The Ohio Guitar Show - A Guitar Show with Bathrooms!
by Dan Dreifort - 6/7/2004
Its almost time for the 2004 Ohio Guitar Show, so how about a review of the 2002 show?
One and a half Score and Three Years Ago...
I visited Adam Fox to grab the 1972 Breadwinner I'd let him borrow. It's a storied piece--the first production guitar to feature active electronics, and the first to be ergonomically balanced. Wanna play with the neck down by your knees? It'll stay that way. Wanna closely scrutinizing each lick with the headstock near your noggin? Take your hands off and the guitar stays as it is. You never support the neck with your left hand. Neat.
But not neat enough I guess. BJ Price traded it to me in a complicated deal involving a Hammond organ, an Electro Harmonix Bass Microsynth and a few other sundry goods. I was retrieving it to bring to the Ohio Guitar Show, ostensibly to sell or trade.
As Adam was getting ready to head out west to NAMM, we talked hack music-writers' shop for a bit. On my way out the door, he passed me a copy of Gizmodgery by Self, an innovative album touting lo-fi children's toy instruments and high-tech production. (Think Beck meets Queen meets TMBJ meets Elliot Smith in a toy store.) It grew on me like kudzu as I drove to Cowtown. After seeing Adam Schoen and pals perform at Oldfield's on High and a few hasty hours of sleep on Aaron Smith's couch, I was ready for the show.
We Hold These Truths to be not so Self-evident...
As the Ohio Guitar Show's web site provides only marginal directions to the Aladdin Shriner's Temple Complex, (and the dilettantes over at MapQuest naturally had it wrong,) ice-covered, I groggily wandered into an anime convention not 300 yards from my intended destination.
After only slightly more ado, I found a spot in the utter congestion of the Shriner's lot, secured the Breadwinner and my Jet Star to my Big Lots dolly with bungee cords, threw a couple vintage pedals into a backpack, and headed for the warm pearly gates. I barely squeezed through the doors to meet the ass end of the l o n g line.
My clear lack of a vintage Gibby or Fender garnered only passing glances from the aficionados queued up in my vicinity. "Hey!" I retorted to their fleeting dismissive looks, "My Jet Star is a Guild ripoff - with DeArmond pickups - likely crafted by one of Fender's overseas puppet companies!"--but nobody heard me or the supplementary curses I likewise muttered under my breath.
No less than ten minutes later I learned that I was standing in the longass line specifically for those needing to "check" instruments, part of a procedure that if wholly adopted might actually thwart the possibility of theft its partial implementation portends to address. Regardless, just beyond scrutiny was the likewise unmarked, but nonexistent line to get in without your favorite ax in tow. I'd luckily stumbled into the correct line. Others were not so lucky.
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Athenian Bill Worell was waiting to check me in. "Aren't you…" he trailed off.
"Athens?" I finished.
"Yeah!" he exclaimed, recognizing our common bond. He then proceeded to issue me label/tags for each of my guits and pedals.
Guitarists of all countries, unite!
I shelled out the inexpensive six buck door charge and held out my hand (still marked from the night before) to accept some new ink. A vast sardined expanse of guitar enthusiasts and gear lay in wait. I held off on prejudiced judgments until I reached the first narrow set of stairs.
My internalized grunts and sighs accompanied the rhythmic cachunk cachunk of the dolly as I wedged the works down the congested stairs. I entertained thoughts of self-dolly-pity until the first of several show goers deemed the dolly an innovative idea. If it was such a great scheme, why didn't anybody else have a dolly?
The show floor consisted of no less than five concentric tiered squarish levels with tight aisles and a high unrailed stage on the far end. Guitar junkies and dealers densely populated the whole mess with the occasional solitary stationary sap whoring out a guitar in a rare empty eddy of relative tranquility.
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At first glance the loners looked like guitar show bums… many with signs proclaiming the year make and model of their precious ware. Every few feet a couple of potbellied bearded guys (apparently ubiquitous hallmarks of conventioneers across the land) rekindled memories of past shows.
Such has been the patient sufferance of Dan.
One manhandled circumambulation of the deepest level was enough for me. I leaned against the innermost rail and began the unexpected and painless transition to "guitar show bum." If you can't beat'em... well, you know how it goes. Toledoian and fellow bum Brian Henslen quipped, "It's a zoo out there. That's why I'm not moving."
Good call.
I set up shop, using the bungee cords to anchor my guitars to the railing. Several would-be marks stopped to look at my amazing Jet Star, Breadwinner and Chandler Tube Driver display, but there were no takers amongst the hordes of noisemakers.
You could barely hear the bouts of gearhead banter or wankers hacking away at Stairway amidst the din of shuffling feet and the pervasive Zen-like drip drip drip of unaffordable dream-ax drool. I sat and attempted to channel it all into a soothing mantra…
"You have to move," went the thorough interruption, "dealers complain if you exhibit for free while they pay $90 per table."
"But it's too damn crowded and cramped to move around," I began, "…hey, you're one of the Marcs! I should interview you!"
Marc Wayner, one of the two Marc founders of Guitar Digest Magazine and the Ohio Guitar Show introduced himself and told me to stash my dolly of crap at his table while I perused.
He has obstructed the Administration
"So why have the premier guitar show on a Sunday?!?" I asked.
"We cater to the small guitar shops," explained Marc, "They'd have to close if we did the show on a Saturday."
"OK. That makes sense. But this place is so confined. Why not pick a larger place?"
After a little badgering, Marc admitted that he and his co-organizers were "old and stuck in [their] ways" and didn't want to deal with "union issues" at other venues.
Sounds reasonable, so I let him be.
Conveniently, a guy named Miles at the next booth took a liking to my Breadwinner as I was leaving.
Miles likes the Ohio Guitar Show because, "It's one of the most diverse guitar shows, and there are more guitars than any other show."
I teasingly left the Breadwinner with him and ran into Gil Hembree, author of The official Vintage guitar price guide and occasional writer for Guitar Digest.
"The Shriner's Temple is a high-class hall," he said when asked about the setting, "It's carpeted, in a good safe neighborhood, and has restrooms."
Restrooms? Um, OK. I hadn't thought of it like that before.
Delighted that I'd not wandered into one of those guitar shows without bathrooms, I set forth to experience the show floor unencumbered.
All Roads Lead to Athens
The Athens contingent set up shop in the not-so claustrophobic nosebleeds of the outer rim. Billy Rhinehart was having a great time peddling his one-of-a-kind sculpted guitars. They're Athens originals, and got the unanimous "most unique guitars" vote from all around. John Borchard and Jimmy Smailes shared a table pitching a lap steel and a Bassman head amongst other bits. They've been attending the show since 1990. Nick Collura of Insea Sound Shop near Nelsonville had a table right next to them. Insea is a mini guitar show in and of itself. If you haven't been. Go soon.
A specter is haunting the Exit
After taking in all of the guitars, amps, pedals and parts the show had to offer, I decided to do a little exit polling to beef up my article. Brian Silver of Toledo thought the show was "great!" Brian Henslen, also from Toledo likewise had a great time, but thought they could use a bigger venue. "There's just not enough room," he complained.
Mike Corrova from Pickerington liked the "variety" and actually liked listening to all the wankers playing their dream guitars. As he'd just lost all credibility, I asked him to come up with a complaint or criticism. "Well, it's hard to complain," he said, "but it's all a little overwhelming."
The right of the people to access and bear guitars, shall not be infringed
John Watkins of Columbus was easily the most interesting of the exit pollees. John brought his ancient Fender bass around and received several contradictory appraisals "I don't trust these guys," he alleged of the many vendors. "They're not playing nice. I won't say they lie, but they definitely misrepresent."
Though his was the only such story I heard, it only makes sense that there'd be a few bad apples in the barrel. John has been affected by polio since he was 16 and walks with a cane. He'd like to see more accessibility, as even with friend carrying his guitar, he couldn't get around easily.
So--what kind of a guitar show review is this?!?
Sure - I fell in love with at least a dozen different guitars, amps and pedals at the show. The selection is peerless--likely as great, or better than in your wildest dreams. But you can read about fancy guitars in books or on the Internet whenever you want. You can't, however, similarly come into contact with the guitar show experience. And unless you've got a shitload of money, the experience is what you'll walk a way with.
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There were happy stories at the show, but sadly, most were sob stories. I had to dig for many of the latter though, because everybody was just so thankful to be a part of a great show.
I ended up selling the Breadwinner to Miles for $300, and sold the Chandler Tube Driver for $100. (Nobody wanted the JetStar, but I eventually passed it on to Kevin Glidden of Pherocious Gnomes [link] fame.) Though it might be hard to tell from all of my grumbling about the venue, I guess I was part of one of the happy stories.
The Ohio Guitar Shows have been offering the biggest and best collections of guitars, amps, effects, parts and etc. in the Midwest since 1985. Shows are twice a year, in January and June, with over 130 Dealers and over 230 Dealer Tables! The next show is Sunday June 13th 2004. You should go.
