It's an evolving notion, my affinity for imperfect symmetry. Some of if is influenced by
Japanese art aesthetics and some of it is plucked from punk and boho leanings. Lately, the added emphasis comes from an expanding
idea that feebler minds need additional structure while greater brains are more comfortable with chaos and the unknown.
But as it pertains to the endeavor embodied on this site, in
a nutshell:
I personally prefer guitars with flaws.
I think Jack White's preference of wrestling music out of a difficult instrument is philosophical
brilliance. I also think Willie Nelson's beat up acoustic is kinda kool. Kurt Cobain's preferring high string action is something
myself and other lefties have no trouble understanding yet has many right handed players baffled.
My personal Mutts are far more flawed than those I build for 'kustomers'.
I don't use mismatched scraps for buyers like I do for myself. My own guitars might have 4 or 5 different woods: mahog, poplar,
maple, alder and canarywood might all be glued together into an odd grain-riddled hardwood quilt that I eventually shape and
relatively hide the true extent of it's muttiness.
I love oggling online pictures of obscure 60's electric foreign guitars. I also like checking out Eastwood and other
builders who dig dorky shapes. I count myself in on the "I get it" thing. Mutt guitars come from a similar mind
bend as those but I take things even further...
I
liked the film Ed Wood because it boasts that underneath the surface of every creative
person's work is much more than meets the eye. Regardless of how quirky, additional unexpected depth gives us an opportunity
to appreciate previously unpondered thoughts. This can sometimes have the power to completely warp your whole reality tunnel
or sometimes it's just a fun and interesting chance to get a kick from someone else's unique way of seeing things. (this is
why I loved so much playing music for Anthony Burdin--I still enjoy mentally grappling with his isms and self-described 'scum'
philosophies.)
(tense shift warning)
In denying any affinity to religion, Einstein
wrote that one of the purest motives for religious thought comes from the wonderment of mystery. I get it. He's talking about
that thing you feel when you look at a star and ponder just how far away it really is. Your mind nearly implodes by the gravity
of it all but fortunately simultaneously explodes because the effort of comprehending that expanse made different lobes of
your brain connect where they otherwise remain segregated. It's that tickle tingling that's occuring--sublime enough to equate
with mysticism.
When I look at an old hot rod
or a piece of art or a highly unusual person or an overly complicated and kolorful tropical insect, I get a similar sensation.
But when I hear a self-righteous preacher telling me that he knows what god means by this or that--well, guess what?
That tickle tingle isn't happening. He's destroyed the original beauty and attraction to religion. He's killed the wonderment
of mystery.
Without naming certain guitar
builders, let's just say there's no wonderment of mystery when looking at or playing those instruments. I'm not completely
discounting the merits of appreciation for fine craftmanship, I'm just often distrusting the underlying motive for attempting
perfection (see Col. Hans Landa's speech about rats in Tarantino's Inglorious Basterds.)
I'm also dissing some of the mechanical
approaches for trying to rid out flaws. It reminds me of an old girlfriend who told me how stressed out her ex-husband would
get if one of his starched shirts was out of place in the closet. Nice is nice but perfect is...well, mentally ill.
Let me wrap up this little mind rant by being audacious enough
to say that when you hold, behold, play, scrutinize, laugh at or hear a Mutt guitar...I'm trying to give you a chance to play
with the concept of the wonderment of mystery. And that, amigo, is impossible for me to figure out how to price.
