Ian Chisnall – “artful bodger”, DIY partscaster builder and occasional drum fettler

Born in 1962 – I seem to have messed around in, or otherwise been around bands, ever since I was a teenager in the “pre-fashionable” Manchester, (and Salford), of the 1970’s. Way back – before I could even play an instrument – I imagined I had my own group, (to be called “noise”. The lower case “n” was important. Things like that were, back then). I already had ideas of how the graphics would work – sketched out on the covers of various school books. (Lower case “Swiss” font, as I recall. Light, and alternating between extended and condensed, according to mood). Of course, “noise” never actually got off the ground. I gradually realised that I didn’t realy have any natural aptitude for any of the roles normally associated with the “front man” of a group. Shyness, I suppose – maybe it was the glasses… or perhaps a general lack of positive encouragement along the way. But there always seemed to be something that pushed me forward to express myself… somehow..

I’d flirted with brass bands, and loved the experience of playing in a group – but got no encouragement whatsoever at Grammar school, since my chosen tenor horn wasn’t deemed a “proper instrument”. Instead – and being able to hold a vocal note or two (before my voice disastrously broke) – I found the school choir to be a good place to both perform, and hide, at the same time. Once a year, we’d perform a piece in the Perpendicular Gothic, Pugin-designed church opposite the school gates. These performances were pretty full-on. About 120 of us worked at, and regularly rehearsed, stuff like Handel’s “Messiah”, Haydn’s “Creation”, “Zadok the Priest” – before finally presenting them with the addition of professional soloists, full organ and orchestra. A capacity paying crowd too. (There’s supposedly a recording somewhere out there, but it hasn’t made Spotify yet). A fully orchestrated choir has an incredible sound – and it’s thrilling to play even a small, anonymous part in it all. But then it’s not exactly everyone’s idea of rock and roll, and it was a tough sell in the playground, where everyone seemed to be focused on Bowie, and the like. What’s “cool” or “hip” is of vital importance when you’re a teenager, and those deemed on the “wrong” side of taste can easily find themselves marginalised, if they don’t run with the rest of the herd.

The school also used to do its’ annual prize-giving days at the old Free Trade Hall, in the centre of Manchester. A moment of “glory” for the gifted, as they shuffled across the stage to receive their certificates from a one-armed man, and a woman in a large hat. All amidst the faded and increasingly anachronistic architecture of “Cottonopolis” and the Empire. On the 24th October 1978, I was part of the choir performing a, shall we say, “polite” rendition of “Bobby Shaftoe” from the main stage. Bobby bloody Shaftoe!!… Some classmates took the piss relentlessly, of course. However – just because I happened to sing Haydn and Bach from time to time – it didn’t mean I didn’t follow what was going on elsewhere. Within eight months – I’d have discovered “Joy Division”, and watched them support “John Cooper Clarke” at that very same venue, and from the very same historical stage – built on the site of the Peterloo Massacre, and from where “Bob Dylan” broke out his electric band to shouts of “Judas!”. Not the Lesser Free Trade Hall, mind – where the famous “Sex Pistols” gig that changed the Manchester Music Scene took place. The main stage, in the big hall… All of a sudden – I’ve got a comeback for the piss-takers…“Fuck you mate! – I’ve played the Free Trade Hall !!”

After sticking with Grammar School as long as it took – later in 1978, I had an utterly pointless meeting with an early form of, (and all-too-wrongly-titled) “careers advisor”. He had taken a look at my A-level choices, and commented – incredulous – in best “Peter Kaye“ style: “Art and Physics?… Art?… and Physics?… What are you going to do lad? – Paint computers????“. Clearly – this wasn’t a man with any sort of vision of the imminent digital and cultural revolution, and his supplementary advice that “you’ll never make a career out of painting pretty pictures” fell on ears that were already deafened to the rest of his blinkered, parochial nonsense. By then – I hated the whole establishment, and I think it’s fair to say they didn’t think much of me either. I’d learned not to draw attention to myself, and to hide in plain sight from the usual playground thugs, but had suffered equivalent levels of bullying from various be-cloaked “masters” – back when “discipline” relied on a dispiriting combination of ridicule and barely-restrained violence. I was smart enough to pass all of their exams – but it was in spite of some of the teachers, not because of them. (A couple of exceptions were solid gold. Forever thanks to Andrew Swift, and John Moss. No thanks at all, to the worst of the rest).

By the time I’d finally got together with a couple of musically like-minded friends, “Punk” and “the New Wave” had raised it’s threatening, yet exciting head over the garden gate at home. However my parents decided they weren’t exactly going to be entirely supportive about me getting involved “with of any of that Jimi Hendrix nonsense”. “Play any of that racket round here, and see what happens”, as I think Dad succinctly put it. Nevertheless – I worked a milk round, pocketed copious amounts of gratis Co-Op stamps, and saved up for my first electric guitar – a through-body, humbuckered, Hondo II Matsumoko “SD Curlee”, but then thought better of getting an amp, and so couldn’t hear it properly. (“Never mind – Keep things sweet at home”…) Consequently, initial progress was slow and patchy at best. As a teenager – there are way too many distractions and opportunities to waste your time, and money – but at least some of my barre chords were coming along – as were “the gang’s” various record collections, which were swapped about, loaned, taped, digested and keenly debated. We liked “Can”, “Buzzcocks”, “The Fall”, “Captain Beefheart”, “Frank Zappa”, “Joy Division”, “The Velvet Underground”, “The Doors”, “King Crimson”, “The Thirteenth Floor Elevators”, and all sorts of deranged, US garage acts from the 60’s – and Gary, (the only, naturally talented musician amongst us), liked… “Mike Oldfield”. Still – Gary had most of the gear, (so best keep things sweet…) With no real agreement on any sort of cohesive musical “identity” or “direction” to speak of – the “unofficially affiliated band with no name”, (and with very few instruments of note or quality), took to busking around the local shopping facilities – playing “improvisations” based, (in our heads) on “Can” and “Velvet Underground” favourites. (With the odd Christmas Carol thrown in, to maximise seasonal “income”). Bury market underpass in the winter cold… a mystified “audience”… smart-arse comments… “Oh no, don’t let me mam see us”… all good, character-building stuff, I’m sure. Any sort of “commercial success” was, of course, extremely unlikely, (and the last thing on our minds) – but at least we could occasionally supplement our bar tabs, as our taste for the local Holt’s beer grew. We also gradually got to know, and even hang out regularly with, a few emerging “faces”, as we stepped out and followed the exploding local music scene in the North West. Soon, a small two-man faction from “the aforementioned, unofficially affiliated group with no name”, (me and Derek), got our chance to support “The Fall” – (but then entirely blew it…)

Ultimately, I turned down the career advisor’s vision of “a nice job at the bank – since you’re unlikely to get on at Oxbridge anyway”, and ran away from an, apparently pre-assigned, anonymous, provincial, desk-bound destiny – to art school in Manchester, and later Nottingham – where I split my time variously between painting, sculpture, printmaking, and on trying to make inroads into some sort of personal “Bohemia”. Art School always had the reputation of being a good place to get together with musically like-minded folk. In fact – in the early 1980’s, it was pretty much compulsory. Combined influences led three of us to form “An Experiment In Inertia” (me on electric guitar, Mike Jones on bass and my dear, much missed pal, Paul Gladwyn, with his sartorial style and rythmn/keys section, comprising twin Casio VL-Tone V1 synthesizers. These were set so that the pre-set rythmns went slightly out of phase periodically, whilst Mike laid down funky, “My Life in the Bush of Ghosts“-type basslines, and I attempted to channel shards of guitar over the top, in the style of “Gang of Four“, or “The Pop Group“. The group was short-lived – but the experience, alongside all of the other creative influences, was vital in helping to un-block some of my left-over “Grammar School issues”. Mostly – those to do with the importance and validity of personal expression and creativity. That’s the thing about Art School. It might not teach you hard facts, or practical money-making skills – but it sure as hell teaches you how to think for yourself, and how to coax out any natural, creative instinct. For me – apart from the amount of alcohol involved – it was four years of (mostly) positive, restorative therapy.

People still think it’s a doss, and I’ll admit some of us spent way too long in the pubs and clubs of Nottingham, (I still have flashbacks whenever I watch “Withnail and I“) – but that aside – it boils down to four years of extremely serious, sometimes painstaking work. Even my old man acknowledged, at the end of it all, that “I’d put in the hours“. After having work exhibited in various venues – ranging in “classiness” from The Peacock, (pub – Nottingham – beer and crisps), The Midland Group, (regional gallery – Nottingham again – wine and selected cheeses!), to The Royal Academy, (national gallery – London – cigars and brandy!!) – I moved on down to London, and scratched away at various, unrewarding, dead-end jobs around the East End, whilst trying to “follow any muse that would have me”. My, “Aphrodite at the Water Hole” period. (If you know – you know).

Inevitably – reality bit hard in Thatcher’s Britain of the 80’s. Unable to make a “commercial breakthrough” I eventually gave up the canvas and brushes, and reluctantly grew into a “proper” job – “Uptown”. Based around the new-fangled, emerging, “computer-graphics”. (“What are you going to do lad?.. Paint computers?!! – I ended up painting with computers – it still makes me laugh today).

Now – if you’re going to have to work at a desk job – you might as well have to do it in swanky Mayfair, of all places – (although the lunches, and after-work drinks can be hideously expensive). After demonstrating that I could hold a pencil, and produce effective and good-looking hand-drawn architectural details and plans – I ended up carving a niche in Architectural, Interior and Environmental Design for the next 25 years. Back then – drawing offices consisted of rows and rows of desks, with stooped figures bent over them. Each person had one large desk equipped with a parallel motion, to draw at – and another to lay out full-sized drawings and reference sets. (There was just enough spare room for an electric eraser, and the almost ubiquitous ashtray). One day – a primitive CAD workstation appeared at the end of my reference desk, and I was encouraged to learn how to use it, “before it made me redundant”. I was a quick learner, and I soon began to specialise in computer graphics and digital presentation – working for a couple of the biggest Architectural design companies in the World. Involved in high profile projects across the UK, Europe, Asia and the Middle East… Nice work if you can get it. In retrospect – I should have probably worked my way up the ladder, and then gone freelance years ago. Bought myself a little personal time to follow that original muse again. However, sometimes the feather bed of a good job proves way too comfortable. When you’re risk averse, you tend to swerve and miss out on opportunities – like the time I managed to talk Jerry DeBorg out of me “having a quick look at doing some graphics” for the newly-formed “Jesus Jones”…

Throughout it all – whatever I’ve been doing – I’ve never ever lost my initial passion in listening to, and getting involved with making music. And sometimes – things have clicked and “happened” along the way. I’ve “sat-in with”, and “jammed along” with numerous bands – most of which you’re highly unlikely to have ever heard of – but “Highboard” and “Bob the Dog” being two I can actually remember the names of. Otherwise – I’ve recorded and played live in various guises, and at various times, including:- As guitarist with the aforementioned, (and “Nice Style Pose Band” inspired), art school noise merchants – “An Experiment in Inertia“. I played bass on that “BFG“, “comeback” single they seem to want to forget all about, and also did a ten-year stint holding down bass, (and general design duties), for London, indie landfill songsters, “Citizens of Pompeii“.

I finally went freelance in 2009, and moved out of London – looking to escape the Rat Race for good. Back in the provinces again, but this time with a much more South-Easterly vista – (and, it seems, unfortunately, no real local music “scene” to speak of). Instead, however – I finally find I’ve got enough related experience, resources and spare time on my hands, to try and get to grips with some of the instruments and technology I’ve grown to love over the years, (and which I’ve previously, probably taken for granted as mere “tools of the trade”). There’s nothing quite like putting a musical instrument together yourself, to help discover precisely what makes it sound the way it does… and then to learn to play a suitable piece on it… It’s a way of getting to know again, completely re-evaluating and listening afresh to music, old and new. As I head into early retirement, I can’t think of a better way to scratch all of my various, creative itches at the same time.

Now – I have my own workshop, two sheds and a sizeable kitchen table. A background in printing, painting, Fine Art, computer graphic, digital video and 3D design, and a decade or so’s direct hand’s-on experience with various sorts of carpentry and wood finishes. Add to all that, a lifetime’s passion for music, an insatiable creative urge, a love of taking things apart to see how they work, (and the confidence to put them back together again) – add a straightforward DIY ethos forged in the days of Punk, and there’s always…

…“Stuff to do“…

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By the way – I should also probably mention somewhere – I’m not affiliated, in any way, to Fender, Gibson, Martin, Premier, or any other brand I mention on this site. People, companies and model ranges I mention are referred to because I admire their products, or processes, or advice – or simply because they inspire me. I want to give credit where credit’s due. I don’t get paid for any of this. It’s a hobby gone mad. The projects I build aren’t, in any way, intended to deceive by means of forgery or other mis-representation. I make these things because I’m fascinated by the basic machinery of popular music, and the part it played in the development of “classic” Rock and Roll. I want to learn what I can about the design and manufacture of these wonderful instruments, whose inspiration seems to call from an increasingly distant, “Golden Age” of analogue. In doing what I do – I hope to find out just what makes them so special to own, and to play.

I first started writing some of this stuff down as a kind of notebook for myself, (I don’t want to forget it all again) – but also, so that other self-confessed “fettlers” might find common interest and, perhaps, some helpful insight by sharing my journey. Maybe to try and preserve a little bit of increasingly “forgotten” knowledge along the way too. I don’t, however, pretend to have all the answers, and you’ll find many of my standard techniques change over time – as I continue to learn and evolve my thinking and processes. So if you’re considering following any of my advice and “modifying” your expensive, vintage, original treasure from all those years ago, or even “adjusting” that piece of shiny, new, thousand pound eye candy – just check yourself first. It’s on your own dollar, and at your own risk. Don’t blame me if it fucks up. I regularly get things wrong. I do it all the time… It’s the only way to learn.

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