Sometimes the third time is the charm.
In October 2018, I found a 1965 UK Continental for sale near me. It had some significant flaws: A host of small electronic issues. The drawbars didn’t work properly and the markings were well-worn. The lid was a bit stained and beaten up. The original Mains and Vibrato switches and the original power connector had been replaced. The keyboard had a mushy feel to it. But it had what a real estate agent would call “good bones.” Most of the organ was in great – and original – condition. By swapping the best parts I had gathered from two other ’65 UK Continentals I had owned, this one had the potential to be an amazingly original and good-looking Continental.
(Just for the record, I’ve not been tempting bad vintage keys karma by parting-out Vox organs. In moving parts between organs, I’ve still left all of them fully functional. And all three organs were ’65 models, made in the same plant in Dartford, Kent, so all the parts are the proper, original ones for each of the organs.)
There was only one problem: The owner was asking nearly $4,000 for it. But being an optimist, I contacted him, and patiently explained that his price was far beyond the organ’s value. (Especially since he needed to sell it quickly before moving across the country.) In the end, he sold it to me for a very fair price.
First the good stuff: It came with a shiny, original UK stand and an original UK stand case that was in pretty good shape. You don’t see either of these very often.
The gray cabinet had only minor bumps and bruises, rather than the usual large areas of ripped vinyl and bare wood. The original audience-side Vox Continental badge looked almost like new. This is very unusual. On the early UK models, these badges had paint silk-screened on a plastic base. The paint scratched off very easily, so most of the surviving ones are missing most – and sometimes all – of the paint. But, in fact, many are completely gone: Vox glued them to the Rexine vinyl, which resulted in many of them falling off over the years. (On the US-built version of the Continental, the badge was secured with screws (or was it nails?) along its perimeter. On the Italian models, the vinyl was typically cut away behind the badge so the plate could be more securely glued to the bare wood.)
The keys were in great shape. There were no broken key contacts. The power supply and the pre-amp had been re-built with new capacitors. And, for the compulsive collectors among us, it appeared that virtually all the screws were original, inside and out. It even had the rarely seen black clips on the back of the orange lid to hold the screws that keep the lid on.
So, I got to work with the goal of making this organ as perfect as I could by substituting parts. I installed a drawbar assembly to have one in better cosmetic shape. I installed original Mains and Vibrato switches. I removed the modern IEC power receptacle and replaced it with an original round Bulgin power connector and power cord. I swapped pilot lamps to replace one that flickered with one that glowed steadily. I swapped orange lids to use the better of the two. I swapped all 12 of the tone generator boards, because I knew my “old” boards were stable and tuned well. I fixed a ground issue that was causing a hum with every note played.
I swapped a few of the coil key springs that looked a bit stretched out. And then I removed the spring steel key return springs under the key contact assembly and bent them carefully (and slightly) to provide more tension. This made a major improvement in the mushy keyboard feel, giving the keys slightly more resistance to being pushed down and made them spring back to the rest position with more speed and force. I highly recommend this adjustment be made to all wooden key UK Continentals.
The organ came with an original UK-style volume pedal, but I preferred the one I had with the other organ, so I swapped them, too.
I polished the stand, all the little hardware pieces (latches, hinges and glides) and the control panel. Cleaned the Rexine. Used grease pencils to restore the original look to the stamped Mains and Vibrato labels on the control panel and the numbers and symbols on the drawbar pulls. Vacuumed the inside of the organ. Scrubbed the leg case. Cleaned the keys. Shined up all the vinyl with some 303 Marine Aerospace Protectant. (I use this on all my amps and vinyl-covered keyboards. It leaves a very slight shine and a UV-protective film – and isn’t all greasy like ArmorAll.) And I carefully transplanted two souvenirs from the other UK organs: Paper tags on the wiring loom with the first names of some of the women who painstakingly pieced together Vox looms.
I’ve got it working perfectly. It sounds great and plays wonderfully. It is virtually all original. (It’s missing some original wingbolts, but with more than a little help from a friend (thanks David!) a solution for that is in the works.) Cosmetically, it’s like most of the instruments in my collection: At first glance, it looks like new, but there are a few minor blemishes that make it look like it was used lightly for a short period of time, and give it a little vintage authenticity. And it’s got that special vibe from being an original British model.
All in all, it’s about as nice, original and complete a UK Continental as you’re likely to see these days. (And, no! It’s not for sale!)
Hear the sounds of a Vox Continental: