N.C. guitar maker: Madagascar Rosewood
GREENSBORO, N.C. -- Calling Bob Rigaud a "luthier" sounds badly out of tune. The word is just too high-strung, even if it really defines Rigaud. It means "guitar maker."
Forget those comic caricatures. He's not an aging hippie music fanatic with shaggy hair, beard, tattoo or two, who punctuates sentences with "cool" and calls people "dude."
Rigaud is clean-shaven.
His graying hair is neatly cut. His clothes resemble those worn by men of his age, 58, around house and yard. He doesn't use slang, although he can wow visitors with the jargon of guitar making. He discusses frets, necks, inlays, bridges and other guitar parts.
He works in a three-room shop behind the 1930s craftsman-style house he shares with his wife and helper, Ruth Ann Rigaud. Orville, a chubby cat named for pioneer guitar maker Orville Gibson, keeps him company at work.
Rigaud views his creations as music makers and works of art. Using the finest woods and techniques learned over decades, he makes about seven guitars annually. He works on three or four at a time, taking six months or longer to finish.
No two Rigauds sound alike. He strives for what he calls "a living entity that has this thing."
The "thing" only a musician knows. It's the sound and feel he or she wants.
Rigaud doesn't make a loud sound himself in the guitar-making world. Many amateur musicians, who tend to buy mass-produced brands such as Gibson, Martin, Taylor and others, don't know Rigaud.
Rigaud says brand instruments are "just fine," with Martins from the 1930s and 1940s fetching big sums today.
But -- with a pained expression -- he says one could go to a factory and sample guitars coming off the assembly line. However, "if you hear one you've heard them all."
Big recording stars play those mass-made brands, but Rigaud says they don't strum one from an assembly line. Companies make them to the musician's specifications.
Several big stars, however, come to Rigaud when they want work done on guitars.
In one of the few stories ever written about Rigaud -- which appeared in the March 2002 edition of the area magazine BizLife -- Jeff Cook, lead guitarist for Alabama, said, "I trust him to work on anything I've got."
Rigaud has also helped Nokie Edwards ("Walk Don't Run"), formerly of the Ventures; John Fogerty ("Bad Moon Rising") formerly of Creedence Clearwater Revival; and popular local musician Martha Bassett.
Years ago Rigaud met Nokie Edwards at a Greensboro concert. Edwards discussed an idea for an ideal electric guitar. He wondered if Rigaud could make it.
"It was like John Lennon asking you to make a guitar," Rigaud recalls.
They went to Rigaud's previous shop and Rigaud wrote down what Edwards wanted. Four months later, Edwards went on a tour in Japan with the guitar.
Although Rigaud specializes in acoustic guitars -- those that don't need an amplifier -- he grew up playing an electric model in bands he and fellow High Point Central classmates formed. They played frat houses, private parties and places in Myrtle Beach, S.C.
A few years ago, he made an electric guitar with incredible hand carvings. The national magazine Guitar Player gave it a photo spread. The instrument was called "The Pretzel" because of the shape of the body.
Rigaud could make guitars as a youngster. When he decided to make it his life work, he and his wife moved to Phoenix in the mid-1970s. There he attended the Roberto-Venn School of Luthiery. He was so good he stayed awhile as an instructor.
Back in Guilford County, he worked at local guitar shops while making a few guitars. He then opened his shop behind his house, specializing in guitar repair and restoration.
No sign outside directs people to his shop, but customers find him. They come with guitars dating to the 19th century. He has accumulated a collection of vintage guitars.
He recalls how Fogerty wanted a 1934 Jumbo Gibson but had been outbid for one by Microsoft founder Bill Gates, an avid collector.
One day a retired Cone Mills worker came to the shop to get a guitar repaired. When Rigaud opened the case, his mouth dropped. He looked down at a '34 Jumbo Gibson. The man said he had bought it new at the Cone company store on credit for $60 during the Great Depression.
Later, Fogerty called to ask, "Got anything, Bob?"
When Rigaud said he had repaired a 1934 Gibson Jumbo, Fogerty, still hurting from losing to Gates and figuring he'd never encounter such a guitar, declared, "Don't mess around with me, Bob!"
After Rigaud convinced him he wasn't kidding, Fogerty declared: "I got to have it. Offer him whatever it takes."
At first, the old mill worker didn't want to sell. Then he said he and his wife had never taken a vacation. Besides, his hands had gone bad and he couldn't play anymore. Rigaud paid him handsomely. Rigaud says Fogerty uses the Jumbo in concerts and to record.
Rigaud always wanted to make guitars rather than repair and restore them. But he doesn't regret those years he fixed Martins, Gibsons, Taylors and other brands.
"You learn the strong points and weak points," he says, "and try to make a better mouse trap."
He does very little repair and restoration work now. He wants to devote the remainder of his career to making guitars.
Prices range from $4,000 to about $10,000. He makes three sizes: jumbo, mid-size and the smaller parlor guitar.
He guarantees that no two Rigauds sound alike.
His shop shelves contain Madagascar rosewood, Hawaiian Koi, walnut, maple, Brazilian mahogany, pepper wood, cherry, quilted maple, even pear. The wood and the way he shapes it, plus other techniques, make each guitar different.
Without sounding cocky, he knows he makes a quality product. At guitar sales shows, other custom makers -- he says their prices start at about $10,000 -- visit his booth, test his guitars and leave admitting his tops theirs.
He wishes for the luck of guitar maker Jim Olson. Olson stood outside a stage door and begged James Taylor to play one of his guitars. Taylor did, loved it and has played an Olson ever since.
As a result, "If you want an Olson there's a five or six-year waiting list," Rigaud says.
He hopes local musician Bassett, who he's certain is destined for fame, might do for him what Taylor did for Olson. She plays a Rigaud parlor guitar, and "I love it," she says, adding it sounds great and looks beautiful.
"Bob is quite a treasure," Bassett says. "His guitars are true works of art, and his ability to set up and repair guitars is unmatched in our area."
Rigaud says he doesn't expect wealth from his work. To get rich requires mass production and sacrificing quality.
But he wants to increase output to 15 or 20 guitars a year. Computers, which create perfect molds after Rigaud designs them, have reduced production time. He might hire help and look for a larger shop.
Another shop would disappoint customers. The current one is a musical instrument museum. Guitars dating to the 1840s cover the walls. Ukuleles collected over the years saturate a corner.
They include an Arthur Godfrey brand that Godfrey made popular on his 1950s TV and radio shows. Rigaud says ukes are making a comeback.
He might make a ukulele someday. For now, he'll stick to guitars. On a scale of one to 10, will he make a perfect one?
He may already have.
"I got an 11 on that one over there," he says of a gleaming instrument made of quilted mahogany and a spruce top.
"My wife says that is the best guitar I ever made."
She wants him to keep it.
By JIM SCHLOSSER : News & Record of Greensboro
Forget those comic caricatures. He's not an aging hippie music fanatic with shaggy hair, beard, tattoo or two, who punctuates sentences with "cool" and calls people "dude."
Rigaud is clean-shaven.
His graying hair is neatly cut. His clothes resemble those worn by men of his age, 58, around house and yard. He doesn't use slang, although he can wow visitors with the jargon of guitar making. He discusses frets, necks, inlays, bridges and other guitar parts.
He works in a three-room shop behind the 1930s craftsman-style house he shares with his wife and helper, Ruth Ann Rigaud. Orville, a chubby cat named for pioneer guitar maker Orville Gibson, keeps him company at work.
Rigaud views his creations as music makers and works of art. Using the finest woods and techniques learned over decades, he makes about seven guitars annually. He works on three or four at a time, taking six months or longer to finish.
No two Rigauds sound alike. He strives for what he calls "a living entity that has this thing."
The "thing" only a musician knows. It's the sound and feel he or she wants.
Rigaud doesn't make a loud sound himself in the guitar-making world. Many amateur musicians, who tend to buy mass-produced brands such as Gibson, Martin, Taylor and others, don't know Rigaud.
Rigaud says brand instruments are "just fine," with Martins from the 1930s and 1940s fetching big sums today.
But -- with a pained expression -- he says one could go to a factory and sample guitars coming off the assembly line. However, "if you hear one you've heard them all."
Big recording stars play those mass-made brands, but Rigaud says they don't strum one from an assembly line. Companies make them to the musician's specifications.
Several big stars, however, come to Rigaud when they want work done on guitars.
In one of the few stories ever written about Rigaud -- which appeared in the March 2002 edition of the area magazine BizLife -- Jeff Cook, lead guitarist for Alabama, said, "I trust him to work on anything I've got."
Rigaud has also helped Nokie Edwards ("Walk Don't Run"), formerly of the Ventures; John Fogerty ("Bad Moon Rising") formerly of Creedence Clearwater Revival; and popular local musician Martha Bassett.
Years ago Rigaud met Nokie Edwards at a Greensboro concert. Edwards discussed an idea for an ideal electric guitar. He wondered if Rigaud could make it.
"It was like John Lennon asking you to make a guitar," Rigaud recalls.
They went to Rigaud's previous shop and Rigaud wrote down what Edwards wanted. Four months later, Edwards went on a tour in Japan with the guitar.
Although Rigaud specializes in acoustic guitars -- those that don't need an amplifier -- he grew up playing an electric model in bands he and fellow High Point Central classmates formed. They played frat houses, private parties and places in Myrtle Beach, S.C.
A few years ago, he made an electric guitar with incredible hand carvings. The national magazine Guitar Player gave it a photo spread. The instrument was called "The Pretzel" because of the shape of the body.
Rigaud could make guitars as a youngster. When he decided to make it his life work, he and his wife moved to Phoenix in the mid-1970s. There he attended the Roberto-Venn School of Luthiery. He was so good he stayed awhile as an instructor.
Back in Guilford County, he worked at local guitar shops while making a few guitars. He then opened his shop behind his house, specializing in guitar repair and restoration.
No sign outside directs people to his shop, but customers find him. They come with guitars dating to the 19th century. He has accumulated a collection of vintage guitars.
He recalls how Fogerty wanted a 1934 Jumbo Gibson but had been outbid for one by Microsoft founder Bill Gates, an avid collector.
One day a retired Cone Mills worker came to the shop to get a guitar repaired. When Rigaud opened the case, his mouth dropped. He looked down at a '34 Jumbo Gibson. The man said he had bought it new at the Cone company store on credit for $60 during the Great Depression.
Later, Fogerty called to ask, "Got anything, Bob?"
When Rigaud said he had repaired a 1934 Gibson Jumbo, Fogerty, still hurting from losing to Gates and figuring he'd never encounter such a guitar, declared, "Don't mess around with me, Bob!"
After Rigaud convinced him he wasn't kidding, Fogerty declared: "I got to have it. Offer him whatever it takes."
At first, the old mill worker didn't want to sell. Then he said he and his wife had never taken a vacation. Besides, his hands had gone bad and he couldn't play anymore. Rigaud paid him handsomely. Rigaud says Fogerty uses the Jumbo in concerts and to record.
Rigaud always wanted to make guitars rather than repair and restore them. But he doesn't regret those years he fixed Martins, Gibsons, Taylors and other brands.
"You learn the strong points and weak points," he says, "and try to make a better mouse trap."
He does very little repair and restoration work now. He wants to devote the remainder of his career to making guitars.
Prices range from $4,000 to about $10,000. He makes three sizes: jumbo, mid-size and the smaller parlor guitar.
He guarantees that no two Rigauds sound alike.
His shop shelves contain Madagascar rosewood, Hawaiian Koi, walnut, maple, Brazilian mahogany, pepper wood, cherry, quilted maple, even pear. The wood and the way he shapes it, plus other techniques, make each guitar different.
Without sounding cocky, he knows he makes a quality product. At guitar sales shows, other custom makers -- he says their prices start at about $10,000 -- visit his booth, test his guitars and leave admitting his tops theirs.
He wishes for the luck of guitar maker Jim Olson. Olson stood outside a stage door and begged James Taylor to play one of his guitars. Taylor did, loved it and has played an Olson ever since.
As a result, "If you want an Olson there's a five or six-year waiting list," Rigaud says.
He hopes local musician Bassett, who he's certain is destined for fame, might do for him what Taylor did for Olson. She plays a Rigaud parlor guitar, and "I love it," she says, adding it sounds great and looks beautiful.
"Bob is quite a treasure," Bassett says. "His guitars are true works of art, and his ability to set up and repair guitars is unmatched in our area."
Rigaud says he doesn't expect wealth from his work. To get rich requires mass production and sacrificing quality.
But he wants to increase output to 15 or 20 guitars a year. Computers, which create perfect molds after Rigaud designs them, have reduced production time. He might hire help and look for a larger shop.
Another shop would disappoint customers. The current one is a musical instrument museum. Guitars dating to the 1840s cover the walls. Ukuleles collected over the years saturate a corner.
They include an Arthur Godfrey brand that Godfrey made popular on his 1950s TV and radio shows. Rigaud says ukes are making a comeback.
He might make a ukulele someday. For now, he'll stick to guitars. On a scale of one to 10, will he make a perfect one?
He may already have.
"I got an 11 on that one over there," he says of a gleaming instrument made of quilted mahogany and a spruce top.
"My wife says that is the best guitar I ever made."
She wants him to keep it.
By JIM SCHLOSSER : News & Record of Greensboro
Comments