Last night, I found myself in a most improbable situation. I sat on the oriental carpet in the living room with a toolbox, a soldering iron, a new set of Fender Custom Shop Pickups, wiring diagrams, and my Fender Telecaster Guitar (totally deconstructed). I was doing major surgery to replace and rewire my bridge pickup (it had died on me at the last Telepath gig). Now, dear Pilgrim, this is not in my usual comfort zone. I look at a wiring diagram, (did anyone say, "Rorshach Test?"), and I see TROUBLE; a visit to my local guitar shop had not been encouraging, the guy behind the counter hearing of my plans had said, "You're gonna wire it YOURSELF?!" What he meant but didn't say, "Dude, you look like you have trouble tying your shoes!"
Anyway, there I was, connecting the black wire here, the yellow wire there, and how come the black wire used to be a blue wire? In the middle of this process, (by the way, I had two wiring diagrams, neither of which quite matched up -- sometimes the map is not the territory), the Lovely Carla comes in from a long day on the road. So, it turns out, I've got the soldering iron all hot (700 degrees!) and ready to go, and who has the most experience soldering wire? Yes, it's the Lovely Carla (during her high school years she worked in a factory soldering computer boards), so she sits down and does the final operation, a little dot of hot solder in each connector. (Question: does Patty Hansen help Keith Richard rewire his Telecaster?!)
So, I put the guitar back together, tighten the screws, re-string etc. All the time I'm thinking "this isn't gonna work." Well, surprise, surprise, it works beautifully. The new pickup is a monster, the classic Tele sound: biting, sharp as a whip, with some real resonance. Exquisite. I was quite pleased with myself, and pleased with my assistant too. I was reminded of The Band's song, "Cripple Creek."
Up on Cripple Creek, she sends me.
If I spring a leak, she mends me.
I don't have to speak, she defends me.
A trucker's dream if I ever did see one.