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Discussion in 'Tab, Tips, Theory and Technique' started by Danishboy, Apr 8, 2018.
Moisturize your hands
Fret Eze has silicone in it. I would never put that anywhere near my fretboard.
Fast Fret on the other hand I use to clean my strings every time I finish playing. It prolongs string life. Doesn't do much for making the strings slick though if that's your thing.
I used "Finger Ease" all during the 70's. I'm still trying to get that stuff off my hands.
Do a light spray on your fingerboard, not on your hands.
i once read that a famous guitarist said that when he gets a new guitar he rubs salami all over the neck!
cant remember who it was !
I do the opposite. I wash them with soap before i play, cause my fingers would get sweaty after two hours with the band.
Actually it does, since it is mineral oil.
Too funny. And interesting
Keep it real!
Well you are supposed to wipe the excess off the strings. Otherwise dirt and crap gets sucked into the winds with it. I never noticed the strings being slicker and I have been using this stuff religiously for at least 15 years.
Of course I wipe it down, but not to excess.
I definitely notice some drag on the strings in humid weather,and fast fret does away with it.
If you use it religiously...and don;t think it slickens the strings, then why use it ?
Shall we argue over whether oil is slippery ?
It cleans the strings and fretboard.
And no, I don't plan on arguing at all about anything.
Pizza grease lasts longer.
By the way, FF contains "White" mineral oil. Which in a word is parafin.
The smell does, at least
I have no problem with Finger Ease.
I find no detrimental effects.
I'm pretty sure it's silicone because I bought a big can of food-grade silicone (no petroleum or other nasty solvents) and it smells and acts just like Finger Ease and is a LOT cheaper.
I think it was Paul Kossoff.
Tomato based for Texas blues or mayonnaise based for Muscle Shoals R&B.
Using it to clean strings is just cheap. Buy some new strings.
If you are using it to "clean" your board with the strings on, you must be slathering it on.
and you don;t notice that it makes the strings slicker.
And you don;t want to argue.
But you are.
It;s oil. It doesn't clean your strings. It makes them slippery.
This sounds good... with added bonuses... at 0:30.
Picked up a box of ‘Fresh’ somesuch oil on the street, 1000 mg and some other words were printed on the box.
Looked like it contained some sort of empty plastic tubes that were supposed to be hooked up to a vape kit. I was en route to picking up an order of Mangan wound G strings when I spotted the carton, instinctively wheeled back, picked it up, opened it to inspect the weighted contents, and put it in my coat pocket.
I was tuning the guitar when I remembered the carton. None of the components would unscrew, so I reached for a pliers.
Glass shattered and showered the desktop. By the time I cleaned up the area, my hands were coated with a fine oil which I had trouble washing away. I returned to the guitar, and started to stretch the wound G, which I had waited months for. It was finally here. I tuned the strings and played a few arpeggios. The metal in the 5 dead strings seemed to absorb the tackiness, until there was no sense of it at all. Pretty soon, and as a complete surprise, I found myself doing things with absolute mastery which normally required extensive regressive hypnotherapy to perform. If I weren’t to have experienced this firsthand, there is no one on earth who could convince me of this instantaneous and profound effect.
The moments following this had me fixed staring at my hand, and the back of a naked maple neck I had worked at setting and reshaping extensively, stealing glances at the edge of the thin Indian rosewood fingerboard which I was set on replacing, marveling at the light cocoa color which leapt from the visible .140” strip and thinking it was like holding the perfect ‘62 strat neck, except...it is not a strat, and my fingers were not so much as holding it, as they were ravaging on autopilot, provoked by the tactile feedback. Notes were flying off it, through the amp I never turn on; the instrument was howling fluidity, and seemed to be playing itself. The stock ‘73 lacquer dipped and slightly microphonic CBS enameled pickups I wanted to ditch for Kinmans or maybe some Lollars were acting strangely as well, enunciating tamed squeals which seemed to be a language I had once known fluently but forgot except in dreams, and I used just the tone knob to quell the squeal and to reel in 130 watts I never employ and now couldn’t have cared less if the neighbors could hear. Let them hear it. I could hardly stop, save for the 3 remaining empty tubules with a few flat clear droplets with commingled darker specks clinging to the glass, in front of me, on the desk.