Brass, sax players lose an unrivaled craftsman

It's hard to say who will feel the loss most keenly when Gustafson Music, the last shop of its kind in Philadelphia, closes at the end of the month.

Brass and saxophone players will be out of luck because, they say, Bret Gustafson is unmatched as a craftsman, beloved for the way he drops everything when a musician rushes in the door with an emergency repair job hours before a concert.

The Roxborough Development Corp., which has benefited from having the homey workshop on its Ridge Avenue business strip, will miss the energy and artistic vision of Nadja Gustafson, Bret's wife, who has helped breathe life into revitalization efforts there.

Then there is Susan Simon, Nadja's mother, whose job in the shop has provided a one-of-a-kind fringe benefit: seeing granddaughter Ula every day.

Reflecting on the Gustafsons' departure, Bootsie Barnes, a jazz saxophonist and recording artist, said: "It's going to be a sad day in Philadelphia."

It was the future of little Ula Bella, a cuddly 18-month-old, that ultimately drove her parents to leave behind the tax burdens of the city, something a trio of accountants had tried to get them to do in the dozen years they'd operated the shop, attracting the likes of Grover Washington Jr. and top players from the Philadelphia Orchestra.

What the financial advisers had in mind was a move across the city line.

Except the Gustafsons - he's 37, she's 39 - are going a bit farther: 10,000 miles away to Adelaide, the artsy, seaside capital of South Australia, and its lure of free health insurance, paid vacations, and a shop where someone else handles the business end.

"A baby makes you look at life differently," Bret Gustafson said. "For 12 years, we've given up things for this business, for Philadelphia, and it's been great emotionally, but monetarily, we need something more stable."

Reaction to the news surprised him.

"Some people are actually panicky. They feel like they own you because you've always been there for them," he said. "They're like, 'How can you do this to me?' "

That's understandable in a business where musicians come to see their repairman as a partner, said Brian Brown, principal tuba with the Philly Pops and the Delaware Symphony Orchestra.

"People are extremely protective of their instruments," Brown said. "That's an extension of yourself."

Musicians will drive hours to find a repairman they trust, and that's what Brown was doing - he said the quality guys in the city had died, retired or moved away - when he heard about Gustafson a decade ago.

But first, he had Gustafson "audition" on a student model.

"The work was fabulous," Brown said. "There's a sense of artistry in the way he shapes things, the way he solders."

When Gustafson couldn't get a part, he made it himself in the cozy, wood-floored shop, where instruments dangle like mobiles from the ceiling and locally made jewelry, art and textiles are displayed out front.

He rebuilt tubas, restored antique instruments for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, fixed echo cornets and euphoniums, tinkered with oddballs like the eight-belled schalmai, a horn once played on the bows of ships to signal bridge tenders. It was often late when he trudged up the stairs to the family's living quarters above the shop.

"What we do is very intensive," he said.

There's magic in it, too, said Barnes.

"He just has that unique thing about him: You tell him what the horn is doing, he knows what to do with it," said Barnes. "He's our horn surgeon."

And never too busy to help a musician in need.

"I could walk in at 10 o'clock and say, 'I've got a gig at 3 o'clock, man,' and he'd put things aside," Barnes said.

But Gustafson admits he isn't much of a businessman.

"Bret's a really, really good repairman," said his wife, Nadja, a metalsmith and jewelry-maker. "But he doesn't like charging people."

With taxes and health insurance sucking up much of his meager income, the family struggled. Gustafson once threw a sax player out of his shop when the guy asked for one too many free repair jobs.

"I told him, 'I can't eat your love,' " Gustafson said.

But that was rare.

"I always encouraged him to charge more," said Nitzan Haroz, principal trombone with the Philadelphia Orchestra. "He was fixing an instrument and asking for $15, and I said that's not enough."

Even a tiny, barely visible ding in a trombone's slide can cause major problems, and Haroz depended on Gustafson for his expertise.

"You really need to have the right kind of tools and a good eye to determine where the dent is," Haroz said. "He is an artist in what he does, and a kind individual."

In Australia, Gustafson will work for a friend, Simon Clarke, whom he met in instrument-repair school at Western Iowa Technical College. In late April, the contents of the Ridge Avenue shop and home will be packed up and shipped to Australia, with the family to follow in early June.

They plan to stay three years. Gustafson's apprentice, Jamie Capatch, hopes to follow them there.

"It's going to be gut-wrenching to leave," said Bret.

They'll ache for friends and family, said Nadja, who will have to say goodbye to her musician/teacher mother.

"But," Nadja added, "we won't miss the taxes."