Separated at Birth

 

As a hobby, collecting guitars has a certain amount in common with trainspotting. Numbers matter. In the case of a vintage instrument, a serial number can add up to thousands of pounds in added value (or, by the same token, subtracted value). Every manufacturer employs their own system, some of them logical, others counter-intuitive to the point of perversity. Ever tried to decode the serial number on a vintage Fender or Gibson? It’s not the kind of thing you can do without a guide book, if not a crystal ball...

Today, the internet is your friend when it comes down to the thorny question of dating a vintage instrument, and if you ignore the often nonsensical pronouncements of so-called experts on the plethora of online fora* devoted to old guitars, there’s plenty of useful, well-researched information to be found. Back in the 1980s, information was much harder to come by, and a lot of it (often inferred from dealers’ accumlated knowledge) was a bit suspect. The first really useful guide I came across was a book by one André Duchossoir called simply ‘Guitar Identification’. This slim paperback publication, readily available from most decent music shops at the time, contained the sum of what was then known of the history of various key guitar brands. Of most interest to high-end collectors were the chapters on Fender and Gibson instruments, but it was the information about old Gretsch guitars that proved most useful to myself.

 

As well as tables and notes on decoding serial numbers, the book included some photographic guides illustrating the changing features such as decals, switches and headstocks that provided additional visual clues that could help to date a specific instrument (some of which, as I later learned, were slightly misleading). Gretsch serial numbers were relatively easy to understand, although far from straightforward. There had been two systems of numbering in place: the first, running from the 1940s to the mid 1960s, was a simple sequential system of numbers, starting at zero and totting up, by 1965, to something like 80,000. The method was simply that each instrument was assigned a number as it rolled off the production line, meaning that, where batches of a given model were produced, examples might be found with very closely matching serial numbers. From 1966 onwards, Gretsch adopted a new method of dating guitars, which, though seemingly more complex, was actually more precise than their former system. Serial numbers now began with a single or double digit from 1-12 signifying the month in which the instrument left the factory. This was followed by a second run of numbers, beginning with a digit from 0-9 indicating the year (thus 1971, for example, was designated by a figure 1), and a further run of numbers signifying the instrument’s place in that month’s production run. Applying this to a Gretsch Roc-Jet I’d purchased around the end of 1985 gave me a production date of June 1971, with the instrument rolling off the production line as number 172 in the monthly tally. So far, so good. A 1971 Gretsch was worth quite a bit less than an example from the fifties or early 60s, but didn’t differ much in value from a 1969 example (which was how the shop had identified it).

The Roc-Jet was far from being a prized item: it was a bit battered, and the varnish on the back of the neck was in the process of drying out and blistering. I didn’t much care for the sound of it either, but it was my first Gretsch, and a close (but no cigar) match for George Harrison’s original example. Fast forward about fifteen years...

A guitar-collecting friend of mine was after an old Gretsch. I’d recently bought a 1973 Country Gent, and he was looking out for something similar. At this point in time, the internet was not the place it is today, and ebay had barely come into existence, so I still relied on the traditional method of checking classified ads when hunting down old guitars. One of the best places to look was an Exchange and Mart-style local publication which included a section devoted to guitars; and on checking the listings one Saturday, I discovered that there was a 1971 Country Gent for sale in Belper, Derbyshire, about half an hour’s drive from where I lived. Pete, the friend in question, had been poised to travel down to London with the aim of laying out around £2k for a Gretsch from one of Denmark Street’s high end dealers. A quick phone call nipped this plan in the bud and instead we made the trip up to Belper where, in a small, gloomy cottage, we got to see the Gretsch, alongside a rather nice Harmony H77 (which, in retrospect, we should have nabbed).

We checked it over: there were signs of a neck reset (common on Country Gents), and the tuners had been replaced with a set of ‘Harrison-spec’ Grover stairsteps, but it was all there, everything worked, it played well and still had its original case. Just to confirm its pedigree, I checked the serial number, stamped in gold letters on the back of the headstock: 6 1171. It sounded strangely familiar...

 

Gretsch reunited... 6 1171 and 6 1172 get their heads together

Money duly changed hands: if memory serves, the asking price was around £1,000, par for the course at the time (2002), and a little under half of what such a model might command today. We brought the Gretsch back to my house for a try out through an amp, and I took the opportunity to check on that serial number, confirming my suspicions: 6 1171 was one digit ahead of the serial number on my old Roc-Jet: 6 1172. Here were two guitars that had left the Gretsch factory in Brooklyn, New York, on the same day back in June 1971 – two disparate models, but seemingly adjacent on the production line: a run of Gents followed by a run of Roc-Jets, perhaps? George would have approved...

Adjacent serial numbers are not unheard of amongst vintage guitars, but as a rule, you never come across them unless you’re a dealer handling hundreds of instruments – and even then, those adjacent numbers rarely show up together. Matching up serial numbers isn’t the best of reasons for buying an old guitar, but I can think of worse ones. A few years later, when Pete wanted to sell the Gent, I was happy to aquire it, purely to ensure that the pair stayed together. I mean, what were the chances of another vintage double like that coming up again?

The fact is, it happened, albeit it took another 18 years before it did. Once more, it was a pair of vintage Gretsches – a brace of 1962 Country Gents, in fact – one of which I had owned for a few years. A few months ago, whilst browsing on ebay at 4 o’clock in the morning (what else does one do with a gum abcess preventing one from sleeping?) I spied an almost identical ‘double dial-up mute’ Country Gent being offered for sale. The seller had helpfully included a close-up photo of the headstock, which yielded the startling information that this guitar was, once again, one digit ahead of the example I already owned. Suffice to say that I bid all comers to hell in order to acquire it. And so I now own not one but two pairs of Gretsch guitars, separated at birth, as it were.

This begs the question: would a collector pay more for a pair of guitars with adjacent serial numbers? Most people would consider one Country Gent to be more than sufficient (for the record I have five), so why pay out more than double just for the privilege of owning a ‘matched pair’? None of the suspects is in the firing line for being sold any time soon, so I’m not likely to find out in a hurry; although it’s the kind of thing that, when you tell it to any seasoned dealer, is always guaranteed to raise an eyebrow...

[The ‘twin’ Gretsches were later illustrated in a UK guitar magazine when Pete’s collection was put in the spotlight – their photo of the Roc-Jet being pulled from their files years later as an example of the model for a Gretsch special.]

[* Fora: the plural of forum]