Spruce up

Amongst certain bass guitar owners' groups there is a bit of a tradition to photograph one's instrument in front of the Christmas tree.  And with a guitar stand now to hand, I could take part.  But oh, the horror!  The fingerboard was in dire need of a clean, and the frets about as bad.  In fact, the patina was bordering on crud.  Some say "the funk is in the gunk", but only if you're James Jamerson*, so it was time to roll up my sleeves.

But first, supplies.  Actually, first was a lazy morning doing very little.  Then lunch.  And then I cycled to the hardware shop. "A good afternoon to you my good man, I should like to pur-chase a hundred grams of your finest and most delicate woollen steel please? <tap><tap><tap>"I 'aven't got that one, ma'am, but I've got, umm, two 'undred?" "I'm most vexed! Indeed, I shan't require such quantities for the task at hand. But very well, thank you. I shall take the one you have." <beep><beeeep><print> "A good day and a merry Christmas to you sir!"  Well, words to that effect anyway.

The quick trip to the supermarket for coffee required no such pride and prejudicial conversational majesty, or any conversation whatever in fact,  so I was in and out in a trice and pedalling hard into the wind to get home.

With the strings off the bass the full crudliness was starkly revealed so I went at things with my Stanley knife blade-as-scraper for a good hour or more.  Good grief the stuff that came off.  Probably ten or fifteen years' worth.  Then it was time to polish the frets with the steel wool.  At "0000" grade it feels like silk that's gone wrong.  Another hour went by, of gentle, prolonged scrubbing with steel dust accumulating and 22 frets later we were all done.  I didn't have any plain linseed oil to feed the rosewood; I have lots of teak oil but that would go varnishy, and extra virgin olive oil would go sticky, so I didn't bother.  A good wipe down over the rest of the bass, strings on, and we were all done.

For an encore I put Henri's pumped up industrial cousin around the house and then set to photographing bass and tree together.  Then it was time for tea, aaand relax.

* Apparently he never even changed the strings