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  • Slash’s favorite Gibson isn’t real — but it’s still awesome

    Slash’s favorite Gibson isn’t real — but it’s still awesome

    Slash. The iconic guitarist of Guns N’ Roses. Inventor of perhaps the best guitar lick of all time: the intro to Sweet Child o’ Mine.

    His image is as unmistakable as his playing: long, curly hair, top hat, and shades, with a Gibson slung across his shoulder.

    Slash rocking out on a Gibson Les Paul
    Slash rocking out on a Gibson Les Paul (Picture byI Do Shows(Scott Penner), CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)

    But what if I told you his main guitar wasn’t a Gibson at all, but a copy?

    The early days of GNR

    Before GNR was a household name, they were just another Southern California band looking to make it big.

    The band at that time, like many up-and-coming bands, had almost no money. And what money they did have they spent on parties, drugs and alcohol (which should come as a surprise to exactly no one).

    When they finally scored a record deal in the mid-1980s, they were still in the same financial boat — the one with the giant hole in the bottom.

    As they went into the studio to record what would become the Appetite for Destruction album, Slash ran into an issue. His meager arsenal of guitars at the time (he has over 100 of them now) was down to two Jackson guitars, a B.C. Rich Warlock, a Firebird, and a one-off arch-top, Strat-style guitar. He had sold the rest of his guitars because he needed the money.

    Appetite for Destruction

    Apparently he failed to consider how his remaining guitars would sound in the studio, because, in his words, “They all sounded horrible.”

    Not knowing what to do, Slash turned to his manager, Alan Niven. Alan scoured the guitar scene in L.A. and came back the night before Slash was to record with a Gibson Les Paul. At least, that’s what it looked like. Slash fell in love with the instrument, recorded the album, and the rest was history.

    A guitar built for no one

    But that guitar did not originate in Kalamazoo, Michigan. It was instead a replica Les Paul built by a local luthier named Kris Derrig. Derrig was a luthier who usually built custom orders for individuals, but he just happened to make a 1959 Les Paul clone without a buyer lined up in 1984–85.

    When Slash’s manager was on the hunt for a guitar for the debut GNR album, he found Kris’ boss, Jim Foote, who directed him to Kris — and the guitar without a buyer. Kris agreed to let Alan borrow it for recording, and its legacy was established from that point on.

    Slash refers to this guitar as the “original” and has used it on many of his studio albums, starting of course with Appetite.

    What did Gibson think?

    You would think that once Gibson found out Slash was using a fake, they would have gone after him with a vengeance. In this case, however, they made an exception — for several reasons.

    First, Slash has since become a Gibson artist. He owns and loves many Gibson guitars and has had a business relationship with the brand since 1997. Gibson has made some questionable decisions over the years, but even they know that suing your best brand ambassador is a bad idea.

    Second, Kris Derrig’s Gibson knockoff in the hands of Slash sold countless Gibson guitars. If you’re Gibson, why kill the golden goose when you can get the eggs for free?

    Third, a high-end replica like what Derrig built is a far cry from a mass-produced “Chibson” (which Gibson does go after). Derrig’s guitar is a work of art and an homage to Gibson — real luthiers are generally not in the habit of passing off their guitars as someone else’s. Slash and his manager knew that his guitar was not a “real” Gibson — they knew exactly who had made it. But they also knew it was a special guitar.

    A final note

    Sadly, Kris Derrig passed away in 1987 and was never able to see the profound effect of his guitar on rock and roll. So the next time Sweet Child o’ Mine comes on the radio, take a moment to remember Kris and his unique contribution to the history of rock and roll.

  • A Quick History of Stratocaster Copies

    A Quick History of Stratocaster Copies

    If you’re a guitarist like me, you recognize this classic guitar style at a glance:

    Buddy Holly’s Strat
    Buddy Holly’s Strat (Photo by John W. Schulze from Tejas, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons)

    It’s a Fender Stratocaster, of course. The axe used by countless rock-and-roll gods, from Jimi Henrix to Eric Clapton. It’s iconic. It defined a brand and even a way of life.

    Yet have you ever noticed how many companies make a “Stratocaster” guitar? Any company — heck, any luthier — worth their salt has a Strat option that, for the most part, has an identical body to a real Fender. But what about trademark laws? Why doesn’t Fender step in to stop these other guitar makers from using their design?

    Designing the Stratocaster

    The Stratocaster was unquestionably designed by Leo Fender in 1954. At the time, it was revolutionary, not resembling any other guitar on the market. It had a double cutaway and an instantly iconic look. The look was good enough — nay, perfect enough — that it has virtually remained unchanged for almost 70 years.

    So why didn’t Fender step in and stop the copycats?

    Well, they tried — and failed.

    Trademarks and Fender’s Day in Court

    Fender did in fact bring the matter to court in 2008. The company sued a number of their competitors for using several of their guitar and bass body shapes, including the Strat body. And they were clearly correct in stating that these other guitar makers 100 percent copied Fender’s designs.

    So why did they lose their court case? To understand, you have to know a little bit about trademark law.

    According to the USPTO, trademarks are “any word, phrase, symbol, design, or a combination of these things that identifies your goods or services. It’s how customers recognize you in the marketplace and distinguish you from your competitors.”

    It’s the second sentence that is important here — it’s something (like a guitar body shape) that distinguishes you from the other guy.

    Late to the Party

    But here’s the rub: Fender waited 54 years before attempting to trademark the Stratocaster body. By that time, copycat Strats had been around for decades. Literally everybody had a Strat version of their own. By 2008, when the general public heard the phrase electric guitar they almost undoubtedly envisioned a Stratocaster. (The judge in the case even noted that the illustration of the term electric guitar in the dictionary looked like a Strat!)

    Simply put, by the time Fender got around to trying to enforce their trademark, it was too late. Their revolutionary, iconic guitar body that had emerged standing head and shoulders above the competition had become…generic.

    Had they sought trademark protection in 1958 instead of 2008, the results might have been very different. But as they say in France, c’est la vie.