Boy, I love this guitar!
And so might you. Why, you might ask… Well, first of all, just look at it. It looks stunning. And as we all know: looks are everything! But there are a few more things I’d like to point out.
My Epiphone Riviera is a semi-hollow electric, shaped somewhat like its more expensive cousin, the Gibson ES-335. But the Riviera feels surprisingly light. That matters more than you might think. I can play it for hours without feeling as if my left shoulder is slowly separating itself from the rest of my body.
The guitar has a set mahogany neck and a rosewood fingerboard with parallelogram inlays. The 24.75-inch scale feels familiar, but the neck has always felt a little more substantial in my hands than many other electrics I’ve played. For me, that makes the transition between acoustic and electric guitar especially comfortable.
If you’re used to acoustic guitars, have slightly bigger hands, or simply like an electric that gives you something substantial to hold on to, you may love the Riviera as much as I do.
Well, maybe not quite as much.
The original Epiphone Riviera was introduced in the early 1960s and built in Epiphone/Gibson’s Kalamazoo factory. Vintage examples from that period have become seriously desirable guitars.
My Riviera is from a much later era. From what I’ve been able to establish, it appears to be part of the Riviera reissue series that appeared in the 1990s.
That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about Epiphone. You can get a guitar with real history, character and personality without necessarily having to spend Gibson money.
When I originally wrote about this guitar in February 2016, a Riviera Custom P93 could be found for around $500.
That was an extraordinary amount of guitar for the money.
But enough about looks, history and price.
What does the thing actually sound like?
Pick Ups
The original 1960s Riviera is particularly associated with its mini-humbuckers, which contributed to the guitar’s distinctive sound.
My Riviera, however, has been modified.
As you can see from the pictures, I replaced the pickups with a Seymour Duncan Hot Rodded Humbucker Set—the classic JB bridge and Jazz neck combination.
There’s an old argument among guitarists about single coils versus humbuckers. Very simply put: single coils tend to give you more brightness, bite and snap, while humbuckers tend to give you more body, output and thickness. I wanted something somewhere in between. The Seymour Duncans gave me exactly that.
The JB in the bridge has plenty of output and can push an amp when I need it to, while the Jazz neck pickup stays articulate and clear. Together they give the Riviera a full sound without turning everything into mud.
And because they’re humbuckers, they’re also considerably quieter than traditional single coils. For the kind of music I play, that’s important. I can go from something delicate and almost acoustic-sounding to pop, rock, blues and considerably heavier territory without feeling as though I need to change guitars. I’ve played this thing in all kinds of situations. It just works.
How Epiphone got started
The Epiphone story itself is fascinating. Its roots go back to the Stathopoulo family, a Greek family of instrument makers whose story began in the Ottoman Empire in the late 19th century.
Anastasios Stathopoulos eventually brought the family and the instrument-making business to the United States, settling in New York. After his death, his son Epaminondas Stathopoulos—“Epi”—took over. The name Epiphone combined Epi’s nickname with the Greek word phonē, meaning “sound” or “voice.” Under Epi, the company became one of America’s great instrument makers and a serious competitor to Gibson, particularly in the archtop guitar market. Its Manhattan showroom attracted some of the finest musicians of the era.
Epaminondas (Epi) Stathopoulo
After Epi’s death in 1943, however, the company went through increasingly difficult times. Gibson eventually acquired Epiphone in 1957.
Over the following decades, Epiphone production moved overseas, including Japan and Korea, and later China. The company became Gibson’s more affordable sister brand—but continued producing guitars with an identity and following of their own.
And then there are the people who played them. More about that in a minute. First, I have to tell you what happened to mine.
The night my Riviera broke its neck
It was a typical Saturday night. We had finished our final set, and a few people were still hanging around after the party. Back in Norway we’d call this the nachspiel—the party after the party. My Riviera was sitting nearby. Bad idea. At some point, a couple came swaying through the room, stumbled into the monitors and landed on my guitar.
Crack.
The neck broke.
Devastation.
If you’ve ever had a guitar you truly love, you probably know the feeling. A guitar eventually stops being a piece of wood with strings attached to it. It becomes your guitar. And suddenly mine looked finished. Fortunately, I had a knowledgeable friend who thought otherwise.
He repaired it by inserting two pieces of wood to reinforce the damaged area and then carefully gluing the neck and body back together. And something very strange happened.
The guitar came back better.
It was more stable. It stayed in tune better. In fact, I can now play an entire show without having to retune it, which is pretty remarkable for a guitar that once had its neck snapped. There’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere.
Something can look completely destroyed and still come back stronger than it was before. So never write off a broken guitar. Maybe don’t let drunk people fall on it in the first place, though.
Famous players
John Lennon is probably the most famous Epiphone player of all time. Of course, Lennon is one of the most famous anything in popular music, so perhaps that isn’t surprising.
His Epiphone Casino became inseparable from his image during the Beatles’ later touring years and into the band’s studio period. Paul McCartney also played a Casino, as did George Harrison.
And over the years, Epiphone guitars have found their way into the hands of musicians ranging from blues legends to hard-rock players. That’s part of what I love about Epiphone. It has never felt like a guitar that needs to impress anybody with the name on the headstock.
It’s a musician’s guitar. A working guitar. A working-class hero, if you’ll forgive the Lennon reference.
And mine has the scars to prove it.
