I Visit Eric

David Klingenberger’s exclusive interview with the premiere guitar designer and picker, Eric Schoenberg, for folkandbluesnews.com. Hope you enjoy this journey to the tiny California tourist community of Tiburon and the conversations that fill the air in and around an inspirational guitar shop located there. 

Jumping aboard the restored City of Baltimore streetcar, this story begins.  The streetcar is now part of the historic F-Line fleet in San Francisco. I’m riding it to the famous Fisherman’s Wharf.  At the wharf, I plan to board a ferry and cross the bay to Tiburon. That’s where I will find the talented subject of this interview.

The day begins like most days in this Baghdad-by-the-Bay. It is pleasantly cool and gray on this 24th day of May (dare I say) 2K. Market Street is alive. The Civic Center Farmers’ Market is crowded. The sun sneaks through the gray, and the gold dome of the San Francisco city hall building shines. I see that Richard Chamberlain is starring in "The Sound of Music" at the Orpheum Theater. Richard must be the biggest celebrity in the production and not playing the part of Maria, which I always thought was the starring role.

The business people who mean business have exited the trolley mid-route, and some tourists join me for the rest of the ride. Joggers and bladders cruise the streets. I arrive at the ticket window just in time for the 12:30 ferry to Tiburon. It’s a crisp cool ride on the rear deck of the ferry as I watch the towers of the city grow smaller. I move inside to the front windows and watch the little cove of Tiburon grow bigger as we approach.

The ferry docks, and we go ashore and up the pier to the street. There, the merchants stand ready in the doors of their shops and boutiques. I follow the signs to the Arc Shops and look for 106 Main Street. It is identified by a hanging sign that is in the shape of (what I now know to be) a Schoenberg soloist guitar. I have reached the home of the legendary Eric Schoenberg Guitars.  (For all of you outside of Tiburon, that’s www.OM28.com.) As I enter, Eric stands at his workbench, surrounded by an incredible array of vintage and new stringed instruments of the finest quality. We greet, and I tell him about the interview that I would like to conduct. He works on the spinnaker pole of the 35-year-old sailboat that he is restoring. I stow my gear and go for coffee.

I return with a hot cup, and Eric is munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He hands me some background materials. There’s a reprint of a 1985 article that he co-authored for Guitar Player Magazine about classic Martin OMs. And, there’s a September 1998 article in Acoustic Guitar that refers to Eric as an OM evangelist with a photo of him playing a 1931 OM-45. We discuss the term “evangelist,” and it’s meaning and present day connotations. We discuss the word “guru,” too. We decide for the sake of it that being an evangelist isn’t such a bad label. The final piece of literature is a full-color brochure about the Schoenberg Guitar. It is titled, “Growing Towards the Past.”

Joe Miller enters. He is the shop guitar teacher. Joe goes into his room. Eric shows me Joe’s CD, Semi-Traditional Guitar Solos. The CD is distributed by Rising Sleeves in Berkeley. Eric stows the spinnaker when a customer comes in for some strings. Tourists start to poke in and out. Joe’s first student arrives. Eric unpacks my Grinnell guitar and de-strings it with his handy power tool. He notices some small cracks on the back and searches for the glue pot. The phone rings. I take a folding chair out to the porch and sit in the sun waiting to ask the first official question of the interview. 

With a few people now inside the shop, I re-enter and ask Eric the first question.

Q: Do you walk to work or carry your lunch?

A: I drive and keep my peanut butter here.

Q: What’s the first song you remember hearing? What was your first musical recollection?

A: My dad singing folk songs like “The Foggy Dew.” I remember him singing it beautifully and strumming the guitar. I was six or so.

Eric’s next major musical memory is of his older brother finger-picking “John Henry.” When Eric was eleven, he went off to camp and started guitar lessons. The camp was called Buck’s Rock. It was in Pennsylvania and the teachers were Winnie Winston and Josh Rifkin. Winnie procured Eric’s first guitar. It was painted orange and cost $15. Winnie fixed the action. Winnie was a member of the Bluegrass Ramblers, a really good band from upstate New York. Eric thinks that Winnie now lives in New Zealand. Josh Rifkin played guitar in the Even Dozen Jug Band (Elektra Records) and gained wider fame with his Nonesuch piano recordings of Joplin Rags. Eric thinks Josh is now a professor at a university. The seeds for Eric’s love of the ragtime form and finger picking were sown in those early days.  

Q: What was the first record that you owned?

A: The New Lost City Ramblers…I Truly Understand You Love Another Man…Paley, Seeger and Cohen…East Virginia Blues. I found a record store on 6th Avenue that carried Folkways remainders, cut-outs and overstocks. Every time a New Lost City LP came out, I got it and learned the finger-picking tunes.

Eric started to hang out with Howie Tarnower, another young folkie from Teaneck, New Jersey. “Our mothers knew each other,” Eric recalls. The boys took guitar lessons together in Inglewood. They performed “Shuckin’ the Corn” at a school talent show. Howie on banjo. Eric on guitar. “We even got to play it over the intercom in the morning as an advertisement for the show.” Eric painted “J-200” on the peg head of his orange guitar. Another seed was sown. Eric needed to customize guitars.

Q: What was your first real guitar?

A: It was a Goya nylon string that cost $59. It was not it at all.

When Eric was sixteen, he got a Martin O-18 for $94, which included a strap and a hardshell case. “Months later, I was on the #167 bus heading into New York for the Sunday gathering at Washington Square when I saw a guitar in a thrift store window. It looked like a Martin.” Monday, after school, Eric returned to the store and purchased his second O-18. It had a hole in its side and cost $10, as is. Eric took the injured Martin to the famed D’Angelico guitar shop and had it repaired for $25.

Eric started visiting Fretted Instruments on 6th Avenue and was taken under the wing of the store’s proprietor, Mark Silber. “He was fantastic. He was great…my first big influence.” Mark gave Eric a job cleaning banjos. The store was a hotbed of musical activity. Eric met future all-star pickers David Grisman, Jody Stecher and Eric Thompson back there at the dawn of the “Great Folk Music Scare” of the early 1960’s. (That phrase belongs to my old friend, Che. He is a blues buff and hot dog maven from Michigan.) In 1962 or ’63, Eric was present at Fretted Instruments for what could only be described as a Folk-Blues Summit. Dick Waterman had just discovered the whereabouts of Son House and brought him to New York. It was the same time period that Skip James was re-discovered. So there was Son, Skip, Bukka White, Mark Silber and Eric Schoenberg sitting in a circle passing around a guitar and swapping songs. “I passed the guitar right on when it was handed to me.” That was the day Skip James got a Martin O-18.

Eric visited his brother, Mark, at college in Washington, D.C. They went to a place called Ontario Place and heard Mississippi John Hurt perform. Eric met Hurt after the show, and they made plans to visit again when John came to New York. Eric remembers John saying, “I’m always happy to see a familiar face.” And sure enough, when Eric went to see John perform in the Village, John was real happy to see Eric’s now familiar face. Eric attended every concert by every finger-picker that came around. He remembers hearing Elizabeth Cotton and Joseph Spence.

In 1964, Eric went off to college at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. Oakland was a small school full of under-achievers and assorted hipsters. There, he met up with Peter Koerner, a guitar player and singer who was already deep into Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters. He also hooked up with Glenn Goldman, an accomplished mandolin picker of old time tunes who now plays tuba in The Netherlands. Ed Rudolph was another one of Eric’s pals. Ed is an all-around string man who is still active in the Bay area string band scene, when he’s not editing video and updating the Schoenberg Guitars’ web page. Eric’s picking buddy from Teaneck, Howie Tarnower, also attended Oakland University.

Howie, Peter and Ed, along with Stu Goldberg and Bruce Worman, formed a band called the Urban Roots. The band cut a 45rpm for RCA. If they were English or pretended to be like some other bands, they might have done more than back up Howlin’ Wolf and others at the Chessmate, Roostertail and the other clubs that hosted folk and blues and electric bands. Butterfield also was playing around the same places as the Seigal/Schwall Band. Eric spent two years at Oakland University. He dropped out at the end of the second year when his mother passed away after a long illness.

At this time, I should mention the second most important influence on the young Eric’s musical life. It was his cousin, Dave Laibman. Eric returned to New Jersey where he found his cousin Dave hard at work on his first LP. “Dave was working on these rags and couldn’t get through the songs in the way he wanted without his hands getting tired. Dave Van Ronk suggested that he get a second guitarist for the recordings.” Dave decided on his cousin, Eric, for the job. “My cousin, Dave, basically taught me how to play…enriched chords, circles of fifths, voice leadings and counterpoint. He taught me how to have fun with music. We played for hours…played tunes into the ground. I began researching Joplin. I use to buy the sheet music and study it. Dave didn’t need the music. He played this pretty complex stuff. He played by ear.”

It’s closing time at Eric’s shop. He’s done gluing and restringing my guitar. He sits down and picks “Stardust.” We agree it’s one of the greatest American melodies ever. Eric is going to Sausalito to visit his sailboat. I’m going to spend the night with a friend. It turns out that Eric’s marina is right across the bridge from my friend’s crib.

We stand on the dock and look at the fine, old, teak-decked, broad-beamed ladies and the sleek poly-techno vixens resting in their slips. Eric points out his ’64 Rhodes 19 at a pier across the way, nestled between two big sisters. It’s very windy on the bay. The few sailboats out there are leaning way over in the blow. I leave Eric pondering whether or not to join the fray and spray. I’ll find out tomorrow.

It’s tomorrow. I’m on the #10 bus from Sausalito to Tiburon to spend afternoon #2 with Eric Schoenberg, guitar picker, designer, manufacturer, buyer, seller and evangelist. The bus driver is a most pleasant soul. She looks like she could be a blood relative to the late, great Pearl Bailey, who was also an ambassador of love. The bus riders are a mix of locals too young to drive; tourists on a budget; and folks from Latin America working as domestics in the area. Pretty much the same mix as you would find in most California coastal  communities.

1:30 pm Tiburon time and the tourists abound. I’m enjoying a cup of joe and a muffin at the New Morning Café. I begin to wonder how many of these vacationers discover Eric’s shop and buy a $260 or $2,600 or $26,000 guitar off the wall. I’ll ask him. “I think so…I don’t know…. It’s hard to say. Some tourists know I’m here.” Oh yeah, and he didn’t go sailing last night. His boating buddy didn’t show up because Eric had the wrong night in mind. The phone rings. Eric talks old Martins. I check my notes to see where to begin today’s memories. I decide to get bare-bones and chronological from Eric’s first recordings with Dave Laibman, then Steffen Grossman, and through his solo Rounder work, including the work on his current projects.

I wait in the shade of the tree in front of Eric’s shop and study the contents of the window. Hanging from left to right is a Seagull S6 Folk next to an elaborately inlaid Silber Hawaiian Lap next to an Art and Lutherie Wild Cherry. Behind the Silber Hawaiian hangs an old Epiphone recording model. Eric is off the phone. I re-enter the shop, and Eric says, “I think I just made some deals.” I ask if he bought or sold. Eric gets a far-away look while thinking about something else, “Guitars moving. Moving guitars.” I ask about the Epiphone in the window. “It’s from the mid to late 1920’s. They are a passion of mine. I adopted a couple that needed care. I’d been looking for them for years, and they wandered in the door. Each one has a story.”

I comment on the range of guitars in the store. Among the vintage Gibsons and Guilds and Martins is a New York Martin made in the century before last. Brand new Collings, Martins, and sometimes even a new Schoenberg (only five a month are completed and Eric is not the only dealer) hang next to new Seagulls and Art & Lutheries from Canada. Eric tells me that these starter priced guitars are the best he’s heard. All the work is in making them playable and not fancy looking. On the windowsill, there are three kid-sized guitars made in the Czech Republic. “I’ve been selling them for years. Serious instruments for serious young students.” Eric is unpacking a replacement case and informs me, “It arrived damaged. The guitar was okay.” I think to myself, “Good case.” I go for food.

Waiting at a table outside of Boudin’s Bakery, I see the same tourists circling the same few blocks. None of them are carrying souvenir guitar cases. I return to the store with a sandwich for Eric. I suggest stickers for the guitars that read, “I went to Tiburon, and all I got was this lousy guitar!” Eric thinks it might be a good idea.

It was time to get back to the interview. University ’64-’66, then what? Eric tells of working days at a mitten factory while attending night school and practicing with his cousin, Dave. He eventually quit the mitten biz and during a recording session decided to take the easy route and teach guitar in New Jersey. One of Eric’s students was a high school girl named Phoebe Laub. She is better known now as Phoebe Snow. “I had no idea what to do. I learned nothing in college. All there was…was music.”

Eric also gave real estate a try. His uncle owned a firm in Greenwich Village. His job description was “to tell rent-control tenants to fix it themselves.” Eric developed an enlarge thyroid and was off work for three weeks. He couldn’t go back when the time came. It was the end of Eric’s non-musical career.

At this turning point, Eric re-hooked up with Howie Tarnower, who had just returned from two years service with the Peace Corps in Korea.  Howie, wife Eileen and Eric took off for San Francisco.

Q: Okay. Where were we?

A: I didn’t stay long in California. That was probably a mistake. I went back east and taught guitar four days a week for way too long. One day I got a call from a woman that ran a coffee house at Hampshire College. She said, ‘Roy Bookbinder just played here and said we should hire you for a concert.’ Soon after that show, Eric got a call from another joint…’Andy Cohen just played here and said we should hire you.’ For the next couple of years, I kept getting calls from coffee houses. It was the beginning of the New Age pickers, and I was one of the few guys out there playing regular music…old age music.

Q: How did you end up with a store in Cambridge? (Eric is a partner in The Music Emporium on Massachusetts Avenue in the state of.)

A: I figured something…some offshoot of this would come up, but not teaching. Eric knew Stu Cohen in Pittsburgh, who ran a store called The Music Emporium. I use to go there once a year, in February, in my VW Beetle. Cohen lived in a Victorian mansion and had a big annual party called Scrimshaw. Cohen also wanted to open another store in the Boston area, so Eric partnered up and opened up the store near Porter Square. Eric was still on the road a lot, so a third partner came in to run the store.

A woman enters the Tiburon guitar shop. She wants a “knock around.” She plays a $228 A&L Wild Cherry. Next, she tries a one-piece cedar top for $259. She plays really well and orders a smooth finished pick guard for the cedar top.

Eric continues his story about the Cambridge store, the fire next door and how they moved up the street to the present location. He rewires his stereo/tape hookups in order to tape a record I found a few days back. It’s James Burton and Ralph Mooney, an original Capitol pressing in VG condition. It cost me $1. That’s another story for another day.

We are waiting to hear from Eric’s band mates in At Risk. He seems to think that there might be a rehearsal after closing time. If not, we are going to a lecture on jazz piano players given by Grover Sales at the BelTibLib.org, otherwise known as the library.  Eric works on the computer, and I work on this interview. We listen to a tape of a work in progress by an old student and friend of Eric’s named Alec Stone. “He’s an incredibly beautiful player,” Eric states as a fact. No pride or envy, just appreciation for a fellow picker. I decide to go for a stroll.

Tiburon is quite a town. The number one police problem is stray cats. The tourists have all boarded the last ferry back to San Francisco. The locals come out to walk dogs, have dinner, and go to the movies. I head back to Eric’s. It’s closing time and no rehearsal.

There is a good turnout at the lecture. We stand in the hallway outside the lecture room until Debby, the town librarian, sneaks us into the room. With big smiles, we sit on the floor in the aisle. Oh yes, Eric is married to the town librarian. Oh, lucky music man. Grover Sales is a very knowledgeable man. He has interviewed many of the keyboard greats and plays full versions of songs to illustrate their various styles. We learn about and hear Joplin, Morton, Blake, JP Johnson, Ellington, Smith, Hines, Biderbeck, Stacey and Waller. All the time, Sales is showing slides and playing air piano to his favorite riffs as we listen to Basie, Pete Johnson, Ammons, Lewis and Wilson. He finishes with a taste of what’s to come in the next lecture: Mary Lou Williams, Mel Powell and Nat Cole – The Pre-Boppers.

We help stack chairs and say goodnight to Debby. Eric is giving me a lift to Sausalito. We are hungry and stop for a quick bite. Eric tells a story about his affection for California. In 1967 when he was out here with Howie Tarnower, Eric was riding a bus across town. He was sitting near the back, and he took out his guitar and played a quiet tune. People clapped. Eric picked a rag. More applause. The bus driver pulled to a stop and turned around. Eric thought he was in trouble. “That was Joplin, wasn’t it?” the driver asked. They talked music a bit as the other passengers listened, then the trip resumed. For a New York boy, that was a California moment. So here he is, back in the Bay area after all these years.

Q: When did you open this store?

A: 1997.

Eric drops me off. Tomorrow, I will "get the rest of the story." Goodnight Mr. Harvey, where ever you are. Say goodnight, Mr. Durante. Goodnight, Gracie. Goodnight, Buckwheat.

The next day, while I’m waiting for Eric in front of the shop, a father and his son join me. Dad and I strike up a conversation. He proudly tells me,  “We’re an acoustic family. I sold my D-35 to buy my first house, but I still got my Norma, so I still play.”

Eric shows up to open the shop. Dad greets Eric, “We’re lined up.”

“That’s what I like to see,” Eric replies with a smile. He opens the store. Dad waves towards the open door and encourages his son to enter. He shakes his head like a proud but put-upon father.

“Enter heaven,” he tells the boy. Then turns to me, “He’s been buying junk guitars for years now.” We stay behind. Dad takes cell phone call. I try not to listen and peek in the window at the son playing a Seagull. Dad finishes his call and joins me at the window, “I got kids in the airport and stuck on the ground in Denver. We just got back from salmon fishing.” I ask if it was a family gathering. “Yeah, catching a break. I just finished a gig. Now, I get to cook for them all.”

He enters the shop. I continue to peek inside. The son has moved up to a starter Martin. It’s like one of those new baby Mercedes. I finally enter and join Eric and the boy’s father. They are looking at a $12,000 Martin hanging high over the counter. Eric takes a phone call, and I follow Dad back outside to the sidewalk for a smoke. “I had an acoustic folk rock band back in Iowa in the early 70’s,” he informs me. “Played in high school and in college. One guy is now a surgeon and another does DNA research. One of the guys just got out of rehab. He buys and sells guitars.” I ask him about himself. “I shoot movies and direct,” he tells me. Then, he tells me about a friend’s jug band in Virginia. We go back into the store.

The son is enjoying the little Martin a lot. Dad spies an old banjo-uke on the shelf, “That’s what got me started.” The boy asks his father to try the Martin. He plays a familiar tune saying, “I’m trying to find ‘Judy Blue Eyes’ in here.” Then, he rocks out. Next, he picks the opening of  ‘Blackbird’ and hands the guitar back to his son. The father tells me, “My great grandfather owned a speakeasy in Omaha called The Rendezvous. My grandma got the uke from him and passed it on to me when I was only ten. Frank Nitty has heard that uke being played. So did Jack Dempsey. The first song my grandma taught me was ‘That’s Where My Money Goes.’ It’s a rag.” He picks up the banjo-uke and whips off the first song he ever learned.

A mom with a baby on her back, a toddler in tow and two teens enters the action. The teen boy picks up a Seagull and begins to strum. Mom herds the toddler in to a chair, and the teen girl looks out the window. Eric takes down the information for shipping the Martin. The mom and her kids leave the shop. With their business done, the father and his son leave for the airport.

I’ve got more questions for Eric. He takes another phone call. Eric gets calls all the time from everywhere about old guitars. “Guitars moving. Moving Guitars,” is his mantra.

It’s serious tourist time at noon in Tiburon. The streets fill with people who like to look into the various shops. “Do you just sell guitars?” is a frequent doorway query. Running a store is a busy business. There’s the computer stuff; file cabinets full of information; boxes coming in to be unpacked; and boxes that need to be packed for shipping. Right in the middle of this old wooden building full of old and new cuts of wood, there are mountains of plastic shipping peanuts to be dealt with on a daily basis. And just when you think you can move on to the next project, there are more phone calls to take and make.

I go from guitar to guitar and strum a few favorite chords. I strum the Saga DG-200. It’s a Maccaferri copy made in Japan ($950). I move to the 14-fret “cylinder top and back” Vega ($2750). I move from one fine guitar to the next:

Mauer Single C ($3400);

’63 Gibson Hummingbird ($3300);

’37 Washburn/Regal ($3500);

Morton Tri-Cone with a German silver body and a top made of brass ($2950);

National Bendaway wood body with a single-cone resonator ($1350); and the

Epiphone Recording Model from the window (No $ Tag).

A tall, handsome man in his fifties wearing a tropical shirt and accompanied by two striking blond women enter the shop. He needs a tuner for his 8-string uke or something. We learn right away that he spends most of his time on his boat, fighting off pirates in the waters off Tahiti. Eric takes another call. The trio starts to talk commodities and futures. It’s time for me to go for a walk.

Now, I am at Bucky’s Place and The Grace Slick Collection. Bucky’s Place is full of high-quality stuffed animals and puppets. The Grace Slick Collection is a section of wall adorned with pastels and watercolors of hippie-looking girls lounging in the grass with various animals and full-face studies of Jerry Garcia. The art was all created by Grace Slick. I talk with Pat, the owner. Pat likes to sit in the sun in front of her store, smoke and talk with the women who run the shops next door. She owned the pet supply store down the street. She sold after 15 years. “I like this better,” she informs me. I joke that taking care of stuffed animals must be easier than taking care of real pets. She sets me straight, “I sold pet supplies, not pets.” I went back to Eric’s shop.

Eric is still on the phone and looking for an invoice in the file cabinet. I go for lunch. Someone once found lox and bagels in Tiburon for Eric, but he can’t remember where. I set out to find the place. As I stroll the streets reading menus posted in windows, I think of the New Morning Café around the corner. I picture the lovely young waitress with the long, braided hair and wearing her comfortable granny shoes who works there. That must be the place. I go there. “Oh no, we’re all out of bagels,” she says, but I come up with a plan. I run to the nearest bakery and buy one bagel and return to the café to continue my visit with the waitress. I tell her whom the sandwich is for, and she tells me about her ex who owned a guitar store in Sausalito and sold Schoenbergs. We talk about music and musicians. I say something about how nice it must have been to be around all that music, but she says, “It wasn’t that good. I never learned to play.”

As Eric enjoys his lunch, I try to form my most meaningful question.

Q: So, does it all come down to being with your instrument whether playing a song or finding a melody?

A: The experience is changing constantly. I hear a melody. It’s in the background, and it gets stuck in my mind. And then, I realize it’s there for a reason, and then I have to search for it. You have to find the source and listen. And, it comes out in the fingers. It’s the process. There’s a point, it doesn’t happen that often, when it comes out music. After messing with a tune for years...and I mean messing with it…until one day, it’s music. I’ve been into Hoagy Carmichal, and I messed with ‘Old Rockin’ Chair” for a long time. And, I listened to the Mills Brothers, 4 Boys and a Guitar. John Miller, a guitarist from Seattle, came in one day and noticed my Hoagy Carmichal songbook. He pointed to ‘Stardust’ and said, ‘This would be a good song for you. Do it in drop D, in the key of A. A whole new direction for me. John called it God’s chord.  Eric snatches a Martin OOO-28 with an OM neck, single cutaway with an Adirondack red spruce top, designed by Eric back in the days before he made Schoenbergs. Eric demos the drop D tuning by playing “Two Sleepy People.”

A young couple enters the shop. He plays the Maccaferri copy and the metal bodies that he “wishes he could buy.” He looks at his mate who simply smiles. Eric is putting new strings on a Schoenberg with a highly-flamed, koa-wood back. Eric tells me that he felt compelled to buy the guitar back from the dealer after it was delivered. “I paid retail. Well, I traded. He’s a good guy, and we were both happy.” The couple leaves. Eric plays a Dick Haymes CD. It has the four songs Haymes recorded with the Songspinners during the musicians strike back when BMI got started. Voices singing, the horn, strings and bass parts…it’s just like an orchestra. I love that stuff. Eric remembers the Sinatra recordings from the same period. He continues working and “sets up” a new guitar.

It’s the end of the formal interview. It’s Friday, Memorial Day weekend. Eric has one of his personal Schoenbergs on his knee. We talk about songs that we love and the players who bring them to life. Eric picks a Merle Travis arrangement of “The Tennessee Waltz.” Next, he picks “Old Rockin’ Chair” the Schoenberg way.

Howard Miley enters the guitar shop. We are all old friend. I must confess that I’ve known Eric Schoenberg for thirty-some years now. He was a good choice for my first journalistic outing with folkandbluesnews.com. Don’t you think so? We all talk about some old business and then some new business such as websites. It’s nice to sit and chat with old friends, but the time arrives when we must part ways. I’m going with Howard Miley to his place outside of Santa Cruz for the holiday weekend. And, It’s closing time at the Tiburon guitar shop.

By David Klingenberger 
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