My name is Noel McKay, and I’m a songwriter. For years, my songs have been my passport, taking me around the globe, and I wouldn’t trade this life for any other. The experiences and connections made through music are invaluable.
Early in my career, at the age of 23, I found myself playing a festival in Texas. The headliners were none other than Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt. After my set with my brother, Guy Clark, a towering figure in songwriting, approached us backstage. He expressed genuine appreciation for our music, singling out one of my songs. He asked me to send him all my recorded songs to his Nashville home. I distinctly remember his Lee Press-on Nails, a unique detail on his right hand, used for his distinctive guitar picking style. I sent him a cassette tape, and he actually tried to help my brother and me secure a record deal, though it didn’t pan out.
Over time, my connection with Guy deepened. He would always ensure I got into his shows whenever he played in Texas, whether it was Austin, Bandera, or San Antonio.
I think Guy thought I wasn’t that serious about the guitar.
In more recent years, the opportunities to collaborate and spend time with Guy increased. My brother and I, and later my duet partner Brennen Leigh, often opened shows for him and his accompanist, Verlon Thompson. As I began spending more time in Nashville, I naturally found myself hanging out at Guy’s house more frequently.
Our collaborations extended beyond just performances. We wrote songs together, including “El Coyote,” which featured on his Grammy-winning album, My Favorite Picture Of You. Guy Clark’s legendary status as a songwriter is well-known. However, what many might not realize is that Guy Clark was also a master guitar builder, practicing the craft in an old-world, traditional style.
About a year prior to writing this, Guy and I embarked on a unique project: building a guitar together. This is the story I want to share with you.
It was around January 2012 in Nashville. I was sitting at Guy’s kitchen table with him, his wife Susanna, and Brennen Leigh, when Guy casually asked, “So you wanna build a guitar, huh?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “I’d like to build a triple O, just like the ones you make.” A triple O guitar, known for its balanced tone and comfortable size, was my aspiration.
We began discussing plans, but the project didn’t officially kick off until over a year later.
That following June, Brennen and I visited Guy and Susanna again. Susanna was particularly vibrant that day. We often brought them strawberry rhubarb pies from Texas, a treat that led her to affectionately call us “Brennen and the pie guy.” I remember her routine: smoking Marlboro 100s, using her oxygen tank, and then napping with the TV volume turned up.
On this particular visit, Susanna was exceptionally talkative. She reminisced about her close bond with Townes Van Zandt, recalling how much she missed him, how he was always there for her and called daily. “We just had a really strong connection,” she emphasized. Guy, with a touch of dry humor, rolled his eyes and quipped, “On a whole other level.” After spending some time with them, Brennen and I said our goodbyes, promising to see them soon, before heading off for a tour in Norway. Just four days later, an email arrived in Oslo with the devastating news of Susanna’s passing. I waited a few days before calling Guy, knowing his phone would be constantly ringing.
Paul said, “This is the same batch of spruce that Guy used in his #10 guitar.” I couldn’t believe my luck.
I eventually reached him via Skype from overseas to express my condolences. “It was a shock but not a surprise,” Guy said, acknowledging her long battle with lung cancer. He spoke fondly of Susanna, describing her as sweet, funny, eccentric, crazy, and beautiful until the very end. He recognized her brilliance as a world-renowned painter and a talented songwriter. It was clear how deeply Guy missed her.
A few months later, back in Austin, I was discussing my guitar-building aspirations with friends, mentioning the need to save up for materials. My friend Brian Atkinson immediately offered, “I’ll loan you the money, you have to do this!” His encouragement was the push I needed.
I ordered some supplies from a catalog and also sourced materials from the warehouse at Collings Guitars, where I had previously worked making bridges and pickguards. With materials in hand, I drove to Nashville, ready to begin building my guitar with Guy Clark.
We laid out the plans and started outlining the initial steps. Before leaving, I took the plans and the guitar sides home to cut them to the correct dimensions.
My visits to Nashville became roughly monthly, so the guitar building process was initially slow. During those early visits, Guy was more interested in hearing new songs from Brennen and me, or working on songwriting together. I sensed he doubted my commitment to actually building a guitar.
Let me share a bit about the guitars Guy Clark had built over the years. While he had built and given away many, the guitars he kept at his house were numbers #1, #4, and #5. These were all nylon-string classical or flamenco guitars, built entirely from scratch, without kits or prefabricated parts. I had the honor of playing his #4 guitar for the lead part on “El Coyote” on Guy’s Grammy-winning record. Also in his collection were #10, which is, without question, the best sounding guitar I have ever encountered; and #11, his stage guitar, equipped with a custom-sized bridge to accommodate a McClish pickup system. Lastly, there was #13, which had been plagued with problems since its construction due to a persistently loose bridge.
Guitars #10, #11, and #13 were steel-string 000-style guitars, built using mail-order kits. Guitar #10 was slightly unique because its top was crafted from a piece of German spruce gifted to Guy by his friend and respected luthier, Paul McGill. This German spruce, along with the back wood, was apparently too thick and needed planing. Guy suggested using Paul McGill’s planing sander for this task.
Paul McGill was incredibly kind and patient with my inexperience. He planed the rosewood back joint and glued it for me. He planed it to a specific thickness, then handed me the caliper to measure, instructing, “You do the rest.” Nervous about making a mistake, I carefully managed to complete the planing. Paul then examined my Sitka spruce top material and commented, “I’m not sure if you have enough good wood here for a triple O. Maybe for a double O,” referring to a smaller body size.
Then, he offered generously, “I usually don’t do this, but I have an old piece of German spruce that’s been laying around for a long time. Would you like to have it for this guitar?” Overjoyed, I accepted immediately. “Are you kidding? Of course.” He then revealed, “This is from the same batch of spruce that Guy used for his #10 guitar.” I was astounded by my incredible luck. If my guitar could sound even remotely as good as #10, it would be extraordinary. I was truly thrilled.
Paul was about to demonstrate a neck reset on an old Martin guitar, something I was eager to learn. However, Guy was tired and ready to leave. I profusely thanked Paul, and we drove back to Guy’s house. Guy settled into his chair, and after saying goodbye and thank you again, I drove home in a happy haze, overwhelmed by the day’s events and the incredible gift of the German spruce.
Next time, I’ll share the next steps in the guitar building process with Guy, including bending the sides, installing the rosette, gluing in the tail and neck blocks, and the unexpected setback involving that amazing German Spruce top. Will we be able to salvage it? Stay tuned to find out.
Photos courtesy of Noel McKay.
Read Part 2, Building a Guitar with Guy Clark: Fixing Your Mistakes.
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