guitarlab

Phase 1: Everything Must Go!

First things first, I felt like a one-man demolition crew. All the original electronics? Rip 'em out! We need room for the new stuff. Once the guitar was as hollow inside as my head before my first cup of coffee, I tackled the hardware.

The goal: A Bigsby at the bridge position. The problem? The old holes from the original bridge were staring at me like judging eyes. But since this isn’t high-society violin lutherie—this is Rock 'n' Roll—I deployed my patented "the more gunk, the better" technique. Using a healthy mixture of wood filler, glue, and good intentions, I plastered those holes shut. Is it visible? Maybe. Is it stable? Time will tell.

Phase 2: The Firebird is Denied Landing (Almost)

Let’s talk sound. The well-behaved P90 at the bridge had to go. Instead, a cheap Firebird Mini-Humbucker was supposed to provide the necessary bite. I naively thought: "Old one out, new one in, done."

Dead wrong.

The mounting ring of the Firebird pickup was dead flat. The top of the VT 100 is arched. Anyone who paid attention in geometry knows: That’s a no-go. So, the ring had to be "persuaded" first. Using pliers, muscle power, and a bit of gentle violence, I bent the metal frame until it finally accepted the guitar's curves. It was a battle of "Man vs. Metal," but in the end, the thing was in place—under tension, sure, but it was in place.

No!

Phase 3: The Electronic Madness

Now we get to the heart of the madness: The wiring. If you think you can simply hop onto Neil Young’s website and look under "Downloads -> Schematics -> Old Black Secrets.pdf," you are sorely mistaken. The man guards his secrets better than the gold reserves at Fort Knox.

So, I had to cook up a schematic from scratch that really packs a punch. The twist: An extra, unassuming toggle switch.

What does it do? It’s the "Panic Button." When you flip it, both the tone and volume controls are completely bypassed. The bridge pickup’s signal is blasted straight to the output jack. No resistance, no filter, just 100% raw signal directly into the amp. It’s essentially the afterburner for solos when you want the audience’s (and the sound engineer’s) ears to bleed. Soldering this spaghetti mess without instructions was about as relaxing as bomb disposal blindfolded, but hey—it works!

Phase 4: The Bigsby Nail-Biter

After the electronics were wired up as wildly as a fuse box in a haunted house, I faced the final boss: There are two types of people—those who install a Bigsby, and those who want to stay sane.

Why? Because it’s tricky. Very tricky.

Problem 1: The "Red String" Panic The internet was in agreement: If you mount the thing even one millimeter crooked, your high E-string will slip off the fretboard into oblivion with every chord later on.

Problem 2: The "Point of No Return" Then came the drill. You have to drill holes into the flawless Gold Top. There is no "Ctrl+Z" in real life. The sound of the drill biting through the lacquer and into the wood is the sound luthiers hear in their nightmares. Two holes on top, four at the bottom by the strap pin. Slip once, and you no longer have a vintage guitar, but expensive firewood.

Problem 3: The Hum of Death (Grounding Issue) What hardly anyone tells you: A normal Les Paul grounds the strings via the stop tailpiece stud. But that’s gone now, since the Bigsby sits right over it. The result? You plug everything in and it hums like an angry swarm of hornets. The solution? You practically have to drill a secret tunnel or squeeze a ground wire under the Bigsby so it makes contact but doesn't look like a car wreck. I settled on a solution somewhere between "genius" and "total hack job."

The Verdict

The VT 100 is now barely recognizable. It’s got gunk in the holes, a bent pickup ring at the bridge, and wiring that would drive any safety inspector to the brink of insanity. But when you flip that little toggle switch and let the Bigsby shimmer, you know instantly: It was worth every second. Keep on Rockin' in the Free World!