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I was broke, these boots have been very expensive. So, in exchange for constructing and attaching a headstock to the Gibson Pete had thrown me, it was agreed that, in return, I’d ‘gopher’ for Guitar Lab for the summer time. The shop was just off 7th Avenue on West 47th St. Seedy, child, seedy! I showed up each morning, bought everyone coffee, cigarettes, modified guitar strings, rang up sales, ran numerous errands, cleaned up. Ultimately, they even wound up slipping me some money.

Two guys owned Guitar Lab, Carl Thompson (maker of world-famous electric basses) and a virtuoso classical guitarist, Charlie LaBue. Both have been well-known and very respected as repairmen/luthiers, and perhaps more importantly, as gamers. Particularly, Carl. He had been the head repair guy at Danny Armstrong’s legendary store. However, he was also wickedly swinging ultra-knowledgable jazz guitarist. Heavyweight session men hung out for hours; famous jazz gamers dropped in and jammed. I noticed and heard Jim Corridor, Bucky Pizzarelli and Eddie Diehl jam within the tiny guitar lesson room with Carl. I met Tal Farlow in Carl’s tiny workplace. I met Peter Inexperienced along with Danny Kirwin and Jeremy Spencer from Fleetwood Mac who all spent about ninety minutes in the store one afternoon. I additionally met Johnny Winter and Rick Derringer in that store. Guitar Lab was The Place for these Within the Know.

I was usually in the again room with Bruce Hoeb, a wicked-smart, hotheaded, not-politically-right kid from Blue Collar Right Wing Long Island. Looking back, I’m wondering the place Carl and Charlie found him. He was on the harshest finish of the brand new York vibe and out of place, and with a chip on his shoulder about it all. However, Bruce was a prodigy-grasp repair and modification man at age 22, the stealth star of the store, actually. And he regarded like fuckin’ Paul Newman. He and Steve Blucher, the electronic specialist of the shop, and another good mouthed back-room snob, would spend the day insulting each other. Generally they had been funnin’. Sometimes they weren’t.

Steve would wind up a expensive good friend and band-mate of mine years later, as well as head of design for DiMarzio. Sure, lots of of hundreds of guitar gamers’ tone comes from The Mind of Steve Blucher.

I received together with both of them and I used to be glad to tussle with both one my very own self. See, I was a smart guy, too.

Mr. Hoeb may very well be insanely quick at his gig.

He owed me a favor, I forget why. So, I requested him to put new frets on my beat up 1957 Fender Stratocaster, that I just happened to have with me that day. Bruce, as traditional groused, grabbed my guitar, and then, all the whereas bitching like a fiend about his (ludicrously gorgeous) girlfriend, he did a fucking two hour fret job in 20 minutes! These Good frets are still on the guitar over 40 years later.

Anyway, someday, in his typical dry snide means, Bruce walked into the again room where I was altering strings on a customer’s guitar and requested, with a bored leer…

“Hey, Bink! Ya wanna see Keith Richards with tits?”

Uh, sure, indeed I do. I adopted Bruce out to the primary buyer space.

Standing center-stage, was this skinny whiter-shade-of-pale black-haired ragamuffin chick (I never use that word, however this was a chick) holding a beat up Fender Duo-Sonic (at the time, a complete loser/newbie’s guitar). She was just about falling out of a really over-sized and worn-out-to-paper-thin t-shirt, semi-revealing prominent and frankly fabulous breasts.

She was frantically and inarticulately explaining over and over again that her Duo-Sonic was…

“Buzzin’! It sounds like shit. I mean, it is buzzin’. It is buzzin’ unhealthy. You possibly can repair buzzin’, proper? God, this sucks, it is bad buzzin’ alla time. Really buzzin’ unhealthy, man. Why’s it buzzin’?!”

Nearly like she had Tourette’s.

And, as it turned out, Bruce’s description was completely on the money.

Her haircut was exactly Keef’s in Gimme Shelter. Her cheeks were excessive-boned and gaunt, the black eye-liner was thick, the dangling shark’s tooth earring was in place, as was the skull ring, ditto old black ankle boots with beat-to-shit toes and rundown heels; truly, maybe more Bobby Dylan within the footwear department… what with the worth of snakeskin, even then. No discernible hips in ratty light-to-grey black skin-tight jeans.

Even on the age of 17, I could see that she was so immersed in her dream that she was genuinely unaware of the effect she was having on five 1970 chauvinist-pig guys who labored in a guitar shop. All have been smitten and completely in novelty-lust with her. No less than two Guitar Labbers saved her there talking for fairly Men Geometric T Shirt awhile. However, after a couple of minutes, I drifted away. I needed to go back to opening the circumstances of drool-y guitars left for repairs.

I imply, I dug her. She was distinctly odd-pretty. Nearly stunning, actually. Her look was down so cold, I was jealous, even in my extremely-uber-le-plus-ultra Granny Takes A trip boots.

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However, she appeared like she actually was just a complete urban-hillbilly goofball. And, actually, weirdly, kinda not sexy at all.