Terminology: The “R” Tailpiece
A (mostly) functional thing of beauty
In an attempt to make our site map (click to check it out) easily navigable, you’ll find our articles grouped by topics like “Core Models”, “Construction”, and “Electronics”. This Rickenbacker “R” tailpiece article doesn’t fit neatly into any one category, since it could just as easily fit under “Design Elements”, “Hardware”, or “Design Flaws”.
I mean, the R tailpiece beautifully blends form and function, making it a key part of the brand’s visual identity while still performing its intended purpose of anchoring the strings. But it also has a reputation for…occasionally exploding. Let’s walk through it.
As iconic as the R tailpiece is today, no one seems to know who designed it. All the usual sources—the Richard Smith book, the Martin Kelly book, the RickResource forum (click to learn more)—are silent on the subject. Which is surprising given how central it is to Rickenbacker’s brand identity—but for now, that detail appears to have been lost to time…although like so many other details from this era the answer is probably shop manager Dick Burke.
We do know when it was introduced, though. The R tailpiece debuted on the “New Style” round-top 360 (click to learn more) when it was introduced in 1964. Well…sort of. The first “production” New Style 360s were built in August 1964, but the R tailpiece wasn’t quite ready yet—so those August guitars would all be finished as Accent Vibrato-equipped 365s. That makes an October production batch of 360/12s the tailpiece’s first “official” appearance.
It would next appear on the 1993 and 330S—a domestic market Rose-Morris 1997 without the Accent Vibrato (click to learn more)—in November 1964. From that point forward it quickly became the standard tailpiece on all semi-hollow guitars—including the 4005 bass (click to learn more) which launched in late 1965. With that, the trapeze era at Rickenbacker was over.
Now this first version of the R tailpiece does not explode—and I promise we will get to that in a minute. These early units were made of chrome plated cast brass and are still rock-solid today.
There are a few details that distinguish these early brass tailpieces from later versions. The easiest differences to spot are on the back of the tailpiece, where there are three differences of note. The most obvious are the string slots. On the early brass tailpieces, these slots were cut by hand with a chopsaw—and all had twelve slots cut, even those that would end up on 6-string guitars. On later versions the slots are an integral part of the casting itself—and there is both a six and a twelve string version. And a four string version for the original 4005 bass—but not the modern 4005V which uses a six string tailpiece—and even a five string version for the Bantar (click to learn more).
The next thing you’ll note is that later tailpieces have round molding marks—evidence of where the molten zinc alloy flowed into the tooling.
You’ll also notice that the surface is much rougher on the back of brass castings that on the zinc.
And finally, the shape at the bottom is slightly “squarer” on the brass unit than the zinc.
Of course, you have to take the tailpiece off to note these differences—which isn’t always possible or practical. Luckily, there is also a way to spot the difference without removing it, although it does require a ruler.
The mounting screws on the brass tailpiece bracket—also made of brass—are set slightly wider (about 7/8” on center) than on later tailpiece brackets (about 11/16” on center). That’s a noticeable difference, but unless you have one of each side-by-side you’re going to want a ruler.
But you shouldn’t need to do that unless the guitar was made in mid-to-late 1966—that’s when the brass tailpiece was replaced by one made of a zinc alloy called Zamak.
Zamak is the name for a family of zinc alloys, and the name comes from its primary components: zinc, aluminum, magnesium, and copper (“kupfur” in German). You probably touch Zamak items every day without realizing it—it’s used in bathroom fixtures, car parts, kitchen utensils, toys—you name it. If it has die-cast metal parts, there’s a good chance they’re Zamak.
So why is everything made of Zamak? It’s strong, melts at a relatively low temperature, flows extremely well in molds (making manufacturing labor- and cost-efficient), takes finishes like chrome or paint beautifully, and—most importantly—zinc is abundant and relatively inexpensive.
When people refer to the Rickenbacker R tailpiece as a “zinc tailpiece”, they really should be saying Zamak—and that’s an important distinction. On its own, zinc isn’t especially strong and would make a pretty lousy tailpiece. That’s exactly why the aluminum, magnesium, and copper are there. But…
There are numerous Zamak variations that adjust the proportions of each of the components. In general, the less zinc, the stronger. Even small changes can make a big difference: adding three percent more copper to Zamak 3–the “standard” formulation—makes Zamak 2, which is almost twice as strong.
You’ll often see the R tailpiece described as being made of “pot metal”. That’s not exactly right. The term “pot metal” refers to a cheap casting material made of…whatever material was handy to throw in the pot. It usually includes zinc, yes, but there is no formula, no specification, and no expectation around durability or quality. It’s a catch-all. And Zamak is none of those things.
Now we get to the exploding part. We don’t know exactly which Zamak formulas Rickenbacker has used over the years, but we are fairly sure the formulation changed at least once. And that’s where the problem appears to have started.
Zamak tailpieces produced from 1966 to the late 1970s or early 1980s appear to be largely immune. It is only after then—and some insiders have suggested 1979 as the point the formulation was changed—that the problems began appearing.
Before we get into the details, let’s talk about this in terms of order of magnitude. The overwhelming majority of these tailpieces are and will be absolutely fine. But you never hear about those.
There’s no formal data, but if I had to estimate I’d put the percentage of affected instruments in the very low single digits—with one notable exception we’ll get to in a moment. Large enough that patterns get noticed, but not so much that the issue could be considered widespread.
So what actually happens? Simply put, they fail at their weakest point: the bottom corners where the tailpiece slots into the bracket. Years of constant string tension gradually weakens this vulnerable spot—which is likely due more to individual casting variation than the material itself—until one or both corners snap.
When that happens, it can be dramatic. The broken tailpiece can be flung by the strings’ suddenly released energy, while the bridge—no longer held in place by the strings—clatters to the floor. Hence the “explosion” language.
While there are a handful of examples of this failure occurring on six-string guitars, the overwhelming majority occur on 12-strings—which makes sense: double the strings means double the tension.
Failures like this are common with all sorts of manufactured parts: some percentage fails, the manufacturer replaces them, and either fixes the underlying problem or decides that the ongoing replacement of a small number is more cost-effective. Usually, everyone moves on. That’s not how Rickenbacker has responded—and that response has helped turn a relatively small problem into something that feels much larger.
Step one: deny there is a problem, or suggest that the user may be in some way responsible. Rickenbacker has done both at various times. Step two: replace the broken part—at full retail price—and require that the broken part is returned before a replacement is shipped. Neither step leads to positive consumer feedback.
Now, for a company as obsessed with protecting their intellectual property (click to learn more) as Rickenbacker was during John Hall’s tenure, requiring return of the broken part makes all the sense in the world: you don’t want factory parts showing up on counterfeit guitars. And most people understand that. What people react negatively to is the combination of denying there is a problem—however small—and charging people for a replacement. And they have been vocal about it.
If you spend any time on Internet forums you’ll hear these stories—and they attract significant attention and retelling. So when you Google “exploding Rickenbacker tailpieces” you’ll find plenty of links—but most ultimately tie back to the same handful of aggrieved parties.
As noted earlier, there is no hard data, but I am confident the numbers are low. With one exception: the Black Hardware/Black Trim (click to learn more) guitars. This is where the story changes slightly.
Something in the powder coating process these parts went through appears to have negatively impacted their stability, as they exhibit a significantly higher failure rate than their chrome counterparts. We see a similar effect on black bass bridges, where tail lift (click to learn more) is more pronounced than on “standard” chrome-plated units.
How much worse? Again, there is no data, but I’d estimate there are two to three times more failures on the black powder coated tailpieces than on the standard chrome. That still doesn’t rise to epidemic level—but isn’t trivial either.
To make matters worse, the powder coated tailpieces haven’t been available from the factory for decades, so if it one breaks, it can only be replaced with a chrome version. This small but real risk has led many players to proactively remove otherwise intact tailpieces and replace them with aftermarket substitutes. The very existence of these replacements underscores that the concern, while limited, is real.
You don’t hear much about “exploding” modern tailpieces, but the problem is a product of time, and only time will tell if it has truly gone away. If the Zamak formula has changed again, the company hasn’t said anything. A cynic might say that publicizing a change would mean admitting there was a problem—but sharing that type of inside information is not something Rickenbacker has ever been known for.
Again, the chances of this ever happening to you are slim. But there is another design weakness that almost certainly will affect you: the R tailpiece is notoriously difficult to string— especially on the 12-string.
It all comes down to the slots that hold the string ball ends. Getting the ball end seated correctly is fiddly to begin with, and it only stays put once tension is applied—tension that’s hard to maintain while you’re still stringing and tuning.
There are two basic strategies for restringing a Rickenbacker R tailpiece: all at once or one string at a time—and both have drawbacks. Just like the string ball ends requires tension to stay seated, so do the tailpiece and bridge themselves. Remove all the strings at once and suddenly nothing is under tension—so nothing wants to stay put.
The biggest benefit to doing it this way is that you can flip the tailpiece over and visually confirm every ball end is correctly seated. The problem is that nothing keeps them there once you flip it back. Most people solve this with tape, pulling each string tight in its slot and then taping it in place to the underside of the tailpiece—but now you’re left with twelve loose, dangling strings to keep sorted as you string and tune.
The other option is to string one string at a time—removing and replacing each string in turn. This solves the tension problem, but it also highlights how difficult it is to seat the ball end blindly. The gap between the tailpiece and body is too small to get a finger in to ensure proper seating—or to hold it in place. You have to rely on feel. And then you have to maintain manual tension as you complete the process. And if I had a dollar for every time a string has popped out the moment I started tuning it…well, I’d have many dollars.
Focusing so much on the R tailpiece’s flaws really does a disservice to how elegant the design actually is. I began this article by saying how beautifully it combines form and function, and that remains true—even if form takes slight precedence over function.
In the end, the R tailpiece is a perfect metaphor for Rickenbacker itself: distinctive, beautiful, a little stubborn, and endlessly discussed. Yes, it has quirks. Yes, it has a history. And yes, it occasionally tests the patience of the people who love it most. But it has also anchored the strings of some of the most recognizable guitars ever made for more than half a century—and remains one of the most unmistakable pieces of guitar hardware ever designed.
For better and for worse, it wouldn’t feel quite right if it were anything else.
One last fun postscript: while researching this article, I stumbled across something new to me. On a forum, someone referred to the R tailpiece as a “baby dinosaur”. He was right—and now you won’t be able to unsee it.
Lovely article as usual.
I WILL say that it makes me drop to my knees in gratitude that all 3 of my Rick 12’s (660/12, 1993+, 350/12v63) all have trapezes.
Almost makes me feel guilty that I won’t share in the rite of passage that is changing the strings with the “R”.
Also, I believe late ‘81 or beginning of ‘82 was when Ric switched over materials to the R tail piece that breaks/explodes.