrying, Rodney. This is your kind of story. Hometown rrrrrrock ‘n’ roll!”

“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “But I just want to get it right.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Of course you’ll do well, Mister Roving Reporter! Take a deep breath. This will be fun!”

We arrived soon after her admonition for calm.

Dennis Chandler met us at the front door. He was gracious, and relaxed. A fit, physical example of rock as a positive lifestyle. I remembered his confident ease from the show in June. But now, he spoke with the directness of a true ‘edu-tainer.’
Liz squeezed my arm. She whispered into my ear. “Here we go!”

We followed him to the living room, which boasted a 1904 Sohmer concert grand piano. My eyes widened as I recognized the instrument from a photo on his website.

“This all began during my stint in the Army National Guard,” he reflected. “They say you’ll never forget your first Platoon Sergeant. Mine didn’t like music. During my first weekend off, I was at the Koppel Service Club, on base at Fort Knox. They had a piano, plus a 1965 Gibson SG guitar, and a Falcon model amplifier. I played tunes until a senior guy approached me, who looked to be in his forties. He wore a business suit, so I didn’t recognize him. He asked if I could give his thirteen-year old daughter lessons, and I agreed to teach her for an hour on the following Saturday. When his car arrived, it carried the I.D. plates of a ‘Bird’ Colonel. My Sergeant was not happy!”

By now, Chandler’s wife had joined the conversation. She was maternal, yet elegant and hip. Her voice buzzed with energy.

We all laughed out loud at the story.

“After that, I gave the girl guitar lessons through the remainder of basic training,” he said. “My Sergeant would say ‘Look, there goes Chandler the musician!’ whenever I was nearby. I ended up winning awards for best individual entertainer, and best combo, with a bassist and drummer. Besides the musical recognition, I was named best military trainee. Later, I went on to Officers School. I do the best I can in everything.”

He gestured toward his wife after finishing the tale. “Goo Goo, do you remember where my awards are? I’d like to show them off!”

She returned quickly, with an armload of vintage trophies.

“They wanted me to re-enlist for three years, and continue to entertain my fellow soldiers,” Chandler said. “But right about then, I met Liz…”

My wife was speechless. But her surprise was visible.

An instant of silence passed as everyone considered the strange coincidence.

My wife, and Mrs. Chandler were both named… Liz!

Somehow, I found a puff of air still in my lungs. “I don’t believe it… Liz meets Liz! What a story!!”

Once again, everyone laughed.

“I still support the National Guard,” Chandler concluded. “Their people give freedom to everyone.”

I was scribbling notes when he shifted gears.

“So, you’d like to see some guitars?” he smiled.

Liz and Liz began a conversation of their own, about WJW, and local celebrities like Big Chuck & Little John.

I dropped my pen with anticipation. “Guitars? Uhhh… yes!”

Chandler disappeared for a moment. He returned with a long, black Gibson instrument carrier in hand.

“When they released this one, I had to order two,” he admitted. “Tell me if you’ve ever seen one like this before…”

Dramatically, he opened the case.

My mouth dropped open. It was a beautifully recreated ’58 Flying V, but tweaked with a dash of ‘Weird Science.’ The body had been reversed, transforming its tailfins into jutting, sculptured horns.

“This is sort of like Link Wray’s Danelectro Longhorn,” he observed. “Call it a Shorthorn!”

I pondered their similarity. The guitar felt finely-crafted, and solid.

After regaining my composure, I returned to ‘journalist mode.’ “So, having worked for Gibson, how do you feel about their current products?” I asked. “Do they match the instruments from Kalamazoo?”

I knew the question would spur deep consideration. Gibson had endured a period of ownership by a company called Norlin, between 1969 and 1986. Their quality and designs suffered during this dubious era. Eventually, the original Michigan factory closed. All production transferred to a newer facility in Nashville. Thankfully, changes at the boardroom-level rescued this storied manufacturer from ruin.
Budget-conscious templates were scrapped immediately. Confusing models like the S-1, Marauder, and Sonex received a quick dispatch toward oblivion. Their presence had cheapened the brand image without attracting much revenue. Those at the helm were determined to erase the memory of Norlin from consumer consciousness.

Classic instruments were lovingly revisited and recreated by the modern Gibson company. The Les Paul, SG, and Firebird were built with care and affection for their legendary personalities. The ES series of hollowbody guitars were offered with a taste of yonder glory. Custom items from their ‘Guitar of the Week’ program reverberated with commitment to fully revive the make.

Chandler bowed his head while considering my question.

“They are very close now,” he answered at last. “Very close.”

I felt electrified by our conversation.

Liz and Liz were busy discussing details of the household. My elation made their discourse echo like splashes of rainwater in a barrel. I was on a natural high.
Suddenly, Chandler broke the spell with his voice.

“Are you ready to see some more?” he said.

My senses were overloaded. “More?”

Liz C. connected with the thought, immediately. She pointed toward the doorway. “Oh yes! Take them to the studio!”

With surprise, I realized that our class in rock history had only begun!

Questions about Thoughts At Large may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com