Jessica Bliss

USA TODAY NETWORK – Tennessee

Manuel Delgado works alone in a shop surrounded by half-made musical instruments.

He moves fluidly from task to task, skimming a knife across the neck of a classical guitar, scuffing sandpaper across another.

His tiny pup, Oreo, pops in on occasion to sniff at a freshly shorn pile of cedar shavings. Other than that Delgado's work is his own.

But even as he whittles by himself, Delgado often uses the word "we."

Here, in a chilly East Nashville workshop made of cinderblock walls and concrete floors, he feels closest to his father.

Candelario Delgado died 20 years ago, but before he did he taught his son how to build stringed instruments by hand.

Now Manuel Delgado carries on the generations-old family business as a luthier, remembering his dad as he works.

"I miss him," the 45-year-old Manuel Delgado says of his dad. "Every single day."

It takes as many as 200 days for Delgado to complete one classical guitar.

Around his waist, he wears a blue apron, stiff and spattered with layers of wood glue. He pulls a black ball cap down over his dark eyes and bearded stubble, a pencil tucked behind his ear.

He can make more than 40 types of stringed instruments, Hawaiian ukuleles, the Irish bouzouki, a dobro for bluegrass, bajo quintos for Tex-Mex style, and Latin or Spanish classical guitars. He delivers his artistry, pieces sold for thousands of dollars each, to musicians near and far — Grammy Award-winning L.A. rockers Los Lobos, Nashville's Americana stringsters Old Crow Medicine Show, folk singer Arlo Guthrie, Latino urban and hip-hop band Ozomatli and more.

"Not any guitar maker can say 'I am going to make a jarana or a vihuela,' " said Louie Pérez, songwriter and guitarist for Los Lobos, whose instrument of choice on stage is an eight-stringed jarana built for him by Delgado. "They just don’t have the history or knowledge to do it. Manuel has been doing it since he was a kid. Every one of his instruments is something that could go into the Smithsonian. They are works of art."

As Delgado builds, he uses the woodworking methods of old, passed down for generations from his grandfather and great-uncle to his father to him. It begins with a single piece of timber: red Carpathian spruce, Mexican rosewood, African mahogany. He considers the vibrancy of every cut of wood and how to bend a shape for every sound. He designs and carves delicate inlays of ebony and mother of pearl. He creates each guitar to be an extension of the person who plays it.

"It's old-world craftmanship," said Critter Fuqua, banjo and guitar player for Grand Old Opry member band Old Crow Medicine Show. "Someone like Manuel is keeping it real. His skills really connect to Latin American traditions and Mexico and mariachi and guitarons, bajo sextos and bajo quintos. That's really important because it's Music City, and he's really representing a culture that has a big presence there.

"He’s really important in Nashville."

The tradition for the Delgado family dates back to 1928 in Mexico.

Walk in through the front door of Delgado's small, two-story shop on Gallatin Pike — a recent upgrade from his former backyard workspace — and memories and musical instruments cover the walls.

There are photographs of the first generation of his family's guitar makers, dark-haired men wearing slacks and white shirt sleeves surrounded by dozens of unfinished ukuleles constructed by their own hands. Among them are Delgado's grandfather, Papa Pilo, a cabinet maker by trade, and Delgado's great-uncle, a singer-guitarist.

Together, nearly 90 years ago, the two brothers organized a Cuban-style band and rented a shop on Xavier Mina Street in Torreón to sell the instruments they made and played. The music business migrated from the heart of Mexico to Texas and then Brooklyn Avenue in East Los Angeles. Then, in 1950, they opened a new shop at 1066 Sunset Blvd. that remained for more than 30 years.

Delgado's father was baptized in a guitar shop and, in time, became a master luthier. He was an imposing man, standing 6-foot-5 with a wide build and a deep booming voice. But he had a wide vocal range and could sing mariachi with the best of them.

"He was just an incredible guitar maker," Perez said. "He was building for (virtuoso Spanish classical guitarist) Andrés Segovia out of this little shop in East Los Angeles. Back in those days, there was not a lot of attention on that side of the L.A. River, but people picked up one of his guitars and were amazed by it and sought him out.

"... Manuel was born with that in his blood. He grew up in the shop with wood shavings all around him."

As a boy, Manuel Delgado was always by his father's side. He learned to play guitar by age 5. He knew how to repair the instrument by age 7. And there are photos of him, age 12 with an apron and gold chain hanging around his neck, as he hovers over the open body of his very first guitar.

That piece, a requinto romantico shaped with his father's guidance, made him the new record holder in the family. His dad didn't build his first piece until age 14.

Despite the connection to the family craft, Delgado didn't always plan to make the family business his own.

In addition to placement of frets and tuning pegs, Delgado's dad knew something about a jab, a cross and a hook. Candelario Delgado trained boxers, including the L.A.P.D. boxing team, and mornings in the Delgado household began at the gym. As he sparred with his dad's students, Manuel Delgado became tight with many of the officers. He planned to make that his career.

But then, just as Delgado reached the prime of his 20s, his dad got sick — colon cancer — and everything changed. When his father was diagnosed, Delgado withdrew from the sheriff's academy process.

“I missed being with him, and I didn’t realize it until I saw how serious things were going with his illness,” Delgado says. “I realized what was important to me, and that’s why I wanted to go back to the shop.”

The operation that was supposed to save his father's life became more complicated than originally thought — after three years of treatment, the cancer had spread to his liver, his diaphragm, his aorta.

Delgado's father died in December 1996. But his legacy carries on in every jarana and harp Delgado has built since.

Today, Manuel Delgado lives in Nashville and delivers his artistry across the world. He has been part of two separate exhibits at the Smithsonian. Closer to home, he has joined the Nashville Arts Commission and created guitars for the Mariachi Internacional de Glencliff High School, a unique music collaboration bringing music to a diverse group of students.

He makes high-end guitars for the best musicians in the world and designs sturdy, affordable instruments for new players, those who may not otherwise have access to such sounds. He works with school programs across the country.

“Our main goal is trying to put music in people’s hands,” Delgado says. "It's so, so powerful what music can do for people."

As he works, Delgado still hears the words of his father.

If he is planing the wood and it starts to chip out, he can hear his dad say, "Turn the wood the other way." If he is working the bandsaw, he makes sure everything is tight. "He always said: 'The saw doesn't care if it cuts wood or bone.' "

“I'm closest to him when I’m here,” Delgado says, his eyes sweeping over the photographs of his father. “I love what I do, but there are times when it gets very lonely,” he says. “And not because I am here by myself. … It’s that I had dreamed of this being a family thing.”

Perhaps someday it still will be.

Delgado moved to Music City in 2005 in support of his songwriting wife, Julie. Now, the couple has two sweet and spunky little girls who burst into his shop after school with the same enthusiasm and bright eyes as their father.

The older daughter, 8-year-old Ava Canción, already works by her father's side, helping to take strings off a harp before piano or guitar practice. Three-year-old Lila Armonía is not far behind. He will support them in whatever they choose to do — the business doesn't have to be their dream — but he wants music to be part of their lives. For them to be able to pick up a guitar and play out their joy or their sorrow.

"That's what music is to me," he says.

***

In a spiral notebook like the kind he used in school so long ago, Delgado keeps notes from interviews he does with his customers.

He wants each instrument to be an extension of the person who plays it, so he works to really get to know them. He asks questions about family. Where they grew up, who their parents are, their children. He asks about their passions and their roots.

At the end, he asks one more question: “Where are you when you’re playing?”

Most times people say, "I am sitting in my living room," but Delgado means something more than that. He wants to know what do they think about when they play? Where do they want to be?

For Delgado, the answer is simple: "I'm usually hanging out with my dad."

He grew up in the rock era of Iron Madden, so he likes heavy metal. And rap happened when he was in L.A., so NWA and RunDMC are also up there.

“I just love good music and I don’t like bad music,” he says. “It doesn’t matter what genre.” But concert classical guitar was his first love and still is. It's the way his father brought him up. When he plays, he remembers the songs his father loved. "El Rey," "Volver, Volver," the ballads from Linda Ronstadt's "Canciones De Mi Padre."

He remembers the days when businessmen would walk into the family's shop in Los Angeles. As they closed the door behind them they would take a deep breath. They would shut the world out and sit on the couch and grab a guitar and play. The music was an escape.

"For me, it's just another way to reconnect," Delgado says.

Reach Jessica Bliss at 615-259-8253 and on Twitter @jlbliss.