shop. After a while the school started calling
me, saying, ‘Well, we’ve got this other kid . . . .’
That’s kind of how that whole thing started.”
Some documentary filmmakers approached
Ribbecke about doing a film about his life and
the two businesses he ran side by side. When
they observed the people in the shop and how
Ribbecke interacted with them, they immedi-
ately began talking about a reality TV series,
which was to be called Ribbecke’s Guitar Planet.
The trailer opens with Ribbecke saying that he
is trying to pass on his knowledge before “they
burn the place down.” He’s being tongue-in-
cheek, of course. But, all kidding aside, he’s
very proud of this “family” that surrounds his
instruments. “If nothing else comes out of this,
the fact that we’ve had this experience, and
these kids have had this chance to grow and be
who they are—they would have done this with
or without us, maybe—but I was privileged to
be with them when this all happened. It’s just
been phenomenal.
“When Oprah saw the documentary, she
went nuts,” Ribbecke continues. “She thought
it belonged on prime-time TV, because she felt
it was a great bit of social work. We got a lot
of attention because of that. But ultimately, the
truth of the matter is that—and this goes to the
core of my belief about guitar making—I believe
guitars are extraordinary collections of energy.”
Ribbecke’s Guitar Planet was purchased by
the producers of Extreme Home Makeover,
but is currently simmering on a back burner.
Ribbecke believes the current economy is such
that it probably won’t air, but you can still view
the trailer online. Go to guitarplanet.org and
click on the “Promo Clip” link at the bottom
of the page.
Ribbecke recently made an announcement on his
website that he was accepting the last 25 orders
for his private workshop. “There’s a four- to
five-year wait for a guitar from my private shop.
I’m 58 years old and I’ve been doing this 15
hours a day my whole life. I don’t know how to
live in a moderate way, so this is what I’ve done.
The Final 25 guitars are guitars that nobody
else touches but me. My helpers don’t work on
them—they’re my final work. And each one of
them I want to be extraordinary. It’s not about
decorative work as much as it’s about art and
design. I don’t want to do tons of inlay. I’ll be
working with shapes and sonic development.
I’ve got some instruments that I don’t even want
to talk about yet, because they’re new developments. I just figured out a new way to buffer the
rim of a soundboard, which I think will be very
Tom Ribbecke checks out the flat bass side of one of his Halfling archtop soundboards at his shop in
Healdsburg, California.
microphonic. I think it will create a whole new
type of instrument. But each of those final 25
orders will be the best that I can do—museum-
quality pieces that I’ve built with materials I’ve
been stashing for 38 years. The best material that
I have. The most focus from me. The highest
way that I can realize whatever their dream is.”
Which brings us back to dreams and the
stuff they’re made of. Like Honduran mahog-
any, German spruce, and the pure mojo of
people who are in it because they truly love it.
Ribbecke’s father taught him the true meaning
of the Latin word amateur many years ago. “He
used to say, ‘Thirty years from now, I hope you
can tell me you still love these guitars,’ and that’s
a lesson I’ve never forgotten. Every day I think
about that, and even when I hate doing what I’m
doing I find a way to love it because that’s what’s
essential to keep it going.”
