The two sisters? Or perhaps cousins? Second cousins? Perhaps it would be better to say foster sisters…

Well, yes, because they are not two Fenders. One is handmade in Italy, the other, the Fender, is made in Mexico. And they are, at least in appearance, emblematic of Fender’s golden years, roughly from the mid-1950s to the mid-1960s. They are not really vintage, at least the Fender isn’t: it would be impossible for me to buy one, the prices are absurd. But it is a reproduction (from 2006) of how Stratocasters were built 60 years earlier at Fender in California. They have the specifications of the first Stratocasters, and even the color is very typical of that era, very 1950s, even though the painting technique was quite different. The foster cousin, on the other hand, has the typical appearance and most common color of the 1960s Stratocasters; then Fender was sold to CBS and things changed. But this guitar is perhaps closer to the real Fenders of the time, even if it has a completely different history.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I play the Stratocaster rather than the electric guitar. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I was influenced at a young age. When I heard mythological stories about it, I was fascinated, and when I saw one for the first time, I was struck by lightning! Another blow, of a different kind, struck me when I read the price on the label. It became my forbidden dream. After some time, my parents bought me my first electric guitar. I was expecting a humble hollow body à la Beatles, like some of my friends had. Instead, it was a Stratocaster! It wasn’t a Fender, of course, it was an imitation. But I was beside myself. I will never forget that feeling. It was a copy of the late 70s Stratocaster (we are talking about that period), with an ash body, unvarnished but only covered with a clear coat, the wood grain clearly visible. The neck was maple, the tuners were very cheap, and the pickups were non-standard for a Strat, they were DI Marzio Super Distortion. It also had a 70s-style headstock, which I don’t really like, but it was love at first sight! Who cared about the headstock! I had a Stratocaster. I never thought my dream could come true!

I spent years playing it, damaging it, wearing it out, and then betrayed it for a young PRS. I never saw it again. I gave it to my cousins, who eventually gave up playing, and it disappeared, probably irreparably damaged. It’s my biggest regret as a guitarist. I had stopped playing in a band, so the PRS spent most of its time in its case. When I started playing again, my childhood dream was rekindled, perhaps also because of the bad period I was going through, and I said to myself: you know what? I’ll give it a try. I put the PRS up for sale. Some people screamed sacrilege! It was one of those still handmade in the USA! But I wanted, in fact I had, to try! If I managed to sell it for a good price, I would buy a Stratocaster! Maybe even one made in the USA! I managed to sell the PRS for a very good price, but it wasn’t a time when I could spend too much money, so I took advantage of it to help with my expenses, managing to get my hands on a beautiful Stratocaster made in Mexico, a 2006 Classic Series 50s in Surf Green polyurethane. I felt a bit like a teenager who had unexpectedly found himself with his first Strat. I could hardly believe it. I was over fifty and as happy as a child with my new Stratocaster.

It was the guitar that marked my comeback. I played it for about 10 years, wearing it out and damaging the paintwork with knocks. But I also made some small improvements, such as fitting vintage Kluson by Gotoh tuners, which comply with the specifications of the time. I had a bone nut fitted and replaced the bridge saddles with Pure Vintage ones, also in line with the specifications of the time, with the Fender Patented inscription as in the past. The jack socket is the excellent Switchcraft and the bridge block is made of steel instead of the zinc used in the cheaper versions.

Then I met the other one.

I met a new luthier, Franco Angeli from Viterbo, to whom I took my guitar in for an setup. He gave me one of his guitars so that I wouldn’t be without one for a few days. I was amazed. What a sight! It was a marvel to hold and to look at. Over time, I had developed a certain aversion to sunburst Stratocasters. They felt old, and in fact I had bought a Strat with the cheerful, vivid, bright colors of the 1950s that others mocked. But this was something else. It had been finished with nitrocellulose paint, as in the old days: the paint impregnates the wood, rather than covering it like the polyurethane on my Mexican guitar. And I understood why it is so sought after. Let’s leave aside the debates about the influence on the sound: a polyurethane finish suffocates the wood, while nitrocellulose lets it breathe. What struck me most was the feel: I could feel the wood, a natural contact, the guitar vibrated in my lap; the neck, sanded down to simulate wear, was pleasantly slippery and woody. I had never experienced such a feeling playing an electric guitar. I couldn’t take my hands off it.Not even my eyes: the light relic finish gave it a vintage charm, enhanced by the mint green pickguard that reproduces the yellowing of the plastics used by Fender in the 1960s (which, incidentally, were sourced from Italy). The knobs, pickup covers, Gotoh tuners and bridge have also been artificially aged, but the final look is exceptional—it really captures the eye!

However, the specifications are not vintage 1960s. The pickups are also made in Italy, by another luthier, Romano Burini. They are his David Gilmour (DG) Set. Very high quality, essentially a typical Fender sound but richer in harmonics. The neck is thinner and the fingerboard has a modern 12-inch radius. It is made of beautiful Indian rosewood, flat, and therefore comfortable and fast for me, as I was used to the thick vintage neck with a 7.5-inch fingerboard radius. I returned it and thought about what to do to get my Mexican-made guitar closer to that level. I sanded the neck. Better, but we were still nowhere near. The reality was that the body needed to be stripped and refinished in nitro. It would have been cheaper to have another body made from scratch. And then the frets were worn, close to the limit. Replacing them on a lacquered maple fretboard is very expensive. In the end, after doing some calculations, it might have been better to resell it to partially finance the purchase of the magnificent luthier’s Strat. It was my wife who convinced me: for my 60th birthday, she, my son, my sister, and my parents contributed the bulk of the money; a collection among my closest friends added a nice helping hand. The luthier himself helped me out by allowing me to pay for it in installments.

I couldn’t sell the Fender. Better that way. They make a beautiful pair, one with the flashy 1950s color and the other more sober, with its 1960s livery. If I love the Stratocaster, it’s only right to have one that represents the beginning of its history and another that represents the peak of the following decade. They’re not sisters because they weren’t born in the same shop: one was born at Fender in Mexico, from Leo Fender’s first idea in the 1950s when he invented the Stratocaster; the other was born near my house, lovingly crafted with carefully selected, high-quality parts. People can’t tell the difference. When they hear you play, what do they know? What do they care if your guitar is cheap or handcrafted? They have no idea, and whether the guitar they’re hearing you play costs $300 or $30,000 makes no difference to them. The difference is for the person playing it. It doesn’t have to cost thousands of dollars to be good. The point is the connection you create with the instrument. An instrument that calls to you, that invites you to play it, pushes you to play more and play better. A special relationship is created between the instrument and the musician. An instrument built in a factory, on a production line, can still be beautiful, but it will never give you the same feeling as an instrument that has been professionally handcrafted. Building it is as much an art form as playing it. You can’t see the difference, or maybe you can a little, but you can’t really hear it either. Those who play it, however, can clearly perceive it and, once they’ve tried it, they can’t do without it.