Repair and Its Influence on Building

I don’t just build guitars—I spend a ton of time fixing them too. If you need something fixed, setup or just checked on, schedule a visit to my shop, I'd be happy to help. 

When I first dove into repair work, I was floored by the skill and wisdom of the luthiers I stumbled across online. Seriously, some of these folks are wizards. Even now, I’d argue that in general, repair luthiers have the deepest, most practical grasp of a guitar—its physics, its quirks, its soul. They’ve seen it all, and I’ve been soaking it up like a sponge.

My repair skills grow right alongside my building chops. Every busted guitar that lands on my bench? It’s a goldmine—a chance to poke around, figure out what makes it tick, or what made it crack. Studying other repair folks—their techniques, their philosophies—has totally shaped how I design and build. I’ve got a ton respect for builders who share their secrets, these folks too are wizardly for certain, but if I had to carve my own Mount Rushmore of guitar heroes, you’d see Dan Erlewine, Doug Proper, Joe Glaser, and TJ thompson staring back at you. Honestly, I could keep chiseling faces—Mark Stutman for one, too many legends deserve a spot—but I’d need a bigger mountain!

These folks have been generous enough to put their knowledge out there, and without that, I’d be lost. No apprenticeship, no fancy training—just me, a guitar, the internet and some books. I’m forever grateful luthiers are so open. Oh, and I’ve gotta shout out the Looth Group, run by Ian Davlin over on Patreon. It’s this killer community packed with passionate luthiers—some of the best in the game, some on my rushmore. I’ve met them, learned from them, and stuffed my brain so full of their wisdom I’m practically bursting. If you’re a luthier at any level, join up. Trust me.

Repair and Design

Repair experience. It’s a big part of how I design my guitars. I’m still a student here, piecing together what I’ve learned from those way ahead of me. I’ve made some serious strides—my work’s impressive—but I’ve got miles to go before I’m anywhere near these Nashville luthier legends living amongst us. Still, I’m building my own approach, bit by bit, about what makes a guitar really work.

Playability is Paramount

Rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? Couldn’t resist that one. For me, it’s all about the player. I want my guitars to feel like old friends—effortless, broken-in, and ready to sing. No neck’s gonna be perfect for every hand, but there are things I can do that too many factory guitars skip. Filing nut slots just right, rounding off fretboard edges, leveling frets under string tension, and—most importantly—actually playing the thing myself to see how it feels. These are little moves, but They’re game-changers for how a guitar sits in your hands.

Structure and Forethought

Then there’s what’s under the hood. Peek inside an acoustic through the soundhole, and you’ll spot the skeleton—braces, joints, the works. Electrics have their own hidden structure, even if it’s less obvious. Every guitar’s got one shared enemy: string tension. It’s the magic that makes ‘em sing, but over decades, it’s also what pulls ‘em apart.

Thanks to vintage repair gurus, we’ve got a front-row seat to how tension messes with guitars—20, 50, even 100 years down the line. With love and care, Some designs hold up ; others… not so much. I study those survivors, mix in some modern tricks, and aim to build instruments that’ll last. With an army of humidifiers and some careful owners, I’m betting my guitars will outlive me—that’s the plan, anyway. For me It’s in the details: every glue joint, every brace, every seam. The final product is a sum of its parts, they must all work together, like a song. 

My new TripleNaught model for example. This design has solid lining, sloped shoulders with an engineered neck block and equally thoughtful neck joint. The side struts extend through the linings all the way across the sides width, these construction details alone add days to the build. I use carbon fiber where wooden parts are liable to fail over time. A carbon spruce carbon lamination makes for an extremely light, extremely stiff bridge plate perfect for distributing the forces of the strings right at the heart of the stress. In addition to a dual action truss rod every neck is built with 6mm carbon rod reinforcements that run from the nut to the 19th fret. How I join the neck allows me to remove it easily, and also makes for a much larger surface area where the neck and body are connected. This is a mixture of 19th century instrument construction and completely modern material design. I dont think Ive invented anything here, but it’s my particular perspective and blending of construction techniques that I think sets my guitars apart.