SESSION SHENANIGANS
The studio guitarist’s guide to happiness and personal fulfilment, as related to us by session legend Mitch Dalton. This month our hero says, “It’s a set-up”
They say that behind every great guitarist there is a woman. And I say that behind that woman is Bill Puplett. Half artisan, half guru but complete genius, this man has been surgically removing the “aargh!” from my acoustics and the “eek!” from my electrics for over a quarter of a century.
And it is to my eternal gratitude that I stumbled upon his unfeasibly remote hideaway in deepest Harrow Weald back in the day, before he came to the attention of the likes of Coldplay, Oasis, Acoustic Alchemy and a veritable gaggle of mega-gigsters. To visit his humidity controlled workshop, (should you succeed in locating it a quarter of a mile down a pot hole strewn dirt track), is to enter a world of meticulous order, military precision and a fanatical attention to detail that would have shamed the space shuttle programme.
Debunking the popular myth of the craftsman’s shambolic shed, shelves of logically classified instruments, drawers of spare parts and cupboards full of specialised tools adorn every square centimetre of available wall space, many of the latter designed and made by the man himself. The work benches resemble operating tables with their stringless, anaesthetised private patients undergoing surgical procedures.
Radio Three wafts soothingly from the adjoining office. All is calm. And all is well. Previously, your instrument will have undergone a thorough examination. You will have agreed on the appropriate remedial action for its restoration to full health as you bask in the comforting warmth of The Great Man’s vast knowledge and evident expertise.
Allow me to share an insight into the walking repository of whammy bar based wisdom that is William. Some years ago I determined that Bill and I should embark on a rolling programme of maintenance for my not unsizeable personal collection. And so it was that after several months of releasing instruments into his care, he scrutinised my Gibson L-4 re-issue, impulse purchased in Tin Pan Alley in the manner so typical of sad pickers readily seduced by the sight of a fit body in a showroom window.
“Ah, yes,” he murmured. “Nice guitar. I can do things with this. Now, I don’t wish you to waste your money but I strongly suggest that you replace the machineheads.”
“And why would that be?”, I responded with the best simulation of a poker face that I could muster under the circumstances. At which point Bill afforded me the benefit of a short reading taken from The Book Of Anoraks. “And it came to pass that the House of Gibson did change the workings of the holy machinehead in the late second millennium. And there came upon the land an inferior design that knew not the ways of smooth operation, even unto the point of (occasional) failure, disintegration and mighty explosions. And thus did Orville and his tribe revert to the original design and return to the path of righteousness.”
Well, blow me down. Bill was entirely correct. The tale of the faulty machinehead was no parable. It had actually happened to me some years earlier, sending the attached string perilously close to my face, whiplash style, as casing, screws and cogs exploded around me. On that very L-4 and on no other instrument that I have ever owned.
Respect, as today’s yoof might well intone.
On another memorable visit, my gaze settled upon a pretty parlour guitar, stripped back to the wood, clearly awaiting full restoration.
“That’s a lovely instrument, Bill. It’s like the black Gibson you sometimes see in old photographs of Elvis backstage.”
“No. It is isn’t like that guitar, actually, he replied” “No?” “No. It that guitar.” “Okay. You’re saying that’s er… Elvis’s guitar?
“Yes I am. A supermodel bought it at auction. The one who’s friendly with those two brothers in that band.”
“Right. And she plays guitar, does she?”
“Nope. Not at all. But she thought it might be nice to have a guitar lying around the house when they come by.”
Who cares about that buzz on the G string? It’s worth a visit just for the buzz from the stories…
he scrutinised my l-4, impulse purchased From tin pan alley. ‘ah yes, i can do things with this.’