There’s just something so cool about a Bigsby vibrato, doesn’t it? Well, not everyone will agree with this, but they look sturdy and go well with most kinds of guitars – unlike Fender-style vibratos (also wrongly known as tremolo arms). 

Two different Bigsby vibratos

Nothing wrong with Fender vibratos – especially the Jazzmaster / Jaguar ones, of course, as any My Bloody Valentine fan will agree. “Floating tremolos” can be fantastic. But can you image a Les Paul with a Fender trem? Exactly – sometimes, only a Bigsby will do!

Besides, Bigsby vibratos were designed so they can be easily retro fitted to most types of guitars – so pretty much anyone with a hardtail guitar can easily modify it with a Bigsby, whereas if you wanted to fit a Fender-style trem, for instance, it’d be more complicated. (Check Bigsby for sale here)

If you still have any doubts about it, here’s our pick of Top 7 very different guitars with Bigsby vibrato, as played by famous guitarists. Post a comment to let us know which one is your favourite, or whether we forgot a guitar that should be here!

7) Airline 3P: PJ Harvey, Ripley Johnson, G. Love, Jeff Wootton

PJ Harvey and her Airline 3p

Polly Jean Harvey is not just an amazing singer and gifted songwriter – she’s got a great taste in guitars, too! After playing Gretsch, Gibson Firebird and Fender Telecaster and Jazzmaster, she chose a (vintage) Airline 3P with Bigsby.

Airline 59 3P DLX

Since then, we’ve seen many more guitarists choosing this model. Users of Eastwood’s Airline 59 3P DLX include Ripley from Wooden Schjips / Moon Duo (who now plays his signature 3P), G. Love (who’s also got his own signature guitar), and Jeff Wootton of Gorillaz.

Whereas some people might thing an Airline 2P looks “too Jack White”, the 3P with Bigsby is even more versatile and ideal for guitarists who want to experiment.

6) 1959 Les Paul Standard, the “Keefburst”: Keith Richards, Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, Mick Taylor

Keith Richards and his 1959 Les Paul

Some of us (maybe most!) might say that a Les Paul is better with its traditional hardtail bridge, but we perhaps wouldn’t even be talking about Les Paul guitars if not for this model – the legendary Keefburst. Why? Well, for the simple reason Keef was the first notable player to play a sunburst Les Paul. He used it on the Rolling Stones’ first US tour and extensively on TV shows and recordings, such as “The Last Time”. 

A Keefburst-style Les Paul with Bigsby

And more – Keef’s Les Paul might’ve inspired Jimmy Page to get his own sunburst Les Paul, too! As a session musician, Page used Keith’s LP on a version of the Stones’ “Heart Of Stone”. And that’s not the end of it: Eric Clapton is said to have borrowed it for a while circa Fresh Cream, and Mick Taylor also played it.

5) Epiphone Casino w/ Bigsby: George Harrison, Paul McCartney, Johnny Marr

George Harrison and his Epiphone Casino

What can we say? Both George Harrison and Paul McCartney had Epiphone Casinos equipped with Bigsby. They used it on tracks such as “Drive My Car”, “Taxman”, on lots of the “Sgt. Pepper” album, and during the Beatles last tour, which included legendary gigs such as Candlestick Park.

Johnny Marr’s Casino, today – minus trem…

Even though both Keith Richards and Brian Jones also played Casinos, it was The Beatles who truly introduced the model to a wider audience. Which also included an young Johnny Marr – who bought a Bigsby-equipped Casino because of the Fab Four, and used it on one of The Smiths’ best songs, “How Soon Is Now?” (Check Johnny Marr website for more). 

Epiphone Casino with Bigsby, still available from Epiphone

The list of Casino with Bigsby users also includes Thom York from Radiohead, The Edge from U2 and Gary Clark Jr.

4) Harmony H78: Dan Auerbach, Anton Newcombe

Dan Auerbach and his H78 with Bigsby

Make no mistake – Gibson/Epiphone semis are great, but if they are guilty of one thing, is that over the years they’ve become a bit generic. Sounds hard to believe, but so many players still get them all mixed-up: 335, 345, 355, Riviera, Sheraton, Casino… 

With the H78 there’s no mistake! No other semi-acoustic looks like it. The current Airline H78 is a fitting tribute to the original H78, as used by The Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach and Anton Newcombe and Matt Hollywood from Brian Jonestown Massacre. Many players who’ve tried both models will testify that the new H78 is even better than the original!

Betterthan the original? The Airline H78, a truly unique semi-acoustic…

3) Supro Dual Tone: David Bowie

David Bowie and his Supro Dual Tone

A fact not always acknowledged by many fans is that David Bowie had a great taste in guitars, as discussed on our dedicated article about Bowie’s guitars. So his choice of instrument for his final tour, in 2003, couldn’t be better: a Supro Dual Tone with Bigsby – a stunning guitar! That was the first time many people saw a Dual Tone, but in fact this vintage classic featured on some of the most influential recordings from the 1950’s… after all, Link Wray used it in classic tracks such as “Rumble”.

An original Dual Tone will set you back thousands of bucks, but fortunately, Eastwood’s Airline Twin Tone DLX can give you a taste of the original:

The Airline Twin Tone DLX… as close as it gets to a Supro!

2) Gretsch Triple Jet: Jack White

Jack White and his Gretsch Triple Jet in copper finish

The Gretsch Triple Jet in copper finish is perhaps Jack White’s most iconic guitar, after the red Airline. After years with The White Stripes, White had to really choose a striking new guitar to help setting his new project The Racounteurs apart… and besides an Airline Town & Country (as featured on the ‘Steady As She Goes’ video) he opted for the Triple Jet, which was actually his main axe, live.

Jack White’s Gretsch Triple Jet in copper

A wise choice, too. His customised Triple Jet in copper was a stunning guitar which got many guitarists wondering if they could find one just like it. Sadly, the answer was “no”…

For more about Jack White’s guitars, read our previous blog, A Brief History Of jack White’s Guitar Collection.

1) Gibson Les Paul Black Beauty: Jimmy Page 

Jimmy Page and his Gibson Les Paul Black Beauty

What’s so special about this Les Paul? Besides being a gorgeous instrument, this is the instrument that helped to establish Page’s name: pre-Led Zeppelin, this was the guitar he used on several studio sessions for other artists. He also used it in the early days of Led Zeppelin, but then lost – only to be found more than 40 years later!

Jimmy Page and the Black Beauty

So… we think the Black Beauty with Bigsby deserves the #1 spot: a gorgeous guitar, owned by one of the greatest guitarists ever in legendary recording sessions and gigs, and considered lost for many decades – but miraculously found years later. How cool is that? 

Les Paul Black Beauty with Bigsby

The Top 7 Guitars with Bigsby… As Played by Famous Guitarists from MyRareGuitars.com

Vintage 1983 Jolana Diamant I Electric Guitar

The short story, of course, is that Russia became Communist after the Russian Revolution of 1917. Fast forward to 1941 and the German Nazi army invades Russia, get’s stalled at Leningrad (St. Petersburg), and the Russian counter-assault commences. The Allies invade Sicily and Normandy. In 1945 everyone meets up in Berlin and Hitler eats a bullet. The victors divide the spoils, with Russia getting control of the Eastern half of Germany (and Berlin), as well as pretty much everything to the east of that. The Soviet Union, the Eastern Bloc, and the Iron Curtain are created and more than 30 years of Communist rule ensues in those areas. Can you say “Cold War?”

Now, you could probably construct an argument about how the Cold War ultimately affected American popular music, but I won’t try. What I find more interesting is that a whole bunch of traditionally guitar-making regions in Europe ended up under Communist rule. Markneukirchen, probably the greatest center of German lutherie, ended up just a few miles over the border in East Germany. Similar areas in nearby Czechoslovakia also ended up in Communist hands, including that where the Jolana company that made the Diamant I seen here was located.

I don’t know about you but I didn’t grow up withCommunist Guitars on my mind. I just knew they wanted to drop an A-bomb on us. As with all of history, reality and geo-politics operate in totally separate realms! Thank goodness.

Vintage 1983 Jolana Diamant I Electric Guitar

Definitive information on Jolana guitars is hard to obtain, even though the brand was one of the most successful in the Eastern Bloc. If you search online, you will actually learn that Jolana guitars represent a pretty heroic story of a man, Josef Ruzicka (1928-2004), who bucked the official Communist dictum that electric guitars represented rock and roll and the decadent Capitalism that music stood for. In around 1953 Ruzicka built his first electric Hawaiian guitar (about as decadent a Capitalistic rock and roll tool as I can imagine, eh?). Thereafter followed some Strat-style guitars, eventually leading to a guitar factory which ended up in Horavice and guitars named for—if Google Translate can be properly translated!—Josef’s daughter Jolana.

Just when the Diamant Les Paul version appeared is a bit murky. If you asked me, I’d say around 1972, but other sources online claim that the Diamant appeared in 1979, with the upscale Diamant I, as seen here, debuting in 1983. This may be true. One curious phenomenon you’ll encounter in online accounts of Jolana and other Soviet-era guitars is a profound inferiority complex that disparages the quality of these instruments. Indeed, as someone with no youthful experience (and an awful lot of aged experience!) with these guitar, I find this surprising. I have not found Eastern European guitars to be particularly different from guitars produced in Western Europe, and the workmanship is generally speaking quite good. Would this hold its own head-to-head with a Gibson Les Paul? No. But neither would a Crucianelli or a Framus or a Hagstrom.

That said, I have noticed that I consistently date Eastern Bloc guitars as being much earlier than they actually were. I’ll eye-ball a guitar and say “1968” when it turns out to be 1979. What appears to be the situation is that Soviet-era guitars aren’t so much badly made as they are really out of date, anachronisms! As if the makers are all at least 10 years behind their Western counterparts! Anachronism shouldn’t be confused with shoddy quality. But then again, if you’re 15 and those were the only guitars you could get, you might see “old fashioned” as a “quality” issue.

Vintage 1983 Jolana Diamant I Electric Guitar

In any case, this is a well made little Les Paul copy. The body is maple with a thick, about ¾” thick carved European spruce top. There’s binding and the fit and finish aren’t bad. These humbuckers ain’t DiMarzios, but they’re serviceable. If online sources are to be believed, this particular guitar is quite rare based on the finish. The vast majority (“90%”) are supposed to have been black, with the rest finished in red, and only a very few done in sunburst, as seen here. It would be hard to judge here in the Western Hemisphere because as far as I know none were ever exported to these parts and you almost never see any—black, red, or sunburst—on vintage guitar dealer lists.

According to some online sources, the Jolana factory produced some guitars branded as Futurama and exported to the UK, where they were played by the likes of George Harrison, Jimmy Page, and Eric Clapton, presumably before they could afford more expensive guitars. Most sources have Jolana shutting down in 1989, about the time that the Iron Curtain came crashing down to end the Cold War, though one source claims to have a 1991 Jolana.

But just when you think the Cold War and Jolana guitars are gone for good, Vladimir Putin chomps off a bit of Ukraine and the NBE Corp. in the Czech Republic announced the return of Jolana guitars. I don’t know if the Cold War has returned (I hope not), and I haven’t seen any new Jolana guitars, but these old ones, Communist overtones and anachronisms included, are pretty interesting artifacts of a time when a guitar like this Diamant I was unknown to those of us raised under Capitalistic Decadance!

Communist Guitars (Vintage 1983 Jolana Diamant I Electric Guitar) from MyRareGuitars.com

So what guitars did John use as a Beatle? Lets take a closer look…

1958 Rickenbacker 325 Capri

John Lennon with his 1958 Rickenbacker 325 Capri guitar (The Beatles)

It was in 1960 that John acquired the 325 capri, which accompanied him in the Hamburg days. This guitar can famously be seen in the Beatles’ first Ed Sullivan Show performance. Rumor has it that this guitar was a natural color and was painted black in 1962. It is believed that he stopped using it sometime in 1964. The 325 Capri has been left in the hand of John’s son, Sean Lennon.

1962 Gibson J-160E

John Lennon with his 1962 Gibson J-160E guitar (The Beatles)

One of John’s most famous acoustic guitars is easy to recognize with the sunburst finish and knobs on the soundboard to control the built-in pickup. The Gibson can be heard on the song “Love Me Do” and was used extensively on the Please Please Me sessions. Lennon picked up another J-160E, which he took on tour in 1964 and 1965.

1963 Rickenbacker 325

John Lennon with his 1963 Rickenbacker 325 guitar (The Beatles)

This Rickenbacker came in to replace John’s “Hamburg” Capri, which had taken quite the beating. It was used on the album A Hard Day’s Night. As well, it was used on the second performance the Beatles did on the Ed Sullivan Show. Lennon also received a 12-string version of this guitar.

1961 Fender Stratocaster

John Lennon with his 1961 Fender Stratocaster Guitar (The Beatles)

In 1964, John Lennon and George Harrison made a request for some strats, and each received one. In a cool light blue color with a rosewood fretboard, the stratocasters were used on the song “Nowhere Man”. George Harrison later gave his a psychedelic paint job for the All You Need is Love satellite broadcast.

1965 Epiphone E230TD Casino

John Lennon with his 1965 Epiphone E230TD Casino guitar sanded (The Beatles)

John Lennon with his 1965 Epiphone E230TD Casino guitar unsanded (The Beatles)

This hollow body guitar is quite famous as John used it for the impromptu rooftop concert. He also toured with it extensively in 1966 and it can be seen at the Beatles’ Shea Stadium performance. Sometime in 1968, John has his Casino sanded down to its natural finish, which can be seen in the rooftop concert.

Other guitars John had during the Beatles

• Ramirez A-1 classical guitar
• Framus 12-string acoustic guitar
• 1963 Gretsch 6120, Guild Starfire XII
• 1966 Vox Kensington
• 1965 Martin D-28 acoustic

– Posted by Raj who writes a blog on Guitar Tone

Check out these cool ‘best of’ articles from GuitarToneTalk:

• Best Reverb Pedals
• Best Chorus Pedals

John Lennon’s Guitars in the Beatles from MyRareGuitars.com

RELATED: George Harrison’s Guitars in the Beatles

Basses

1964 Rickenbacker 4001S-LH

Paul McCartney with his 1964 Rickenbacker 4001S-LH Bass

In 1965, Paul got his hands on a Rickenbacker bass which was first used on the song “Think for yourself”. He also used it extensively on the Revolver and Sgt. Pepper albums notably on tracks such as “Penny Lane” and “Strawberry Fields”. McCartney sometime in 1967, painted the Hofner with day glow paints to give it a psychedelic look. George Harrison and John Lennon did the same for the occasion. The newly painted Rickenbacker can be seen in the live satellite performance of “All you need is Love” in June of 1967.

1966 Fender Jazz Bass

Paul McCartney with his 1966 Fender Jazz Bass

Paul used a Fender Jazz Bass in 1968 during the Abbey Road/White Album sessions. It can be heard on songs such as “Sun King”, “While my Guitar Gently Weeps”, and “Yer Blues”. This was the last known bass (aside from the Hofner) that McCartney used with the Beatles.

Guitars

Epiphone Texan FT-79 Acoustic

Paul McCartney with his Epiphone Texan FT-79 Acoustic Guitar

The Epiphone acoustic guitar was used by Paul on the album Help, specifically for the song “Yesterday”. It can be seen in his live performances of “Yesterday” as well. McCartney, known for being a hoarder of instruments, still has this guitar today.

1962 Epiphone Casino ES-230TD

Paul McCartney with his 1962 Epiphone Casino ES-230TD Guitar

Paul got this righty Casino which he modded in order to be able to string it as a left-handed guitar. Known as one of Paul’s favorite guitars ever, he used it on famous songs such as “Taxman”, “Paperback Writer”, and “Drive my Car”. This guitar can be seen today as Paul still performs with it.

1964 Fender Esquire

Paul McCartney with his 1964 Fender Esquire Guitar

This sunburst Fender was played by McCartney in 1966 for the Revolver album. You can hear it on songs such as “Good Morning, Good Morning” and “Helter Skelter”. Very little is known about how Paul got the Esquire, or where it is now.

1967 C.F. Martin D-28 Acoustic

Paul McCartney with his 1967 CF Martin D-28 Acoustic Guitar

Another acoustic guitar Paul had was a nice, warm-sounding Martin which he acquired in 1968. It was used in the White Album Sessions and can be heard on the songs “Two of Us” and “Blackbird”.

Well, there you have it. The other guitars and basses Paul used with the Beatles. Hope this gives you more insight into some of the magic of the Beatles!

Posted by Raj from Guitar Tone

Paul McCartney’s Guitars in the Beatles from MyRareGuitars.com

Chuck Berry

What makes a great guitar riff? Does it come down to the technical brilliance that goes into playing it, or the ease by which a simple but effective riff can be played by beginners? Similarly, what riffs act as useful indicators of changing periods in music, and how have they transcended their status within songs to almost stand in for a whole band’s career? The following list represents an effort to put together some of the best guitar riffs, which are presented in rough order of influence through to some personal favourites at the top of the list.

10. Johnny B. Goode, Chuck Berry

Included on this list almost solely due to its iconic appearance in Back to the Future, ‘Johnny B. Goode’s’ electric riff arguably stands in for early rock and roll as much as Elvis Presley’s hip jigging on the Ed Sullivan Show. Simple, but invested with considerable power, Berry helped inspire a new generation of performers.

9. Start Me Up, Keith Richards

Reflecting The Rolling Stone’s powerful, pop-edged take on the blues, the open G tuning and percussive opening to Start Me Up by Keith Richards says all you need to know about the band’s swaggering sound. Originally Recorded in the mid 1970s, ‘Start Me Up’ appeared on the 1981 album Tattoo You.

8. Paperback Writer, George Harrison/John Lennon

Signalling the rock power that underpinned The Beatles’ melodies and harmonies, George Harrison’s overdriven mono riff on Paperback Writer demonstrated a band making a crucial turn towards more complex albums in the mid 1960s.

7. Smells Like Teen Spirit, Kurt Cobain

Perhaps the first riff that everyone tries when they get their first distortion pedal, ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’s stripped down appeal and instinctive use of a few chords still sounds as powerful today as in 1991.

6. Sweet Child O’Mine, Slash

If ‘Teen Spirit’ marked the breakaway of Seattle grunge from the excesses of West Coast hair metal, ‘Sweet Child O’Mine’ remains the key example of how the pomp and swagger of the LA scene could be boiled down to Slash’s virtuoso opening riff.

5. Smoke On The Water, Ritchie Blackmore

Perhaps the most imitated riff for beginners, Deep Purple’s ‘Smoke On The Water’ is simple but highly effective, and represents a rare riff that can be picked up by a new player on the first day of owning a guitar.

4. Enter Sandman, Kirk Hammett

For heavier riffs, look no further than Kirk Hammett’s building intro and main riff for Metallica’s ‘Enter Sandman’. Pure, pulse pounding guitar playing at its best.

3. Sweet Home Alabama/Free Bird. Ed King/Lynyrd Skynyrd

A tie for third place, Lynyrd Skynyrd can be criticised for turning every rock encore into a crowd chant for ‘Free Bird’, the band’s oftentimes 14 minute closure to their shows. ‘Sweet Home Alabama’s’ infectious riff, however, remains one of the most memorable, and oft imitated examples of its kind.

2. Stairway to Heaven, Jimmy Page

The perfect embodiment of Jimmy Page’s technical mastery during Led Zeppelin’s peak, ‘Stairway to Heaven’ gradually builds around an opening riff that most just about manage to learn before taking on the rest of the song.

1. Walk This Way, Joe Perry

Just edging out ‘Stairway’ is Aerosmith’s ‘Walk This Way,’ if only for the fact that it fused rock and rap music around a central riff that has been much imitated, but rarely bettered.

Rob James, guitar enthusiast, rocker, and fan of the Lick Library

Top 10 Greatest Guitar Riffs from MyRareGuitars.com

George Harrison and his Gretsch G6128T Duo Jet guitar

If you somehow missed this story at Winter NAMM 2011…well…it’s time you heard about the George Harrison Tribute Duo Jet from Gretsch Guitars. If you’re a fan of the Beatles and George Harrison, then I probably don’t need to give you a background on his black Gretsch Duo Jet G6128T. It was the guitar he played in the early Cavern Club days, and there is a very interesting history behind Harrison’s Duo Jet. For more on that, check out this video:

You gotta admit: that is a pretty awesome story. And the builders at the Gretsch Custom Shop have gone all out in creating a replica of Harrison’s G6128T Duo Jet. I’ve never even heard of x-raying a guitar!

It turns out that the Gretsch Custom Shop George Harrison G6128T-GH Tribute Duo Jet will be a limited to a run of 60. It’s due out in May 2011, and if you want one, you better have your checkbook handy – the MSRP is $20,000. But if you’re a collector, this guitar is a must have, right?

For more on the George Harrison Tribute Duo Jet:

• GretschGuitars.com: Official page of the G6128T-GH Tribute guitar [link]
• USAtoday.com: George Harrison’s beloved guitar is reborn as a replica [link]

And just for fun, here is a gallery of George Harrison pictures, many of which show him with his beloved Gretsch Duo Jet:

George Harrison Gretsch Duo Jet G6128T-GH Tribute Guitar from MyRareGuitars.com

The Dream Syndicate: The Days of Wine and Roses

Released in 1982 the LA band The Dream Syndicate’s first full-length LP (remember those?), The Days of Wine and Roses, has stood the test of time and deserves to be hailed for what it is: a classic album of that most democratic of music forces, Garage Rock. Ever wonder what Bob Dylan might sound like had he fronted a band composed of half of Neil Young’s Crazy Horse and half of The Velvet Underground? Well, strap in, because you’re in for a ride.

The Dream Syndicate’s front man and main songwriter was Steve Wynn (not the hotel dude) – a man still making great records 20+ years later with his current (and great) band Steve Wynn & The Miracle Three. I have seen the Stones, The Allman Brothers, Wilco (Nels Cline and Jeff Tweedy are a fun pair these days…a great night out for guitar lovers, btw) Crazy Horse AND Television live (I told you, I’m a guitar freak), and I have never seen a better live twin guitar attack than Steve Wynn (and fellow guitarist Jason Victor) and the Miracle Three threw down last year in LA. Fueled by a great rhythm section of Dave DeCastro on Bass and Linda Pitmon on drums, this is one of the best live bands going right now.

But, back, for a moment, to the way back machine.

The Days of Wine and Roses ranks as one of the few timeless releases of the 80’s. If you listen to it today, there’s nothing on it that tells you whether it was recorded in 1968 or 1982 or 2006. It’s fresh and primal and raw and melodic and the guitar work is some of the best and most interesting you’ll hear. From the great, murky and melodic slide on “Too Little, Too Late” (think George Harrison on Quaaludes, or if Hubert Sumlin joined the Beatles), to the savage unhinged noise fest of the amazing jam out title track, the work by Wynn and original Syndicate guitarist Karl Precoda is as fresh today as the day it was cut. It’s like if Dylan rocked more, or if Sonic Youth knew how to write catchy songs.

The twin guitars here are majestic in their ability to go from quiet drone to the unbridled passion of the outer edges psycho beauty. If you like guitar, you will LOVE this album. I promise.

It opens with a hypnotic riff on “Tell Me When It’s Over.” The song has a central guitar figure drenched in distortion that drives the song. Next, the adrenaline rush of “Definitely Clean,” which recalls the life-on-the-edge early electric rollicking of Dylan on “Mixed Up Confusion.”

“That’s What You Always Say” starts with a fabulous seductive bass line (played by original bassist Kendra Smith), building with chimey guitars and Dennis Duck’s great drum work (Wynn has been blessed with great drummers – from Duck, who still performs with LA’s Human Hands, to his current Miracle Three timekeeper, the great Linda Pitmon), before a cresting wave of guitars takes over. “Then She Remembers” is something like folk rock pushed to its breaking point.

Next up, the only Precoda-penned number, “Halloween.” With a solo that’s worthy of Tom Verlaine (rarely has the plinky bell-like ring of a Jazzmaster been better used in rock than by Wynn on this record), the song rises and falls in a celebration of dynamics (something any band could and should learn from). As Keith Richards once said, “If music is painting, then silence is the palate. You have to remember the silence.” THIS is a band that understands quiet and loud and melody and dissonance. It’s one of the richest records to ever come out of a barely produced band (and I mean that in the best way). The album is cut largely live, and it drips with the energy of immediacy.

“When You Smile” opens with Wynn singing over a simple two-notes on guitar while Precoda squeals menacing feedback in the background (and, at times, foreground). This contains one of the best guitar solos on the record – a thick, syrupy-sounding Precoda playing a mid 60’s Harmony made Silvertone with infectious melodic style. The murky mix of Precoda’s tone with Wynn’s Fender chime is a delight throughout. The two guitar voices speaking together, rather than the standard, “you play rhythm, I’ll play lead” predictability most two guitar bands fall into. “Until Lately” sounds like an outtake from Nuggets, or maybe an undiscovered tune from Iggy and the Stooges Funhouse.

The haunting, lovely Smith-sung “Too Little Too late” leads us into the last cut – the title track. The song rocks, the band is in top form, and the guitars speak as a punctuation mark to one of the great guitar-led albums from any era.

If you love guitar, and you love great songs (and here I am defining great songs as those written by the likes of Bob Dylan, Neil Young, early Lou Reed, Exile On Main Street period Rolling Stones, Tom Waits and Television), do yourself a favor and pick up this neglected classic of guitar brilliance. And double the favor you do yourself by catching up with the great work Wynn continues to do – he’s one of our great songwriters, and more people should know it. The man rocks. And this is one of the greatest rock albums of all time.

Under the Radar: The Dream Syndicate from MyRareGuitars.com

This is one of those articles.

Hold on, though. There’s more to it than that. This is the story of a personal journey through the world of music that begins humbly and ends just as humbly as it started. The fact that your reporter (should I say “moi”?) has experienced it at all is amazing enough, for under any other circumstances I might not have found myself in circumstances that presented so ripe an opportunity to learn and understand that most sensuous, invigorating, physically challenging and just plain righteous of musical instruments: the guitar.

Would you rather watch TV or play guitar?

Guitarists: Defining the Breeds

The world of the guitar, from what I’ve seen of the various “shows” held here and there, is populated with individuals whom one could classify into three types: There are collectors who couldn’t give a damn about playing but are attracted by aesthetic or monetary value; there are players who’d probably be better off collecting; and there are those who appreciate how truly awful it is to play poorly and therefore practice like hell out of fear that one day they’ll awaken to find they’re a better fit for category two. (For a hint, reread this paragraph.)

I am one of the individuals from the third category. I live to play the guitar, and if it weren’t for the fact that I’m a responsible adult I’d play the guitar night and day. Actually, it’s as much the music as the instrument – maybe more. Put it this way: To play really well, and play like you mean it, you have to dig in to that fretboard. You have to drive the sludge of misguided assumption and fear out of your hands and out of your brain. To do that takes commitment. It isn’t for babies.

Think about it. To play your best means sacrificing those precious hours in front of the flat-screen, where you might otherwise be perfectly happy growing a big TV butt and shrinking your brain while undertalented, overpaid inflata-babes drive up the advertising revenues and your reserves of testosterone. However, to get to the point where you know that what you’re playing is meaningful and clear of hype. To do that, you’ll have to take your treasured six-stringer through neighborhoods you don’t want to live in . . . at least, not permanently.

If you want to play well, practice hard. That’s what I learned early on in my adventure. On the path I’ve taken, there were players with minds to match their hands; people who saved the partying for after the gig, not before it; people who worked and worked and worked and worked at being better musicians, better thinkers and better teachers. I’ve been fortunate to know these people, and I’ve applied those lessons throughout my career as a journalist and musician.

The Twin Horizons

I soon learned that the many possibilities within the timber of the guitar would establish a certain mark upon which I could focus my own musical efforts. That mark became a line that separated what I was capable of from what I wasn’t yet capable of doing, so in that sense the mark was like the horizon itself. For instance, I knew from the first moment I touched a guitar that it was what I wanted, but it was when I found myself in a circle of very expressive players that I knew the instrument would always hold more than my efforts could reveal. That’s what the guitar is, though. It’s a mystery, or a kind of kaleidoscope. The more you turn it and twist it, the more it displays its infinite randomness and potential. And that’s what makes it so damn fun to play. But the more you play, the more the guitar becomes a philosophy. It’s an approach to listening—a way of sensing and feeling—that lets you know it’s okay to strive and fail before you try and succeed. In that way the guitar is one of the world’s great gifts, which is why so many talented artists have told me that their songs and solos seem to appear from out of nowhere. A good friend recently said there’s no such thing as musical genius. Instead, he said, there’s only the act of channeling from a sphere of creativity that’s far too big for one mind to perceive or identify. It made sense to me. Certainly it’d be more fun to pull some incredible theme out of thin air, or maybe out of a dream, than to feel it was some godlike and wholly intentional act: “That’s it, I’ve done it. I’ve just produced another masterpiece, the likes of which the world shall not see a-gain.” There’s way too much pressure in that. It’ll give you acne.

Well, on with the story. You’ll be impressed, I think, because it’s entirely true and free of exaggeration. It might be a bit more intense than what you’ve experienced on your trip, but then it might not be. After all, the story is really more about the experiences than about—well, moi—so the commonalities will reveal themselves as I relate the events. But hopefully those events will help us define a new philosophy, based partly on the old ones but enriched with something newer and less moi-centric. Here goes:

George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord" was all over the radio

It was a long time ago that I began to play the guitar. I was in the eighth grade, and George Harrison’s “My Sweet Lord” was all over the radio. I’d already learned to play the drums, but since there was little chance that my parents would allow a second set of tubs in the house (the drums belonged to an older brother), I figured my chances would be better with the more compact and more “affordable” guitar. There was one of those in the house too, and it belonged to another brother. I’d been watching him for quite a while, experimenting with his little Orpheus tiger-striped acoustic in the rare dogpoop sunburst. Actually, what I really wanted most was just to pluck those six strings from low to high and follow with a single strum, which was a symbol of the old “Peter Gunn” TV show. Anyway, Guitar Brother eventually relinquished the Orpheus, but rather than deciding I should keep and treasure it the aforementioned two jerks joined with still another brother in destroying it. (Perhaps my oldest brother would have stopped them if he were there. No, he’s classically educated and hates rock ‘n’ roll, so he would’ve helped ‘em.) Hey, but at least it was fun to watch. It also showed me, right at the start of my life as a guitar addict, that there’s always another deal to be had somewhere. So, having owned the Orpheus only a matter of hours and suddenly finding myself without it, I became immersed in the culture of hunter-gatherers. Guitar Bro’ moved up to a Japanese-built Orlando classical, and I got a neighbor’s cast-off Mexican gut-string with the “Missing Tuner Button” feature.

Gibson Hummingbird Acoustic Guitar

One day Guitar Bro’ came home with a replacement for his Orlando, but this one wasn’t about to find itself skewered over a piece of rebar like the Orpheus had. It was a ’63 Gibson Hummingbird in mint–and I mean mint–condition, which had been closeted for eight years by a guy who couldn’t stand the thought of scratching it. (His everyday guitar was a Martin.) From the moment I heard that H-bird, with its thunderous and metallic bass end, woody lower mids and ringing trebles, I knew it would become the sonic standard by which I’d judge every other acoustic guitar. Put it this way: My brother still has it, and I still want it. I want that bitchin’ cherry-sunburst finish, the frets that are wide as skateboard wheels, the fully intact pickguard, the dual-trapezoid inlays, and everything else. Oh, and I’ll take the beat-up Victoria case, with key.

I suffered through a long succession of cheapo guitars, all of them quality-challenged except for the Orlando classical I’d inherited when my brother bought the Gibson. (The Orlando had some truly outrageous Brazilian rosewood. Today, something like that would be a thousand dollars.) But it really didn’t matter to me how bad the instruments were, because I’d practice at least two hours every day, beginning immediately after school. The guitar gave me the power to create chord progressions that reflected the influences of my musical upbringing: the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Stones, Dylan, and the theme from “Bonanza.”

The Jimi Hendrix Experience: Are You Experienced?

Hendrix, Live at Leeds & The Threshold of a Dream

Interestingly, I wasn’t yet hip to the electric guitar when I first heard Are You Experienced blasting out of the hi-fi in a neighbor’s garage down the street. I wasn’t really aware that Jimi was doing all that with a Strat, but sonically it struck me as some of the most powerful and poetic sound I’d ever heard. Over the years I thought about it—becoming a Hendrix freak in the process—and eventually I realized that the instrument and technique are tools that serve the music, not the other way around. In some schools of thought it’s called transparency.

Music was going all the time in my family’s house. And that, I suspect, is where this particular upbringing differed from others. Oh, there was the occasional silence—after all, it wasn’t an insane asylum or a supermarket—but listening to music was a pretty serious pursuit. As much as we gave our time to it, we gave our imagination to it. So, listening wasn’t just a matter of hearing, it was a matter of believing . . . and the music had to be great before we would believe in it. The fundamental distinction is that music wasn’t entertainment in that house, nor was it something we were “allowed” to have “once we’d reached a certain age.” Admittedly we were Anglophiles or even Europhiles, but that’s because there was so much orchestral music to be heard. It was a sensibility that encouraged a real affection for groups like the Moody Blues, as well as later bands like Hatfield and the North. They had everything: melody, harmonic sophistication, musicianship, great production. The haunting improvisations of the Norwegian guitarist Terje Rypdal, and the sonorous melodies of German bassist Eberhard Weber were a revelation too. Listening to their music teaches you that jazz was never strictly an American art form; there’s a classical-based contingent that’s every bit as important.

The Sparkling Storefront

Unshakeable faith can make for a lonely devotion, particularly when you follow something as nebulous and mystifying as music. But as luck would one day have it, a little shop was opening on a commercial street not far away, just down the street from the liquor store. And on the plain stucco edifice over the storefront a guy was spray-painting the image of a cherry-sunburst Les Paul. Wow. I was in high school by this time, and I was totally ready for a place like that. Not that I’d ever held a real Les Paul, but I’d ogled them in the display cases up at the music store in the mall. But I knew this was going to be different. It had to be, because I could clearly sense it. Shoot, I could smell those old guitars and musty little amps from out on the street. And there were two or three guys in the shop, just casually talking and playing. I scooted past the scaffolding and stepped inside.

Man, the sound was awesome. I can still see this quiet little gentleman sitting cross-kneed on a stool, cranking big, beautiful blues out of a ’68 Les Paul Custom and a blackface Fender Deluxe. He’d slur, squawk and bend those riffs in a way that was so filthy-dirty and lowdown, I knew I just had to get some of that. The sound was huge and authoritative, but at the same time the man’s approach was perfectly languid. It was one of those moments when you simply have to assume the music comes to you. You prepare, you perfect your tools, and then you lay back and play it. Awesome!

Thankfully, the owners of the vintage shop recognized me as one of their own: a happily addicted adolescent guitar nut who’d do anything to taste that magical concoction of six strings and twenty-odd frets. Maybe they thought I might even buy one of the seven or so ’55 Goldtops that adorned the walls there. Think of that: I was this nice Catholic kid whose every move betrayed a lack of experience in the world, and I was hangin’ out with guys who owned and sold some of the most righteous guitars ever made! I went there nearly every day, and tried not to be an ignorant little punk. That was the hard part.

Other people started hanging out at the shop too, and quickly it became a haven for players from throughout the South Bay. (That’s basically the part of Southern California occupied by Long Beach, which I also learned had an inordinately high number of monster guitarists.) If you were deemed by the owner to be good enough, and careful enough, then you could take the guitars off the hangers and play them. The deal with the shop was this: It wasn’t so much the guitar or the amp as an example of collectible history or an indicator of market value. Instead this was a place in search of the perfect recipe. To that end, everything was considered in excruciatingly precise detail. Fretboards were cleaned and conditioned (with linseed oil, now considered a possible carcinogen), pickups and wiring were inspected, and the amps were taken through a comprehensive auditioning process in two key environments–the carpeted, rough-pine paneled shop, and a crude cinder-block storage room at the back. There were catalogs of tubes and transformers, and there was a constant procession of speakers. These guys would put just about anything in a tube amp: Altec, JBL, Gauss, Jensen, Celestion, Eminence, and eventually some cheap no-name jobs with paper domes and extra-large voice coils. If an amp or guitar had the potential to sound great, the people at the shop could get it there.

Fender was the amp of choice at the shop.

What to Play?

Fender was the amp of choice at the shop. But these were no longer standard-issue Fenders. A local technician who’d developed a relationship with the shop owners had come up with a way to install a “clipper circuit” in place of the tremolo control. A friend told me it effectively electrified the front panel, but I hardly cared. Once I got up the nerve to say, “Mom, I need a blackface Fender Twin Reverb with master volume for my new gig”–and finding that she’d go for it–I was ready for my new moniker: “The Mayor of Solotown.” Sure, I tried the Marshall route eventually, courtesy of a road-weary hundred-watter that had been stripped of its vinyl, together with a similarly raped slant cab whose basket-weave grille was decorated with the residue of beer and barf. I just hated the thing. It sounded so dead – so devoid of ambience. I just couldn’t seem to play the room with it like I could with the open-back stuff. Another member of the inner circle urged me to keep the Marshall, saying it just needed fresh tubes. (Actually, he was right.) Well, a little reverb could’ve helped too! So, I took it back to the shop and got two amps: a silverface Twin circa ’70-’71, and an Ampeg VT-22 of roughly the same vintage. Man, that was nuts. I had way too much power, feedback that was totally controllable per distance and proximity, and the juicy Ampeg “cone-cry” that Marshall designs, good as they might have been, didn’t have. Those two amps worked together almost intuitively, and they made my little ’76 rock-maple Osborne solid-body sing like Pavarotti with his meatballs in a vice. I still think it was one of the most amazing sounds I’ve ever heard.

A benefit of being a familiar face was that I could hang around at the shop and play all these incredible guitars, but honestly the owners didn’t expect me to pony up for something truly vintage. I’d just walk in, and within a few minutes I’d be playing a ’57 three-pickup Custom – a guitar that was so good it could almost play itself. I could pick up a Goldtop with those delicious off-white soapbars and a stoptail, or even the co-owner’s customized Olympic white “studio Strat” with Mighty Mite brass hardware, EMG active pickups and a shimmed Jazzmaster neck, and blow out the licks till my fingernails bled. Over time I bought this guitar and that, like a scarred-up Guild Aristocrat and a fabulous mid-’60s Kazuo Yairi replica of a Martin 0018. And of course they knew I’d buy the ’63 ES-345 that someone had stripped bare with a steak knife and spray-lacquered. But no one ever said, “Hey, why don’t you buy something.” We of the inner circle even helped sell guitars, because we could make them sound like they should. I’d demo guitars for buyers all the time, and if I played it they’d probably buy it.

Once, though, I demoed a guitar for a kid just about my age, and I almost wished I hadn’t. I’d been at home practicing like crazy, and after a while I decided I’d visit the shop. There was this kid there, and he was interested in a particular Les Paul (a white Custom, I think). The manager said to me, “Hey, play something to show what this guitar can do.” So, I sat down and . . . and . . . found that I just couldn’t seem to play for beans. It was as if I was just too tired. Maybe I just felt like a trained monkey. In any case, all the whiplash-inducing improvisational skill I’d developed was singularly absent from my cells, and I just plain stunk on that guitar.

The kid still wanted the Les Paul

The kid still wanted the Les Paul. But once he’d left the shop, I told the manager I felt lousy about having played so poorly. His response was one of the profound surprises of my life up to that point: “So, you’ve been playing too much,” he said. “Now it’s time to just listen for a while.” It was far more wisdom than I deserved, but that’s the kind of friend this guy was capable of being. He was honest, and in his business he was equally so. It was another lesson: Be a listener. Listen to others, listen to your intuition, and listen to the silence that coincides with the noise. There’s a musical comparison too, I think. So much of what passes for kick-ass product these days is exactly that, a product that’s out to prove it can kick your ass. Time was, when there was a give-and-take in even the gnarliest music. There was an ebb and flow, and the tension and release that has characterized so much of the best music.

Our favorite albums

The Immersion Diversion

Clearly I was learning more about playing the guitar than I could have at any music school. It was everything in one package: musical, philosophical, technical, aesthetic, nostalgic and futuristic. There was a massive influx of ideas and tastes running from Delta blues and Africana to British progressive rock, on to German and Dutch hard rock, and tongue-in-cheek quasi-classical stuff from the studios and piazzas of Milan. We believed we should be able to grasp it all, and that we should be able to play it all. But that was part of the era. Perhaps none of us had a master’s degree in music, but there was a constant and intensive exchange of ideas and information. We’d bring in our favorite records by King Crimson, Automatic Man, Soft Machine, Caravan, Golden Earring, Be-Bop Deluxe, The Sensational Alex Harvey Band, Mahavishnu Orchestra, Frank Zappa, and even the maniacally virtuoso French ensemble Magma. We’d listen to Taj Mahal, Leon Redbone, Tom Waits, Neil Young, and of course Jeff Beck. The power, the greatness and the grittiness of all that would get mixed together, and there at the confluence of it all we felt that absolutely anything was possible.

The guitars at the shop were generally a cut above, but the one that really had it all was a Flying V dating from about September 1957. It had a honey-colored Korina body so gorgeous, and a neck profile so perfect, that simply holding it was enough to make you forsake any other electric instrument. More than any Les Paul, Strat or Tele, it was the guitar. The tone was monumentally hot—bright, sassy and almost too sensuous for words–and the action over those polished frets and board edges was like something you dream of. And guess what? We used to play that sucker all the time, usually through the shop’s number-one Deluxe with that juicy master-volume setup. Man, it was so effing beautiful! But wait, you’d better steel your nerves for this, because it’ll either make you laugh like an idiot or cry like a baby. Ready? I’ll continue.

Birth of an Angel, and Others

Word had it that our beautiful “V” had been sold to a buyer somewhere down in Texas. But since it was obviously too special to be shipped, his plan was to drive out to the coast and pick it up. We never saw it leave the shop, nor could we have handled seeing it go. But a week or so later the shop manager told us the news. He made the report with an “ouch” of a smile that said all too clearly, “Easy come, easy go.” It turned out that the man who’d purchased the “V” only made it about halfway home with the guitar. He’d been running hard across the Arizona desert in his ’50s Ford pickup when suddenly he caught a whiff of smoke. Something smelled funny, like maybe rubber or wiring. Then he saw the flames licking the edges of the hood up front. Soon there was billowing smoke, fire was everywhere, and just one thing to do: pull over and get the hell out of that truck. He released the door, kicked it open, headed across the blacktop for the opposite shoulder and Kablooey!!! A gigantic pressure wave knocked him on his butt, from which position he could see a mushroom of molten iron and oil roiling toward the blue.

Damn. The Flying V was in the Ford.

It was then that he remembered: The Flying V was in the Ford. He had set it up front with him, leaning it against the bench seat so that he could admire it as he drove along. But as the truck flamed itself to a crisp on that Southwestern highway, the soul of one almighty and godlike guitar silently winged its way to Heaven.

Other axes came and went, and we enjoyed them all. There were baby-blue Strats, Mustangs with racing stripes, Teles and Esquires, a Firebird V that a customer bought and had edge-radiused and refinished wine red, a particularly fine Les Paul Standard with the top refinished in translucent clover honey (like orange juice), and a ’58 blond dotneck 335 that I sincerely wish I’d put on layaway. And if your pickups weren’t up to snuff, good ol’ Bill the shop manager would fix that. He pulled the stock Hi-A units out of my Osborne and replaced them with DiMarzio PAFs that he’d hotrodded with longer magnets. He also installed some pre-amped EMGs and a five-way switch in my Ibanez Challenger II “Buddy Holly” Strat replica. Damn, what a great guitar that was. Wait, there’s something in my eye. Just a minute, the tears will pass.

Excuse me. Once in a while I remember letting that one go.

Robin Trower, Guitarist (Procol Harum)

Fame However Fleeting

Big-time guitarists would come to the shop, too, usually after hours. For example, it was said that Robin Trower came in one night to audition three ’57 Strats that had been brought in for his consideration. And once I was invited to “drop by” with my guitar when Larry Carlton was scheduled to come in and try a caramel-sunburst ES. I was there for it, just waiting. Eventually he showed up, and after a few minutes he took a seat adjacent to me, on one of those funky squash-colored naugahyde ottomans that every guitar shop ought to have. He just started doing his thing, so I immediately jumped in with mine. It sounded good to me, and I could tell he was diggin’ it, so we played that way for at least half an hour. Eventually I packed up my guitar, but I loitered long enough to listen in as Carlton finished his business with the management of the shop. (He said he liked the ES but that the neck would need some work, which I took to mean reshaping.) Then, when I got home, Bill called from the shop and said, “So, after you left, Carlton goes, ‘Jeez, who was that kid!? He’s great!'” It was nothing, really. When you’ve been living and breathing Wishbone Ash for months, and practicing every waking hour, you aren’t going to feel intimidated by a few Steely Dan riffs.

Larry Carlton, Guitarist & Composer

Life goes on, and eventually I was too busy to visit the vintage shop very often. There was a change in management anyway, so the vibe was noticeably absent. In time I became a full-time writer, covering my favorite subject as an editor and contributor with various magazines. But in all the years since those days, when music focused our minds and fueled our fingers, I have yet to hear more than a handful of guitarists who can touch some of the players I knew from that little vintage guitar shop in Long Beach. I’ve lived in cities like San Francisco, Los Angeles and Tokyo, and I’ve met, interviewed and studied with brilliant players. Latin, world music, rock, metal, the studio scene, fusion, and etcetera: all have their names and signatures. But when you find a place where you can immerse yourself in the art of the guitar—where you’re totally free of inhibitions and ready to learn from players of every genre—then there’s no question about it. That’s where you’ll find musicians who are quicker, faster, more fluid, funnier, more powerful, more dedicated, better equipped to improvise and easily equipped to out-rock any of the supposed masters from this or any crop in recent memory. Simply put, it’s the place.

Jeff Beck, Guitarist (The Yardbirds)

The Philosophy Part

What did I learn, and what sort of philosophy emerged from my experiences there? Well, to review them and sum up I’d say it’s as important to attempt as to succeed; that the process is nothing without the quest for the process; that it’s all for nothing but never simply for entertainment; that it’s always worthwhile to want to be the best, even though there is never one “best”; that one should listen to the lessons of accident and random occurrence; that the person that makes the music, though the music fulfills the person; and that if you don’t play as if it were your very last time on this little blue planet, then you’re just wasting your time.

I also learned that you can play almost any kind of guitar you want and sound as good as you want. For instance, I don’t think any of the best players from this particular circle had the money it took to own one of the best guitars in the shop. In fact, I know they didn’t. Those guitars are intentionally priced to remain beyond the reach of the player, so that they’ll neither suffer from player wear nor embarrass the collector who can afford them but can’t actually play. But if you think we ever discussed it or worried about it, you’d be wrong. As I said earlier, we could play the vintage gear nearly anytime we wanted, and it was great. But then we’d head for our own guitars. I had my Osborne, which, if you can imagine, looks like a Rickenbacker 325 with a Mosrite headstock and Gibson-style hardware. Jeff had his lucite Dan Armstrong. Ronnie had a Strat with a fat little Tele neck on it, and Martin had an early issue of the Ibanez Artist in that nice violin finish. With the exception of my Osborne, nearly everything we owned was pre-owned, and certainly everything we played needed some serious tweaking due to overuse.

It’s still a challenge to defend an older guitar against a newer, better-built one. And since I nearly played the Osborne to death—to the point that I’d often fall asleep with it on my chest—I’ve placed it in the deep freeze until I can resurrect it. Instead, I play any of several guitars. For example, I had a superstrat built at ESP Craft House Tokyo in ’85. I hand-picked all the components myself, right down to the slab of northern ash, birds-eye neck and Bill Lawrence pickups. I even had the luthier assemble a Kahler Pro trem with a combination of brass and stainless parts. It has an oiled neck with a lacquered fingerboard, and the body is translucent cranberry. (Don’t ask how I put a belt-buckle dent in the top of the guitar.) Then I have a Yamaha SBG1300TS double-cutaway in gothic black. It weighs more than a Toyota and has a baseball-bat neck, but what resonance! There’s also an early ‘60s Eko model 200 “Mascot” archtop in showroom shape, aged to a delicate apricot blond. It’s small, but like many Eko acoustics it’s loud and very responsive, with tremendous sustain. And I have a four-pickup Eko Cobra that, despite the uprooted frets and shrunken pickguard, still manages to produce a sound that Stevie would’ve swapped his axe for. My current favorite, though, is a beautiful Eastwood Sidejack Deluxe in caramel sunburst. The fretboard is so slick and fast, I just can’t stay away from it. If I were to characterize its sound, I’d say it conjures the tonal balance of a Firebird, or maybe a super-hot Tele. There’s a “long scale” quality about the sound, which I really like.

See? There’s nothing outlandishly expensive. Sure, the Osborne is rare, with a serial number of “0003.” The ESP is tailor-made, and the Eko 200 is a sweetheart Django machine – a total rocket. But I treat each of them as a tool to help reach an artistic goal. It doesn’t take a fabulously expensive guitar to succeed in this respect. Instead you’ll want a guitar that doesn’t hold you back. You can play a guitar that challenges you, but a challenge is distinct from a hindrance. If the pickups are too hot or tend to feed back, you can pull back from “11.” When the intonation is off in the octave register, you can adjust it or deal with it. When there’s a tendency to play one guitar a bit more staccato than you’d like, you can simply relax and play more legato. You can even pick harder, or play fingerstyle, and achieve a similar result. Just make the instrument your own. Teach that guitar how to play and how to sound its best. Then it can teach you in return.

So, if you’re out there, Martin, Ronnie, Rob, Mark, Bill, and especially my old friend Jeffrey, I want to thank you for making me a part of the group. You’ve taught me more than I could ever say, and you’ll always be among my true guitar heroes.

Life in Guitarland from MyRareGuitars.com

Rickenbacker 360/12 Old Style 12-String Electric Guitar

For me, it all started with the two Godfathers of the electric 12 string: George Harrison of the Beatles and Roger McGuinn of The Byrds. Obviously, the first ingredient is a great 12 string. The Granddaddy of them all is the Rickenbacker 12 string.

Ricks have been handmade in the same factory in Santa Ana, California for many years and if you can find a dealer that sells and stocks Rickenbacker, you will pay thousands of dollars and you may end up waiting many months for the model of your dreams. I waited 8 months for my 360/12 Old Style when I bought it in 1990.

If you play in a weekend band or jam with your friends, you may find that the electric 12 string, once you have done all of the mandatory Beatles, Byrds, Animals, Who, Tom Petty, R.E.M., and Smiths tunes, has a rather limited use for the rest of your repertoire. Or, maybe not. If you’re like me, you’d happily play the electric 12 all night!

12-String Guitarist: David Love & His Rickenbacker 12-string

Crank up the input gain, compress the bejeezuz out of your 12 string and jangle away!

Tone Secret Number One: Compression!

George Harrison’s great 12 string tone came from a combination of three things: his matchless technique, the venerable Vox AC 30, and the Altec limiter that was in the Abbey Road studios. The Vox, with its all-tube EL 84 platform and its GZ34 rectifier gives any guitar that creamy, brown, compression sustain and chime but it really sparkles when you play an electric12 through it.

The Altec limiter is an old tube-type studio compressor/limiter that squishes the sound at the mixing console and simply enhanced the sound of those old AC 30’s.

Roger McGuinn of The Byrds has said that his tone came from recording his Rickenbacker directly into the console and running it through not one, but two Pultec Limiters at the same time! Listen to the opening figure of “Mr.Tambourine Man” and you’ll hear those compressors squeezing away!

Now I know many of you don’t have George’s or Roger’s technique (neither do I), or access to old AC 30’s (that can cost upwards of $5,000 for collectible examples) or old pieces of studio gear like Altec or Pultec limiters, but you can achieve the same effect with a good quality stomp box compressor. My personal favourite is the Diamond Compressor made here in Canada but any good compressor will do: Keely, Ross, Analog Man, Barber, MXR DynaComp, and the old standby BOSS CS-2 or 3.

Tone Secret Number Two: Flatwounds!

I discovered this Tone Secret the day I got my Rickenbacker 12. I had played other makes of electric 12’s before but they had never produced “that sound” that my Rick had. What was different about it? The single coil pickups that come standard on a Rick? The way Rickenbacker arranged the strings with the root string on top and the octave string underneath?

Both of these things had an influence on the way it sounded but the most important difference to me was the strings. They were not round wound like 99% of the strings that are on the market these days: they were flat wound!

Back when George and Roger were young men (1964), and before the late Ernie Ball started making round wound light gauge guitar strings in California, almost everybody played flat wound strings – that’s what was widely popular and available at the time. Round wounds were available but it wasn’t until The Shadows made them popular that there was a demand for them in Europe. The best flat wound strings in the world came from Germany (and still do) and were sold under the brand names of Pyramid and Thomastik.

Rickenbacker in California was buying Pyramids from Germany at the time (presumably because of the relationship they enjoyed with West German music retailers who were selling Rickenbacker guitars) so that was the string that was being installed on Rickenbackers from the California factory in early ’63 and ’64. So, the sound you hear on Beatles, Byrds, and The Who recordings – those are flat wound strings! The great Pete Townsend refers to them as “tape wound”. He won’t play his 12 string with anything else but!
Pyramid strings are still available to this day (you can find them on the Internet) and Rickenbacker still sells their Number 95404 Compressed Medium Round Wound.

(ground wound) set for about $20.00 a set. I buy them by the box of 12 from a store in New York. I prefer the Rick strings: just a tad brighter than Pyramids.

Round wound strings on an electric 12 string sound like doo-doo. Too crashy and too clangy. Flat wounds or ground round wounds are the way to go if you want “that sound”. If you can’t find Rickenbacker strings where you live, your local music store probably sells or can order D’Addario Chrome singles in a flat wound with which you can assemble your own 12 string set.

The string gauge shipped on every new Rickenbacker is as follows from low to high:

• .042/.026
• .034/.020W
• .026/.013plain
• .020wound/.010
• .013/.013
• .010/.010.

12-String Guitarist: David Love & His Rickenbacker 12-string

Tone Secret Number Three: Use a light gauge pick!

Try it! It works! A medium is too stiff and , in my opinion, “sends” too much signal to the pickup. I have found that with a light gauge pick, you can strum harder but still have a sound that doesn’t break up from string distortion (over strumming).

That kind of vibe (string distortion) works great for, say, a PRS through a Dual Rectifier but not for the sweet chimey strings on your 12 string. I keep a medium and a thin pick in my back pocket whenever I’m on stage depending on whether it’s a 12 string song or a 6 string song.

The great Colin Cripps of Hamilton, Ontario, revealed this Tone Secret to me many years ago. Colin is the guitar player/composer/producer of bands like Crash Vegas, Junkhouse, The Jim Cuddy Band, and Kathleen Edwards.

Tone Secret Number Four: Get your 12-string set up!

Find yourself a good guitar technician and get him or her to set up your 12 string.

The #1 complaint I hear from new 12 string players is that they put the guitar down because it’s too difficult to play.

The 12 string, by its design, is a different and difficult instrument to play because basically you are stuffing 12 strings into the same real estate as 6 strings. Players with small hands (like me) don’t find a problem especially with Rickenbackers, which have notoriously narrow necks.

A good guitar tech will straighten the neck as well as it can possibly can be – this is really important. He/she may also suggest that the frets be “dressed”, polished and leveled. This will benefit your 12 string and make it very playable. Ask him/her to set the action as low as possible – this is really important!

Another innovation that Rickenbacker has developed is the 12 saddle tuneomatic bridge, which ensures near-perfect intonation. If your 12 string doesn’t have one, don’t despair. Any good guitar tech worth his or her salt will get your 12 string intonated as close as it can possibly be even if you have a 6 saddle bridge – very important if you want those big jangly chords to be as sweetly in tune as they should be.

A well-set electric 12 string should play like a brand new PRS or (insert your favourite guitar brand here). If it doesn’t, find yourself a new guitar tech!

The best affordable 12-String Guitars

As a professional musician – yes, I’ve got the Vintage AC-30 and the Ricky 12 – hard to see it any other way. However, there is a price to pay for perfection, and therefor II recommend to my guitar-playing friends who jam for fun, to buy an electric 12 that’s a little more affordable than a Rick. There aren’t many electric 12 strings on the market these days but a few models by Eastwood fit the bill very nicely, such as the Eastwood Nashville 12 (discontinued) or the Classic 12.

The Eastwood Classic 12, setting a new standard in price vs. affordability

Mike Robinson from Eastwood consulted with me prior to the development of the Nashville 12. We discussed a variety of options and settled on this style as is was possible to achieve the tone (mini-humbukers) and setup (flat neck, low action) that would make it a “professional” grade instrument at an affordable price. Last month I visited Eastwood Guitars and took the prototype for a test drive. Two big thumbs up…… jangle away!

Currently, though, the hugely popular Eastwood Classic 12 is the model setting the standard for affordable, high-quality 12-strings, and is the best bet if you want to discover the joys of playing a 12-string guitar:

Still want more? Visit the Eastwood Guitars website for a look at their full range of 12-string guitars:

Suggested Listening:

• Mr.Tambourine Man by The Byrds
• I Should Have Known Better by The Beatles
• A Hard Day’s Night by The Beatles
• The Waiting by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers
• Kicks by Paul Revere and The Raiders
• You Were On My Mind by We Five
• Turn!Turn!Turn! by The Byrds
• Can’t Explain by The Who
• The Kids Are Alright by The Who
• It’s My Life by The Animals

Tone Secrets of the Electric 12-String Guitar from MyRareGuitars.com

One thing I discovered though: The new soft case I bought for my Strat fits into the overhead locker of the 767 so I don’t have check it in as baggage. I’ve always hated to see my old Fender disappear down the conveyor belt. You’re never quite sure that you’ll ever see it again. Now, I don’t have to part with it. I did however get asked the question.

Why is it that so many people think that there are two kinds of guitar player — rhythm and lead? I’ve been asked the question a million times in my playing career, mostly by beginners and non players. “What do you play? Rhythm or lead?” like they were two different instruments. I like to say I play music.

If you want to call yourself a guitarist, you must of course be able to do both, and for me the distinction between the two becomes more and more blurred as the years go by. A simple muted single note melodic line can become a great rhythm part conversely, a sequence of chords can easily be heard as the ‘lead’ part if approached with that in mind. Both are music.

The song should dictate what’s required. Obviously, when the singer is singing, the spotlight should be on him or her. To be riffing away would be distracting if not downright rude. This is when you should be thinking ‘rhythm’. This is when you should be listening to the singer, the lyrics, and asking yourself “What’s the least I can do here to help give the singer and the song their best shot”, and by least I mean “minimum amount of playing”. You will never go wrong thinking small, especially if you play with others in a band. This is very difficult to do, by the way, as some of you may already know. It’s much easier to play a continuous, mechanical strumming part than to break it up into little pieces and throw three quarters of them away. The first first technique is robot-like, the latter requires thought, consideration and taste.

As for ‘lead guitar’, even after thirty nine years now of playing guitar, I still don’t really know what it is, but I think it has a lot to do with what George used to do with The Beatles: playing the intro themes, filling the gaps between the vocals with riffs, either improvised or written into the song, and of course, taking the solos, again, either improvised or set in concrete. I must say though, that after all these years of playing and hanging out with players, I’ve never met a ‘lead guitarist’, a guy who just plays themes, riffs and solos. Before you can do that, you must first know about chords (rhythm) so that you know where to find your riffs, licks and solos. They are born from chords.

Again, when playing ‘lead’, less is best, and again, much harder to do. Running mechanically up and down scales at breakneck speed is not really making music. Killer melodies come from the heart, not the fingers, not the scale, as I’ve stressed over and over in these columns.

I used to see music as a building process — adding this element to that, collecting riffs and licks, connecting bits of information. Now that I know, I see playing music as a process of subtraction. I ask myself questions like: How few notes can I use out of all the possibilities to covey what I want? What’s the smallest way of stating (for example) Am7, and how big can the holes be between plucks or strums without losing the feel of the song. The challenge of deciding what NOT to play is much greater than collecting all the bits and pieces in the first place. As I’ve mentioned before, this is where taste comes in.

That’s it for now. Gotta go do some pickin’.

Rhythm & Lead Guitar from MyRareGuitars.com

A group of people immediately came up and asked the guy for his autograph. I didn’t recognize him, so I assumed he was a TV actor. People are always fussing over actors I don’t recognize. (I haven’t watched TV since I was a kid, so I’m often off the grid when it comes to pop culture.)

I forgot about the guy for a couple of minutes. My mind was on a song I was writing, and I was replaying a riff over and over in my head so I’d remember it when I got home. But I couldn’t ignore the guy for long, because more and more people kept stopping for autographs. He was cheery and kind to everyone, even though they were interrupting his meal.

It’s gauche to ask for autographs in L.A., and it struck me as odd just how many people were doing it. I glanced over a couple of times, and the guy smiled at me, but I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to intrude on his space.

Halfway through lunch, I hit on a really great ending for my song. I grabbed my cell phone, planning to go into the restroom and record it before I forgot it. I stood up and accidentally dropped my phone on the famous guy. I apologized and explained that I was going to the restroom to record a song. I realized that this probably sounded weird, but the guy didn’t seem to think so. I remember exactly what he said. He looked at me and said, “Is that so?” with so much interest and friendliness that it made me grin.

I squinted at him for a few seconds, wracking my brain to figure out who the heck he was. It occurred to me then that he might be a musician instead of an actor. I rarely know what musicians look like, even if I love their music. I recently saw a DVD of Led Zeppelin for the first time, and was shocked that Robert Plant was blond and flamboyant. I’d always imagined him dark, brooding and serious, and this new image gave me a mind-spin. The same thing happened the first time I went to a Neil Young concert. I was devastated that this geek with hideous mutton chops was the force behind the most brilliant, haunting music I’ve ever heard. My romantic fantasies were crushed, but it was still the best show I’ve ever seen. Neil Young in concert is f*#*ing awesome.

Anyway, I went to the bathroom and called my home number and sang the ending of my song to my machine. I recorded it a couple of times, to make sure I got all the nuances. When I came out of the bathroom, I asked the waitress if she knew who the famous guy was, and she squealed, “George Harrison, you idiot!”

George HARRISON!!?? My heart lurched to my throat. George Harrison was my HERO!

OK, so he’s everybody’s hero, but you’ve got to understand, I’m a sitar player. The sitar is the love of my life – I love it more than my computer, more than my ’62 Telecaster, maybe even more than my orange tomcat who brings dead things into the house all the time.

Maharishi's Ashram (Rishikesh, India)

I bolted back outside with a smile splitting my face open. There were so many things to talk to him about! I spend a lot of time in Rishikesh, India, which is where the Beatles stayed when they were there. The Maharishi’s ashram is abandoned now, and totally overgrown by jungle. When I’m in India, I trek in there every day and sit on the roof of the house the Beatles built. (It’s the only house on the property. The rest of the buildings are little beehive- shaped meditation huts.) The roof overlooks the Ganges River, and I sit there and play sitar and watch the mist float across the mountains and the monkeys swing in from the jungle. It’s a magical spot – truly beyond description — and it’s easy to see how the Beatles wrote so much incredible music there.

I wondered if George had ever been to the secret caves in Rishikesh or discovered the hidden, white sand beaches down the river. I was curious whether he’d ever encountered wild elephants, and if he fed the big, jungle apes like I do.

Rane Sevin, Sitar (Kings of Jupiter)

Also, I was bursting with sitar questions to ask him. I wondered which tunings he used and if he ever installed pickups. I wondered how he dealt with the feedback problems sitars have when miked. (“Real” sitar people won’t even discuss the idea of pick-ups. Sitar is meant to be played acoustically. Playing rock and roll with electric instruments, as I do, is an apostasy.)

I even had the wild thought that I could invite George over to my house to play my new custom-made sitar. Maybe he would even sign it! That would be so unbelievably cool! Or if he didn’t want to go to my house, maybe he’d wait for me to bring my sitar back to the café.

I abandoned all pretenses and ran right up to his chair…but he was gone! I looked up and down the sidewalk, but he wasn’t there. I sprinted down the steps to check out the parking lot behind the restaurant, but again – nobody. He must have parked in front of the restaurant and driven off while I was in the bathroom.

I felt ill…literally ill! How could he have done this to me? I love his music so much, and I admire what he stood for and who he’d become.

Now that he was gone, his face retroactively snapped into recognition. The only Beatles pictures I’d ever seen were from the 60s and 70s, but now I put that young face together with the older one, and can’t imagine how I didn’t recognize him …especially with the BRITISH ACCENT and the AUTOGRAPH HOUNDS!!! The waitress was right — how STUPID could I BE???

As I drove home, I consoled myself with the thought that I still might meet him someday. Sitar players have a way of finding each other. People have introduced me to a couple of India’s giants — there was a good chance I would run into George someday.

But that never happened. Sadly, he died a few months later. I’ll never get to tell him how much I loved his music. I’ll never get to thank him for bringing the sitar to the west…thank him for changing my life. I had the chance, and I was too polite to grab it.

Lesson learned. If I ever run into Neil Young, I’m gonna tackle him first and make apologies later.

Post by: Rane Sevin

My Lunch with George Harrison from MyRareGuitars.com