Sometimes you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. Ok, so maybe that's not exactly what this story is about, but it's a lesson learned just the same.
Recently, Kim, our customer service manager walked up to my desk holding a new prized possession—in the shape of a beer label. It was a 1980s vintage Hamer "Miller" guitar. When I saw it I started to laugh, but not for the reason you might suspect.
Back in the crazy 1980s Hamer supplied Miller Brewing with a series of special Miller-branded guitars. These instruments were intended for use by bands in the brewer's national live-music promotional campaign. To tell the truth, I thought it degraded the image of our shop, but when it came time to design the guitars I did my damnedest to make them as cool as I could. I took the classic beer bottle label and logo and distorted it into a usable guitar shape—a sort of Gumbyesque double cutaway. The figured maple top was tinted a deep cherry red to emulate the brand's logo without giving up some of the Hamer mojo that a solid color would obscure. The Miller logo was big and bold and I liked the phrase "high life" so we kept that on as well. Finally, the rest of the guitar was bathed in a metallic gold color, which was not only replicated the look of the beer can, but was a traditional electric guitar color too. The rest of the axe was pretty much stock Hamer fare, with two of our original Peter Green/Gary Moore spec. humbucker pickups and the classic Hamer sustain block bridge. Given the parameters of the exercise, I felt I'd done a good job. We made a couple dozen of them, and then it was over. Good riddance, I thought. Still, over the years people always asked about them, and reluctantly we acknowledged their existence. How embarrassing.
I'd pretty much forgotten about the whole deal by the late 1990s when I came face to face with irony in its most glorious and humbling incarnation. My friend Jon Tiven invited me to tag along to a sound-check at a Manhattan club one Friday afternoon, but I had no idea what I was stepping into at the time. Jon knew that I was a huge Fleetwood Mac fan, and an even bigger Peter Green fan, so as we ducked into the darkened club my eyes barely had time to adjust before Jon was introducing to Mr. Tone himself. We were at one of the few American appearances of "Peter Green's Splinter Group." As Jon made the introductions, Green seemed gracious but somewhat distracted, as though he'd rather be tuning up. That was, until, he heard the word Hamer.
"Nigel!" Green shouted emphatically towards the stage where his band-mate Nigel Watson was standing. Now I thought he was ignoring me completely.
"Nigel" he shouted again, The Miller Guitar! He's the man who made the Miller guitar," Now, the man was beaming and pointing at me. Suddenly I had everyone's attention, and handshakes were had all the way around. Yes, it's true, Peter Green had, and loved a Hamer Miller Guitar—I could hardly believe the surreal moment. We chatted for a while about instruments and blues and... beer. Then it was time for the sound check, and as Green walked away I began to chuckle. When my chuckle turned into hysterical laughter, some people near me looked at me as though I were going mad. The weight of the irony was full upon me, and I was enjoying the lesson—everything matters. It's something I remember every time I contemplate a new guitar.
Approach each task as if it were the one that will define you.
Reunited and reconciled. By the way, this guitar sounds incredible.
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