Assuming you are old enough to have lived through it, what would you say is the defining image of the 1990s? That’s an easy one, as far as I’m concerned. It’s this:
If you lived through the decade, you know what that is. Introduced in 1992 by the Sweetheart Cup Company, that hand-drawn teal-and-purple pattern—named “Jazz”—appeared on disposable paper cups in what seemed like every bathroom and backyard cookout in the United States for most of the decade.
But as ubiquitous as the “Jazz” pattern was, it didn’t exist in a vacuum. The 1990s were the decade of teal and purple—although it really started in the late 1980s. As a native North Carolinian, I got to see its birth firsthand.
In 1988, the NBA granted an expansion franchise to Charlotte—the Charlotte Hornets. And when the Hornets unveiled their Alexander Julian-designed uniforms, the primary colors were teal and purple. The madness was beginning.
Listen, man, there were twenty-two NBA, NFL, NHL, or MLB teams that debuted or rebranded in the 1990s. Eleven of them—fifty percent!—utilized teal, purple, or both as primary colors. Teal and purple was no joke.
And it wasn’t just sports teams. Teal and purple—especially teal—spread to cars, clothes, consumer goods packaging, portable electronics, and even freakin’ Taco Bell interiors. I was there. I saw it all happen.
Here’s the point: Rickenbacker introduced exactly one new “factory color” in the 1990s—and no, I’m not counting the 650’s oil-rubbed walnut or vermillion bodies. We’re talking about paint here. Care to guess what that one color was?
Ok, it’s not technically teal—it’s Turquoise. But c’mon, man. Close enough.
Now as it appeared—and as it first appeared—on the 650A Atlantis in 1992, Turquoise was kind of doing double duty. Yes, it was very much the flavor of the week, but it was also harkening back to some of the earliest modern Rickenbackers.
Turquoise Blue, as the 1950s version was called, was the second finish—behind only Natural—offered on the first modern Rickenbacker Spanish guitars, the 1954 Combo 600 and 800 (click to learn more).
In addition, the unpainted neck-through section on the 650A was a callback to the third modern Rickenbacker guitar, the 1956 Combo 400 (click to learn more).
To be fair, the Combo 400 wasn’t available in Turquoise Blue—but its most common finish by far was Cloverfield Green, which once again, you know, close enough.
To make that callback as clear as possible, period literature referred to the 650A’s finish as “vintage” Turquoise. So, a guitar that evokes vintage models of the 1950s while at the same time taking advantage of the hottest color trend of the decade…can you honestly say you’d do any different?
To me, yes, it’s undeniably trendy. But they did a good job of providing just enough justification to keep it from feeling nakedly trendy.
I mean, trendy or not, it’s a pretty darn good-looking finish. A handful of custom-order/show guitars other than the 650A escaped from the factory in 1992 and 1993, but in 1994 Turquoise made the jump to a standard factory color (click to learn more) available on pretty much anything. And the crowd went mild.
But that’s not entirely fair. If, like me, you’re a child of the 1970s and ‘80s, have you ever wondered why every single new car on the dealership lot is white, black, or silver? I mean, my God, the colors cars came in back then!
Here’s what changed between now and then. You’ve always been able to walk into a dealer and buy a car “off the lot.” But there was a time when you could also walk into the dealer and sit down with the option sheet to build exactly the car you wanted. You’d put down a deposit, the order would be sent to the factory, and a few weeks—or months—later, a car built to your precise specs was delivered to the dealer.
Not everybody was willing to wait for that Plum Crazy car, though, even if that’s what they really wanted. And since dealers could see what people were custom ordering, most were willing to order a few unique cars to sit on the lot until the day that Plum Crazy customer came in with cash in his pocket.
So why doesn’t it still work like that? A lot changed, but the biggest factor was the way dealers pay for cars.
Dealers buy cars on credit. Back in the day, they only paid interest until the car sold. Cars sitting on the lot not selling cost the dealer money, but it was an acceptable amount.
But that changed in the late 1970s and early ’80s. In the wake of the 1979 energy crisis and the staggering inflation of 1980–81, the car companies introduced the practice of “curtailment”: after 90 days, dealers had to start paying down the principal in addition to the interest.
Suddenly, holding inventory that would take a while to sell got a hell of a lot less appealing. So dealers starting ordering “safe” colors they knew were more likely to sell before that 90-day clock ran out. And today every car is white, black, or silver.
So what the hell does this have to do with Turquoise Rickenbackers? The exact payment terms vary from dealer to dealer, but the principle is the same: guitars hanging on the wall have to be paid for—often in as little as 30 days. Guitars on the wall equal bills you have to pay and cash you can’t spend elsewhere.
Over Rickenbacker’s entire history, around 80% of all guitars they’ve ever built have been Fireglo, Jetglo, or Mapleglo. Or white, black, and silver, if you like. Dealers know they’re gonna sell, and that means less cash hanging on the wall, so that’s what they order.
That’s why colors like Turquoise command a premium today. No matter how ubiquitous teal and purple were at the time, dealers just weren’t willing to risk having too many of those guitars hanging on the wall too long.
I’d call them…uncommon today, not rare. There were years during Turquoise’s run where it appears they accounted for up to two or three percent of annual production—which is actually fairly respectable for a non-“big three” color. Still, uncommon.
Some people “got it,” though. There are more than a few guitars circulating that must have been custom orders: 381V69s (click to learn more) and WB 360s (click to learn more) for example. And when Rickenbacker ran out the 360/12V64 (click to learn more) in 2000 and told people they could be had in any color, a bunch got ordered in Turquoise.
To me, those deluxe models (click to learn more) are where Turquoise really shines. There’s just something about the way the white binding pops against the Turquoise…it’s really striking. It just doesn’t work nearly as well on standard models like the 330.
Ironically, given its intentional callback to 1950s-era Turquoise Blue guitars—which featured gold plastics—I just don’t think it looks great on either the 660 or 325V59 (click to learn more), which both featured gold plastics. Again, it needs that contrast against white to really shine. Your opinion may of course vary—I’m just letting you know where I stand.
Turquoise outlived the 1990s teal and purple craze. In fact, it looks like the highest production year was 2000—driven in no small part by all those runout 360/12V64s. Numbers would begin to drop after that, however, and Turquoise was officially discontinued in 2003, with production wrapping in 2004.
Today, the Jazz cup is an instant visual shorthand for the 1990s. You look at it and immediately know when it came from.
Turquoise Rickenbackers are a little like that. There is absolutely no mistaking the decade that gave birth to them. But unlike teal carpeting and purple Formica, Turquoise somehow escaped the 1990s without becoming a punchline.
Maybe that’s because Rickenbacker had been there before. Turquoise may have been the hottest color of 1992, but it was also a Rickenbacker color nearly forty years earlier—and that distinction imbues it with a bit more legitimacy.
Trendy? Absolutely. Dated? I don’t think so, no.
Andy, love the research, but I feel like I should apologize — you've built us a whole cinematic universe of Hornets jerseys, Jazz cups, and GMC brochures, and the truth is a lot more boring: we liked the color, we'd done it before in the '50s, so we did it again. That's it. That's the strategic plan. Somewhere there's a version of this post where we're a bunch of California guys sitting around a table with mood boards and market research, and I hate to break it to you, but that meeting never happened. Keep writing though — you're clearly having more fun with our color choices, and spending more time on it, than we did.
Always have loved turquoise on guitars and cars. We had a 1972 Chrysler New Yorker that was a fine metallic turquoise when I was a teenager.
(With matching color brocade upholstery and carpet interior).
I tried unsuccessfully twice to buy a turquoise 4004 online. It’s in Paul Boyer’s book, came from the factory with chrome trim, and he switched the hardware out for gold. (It looked great with either).