BELLEVUE — The opening chords of Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" stream out of the classic-rock station in the back room of Mike Lull's Guitar Works. Lull is chatting up Nirvana's Krist Novoselic about a 12-string acoustic he'd like restored, while employee Tom Albert polishes a repaired guitar recently smashed into a stage.

As the Greek god Hephaestus fashioned tools of the immortals, Lull is the rock-and-roll equivalent, creating and repairing guitars for musical deities. His shop is adorned with their tributes to him. Autographed photos and platinum albums mingle with instruments in various states of repair.

He just finished restoring a classic 1937 Woody Guthrie guitar, which was in a "horrible state of disrepair" but is now in perfect condition. It will appear as part of an exhibit called "Recent Acquisitions" at Experience Music Project in the fall.

The Guthrie guitar is just the latest in a string of restorations that includes the guitar used by Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock, as well as Eric Clapton and Bo Diddley models. Lull also has built custom instruments and done guitar maintenance for Pearl Jam, the Deftones and seemingly every known and half-known act that rolls through town.

Tucked away in a strip mall shared with a Volvo dealership, Guitar Works seems like an unlikely place to harbor so much musical mythology, and the humble and self-effacing Lull an unlikely nurturer of the sounds purported to have done everything from ending the Vietnam War to corrupting youth.

As a freshman at Newport High School in 1965, Lull found his hair stood on end when he heard the bass lines of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. His parents told him the bass was just a "passing fad" and made him take lessons on a proper instrument, the guitar.

But when a friend's parents backed over the friend's bass, Lull saw an opportunity. He made a new body for the instrument in shop class. The project yielded him a B but proved more valuable than any competing birdhouse.

"It worked. It made noise. But I was totally bitten by the idea of making things better by repairing them," Lull says.

As Lull reminisces, Pink Floyd belts out "We don't need no education" on the radio.

Lull then discovered an electronic tuning machine collecting dust in the school music department. "I could make my own bass sound so much better. You could play all over the place."

Soon, he was working on his friends' instruments while touring with bands. With his spare-tire belly and two-day beard growth, Lull looks every bit the bassist, and he still plays with the classic-rock Pink Torpedoes and the Neon Lips. But the life of a rock star lost its Dionysian appeal not long after it began.

He returned home and worked in music stores before finding a job repairing instruments in the back room of Band Stand East, which told him to either start selling new guitars or move out.

He moved out in 1976 and started his own shop. His reputation slowly rippled out along the musical tributaries, eventually reaching Kelly Curtis, road manager for the Seattle-based Heart.

After Lull dissolved the store in 1983 and reopened in 1986, Curtis began arriving with the bands that would define the grunge movement.

"He said (Pearl Jam) is the next big thing. We were yukking it up. But he was right."

Producer Terry Date followed, and brought along Nirvana and U2.

Microsoft co-founder and guitar enthusiast Paul Allen discovered Lull and began bringing his business — he owns at least a hundred guitars, Lull says — and that of Experience Music Project.

Lull is sheepish, almost dumbfounded by his success, and the quirky store reflects his unpretentious values. His spare time is spent with his wife and four boys, building, fixing and playing instruments.

When Nirvana's Novoselic walks in, he gets merely a wave from Lull, who is busy with another customer.

"Warmoth doesn't level and dress the frets, and their fret process is somewhat inconsistent," Lull tells the customer, referring to a Puyallup company that makes guitar components. "So you'll want us to do that."

"You're the man. Whatever you say, I'll do," Lex Lindsey of Seattle responds. Every customer shows the same level of devotion.

Building, repairing and restoring guitars and basses is highly technical and carries with it this kind of arcane language.

"I've got to reroute the cavity," Lull tells another customer.

"The whole point behind this is fun," he says. "There's a lot of ways to make a whole lot more money, but this is a great way to make a living."

"Is there any way to incorporate one's post-cremation ashes into a guitar?" asks Scott Vestal of Des Moines.

A debate ensues, the question ultimately left unanswered.

Lull walks past a quiver of newly repaired guitars and basses hanging from a rack near the store's back room. He makes 150 to 200 custom guitars each year, each selling between $2,200 and $3,500. The restorations cost more.

Lull stops to consult with Albert and Novoselic, discussing options for a 12-string acoustic guitar. Novoselic got it cheap and would like to play it at a Boston gig in three weeks.

Like surgeons preparing to operate, Albert and Lull peer at the guitar. They discuss options. Novoselic throws up his hands.

"I'll just take your recommendation," he says.

J. Patrick Coolican can be reached at 206-464-3315 or jcoolican@seattletimes.com.