Whether or not you’re a fan of the look of so-called “Relic” instruments, the appeal is certainly there and well-represented in the guitar market. Day after day, there’s a new “old” guitar on my favorite gear site, touting authenticity and that same feel as well-used vintage instruments at a price that’s usually many thousands less.
Relicking–and etymology will back me up on that spelling–is a divisive topic in the world of guitars and guitar ephemera. Some argue that it’s disingenuous, that scars should be earned and not faked; others admit that it’s a feel-thing, and many unabashedly love a good relic and to heck with what anyone else thinks.
Me, I’m right there in the middle. Good fake wear can look great, but bad fake wear looks, well, terrible. I mean, there are some truly awful relic jobs out there, and while I won’t call any out in particular, I would point to my next statement as the only thing I’m prepared to say about the visual aspects of artificial aging techniques:
When ageing a guitar, a bit of mindfulness goes a long way.
And that goes double for functionality. I’m not here to argue over looks. What I care about first and foremost is making sure that making guitars look old and used doesn’t impede the viability of a given instrument. Have you ever tried to remove a fake-aged screw from a pickguard only to have the head snap off on the first try? A bridge saddle you couldn’t raise because the saddle screws refused to budge? A set of relic tuners were tough to turn even with extra lubricant applied? I’ve had to deal with all of the above on more than one occasion.
I recently recently worked on a Jaguar, one that was exceptionally well-made and superbly playable, yet it had one fatal flaw: because of the over-the-top nature of the rusty parts, the tension adjustment screw on the vibrato was frozen to the spring retainer, rendering proper adjustment of the vibrato impossible. Frustrating, to say the least.
No matter what I tried, from DIY suggestions of white vinegar or Coca-Cola, soaking it in WD-40 overnight, even a number of other high-concept solutions, I just could not free the screw from the set nut. Eventually, the tension screw broke in half from all of my hopeful twisting, but we planned on replacing the entire spring assembly anyway. There was no way I was going to call a job finished when the thing couldn’t be adjusted.
The true irony of this situation is that these parts don’t rust like that on vintage guitars. Even the most beat-up, weathered vintage Jazzmasters and Jaguars we’ve had through the shop never exhibited this problem. That’s not to say it’s impossible, but for a shop like ours to specialize in these instruments and yet never encounter an example of such drastic corrosion is telling.
If you’re going to age a guitar artificially, it’s important to remember that, while a rusty screw might look cool, ultimately the part has a job to do. Functionality should always be priority number one.
There’s also the matter of relicking parts that are not meant to rust, like the Mastery Bridge. A feat of engineering by our good friend Woody, we’ve praised this bridge on numerous occasions. While we also adore and respect the original bridge design, the Mastery is nonetheless our favorite option for upgrading if one is so inclined.
Woody designed the bridge specifically so that it wouldn’t corrode. The Mastery website even has this to say: “Every part of our bridge is precision machined out of the highest quality, non-corrosive materials to protect against any rust.” So, when I see these bridges being artificially aged, I just don’t get it. I mean, sure, I understand that a new part on an old-looking guitar might seem out of place, but going so far combats the fundamental design of such a bridge. And while Mastery Bridges will certainly collect their fair share of dirt and grime from heavy use, I have yet to see one rust out so drastically.
Plus, the Mastery Bridge didn’t exist until 2008, so simulating 60 years of wear is anachronistic, and Federation temporal agents will be very cross with you indeed.
In many cases that have come across my repair bench, such a process renders this amazing bridge less functional, and sometimes, unusable. At this very moment, I have a lone Mastery saddle tossed aside in my parts drawer that can’t be adjusted thanks to overzealous ageing techniques.
So I ask intrepid fakers everywhere to please consider the consequences of extreme relic processes on the instruments we choose to make “old” lest we become like the lamentable genetic engineers of Jurassic Park. Heed the grave words of Ian Malcolm:
“Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could that they didn’t stop to think if they should.”
Mike & Mike's Guitar Bar 