Readers with good memories might think this is a repeat of my October '06 column, but this instrument is a different guitar of the same year. The subject of the '06 article had sides and back of figured maple, the subject this month is an exceptionally rare rosewood-bodied instrument, of which very few survive from that period of the Ramírez shop.
The great Paraguayan guitarist and composer Agustín Barrios used a José Ramírez from 1911 with rosewood sides and back to make his first recordings on the Artigas and Atlanta record labels in 1913 in South America ("Guitars With Guts," July '02). Some authorities consider these recordings to be the first classical guitar recordings ever, preceding those of Miguel Llobet and Andrés Segovia.
José Ramírez I (1858-1923) was a Madrid born son of an industrialist who began his career as a polisher (varnisher) and guitar maker working for the widow of Francisco González. Traditional lore has suggested a connection between Francisco González and José Ramírez, but to date, no proof of this association has surfaced save for family lore and the fact José was employed by Francisco's widow.
The style of guitar offered by the González shop was the type known in those days as the "tablao," or literally, "bar" guitar, as this was the type favored by many gypsy flamenco players who played primarily in bars, or as they are know in Spain, tablaos, named for the raised wooden platform used to elevate the artists. These instruments were also referred to as guitarras ahuevadas or "egg-shaped" guitars for the extreme doming of the tops and backs. Typically, the sides were quite shallow, and indeed this instrument is slightly "ahuevada" with shallow sides only 31/4" deep. This genre of instrument evolved in Sevilla, the city where flamenco was first commercially presented and exploited to the public, and the Soto y Solares family and other Sevillian makers were instrumental in developing this "tablao" concept guitar. Interestingly, Antonio de Torres worked in Sevilla and eschewed the extreme features of the typical tablao guitar, using tops and backs with less doming, and sides that were much deeper (closer to 4") on a model that ultimately was adopted by players around the world and remains to this day the de facto gut-string model.
This instrument, like most guitars of the period, was originally made to have wooden pegs, as proven by the central hole in the peghead, which was intended to tie a ribbon or stout string to allow hanging on the wall when not being played. Friction pegs were too delicate to risk using them for this purpose, so guitars originally fitted with wooden pegs nearly always have an extra hole (or two) drilled in the head for the hanging ribbon. The machines now on the instrument are probably the second set installed after the conversion from pegs, although they date to the '20s or so.
Mug shot of the top, made of four pieces of spruce.
This is the largest model offered by the Ramírez shop, described in their catalog as being the correct size for "professors and concert artists." Instruments such as this cost from 500 pesetas up and the addition of mechanical tuning machines added at least 30 pesetas to the base price, which in those days was the equivalent of three to four month's salary for a professional. Of particular interest is the illustration from the Ramírez catalog which gives the general dimensions of the large-model guitar in metric, a measurement system which would have been familiar to educated Madrileńos of the era. However, in measuring the guitar and other contemporary José Ramírez I instruments, it becomes obvious that in fact they were working from English inches, as the lower bouts measure exactly 143/4" wide, the body is exactly 19" long, and the scale is exactly 253/4" long, etc. I have observed this also in the instruments of Antonio de Torres, and I submit this was because these makers who were addressing very precise woodworking skills preferred to use English-made tools (and measuring devices), which in those days would have been the very finest available. Its not surprising that in early-20th-century Madrid, makers such as Ramírez would have had access to such sophisticated tools. But somewhat surprising is that in mid 19th century Sevilla, Torres had access to such tools. Certainly, it speaks to the dedication to their craft that they were willing to expend considerable capital in purchasing what must have been frightfully expensive imported tools.
The medal illustrated in the lower right corner is for an exhibition in Logrońo that took place in 1887, in which Ramírez was awarded a gold medal.
Internally, this instrument shows the typical haste of construction exhibited by makers concerned with making a living from starving musicians. Despite the obvious illogical nature of this business model, it can be made to work. The back linings are the type known by some as "green-stick fracture," or as I prefer to call them, "force-bent green wood." One can see the areas around the waist bend where the wood was beginning to split while being forced into a curve nature never intended it to have. As for glue squeeze-out, makers of Ramírez' generation would have laughed themselves silly over modern players' obsession with pristine glue drip-free guitar interiors. The hide glues used in those days required speed and accuracy on the first assembly, with no time for such niceties as wiping glue drips. Same can be said for smoothing and sanding interior surfaces and braces, and looking at the interior photos, one can see the rough-hewn surfaces as they were left from the plane and scraper blades. No doubt, legions of armchair luthiers will take to the blogosphere to convince each other why sanding interior braces to 600-grit fineness is a requirement, and my only response is to invite any and all to stop by my shop with your polished interiors and let's compare to this rough-hewn gitana and see if any of that really makes a difference.
Of particular interest is the soundboard bracing, or as the Spanish call it, the abanico ("fan," literally). On this instrument are nine fans, placed asymmetrically, to make the treble side of the top stiffer - or if you prefer, brighter - for that's precisely the function these "sound controllers" produce. This guitar is one of the earliest post-Torres asymmetrically braced guitars I've examined. Enrique Garcia in his later (post-1904) instruments, and his student and successor Francisco Simplicio both used asymmetrical bracing designs in their best instruments, but asymmetry was not a common feature among most makers of the era. Typical to most José I instruments, the forward ends of all the top fans are let into a rabbet cut into the lower cross strut below the soundhole. This prevents them from coming loose and rattling if the instrument is severely beat upon by an aggressive player, which describes most flamencos of the era. It also prevents collapse of the soundboard immediately around the area of the rosette - a common problem in older Spanish instruments.
Detail of the rounded heel, which was commonly used by Ramírez in those days. Typically the heel was built up of random selections of scrap Spanish cedar.
The soundboard of this guitar is made of four more-or-less bookmatched pieces of spruce, with the outer two being considerably off the quarter as they approach the outer flanks. Most wood merchants today use similarly stated, if not arbitrary, grading criteria to establish what a "good," "better," or "best" soundboard is. I doubt any of these merchants would have the cojones to grade this top "AAAA" for a maker's most deluxe model, and I further doubt many living builders would have the testicular fortitude to suffer the nasty snarking that would surely twitter away in the blogosphere if they had the temerity to charge the equivalent of one-third of a year's salary for a guitar with a top like this. Only a talented blind musician could see through the bull to confirm this is a fine musical instrument, and indeed, this top has survived well over a century of playing without distortion or degradation. And compared to many modern instruments, this guitar can still compete musically.
As the progenitor of three generations of Ramírez guitars, this instrument is a rare example of a rosewood-bodied instrument made for the most demanding player or professor, one of only a handful known to me that are still in existence from the first generation Ramírez shop. It's wonderful testimony to the luthier's art that every aspect of this instrument was directed to a necessary musical function, and not to impress a dilettante with superfluous inlay or pointless busy work. The musicians who used (and ultimately consumed) these fine instruments did not suffer fools who tried to run up the tab with unnecessary gee gaws and timewasters. Like the luthiers who created them using very expensive yet state-of-the-art tools imported from abroad, these musicians also demanded the very best tools for their trade, and makers such as José Ramírez I endeavored to meet this demand. We are privileged that a few instruments have survived to remind us of that bygone era of focused functionality.
Richard Bruné began making guitars in 1966 and is a former professional flamenco guitarist. He has written for the Guild of American Luthiers and other organizations and lectured at guitar festivals and museums including the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. He collects classical and flamenco guitars. He was recently featured on the PBS documentary, "Los Romeros: The Royal Family of the Guitar," and his new book, The Guitar of Andrés Segovia: Hermann Hauser 1937, was recently published by Dynamic, of Italy. You can write to him at 800 Greenwood Street, Evanston IL 60201, or visit rebrune.com.
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