1965 Avanti Electric Guitar

It’s amazing how little you know when you’re in the middle of things. Especially when you’re young. Even though I was prime-time ’60s, I didn’t really become aware of Italian guitars until I began writing about them several decades later and, with a personal attachment to Milwaukee, learned of the Lo Duca Brothers and EKO guitars. It was talking with the Lo Ducas that I learned of the accordion connection. Duh.

That’s because those very accordions I’d hated as a kid were the equivalent of what the guitar became a decade later. Very popular. And very Italian. The piano accordion “with keyboards instead of buttons” was invented in Vienna in 1863 and brought to the area of Castelfidardo on the eastern coast of Italy. The instrument was embraced and a lively accordion manufacturing industry grew up in the area. It’s still a major center. While accordions were also made in Germany and Sweden, the vast majority played during the 1950s were from Italy.

1965 Avanti Electric Guitar

As fate would have it, the rage for accordions in the US at least passed by the mid-’50s. Accordion makers struggled to replace the lost business. Lucky for them Baby Boomers like me came along with a taste for playing guitars. Doubly lucky for them, there was a long tradition of guitarmaking in the same part of Italy. When the American electric guitar market exploded in the early 1960s, the Italians were among the first European sources of guitars for meeting the demand. One of the hallmarks of early accordions was the use of plastic covering. Thus it was natural that, when switching to guitars, they should be plastic covered, which brings us back to this Avanti.

Avanti guitars were probably made by the Polverini Brothers of Castelfidardo for European Crafts of Los Angeles beginning in late 1964. For this one, they chose a really cool rootbeer-barrel colored faux-rosewood plastic covering. Most early Italian guitars had either pushbutton or rocker controls adapted from accordions, but this is unusual with a fourway rotary select that let you choose each pickup individually or all at once. All in all a sensible arrangement. Whether the pickups are really humbuckers or single-coil is unknown, but they have that bright ’60s sound, and, anyhow, you really want an Avanti because it looks like rootbeer candy.

1965 Avanti Electric Guitar

Italian guitars continued to be plastic-covered through 1965 or so. By 1966 guitar players were becoming more discriminating and Italian guitars switched to more conventional finishes. Though not for long. Rising wages and slacking demand, plus implacable competition from Japanese guitarmakers, led to the demise of Italian guitars by 1968 at the latest, at least in the American market.

Since discovering these plastic-covered marvels I’ve become more interested in the piano accordions that spawned them. I’ve even contemplated picking one up to play it. But one thing they haven’t done. And that’s change my opinions about watching the Lawrence Welk show, no matter how wonaful it may actually have been.

Unexpected Eye Candy (1965 Avanti Electric Guitar) from MyRareGuitars.com

A group of people immediately came up and asked the guy for his autograph. I didn’t recognize him, so I assumed he was a TV actor. People are always fussing over actors I don’t recognize. (I haven’t watched TV since I was a kid, so I’m often off the grid when it comes to pop culture.)

I forgot about the guy for a couple of minutes. My mind was on a song I was writing, and I was replaying a riff over and over in my head so I’d remember it when I got home. But I couldn’t ignore the guy for long, because more and more people kept stopping for autographs. He was cheery and kind to everyone, even though they were interrupting his meal.

It’s gauche to ask for autographs in L.A., and it struck me as odd just how many people were doing it. I glanced over a couple of times, and the guy smiled at me, but I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to intrude on his space.

Halfway through lunch, I hit on a really great ending for my song. I grabbed my cell phone, planning to go into the restroom and record it before I forgot it. I stood up and accidentally dropped my phone on the famous guy. I apologized and explained that I was going to the restroom to record a song. I realized that this probably sounded weird, but the guy didn’t seem to think so. I remember exactly what he said. He looked at me and said, “Is that so?” with so much interest and friendliness that it made me grin.

I squinted at him for a few seconds, wracking my brain to figure out who the heck he was. It occurred to me then that he might be a musician instead of an actor. I rarely know what musicians look like, even if I love their music. I recently saw a DVD of Led Zeppelin for the first time, and was shocked that Robert Plant was blond and flamboyant. I’d always imagined him dark, brooding and serious, and this new image gave me a mind-spin. The same thing happened the first time I went to a Neil Young concert. I was devastated that this geek with hideous mutton chops was the force behind the most brilliant, haunting music I’ve ever heard. My romantic fantasies were crushed, but it was still the best show I’ve ever seen. Neil Young in concert is f*#*ing awesome.

Anyway, I went to the bathroom and called my home number and sang the ending of my song to my machine. I recorded it a couple of times, to make sure I got all the nuances. When I came out of the bathroom, I asked the waitress if she knew who the famous guy was, and she squealed, “George Harrison, you idiot!”

George HARRISON!!?? My heart lurched to my throat. George Harrison was my HERO!

OK, so he’s everybody’s hero, but you’ve got to understand, I’m a sitar player. The sitar is the love of my life – I love it more than my computer, more than my ’62 Telecaster, maybe even more than my orange tomcat who brings dead things into the house all the time.

Maharishi's Ashram (Rishikesh, India)

I bolted back outside with a smile splitting my face open. There were so many things to talk to him about! I spend a lot of time in Rishikesh, India, which is where the Beatles stayed when they were there. The Maharishi’s ashram is abandoned now, and totally overgrown by jungle. When I’m in India, I trek in there every day and sit on the roof of the house the Beatles built. (It’s the only house on the property. The rest of the buildings are little beehive- shaped meditation huts.) The roof overlooks the Ganges River, and I sit there and play sitar and watch the mist float across the mountains and the monkeys swing in from the jungle. It’s a magical spot – truly beyond description — and it’s easy to see how the Beatles wrote so much incredible music there.

I wondered if George had ever been to the secret caves in Rishikesh or discovered the hidden, white sand beaches down the river. I was curious whether he’d ever encountered wild elephants, and if he fed the big, jungle apes like I do.

Rane Sevin, Sitar (Kings of Jupiter)

Also, I was bursting with sitar questions to ask him. I wondered which tunings he used and if he ever installed pickups. I wondered how he dealt with the feedback problems sitars have when miked. (“Real” sitar people won’t even discuss the idea of pick-ups. Sitar is meant to be played acoustically. Playing rock and roll with electric instruments, as I do, is an apostasy.)

I even had the wild thought that I could invite George over to my house to play my new custom-made sitar. Maybe he would even sign it! That would be so unbelievably cool! Or if he didn’t want to go to my house, maybe he’d wait for me to bring my sitar back to the café.

I abandoned all pretenses and ran right up to his chair…but he was gone! I looked up and down the sidewalk, but he wasn’t there. I sprinted down the steps to check out the parking lot behind the restaurant, but again – nobody. He must have parked in front of the restaurant and driven off while I was in the bathroom.

I felt ill…literally ill! How could he have done this to me? I love his music so much, and I admire what he stood for and who he’d become.

Now that he was gone, his face retroactively snapped into recognition. The only Beatles pictures I’d ever seen were from the 60s and 70s, but now I put that young face together with the older one, and can’t imagine how I didn’t recognize him …especially with the BRITISH ACCENT and the AUTOGRAPH HOUNDS!!! The waitress was right — how STUPID could I BE???

As I drove home, I consoled myself with the thought that I still might meet him someday. Sitar players have a way of finding each other. People have introduced me to a couple of India’s giants — there was a good chance I would run into George someday.

But that never happened. Sadly, he died a few months later. I’ll never get to tell him how much I loved his music. I’ll never get to thank him for bringing the sitar to the west…thank him for changing my life. I had the chance, and I was too polite to grab it.

Lesson learned. If I ever run into Neil Young, I’m gonna tackle him first and make apologies later.

Post by: Rane Sevin

My Lunch with George Harrison from MyRareGuitars.com