Nashville Barnwood Telecaster
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A tremor in the gloom, that was how it began—an almost imperceptible stirring where only dust motes and long‑dead silence had held dominion. What emerged was no factory‑bred contrivance, no obedient child of the production line. It was a resurrection. A thing carved from the ghosts of England’s forgotten corners: barnwood steeped in the hush of unrecorded years, roofing timber that had endured the lash of unkind weather, even the weary slats of a garden bench abandoned to moss and memory. All of it summoned, all of it reforged, until a Tele‑shaped relic stood where ruin once lay. Singular. Irreproducible. The sort of creation that could only have come from the shadowed workshops of Rat Bait Guitars, where craftsmanship edges perilously close to sorcery.
Its ancestry murmured of Nashville’s classic Telecaster, yet the instrument carried itself with a rakish confidence entirely its own—right‑handed, six‑stringed, twenty‑two frets of pale maple kissed with a thin, spectral nitro coat, as though time itself had brushed past and left a trace. And like any revenant crossing from one world to the next, it travelled with modest attire: a simple gig bag, unassuming, ready to accompany it into whatever barroom, backline, or dimly lit stage dared to host its voice.
This was no museum darling polished for admiration at a distance. It was built for work—real work. The kind that demands grit under the fingernails and sweat on the fretboard. Rough around the edges where it ought to be, smooth where it must be, and utterly devoid of the sterile gloss that plagues factory‑fresh pretenders. An honest instrument, its attitude born not of artifice but of the lived history in its reclaimed grain.
Electronics
Tele bridge pickup + single‑coil middle + Tele neck pickup
3‑way switch
Grey pearl pickguard, bearing the scars of its former life
Specifications
Scale length: 25.5
Nut width: 42mm
Body thickness: 44mm
Weight: 3.6kg
10mm machine heads, strap buttons
It stood now in the familiar silhouette of a Tele, yet its spirit was older, shaped by the quiet endurance of its previous incarnations and faintly reminiscent of those enigmatic Japanese builds of the sixties and seventies—Jedson among them. To the discerning seeker, the sort who listens for stories in the grain and secrets in the joinery, this guitar would not present itself as a commodity. It would feel like an encounter arranged by fate.
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Fashioned in the Nashville tradition, it was one of those rare creations that seemed complete from the moment its parts first met. Some subtle alchemy of balance and temperament—its easy compliance, its bright, cutting voice, the way its weight settled naturally against the body—conspired to make it a pleasure to craft and a greater pleasure still to set ringing beneath the hands.
