I’ve always thought it highly ironic that among the “holy grails” of guitar collecting are the truly “rare birds” that were made in the smallest of quantities, yet most of the action is in the most common mass-produced guitars of the F and G variety.  But then, I’ve always been somewhat off-kilter.  But if you were to be impressed by the truly rare birds, you’d have to be taken by the Kramer Triaxe!

The Klingon-shaped Triaxe was built back in 1986 when Kramer was flying high—as it promoted itself in advertising at the time—as the world’s largest guitar company.  This was a little bit of hyperbole, but they probably were making and selling more guitars than any other brand name guitar company.  If you were to look at OEM manufacturers—companies that produced guitars for other companies (such as Cort or Samick)—(who were making guitars for companies such as Kramer itself), the claim might have been somewhat specious.  

In any case, you have to hand it Kramer for being an amazing bit of American guitar history and a major innovator.  There’s been a lot of mis-information published about Kramer guitars, some of it propagated (quite innocently) by me.  So much of the story is “anecdotal,” being derived from 1^st-person interviews, which provide so much rich detail, but which can also be subject to misremembering!  This is not the venue to set any records straight.  If Gary Kramer’s own account can be relied upon, it was Kramer who bankrolled Travis Bean’s aluminum necked guitar venture “in the early 1970s,” most sources say.  Bean applied for his patent in October of 1974, so 1974 seems as good as any date.  There may have been another person involved.

1986 Kramer Enterprise

According to Kramer’s account, he was not happy the Bean had filed for the aluminum neck patent under his own name.  In addition, Kramer asserts that Bean began to get distracted from building guitars at the time, which could be true.  He also claims that the Bean design was too heavy for constant gigging and he wanted to improve the guitar, make it lighter.  There was also some resistance among guitar players to the “metallic feel” of the necks.  Kramer found himself selling Beans to a store in New York City, where he met Dennis Berardi, reportedly a partner in a music store.  He and Berardi hooked up with an ex-Gibson executive Peter LaPlaca to form BKL International in 1975 to produce a better guitar to be called Kramer.

To get around Bean’s patent, Kramer came up with the idea of a wood insert in the back of a T-shaped aluminum neck, lightening the guitar and adding a more “wooden feel” to the neck.  Anyhow, in 1976 Kramer aluminum-necked guitars debuted.  Shortly thereafter they brought in the owner of building they were leasing, Henry Vaccaro, who helped finance the operation.  These new Kramer guitars were very well received and the company began to grow.  Kramer, for reasons as yet not adequately explained (he claims extraordinary pressure to ramp up production), left the company not long after its founding and now makes Gary Kramer Guitars.

However, as the 1980s dawned, aluminum necks were becoming passe.  Kramer began switching over to wooden necks.  They were just in time for the rise of Heavy Metal, and, along with that, a taste for weird pointy guitars and for double-locking vibrato systems.  Kramer came up with the Pacer in 1983, one of the candidates (among others) for “first SuperStrat.”  Kramer managed to get an endorsement from one of the preeminent guitarists of the day, Eddie Van Halen, and signed an agreement to become the exclusive distributor of Floyd Rose locking vibratos.  

1986 Kramer Triaxe

Not only did Rose let Kramer sell his whammy bars, Rose also began designing certain models for Kramer, including the Floyd Rose Signature and the two alien beings that debuted at the 1986 NAMM show, the Triaxe and the Enterprise, the not to Star Trek pretty obvious.  Reportedly, only 4 of each were made for the NAMM show.  These never went into production, for obvious reasons.  Even a good CNC program ain’t gonna make many of these guitars!

I once owned this Triaxe and have played an Enterprise.  These are not bad guitars at all, with great sound and comfortable to play, but if you tried gigging with one you’d be living in immortal dread of running into a mike stand or an amp.  Especially since they are really, really rare birds and by now worth a lot of money!  

Kramer continued to thrive and grow as the ‘80s progressed.  The sky seemed to be the limit.  Then all of a sudden, they were gone.  There are a lot of rumors surrounding this demise, some probably true.  They may have gotten over-extended into concert promotion.  For sure they were about to run into a wall called “Nirvana.”  By 1991 Kramer guitars were gone.

Henry Vaccaro ended up holding the bag and the Kramer name.  He tried to revive the brand in 1998, as original (more or less) aluminum necks.  However, the finances didn’t work and to get capital he sold the brand to the House of Brands, Gibson, which proceeded to import inexpensive Asian made Kramers that were pale reflections of the glory days.  Vaccaro tried to market his own Vaccaro brand aluminum necked guitars, but, as cool as they were, the market was gone.  As were those fascinating space opera relics, the Triaxe and Enterprise!

By Michael Wright, The Different Strummer

Beam Me Up, Scotty: 1986 Kramer Triaxe from MyRareGuitars.com

Back at the beginning of the 1980s I became enamored of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal (I didn’t make that up; that’s what it was called) and especially the sub-genre that emerged from it called “neoclassical metal.”  Music by the likes of Randy Rhoads, Tony MacAlpine, Yngwie Malmsteen, etc.  So, naturally, a little later, I became interested in guitars especially designed for shred-meisters…and those wannabees who actually had to buy their own guitars.  The Ibanez Saber was one of my favorites.

Neoclassical metal has nothing to do with classical music in general, except maybe that sometimes it reminds me of Chopin or maybe occasionally Bach on steroids.  And, that it almost never employs the blues scales so ubiquitous in rock.  Nor does it have much in common with classical guitar—an idiosyncratic finger-style learned from musical scores—except for one thing: classical guitarists and many neoclassical shredders like wide, flat (almost no radius) fingerboards.  This is certainly not universal, for metallurgists, at least.  Narrower fingerboards with a decent radius fit the hand nicely when you’re chording.  Wider, flatter fingerboards make it easier to play fast melodies, keeping the notes clean and separate.  Since I play classical guitar, it was natural that I’d be at home on a guitar built for shredders.

Ibanez RS540S Pro-Line Saber

However, I probably would never have known this piece of arcane obscuranta had an art director I worked with at an advertising agency not played in a band.  He favored his Stratocaster, but his working-horse guitar was an Ibanez Saber.  I was the copywriter, so we were the “creative team.”  On rare occasions, between jobs, we’d jam a little, to get our creative juices going.  Every once in a while a nearby conference room would be in use and the account executive would come in and ask us to turn it down.  Yeah, right!  Everything up a notch…  In any case, as a guitar player, I found myself mildly competitive with my team-mate, so I was mightily pleased when I, too, got ahold of my own Ibanez Saber.  

The Saber was part of the 1986 Ibanez Pro-Line Series that essentially replaced the Roadstar II line of guitars.  It was the Roadstar II line that really established Ibanez as a powerhouse guitar brand—partly for the quality and style of the guitars and partly because they hit the market in the early 1980s just at the time that most young guitar-players couldn’t remember the resentment against Japanese products that lingered in Americans for many years following World War II.  With the Roadstars, Ibanez finally began selling enough guitars to become really profitable.

The Pro-Lines weren’t necessarily an “improvement” so much as a next evolutionary step.  I don’t know exactly why they ware called the Pro-Line but Ibanez was beginning to garner a lot more professional endorsements, and the Pro-Lines were what a lot of them played.  The top of the line was the magnificent 1770, with sleek lines and push-button controls.  The others included a trio of uniquely styled SuperStrats: the super-thin-bodied Saber (played variously by Frank Gambale, Jennifer Batten, Reggie Wu, Scott Henderson, Larry Mitchell), the teardrop-shaped Radius (which would become the Joe Satriani signature guitar), and the Power, kind of reverse offsets (played by Alex Skolnick).  All were perfect for the virtuosic styles popular at the time.

The Saber was/is a remarkable guitar if your taste runs to light-weight and powerful.  That super-thin mahogany body is almost invisible, a mint that melts in your mouth.  The neck is also pencil-thin but relatively wide and flat, perfect for blazing runs.  These necks are really fast if the action is set up right.  The pickups are IBZs, which was a collaboration between Ibanez USA and DiMarzio, and they’re screamers.  Finally, these had Ibanez’s “The Edge” version of the Floyd Rose locking vibrato, a knife-edge unit that’s feather-touch sensitive, if you like that sort of thing.  I don’t dive-bomb, so I’m happy with a Mosrite, but the Edges are sweet.

The Saber, Radius, and Power lasted as such through 1990.  By 1991 the Saber had become the Frank Gambale FG series, the Radius had become the Joe Satriani JS series, and the Power was gone.  

Also in 1991 Nirvana released Nevermind and music changed.  Oh, all the fine neoclassical metal players continued to play.  Some changed styles, some didn’t.  But all of a sudden guitar players wanted funky pawn shop guitars, “alternatives.”  For the next few years guitar-makers struggled to figure out “what’s next” and always seemed to be 2 steps behind.  

I liked those new guitars, too, but then I like pretty much all guitars, so that means nothing.  I never did learn to shred.  Maybe I will some day.  Still love that Ibanez Saber, though. 

By Michael Wright

The Different Strummer

Heavy Metal Thunder: 1988 Ibanez RS540S Pro-Line Saber from MyRareGuitars.com

Back in the mid-1970s guitar players got a bad scare from Disco.  Hard rock had ruled the roost in the early ‘70s, but what had been a fairly monolithic music industry began to show signs of fracturing.  In terms of guitar playing, two anti-guitar factions emerged.  For those who wanted to be a rock star but didn’t want to bother honing chops there was punk.  Learn a few chords and bash away.  At least they were still playing guitars!  On the other side was the disco crowd.  Don a sequined costume and dance the night away to music based on the lush orchestration and insistent groove of keyboard synthesizers.  

The guitar press began to get worried and doom-sayers predicted the demise of the guitar.  We know that didn’t happen, of course, but it was a frightening period for guitar fanatics.  One approach to answering the problem was the synthesizer industry (if you can call it that) itself: put synth controller electronics into guitars.  The Roland GR-500 of 1978 was the first such attempt, a nice Ibanez-Musician-style guitar made by Fujigen Gakki with Roland synth controls that plugged into a large console that converted the analog signal into MIDI signals that then activated tone generators on the console and any external synthesizer machines connected to it.

As you might be guessing from my explanation of MIDI above, I’m part of that generation that started out writing on typewriters and had to trade them in for a computer keyboard.  I tried, but I never really got guitar MIDI technology. I played around a little with the Roland gear, which was OK because the converters had tone generating filters built in, so you could get weird squeaky tones, but I never knew what to use them for.  As for coordinating between multiple synthesizer machines, that was way beyond my pay grade.  

The Casio MG-500 MIDI guitar

Nevertheless, I thought I might be seduced by the dark side and picked up interesting guitar MIDI gear whenever it came my way, including this Casio MG-500 MIDI Guitar.  If you’re close to my age you knew Casio as the major purveyor of digital watches and calculators.  If you’re young you might not know that there were ever anything other than digital watches and you probably don’t know what a calculator is because all that is done for you on your phone.

Anyhow, Casio got into the synthesizer business with a whole range of keyboard synths that ranged from novelty small consumer-electronics keyboards with a few pre-programmed sounds (“piano,” “saxophone,” etc.) to fully professional units.  During the 1980s, toward the end of the synth guitar debacle, Casio introduced a number of very interesting guitars.  One was a sort of toy version with a touch-sensitive fingerboard and plastic strings, programmed sounds, and even a built-in amp and speaker, though you could output the sound to a real amp.  The other was this guitar, which was a serious attempt at making a MIDI guitar controller.

1988 Casio MG-500 MIDI Guitar

Like the Roland (and Ibanez) attempts at making a guitar synth, the Casio electronics were mounted on a guitar made by Fujigen.  While the first Roland guitar synths were put on a “normal” guitar, the concept quickly evolved that a guitar synth should feature an “exotic” shape.  To be fair, guitars moving into the 1980s favored unconventional guitar shapes.  “New Wave” guitarists like Andy Summers of the Police championed the minimalist Steinberger, while Heavy Metal bands liked Flying Vees, Explorers and even more “non-Spanish” shapes.  So if you were going to be controlling whooshes and chinkles, you needed a guitar that didn’t look like a conventional guitar.

The 1988 Casio MG-500 was very similar to guitars made for Roland and Ibanez.  It was basically like a Strat with all the extraneous wood shaved off.  It had a humbucker and two single-coil pickups like most contemporary “Superstrats.”  It had a “traditional” vibrato.  One of the early problems of guitar synths was that guitarists liked to use the wang bar but MIDI signals had to be precise.  By the time of the MG-500 this technical limitation had been solved.  The MG-500 was the first guitar synth to put the MIDI converter right on the guitar.  You could choose to play just regular guitar, just MIDI, or blend the two, or add in an octave line.  It had a regular 1/4-inch jack and a 5-pin MIDI jack.

The Casio MG-500 was a mind-boggling feat of electronic engineering.  That a guitar could have this sort of functionality is astounding.  

Well, it turns out I wasn’t so unusual in being befuddled by MIDI technology.  A fiveway switch and a few mini-toggles turn out to be about our limit.  There was almost no market for MIDI guitars.  The Casio MG-500 was one of the last MIDI guitars to be produced. Roland continued to make aftermarket MIDI convertors you could mount on your guitar, and, for a time, Fender produced some special-order Strats so equipped.  But Disco was long-gone by this time, and the Seattle Sound and Pearl Jam were just around the corner.  While they eschewed heavy metal solos, they did play guitars and there was no reason to be scared.

As I write these words, guitars are under threat again.  “Pop music” is dominated by producer-assembled “beats” and singers sound good through the application of digital auto-tuners.  Maybe it’s a good thing that I’m ready with my MIDI guitars…  No, I don’t think so.

By Michael Wright

The Different Strummer

1988 Casio MG-500 MIDI Guitar from MyRareGuitars.com

Most guitars first speak to me as visual works of art.  The color, the shape, or some sort of unique design.  Or it might be an interesting, obscure brand.  Rarely has the sound of the guitar been the calling card, but that was the case with this 1984 Aria Pro II RS Series Rev-Sound RS-Esprit.  (Don’tcha love those long names!)

Actually, when you look at the RS-Esprit, it has remarkable elegant lines.  It’s got a down-sized body that’s obviously Strat-style, but svelt, balanced, modern.  No doubt the color caused this flower to shrink somewhat.  When you look closely, the metallic greenish turquoise color (officially “Phantom Blue”) is pretty nifty, but across a room, it looks kind of “blah.”  The black pickups disappear into the shadows.  Still, there was something about this guitar that drew me to it.

Now, when the attraction of a guitar is primarily visual, I usually don’t care what the sound is going to be like.  After all, when you factor in an amp and effects, you can make any guitar sound like whatever you want as long as the electronics work.  But for some reason this guitar wanted me to plug it in.  I’m not sure what the “Rev” in Rev Sound is supposed to mean, but if it’s “reverse,” that sure makes sense!  This guitar lives in that out-of-phase world of between the pickups on a Fender Stratocaster.  This guitar is all about shades of twang!  I don’t know about you, but for me those in-between positions are why I’d play a Stratocaster.  I know I’m not alone on that one.  This guitar sounds out-of-phase in single-coil mode, and is still slightly funky in humbucker mode.

1984 Aria Pro II RS Series Rev Sound RS-E CU-tile

The existence of the Aria Pro II Rev-Sounds derives from the conclusion of the “Copy Era” of the 1970s.  By around 1968-69 Japanese guitar-makers had hit on a strategy of making less-expensive copies of popular American guitar models as a way of increasing market share in the U.S.  It worked like a charm.  By the mid-1970s American manufacturers—especially Gibson—were annoyed, to understate the issue.  In 1977, Norlin (the parent of Gibson) filed suit against Elger Guitars (the American subsidiary of Hoshino/Ibanez) in Philadelphia Federal Court claiming “trademark infringement” over headstock shape copying.  Nevermind that Ibanez had changed its heads in 1976.  Japanese makers agreed to cease and desist and in 1978 a new breed of Japanese electric guitars began to appear.  In many ways the cure was worse than the disease, because the new Japanese guitars were original designs built even better, and they continued to grab even more market share than before.  Think Ibanez Studio and Musician guitars.

Aria, which had originally initiated the “Copy Era,” lagged slightly behind, but in 1979 introduced a slew of new electric guitar series, including the unique Rev-Sounds, the 850 and 750.  The idea behind the Rev-Sounds was to use 3 single coil pickups, but with only the front and back hot, the center being a “dummy” coil that could be switched into active status to go from “single-coil” to “humbucker.”  The initial Rev-Sounds were sort of frumpy takes on Ibanez’s Musicians, a little more pointy.  The RS-850 was active while the RS-750 was a passive version.

The RS-Esprit was a much trimmed down version of the active RS-850 that debuted in 1984.  This has an alder body with a bolt-on neck featuring a “smooth joint” heel, a sort of clumsy compromise between a regular heel and the “heelless” designs of guitars like B.C. Rich.  The controls are a 3-say switch with two mini-toggles that activate the center dummy pickup in humbucker mode for front and back.  The knobs are master volume and two tones.  There’s also a little red light to indicate that your battery is still working.  The Act 3 locking vibrato system was similar to some Kahler systems that didn’t make you clip off the ball-end to load the strings.

I’ve always thought these were made by Matsumoku—in which Aria had a financial interest and which made numerous Aria guitars—however, I’m not so sure any more.  It certainly has a Matsumoku feel.  However, as a Trading Company, Aria had other factories from which to source its guitars.  This very well could have been made by another factory.

In any case, this is a really fun guitar to play, with a fully professional feel.  It’s not the most versatile guitar, but then with an amp and effects…  I don’t know if the RS-Esprit is particularly rare, but these were made for little over a year at a time when Japanese guitars were still imported in relatively small lots.  You rarely see these come up for sale, and I’m inclined to think they are.  These were made just before Japanese guitars came out from the shadow of post-World-War-II disdain.

Between new guitars and vintage guitars, guitar players have a gazillion choices these days.  But there are unique, fascinating guitars out there like the Aria Pro II RS-Esprit worth seeking out.  I’ve always been glad I heard this guitar’s siren call.

By Michael Wright

The Different Strummer

1984 Aria Pro II RS Series Rev Sound RS-Esprit from MyRareGuitars.com