by Saiichi
I have always been a Gibson electric man since 1974 except for a few years in the early ’90s when I got into Clapton model Strats. My first electric was a 1961 Junior and my trusty Les Paul has been my main guitar for a dozen years. I don’t go shopping for guitars anymore. I already have what I need and want to remain faithful to a handful of my dear Gibsons. Yet, I must confess to a moment when my allegiance was shaken – some four years ago when I met a very special vintage Fender.
Yes, I admit that I had a stolen moment with Blackie. Yes, THAT Blackie. It was an accident. Well, you see, it happened like this. I was advising Christie’s again on the 2004 Crossroads sale, but, unlike it had been the case during the preparation for the 1994 sale when EC’s guitars for auction were kept in London, all the 2004 auction guitars were directly shipped from the EC warehouse to New York. So, in the 2004 auction, I didn’t get to see the actual guitars while working on the catalogue. The first time that I met Blackie and others was during the London preview when the main guitars were shipped back to London to be displayed. I was at Christie’s in St James’ in the heart of London after the gallery was closed to the public. A film crew was there shooting a documentary. Kerry Keene, the head of Musical Instruments at Christie’s New York was being interviewed and at the end, the crew asked if they could have a closer look at Blackie out of the glass case. So, Kerry took it out and the film crew held it, went “wow”, took shots and generally did their bit. I put my two penny’s worth as a member of the team pointing out the wear on the neck, demonstrating how the E string was almost falling off from the fingerboard and explaining that Eric had retired Blackie to avoid further wear and tear. The crew then moved on with Kerry to the next guitar, the red Cream 335, and I was left standing there holding the baby. THE baby. They were busy shooting Kerry commenting on the sale. It looked like he was going to be a while. So, I thought “fair enough” and decided to sit down with the baby on my lap and pulled out a pick from my pocket… That’s how I came to spend twenty minutes with this most celebrated and extremely private Stratocaster.
To be truthful, I hadn’t thought very highly of this famous guitar. My favourite Clapton/Stratocaster tone came for Brownie. The London Howling Wolf sessions was my formative influence in my early teens and that phased out tone of Brownie has since remained a definitive voice of a maple-neck Strat for me. Rightly or wrongly, in my personal view, all the great Clapton/ Strat moments involved Brownie with the Bakelite pickups (by the time EC went on the ‘74 “comeback” tour, Brownie had nylon pickup covers and an additional pickguard screw). I always associated Blackie with Clapton’s laid back and rustic playing in the late 70s in my mind. I had imagined that Blackie was a warm and frumpy instrument – a bit like the ‘74 000-28 on which Clapton wrote Wonderful Tonight, which I had a pleasure of getting acquainted when I was working on the 1994 auction catalogue. Wrong.
The first thing that struck me was the neck. It has been widely said that Blackie had a “V” neck. The Custom Shop Clapton Strats JW Black built for me in 1991 supposed to have had the neck made with the same template as EC’s personal replicas. Well, this guitar felt nothing like that. The neck felt incredibly small. Tiny, in fact. Besides that, holding it on my lap, there was something about the instrument that was so congenial. It was so inviting, almost calling out “come play me”. When I obliged, it was interesting. Playing chords, the sound was totally balanced across the neck and projected itself right out of the body. There was something just “right” about it. The action was pretty stiff for my tune-o-matic spoilt fingers. The lead sound just flowed with a rich tone that sounded full without being amplified. A kind of throaty full sound with brilliant overtones. The guitar felt warm and responsive as I sat there just talking with it for what felt like an eternity. I think we got a bit carried away chatting and the film crew asked us to keep the sound down! Me and Blackie, that was. Eventually, she went back to the glass case and I walked out of the deserted showroom feeling a little glow and also feeling guilty. I now knew exactly why her famous “ex” thought so much of her. As I went out the building on to the London street, I realised I got a bit of soar fingers from the high action. My fingers smelt of metal. A reminder of the stolen moment…
My twenty or so minutes was long enough for me to get to know that black guitar. Even now, every time I pick up a Strat, I can’t help comparing it to that beaten refin Strat. Every time I pass St James’, I remember my brief encounter. All the best to Blackie. It was good meeting you…
