“Teisco Philco Combo”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(3-18)

Note to readers: My parents recently entered a nursing home in West Virginia, after a long battle to retain their independence. Mom is 87, Dad is 88. As I grapple to comprehend this late chapter of their story, memories from bygone days have emerged to give comfort. What follows here is another example of life in our household.

In 1978 I was 17 years old.

I grew up in a family of amateur vocalists and musicians. From an early age, the ‘folk’ classics rendered by my father with banjo or guitar formed the bedrock of our cultural knowledge. Like many kids of my generation, I developed a particular passion for Rock & Roll music of the loud variety. But the basic template set by Woody Guthrie or Pete Seeger remained. When I wrote my own compositions, they were straightforward in nature, more of a tonal backdrop for telling stories than any sort of plectrum wizardry.

As a young rebel, my work tools were few and low-budget by design. I acquired an electric guitar around the time of my birthday that year, one crafted in Japan and generically referred to as a Teisco. Only later would I realize that the no-name instrument was likely a Kawaii product, made after that company had bought out the more notable manufacturer. It was finished in a two-tone red and black sunburst, with a shorter scale than those owned by my friends. The guitar possessed an irritating ability to break strings when the whammy bar was used. Yet I could play the tinny twanger through a set of headphones, or directly into a tape recorder. It became my unit of choice because, as a fledgling songsmith, I had no other alternative.

Still, one frustration dogged my efforts – I had no amplifier.

I sometimes used the equipment of friends who were similarly inclined to rattle the windows with their own raucous experiments. But the lack of an amp stalled my work. I needed volume! Buying a competent device, like the Fender products owned by others I knew, seemed far out of reach. My stomach ached from pondering this dilemma. But then, rescue arrived in the form of a leftover radio and the naked chassis of a broken cassette device.

A friend from earlier days had been the son of an engineer for General Electric. His childhood creations included CB radios and rechargeable battery packs. Being around such crude creations was inspirational, even with my poor understanding of how each project functioned. After getting my Teisco, I began to channel this vibe for innovation. In our household roster of things were many discarded television sets, repaired by my father. Also old electrical junk considered likely to serve some future purpose. So I connected an input jack to the tape-head leads of my outmoded cassette player. Then secured everything with white packing tape. I stuffed the mummified carcass into the back of a Philco ‘cathedral’ radio that had belonged to my Great Grandfather, wiring it to the speaker. When I plugged my guitar into the Frankenstein amp, the mismatch created an impressive wall of distortion. Tonally and visually, it was unique. Especially with the advent of ‘Punk Rock.’

Out of necessity, I had created a ‘trash aesthetic’ that impressed my cohorts. Kudos were given, especially by the counterculture visionaries associated with Cornell University. But the deed wasn’t actually art in motion – it happened because I had no bucks.

My Philco hybrid worked for a series of recordings and a few live performances during that primitive era, in Ithaca, New York. I eventually took it on local television, where the limited output of wattage was not so much of a hindrance. Because the little monster worked on battery power, I could carry it anywhere. The device became a topic of conversation at every jam session and party. My friend Manic McManus brought his recording setup to the studios of Channel 13, where we both volunteered, and made the best historical record of this combo. I was struck by the irony that everything in my toolkit had cost less than one of his microphones.

Eventually, I graduated to a Kent Les Paul copy and then, a Fender Princeton amplifier. The setup was a great improvement over my garbage rig. More professional and dependable in character. I stopped being the butt of jokes from serious Rock performers in my circle of contacts. But strangely, the improvisational vibe was lost.

My songs began to sound too mainstream. Too… normal.

During a household move, the Philco was packed with childhood memories at the home of my parents. I threw the cassette chassis away. The Teisco ended up with my sister for a few years, buried in a closet. Only later would a bit of online research revive my interest in the cheap guitar. When I retrieved it, the fiberboard case had been flattened. But otherwise, it appeared unscathed by years of neglect.

I remembered plucking away at the axe as a kid, while wishing for a ‘real’ instrument like those of my heroes. Something expertly made by Fender or Gibson. But now, with many years having passed, my perspective has changed.

I am glad to revisit this Japanese relic. And remember.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

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Published occasionally in the Geauga Independent