1965—MUSIC AND MY FIRST RICKENBACKER GUITAR
In March of 1965, one landmark happening occurred that would have a major effect on me, remaining in my memory to this day, and leading to my “October career”, many decades later.
I played my first Rickenbacker 12 string guitar.
A friend of Gil’s from the neighborhood named Guy, a kind of hippie type who lived on his own and was a bit older at 18, had bought a new ’65 Fireglo Rickenbacker 12 string guitar. At that point I had played Gus’ Telecaster on occasion, and Tom’s Gibson SG Junior, which I later realised did not have a proper setup. However, the Rickenbacker was another animal entirely. Guy, a really generous young man and a player whose abilities and repertoire were quite a bit beyond our own struggles to learn, practice, and perform, played the Rickenbacker a bit and then passed it around for us to try. Even plugged into Gil’s little Tolini accordion amplifier, which had a 10” speaker, something like 10 watts, and no effects like reverberation or compression, the Rickenbacker 12 sounded like a choir of angels to my ears. After it had been sampled by all the other band mambers except our drummer, Rich, it was finally my turn to play it!
I had never played anything so inspirational. I tried it both amplified and unplugged. Even unplugged, the resonance of the semi-hollow body gave it just enough volume and tone that it could be heard over the guys talking. Playability was the easiest I’d ever experienced. I reasoned that, since it was a twelve string instrument, it should be twice as hard to fret as a six string. The truth was just the opposite, I found out. It was the easiest and smoothest playing guitar in the world, I thought, in my limited experience. Utterly impressive and amazing. This brief experience stayed in my mind for decades, until I finally bought my own first Rickenbacker 12, in 2003!
(ABOVE) THE ARSENAL—Rickenbacker 360 12 string; Gibson Les Paul Junior; Fender Telecaster; Kay Bass.
Meanwhile, “our” group had migrated and changed personnel. I was out, despite the fact that I was the only band member who could actually sing.
Without any discussion, Gus decided to replace me with another local guy, Tom 2, who not only could sing, but also looked a bit like McCartney. He played no instruments, but who cared? Nobody really needed a keyboard player, anyway. I was unceremoniously out. I decided to switch to guitar.
SURFBARDS
Note the above heading—it says “SURFBARDS”, not “SURFBOARDS”. This turned out to be a common error in perception among the kids who came to our gigs. Many were the times that I heard, “SURFBOARDS? Who the heck would call a band the SURFBOARDS?” My pun often fell on dead eyes, it seems. It was a harbinger of a half-century in the future, when seemingly nobody cares about our language, seldom reads or writes, cursive is no longer taught in many schools, and so on (one of my many rants, sadly).
The Surfbards (“Songs of Surf, Sand, and Sun”) was, as far as I know, the very first Beach Boys tribute band in Chicago, and probably the Midwest. We were founded in 1965, while I was studying music theory and composition on my own in high school, and linked up with a friend from my Junior Achievement center, Glenn Rare. Glenn was one of a very few friends that I had in those days who could hold his own, and indeed, challenged me, in vocabulary, love of puns, reading volume, and musical interest. We lost touch when I went to university and Glenn went into a training program for AT & T technicians, around 1967. We reconnected when I started a tribute website for the band online, in 2003. We both contributed to the site and kept it going for couple of years. Like the band itself, it delivered little in terms of work to satisfaction ratio.
My intellectual conceit that motivated the organising of the Surfbards is that we should sing five-part harmony while simultaneously playing our instruments, live. This was a feat that even the Beach Boys (sans Brian Wilson in those days) failed at, occasionally.
We ranged in age from 14-16 years old! (Well, Bill Wright was 20).
We mostly pulled it off, though. It was my own lofty concept. I arranged the vocals, and Glenn and the rest of the guys worked out the instrumental parts. We had a repertoire of about fifteen songs; a mix of current (1964-65) Beach Boys numbers, mixed with popular general musical items. It was my declaration that we would dress like the guys on the cover of the Beach Boys Concert! album, in white chinos and short-sleeved striped shirts. Our guitars were white. Glenn’s short scale bass had a sunburst finish, so I sanded it down and rattle-canned it in white lacquer. I was the lead singer on most songs, and occasionally played my little Farfisa organ. We didn’t gig a whole lot, but I remember some church dances, yard parties, and Junior Achievement events.
I recall us auditioning to be the house band for a Southwest Side venue, Inn Motion à Go Go, which was a large, loud, local place that served the “greaser” population in its neighborhood. A worse match could not be conceived. We hauled our stuff the fifteen miles South using Bill’s car with an odd little one-wheeled trailer that clamped to the car’s rear bumper, while the sprung single wheel steered its way around corners…
We failed the audition. We were received rudely as would be aliens from another solar system. However, we were not dissuaded and went on learning new material. Pearl before swine was my attitude!
ABOVE—The SURFBARDS, Chicago’s Beach Boys tribute group, from 1965. L to R: Richard Miller, Larry LaPalio (standing), Bill (Putney) Wright, Glenn Raye, and PW (looking over my shoulder). I’ve stayed in touch with all except Bill. Last I heard, he was playing cruise ships. I recently built a PULSTAR guitar for Rich Miller!
Back to model cars, My interest and involvement continued to grow, as my creativity and craft both began to take hold, and new challenges arose. Primary among these challenges was a desire to create models of my original designs: subject matter that was unavailable in the marketplace.
This phase of my involvement with model cars would continue until roughly 1970, when my marriage, the birth of my first daughter, and a need to earn a living began to demand 100% of my time and energy.