The Black Telecaster

Well. Here’s another nerdy guitar-centric blog post for you.

I am often asked how I came to get my old beat-up Telecaster, so thought I’d share the story.

When I first started playing (at 11ish) me and my dad immediately bonded over music and all things guitar. We spent a lot of time listening to music together, and talking about different kinds of artists and instruments. I was very lucky to have his guidance. However, looking back on some of those conversations with a little more experience in the field, I noticed hilarious gaps in some of the knowledge he bestowed.

I remember early on asking him what the very best electric guitar in the world is. Now keep in mind that dad was more of an acoustic guitar player. This was his answer:

“Well Davy. There are two really. The Stratocaster and the Telecaster. Out of those two, the Telecaster is most rare and best of all.”

With neither of us knowing that Fender pumps out 6 million of these a day, his words stuck with me. A few years later when I had the good fortune to upgrade the guitar I had, it was a Mexican-made Telecaster (in midnight wine… I still have and use it!) that I pined for.

Through the years that followed I used a myriad of different instruments, Stratocasters, the wonderful guitars that PRS use, and a brief foray into some Gibsons. Then we lost Dad, and a huge wave of nostalgia came flooding my way. A few weeks after his passing the black Telecaster showed up in my favourite guitar shop in Chicago - Rock ‘n Roll Vintage.

To me it was perfect. Everything that had been changed had been done to keep it breathing, it was obvious it had been loved and had the snot played out of it. Re-fret, re-finish (dubious chemical make up of the paint… a little flakes off at every gig) and a changed neck pickup with an added little capacitor that keeps it nice and bright when you roll the volume back. All of those changes are a turn-off to collectors but made the guitar a little more financially reachable for me. I fawned over it, and my wife - sensing perhaps the craving for the past since losing Dad - told me to go and see Heath at the shop and talk to him about bringing it home. My wife is ace.

So 9 years ago I traded a couple of other guitars and handed over a wodge of cash for my 1966 Fender Telecaster. It quickly became my main and favourite guitar, but above all I could now finally say to Dad;

“Look! I got a real one. And it’s the most rare and best of all”