Music is the universal language
“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.” - Luke 2:14
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Freak From the Woods: King Tuff’s Triumphant Return to Tape
Back in 2007, Vermont’s Kyle Thomas recorded an album under his new moniker, King Tuff. It was called Was Dead—as in, King Tuff Was Dead—and Thomas cut it on a Tascam 388, an 8-track reel-to-reel recording and mixing machine. He’d traded in an Ibanez electric to buy the Tascam at a music store in Keene, New Hampshire, in 2003. (Thomas didn’t know it then, but at the same time, his garage-rock contemporaries Ty Segall and the Osees’ John Dwyer were experimenting with the same machines out on the west coast.) He stuck an SM57 on his amp, and hit record. No outboard gear, no processing. It was the heart of the lo-fi revival’s heyday.
Thomas moved to Los Angeles, the heart of the genre’s new American boom, signed to Sub Pop, and released 2012’s King Tuff and 2014’s Black Moon Spell, both collections of unrepentant, gnarly garage-rock music. Then came 2018’s The Other and, in 2023, Smalltown Stardust. These were more manicured, high-fidelity endeavors. The arrangements were softer and slower. Production was clearer and more considered. When it came time to take the albums on tour, Thomas faltered. “When I would play the older songs that were more straightforward rock, it was just so much more fun,” he says. “I wanted to make a record with that in mind: What’s going to be fun to play live?”
Moo, King Tuff’s seventh record, is what he came up with. Recorded before departing Los Angeles for good, Moo is Thomas’ return to the Tascam 388, and to the earworm musical dirt-baggery he first traded in. Opener “Twisted on a Train” announces this proudly. Its an A-major foot stomper, led by the perfectly muffled snap of Thomas’ guitar, that recounts a disturbed, weed-gummy-fueled train ride from Tucson to Los Angeles. The cheap-beers-on-the-beach groove of “Stairway to Nowhere” keeps the ball rolling while Thomas looks back on his years in L.A.: “I’m so tired of spinnin’ my wheels / Negative numbers, dead-end deals / Wined and dined in paradise.”
“I really just wanted to get back to how I used to do things, more DIY,” Thomas says of the recording and release plan (Moo is coming out on his own record label). “I just feel more connected to the work that way, and I feel more connected to the fans if I’m actually giving them something that I made personally.” Vermont is a good place to do things yourself, surrounded by weavers and woodworkers instead of influencers and industry dependents: “It’s nice to be somewhere where not everyone’s trying to make it. I think cities trick people into thinking that you have to be there for shit to happen in your life, and I don’t think it’s true.”
Kyle Thomas’ Gear
Guitars & Bass
1995 Gibson SG Standard (with bolt headstock repair by Reuben Cox)
Rickenbacker 660-12TP
1968 Fender P bass
Amps
Early-’60s brown-panel Fender Deluxe 6G3
Early-’80s Fender Super Champ
Effects
Ceriatone Centuria
Dunlop Cry Baby Q-Zone
Vintage Mu-Tron Phaser
Moog MF Delay
Recording Equipment
Tascam 388
Shure SM57
Reconnecting with the Tascam made Thomas realize how important the machine is to his work. Maybe it’s the tone the Tascam imparts that endears him to it, or maybe it’s the particular workflow it demands. Regardless, working with the 8-track device, Thomas felt like himself again. He didn’t sing his vocals a hundred times and comp the best bits together, or overwork his guitar performances until they were flawless. There’s noises—hissing and buzzing and popping—plus other peculiarities and variances from one riff to the next. “It’s all about the performance and just capturing something, and not doing it to death. You can get good results doing things the new-school way,” he admits. “But you might feel sadder at the end.”
So why did it take so long for Thomas to return to his beloved Tascam? “I finally got it fixed,” he shrugs. “That’s really all it was. It was broken.”
Given his recording philosophies, it probably isn’t a surprise to hear that Thomas doesn’t like players who are “too good”: “It’s boring. I don’t think rock music should be perfect. I think rock music suffers when people make it on the computer and fix everything.” Wipers’ Greg Sage and Dead Moon’s Fred Cole are key inspirations for Thomas, alongside imperfect shredders like Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix. “I like shittier guitar players better than really good ones, usually, or guitar players that are rough around the edges,” he says. “They can be good, but they fuck up a lot.” The continued pull toward imperfection is, of course, colored by Thomas’ estimation of his own playing. “I’m not a slick guitar player, I’m not smooth,” he explains, then grins. “My hands are shaky. They’re like bald eagle talons.” The influence of more polished players like Tom Petty and Mike Campbell are in frame on Moo, too, especially courtesy of a Rickenbacker 660-12TP—Petty’s signature model—that Thomas acquired just before making the record.
“I think rock music suffers when people make it on the computer and fix everything.”
Thomas is an SG player first and foremost, and he’s played his beloved late-’90s Gibson SG Standard, named Jazijoo, for more than two decades. It’s been thrashed and colorfully decorated over the years, and its cracked headstock kept breaking until Reuben Cox, of L.A.’s Old Style Guitar Shop, put the problem to rest—by driving a bolt through the headstock, Frankenstein’s-monster style, to secure it. Because of its fragility, Jazijoo doesn’t come out on the road these days, but teamed up with a Mu-Tron Phaser that Thomas scored in a thrift store for five bucks in the early ’90s, it’s created the King Tuff sound. To round out that pairing on Moo, Thomas borrowed a brown-panel Fender Deluxe 6G3, which handled most of the guitar tones on the record, along with a small Supro combo and an early-’80s Fender Super Champ.
Almost 20 years after Was Dead, Thomas is back living in the forests of Vermont. His neighbors don’t know or really give a shit about his music, and that’s a good thing. “It’s fucking paradise,” Thomas says, straight-faced, on a video call from a room in his home crammed with music gear. “Obviously L.A. is supposed to be paradise, and it is in some ways, but I don’t know. I really missed the seasons. I get ideas and feelings here that I just didn’t have out there. I do love L.A., but I’m a freak from the woods.”Paul Gilbert: WROC-ing in the Free World
Guitar virtuoso/singer-songwriter Paul Gilbert’s latest release, WROC, a homophone of “rock,” is based on George Washington’s Rules of Civility and Decent Behaviour In Company and Conversation. Yes, the George Washington you learned about in middle school—Gilbert’s one of the few people on the planet that can make a history lesson fun!
While Gilbert’s peers in his early metal days were more inclined to doodle pentagrams and flip through the Satanic Bible, Gilbert had vastly different interests. “I read a bunch of Founding Father writings decades ago,” he explains to PG. “I was curious, so I bought the full, thick compendium of everything written by Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and George Washington. There are no stories there; instead it’s almost like finding somebody’s emails from hundreds of years ago. That was the first time I came across Washington’s Rules of Civility, and the idea of being more civil, of having better manners, somehow that was appealing to me.”
In February of last year, Gilbert had just wrapped up the final concert of Mr. Big’s “The Big Finale” tour at Tokyo’s storied Budokan, and on the flight home, both inspiration and Rules of Civility struck. “I was thinking, ‘Okay, it’s a new start for me,’ and I was excited about what to do next. I had an internet connection on the plane, and that excitement turned into this conversation with AI,” he recalls. “I couldn’t remember what they were called, I just sort of remembered there were these rules that Washington tried to follow when he was a kid. So I Googled around and asked AI, and refreshed my memory.”
Gilbert and his chatbot then worked in tandem to dissect lyrics out of Washington’s rules. “I said, ‘Take a random Washington rule and turn it into a blues lyric.’ And in three seconds, I got this Washington rule turned into a blues lyric,” he says. Gilbert then proceeded to ask AI to do additional things: Make the chorus repeat more. Find a different Washington rule for the bridge. “I was sort of telling AI what to do. That was my initial process,” he says. “As I went on, I realized it was better if I did it myself, because I know what I want. So then my conversation with AI changed. Instead of having AI do it, I said, ‘AI, give me the list of rules.’ There’s 110 of them, so I said, ‘Put them in order according to length—the short ones first and the longest last.’ That way, when I’m searching around, if I just need a short line, I don’t have to hunt through the whole book.”
Washington’s rules were the perfect springboard for Gilbert. “I love writing from a lyric—it’s so much easier than any other way of songwriting,” he says. “It was maybe the most fun I’ve ever had writing songs in my life. It’s almost escapism—I can get out of myself and enter some other world. I would take [Washington’s] lines and try to make it into a melody. Then once I had that, all the jobs that follow are my favorite jobs. I love finding chords for a melody, I love the balance of repetition—but not too much. You get to that point where it’s like, ‘Okay, that’s too many repeats, I’ve got to pull it back and find, like, a weird note that I haven’t used yet.’ And that will inspire a chord I didn’t think of. That whole craft is something I really have fun with.”
Paul Gilbert’s Gear
Guitars (live)
Ibanez FRM350 Paul Gilbert signature
Ibanez PGM50 Paul Gilbert Signature
1970s Ibanez IC200
Ibanez RS530
Ibanez Custom Shop PGM Paul Gilbert Signature (pink)
1970s Ibanez double neck (set neck version)
Guitars (studio)
Ibanez AS7312
1970s Ibanez 751 acoustic
Amps
1990s Fender Custom Vibrolux Reverb into a Randall isolation cabinet
1960s Fender Vibrolux Reverb as a wedge monitor
Victoria Club Deluxe (turned on for solos as a volume boost)
Effects
Distortion pedals for main amp:
Xotic AC Booster (always on)
JHS Overdrive Preamp
Mojo Hand Colossus
Distortion pedals for solo boost amp:
MXR Distortion+
Xotic AC Booster
Voodoo Labs Pedal Power 2 Plus
Boss LS-2 Line Selector (Gilbert has two: one to switch between distortion and clean, the other to switch on solo boost amp)
“Clean” pedals:
Boss CS-3 Compression Sustainer
Catalinbread Callisto
“Modulation” pedals:
JAM Pedals RetroVibe
MXR Stereo Chorus
Home Brew Electronics THC Three Hound Chorus
Sabbadius Tiny-Vibe
Strings, Picks, Slides & Cables
Ernie Ball Mighty Slinky (.0085–.040; Gilbert replaces the .040 with a .046)
Dunlop Tortex III .73 mm picks
Dunlop 318 Chromed Steel slide
Divine Noise coiled cable
DiMarzio straight cables, patch cables, and speaker cables
In a perfect world, Gilbert would have loved to use Washington’s rules exactly as they were written, but each song went a different way. To turn the rules into songs and make them singable, Gilbert had to resort to some basic rules of songwriting. “The first trick is just to repeat things. Or repeat an ending,” he explains. “Like, ‘If you soak bread in the sauce, let it be no more, let it be no more.’ You sing the last line twice, it becomes more like a song. So a lot of that is, you sing a line and then take the end of it and repeat it. And then once I had the verse, I might grab the book and flip through to find the bridge. Some of the songs are really simple in that I just sort of repeat the same part, but the second verse will have a harmony to it, so that’ll take it to a different direction.”
The chord progressions on some WROC songs like “Orderly and Distinctly” reveal a harmonic palette that stands out among today’s songwriters. When I covered Gilbert’s Great Guitar Escape camp in 2013, the nightly jams featured harmonically rich songs like the Bee Gees’ “How Deep is Your Love,” and ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.” These types of compositions inform Gilbert’s writing style, and their influences can be heard on many of the chord progressions on WROC.
“The idea of being more civil, of having better manners, somehow that was appealing to me.”
“That comes from growing up in the ’60s and ’70s and hearing a lot of piano-composed songs,” he says. “I was listening to Elton John, the Carpenters, Todd Rundgren, Queen, the Beatles, the Beach Boys. And you know, there’s some chords in there. That was the hard thing for me as a kid—and it was really helpful for me to go to school [in 1984 Gilbert enrolled at GIT, now called Musician’s Institute] to learn that stuff, because I was essentially an ear player. I’ve learned by ear mostly. I never had a deep knowledge of harmony until I went to school, and then I started filling in the missing puzzle pieces.”
Gilbert continues, “I remember learning ‘God Only Knows.’ I’m ruminating about the half-diminished chord in that song because it was so important to me. Or another one is, ‘When I Grow Up to Be a Man.’ The opening vocal harmony, I don’t even know what it’s called—I know what it looks like. It’s like a sharp 11 or something. It’s really a crazy chord and it starts the song off. And I don’t necessarily have to know what it’s called—whenever I hear one of those things I know it’s the ‘When I Grow up to Be a Man’ chord. My wife [Emi Gilbert] is amazing at jazz piano, but she began as a classical piano player. So some of the jazz chords are new to her and she’ll be like, ‘What is that?’ Well, there’s that Beach Boys chord. I can spot it. And I think the Beatles were like that. They weren’t trained in the vocabulary of the terminology. But they were really well trained with songs.”
As the songs for WROC started coming together, Gilbert made an interesting, and unfortunate, discovery about AI, his writing partner. “I learned that AI doesn’t always tell you the exact truth. It’ll make stuff up,” he says. He found this out when he did a Google search for a rule he used for a song title—and nothing came up. Gilbert recalls, “I then asked AI, ‘Which Washington rule is this?’ And AI was like, ‘That’s not any Washington rule.’ I said, ‘Well, you gave it to me. You were the one that told me.’ And the response was, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I must have hallucinated.’ So I was searching through this list, and now I know it was about 80 percent correct and 20 percent hallucinated. And that was a good learning experience.”
The lesson? “Always double check your AI, because it’ll just make stuff up,” he says. Nevertheless, one song on the album, “Conscience is the Most Certain Judge” features some of these AI hallucinations—Gilbert kept them because he felt they were still in the correct spirit. He also took poetic license and composed variations with his own words on “Show Yourself Not Glad at the Misfortune of Another.”
WROC, of course, is more than a mere (AI-assisted) history lesson. Since his Racer X days, Gilbert’s fanbase has been heavily populated by guitar geeks that salivate at every 16th-note run he unleashes. As is to be expected, WROC showcases Gilbert’s fiery six-string work. The opener, “Keep Your Feet Firm and Even,” kicks off with characteristic neoclassical licks and harmonized melodic lines. “Maintain a Sweet and Cheerful Countenance,” meanwhile, is built on an incendiary harmonized jazz/fusion and prog-influenced riff in the intro, which leads to a solo that sees Gilbert tearing it up on the slide—a texture he’s been exploring over the past decade.
“I learned that AI doesn’t always tell you the exact truth.”
Gilbert’s slightly unusual guitar setup accommodates both his newfound slide inclinations and his legacy speed-demon licks. While Gilbert’s strings are very light—he uses .0085 for his high-E string (at this year’s NAMM convention, while performing with Steve Morse at the Ernie Ball booth, he even admitted to using .007s on that day)—the guitar’s action is set fairly high. “It’s funny, I did a guitar clinic in Italy where I didn’t bring my own guitar,” he says. “All the students let me use their guitars, so there were, like, ten guitars on a stand. They said, ‘Use any guitar you want,’ and I picked this one up and I hurt myself. Everybody had .010s and low action and, man, I can’t play .010s with low action. I can’t get a grip on the string, and I bend all the time.”
Even though he’s been most often identified throughout his career as a guitar hero, Gilbert’s focus hasn’t been strictly on the guitar. Since King of Clubs, his 1997 debut solo album, his abilities as a lead vocalist have come to the forefront. Gilbert is a charismatic frontman who can belt out songs in a multitude of styles. He readily admits, however, that guitar is still more natural for him. “As a lead singer—which, really, if you want to be a pop musician, singing is very important—my voice always had limitations that my hands didn’t have,” he says. “If I sat down and practiced, you know, I could play this Van Halen thing. Whereas if I practice singing, I still couldn’t sing ‘Oh! Darling’ by the Beatles, no matter how much I practiced.”
Currently, Gilbert’s guitar practice goals are less about mechanics and more about melody. The days of endlessly repeating outside picking exercises with an ever-increasing-in-tempo metronome have taken a backseat to his new obsession with mastering the ability to instantaneously play the melodies he hears in his head on the guitar. Being able to produce a melody on the guitar with the proper inflections is an art that isn’t nearly as easy as it might sound (especially doing it on the spot in real time), even if you can shred scales and arpeggios at supersonic speeds. “It’s funny, right before this interview I was practicing improvising over Gary Moore’s ‘Still Got the Blues,’” he says. “Which has challenging changes, almost like ‘Autumn Leaves.’ To me, that’s a rough, rolling rapid of rocky river to navigate, but I’m getting better at it. Step one is I found all the shapes—the shape for the B half-diminished and for the E7. But then I’m using my eyes to navigate, like, ‘This shape goes into this shape.’ That’s useful to some extent, but it’s not coming from my singer’s voice. So now I sit down and go, ‘Don’t play it if you can’t sing it.’ And I force myself to sing and solo at the same time.
“I’m not great at it yet,” Gilbert continues, “so it’s risky to do it because it does slow everything down. But the more I do it, the better it gets, and there’s a real payoff at the end. But it feels like I’m telling the truth when I really play what was in there. Suddenly everything’s connected and it tells a story.”
The Good Stuff: The Eventide TimeFactor and the Case for Big Pedals
Sometimes in a musician’s life, gear design aligns with the needs of the artist. Picture this: It’s 2014. You’re surrounded by several pieces of inadequate and unobtainium looping gear in various states of disrepair, wondering if there will ever be a time when a single device is available to help you meet your ambient, pan-rhythmic, non-band-in-a-box playalong-looping desires. Then, you read about the brand new update to the looper algorithm of the Eventide TimeFactor. Once upon a time, this happened to me.
This was back when, seemingly, the powers that be saw fit to regress looping hardware devices back to the dark ages, as if the Lexicon PCM 42 and original Electro-Harmonix 16 Second Digital Delay had never existed. You’d be hard pressed to know that now, what with the plethora of forward-looking looping and sampling devices available today from the likes of Hologram Electronics, Red Panda, Chase Bliss, Expedition Electronics, Kinotone, and many, many more. But sandwiched right in the time zone between these two eras is where I found the Eventide TimeFactor’s looper algorithm.
The TimeFactor had been out for several years at this point (released, in fact, on my birthday a few years prior to this—how’s that for a sign?). It was marketed primarily as the latest super delay with a variety of dual parallel delay engines available with presets. An Eventide product, there’s no doubt about the sound and build quality of this device. But the looper seemed kind of basic and a bit of an afterthought initially, doing little more than recording and overdubbing. The major update delivered access to options like overdub order, reverse, retriggering, loop windowing, tap tempo (sort of…), and up to two octaves up or down of intervallic scanning and recording—from octaves and fifths to completely smooth linear movement, all mappable to expression pedal and AUX switches.
So, I’d like to make a case for this large-ish piece of hardware, by modern standards, with many knobs and switches, if I may. For the type of music I strive to make, swift access to parameters is essential—with little to no latency and minimal hindrance to making changes. No menu diving to reassign a knob mid-song or mid-improvisation when the fancy strikes.
It’s true that this exact same looper algorithm lives within the Eventide H9. But with only one giant knob and a couple buttons, how can I reasonably be expected to have access to the 13+ parameters available to me at the surface level of the TimeFactor hardware? It’s also true that the H9 has a digital facsimile of the TimeFactor’s hardware available in the tablet app that can control the H9 over Bluetooth, but, unfortunately, the latency introduced is still a … “factor.” (Sorry.) In fact, I think it speaks volumes that one of the best ways the Eventide engineers could come up with to control the parameters of the H9 was to simply replicate the TimeFactor control layout in the tablet app.
“For the type of music I strive to make, swift access to parameters is essential—with little to no latency and minimal hindrance to making changes.”
The TimeFactor also speaks to the priority of immediacy by allowing an expression pedal and (not or) an aux switch for further parameter control. Another great aspect of the design, and one I don’t hear much talk about, is that you can assign two instances of any knob on the unit to an auxiliary switch. If I want to jump between 0 percent and 70 percent decay in my looping overdubs at the click of a switch? No problem, we can make that happen!
Still need convincing? The pristine Eventide tone can be vintage-ified by setting a longer loop length and lowering the bit rate. The instrument/line-level switches on the back panel add further tonal shaping—some players love running that line-level boost into a guitar amp. All of this has kept me from feeling any need to "upgrade" for the past 12 years.
Please allow me to end my love letter to the TimeFactor’s looper with the following: When a legendary company known for great sound and creative devices drops a product like this—one that allows an artist to not only find a way to serve their musical ideas inspired by great guitarist looping effectors like Robert Fripp, Brian Eno, Daniel Lanois, David Torn, Henry Kaiser, Bill Frisell, and Nels Cline, but also builds enough in there to allow any artist to find their own way forward in their music into the future of their own voice—I truly believe they have done an unquestionable service for the good of all creative artists everywhere. And for that, I thank them, heartily!
Kidd Funkadelic Breaks Out on His Own
Michael Hampton’s whole career started with a single song.
As a teen growing up in Cleveland, Ohio, he taught himself to play along with records on just one string. The Temptations’ “Get Ready,” Led Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused”—those worked. Then he expanded, adding strings and songs like Kool & the Gang’s “Jungle Boogie” and Edgar Winter Group’s “Frankenstein” to his repertoire. Somewhere in there, he started jamming along with Funkadelic’s 1971 psychedelic guitar opus, “Maggot Brain.”
On the opening track to the band’s album of the same name, guitarist Eddie Hazel defined new boundaries of post-Hendrix fuzz-and-wah-soaked psychedelia. George Clinton’s Echoplex manipulations cranked the mind-melt factor further afield. It moved the young guitarist, and he kept coming back to that song.
By 1974, the band rolled through Cleveland and the 17-year-old had a chance to witness the live P-Funk extravaganza. Around that time, he had been playing music with his cousin, Lige Curry, and “a guy on the east side called Ed Sparks, he was an older guy playing bass,” according to Hampton. Together, they went to catch the show at Public Hall. Afterward, they all ended up with some of the band back at Sparks’ house.
“Ed’s like, ‘Go play “Maggot Brain,”’” Hampton recalls in his soft-spoken voice, “and I just played it til I couldn’t play it no more.”
About two weeks or so later, P-Funk drummer Tiki Fullwood called and invited the teenager to join the band. Driven to the airport by his cousin—who would also go on to join the band in 1978—he recalls, “I took my first plane ride to a sold-out show at the Capital Center in Landover, Maryland. I put my head down and played ‘Maggot Brain.’ Bernie [Worell, the band’s keyboardist] was accompanying me, which helped a lot. They wanted just Bernie and myself to do it. He was good at putting that backdrop behind me so I could solo freely.”
At first, Hampton’s only role in the Parliament-Funkadelic stage show was to play “Maggot Brain.” He eventually learned the whole set, somewhere along the way earning the nickname Kidd Funkadelic. (A recording of Hampton’s “Maggot Brain” from 1978 is included on the CD edition of Funkadelic’s One Nation Under a Groove, showing his soaring, liquid phrasing and searing tone.)
Ever since that first night, Hampton has been a fixture in the P-Funk universe, and the band and its music have been the centerpiece of his musical life. Though he’s done some collaborating beyond P-Funk, his own solo work has maintained an orbit, as can be heard on his 1995 release, P-Funk Guitar Riffs for DJ’s, or on the more solo-minded but still related Heavy Metal Funkason from 1998, which features Curry as co-producer and Clinton on guest vocals. More recently, with drummer Chuck Treece and guitarist PhilipTheArtist (Philip Smith), he’s released music as Punkadelic, which includes original material, but remains reverential in name.
Now, he seems ready to set himself apart. But that might not be a conscious effort. In fact, sitting and talking to Hampton on one of the couches at SoundPlex Studios in South Jersey, just outside of Philadelphia, I get the distinct sense that Hampton makes his way through life by going with the proverbial flow. He takes it as it comes, and for a guy who’s been playing a lot of the same music for decades, he seems surprisingly in the moment, not lingering on the past.
“Since Parliament-Funkadelic is one of the most sampled groups of all time, it’s probably safe to say you’re among the most sampled guitarists around,” I point out. “Do you ever reflect on that?”
“Nah,” he tosses off. “I don’t reflect on it. I’m honored.” He pauses, adding, “It’d be cool if I could get some more sessions or be a fly on the wall at some of these sessions that they do.”
What does get him excited is a lifetime of listening. Hampton cites his musical inspirations off the cuff: Pink Floyd, Herbie Hancock’s solo on “Chameleon,” Kiss—he stops to show me a recent gift from guitarist PhilipTheArtist, the owner of retro-minded Goldfinch Guitars, an LP-style guitar with an Ace Frehley tribute finish. “This was a gift after Ace passed,” he explains. “That’s what’s gonna get me inspired to do more—‘I wanna do something Kiss-like with that guitar’ or whatever.”
“Everything I hear, I want to play.”
He jumps to a host of more recent references—cosmic jazz saxophonist Kamasi Washington, bass futurist MonoNeon, blues phenom Christone “Kingfish” Ingram, and electric blues rocker Joe Bonamassa—then goes more big-picture. “The grooves to a lot of things—it could be commercials—whatever catches my ear, it could be electronica, it could be classical, everything I hear, I want to play.”
Hampton gets stoked thinking about all the music he loves. He mentions Les Paul, then catches himself—“Django … his ass! Man, come on!” It’s a wide musical world, full of inspiration.
It’s not just music itself that gets him going, it’s the instruments as well. Hampton loves to collect guitars, and figures he currently owns around 50 or so. In addition to the Ace Frehley tribute, he’s also brought another recent gift, also from PhilipTheArtist, this one an SG-style guitar with a finish in the style of The Fool—the Gibson once owned by both Eric Clapton and Todd Rundgren. On this one, the iconic angel has been replaced by the Kidd Funkadelic logo from Funkadelic’s 1976 Tales of Kidd Funkadelic.
That guitar made it out with Hampton for some solo band dates to celebrate the release of Into the Public Domain, the first of two EPs plus an LP that he’s releasing. The name is literal: He’ll also be releasing the multitrack files, which can be used royalty free.
It’s a large project with a lot of moving parts and a long cast of collaborators, but it came together at the behest of PhilipTheArtist, who co-produced the record along with Hampton, Joe “the Butcher” Nicolo, and John Schreffler. Recorded at Fort Wolf Studios in Canyon Country, California, and Los Angeles’ Sunset Sound, much of the music was initiated by PhilipTheArtist and Schreffler in order to create something, according to the former, “like if National Geographic or Nova wanted something in the background—not just rock ’n’ roll.”
A song like the off-kilter funky rocker “Steve’s Kadillac” strikes an experimental funny bone that could certainly work in that direction, with warped riffs floating in and out across the groove-centric soundscape. But there is plenty of rockin’ to be found, as on the opening “Fight or Flight” and the title track, where Hampton’s distortion-drenched leads crack the stratosphere wide open and launch into space.
PhilipTheArtist explains that “Technicolor Mobile Home” has roots that reach beyond the studio. “When me and Michael play ‘Hit It and Quit It’ [from Funkadelic’s Maggot Brain] live,” he explains, “there’s a certain way he plays the chorus that is different than the record. That way he plays it evolved into ‘Technicolor Mobile Home,’ then I recorded what I remembered he came up with.”
Hampton remembers the sessions as a laid back affair, where the vibe, from his perspective, was “just do what ya feel.” He recalls, “Phil would call me up from California and say, ‘You got time, Mike?’” If he was available, he’d fly out from his Philly area home. “If I didn’t jump on and do it then, I wasn’t gonna do it,” he says.
“Today, there are some serious issues and it’s like, what am I gonna write to that? Am I gonna write about it? Or not gonna write about it? Or just play?”
Nicolo, a nine-time Grammy winner and co-founder of legendary hip-hop label Ruffhouse Records, assembled the jammy tracks into songs. “I had so many colors of the rainbow to paint with,” he says.
Hampton will follow Into the Public Domain with King Kong, a musical telling of the classic story, and The Kidd. With a preview of rough tracks from the latter, it seems as though the trilogy will showcase just how singular and varied Hampton’s guitar playing is. The early tracks indicate a world that’s all over the sonic map, his still-distinctive guitar fitting right into ’90s ZZ Top-style heavy blues, warped disco funk, soul jazz, and beyond.
Nicolo will release the albums through his SMN Records imprint—a part of his Sound Mind Network, a nonprofit whose “mission is to change the way the world looks at trauma suicide and drug abuse with the arts.” He says the records display Hampton’s “splintered genius” and calls him a “chameleon" who is “so unlike traditional guitar players.”
Hampton is all about the vibe, and that seems to be what makes him such an adaptable player. He gets the vibe, and dives in. It’s an approach that any improvisor knows requires staying in the moment and keeping overthinking at bay, and that’s where Hampton is most natural.
“I like to remain ‘not-knowing,’” he muses. “I like to practice a lot, but at the same time, I want it to be new.” (It’s also the answer he gives when I ask if he likes messing around with pedals, which he doesn’t really get into extensively: “Every time I hook something up, I want it to be brand new.”)
“Staying inspired,” he continues, “it’s just life itself. Today, there are some serious issues and it’s like, what am I gonna write to that? Am I gonna write about it? Or not gonna write about it? Or just play?”
This recent burst of activity is intentional, though; Hampton tells me he’s trying to be more available to new musical things. In this case, it’s been working out. Jams that started some years ago in Philadelphia turned into sessions—he mentions some early jams related to the project at Bam Margera’s house—that led to more sessions and eventually to the L.A. recordings. Throughout, he’s just been trying to be open to saying yes. Where that will lead next is anybody’s guess.
“I like to remain ‘not-knowing.’ I like to practice a lot, but at the same time, I want it to be new.”
If all that sounds like he’s always on to the next thing, that’s only partially true. P-Funk continues to take it to the stage, and when we talk, Hampton is getting ready to head out for a few dates. The group’s large ever-changing lineup has sounded powerful on recent tours. And at the recent Hampton-band live shows in California, the pickup band assembled by PhilipTheArtist opted to stick to versions of P-Funk classics, namely “Butt-to-Butt Resuscitation,” “Red Hot Mama,” “Hit It and Quit it,” and, of course, “Maggot Brain.”
While the classics remain in all parts of his life, Hampton says he hopes to get a live band playing the new material. He adds that when the time comes to play those songs, “I don’t want to know them too well.”
The driving force in Hampton’s camp, it seems—the one making sure this all goes down—is PhilipTheArtist, and he’s passionate about the music. He wants people to hear the breadth of what’s possible. The world knows his work with P-Funk, but he wants Hampton to be heard as an individual. “It’s time for Michael to get out there,” he says. “Every legendary guitar player has a set of solo records and has a sound people can put their finger on. Michael was under-celebrated in that way. It was time.”
What is it about Hampton that has driven this project? “Michael has the ability to give you goosebumps with his playing,” PhilipTheArtist says. “He’s one of those guys who can make you cry or make you smile with his playing.” Or to put it simply, “He just knows how to make you feel something.”
The Other Side of GAS: Decoding Price Points
At the beginning of my career, I made a lot of mistakes. The beginning is the time for it. If you’re lucky, and you are surrounded by enough good people (as I thankfully was), you begin to learn what’s important and replace the mental noise with hard work.
Buried in the center of all the mental stuff is, for a lot of bass players, the inevitable pursuit of sound through gear. Sometimes it’s totally justified; other times it’s what has become known as GAS: Gear Acquisition Syndrome.
In those early years, I knew nothing about gear. I had very little of it. Maybe three or four basses and a total of two pedals and a tuner. (The EBS Octabass and a Boss Chorus, for anyone wondering.)
If you know anything about me now, almost 30 years later, you literally can’t move in my studio for pedals. Sometimes I grab a gig bag out of the closet to go to a gig and find a bass inside that I forgot I owned. This isn’t a flex; this is just to highlight how things have changed, how absurd they have become, and to perhaps lend some validity to what I want to talk about today, considering the amount of experience (good and bad) I’ve had with gear.
My good friend Ian Martin Allison, who you may know from Scott’s Bass Lessons or from countless recordings and tours, recently collaborated with Walrus Audio on a preamp/DI, the Mantle. I was fortunate enough to receive an advance unit to check out and give feedback on. I posted an episode of my podcast featuring it, and the outrage at the price point of the Mantle is on a level I haven’t experienced before on my channel.
It’s fascinating to see how far the algorithm has come in terms of brainwashing us into thinking we either need, or deserve, every new thing that is announced, regardless of whether it makes any sense for what we do, and more importantly, regardless of what our personal means are. People look at the price, know they can’t afford it, and immediately accuse the company of greed, all the while having never used it, never been involved in R&D, and with no experience of the artist/brand relationship.
I was very careful on my podcast to highlight the fact that there are a multitude of entry points into the world of preamps, and at $749, this latest one might not be the thing for you, no matter how much FOMO you think you might have or how much you love the way it sounds.
I really like how the Bugatti Chiron looks, and boy would it be a special moment to be able to drive one and experience engineering that is incomprehensible to most of humankind. But the $4-million-plus price tag lets me know it’s not for me, that I should appreciate it from afar, and reminds me my Mazda (at 0.63 percent of the cost) still has four wheels, AC, Bluetooth, and gets me where I need to go in quite some comfort.
“Not only do you probably not need the latest, most expensive thing on the market, you really don’t need to be mad about its price.”
I think the internet has changed the way we bass players chase things like sound, and a healthy dose of awareness could not only save you a ton of money but get you to the thing that is actually right for you. Is it a unit that is $749 (Mantle), $1,400 (Noble Preamp DI), or $449 (JHS Colour Box)? It could well be. If that is the case, and you are a professional who requires high-quality gear that you will actually use, then fantastic. Question asked, question answered.
If your budget doesn’t allow for that right away, definitely try to have the patience to save until it does so that you buy once and cry once. Patience now for a short period of financial pain and a lifetime of happiness with your sound.
Is your budget sub-$300? This is also great information, and you have so many options for bass preamps. I used the EP Booster from Xotic for years. I think I paid $100 for it used and still have it to this day. Want more EQ options and a DI? MXR Bass Preamp at $189. Want an industry-standard DI that will never die? Radial Engineering JDI for $260.
This isn’t a commercial piece for any of the aforementioned companies or products. It’s just a heads up that not only do you probably not need the latest, most expensive thing on the market, you really don’t need to be mad about its price. If we can start asking bigger questions about our own needs and means, we’ll be able to shut out the mental load marketing algorithms place on our decision-making process and live a far more streamlined existence with the absolute best gear for us.
Lamb of God’s Brutal Truth
“Any time we make a record, it’s like we’re taking a snapshot of where we’re at that particular time,” says Lamb of God guitarist Mark Morton. “I think it’s inevitable that over the course of your career you start to understand what people respond to and what they don’t. But we’ve never chased the approval of anyone—not critics, not even our fans. We’ve always rallied very strongly around the idea that we’re making music for the five of us in this band. I mean, if we can’t get excited about what we’re doing, how can anybody else?”
For Morton, the process of gearing up for Lamb of God’s 10th studio album, Into Oblivion, involved a period of reflection. After the band (which also includes guitarist Willie Adler, bassist John Campbell, drummer Art Cruz, and singer Randy Blythe) finished their 2024 Ashes of the Wake 20th anniversary tour, he went through the group’s catalog and listened to a number of songs they had never performed live. “That kind of spun me off into thinking, ‘Who was I back then? Where was my head at when I was writing those songs?’” he says.
Morton decided to investigate further, and went down the rabbit hole of bands he listened to some 25 years ago, like Meshuggah, At the Gates, and the Haunted. But he didn’t stop at early 2000s Swedish death metal; he also reconnected with records by local bands from Lamb of God’s hometown of Richmond, Virginia. “I’m talking about Breadwinner and Sliang Laos and some other bands that never got the kind of notoriety they deserved,” he says. His listening binge then segued to old favorites like Fugazi and the Jesus Lizard. He notes, “We have a new song called ‘Sepsis’ that’s like the Jesus Lizard and Sliang Laos spun together in a modern metal song.”
Before hitting the studio with Lamb of God, Morton issued his second solo album, Without the Pain, an engaging and thoughtfully crafted Southern rock-tinged set that featured collaborations with Cody Jinks, Charlie Starr, and Jason Isbell, among others. Coming out the other side, the guitarist felt ready—refreshed and rejuvenated—to reconvene with Lamb of God. “I think longtime bands can only survive if there’s room for members to pursue other opportunities,” he says. “I can get other music out of my system and still allow Lamb of God to maintain its character and personality.”
He doesn’t beat around the bush as to the nature of the band’s identity. “We’re a heavy metal band,” he says. “We make heavy metal records. It’s what I want us to do, and it’s what we want to do. We’re really good at it, and we keep trying to get better. I respect what we’ve done in the past, and I feel obligated to honor our history and help us make something that’s worthy of that body of work.”
Which wasn’t always a walk in the park. The band went through an intense vetting process while writing material for the album, weeding out anything that sounded like reworked versions of songs from their past. “That was the challenge,” Morton says. “If you want to get to a new place, you’ve got to be willing to put the work in, and it can be hard. You listen a lot, rewrite a lot, try new ideas. If something sounded fresh or out of the ordinary, we ran with it. Even if it didn’t pan out, at least we were out of our comfort zone.”
Mark Morton’s Gear
Guitars
- Gibson Mark Morton Les Paul
- 1969 Gibson Les Paul Custom
- Fender Custom Shop Stratocaster
Amps
- Mesa/Boogie Rectifier Badlander (rhythms)
- Mesa/Boogie Mark IV (solos)
Effects
- Vintage Ibanez Tube Screamer
- Klon Centaur
- “Any delays, choruses, or phasers are done with outboard gear in the mix.”
Strings, Picks, and Cables
- Stringjoy Mark Morton Artist Series
- Dunlop Tortex 1.00 mm
- Mogami cables
The guitarist recalls each band member using a certain word throughout the writing and recording period: stock. “We said that over and over,” he says. “It became our touchstone. We had to be brutal. If something felt stock—a riff, a song, a performance—we’d toss it. You keep listening, and you go, ‘It’s not bad. It’s not broken. There’s no mistakes. But it feels stock.’ Good enough wasn’t good enough. Regular-schmegular wasn’t gonna cut it. It had to be great. So you keep going till you get there.”
Morton embraced self-scrutiny when it came to his own guitar playing. If he found himself playing the same patterns as a result of muscle memory—it’s as typical among musicians as it is with athletes—he sought a new approach. He credits longtime band producer Josh Wilbur for his unsparing, pull-no-punches approach in the studio. “Josh has been with us for close to 20 years, so he knows the work in and out,” the guitarist says. “I’ll play something and he’ll go, ‘How many times have we said this already? This riff feels like it’s been on two other records. Can we say something else?’ A lot of other guitarists would have their pride hurt, but I don’t mind. You have to rally around the perspective that you’re trying to do something of value.”
Morton calls himself a “card-carrying tone chaser,” and to that end, he found what he was looking for years ago and stuck with it. Into Oblivion is brimming with his two-tone approach: For rhythm tracks, he ran his go-to guitars (either a signature Gibson Mark Morton Les Paul or a 1969 Les Paul Custom) through a Mesa/Boogie Rectifier Badlander with a vintage Ibanez Tube Screamer in front (“I put the gain all the way up and the overdrive all the way down”), and for solos he used a Mesa/Boogie Mark IV with a Klon Centaur boost pedal in front. “I didn’t feel the need to try to change my sound for the sake of changing it,” he says. “The self-editing I felt I needed had more to do with my actual playing.”
“If we can’t get excited about what we’re doing, how can anybody else?”
Any band that gets to their 10th album might sound as if they’re coasting, but Lamb of God are full of frenzy on Into Oblivion. As they have from the beginning, they serve up a vicious mix of sledgehammer heavy metal and metal-adjacent subgenres (metalcore, thrash, post-metal, death metal, doom metal), but the beauty of it all lies in their seemingly indefatigable ability to make each song’s wicked grooves and way-out licks sound like inspired bits of improvisation. What’s even more remarkable is that, unlike on their previous album, 2022’s Omens, which was recorded live in the studio, Into Oblivion was tracked in sections, with various band members operating in different locales (Morton cut his guitars at his home studio).
“I don’t think recording live off the floor is the standard anymore, for any band,” the guitarist says. “We enjoyed doing it on the last record, but this time we did things individually, and cool stuff came from it. It’s fun to open up the files and listen to tracks one of the other guys did. It’s like opening presents on Christmas. That’s not to say that everything is a total surprise—we’re all very involved with the writing and pre-production. These are just steps along the way when we’re working independently to bring material in.”
The album’s title track is fiery stuff, built around a pile-driving, high-velocity riff that Morton kicked around in pre-production. “It was one of the last songs we worked on,” he says. “Josh and I were sitting in my studio, and I had a riff that we started building into a song. We actually did speed that up about four bpm,” Morton remembers, “which isn’t huge, but we have to be careful about that kind of thing because tempos have a huge impact on the song.”
“Sepsis” comes on like a volcanic beast from hell. Blythe howls and hollers like he just laid his hand on a smoking cast-iron skillet, and a pummeling guitar-and-bass riff adds knockaround punishment. Mid-song, Morton goes weird and wonderful, ramming the message home with jarring dissonant chords that evoke the styles of the Jesus Lizard’s Duane Denison and indie producer Steve Albini. “I love both those guys,” Morton says. “The Melvins, too—they were huge for us. When we talk about Lamb of God, we have to talk about punk and alternative, but also Slayer and Pantera. All that stuff is vital for us.”
The award for Naming Songs For Exactly What They Sound Like goes to Lamb of God for “Blunt Force Blues,” an overwhelming nod to Vulgar Display of Power-era Pantera that asks the musical question: Why have just one corrosive metal riff when 20 will do? “We all have a hand in the songwriting, but that one is a clear example of Willie Adler’s train of thought,” Morton says. “He has this incredible stream of consciousness that sometimes we have to roll back and sometimes we don’t. It can be a wild ride interpreting what’s inside his head.”
When asked if the band has yet tackled the song live, Morton laughs and says, “No. I might need to bring some notes if we do get to that one.”
“Regular-schmegular wasn’t gonna cut it. It had to be great.”
The band hits the brakes on their high-speed tempos for the somber and atmospheric “El Vacio,” a mini-epic of sorts that’s distinguished by layers of gorgeous, echo-drenched, clean-toned guitar textures. “That one began as a bit of an assignment given to me,” Morton says. “Josh and Randy were out in L.A. doing some vocals and writing, and I got a text from Randy: ‘Hey man, send us something weird. We’ve got great songs, but we need to shake the snow globe. Even if we don’t use it, give me something super out of the box.’”
Morton accepted the assignment as a challenge and came up with “something that feels a little like the Cult from their Love period. It was really different for us, and the band loved it.”
Not every song on Into Oblivion features a guitar solo (Morton has never presented himself as a particularly self-indulgent player), but “Parasocial Christ” is a standout. Amid rugged rhythms, the guitarist shoots lead fireworks, abusing his instrument like it owes him money and even tossing in a heaping helping of old-fashioned dive bombs. “It’s nothing I’ve ever done in my professional career, but I did all that stuff when I was younger,” he says. “I did all the tapping and dive bombing that everybody else was doing. There’s actually a lot of whammy bar stuff on the record, which is entirely attributable to Josh Wilber. Every time we cut a solo, he’d say, ‘Why don’t you do a dive bomb?’ I was like, ‘Did you just discover whammy bars or something? I play Les Pauls, so what are we gonna do?’ He just went, ‘We’ll figure something out.’”
Ultimately, the producer got his wish, and to that end Morton utilized a Fender Custom Shop Stratocaster “super-Stratted” by master builder Mike Shannon. “Whenever you hear a dive bomb, that’s me playing the Strat,” Morton says.
“I didn’t feel the need to try to change my sound for the sake of changing it. The self-editing I felt I needed had more to do with my actual playing.”
Whether he’s detonating dive bombs or digging deep into earth-moving rhythms, Morton burns through it all with the zeal and youthful stamina of someone making his first album. For guitarists seeking pre-album training tips, Morton says simply, “By the time we start tracking a record, we’ve spent months doing pre-production, running through the songs and trying different ideas. At that point, I’m ready to go.”
Pressed further, he admits that there is a bit of a science to the art of capturing the perfect guitar performance. “It can come down to all sorts of things, or even just one thing,” he says. “Am I in a good mood? Am I excited about what I’m doing? Do I feel good physically? Am I undercaffeinated or overcaffeinated? It rarely takes me two days to track a song, but if we have to do something again to get it right, we will. The bottom line is, I try to stay in a good mental space.”
Asked if he has any special tricks for that one, Morton cracks a grin. “Yeah—I turn off social media.”
Last Call: The Song That Changed Motown
In the spring of 2020, I found myself quarantined in Nashville, staring at screens for too many hours, with TikTok feeding me an endless scroll of protests, police confrontations, and cities on edge. Meanwhile, right here in Music City, protesters smashed windows along Lower Broadway and set fires near the state Capitol. It felt surreal, chaotic, and unpredictable. The entire world was wondering: What’s going on?
During that time, I rewatched the documentary Standing in the Shadows of Motown. It occurred to me that our current chaos hit exactly half a century after Marvin Gaye captured the same bewilderment in his landmark 1971 single and album. Recorded in the summer of 1970 at Motown’s Hitsville U.S.A. in Detroit, What’s Going On emerged from a man who’d grown weary of the polished pop machine.
Before this, Marvin Gaye was the ideal Motown product: handsome, polite, safe. Hits like “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved by You),” “Ain’t That Peculiar,” and “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” made him a star. But by 1969, depression had sidelined him. He stopped touring. His brother Frankie returned from Vietnam with haunting stories of war’s toll. Detroit’s streets boiled with police brutality and unrest. Singing only love songs started feeling dishonest.
The spark came on May 15, 1969, when Four Tops member Renaldo “Obie” Benson witnessed police attacking anti-war protesters at Berkeley’s People’s Park on “Bloody Thursday.” Shaken, Benson wondered aloud, “What’s going on here?” Why send kids overseas to die? Why beat them in the streets at home? Back in Detroit, he collaborated with songwriter Al Cleveland on a tune inspired by those questions. Benson pitched it as a love song—about love and understanding—but his bandmates dismissed it as protest. Benson insisted: “I’m not protesting. I want to know what’s going on.”
Motown in the ’60s was a hit factory modeled on Detroit’s auto plants. Berry Gordy ran it with iron discipline: Songwriters cranked out material, producers cut poppy versions, and weekly quality-control meetings decided releases. The goal was to make Black music that white America would embrace—no politics, no anger, no “inside” references. Songs focused on love, heartbreak, dancing—emotional ground that was safe enough to cross racial lines. The Funk Brothers delivered grooves that ruled dance floors with tight time driven with a ubiquitous tambourine, two drummers, and James Jamerson’s funky bass lines. Albums were a collection of singles and filler.
Marvin Gaye thought this song would not fly under the constraints of Gordy, so he booked a late-night session with a core of trusted Funk Brothers—including Jamerson, who, legend has it, was so drunk he had to lay on his back to play, reading charts upside down. Jamerson’s line never really repeats; instead, he weaves chromatic passing tones into a jazz-influenced swing that rarely hits the tonic and never loses the pocket.
“Marvin Gaye’s masterpiece endures because it refuses rage for its own sake.”
The whole vibe of the sessions feels loose, spontaneous, alive. This wasn’t assembly-line Motown; it was personal, socially conscious, adventurous. The song doesn’t shout protest. It asks questions: about war’s human cost, community violence, poverty, ecology. “Mother, mother, there’s too many of you crying / Brother, brother, there’s far too many of you dying.” The refrain—“You know we’ve got to find a way to bring some lovin’ here today”—pleads for compassion without condemnation. Marvin invites reflection, empathy, unity.
When Gaye presented it to Berry Gordy, Gordy called it “the worst thing I ever heard.” It was too political, uncommercial, poorly structured, sonically weird, very un-Motown. Marvin, leveraging his star power, essentially went on strike and refused to record anymore until they released the song. Gordy relented for a single release, expecting it to fail, after which Gaye would fall back in line. Instead, the song soared to No. 2 on the Billboard Hot 100, and No. 1 on the R&B chart. The public connected. Gordy greenlit the full album, shifting Motown toward artist-driven, thematic works. It paved the way for Stevie Wonder’s creative control and proved personal vision could sell.
Now, the question—what’s going on?—feels eerily fresh to me. I’m by nature an optimistic person, and I suspect Marvin Gaye was as well. Otherwise, he would not have jeopardized a wildly successful career to make a statement for change. Marvin Gaye’s masterpiece endures because it refuses rage for its own sake. It calls for love amid chaos, understanding across fractures. “War is not the answer / Only love can conquer hate.” In 1971, it challenged Vietnam and domestic strife. Today, it speaks to endless cycles of conflict, brutality, and disconnection.
Marvin Gaye risked everything to say something true. The result wasn’t just a hit; it was a mirror. Sometimes the most revolutionary act is refusing to look away.
Reverend Charger Jr. Review
As a single-pickup, hardtail guitar, the Reverend Charger Jr. wears simplicity as a badge of honor. But thanks to excellent execution of practical design updates and a basic player friendliness, it’s not as limited as one might suspect.
Its combination of a single-cutaway body, bolt-on neck, Steelhead P-90-style pickup (designed in-house,) and string-through hardtail bridge brings to mind a cross between a Fender Esquire and a Les Paul Jr. But part of what makes that marriage work is originality that lets the Charger Jr. hint at those two classics while staking out its own territory.
Hot Rod Heart
The solid Korina body (beautifully finished in metallic cherry, with cream binding and a back-sprayed gold pickguard) produces an unplugged tone somewhere between ash and mahogany—warm, but with plenty of snap. The roasted maple neck, topped with a rosewood fingerboard, has a comfortable medium oval profile. It’s a little chunkier than a typical C shape, but far from baseball bat territory.
This review was my first go with roasted maple, and I’m a convert. Smooth to the touch and pleasing to the eye, the wood stood up to very dry New York winter heating that had me refilling my acoustic guitar humidifiers at an alarming rate and finding jagged metal on electrics I’ve had for years. Not the Charger Jr.’s medium-jumbo (.110 x .050) frets, though. They’re fine.
“The Charger Jr.’s Steelhead P-90 delivers purity that’s hard to resist, while offering enough variety to cover roots, punk, and even metal.”
Reverend is great at effectively updating familiar design elements. The bolt-on neck, for instance, attaches with six screws rather than the traditional four—and it is a tight joint. The strings pass through an aluminum ferrule block, up to a Bonite (synthetic bone) nut, and under a cleverly designed 3-string tree, before terminating in Reverend Pin Lock locking tuners. High build quality brings the best out of these intelligent upgrades, making the Charger Jr. a pleasure to play and listen to, with solid tuning stability and consistent tone up, down, and across the neck. The guitar came out of the case with good intonation and low, buzz-free action, too.
At 43 mm (1.69 inches) at the nut and sporting a 12-inch fretboard radius, the 25.5-inch, 22-fret playing surface is a great platform for chords, runs, and bends. Even after deep bends, the guitar stays true and in tune.
Rocks In the Head
While the Jr. has only one pickup, the 3-way switch combines with a very effective treble-bleed volume control and a wide-range tone control to offer an impressive array of tones. The forward switch position (what you would otherwise call the “neck” setting) rolls off treble but preserves more of the Steelhead’s grindy personality than you get by simply turning down the tone knob. At times, it’s almost like a fixed-position wah. The back position offers more cut and spank, and a lot of upper-mid emphasis—reminiscent of a hot Telecaster pickup but with a hint of combined bridge-and-neck jangle. The middle position is my favorite of the three and the most P-90-like. There’s plenty of top-end bite, beefy lows, and a little scoop in the midrange that makes single notes jump and chords fill space.
The Steelhead pickup seems made for my modded Fender Vibro Champ, which can switch between a Bandmaster-style EQ and a raw, tweed Champ-like signal path (no EQ, higher gain). With the Champ’s EQ active, and treble and bass maxed, the Charger’s switching offered three distinct but totally compatible voices. Overdriven, the middle and bridge settings worked best together, and thanks to the treble-bleed volume control, you can mellow the tone out for rhythm without getting lost in a mix. The Champ’s snarly raw mode favored the brighter bridge pickup position alone, with the middle, unadulterated Steelhead sound a close second. Rolling back the Charger Jr.’s volume yields very nice clean tones.
Through an uber-clean SWR bass amp, the switching system still offers impressive variety. The front rhythm position is more effective in this kind of super-clean signal path, and ranges from darkness to twilight depending on the guitar’s tone control position. Where the other two positions scream through the Champ, they pop and chime through the SWR. What’s more, the Reverend’s natural sustain lends these super-clean single notes plenty of presence and body.
In a way, I was most impressed by how the Charger Jr. sounded with my Universal Audio Apollo interface while I was sitting in front of a computer, because the guitar’s low noise floor is remarkable. Noise can make single-coil pickups—and P-90s in particular—a nightmare when running into an interface. But not here. Factor in the guitar’s comfort and tuning stability, and you can imagine why I used the Charger Jr. for composing and recording sessions a lot in recent days.
The Verdict
From the moment it came out of the case, the Charger Jr. felt as comfortable as a broken-in pair of leather gloves. At just less than $1,100, it boasts the materials and build quality of a considerably more expensive instrument. If one pickup seems limiting, the Charger platform is available in other guises with different pickups and different bridges. That said, the Jr.’s Steelhead P-90 delivers purity that’s hard to resist, while offering enough variety to cover roots, punk, and even metal. If you crave simplicity that deviates from Esquire and Les Paul Jr. templates, this Charger is highly recommended.
Fender Master Builder Andy Hicks’ Winding Road
Andy Hicks’ path to becoming a guitar craftsman—from overachieving student to Fender Custom Shop Master Builder—can be traced back to age 11 or 12, when a friend introduced him to Nirvana’s In Utero. Hicks had grown up savoring his dad’s eclectic record collection—everything from the Beatles to jazz standards to Black Sabbath. But as he soaked in the noisy strains of songs like “Serve the Servants” and “Scentless Apprentice,” it felt like “something was unlocking” in his brain.
“It was a band my parents didn’t know about,” Hicks recalls. “It was this secret. It’s kind of edgy, so do I tell them about this?’ I remember being nervous: ‘The band is Nirvana, and here’s the album cover [which shows a transparent anatomical mannequin].’ My dad was like, ‘Let’s go buy every record of theirs.’ A couple weeks later, I’ve got the entire discography and t-shirts and everything. I was just so fascinated by Kurt Cobain as an artist, and I was the perfect age for that music to resonate with me.”
But this resonance went even deeper than most kids bewitched by the brooding “Smells Like Teen Spirit” video. In that clip, Hicks happened to notice Cobain was playing a Fender Mustang—not that he knew anything about his future employer as a pre-teen. “That video made me want to play guitar,” he says. “I was like, ‘That looks so cool.’ I knew he played a Fender, but I didn’t know any Fender models or anything. For my birthday, my parents took me to Guitar Center and I got my first: a made-in-Mexico three-tone sunburst Strat. I just fell in love with the guitar.”
In the decades since, Hicks—a former member of the doom-metal band Stygian Crown—has forgotten more about the instrument than most people ever learn. But in a way, his wealth of knowledge hasn’t really altered his perspective all that much, either as a builder or a musician: Instead of chasing trendy guitar gimmicks or seeking out some unattainably perfect tone, he’s just aiming for empowerment.
“My formative years were spent learning how to use my hands to make the sounds I wanted to make,” he says. “Years later, I look back at that as being such a blessing. As a builder, I’m not sucked into the misinformation pool about tone wood and all of these little minute changes to something that people think is gonna make this huge change in the instrument. It’s more, ‘Let me make the best-feeling instrument for you,’ because the tone is ultimately going to come from you. I can’t make you have the tone that you want. That’s freeing as a builder, and I think it’s freeing for the player, too.”
After getting his hands on that first Strat, he was obsessed. But not necessarily with gear. Back at home with his little 25-watt amp, he realized too late that he needed effects pedals to emulate his heroes: “I have this vision of going home and playing ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit,’” he says. “‘Why doesn’t my guitar sound like that guitar?’” But even after experimenting with “a million” options, he learned a crucial lesson: “After having a distortion pedal, it was like, ‘I still don’t sound like Black Sabbath.’” He eventually found his own path, falling in love with heavy metal and taking any chance he could to practice.
“I wanted the guitar to be as involved in my life as it could possibly be forever,” he says. “In high school, the only guitar class they taught was Introduction to Guitar. I was beyond ‘introduction,’ but I explained to the teacher: ‘I’m just looking for a place where I can come play. If I don’t learn anything new, I’m gonna teach myself stuff. Can I take this class?’ I took it for a semester. When it was over, I said, ‘Can I sign up again?’ He was like, ‘Uh, I guess.’ I took it for two straight years, for four semesters.” That same devotion followed him into college, where he played in bands but also envisioned a life as a teacher and water polo coach. The itch, it turns out, was too strong to not eventually scratch.
“The tone is ultimately going to come from you. I can’t make you have the tone that you want.”
“My roommates would always say, ‘Why aren’t you a music major?’” he recalls. “I knew some music majors, and it sometimes seemed too clinical, the way they would talk about music. I didn’t know if that part of the guitar would give me joy. For a long time, it was, ‘I’ll have some other career, and the guitar will always be there for me to come home and decompress with.’”
He got the push he needed from his future wife. “I came home from work,” he says, “and she told me, ‘I don’t think you love what you’re doing. I think you love guitar. There’s a school in Hollywood [called the Musicians Institute].’ At this point, I was tinkering with guitars all the time. I wanted to make my guitars feel better, and I didn’t have the money to have somebody constantly adjust these things for me, swapping out pickups or whatever. When we came home [from touring the school], I was like, ‘I have to do this.’ I signed up and started there the next semester [in 2009].”
He learned a lot in the Guitar Craft Academy program, focusing six months on the electric guitar and impressing one of the instructors, longtime Fender employee Dave Maddux. “He was the first person to say to me, ‘Judging by the builds you’ve done in school, I think you could make a good go at this,’” Hicks says. “He put me in contact with some people, and when I graduated, I had a job lined up at Jackson Custom Shop, where I shaped necks and did fretwork. That’s been a main focus my whole career: making the neck feel as good as possible.”
He bounced around a bit at Jackson, including a stint on the Fender production line. But these early days were anything but boring: He was only on the job for a few weeks, working on necks for the EVH Wolfgang, when he first met Eddie Van Halen, who was on site with master builders Chip Ellis (Fender) and Mike Shannon (Jackson).
“I wanted the guitar to be as involved in my life as it could possibly be forever.”
“It’s Fender—we have tours all the time,” Hicks says. “This guy comes over, leaning on me, and he looks like some dad wearing a baseball hat. Then I’m like, ‘Oh, Eddie Van Halen is just standing here watching us work.’ The guy I was working with was in the middle of complaining: ‘Man, these stainless steel frets. With just these Wolfgangs, we’ve gotta do 12 stainless steel necks today.’ Eddie [playfully] said something along the lines of, ‘I’m sorry my guitar is such a pain in the butt.’ It was incredible.” (The story has a full-circle coda: Toward the end of Hicks’ run at Jackson, Van Halen held a friends-and-family show at the Forum, and the virtuoso gave +1s to everyone who worked on his guitars. “My dad was sitting next to Tom Morello, telling him that his son made Eddie Van Halen’s guitar,” he says with a laugh. “I had to say, ‘Dad, please stop talking to Tom Morello. And also, I didn’t make his guitar. Chip made his guitar. I make Wolfgang guitars.’ He was so excited to talk to somebody, and he just happened to be talking to Tom Morello.”)
After a couple years at Jackson, Hicks “got noticed a little bit” and made the jump over to the Gretsch Custom Shop, where he earned his stripes as a “guitar detective,” helping with a meticulous recreation of Malcolm Young’s “Salute” Jet. Gretsch initially thought they’d have access to the AC/DC icon’s original axe—but after both Young and his tech suffered health issues, they were left only with photos, dimensional specs, and a lot of question marks.
“There were a lot of things that had been done to it over the years,” Hicks recalls. “It had one pickup in it and three knobs. What do those do? No one could really tell us. During some of my digging, I contacted a guitar shop in Melbourne, Australia, that had it in there before a tour. They took photos of it just for fun, so they sent me a bunch of them. That’s how I learned about the weird tone caps that they had in it—they were like wah-pedal tone caps instead of normal tone caps. It was essentially two master volumes and a tone. That’s the fun stuff of doing an instrument like that.”
“I thought to myself, ‘I don’t know if I’m growing anymore.’ I didn’t like that feeling.”
Hicks grew super comfortable at Gretsch—almost too comfortable. “I thought to myself, ‘I don’t know if I’m growing anymore,’” he says. “I didn’t like that feeling. I didn’t want to wait around anymore to see if it’s going to be my turn.” When he got an offer to run production at the high-end manufacturer James Tyler Guitars, he leapt at the opportunity—finding a mentor in the titular builder, who “ran his shop like a pirate” and followed his gut above all else. “When everyone was doing the roasted necks, he was like, ‘I don’t really like how it sounds, so we’re not doing it,’” he says. “I remember some of his finance guys saying, ‘We can charge more.’ But he didn’t care.” After Tyler’s health took a turn, Hicks wound up running production and building simultaneously, often working two shifts a day to help steer the ship opposite general manager Rich Renken. This was another valuable learning moment, but he felt like there was unfinished business back at his old stomping grounds.
After a serendipitous phone call with Fender’s Ron Thorn, who told him a spot was opening up at the Custom Shop, that feeling only solidified. “As soon as Ron said this, it was like, ‘That’s the thing. I have to know if I can do it,’” Hicks recalls. “I think I left Tyler in good hands, so there were no bad feelings. It was an emotional day, coming in here, being welcomed back. It was an interesting first day, too, because you know everyone’s name. [laughs] It just felt right. It felt like coming home.”
He returned with a wealth of knowledge, but none of it prepared him for one particular build: making a new model for his favorite guitarist of all time, Iron Maiden’s Dave Murray. “It was completely insane,” he says. “They were about to start this multi-year tour and wanted another guitar. I was working really closely with his tech, fine-tuning his model a little bit.” He decked the bridge, adjusted the neck angle, oil-finished the neck—tailoring it as best he could to Murray’s preferences. Despite all that hard work, it was still tense waiting for feedback. “I shipped it off and got an email a couple days later from Dave,” he recalls. “It just said ‘Regarding the guitar’ [in the subject line], and it’s a Schrödinger’s cat situation: ‘I’m gonna open this email, and one of two things happens: He either likes the guitar, and that’s good, or he doesn’t like it, and now what do I do?’ He said how much he loved it. His guitar tech reached out and said it was going to be his number-one for the tour. And now we’ve announced that we’re launching the master-built version of that.”
Hicks once envisioned the guitar dominating his life—and between his day job and his own creative pursuits, that’s pretty much come true. “The bigger balancing act,” he says, “is learning how to turn the guitar off for a little bit when I’m at home with my kids,” he says. Those worlds are colliding even more than usual now, though, as his nine-year-old son is taking guitar lessons. (The kid has access to a pretty sweet setup, too, including Hicks’ Fender Tone Master Pro workstation and Tone Master FR-12 amp. Plus, he’s playing what Hicks calls “the nicest 3/4-scale Squier in the entire world,” after his hours of re-fretting and tweaking.)
Back home at Fender, Hicks is master-building the life he always wanted: “Man,” he says, “it’s been a dream come true.”
Acoustic Soundboard: Strengthen Your Guitar with Structured Sides
Most exciting new innovations in acoustic guitar have to do with the top, like new bracing systems, double tops, etc. This makes sense, because this is the main sound-producing component of the instrument. But a guitar is a whole system of parts that work together to produce sound, and the sides of the guitar play a significant role in this.
From an engineering perspective, there are two functions of guitar sides: first, to hold the structure of the guitar together and bear some of the tension of the strings; second, to transfer vibrations from the top to the back.
Traditional guitar sides are composed of a single layer of wood, which is bent into shape using heat. Then, kerfed liners are used to glue the sides to the top and back. This is the simplest way to construct sides, and it’s also the lightest method, since it involves the least wood. However, a single thin layer of wood is prone to cracking.
That’s not the only downside of traditional acoustic sides. They also absorb some of the energy of the vibrating top and back, which has a damping effect on the guitar, analogous to brake dampers in a car. Damping decreases the loudness and sustain of the guitar. To reduce the amount of damping, guitar sides should be as stiff as possible (without being too heavy) so that they transmit vibrations, rather than absorb them. This is the goal of structured sides.
A logical way to increase the rigidity of the sides is to extend the top and bottom liners, making one big liner that spans the whole depth of the sides. This means the whole area of the side is reinforced, which in effect makes structured sides a type of laminated construct, with two plies. One ply is the outer “show” wood, and the other is the kerf bent piece that lines the inside. In general, lamination increases the rigidity of wood and helps counteract any internal stresses that may be present in one of the plies.
Several builders have contributed to the development of structured sides. Based on my research, the two-ply version was invented by Sheldon Schwartz. Another luthier, Allan Beardsell, then brought the idea to the workshop of Sergei de Jonge. While working at de Jonge’s shop, two founders of the Mile End Guitar Coop (Michael Kennedy and Jeremy Clark) learned about the technique. When they went on to found the coop, they took this technique with them and continued to experiment.
The next evolution was to add a third layer to the sides, thus making them even more stiff. This method was developed by Kennedy and Clark at the coop, and it’s currently the method that most of us in the coop use—the name “structured sides” comes from someone here. There are three plies: the outer show wood, the inner kerf bent layer, and a final thin layer on the inside of the guitar. The outermost and innermost layers are thin, solid pieces of hardwood. The inner kerf component is made of a lighter softwood, like cedar.
The physics of our three-ply sides are comparable to an I-beam. The stiffness of an I-beam comes from the two outer flanges. The middle section doesn’t add much rigidity; it simply holds the two flanges at a distance apart. The greater this distance, the more rigid your sides. Similarly, the inner kerf layer functions as a spacer for the outermost and innermost layers. This makes the sides much stiffer than if the two solid layers were glued directly together, meaning that structured sides have a higher stiffness-to-weight ratio than simply laminated sides. This also means that structured sides make the guitar more efficient by reducing the damping effect of the sides!
As a bonus, structured sides increase durability, doing a better job of supporting the body against the forces of string tension, so the back of the guitar can bear less of this stress. They also protect against side cracks and other damage; it takes a pretty big bump to the side of the guitar to get through all three plies.
Although structured sides were intended for acoustic guitars, I’ve been using the technique to build laminated banjo rims. This makes the banjo significantly lighter than a traditional solid rim. Recently, I built a tackhead banjo that weighed just 3.2 pounds when fully strung up!
All this said, I think there’s still plenty more room to experiment with sides. Maybe another filler material like Nomex could be used instead of the kerf layer. Maybe other instruments, like mandolins or upright basses, could benefit from structured sides? I look forward to seeing what the future holds for this technique!
Recording Dojo: When Is a Record Done?
Q: How do you know when the record is finished?
A: When the budget runs out.
It’s an old studio joke, but it sticks around because it points at something deeper than money. Budgets don’t just limit time—they force commitment. And nowhere is that more obvious than during the recording process, when the record still feels malleable enough to become anything.
That sense of possibility is intoxicating. It’s also dangerous.
I’ve lived this from both sides of the glass—first as a signed artist, aware of how the clock quietly ate into my recording money, and later as a producer watching artists wrestle with the same invisible tension. At some point, the record has to stop being an idea and start being a document.
Early in a tracking session, performances tend to arrive with a kind of clarity that’s hard to manufacture later. Musicians are alert. Intentions are strong. The red light still carries weight. You hear phrasing that commits, dynamics that breathe, and little mistakes that feel wonderfully human. The song is being captured, not negotiated.
Then something subtle shifts. Takes get more refined—and usually safer. Players start listening backward instead of playing forward. Energy gives way to self-correction. Suddenly the band is performing for the playback instead of for the moment. Technically, things may improve, but past a certain point the music begins to suffer. This is the point where the studio can easily stop being a temple of documentation and become a laboratory of doubt.
Unlimited recording time accelerates this process exponentially—especially in home studios. Without constraints, every decision becomes provisional. Mic choices stay “temporary.” Arrangements remain “open.” Performances are endlessly replaced and playlisted rather than committed to. The record never quite becomes real because nothing is allowed to harden into fact.
Some of my favorite records came together quickly and felt almost divinely inevitable. Parts were chosen. Tones and effects were printed. Performances were treated as events, not auditions. Not because they were flawless, but because they told the truth of that moment. And that truth is fragile. Chase it too long and it disappears.
“Records are never finished. They’re just released. The art is knowing when to let them go.”
One of the most useful questions you can pivot to during recording isn’t, “Can we do better?” but rather, “Are we improving the song—or just exhausting it?” Knowing when to ask that question isn’t about a fixed number of takes. It’s a feel. And if the answer isn’t immediately obvious, you’re probably already past the peak.
This is where experience earns its keep—not in knowing how to fix things later, but in knowing when not to defer decisions. Every time you avoid committing during tracking, you push weight downstream. You don’t eliminate risk; you relocate it. And by the time you reach mixing, the cost of that indecision gets paid with interest.
This is why mixing so often becomes the next battlefield. When performances, arrangements, and tones remain unresolved, the mix is forced to carry emotional weight it was never meant to bear. Engineers start chasing balance problems that are really performance problems, and tonal issues that should have been settled at the microphone. Endless tweaks follow—not because the mix is unfinished, but because the record never fully decided what it wanted to be.
Budgets—financial, temporal, or self-imposed—are what can help prevent that drift. They create gravity. They force choices out of the abstract and into the real world. They turn possibility into artifact.
Records aren’t finished when every option has been explored. They’re finished when enough of the right decisions have been made that they far outweigh the remaining ones.
Records are never finished. They’re just released. The art is knowing when to let them go. Until next time, namaste
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Mod Garage Tonewood Teardown: Fixing Up Your Bridge and Saddles
Hello, and welcome back to Mod Garage. Last month, we started to talk about the new bridge and saddles for our guitar, so let’s continue where we left off. In general, the two contact points where the strings meet the guitar are crucial and very important regarding playability, comfort, and tone. It’s always worth taking special care of the bridge and the nut on any electric guitar, and this month, we’re focusing on the bridge. Let’s break down the details of our replacement bridge and what we can expect from it.
The new bridge is much lighter than the stock model, which is great for getting a lighter-weight guitar. The overall weight of a guitar is a major factor for comfortability—a heavy guitar will add nothing to your life besides shoulder and back pain. Contrary to what you might read on the internet, science tells us it won’t increase sustain, nor add any “heavy” tone attributes to the amplified signal.
The thinner metal walls of the new bridge aren’t closed—a great attribute for reducing weight—and the double-cut “tapered walls” are a practical update, though some will disagree and prefer a bridge with vintage-style closed walls. There are countless bridge options for Telecasters, so find the best fit for your playing style. The edges of the short walls on my new bridge felt a little sharp, so I used some fine metal files and sanding paper to smooth them out. Your hand is resting on this surface, so you don’t want any jagged edges.
In addition to the classic string-through-body method, the new bridge also offers the late-’50s top-loading option, which means the strings are not running through the body but rather directly through the back of the bridge plate, giving you a gentler break angle. I recommend a bridge that provides you with both options. Top-loading your strings can give a feeling that some describe as “loose” and “rubbery,” but this route has its devotees, like the great Jim Campilongo, and it can make string bends a bit easier. Experiment to see if you like it or not. On my new bridge, all the holes for guiding the strings felt a bit gritty, so I spent some time taking care of any burrs.
The new bridge has two additional screw holes at the front, which is a very clever upgrade—two extra screws there will help join the front part of the bridge to the wood of the body. Speaking of screws, the stock bridge was attached with tiny, soft screws, which I replaced with standard-sized stainless-steel ones.
So why are these two additional screws a boon for our guitar? One of the most common culprits behind unwanted Telecaster feedback is the typical bridge plate itself. The Telecaster bridge system was designed in the 1940s by Leo Fender, and it was a crude design at best. Its function was to position the strings and offer a rough and easy adjustment of intonation and string height. Today, they don’t make them like they used to—the current-production Fender vintage bridge plates, as well as most budget aftermarket versions, are made from thin, hot-rolled steel in a deep-drawn process. This process produces parts very quickly and cheaply, but at a severe cost in quality. The steel used must be soft and thin to allow it to fold and bend in the corners, but sadly, this process creates internal stress in the material, which can bow the plate so that it can’t sit flat on the body. This often creates unwanted feedback on Telecasters.
The early bridge plates Fender made used a cold-rolled steel procedure to avoid this problem. Using two additional screws at the front of the bridge plate to firmly attach it to the body can minimize this issue. Our new bridge is straight as an arrow anyway, but it doesn’t hurt to secure it extra tight. To test your own bridge plate for any bowing, simply place it on a flat surface and check for wobbles. To level things out even more, I sanded the backside of the bridge, starting with 150-grit sandpaper and working my way up to 1,000.
Now, let’s have a look at the saddles. The classic T-style bridge sports three barrel saddles for intonation and height adjustment. As I said before: Crude at its best! Since this vintage bridge has two strings on each saddle, you’ll always be compromising on intonation. If you’re looking for perfect intonation, you should go with a new bridge with six individual saddles, like on a Stratocaster.
My new bridge came with three compensated saddles made from brass, which is the material used in the very early Fender days. These saddles are available in a large selection of materials, including steel, stainless steel, aluminium, diecast, and titanium, and also in compensated, uncompensated, smooth, threaded, and other configurations. (Differences between saddle materials are often audible when playing the guitar unamplified, but nearly none of these subtleties will present in the amplified tone.) For example, if you’re looking to shave off even more weight, I’d go with aluminum, but the brass saddles with my bridge are great quality, so I decided to keep them.
Our brass saddles are compensated for intonation in the most pragmatic way possible: slanted drill holes for the intonation screws. This not only looks quite vintage—it’s effective, too. The stock bridge uses a different compensation technique, which I described in my previous column. It works, too, but the look irritates me, and usually comes with some sharp edges. No matter what system you choose, take care to put the saddles in the right spot on the bridge plate. Typically, you can find an imprint on the underside of the saddles to indicate their position.
Our barrel saddles have a flat underside rather than being completely round, which makes it easier to do a low setup and—you guessed it— saves some precious weight! To make the surface of the saddles as glossy as possible, I polished them in several steps: first with a Dremel tool, before breaking the shine again with some super-fine Micro-Mesh to get to a used look without losing our smooth surface.
Finally, let’s talk about the height adjustment set screws, which are key for comfortability and tone. Depending on your preferred string action and the length of the set screws, chances are good that they’ll stick out a little bit from the top of the saddles. I find this super uncomfortable; bloody palms are not unusual with this quirk! Luckily, this problem is easy to solve.
These set screws are available in different lengths, and since they can make life so much easier for just a few cents, I recommend that you start building a solid collection of short and long versions. Rather than trying to level off the top of the set screws sticking out of the saddles, simply swap in a shorter screw and you’re done.
Take special care of the underside of the set screws, where they make contact with the bridge plate. It’s important to have the flattest, smoothest possible surface here—this is a spot where you can absolutely influence the amplified tone of your guitar. To hold these tiny set screws in place while filing and polishing their ends, I screw them into an old Telecaster saddle so they stick out, and lock the saddle in a vice afterwards. This way, you can work on the underside of the screws with files, sandpaper, or a Dremel. This takes some time, but is very important: I spent roughly 30 minutes with my six set screws, but I’m very happy with the result!
Next month, we’ll continue with our guitar’s pickup, electronics, and wiring. Our $259 budget for future investments remains untouched this month, but not for long! Stay tuned.
Until then ... keep on modding!
Vintage Vault: How a Sunburst 1960 Gibson Les Paul Broke My Heart
I don’t usually give advice because, as a friend of mine pointed out a long time ago, “Giving someone advice makes you an accomplice.”
And yet, here I am being someone’s accomplice, because I’m about to give you some knowledge, straight from the chef: If you want to get a guitar collector to pay attention, mention these four little words, “Uncirculated sunburst Les Paul.” If their hearing is in order, you will have their complete and undivided attention.
Carter Vintage recently picked up this gorgeous early-1960 Gibson Les Paul Standard from its second owner. He was quite discerning with his collecting choices. This 1960 ’burst is one of two sunbursts we brought back from his place on the East Coast, and there wasn’t a bad guitar in the whole bunch. In my conversation with him, the owner of the guitar told me he bought it in the early ’70s from the original owner. I asked him if he ever played the guitar professionally, or used it in a band—he hadn’t. He never played out with any guitar in his collection; he simply bought them because he thought they were cool, and guitars are a passion of his. He’d had the instrument for over half a century, and now it was time to pass it along to its next caretaker.
“This guitar has totally ruined other Les Pauls for me.”
Whenever I open a brown 5-latch Gibson case with a late-’50s Les Paul Standard in it, the first place my eyes go is the top. This guitar definitely pushed all my “personal fave” buttons: Gorgeous figured maple, “action” (how the figuring on the top moves and lights up as you angle the guitar in the light), and the color all hit the spot for me. The top on this guitar is one of my favorite ’burst tops ever. It’s not an overly flashy, wildly flamed guitar like the Stanley ’burst, or Nikki, but at the same time it’s not subtle, or understated, like a plaintop would be. If I had my pick of tops for a ’burst, this guitar would win, and out of around 15 sunbursts we’ve had in the store over the past year, this one takes the cake.
The next thing you notice on this ’burst is the color, and it’s crazy good. No iced-tea ’burst, lemon-drop top, or anything like that here. The red in the sunburst has been preserved incredibly well, and it fades perfectly into the amber and gold of the body’s center. These guitars are now in their late sixties, and to find one that’s not severely faded out is a rare occurrence.
Now for the fun part—playing it! I picked the guitar up and was initially greeted by the slim neck. I don’t know about you but I really love, to the point of adoration, the slim necks on 1960-through-mid-’62 Gibsons. The old-school players called them “speed necks,” and that’s an excellent description. Once you learn how to relax while playing these things, you can really get around so effortlessly. I think this neck was actually taken down a bit slimmer than the way it came from the factory, because it’s in the “Jimmy Page Number 1” ballpark. Way back in the ’70s, I remember reading an interview in Guitar Player with Joe Walsh, and he said the thin-neck ’60s Les Pauls were his favorite for their sonics and feel. Joe knows guitars. That Page guy isn’t so bad either.
On to the sound. I was just talking with a big-time pro guitarist who plays for an even bigger-time country-music icon and, before plugging in the guitar, he posed a question that I hear quite often: “Sunburst Les Pauls, don’t they all sound great?” In a word, no. They definitely don’t all sound great. Some of them are about as forgettable as can be. My old friend Tom Murphy says that with the advent of the Murphy Lab finishing process at Gibson, they’ve caught up with the old guitars in how they sound and feel. As usual, Tom’s not wrong. I’ve heard some Murphy Lab guitars that can absolutely hang with their vintage counterparts. In some cases, they can lap the old guitar sonically. Not all the old ones sound great.
Back to our subject, this killer ’60 sunburst. Some rare vintage guitars sound and feel so good that nothing else even comes close. This 1960 ’burst is one of them. Bridge pickup, neck pickup, middle position, roll the tone off, roll it back up, turn the volume down, turn the volume up: There isn’t a switch position or control setting that isn’t absolutely stunning with this guitar. I’m more than a little bummed about the way this guitar sounds, the truth be told. My good friend Dave Cobb told me years ago that you have to be careful about what sonics you allow into your ears: “You can’t un-hear stuff, man. It’ll ruin you if you hear the wrong thing.”
This guitar has totally ruined other Les Pauls for me. Yes, it’s that good. For the life of me, I can’t quit hearing it in my head. But being ruined never felt so good. I love my job!
Squeeze’s Glenn Tilbrook Comes Full Circle
In the world of rock guitar, Glenn Tilbrook may be the ultimate IYKYK (“if you know, you know,” for us old-schoolers). Because anyone familiar with Squeeze, the band he co-founded in the 1970s, is aware that hiding in plain sight alongside his songwriting and lead vocals are some masterful guitar hooks, solos, and arrangements. In a Tilbrook appreciation titled “Humble Guitar God,” CultureSonar editor Al Cattabiani declared, “Simply put, he’s a quiet monster.”
Squeeze has been termed new wave, pub rock, power pop, post-punk, and more—always a sign that a good rock ’n’ roll band has multiple tools in its shed. In its 50-plus years, surviving breakups, hiatuses, and wholesale personnel changes, Tilbrook and Chris Difford have been its only constants. “Chris and I were writers, first and foremost, and we were an exciting rock band,” Tilbrook reflects. “We were probably better than most of our contemporaries, I would say. We were more rock ’n’ roll, and we could deliver as a band onstage.”
They still do. Though they had more success in the U.K. than in the States, folks everywhere seem able to hum “Tempted.” They were making videos as far back as their 1978 single, “Take Me I’m Yours,” three years before MTV came along, and were on American Bandstand in ’82. Top 10 hits in England like “Cool for Cats” and “Up the Junction” didn’t dent American charts, but crowds large and small sing along to them—as well as “Hourglass,” “Annie Get Your Gun,” “Black Coffee in Bed,” “Is That Love,” and “Pulling Mussels (from the Shell).”
In 1973, 18-year-old Chris Difford put a wanted ad in the window of a sweetshop in Blackheath, Southeast London. It sought a guitarist with influences like the Kinks, Lou Reed, and Glenn Miller. Tilbrook, three years younger, was the only person who responded.
Glenn Tilbrook’s Gear
Guitars and Basses
- 1954 Fender Telecaster
- 1966 Fender Telecaster (black) with Gene Parsons StringBender (added in ’75)
- 1954 Fender Stratocaster
- 1966 Gibson ES-345
- 1930s Gibson parlor acoustic
- Gibson Firebird
- Gibson ES-125
- Gibson ES-335
- Gretsch Chet Atkins Country Gentleman
- Jerry Jones Master Electric Sitar
- Taylor 665 12-string
- Avalon L10C
- Danny Ferrington custom f-hole guitar
- Martin nylon-string
- Hofner Violin Bass
- Fender 5-string bass
Amps
- Fender Blues Junior IV
- Fender Twin
Effects
- Dunlop Cry Baby
- Strymon Deco
- Strymon Flint
- Strymon Riverside
- Strymon El Capistan
They determined that Glenn was better equipped to put music to Chris’s lyrics. They were called “the new Lennon and McCartney,” an appellation nobody cares to be saddled with. In terms of a working model, they more closely resemble Bernie Taupin and Elton John. “Yes, exactly like that, in that order,” Tilbrook says. “Each one handwritten on the page, and I go off and do my thing, write the chord changes.”
Difford rarely offers any direction, leaving Tilbrook to his own devices. Glenn recounts, “When I was growing up, there were songbooks that just had the lyrics of the hit songs of the day, and that was a lot of how I learned. I could figure out how they went. If I didn’t know the song, I’d make up my own tune. I’ve written some stuff, but my lyrics aren’t very good. Chris was more developed as a songwriter.”
A window into the early stages of that partnership is the new Trixies. “It’s a set of songs that we demo-ed in 1974,” Tilbrook details, “obviously when we were hoping to get signed, but that didn’t happen. I’m honestly amazed at what we did at that point. It was more sophisticated than stuff we did quite a few years after that. Our manager said, ‘You have to simplify; otherwise, people won’t know who you are.’ We were all over the place, but the band couldn’t play it then. Now we can play it, so it’s really gratifying to see the path and development.”
Re-recorded with the current lineup, the new release is a concept album about a nightclub named Trixies. “‘Good Riddance,’ I actually did eight solos, and then I stitched it together,” Tilbrook says. “It reminded me of listening to shortwave radio as a kid, with stations drifting in and out. It’s my Gibson ES-125. I write 80 percent on keyboard—a lot of this on an RMI.”
“Chris [Difford] and I were writers, first and foremost, and we were an exciting rock band.”
A child's first album and concert may not be pivotal, but they’re often revealing. “Last Train to Clarksville,” with the layered guitars of Louie Shelton, Gerry McGee, and Wayne Irwin, prompted Tilbrook to fork over six shillings and eight pence for the single. “What a great record,” he exclaims 60 years later. Despite the controversial revelation that the Monkees didn’t play on their records, he declares, “They were a massive thing for me. To me, it absolutely was real. I think they made great pop records. The first concert I went to was at a folk club when I was 13, to see an Irish duo, Tír na nÓg. I was absolutely enchanted by them. Sort of whimsical folk music. Then the first bigger concert I saw was T. Rex. ‘Bang a Gong’ had just come out, and Electric Warrior, and that just blew my mind. Marc Bolan was such a weird songwriter and player. He wasn’t very good, but he was great at the same time. And the effect he had on the audience was also part of the experience and atmosphere. It was electrifying. I was literally buzzing.”
Bolan’s influence can be heard on “It’s Over” from Trixies. “The house band, the Jaguars, are through the prism of T. Rex, which was quite English. Bolan’s solos are really odd. I don’t know how he gets to the places he does and gets away with it. But he does.”
Sometimes as important as a first guitar is a tape recorder. “I started playing when I was six or seven, and I put a lot of time into it,” Tilbrook says. “I was fascinated, and there was music in the house, like Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, George Shearing. My nylon-string guitar didn’t have a make. I very much regretted painting it with wall paint when I was 11 or 12. It was still playable, but something changed about the sound, regrettably.”
He continues, “Recently I’ve gone back to playing a nylon-string. It has such a lovely, emotive sound. I can remember the exact date that my dad bought me a cassette recorder—December 19, 1967. It was everything I wanted. The fact that I could record myself was pure pleasure. I loved learning, and by the time I was 12, I could play pretty well. I’ve had a studio since ’93, and the first things I could afford to work with were ADATs. They were absolutely brilliant and very game-changing for me.”
Squeeze’s 1977 EP, Packet of Three, and self-titled debut album the following year were produced by Velvet Underground alumnus John Cale. “Our manager got him to produce us,” Glenn explains. “Chris was into Velvet Underground before I was, but I really liked them, too. John didn’t like the pop side of us, and he didn’t much like our songs, and threw them out. But when he was engaged and onto something, he was one of the most inspirational people I ever worked with.”
Two subsequent albums were produced by John Wood, while Elvis Costello and Roger Bechirian took over for 1981’s East Side Story. “Elvis got us all working together, getting good takes,” Tilbrook offers. One of those takes was Costello’s decision to have keyboardist Paul Carrack, who’d replaced Jools Holland, take over lead vocals on “Tempted.” The song reflects Tilbrook’s affinity for the ’60s soul of Stax and Motown. “All that is in there,” he says. “Obviously, ’60s music is the bedrock of what I learned growing up. I don’t want to stay there as a writer, but it’s part of my DNA.”
“In the ’80s, guitar was such an uncool instrument in the U.K. But I had moments.”
Calling Tilbrook underrated as a guitarist barely covers it—as evidenced by everything from the muscular solo in “Pulling Mussels” to the restraint of “Black Coffee,” the staccato double-stops of “Is That Love,” and the say-it-all-in-13-seconds brilliance of “In Quintessence.” “I’ve not pushed myself forward as a guitar player,” he admits. “I think I do that more now. I wasn’t embarrassed, but in the ’80s, guitar was such an uncool instrument in the U.K. But I had moments.”
Some guitar influences he cites are surprising, and not the typical Clapton, Beck, Page. “I liked Kelly Joe Phelps a lot,” Tilbrook says. “Hendrix is my first big love, and my parents loved Wes Montgomery; I do too. Amos Garrett is another, and I’m a big Willie Nelson fan as a guitarist. In 1981, I went to see him with Elvis, and it was one of those defining moments for me. His voice, his songwriting, his artistry. I understood, with the help of Elvis, that all those barriers—‘We do that, we don’t do that’—are all nonsense. It’s delivering from the heart, and anyone can do that if you’re receptive to it.”
Tilbrook’s solos are smart without being pretentious, clever without being cute. And like his role in the band, they’re composed. Worked-out solos often get a bad rap, as if one must jump off a high dive and improvise or it’s cheating. But countless composed solos (Harrison, Fogerty, even Page) rank among rock’s most iconic. Tilbrook points out, “From Cool for Cats [1979] onward, I started working on constructing solos. I was influenced by Tony Peluso, who played the great solo on the Carpenters’ ‘Goodbye to Love.’ I love the melodic element of it. I began really working on a solo and then cutting it together. And then I’d learn it. That would be the solo—not improvised.”
For “Another Nail in My Heart,” he continues, “it’s such an unusual place for a solo, coming after the first verse and chorus. After I got the first bit right, I’d figure out where it’s going to go. That was an afternoon’s work to get it down. But it sounded interesting, and it sounded like it was part of the song then. It occupied another part of musical narrative. That really nailed the benefit of doing that.”
Although he doesn’t consider himself a gearhead, Tilbrook has an impressive collection of guitars. “I’ve never gotten rid of anything unless it’s been stolen. My first Strat, a ’58, which is still the best Strat I ever had, I bought from a guy in Steeleye Span. I used it on the early Squeeze albums, and then it got stolen in Liverpool. It still upsets me.”
Tilbrook continues, “When I tour, and almost always in the studio, I mostly use my black ’66 Tele. I use the B-bender sparingly, but it’s an integrated part of my playing now. The first record I used it on properly was ‘Hourglass.’ I used to use Strats, but since I went to the Tele, it really defines my sound. My ’54 Telecaster is the one that Elvis gave me in 1981 or ’82. Extremely generous of him. It’s a beautiful guitar. I’ve also got a lovely ’66 ES-345. It has such an amazing tone. I started using it in the studio, and it sends my playing to a different place, which I love.”
“Sixties music is the bedrock of what I learned growing up. I don’t want to stay there as a writer, but it’s part of my DNA.”
Tilbrook grew up playing nylon-string but switched to steel-string early on. “Now I have a Martin gut-string that I’ve absolutely fallen in love with,” he says. “And I’ve got one of those Jerry Jones electric sitar guitars. I used it on ‘Nirvana,’ from [2015’s] Cradle to the Grave. You can’t use those too often, though. I have a 12-string Taylor that says ‘Red Thunder’ on the neck. It was made for Robby Romero, front man of the band Red Thunder, but he didn’t want it.”
Apart from Squeeze’s ups and downs, including a 1984 splinter group and album, Difford & Tilbrook, Glenn has released a dozen solo records, including a series of demos, the side hustle Glenn Tilbrook & the Fluffers, and a collaboration with blues/pub-rockers Nine Below Zero. His most recent offering was 2014’s Happy Ending. “I wrote most of it, but there were a few I did with Chris Braide,” he says. “I wanted to do an album without drums, and it’s sort of referencing some of the early Tyrannosaurus Rex things, like Moroccan hand drums.”
When touring as a solo artist, Glenn manages to represent familiar Squeeze numbers with just one guitar—acoustic or electric. In November 2001, he set out on an American tour behind the wheel of a Cruise Master RV motor home, a route he still employs. Thankfully, his first excursion was filmed for the delightful documentary Glenn Tilbrook: One for the Road, released in 2004. “The thing about touring and seeing this country and being there was a great influence on me—as opposed to being in whatever tour bus, which is sort of isolating,” he says.
Another benefit? “Seeing what kind of musician people thought I was from Squeeze,” he continues. “First of all, to experience that decline in your career. We were never a massive band here, but we sold tickets. And then not, really. And back to playing clubs. I always knew that I loved it, but it was then that I knew I really loved it. Like, I’m good with that. I didn’t feel bitter about it. I’m very lucky to play music.”
Trixies brings the band back full circle. “When we split up last time,” Tilbrook says, “seeing Brian Wilson’s Pet Sounds tour and the amazing work that his band did, I thought, ‘If ever Squeeze get back together again, we should be like that.’” For the new tour, he continues, “We’ve been rehearsing the songs in the order they are on the record. It’s the first record where we thought, ‘You know what? We might just do all of it.’”
Rig Rundown: Tyler Armstrong (The Band Feel)
The guitarist for the classic rock revivalists proves old amps, paired with even older guitars, is still a recipe for tonal success.
Tyler Armstrong, lead guitarist for St. Louis, Missouri, rockers the Band Feel, recently invited PG’s John Bohlinger out to Smoakstack Studios in Berry Hill, just south of Nashville, for this Rundown of the axes, amps, and effects he’s using to conjure the classic rock ’n’ roll sounds of the ’70s. Aside from his pedals, Armstrong sticks to the tried-and-true recipe: American guitars through British amps. Scroll for some highlights of the Rundown, and watch the video to get the nose-to-tail treatment.
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Tone on Loan
This all-original 1959 Gibson Flying V is on loan from Gibson’s Certified Vintage program. Armstrong secured it for some recent studio work, and attests that out of five he test-drove that were built in the same period, this one is the best of the bunch. He’s gotta give it back, right? “We’ll see what happens,” Armstrong grins.
Friend from ’53
Armstrong acquired this “super messed-up” 1953 Fender Telecaster with the help of a friend in Illinois. The warped neck was heat-treated to make it playable, and the body has been contoured on the back and front to give it a Jeff Beck feeling. It’s kept in open-G tuning for some live performances.
Dynamic Duo
In studio, Armstrong uses a 1965 Vox AC15 2x12 combo and a Marshall JMP Super Bass. When playing live, he runs the JMP alongside a 1963 Fender Bassman.
Tyler Armstrong’s Pedals
Among Armstrong’s select studio weapons are a Sonic Research ST-200 tuner, Mythos Oracle, Electro-Harmonix Small Stone EH4800, Mythos Luxury Drive, EarthQuaker Devices Swiss Things, R2R Electric Pre-Amp with an extra knob for EQ, MXR Phase 90, vintage Maestro PS-1A, and an L.R. Baggs Voiceprint D.I.
J. Rockett Aqueous Review
It might be an overstatement to call the J. Rockett Aqueous chorus “surgical.” But for any player that has lamented a lack of subtlety in vintage-style chorus effects, the Aqueous offers an impressive level of control, making it a promising studio and performance tool and an intriguing alternative to the classics—even as it often excels at those sounds.
Waves on the Turquoise Sea
J. Rockett seems to relish a challenge. Even drive pedals, like their Archer series of Klon clones, sit either at the head of their class or are designed to the specification of a very particular, discerning player. In some cases, they have collaborated with designers responsible for stompbox institutions, with the aim of redefining them. They rarely build anything ordinary, and in that way the Aqueous fits the company’s lineage well.
The Aqueous’ digital circuitry is built around the Accu-Bell ABE-1, an effect module constructed by the same company that makes the popular Belton Brick module at the heart of many popular and excellent digital reverbs. Though it’s a digital circuit, Aqueous’ sounds make it a spiritual descendant of many pedals that vintage heads obsess over, like the Boss CE-1 and CE-2 and Electro-Harmonix Poly Chorus and Clone Theory. With the exception of the Poly Chorus, most of these pedals were straightforward affairs offering little control beyond rate and depth. Where additional controls existed, as with the Poly Chorus, they often served to make things extra weird. What’s cool about the Aqueous is that it uses its extra flexibility to achieve greater precision and subtlety instead.
The most interesting of these additional controls are the preamp and tilt EQ knobs. The former will appeal to some as a way to compensate for perceived volume loss. But it’s also capable of subtle drive that blurs modulations and makes them sound like a more cohesive part of your signal, not unlike a dark analog delay. The tilt EQ adds either real darkness by subtracting high end, or brightness that brings a more analog-like liveliness to the output. The tilt EQ works beautifully in concert with the wet-dry mix control, another much less common chorus control parameter, to enable very specific shaping of the modulation intensity and presence.
The practical importance of chorus—or any modulation—that can be foregrounded or tucked back into the hidden corners of a mix in this fashion is hard to underestimate. In live situations, different rooms can respond to the EQ peaks and valleys created by chorus in the same way overdrive or distortion can, and the ability to adapt to those shifts can be the difference between a guitar that goes missing in a mix and one that vibrates with life. The studio benefits of a chorus this nuanced are even more obvious. In both situations the Aqueous can be a great scalpel.
I Threw a Brick
As we’ve noted in earlier J. Rockett reviews, the company has a way of building things to a bulletproof standard. This applies to the Aqueous for sure. Though the I/O and 9V DC jacks are mounted to the printed circuit as well as the enclosure, the enclosure itself is robust enough to be used in self-defense. And it’s hard to imagine many shocks, bumps, or bruises that the Aqueous couldn’t handle. The knobs, meanwhile, are the kind that make on-the-fly adjustments easy. They are smooth, sensitive, and resistant to accidental adjustments. But the real beauty of the control set is the use of Neve-style wing knobs for the preamp and tilt eq, which stand up a little taller and facilitate easy adjustment with your toe.
The Verdict
If you're open-minded about what chorus can be, the Aqueous merits more than a casual tryout. Vintage-aligned players with very specific opinions about how chorus should sound might find certain elements of classic voices missing. Aqueous’ tendency to be many things could also come at the expense of super-deep, over-the-top sounds like those a vintage Poly Chorus or Way Huge’s Blue Hippo can generate.
But if you’re less attached to those templates, Aqueous might leave you wondering why anyone bothers with less tailorable chorus units. A colleague suggested that Aqueous might be a chorus for people who don't like chorus. I’d venture that Aqueous is simply a great chorus for players who want a more flexible one.
Question of the Month: Who's Your Favorite Independent Guitar Builder?
Adam Sturgeon, Status/Non-Status
Being left-handed has major downsides when it comes to guitars. There are very few choices available, setups are often terrible, and the better options come with reversed wiring. I've spent a lot of time building my own guitars, with various issues and inevitable failures along the way. So, it was very exciting to connect with Belvedere in building my own, fully custom leftie. Belvedere is a newer guitar company operating out of the Mile End Guitar Coop in Montreal. From highly curated woods to handwound pickups, pre- and post-build consults, I’m feeling incredibly fortunate and inspired to work with them!
Obsession: Lately, I’ve also been totally obsessed with tattoos. Again. There are several shops and quite the community of artists in my neighborhood, and I’ve been making new friends and getting renditions of some of my favorite personal items tattooed all over my legs—a coffee mug, old guitar pedal, even a hockey skate.
Dennis Cagle, Reader
I have gone to NAMM and other vintage shows for a number of years now. I’ve played the best of the big-name manufacturers, as well as boutique guitars from across the country … and other continents. As a lifelong musician and a wanna-be luthier myself, I honestly can say that my favorite builder is none other than Anthony Sims and the guys at Lucky Dog Guitars. They produce the best-quality, best-sounding, best-looking, and best-playing guitars that I’ve found. Even though I’m no longer on the road, and the guitars that come in for setups or other jobs are ones I work on for my own enjoyment, I had to buy a Lucky Dog for myself. For playability, it’s the standard that I strive for when I send one out. I won’t even mention what great guys Anthony, John, and Eric are.
Obsession: A few years ago, I attended the Amigo Guitar Show that comes to Franklin, TN, each year. This show had thousands of vintage instruments, treasures really. One vendor had a $60,000 price tag on a Martin dated around 1918, if I remember correctly, and he looked at me and said, “Pick it up and play it.” I’ve been obsessed ever since.
Ted Drozdowski, Contributing Editor
For sound, imagination, and vibe, Chris Mills from Zuzu Guitars in Pennsylvania is my guy. Chris built my main instrument, which I call the Green Monster, and no two of his guitars are alike. The Monster’s finish is a Behr color called fish pond, the mahogany body and perfect-for-me neck are hand cut, and Chris makes his own exceptional pickups, which, with coil splitting, give me the core tones of a Les Paul and a Strat, with a Strat’s weight and balance. If you check zuzuguitars.wordpress.com, you can see all of his work, which is trad and rad at the same time.
Obsession: Tremolo. I’m in a Pops Staples phase … again. But, I love adding EHX’s Pico Atomic Cluster to it, for a William Burroughs approach to melody.
Brett Petrusek, Director of Advertising
Rock N Roll Relics for their unmistakable visual signature, cool energy, and rock ’n’ roll attitude. Their shop in North Hollywood has an old-school record store vibe. It reminds me of the early San Dimas Charvel era. Every guitar I’ve picked up from Billy Rowe and Co. has always just felt great, like an old friend. You don’t need to spend a lot of time getting to know the guitar; it just works with you right away. With custom finishes, custom colors, and premium parts, like ratio tuners by Graph Tech, Jescar Frets, TonePros bridges, paper in oil capacitors, and multiple pickup configurations, you can make it your own. It’s also cool to know that no two guitars are the same—when it’s yours it’s uniquely yours.
A totally different style, but I must also give a shout out to Tonfuchs guitars from Germany. I was happy to discover and see a few of these guitars in the wild at the 2026 NAMM show; the builds were impeccable. Uwe Schölch is an artisan/craftsman of the highest order. Check his guitars at tonfuchs-guitars.com, and on IG at: @tonfuchs_guitar.
Obsession: Currently in the studio working on my band’s second album and I kinda want a Flying V. So yeah, recording and Flying Vs.
Fix the Tiny Gremlins Stealing Your Guitar’s Tone
Electric guitars can be marvelous contradictions. They are simultaneously robust mechanical objects and fragile ecosystems where a few small changes can turn poetry into prattle. The good news for those of us who prefer our magic quick and easy is that improvements don’t require a lot of money or late nights spent questioning life choices. Here are a handful of my favorite simple tweaks that can enhance performance and sound. I think of these as seasoning adjustments rather than major structural renovations—salt, not sous-vide.
1. Saddle-Slot Polishing: Who doesn’t benefit from a nice massage? I know I do. Microscopic burrs or rough casting marks on saddles—especially on import bridges—can rob sustain and introduce phantom harmonics as well as tuning issues. You don’t need to totally reshape anything, just a little buff and shine. Use a strip of 1000–2000 grit sandpaper or abrasive cord gently pulled through the string slot a few times. The goal isn’t to reshape anything, it’s just subtle smoothing. The audible result is a clearer attack, smoother decay, and fewer pings when tuning.
2. Trem Spring Alignment and Tension: Fender-style tremolo springs are usually installed once and then forgotten, but uneven spring tension can cause a bridge to return inconsistently. Try loosening the claw screws slightly and then retighten them evenly, counting the turns and matching the distance traveled. Be sure to mark where you began by drawing a line on a piece of masking tape. I like to snap a reference photo to remind me where I started. Symmetrical tension often yields a more predictable return-to-zero, so start there. Some techs advise removing a spring or two on the treble side where the tension is higher, but I always start with all of the springs on deck. Keep experimenting until you get the result you want. If things improve, you’re gold. If not, relax, because that photo will always be your map back home.
3. Pickup Screw Isolation: Here’s one for those of us not afraid of getting lost in the woods. Pickup-mounting screws can transfer vibration from the body into the pickup in unpredictable ways—especially if you play loud or use a ton of gain. Put a short length of surgical tubing over the adjustment screws instead of using traditional springs. The pickup becomes mechanically quieter, which translates to less microphonic behavior at volume. Larger tubing can quiet the springs themselves if that’s the problem. While you’re in there you can stick a length of self-adhesive foam rubber to the bottom of the pickup plate to calm down microphonics.
“Electric guitars are a microscope for vibrations, so it helps to start at one end of the fiddle and check everything that screws or bolts down.”
4. Contact-Point Cleaning: Electrical contact cleaner is cheap but the results are big. Your guitar has more contact points than you might imagine. Output jack, switch contacts, pot wipers, and bridge ground screws are all fair game. Oxidation is the silent tone thief, stealing high end and dulling your tone. A five-minute cleaning session can restore sparkle you didn’t realize had left the room. This isn’t mojo—it’s maintenance. If you’re feeling ambitious, take this opportunity to re-solder anything that looks questionable.
5. Tighten Up and Fly Right: Loose or rattling parts can introduce mechanical noise, especially at stage volume. Electric guitars are a microscope for vibrations, so it helps to start at one end of the fiddle and check everything that screws or bolts down. Start with the tuners and work your way down. The audible differences are minimal—until they aren’t. When you’re standing in front of a loud amp, eliminating one more source of chaos is an act of mercy.
6. Neck-Screw Torque Consistency: On bolt-on guitars, uneven clamping pressure can subtly affect resonance. Remove and reinstall the neck screws one at a time, tightening them evenly and deliberately—not crazy-tight, just consistent and snug. If you feel any of the screws very easy to turn going in, you might want to put a thin strip of wood in the body hole to improve positive mechanical contact. If you want, you can remove the neck altogether and look for stray finish or anything that might be between the neck and body that might rob the transfer of vibration.
Final Thoughts from the Bench: None of these modifications will turn a plank into a prima donna on their own, but that’s not the point. Guitars, like recipes, respond best to small, thoughtful adjustments made by you while paying attention. Every little thing contributes to the whole. Sometimes the improvement isn’t just the sound itself—it’s your relationship to the instrument after you’ve listened closely while messing with it. And if nothing else, you’ll have spent a few hours learning about your guitar in the most direct way possible: with your hands on it, instead of your wallet.
Satch on Vai | 100 Guitarists Podcast
Joe Satriani and Steve Vai have one of the deepest guitar-shredding relationships in the 6-string universe. Famously, Satch was Steve Vai’s guitar teacher back in their Long Island days, and they’ve developed their careers across the decades as solo artists, as partners in the G3 world, and now with their own co-led band, SATCHVAI. To celebrate, we’ve got a two-episode arc with each of the guys talking about the other one’s playing. First up is Satch talking all things Vai, from their early days in the lesson room to their upcoming Surfing With the Hydra tour.
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Joe Satriani And Steve Vai Release New Satchvai Band Single “Dancing”
Legendary guitar icons Joe Satriani and Steve Vai return today with the SATCHVAI Band release of their brand new single, “Dancing,” out now via earMUSIC, alongside a wildly entertaining new video directed by Satriani’s son, ZZ Satriani.
The video stars actor, comedian and musician Brendon Small (Metalacolpyse. Dethklok), a longtime friend of both guitarists, who hilariously portrays an overzealous talent manager pushing the duo to cast dancers for the band’s upcoming live show. The chaos unfolds in sync with the track’s fast-moving melodic interplay between Satriani and Vai — a rapid-fire exchange of soaring guitar lines that mirrors the eccentric parade of auditioning performers. Eagle-eyed fans will also spot a cameo from the band’s powerhouse drummer Kenny Aronoff, adding to the tongue-in-cheek energy.
Musically, “Dancing”— a reimagined interpretation of a song by iconic Italian singer, pianist, and songwriter Paolo Conte — showcases the SATCHVAI Band at full throttle — a vibrant, melodic conversation between two of rock’s most expressive guitar voices. Built on momentum, melody, and fearless musical chemistry, the track captures the spirit of spontaneity and joy that defined their electrifying European tour.
Satriani shares, “‘Dancing’ really captures the playful side of what Steve and I discovered on stage together last summer — that push-and-pull of melody and energy. The video gave us a chance to show that spirit in a completely different way. Watching ZZ bring this absurd casting concept to life — and having Brendon step into the madness — made it even more fun.”
Vai adds, “This band thrives on surprise — musically and visually. ‘Dancing’ is a perfect example of that. It’s melodic but relentless, and the video turns that energy into a kind of surreal comedy. It’s a glimpse into the personality of this band before we even hit the stage.”
The release arrives as the SATCHVAI Band prepares to bring their “Surfing With The Hydra” 2026 U.S. Tour stateside for the first time. Launching April 1 in Seattle and running through May 30 at Wolf Trap, the tour follows a celebrated European run that included stops in London, Paris, Copenhagen, and festival appearances at Hellfest, Umbria Jazz Festival, and Guitares en Scène.
Support on all dates will come from progressive metal innovators Animals as Leaders.
On the Surfing With The Hydra Tour, fans can expect a full-band, high-energy performance featuring more new material from the forthcoming SATCHVAI Band album alongside iconic favorites from both artists’ catalogs.
“Dancing” follows the duo’s previous releases, including the cinematic instrumental “The Sea of Emotion, Pt. 1” and the anthemic “I Wanna Play My Guitar,” featuring powerhouse vocals from Glenn Hughes of Deep Purple and Black Country Communion. A full album is expected later this year.
Together, these tracks preview a collaboration that is decades in the making. Despite nearly 50 years of friendship, the SATCHVAI Band marks the first time Satriani and Vai have formally united in a shared group — alongside Aronoff, bassist Marco Mendoza, and guitarist Pete Thorn — forging a live experience built on virtuosity, friendship and fearless creativity.
All ticket details available at SATCHVAIBAND.COM
April 1 – Seattle, WA – Paramount Theatre
April 2 – Portland, OR – Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall
April 4 – Oakland, CA – Fox Theater
April 5 – Reno, NV – Grand Sierra Resort and Casino
April 7 – Long Beach, CA – Long Beach Terrace Theater
April 8 – San Diego, CA – Cal Coast Credit Union Open Air Theatre
April 10 – Mesa, AZ – Mesa Amphitheatre
April 11 – Las Vegas, NV – The Theater at Virgin Hotels Las Vegas
April 14 – Denver, CO – Mission Ballroom
April 16 – Houston, TX – 713 Music Hall
April 17 – Dallas, TX – Music Hall at Fair Park
April 18 – Austin, TX – ACL Live at the Moody Theater
April 20 – Mobile, AL – Saenger Theatre
April 22 – Pompano Beach, FL – Pompano Beach Amphitheater
April 24 – Clearwater, FL – Baycare Sound
April 25 – St. Augustine, FL – St. Augustine Amphitheatre
April 26 – Orlando, FL – Hard Rock Live
April 27 – Atlanta, GA – Atlanta Symphony Hall
April 29 – Charlotte, NC – Ovens Auditorium
April 30 – Durham, NC – DPAC
May 2 – Minneapolis, MN – State Theatre
May 3 – Chicago, IL – Chicago Theatre
May 5 – Milwaukee, WI – The Riverside Theater
May 7 – Nashville, TN – Ryman Auditorium
May 8 – Cincinnati, OH – PNC Pavillion at Riverbend Music Center
May 9 – Indianapolis, IN – Everwise Amphitheater at White River State Park
May 10 – St. Louis, MO – The Factory
May 12 – Buffalo, NY – Kleinhans Music Hall
May 13 – Toronto, Ont – Meridian Hall
May 15 – Northfield, OH – MGM Northfield Park
May 16 – Rochester Hills, MI – Meadow Brook Amphitheatre
May 17 – Syracuse, NY – Landmark Theatre
May 20 – Boston, MA – Leader Bank Pavilion
May 21 – Albany, NY – Palace Theatre
May 22 – Waterbury, CT – Palace Theater
May 23 – Virginia Beach, VA – The Dome
May 27 – Reading, PA – Santander Performing Arts Center
May 28 – New York, NY – Beacon Theatre
May 29 – Atlantic City, NJ – Borgata Hotel Casino & SpaMay 30 – Vienna, VA – Wolf Trap