Libby Ramer

In an interview with director and MTV mainstay Liam Lynch, musician Josh Homme (Queens of the Stone Age, Kyuss) cited guitar designer Fred Mangan's penchant for converting found, esoteric objects into functioning works of art. While Homme deemed the concept original, the root of his concession lay with the man-behind-the-plan. Fortunately, for local collectors and musicians, Mangan came to this conclusion a few decades ago.

Beginning this month, Chicagoans get a visual and aural blast from Mangan’s exotic guitars, dangling from the ceiling of his new shop like freshly slain beasts. In addition to professional repairs and supplies, Electric Guitars by Fred Mangan showcases the talent of the Franklin Park native, whose work already outfits local venues like Gold Star, Atomix and Marshall McGearty’s. Aesthetically, the guitars are outlandish. Yet, however unorthodox the comprising materials are, the resulting instrument is weight-balanced, plays flawlessly and sounds acutely musical.

The plain storefront clinching the corner of Western and Augusta belies its meticulously adorned interior—inside, multifarious fliers from Sonic Youth and Pavement are checkered among local favorites like Naked Raygun, Ministry and Wesley Willis, all of whom Mangan has toured with. A glass case of new-and-used effects pedals segments off the back area of the shop, and the small, adjoining room hosts hundreds of vintage parts used for custom Frankensteins.

Mangan reveals that the space was formerly used as a funeral parlor, and though he chalks the selection up to "decent rent," the locale kicks off a motif evident in much of his work.

Typically, Mangan will jack-up a discarded, defunct object—like wood he rescued from a pawnshop fire at 63rd and Kedzie—and reassemble it piece-by-piece to create new context and life, often jolting it with his roguish wit. Homme’s own ChristOcaster model is a gleefully blasphemous, crucifix-inspired number, made from nineteenth-century church-organ pipes that Mangan acquired near 47th and MLK Drive. The Six-Day War-inspired Tel AvivOcaster features a massive Star of David as the body and a solid black neck, with a tone and output that promises to be "crushing." It turns out a satellite dish, found on a rooftop during the rave years, makes for a sturdy guitar base, and an electric number built from a vintage Goldberg film reel, with its solid aluminum billet and smooth maple neck, will satisfy high-end collectors.

Though he’s quick to credit local luthiers like Geoff Benges and Rockin’ Billy’s for solid restorations and smoking repairs, it goes without saying that Mangan’s is the only local shop making guitars—like these, at least. The burgeoning clientele, which includes some art-school kids and curious East Villagers, orbits largely around musicians who recognize the guitars’ quality.

"I’m in there frequently," says Safecraka, of local duo Ex-Explosion. "His creativity is its own thing—but when it comes to modifications, he’ll treat a guitar like an old sports car…it’s pretty inspiring what he’s doing."

Asked about his influences, Mangan recounts an inquisitive youth rampant with musical experimentation. "My first guitar was a piece of crap," he laughs. "My father bought it at Kmart and it was the best we could afford. I knew what I heard on recordings was way better. A teacher showed me why it performed so poorly…and I proceeded to take it apart, modify it and put it back together. Like twenty-five or thirty times, that year."

He then learned to play it by placing large glasses of water on top of his mother’s 45s as they spun, "everything from Elvis to the mid-sixties Beach Boys," and the weight would slow the rotation so he could pick up on the chords.

Role models came in the form of his eccentric grandfather with a knack for fashioning widgets like "grass trimmers made with motors from old washing machines," and 1970s Maxwell Street where, Mangan remembers, "the old blues guys did every possible thing wrong by current standards, and managed blistering music nonetheless."

When financial obstacles prevented a formal art education, Mangan went to work in a sheet-metal fabricator’s shop, moving along to other trade gigs such as building engineer, while maintaining a side-business, Band Taxi, setting up concerts. However, he kept dabbling in local bands, like Fire Truck, and tweaking guitars—experimenting with increasingly complex materials as he gained familiarity.

Eventually, his trials produced objets d’art; though, he maintained a rigid balance between "a guitar that was easily playable and one that sounded fantastic—just in case Smithsonian didn’t bite." While Mangan values the creative process, sound quality is something he stands by resolutely.

"I built three guitars last year that would not sound good, no matter what," he says. "They took months to build, but are in the trashcan because they sounded awful."

The happy medium? "Got this thing that a gallery might show or a musician might want to play."

Mangan plans to discount his guitars for any local, struggling musicians or serious collectors, and when he’s not spending time at "any horrible looking secondhand store south of 35th Street" he’s usually in the shop, occasionally bringing along his 6-year-old daughter. When asked if there’s anyone he won’t cater to, he considers the question before answering, "I would like to avoid the self-proclaimed guitar expert. These guys talk so much shit and play so little guitar it’s painful," he says. "They have real fancy guitar straps though."

Electric Guitars by Fred Mangan, 2351 West Augusta, (312)497-2418.

(2007-06-26)

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