Canora Guitar

For the last few weeks, after viewing a video of Edmonton singer-songwriter Michael Rault playing on a old mail-order catalogue guitar (Stella, Harmony, Silvertone... one of them), I have been looking for a cheap guitar. I once owned two guitars but sold them to keep the family larder full.

I found the Canora at Value Village ($43 tax included).

The Canora Guitar is a Canadian guitar brand of the mid- to late- 1960s. According to Eugene Trademan, who was in charge of musical imports for Great West Imports of Vancouver, the brand came about when the company's electronics buyer, Dave Willis, returned from a trip to Japan.


Willis had news for Trademan. Trademan could expect a shipment of 2000 guitars from the Ida Gakki factory in Nagoya, Japan.

It was one of the companies that made Ibanez guitars.

Willis needed a name for the line of guitars. He asked Trademan what was his hometown. Trademan said, "Canora, Saskatchewan."

Canora is one of those mystery brands. Only a few thousand of these guitars emerged out of Japan and possibly from Korea. Later on, according to Trademen, the line of guitars switched to the more common Raven brand. There are scant references to them and very few images.

The guitar here was originally a fixed bridge model. The guitar top had settled into a pronounced bulge below the bridge and a caving in of above the bridge.

Reaching into the body, I found ladder bracing typical in this type of instrument.

The repair technicians at Rufus Guitars discouraged me from making them repair it. I could easily buy a very pretty Suzuki Model No. 9 (nylon strings AND a pickguard) for less than it would cost to repair.

In short, they pretty much had no time for the Canora. I also felt they had no time to discuss the finer points of guitar repair with a person who would fall in with a crap guitar. I had fallen on the wrong side of the us (keepers of the guitar flame) and the thems (those who diddle on guitars and then leave them to languish in the corner of a basement or those who wish to learn enough chords to play Lady Gaga or Black Eyed Peas tunes).

I felt a wall was being thrown up between the technicians and I. And I still needed their help.

Music was playing in the background. Guitar music. Beautiful music and I knew what it was.

I said, "It must be nice to listen to Joe Pass while you're working" (From his Virtuoso album).

I had said the right magic words. Chuck, one of them was Chuck, said, "French CBC has some of the best music."

I resisted the urge to tell them, I once worked for the Mother Corp - any how it wasn't needed. Joe Pass had opened the door. His name, me knowing it, meant I listened to guitar, maybe even knew how to play it well. I was not them, or at least, not completely them. Joe Pass let Chuck know I was a little bit of us.

Chuck put down the wet banjo skin he was tugging on, " Let me see it." He groped around on the inside. "Ladder bracing."

"Yeah, I was wondering if it should be nylon strings."

"No. It's steel." Then Chuck began to rummage on his work bench. He showed me a fancy tailpiece for an archtop guitar but it was too long. But he kept on digging. He kept on saying, "I have a Dobro tailpiece. You can have it." ($28)

He yanked it out from under a white plastic bag. "Knock off the old bridge with a chisel and try it."

With the tailpiece, I bought a bridge which the strings would arch over ($10).

When I got home, I realized I didn't have a chisel. So I tried a knife and ended up gouging a part of the guitar top. I wasn't really well-equiped to take on the project. But then I remembered what the sales clerk said at the shop - somewhere in our point of sale chit chat he assumed I was going to plane down the faulty bridge. And why not? I own a plane.

So there on the living room rug, with Melissa trying not to lose her temper, I began to plane down the rosewood bridge. I worried immensely about harming the top anymore than I already had. It worked.

I shaved the bridge  down and attached the Dobro-styled tailpiece. The saddle Rufus sold me stood too high and I hadn't the heart to mutilate the new saddle with vigourous sanding. Instead, I used the original floating metal saddle. With its two flat-tipped screws, I could adjust the height.

The instrument is actually quite playable. The neck hasn't suffered any bowing and the action has been set quite low without fear of buzzing. The intonation is surprising in fact.

The back has a loose brace and is pulling from the sides but it doesn't effect its playability.