David Rubio, Luthier

Recently, thanks to my friend James Westbrook, I had the opportunity of examining the log book from the archive material of extraordinary English luthier, David Rubio. The rather grand front of this book is shown above, complete with an unused Rubio rossette. Log book is perhaps not the right title for this document; it is part diary, part note book, part order book. Initially, when I opened this, I was hoping for workbench notes on instruments made or examined, but there was little of this. However, this proved to be a document that inspired, educated and moved me.

David Rubio started building guitars in New York in the early 1960s. A career in medicine had been the intention but colour blindness prevented this. Rubio's skill as a flamenco guitarist brought him into contact with guitars and guitarists, and it was almost inevitable that his interest in making musical instruments grew.

Looking at the beginning of this log book you can see the origins of Rubio's business. Most of his clients at this time were local to New York, perhaps familiar faces to Rubio from his days as a professional guitaris? He also took in repairs; Domingo Esteso is mentioned, and he must have learned much from these instruments. It is quite apparent that David Rubio's reputation and workload gathered pace rapidly. The pages of this book fill as the 1960s progress and some familiar names start to appear.




One of the most important names to appear in these pages is that of Julian Bream. The support of Bream must have been important to Rubio, but Bream was also very lucky to find a maker of Rubio's caliber, and to have guitars and lutes made for him. It is easy to imagine Rubio and Bream at the Greenwich Village workshop, discussing instruments and pinning down the details of Bream's next commission. The image is added to by a small technical sketch on one of the pages. It is a detail of a lute by Thomas Goff, and it seems likely that this was Bream's lute that Goff made for him.




Tucked into the log book are some random documents such as a business card, pictured above, with the Duns Tew address. There are some receipts for wood from Andreas Gleissner (my first batch of 50 spruce tops came from Gleissner) and a fabulous letter from an American client arranging to pick up a guitar from Rubio after his relocation to England. The happy recipient of the guitar insists that he will take David and his wife for a celebratory meal at a restaurant of their choice.




There is much to be enjoyed in this notebook, and it really has fired me up in all sorts of ways. Last year I heard Paul Fischer at the Cordefactum guitar festival in Belgium, lecturing on Rubio and this notebook adds to my knowledge of a guitar maker I have long admired. One thing that is clear is that Rubio was an incredibly hard worker and I have heard that often meals would be taken into the workshop and eaten at the bench while he worked. His passionate curiosity turned him towards early instruments, violins and keyboard instruments. He really had extraordinary talents.

Above all else, this log tells part of the story of a man's passion, of his career and his contribution to musical instrument making. I had the good fortune to meet David Rubio, albeit briefly. I was a student at the London Collage of Furniture and on one occasion David and his wife visited the musical instrument making department and had a look around the workshop. I seem to remember that he recommended we should buy a rather expensive German vice, although that was beyond our reach at that time. Since then I have worked on a number of Rubio guitars and my opinion of him grows - a man of real substance and a fine luthier.

New tools, old tools...
The acquisition of fine woodworking tools has always been a passion of mine and there are some tools that I simply would not be without. In the centre of the picture is one of my two trusted cabinet scrapers. There is not one part of the guitar that isn't touched by this tool at some point or other. When I was first making guitars I used to get terrible blisters from using the scraper but my thumbs soon got used to it.
To the right of the scraper is my small thumb plane, whose main function is to shape the top and back braces, although it gets called into use for other tasks as well. This particular plane is no longer made I believe. I got it originally from Sidney Evans Violin making supplies in Birmingham.
At the top of the photograph is the newest tool in the workshop, a Lie-Nielsen block plane all the way from the USA. This really is a wonderfully made tool and is a pleasure to use. (Thanks Frank)
And finally the awl at at the bottom of the picture. This is a tool I use all the time and is one of those things I would be quick to save if a fire or flood threatened. When I was at college there was a great hunt to find Brazilian rosewood which was getting very scarce at the time (1985ish).
One of my tutors, Michael Gee, had just uncovered a huge pile of sumptuous material in Millers Dale, Derbyshire and I was determined to spend the summer vacation trying to track down some more. I was tool hunting in Brighton's Gardener Street market one Saturday when I found this awl, for 10p as I remember. The Gardener Street market was like a scene out of Brighton Rock, crawling with dubious antique dealers and fly-by-night chancers. You kept your hand firmly on your wallet as the place was the haunt of snatch purses. The handle of this little awl is exquisite rosewood and stamped with the name of its previous owner, F Monk.
I took the discovery of this tool as a good omen and looked forward to finding a lot more Brazilian rosewood but as it turned out this was the last I found that summer....

Richard Chapman has just sent me a copy of his new recording, Lost Places and I am thrilled to see this at last. This is a truly remarkable recording and one that I have heard much about from Richard and others over the past year. I have been working with him for several years now and the result of that relationship, the drop-shouldered cutaway guitar can be heard on this album.
Complex, yet utterly accessible, this is truly new music. It is hard to pin down but I find myself constantly drawn back to it. It has an elusive quality but is also shot through with a strong sense of the English landscape, particularly in On Downland. Go to Richards site to find out more.

Cyndy Burton, Jeff Elliot, Stephen Sedgwick and John Doan

The phone rang. It was Jim. 'Look, could you get that Panormo finished by Saturday? John wants to play some newly discovered Sor pieces on it! As you're coming anyway you could bring the guitar with you...' As it turned out the 1832 Panormo (French style; ladder braced) sounded grand especially with John playing it (The Sor pieces turned out to be freshly written rather than newly discovered). When I walked in John was playing a harp guitar made by Stephen Sedgwick. I hadn't seen Stephen for over ten years but he's aged better than me. His harp guitar sounded wonderful too. He and John were deep in conversation with Jeff Elliot and Cyndy Burton about harp guitars and guitar making generally. Jeff is one of the worlds finest guitar makers and builds with a simple elegance and a respect for the tradition of the guitar. I first heard one of Jeff's guitars many years ago at the Wigmore Hall played by Julian Bream, and it was lovely to meet him and Cyndy, albeit briefly.
Jim got a bottle of Madeira out from somewhere and we all marvelled at the fact that it was made ten years before the Panormo.
John Doan is not only a fine player but a great guy as well and talks about the guitar with huge enthusiasm. We spoke at length about the relationship between player and maker. Some players just don't get it (believe me, I know) but it was clear that John had a great respect for the makers he has worked with. If you get the chance to hear John play; grab it.

The Cordefactum Guitar Makers Fair in Belgium has been one of the most enjoyable guitar events I have attended and credit should be given to the team from CMB who organised it. CMB is a prominent instrument making school in Belgium and the standard of work on display was fine indeed.
After tunnelling our way under the English channel, and cruising up the N16 through France and Belgium, the calm 18th century elegance of the Casteel d'Ursel was something of relief. It was filled with guitar makers from all over Europe. For me this was a grand opportunity to meet some new makers and players and to renew old acquaintances. Marc Peirelinck (I was at the London College of Furniture with Marc in 1985) was there as he is one of the tutors at CMB. We discussed guitars, old times and more guitars...


Good also to catch up with James Lister, who is currently one of the tutors at Newark. James had some handsome guitars with him including one with eye-catching kingwood back and sides.
A new face to me was Pete Beer who had some fine guitars on view. Pete pointed out a pike in with the carp in the still waters of the moat...
One of the highlights of the festival was the quality of the lectures and performances. I missed Fabian Zenon but heard many good comments the following morning.
The classical guitar makers lecturing throughout the 3 days were Andreas Tacchi from Italy, Gernot Wagner from Germany and Paul Fischer from the UK. Gernot and Andreas both gave an insight into their personal methods of working; Gernot Wagner has been one of the guitar makers to pioneer the use of laminated or 'double' tops. Paul took a different approach and spoke of the development of 20th century English guitar making. Starting with Dolmetsch at the end of the 19th century, Paul then spoke of his time with the late David Rubio, before concluding with the contribution made by some of the UK instrument making schools such as the London College of furniture and Newark. Andreas spoke of the importance of top selection and the way in which he selects logs up in the mountains and then evaluates the timber. He also spoke of measuring the speed of sound in spruce, a topic that interested many present.

Leaving Belgium late on a mellow Sunday afternoon we had a somewhat unplanned foray into Gent and then coasted back down the almost empty motorway. The soft evening sky looked huge above the flat land of northern France; the channel tunnel felt like a spaceship and Kent was dark and wet. We arrived back home past midnight and I found myself drawn into the workshop, fired up and full of ideas...