Rumor Has It . . .
Art of Eccentric Electric Guitars
About Tony Cochran
I am the internationally syndicated cartoonist of the comic strip Agnes. She is an odd, pointy footed girl with
big dreams. I am an odd, pointy footed guy with dreams of my own. I love art of all types, from the simple line drawings of a daily comic strip to the complex coloration of my acrylic paintings. I just can't leave stuff alone.
I have always loved the sounds of electric guitars. I used to enjoy their appearance, but the looks I thought were so unique in the beginning dissolved into a sameness after many years of looking, I decided a change was in order. For the record, the truly vintage and classic electric guitars were not the ones I used. They have their own lives and history and should be kept as they are.
I am seen here rocking out on my Mom's Danelectro
back when Led Zeppelin was still new vinyl. I will never
change this guitar. I purchased well made copies of classics
from people who once aspired to be musicians but were
moving on to other things. I found them on Craigslist, at
garage sales, and hidden in closets. The guitars remain fully
functional. The volume works. The tone knobs tone. The
pick-ups pick up. If any part was damaged, I repaired it to
work as it was designed I did not alter the ergonomics and I
never sacrificed playability for looks. I acquired things for
my guitars by pillaging boxes of junk at garage sales,
Salvation Army stores, and church bazaars. Odd piece of
machine? I'll take it. Strange electrical switch? Mine now.
Old cuff link? Brass tray? Ancient cloth covered wire torn from a 50's waffle maker? I'll give you a dollar for it.
I traded my tubes of cadmium red and hansa yellow for a palate of metal minutia, sheets of brass and steel, and
many fasteners and glues.
back when Led Zeppelin was still new vinyl. I will never
change this guitar. I purchased well made copies of classics
from people who once aspired to be musicians but were
moving on to other things. I found them on Craigslist, at
garage sales, and hidden in closets. The guitars remain fully
functional. The volume works. The tone knobs tone. The
pick-ups pick up. If any part was damaged, I repaired it to
work as it was designed I did not alter the ergonomics and I
never sacrificed playability for looks. I acquired things for
my guitars by pillaging boxes of junk at garage sales,
Salvation Army stores, and church bazaars. Odd piece of
machine? I'll take it. Strange electrical switch? Mine now.
Old cuff link? Brass tray? Ancient cloth covered wire torn from a 50's waffle maker? I'll give you a dollar for it.
I traded my tubes of cadmium red and hansa yellow for a palate of metal minutia, sheets of brass and steel, and
many fasteners and glues.
The bodies of guitars were gutted, then routered, sliced, and hole sawed, as needed, to fit their new raiment.
The finishes were polished or abraded, or maybe just gently
burnished. They were waxed and buffed, or maybe washed
with acid and left to corrode into a different sort of
niceness. Acid too much? Well, let's kiss it with a little
lacquer thinner and see what shows up. I took a bland history
and gave them a real story.
Then came the options. Agnes was a big help naming them,
What would odd guitar devices look like if guitars had odd devices? They would look like these. I added some
pictulators, bird fausers, industrial slooters, and at least one high voltage tonal chamber.
burnished. They were waxed and buffed, or maybe washed
with acid and left to corrode into a different sort of
niceness. Acid too much? Well, let's kiss it with a little
lacquer thinner and see what shows up. I took a bland history
and gave them a real story.
Then came the options. Agnes was a big help naming them,
What would odd guitar devices look like if guitars had odd devices? They would look like these. I added some
pictulators, bird fausers, industrial slooters, and at least one high voltage tonal chamber.
There are hundreds of plain, well engineered, but unused, electric guitars in the world. They are draped with
dirty socks in the corners of unkempt bedrooms, leaning against dusty duct work in
dank basements, or shoved into an old closet with only a ball glove to talk to. I want to
find them and give them a history that will make them treasured . . . a look that makes
them precious.
These are my leather wrapped, metal clad beauties. I have riveted, nailed, and screwed
them into a new past. Rumor Has It . . . there's a new history.
dank basements, or shoved into an old closet with only a ball glove to talk to. I want to
find them and give them a history that will make them treasured . . . a look that makes
them precious.
These are my leather wrapped, metal clad beauties. I have riveted, nailed, and screwed
them into a new past. Rumor Has It . . . there's a new history.
