Now that renovating the sales floor is nearly complete, we are starting to see the further arrival of excitingly heavy boxes full or fun stuff. Korg creatures great and small, Marshall beasts, well groomed Vox statesmen, and more guitars and basses.
Last night was filled with satisfyingly mundane retail tasks, involving laser barcode zappers and wireless laptops, instead of the usual gloved hands and cordless drills. Once this work was completed, I decided that we were remiss in having bass amps and basses in boxes, rather than in our hands. Moments later, a Marshall MB30 and a Traben Neo were plugged in and making some noise.
The Traben Neo is a fine piece of craftsmanship! It has great action, and a very ergonomic body. It hung perfectly from a strap, and it was nicely balanced on my lap. My right hand found its way to a comfortable perch for fingering, and my left hand was able to move up and down the neck with no tension.
The little Marshall bass combo has a modern clean channel, and a "classic" grungy channel with separate gain and master volume. It's got some kick for a practice amp, and really solid tone. Through it, the Neo was able to sound punchy and clear, or growly and warm. The Neo's T3 active preamp offers a very usable tonal range - not that "clicky" high end many active electronics are guilty of, unless you want to crank the highs to dial that in. The over-sized bridge is characteristic of the Traben approach: more hardware on the body sends more mojo through the wood. I guess I could argue that, but I can't argue the nimble feel and great sound of this bass.
This morning I looked over the pricing for that bass, and my appreciation turned to surprise. At $399 street price, this is a far less expensive bass than I had thought.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Harbingers of Hardship
Yesterday saw the two week mark from the day we first got keys to the site where we are building The Laboratory. The two weeks of demolition, painting, discovery, and generally hard work have been a rewarding time of fatigue and transformation. Two days ago we finished one of the biggest steps: pulling up the plywood flooring our predecessors had laid down atop the carpet. This process revealed some termite damage, but we had been told they were long gone.
Yesterday morning it was obvious that they were still with us. I don't know what business termites have with carpeting on top of cement; their food source labyrinth of 2×4s and plywood planks had been discharged from the building at much effort. But there they were again. Little did we realize the evil that they brought with them. Yesterday's efforts were fraught with repetition, each task forcing a reassessment and repeat after some step came unhinged. Toilet tanks were exchanged, then switched back again to work a little worse than they had before. A light switch replacement became a painful lesson in wire gauges and switch manufacturers' differing tastes. A bathroom tissue dispenser replacement evolved into a project of unimaginable difficulty. A quarter round molding piece required four coats of paint to present any semblance of uniformity. It seemed all of our steadfast progress was being paid for in the form of innumerable annoyances which should have been quick fixes.
There was, however, one thing that went supremely well.
UPS showed up with our first shipment of guitars. Glorious Michael Kelly solid body electric guitars, F-Hole hybrids that can wail like an S.G. or whisper like a fine acoustic with a pro piezo, Traben basses with sleek lines and massive, sustain loving bridges. As each box came open there was a chorus of oos and ahs. I would gladly own any one of these pieces. It was maybe the most important job of the day: stocking our store with a host of guitars that we ourselves would take to a gig and thoroughly enjoy playing. This is exactly the kind of thing we want for our customers.
At day's end we secured a cotton curtain to finish the space between our acoustic guitar room and the higher ceiling of the main sales floor. It looked great. After midnight, as Mark was alone in the store, blowing off steam on a Michael Kelly axe, the curtain plummeted to the floor. Today's another day, and that curtain will learn to enjoy clinging to the ceiling this time!
Yesterday morning it was obvious that they were still with us. I don't know what business termites have with carpeting on top of cement; their food source labyrinth of 2×4s and plywood planks had been discharged from the building at much effort. But there they were again. Little did we realize the evil that they brought with them. Yesterday's efforts were fraught with repetition, each task forcing a reassessment and repeat after some step came unhinged. Toilet tanks were exchanged, then switched back again to work a little worse than they had before. A light switch replacement became a painful lesson in wire gauges and switch manufacturers' differing tastes. A bathroom tissue dispenser replacement evolved into a project of unimaginable difficulty. A quarter round molding piece required four coats of paint to present any semblance of uniformity. It seemed all of our steadfast progress was being paid for in the form of innumerable annoyances which should have been quick fixes.
There was, however, one thing that went supremely well.
UPS showed up with our first shipment of guitars. Glorious Michael Kelly solid body electric guitars, F-Hole hybrids that can wail like an S.G. or whisper like a fine acoustic with a pro piezo, Traben basses with sleek lines and massive, sustain loving bridges. As each box came open there was a chorus of oos and ahs. I would gladly own any one of these pieces. It was maybe the most important job of the day: stocking our store with a host of guitars that we ourselves would take to a gig and thoroughly enjoy playing. This is exactly the kind of thing we want for our customers.
At day's end we secured a cotton curtain to finish the space between our acoustic guitar room and the higher ceiling of the main sales floor. It looked great. After midnight, as Mark was alone in the store, blowing off steam on a Michael Kelly axe, the curtain plummeted to the floor. Today's another day, and that curtain will learn to enjoy clinging to the ceiling this time!
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