Ed Goode's Six String Stellartone Barker Bass Project

We have no English word equivalent to the German "schadenfreude" (taking joy at others' troubles). Likewise we have no word for looking backwards and taking pleasure in what you did to get to where you are.

There are three parts to the joy of this project. First has been the association with Ed, the client, who is a bassist out of New Jersey. You can see some wonderful images of him playing on that site, as well as a detailed chronicle of the progress of this project.

The second look-forward-to-every-day part was the newness of the concept. What if, Linda and I had wondered, someone sent me a bass (guitar) that he or she liked, and I converted it to a Barker--same electronics, same neck, just the upright playing position and all the benefits that offers.

Obviously cosmic forces intersected: Ed's desire to move beyond his 5 string Barker to a 6, along with our interest in giving this process a try. The newness, the headscratching, the 3am insights, the doubling back to make sure that the next forward step was as unencumbered as possible--all these dispense oodles of endorphins from head to hands.

And the third part was getting a glimpse into the world of extended range basses. I know some players: Stew McKinsey and Gregory Bruce Campbell and Edo Castro, for example, and Fred Bolton of McMinnville, Oregon, who makes basses for the likes of these guys.

The thinking here led me into questions relative to, "when does a scooter become a motorcycle" and "when are heavy hors d'oeuvres actually a meal." It would seem that adding a 5th string to the long-accepted four of the bass was ok. Adding overdrive doesn't change the carness of a car.

But adding a sixth required not only a different player approach to the instrument but also new nomenclature. "Six String Bass" approaches the "Fourth Trimester" category. So now we have ERB: Extended Range Bass. Fair enough. And I'm honored to have been let through the gate and onto the range as an ex officio observer. I can't claim a place in the luthier's corral yet, but my boots prove I've been close.

Looking back, I embrace the three joys of the process. Nominations for a word to express that are welcomed!

High Desert Swap Meet Redmond Oregon part 4: Rat Rods and the Pendulum of Style

The beginning of hot rods, 1950: make it faster. The next step: make it original.

If you were in the first group, you spent your time under the hood. In those days, if you were dealing with an inline 6, you could actually stand on the garage floor, butt against the inside of a front fender, and be up close and personal with valves, carburetion and the conducting of high amperage spurts of electrical energy.

Second group? You know sandpaper, you know mallets and dollies, Bondo, primer, more sanding, masking, masked up, and the ultimate joy of wheeling her out into the sun for the first real look. You would see a part on an Oldsmobile and imagine how it could be blended into your Ford, and then go home and by golly do it.

I was a-fringe of all this my high school years, never having the resources for my own vehicle but enjoying riding shotgun with Jan, and Hank, and Ken.

The 90 weight lube and lacquer thinner didn't make it to my bloodstream but I did follow hotroddom through the years as a casual observer.

When they got to jacking up one side of a car at a car show and sliding a mirror under it to show the virginal perfection there, they lost me. It wasn't about go, it wasn't about how it looked to the girls as we cruised by and it ceased to be about clever adaptations of truck parts to car or converting three taillights on one side to sequential performance. Instead it was the manifestation of an obsessive compulsive disorder applied to the connections between shock absorbers and axles and the absolute perversity of chrome run amok.

Enter the Rat Rod. As I have drifted ever closer to the outward marge of the periphery I have not been able to chronicle the pendulum hitting Side Dead Center with a clang and subsequently breeding, on the antipode, the Rat Rod.

Functional, clearly done with a budget, joyously free, untouched by any kind of perfectionism and unequivocally devoted to the absolute independence of the creator, these machines are singing their siren song on a specific frequency. At last: hot rodding accessible to Everyman.

The images show several of them from the Swap Meet of September 2009, Redmond Oregon. I celebrate their existence, their presence, their uniqueness and sometimes, idly, wonder just how much money and how much welding it might take to get on board.

Cayford's Barker Bass: Graphtech Ghost, Stellartone Tonestyler Upgrades, Part 1

Some owners of the Barker Bass have described the tone as "more of everything." One argument might be to keep it pure: "No fads or fancy stuff" as one advertiser used to say. The other argument is, why not make it better? To start with something that good and add enhancements might just be an exponential improvement. That was Cayford's line of thought as we pondered the possibility of adding the Graphtech Ghost which is a set of peizo pickups individually contacting each string via saddles in the Graphtech bridge, stock on the Barker B1 four. Why not, then, add the Graphtech Acousticphonic preamp? All it would take is a little room in the electronics bay and a battery case somewhere on board--and that is an easy assignment on a Barker.

This peizo process requires some excavation below the bridge, noted in the photos above. These tiny, individual wires are routed to the electronics cavity and joined on a summing board, thence to the preamp.

The battery requirement is nine volts, but having had a bad experience with a battery failing mid-gig, I always suggest a double case with only one battery wired in so there's a fresh spare on board. Cayford agreed to that. The case goes on the back, out of sight.

Then came that almost-predictable moment: Hand on chin, thoughtful, he said, "Hmmm, as long as we're at it, why not add the Stellartone Tonestyler too?" Great idea. I'm a vocal exponent of this elegant and practical addendum to any passive bass.

This required a fourth knob now--the only external suggestion to an audience viewer that he's not playing a stock Barker B1.

Shop mission is accomplished, and the bass is back to Cayford at this writing for his installation of the electronics. We'll do a followup interview and post it down the line. Whether it's a nuanced improvement or trumpet-fanfared Innovation of the Century remains to be seen. And heard. The delight is in the team effort and the possibility of yet another way the Barker claims its place among unique electric bass instruments.

High Desert Swap Meet Redmond Oregon part 3

Living in the United States between world wars and having a fascination with two and four wheel transportation: Now there's a First Wish that would be followed by a request for the genie to put away the magic bottle! One of the darling little ideas to reach fruition in the mid-teens was the Auto Red Bug. It went through some parent company changes, and existed in two distinct models: One, an electric motor harnessed to wet-cell batteries in the metal box behind, and the other, a small one-lung internal combustion plant that traveled sidesaddle with the wheel it drove--which dangled off the back like a crazy-wheel trailer of the fifties!

When, that lovely September Saturday morning in 2009, I saw this work of art in the images above, I knew what the creator had copied. It was not for sale--the vendor had just bought it himself. While it appears the dimensions are true to the original, the workmanship was clearly an exquisite one-off effort by someone who knew her or his way around a machine shop.

The power plant idea was kin to the fifth wheel noted above, but seemed more like the result of an AHA! moment when the anonymous creator spotted a Honda Trail 90.
That tall stud on the back? It just fits into a HT90 after you remove the front fork and wheel. The controls link up seamlessly, and you're on the road in your snappy little cyclecar, living the good life promised by the end of the War to end all Wars and freed from the waning days of the Edwardian era.

Knickers and Argyles. Gibson Girls. It all seems like simpler times.

High Desert Swap Meet Redmond Oregon part 2

Non automotive: Plenty to see and experience. Under the heading "implied speed" consider the pedal car and the locomotive, right hand end of the table of toys.

What is it? I can't remember, but the seller had a copy of the patent there. It looks roughly like a juicer, but somewhat more industrial than we're accustomed to.

Jogger moms wouldn't do well with the perambulator. But it worked for us!

And finally, the Zenith media center. And that's the correct color--nearly as yellow as a caution light, but clearly still wood veneer. It was in such good condition that, once plugged in, it would probably get all those old radio shows like One Man's Family, The Green Hornet, Lum and Abner and Mary Backstage, Noble Wife.

High Desert Swap Meet Redmond Oregon part 1

Here's the official subtitle of this annual event in Redmond: Antiques to old car parts, collectible toys to new toys. A car show of classic cars and even some cars for sale.

That's pretty good, actually, but it doesn't come close to covering it all. It's a big deal and a lot of people do a lot of work to make it happen. And when that first Saturday after Labor Day rolls around, I'm ready. Equipment: Shoes that will tolerate dewy grass for the first two hours, head covering, water, snack, backpack, and GO! Gates open at 7! Costs you nothing to get in, and you're in for, if you cover all the ground, and linger over this or that, 6 hours of joyful sampling of stuff for sale, friends to reconnect with, and stories to overhear.

When you hear these, stop and listen:

"My dad had one of these...it's the car I learned to drive..."

"I'm looking for a right front fender for a 37 Packard sedan..."

"Will that fit on a 55 Chevy?"

"What the heck is that?"

Fish stories, hard sell, dickering in the friendliest context imaginable, people puzzling over some strange object (usually not car related) that "I got at an estate sale," all here under the bluest skies and punctuated by squeaky wheels on rusty old Radio Flyer wagons that are being pulled out to the parking lot to be loaded up so the buyer can come back for more stuff.

There will be several posts here about this year's sale. For the first time I took my camera. Later you'll see the split-personality object I bought which is now in the living room, as well as an inscrutable piece of hardware, with moving parts. I'll post some images of some of the cars that were on display--not for sale--and sample the non-automotive stuff.

All that, and I never made it over to the antiques section. We'll cover that next year. Can't wait until Labor Day comes and goes.

Oh, that little Rambler convertible for sale in the picture? Someone shoehorned a serious V-8 under the hood of that little julep. It's the quintessential Saturday Drags, Sunday Drive set of wheels. Surprise!

Small Woodworking Project: Candle Holder After A Chinese Pictogram

The librarian thumb-flipped the book like a magician convincing you the deck was complete. She stopped, riveted by the one-page piece titled "Candelabra from Chinese Ideograms." The sparse, high contrast black and whites of the artist's work are juxtaposed with their inspiration: Chinese characters for umbrella and home. Home was it. "Someday I'd like one of these," she said, holding the Fine Woodworking book a little sideways so he could see it.

So he tackled it, unbeknownst to her. Yes, it is a small project, per the book's subsection, but that might just be referring to real estate on the workbench, or cubic feet of shop space, or board feet of material. It's about 16 inches wide and 7 inches tall.

She was presented it yesterday, in its own storage box. He explained that the lower part, the walnut, was from some lumber given them by friends, an elderly couple, who died this year. The other was material he had been saving, though it seemed too small to be of use.

He blathered, she stared. "Beautiful, just beautiful," she would say, between his stumbling sentences.

Happy birthday, Linda, the love of my life. The words my heart speaks sometime get to my hands first, and that's often how they're best said.