Author: Elliot Stephen Cohen

For 50 years, Todd Rundgren has been compiling one the most eclectic and impressive resumés in music. From forming the Nazz in 1967 to stints with Utopia, Runt, The New Cars, and a successful solo career, his accomplishments as a multi-instrumentalist, singer, composer, engineer, and record producer are rarely equaled by even his most-distinguished contemporaries. After also establishing himself as a pioneering video director and champion of electronic music, Rundgren was the first major artist to sell his own music directly to fans via the internet.

Albums engineered or produced by Rundgren include Hall and Oates’ War Babies, The Band’s Stage Fright, Grand Funk Railroad’s We’re An American Band, Badfinger’s Straight Up, XTC’s Skylarking, and Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell (which has sold more than 43 million copies worldwide). Additionally, for the past six years he’s been a charter member of Ringo’s All-Starr Band.

One would assume Rundgren is in The Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame, considering the one-hit wonder inductees who didn’t even write their one hit. Does he feel slighted?

“No,” he says, very matter-of-factly. “I never really think about it until someone brings it up. You know, honestly, from the very first time I heard about it, I thought it was a dopey idea. These things don’t exist for the reasons the populace at large believes they do. The idea that you’re more legitimate because you’re in or less legitimate because you’re not… I don’t even know what legitimate means in those freakin’ terms. It’s just another way for them to keep the wheel spinning.”

Rundgren’s commercial breakthrough occurred in 1972 with the double album Something/Anything?, for which he composed all of the material, played every instrument on three of the four sides in addition to doing all vocals, and which included two signature songs, “Hello It’s Me” and “I Saw The Light.”

His latest album, White Knight, exhibits his continued passion for musical diversity, featuring guitarists Joe Satriani and Joe Walsh, Steely Dan keyboardist Donald Fagan, rapper Dam-Funk, singers Daryl Hall and Bettye LaVette, plus industrial-metal rocker Trent Reznor.

How did your guitar playing days begin?

My parents bought me this cheap, really cheesy acoustic, but I had to commit to two months of guitar lessons at the local music store. I hated the lessons – hated having to learn to read, because I could easily pick things up by ear. I also hated the discipline of technique that the teacher tried to put on me. He would always say, “Always pick down. Never pick up.” That didn’t feel right to me, so I was just happy to have the lessons over. When I first started performing with the Nazz, the guitar was like a shield for me. You felt kind of naked with without it. Now, I’m pretty comfortable with or without one.

At what point did you first consider being in a band?

I was in junior high when The Beatles started happening, and I could already see that they represented some kind of revolution. It seemed all you had to do was get four guys together, dress them all the same, grow your hair long, and find the right songs. There was a lot of fake controversy at the time as to who was better or more authentic, the Beatles or Rolling Stones, but the Stones didn’t unify the world. The Beatles did.

You’ve cited The Yardbirds as a major influence, even naming your band after one of their songs.

The B-side of “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago” was called “The Nazz Are Blue,” and it was also the first time we ever heard Jeff Beck’s voice. We didn’t know what “nazz” meant, but we liked the sound of it. We were just looking for something that didn’t really have a whole lot of meaning and wasn’t silly.

What mainly attracted you to their music?

The way Beck was playing slide guitar on the first album really freaked me out, because it was the first time I heard that particular sound. I was unfamiliar with the Telecaster and thought slide guitar was a particular kind of guitar! I was as much into The Yardbirds as I was into the Beatles because I was a guitar player and they were basically a guitar-playing academy, with Beck, Eric Clapton, and Jimmy Page all going through at some point. It was easy enough to copy a finely composed George Harrison eight-bar solo, but trying to improvise on the guitar the way those three did was what really got me to be serious about the instrument.

How influential were The Beatles’ early recordings to your development as a record producer?

One of the things I noticed when I heard the first Beatles songs and other records from the British Invasion was how they had a very different sound and different tightness than American records, which seemed to be mixed weird and flabby-sounding, probably from some old studio or session approach. There was a discernible difference between the way records were made in Europe and over here. Following the way they did theirs, you had learn how to reverse-engineer the sounds, which is essentially how I learned to mix, engineer, and produce records.

It seems Nazz was highly influenced by the wave of garage bands that were popular a few years earlier.

Yeah, I think it all goes back to “Louie, Louie,” which I consider one of the foundational elements of all rock and roll. Later, we’d have loved to have been part of the scene in England, like some bands that actually moved there to get their careers kick-started. The New York Dolls couldn’t get any attention here, so they went to England, which took to them right away and turned them into a phenomenon that eventually influenced The Sex Pistols.

One of your first successes as an independent producer was the Dolls’ 1973 debut album. Many critics insist their aggressive sound was never faithfully captured on record. Would you record them any differently today?

Well, the biggest problem was that the band got a little too much in a hurry at the end of the recording process. There was a lot of, “We gotta wrap this up because we got a gig to go to.” In recording any band, there’s always a bit of “herding cats” involved. Another thing I learned right away is to never allow a band in the room while you’re mixing. What a mistake that is! “I can’t hear my drums,” “I can’t hear my guitar!” Eventually, all of the faders are at the top of the board and you have to start over.  The record would also have had so much more punch if we had the budget to take the tapes to a state-of-the-art mastering lab like Sterling instead of using an old, non-variable pitch lathe at The Record Plant.

It’s a shame the band didn’t enjoy greater commercial success.

You know, some things are defined by their lack of discipline. One reason the Stones have lasted so long is that no matter how wild and woolly their image is, and even if drugs were involved, they took the business side of things seriously. The Dolls never did. Also, bad boy Mick Jagger is still one of the fittest human beings on the planet.

Though Grand Funk in the early ’70s was breaking attendance records set by The Beatles, they never really cracked the singles charts until you produced “We’re An American Band.” It seems you really streamlined their sound.

Well, their biggest problem up ’til that time was that their former manager, Terry Knight, was also producing their records and was a terrible producer. He’d let them spend too much time jamming in the studio, and everyone around thought the band was compromising their talent in terms of their ability to write songs and to deliver a tight performance. They were all good players, but after I started working with them, they realized they weren’t Cream. They came from that Detroit R&B scene, so they started getting back to their roots and becoming more song-oriented.

What’s the history of Bat Out of Hell, which went from very modest beginnings to becoming one of the biggest-selling albums?

When we started, there was no record company. I wound up underwriting the album myself. So essentially, I owed Bearsville Records the budget for the making of the album until they found a label for it. Every major label turned us down. We had to find a little subsidiary Cleveland International, before we could even put it out.

Besides playing lead guitar on the album, what are some of your fondest memories of the recording sessions?

Well, it was one of the last albums for a long time that was done primarily live in the studio, which is kind of the fun part of making music. If you can get everyone familiar enough with the material, get the sound in the headphones just right so no one is complaining and just focused on the music, that’s one of the fringe benefits of recording that way. When you can make that happen, as a producer you realize you might be listening to what the final product is going to sound like while it’s happening. Bat was essentially a live recording.

Can you contrast the pros and cons of the way you recorded Bat with your new album, where the collaborators sent parts for you to overdub, without their involvement?

Well, living in Hawaii, it’s difficult for me to call a session (laughs), and that necessitated the way this and most of my recent records have been done. Yes, the downside is you don’t have fun anecdotes to tell about being in the same room. The upside is that because I wasn’t with any of the artists when they made their recordings, there wasn’t any pressure on them because, as a producer, it’s my prerogative to constantly make suggestions. I think this way I was able to get more-natural performances out of everybody. Everyone kind of sounds like themselves instead of what I imagine they should sound like. It’s a lot more democratic.

What was your original vision for the album?

When Cleopatra Records approached me, I didn’t have a particular concept in mind. Then I decided on the collaboration aspect, but what really got me going… and I don’t know if it’s a matter of legacy, but after Bowie and Prince died, I realized that you never really know how much time you have left. So, I started thinking of the album as a serious crusade. Bowie, Prince, and I had some things in common, being the kind of unpredictable auteurs who don’t really adopt one style and stick to it. We’re always experimenting with other things.

Where does the album’s title come from?

In the urban dictionary, a “white knight” means either somebody who comes in and saves a company from a hostile takeover or a guy who defends women who are harassed on the internet. The implication is also that he may be trying for some romantic reward, and I say, “Why not?” (laughs)

Do you think this is the kind of album your long-time fans were expecting in 2017?

I don’t really know what they expect at this point. The last two records were pretty aggressive experiments in modern music. A lot of my fans are not as up on that as I am because I do a lot of research before I make a record. I do think the previous albums have been challenging to fans, so they were probably expecting something even further challenging in that regard. The collaborations on the new album kind of evened everything out, in a songwriting sense. As it turns out, it seems to be a more-accessible record than some of the previous ones, which took a few listens to get used to.

One track has generated some controversy – “Tin Foil Hat” – which is not exactly praising President Trump. Reportedly, you’ve received death threats because of it.

There have been, but I don’t take them that seriously. I mean, Stephen Colbert makes fun of Trump on a nightly basis, sometimes savagely. He must be getting threats. And when I was on Jimmy Fallon’s show I asked if he gets them, and he said, “Yes.” You really have more to fear from the fan who’s off his rocker, the Mark David Chapmans. Those are the guys that actually act out. These other people are too busy trolling to get off their chairs. As far as the ticket cancellations, a lot of people who don’t realize there’s politics and sociology in what I do are the ones who haven’t come to a show in years, and when they do, if they don’t hear “Bang The Drum,” “I Saw The Light” and “Hello, It’s Me,” in the first half hour, are gonna walk out anyway. So I think that’s a wash in that regard.

What’s your favored gear these days?

For some time, I’ve been using Reason [software with amp and effects simulators for guitar], which until recently had Line 6 stuff built into it. When I perform, I’m pretty much a Line 6 guy, principally because of the simplicity of it. I understand the system and how to program it, but whatever licensing deal they had has ended and the devices are no longer standard equipment. They’ve licensed other technology I’m not as comfortable with, but we’re still using Line 6 onstage. When I can get it, I’ll use a Flextone 111 amp. I also own an original AX 212 amp I really like, but I’m hesitant to take it out on the road.

Speaking of gear, you’ve recently favored a green guitar onstage.

I used to tour Japan a lot in the late ’80s; the Japanese were flush, and a guy who worked for a guitar company would show up with a half-dozen guitars and let me pick one. So, I kept coming back from Japan with lots of guitars that were piling up in storage. I went through them, and the P-Project one had the best combination of pickups and was the easiest to play.

Do you use the same guitars on solo shows and with Ringo?

Pretty much. With Ringo, I play a lot of acoustic – a Guild that was provided for the tour. I carry just three electric guitars to keep it kind of simple. We carry extra guitars for the heck of it, not because they’re alternate tunings, but just because they look different. So for one song now and then I’ll play a guitar somebody gave me that has rhinestones all over it and sounds okay, though I probably wouldn’t use it outside of that context. Or, I’ll play the Fool replica.

From seeing The Beatles on “The Ed Sullivan Show” in 1964 to now working with Ringo, it all must seem almost surreal. Even after six years, do you still pinch yourself and think, “My God, I’m actually working with a Beatle!”

Well, you not only pinch yourself, you say, “I’m flying on a private jet with a Beatle! I’m having dinner with a Beatle!” He’s the boss because somebody’s gotta be the boss, but otherwise he just wants to be one of the guys and hang out with the band, like he did with The Beatles. It’s not as if he travels separately from us or stays in different hotels. It’s more than simply playing with him, you know? It’s being friends on a day-to-day basis.

Sitting behind the drums, Ringo at 76 seems almost like a teen having the time of his life.

He gets incredibly bored on the road when we’re not playing, because he’s been everywhere and done everything. Also, he can’t just go out walking around the streets because people will hassle him. So he winds up stuck in a hotel room, the whole point of his day being to get behind the drums. It’s fun watching him have fun. The more fun he has, the more fun we have.

When The Beatles first came over, could you have imagined any of them – or any rock musicians – still performing in their 60s and 70s?

I couldn’t even imagine myself being 50. Now that I’m 19 years beyond that, I realize there’s still a lot of distance to cover. I’ve learned to respect and idolize people who continue to play until they’re physically unable to do so. At this point, I actually feel better onstage than when I’m off. I still expend as much energy as I can in the process. That’s what people pay money for; they want to see you do something unusual or extraordinary and be at the top of your game or edge of your limits. That’s what performance is all about.

This article originally appeared in VG December 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

Gene Cornish is fond of the time he spent in the ’60s pop band The Rascals, which he credits for having never been sidetracked or making a bad decision… until its very end.

“We had the right manager at the right time,” he said. “And we chose the right record company that put us with the right people.”

Born May 14, 1944, in Ontario, Canada, 20 years later he teamed with singer/keyboardist Felix Cavaliere, drummer Dino Danelli, and vocalist Eddie Brigati to form The Rascals. One of America’s most successful acts of the 1960s, the group recorded classics including “Good Lovin’,” “I’ve Been Lonely Too Long,” “Groovin’,” “How Can I Be Sure,” “A Girl Like You,” “A Beautiful Morning,” and “People Got To Be Free.”

This achievement is commemorated in the band’s new box set, The Complete Singles A’s and B’s – 47 tracks collecting for the first time both sides of every Atlantic and Columbia release, with early songs in both stereo and mono.

“We called those the ‘money mixes’ – made for AM radio to be heard through one speaker,” Cornish said of the latter. “The stereo mixes were taken from the original master multi-tracks, so they couldn’t be remixed… which is a blessing because flexing with magic is not an improvement.”

“There wasn’t one night we didn’t kill onstage – we never once went out there and phoned it in.”

In his years with the The Rascals, Cornish played 36 Gibson guitars, though, “Gibson never gave me a pick.” For the past 15 years, he has referred to his Fernandes with Fender Noiseless pickups and D’Addario strings as “my workhorse.” Others in his collection include a Stratocaster with Joe Barden pickups, a Telecaster, and several D’Angelicos including an Excel SS, Excel Madison, and Premier EXL-1. His current amplifiers include a Fender Hot Rod Deville with four 10″ speakers, a Supro Rhythm King with a 15″, and Fender Blues Deville with four 10s.

In 2013, Rascals superfan Steven Van Zandt managed to reunite the band for a Broadway show and tour called Once Upon Dream. When it ended, members went their separate ways.

Cornish, a survivor of two quadruple-bypass heart surgeries and colon cancer, still tears it up onstage with Rascals tribute shows. He’s also member of a The Platinum All-Stars with drummer Carmine Appice (Vanilla Fudge, Jeff Beck), keyboardist Geoff Downes (Buggles, Asia, Yes), Ron “Bumblefoot” Thal (Guns ’N Roses), singer/guitarist Phil Naro (Brian May, Peter Chris), and bassist Rudy Sarzo (Ozzy Osborne, Whitesnake).

What are your earliest memories of moving to America?

In the early ’50s, if you were from another country, you might as well have been from Mars. Kids were not as sophisticated, and they beat me up all the time because my name was spelled “Jean-Paul.” I told my mom, “I’m not speaking French any more,” and changed the spelling of my name to Gene, like Gene Autry. My dad bought me a little ukulele, and the first proper song I learned was “Singing The Blues,” by Guy Mitchell.

What was your first exposure to American rock and roll?

In February of ’56, I was at my dad’s bait store, where there was an old black-and-white television on a shelf. I looked up and there was this guy with sideburns playing a guitar, another guitarist behind him and a drummer. It was Elvis with Scotty Moore and D.J. Fontana. I turned up the volume, and that was all it took for me.

Because your mom had sung with Ozzie Nelson’s big band, did you meet Ricky in those days?

No, not until around ’68. But I used to watch “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet” all the time, and I loved [Ricky’s guitarist] James Burton. “Believe What You Say” is, to me, the ultimate guitar solo. James always played – actually mimed with – a Rickenbacker on the show because Ricky had an endorsement deal, but of course he played a Telecaster on the records.

Who were some of your other early influences?

Well, Chuck Berry, and because of Duane Eddy I bought my Gretsch 6120. I loved “Walk Don’t Run” by The Ventures, which I still play in shows. Bobby Rydell was one of my idols; I was 15 when his first hit, “Kissin’ Time,” came out. The bass was so predominant that I talked my father into buying me a Fender bass. So, I was a double threat as guitarist and bass player on the early Rascals’ records.

Along with 70 million other people in America, you saw The Beatles’ appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show” in February, 1964. How did that affect you?

The Beatles changed my life and that of virtually every other guitar player because guitar used to be in the back of a band while the singer was up-front. All of a sudden, the bass player was also the lead singer. I had never seen that. It was just magic.

Did seeing George Harrison playing a Country Gentleman inspire you to get one?

Yes, I did buy one because of him, but it got stolen before The Rascals’ first rehearsal. I was playing a different Gretsch when I realized, “George has his guitar, McCartney has the Höfner violin bass, Buddy Holly had the Stratocaster… I gotta find my own guitar.” I found it in a Gibson Barney Kessel, a double-cutaway jazz guitar, and used it on all my records.

The Rascals were unknown when you attended the Beatles’ Shea Stadium concert in 1965, and promoter Sid Bernstein had the scoreboard flash the words, “The Rascals Are Coming.”

We had just signed with Sid as manager about three weeks earlier, and were in the visitors’ dugout, where The Beatles came out. When (Beatles’ manager) Brian Epstein saw the sign, he had a f***ing fit and started screaming, “I’m gonna cancel the show right now if you don’t take that sign down!” That was our first brush with The Beatles (laughs).

What’s the story behind the Rascals turning down Phil Spector’s offer to produce at a time when the band was still playing small clubs?

We were at The Barge, in the Hamptons. Phil had flown from L.A. to see us play. We knocked him out. When he came backstage afterward and told us he wanted to produce us, we were in shock. Felix, who was more educated and more worldly than any of us, told Phil, “You’re the greatest producer in the world, but we want to produce ourselves.” Phil said, “Do you know who you’re talking to?” We said, “Yes, but we have our own ideas.” He stormed out so frustrated that he kicked a fire hydrant and broke his foot.

Did you ever run into him after that?

Yes. Seven months later, we had the #1 record with “Good Lovin’” and were at Cantor’s Deli in L.A., laughin’ and talkin’ at four in the morning, when Phil walked in with this huge bodyguard who looked like Odd Job in the James Bond films. We all dove under the table! Phil was still walking with a cane, and he came over, tapped on the table with the cane and started yelling, “Get up here, you little c***suckers! You all got some balls. Nobody has ever turned down Phil Spector!” Then he looked me in the face and started laughing, “You guys were right. I’m proud of you. You did good.”

You also had a pre-fame encounter with Les Paul, who had one of the few eight-track recorders in ’65.

We were brought to his house late one evening and recorded a few songs – The Beatles’ “No Reply” and “Slow Down.” But we were still fresh, not ready to be recording artists.

The Rascals turned down several major labels before signing with Atlantic. What made the band realize it was their best option?

There were several reasons. Columbia was bigger, RCA was bigger, Capitol was bigger. They all wanted us, but they were just corporations who would have thrown us into the studio with staff producers and we would’ve had no say about how the music was recorded. Atlantic, on the other hand, was the most respected label. They were the top black label long before Motown, and we were going to be their first white act. They said, “We don’t have as much money as CBS, RCA, or Capitol, but if you come with us, we can get into the rock-and-roll world.” That was a real invitation for an unknown act that didn’t even have original songs at the time.

So, considering Atlantic’s history with legends such as Ray Charles, The Drifters, and The Coasters, how intimidating was it being in their studios the first time?

Well, at first we couldn’t believe that they said we could produce ourselves, and also that they wouldn’t charge us for studio time, which is the way many record companies recoup investments. But they said, “Since you don’t have a track record, we’ll let you be your own producers, with some adult supervision. ”That meant Tom Dowd, who worked with Aretha Franklin, Cream, Allman Brothers, and other acts, and Arif Mardin, who was Atlantic’s house arranger. We were really blessed to have two of the best help us along. They never demanded or tried to control anything – they just made suggestions.

What was your basic equipment during the Rascals days?

I started with the Barney Kessel and used the same Standel amp in the studio and onstage so my sound would be consistent. I then went to a Gibson Byrdland, then a Les Paul, which was too heavy – I actually herniated a disc in my neck because of it before switching to an SG Standard. I did own one Stratocaster later on, which you can hear on “See.”

Did you use effects on any of the recordings?

Only on one song – the beginning chord of the solo on “Come On Up” uses a Sam Ash Fuzzz Boxx.

How did the band come upon “Good Lovin’’’ and what’s the story behind your iconic riff on that song?

Felix and Dino went to Harlem one day with a copy of Billboard, and on the “Bubbling Under” chart was “Good Lovin’” by The Olympics. We knew these records weren’t going to get a fair chance on the pop stations, so we covered it. Basically, my guitar part was the piano part on their record. The very first time I played it was on the record, sliding the notes rather than playing straight quarter notes. I used that same style on the riff for “You Better Run.”

Besides The Doors, The Rascals were the only major band of the ’60s that didn’t use a bass player onstage. Wouldn’t you have had a fuller sound with one?

It was credibility thing. The Beatles set the bar – except for the last performance with Billy Preston, they never brought anyone else onstage. It was a sacred number. The Beatles were four, The Rascals had four.

But the Beatles had a bass player.

Felix handled the bass part perfectly well with organ pedals. He had it all down.

Was there ever any thought of having Eddie learn bass?

We actually bought Eddie a Fender Mustang Bass in ’67, which he still owns but never learned to play. He wasn’t physical like that or had the head to learn. Eddie’s job was doing what Jim Morrison did – he was the personality of the band, and the most lovable one to the fans. I was relegated to the George Harrison position, where I would get two songs on an album. When we first started, Eddie, Felix, and I sang an equal number of songs, but then Eddie and Felix became the lead singers. Onstage, they were magical. Certain songs fit each of them, but Eddie basically became the balladeer. Felix could never have pulled off “How Can I Be Sure.” That was a different world.

Would you agree that after The Rascals last big hit, “People Got To Be Free,” in ’68, the quality of singles like “Heaven,” “See,” “Carry Me Back,” and “Glory, Glory” was not up to the standard of the earlier work?

Well, all songwriters – Billy Joel, Paul Simon, Elton John, James Taylor, Paul McCartney, or John Fogerty – you’re lucky to be in a zone for three or four years, then you kind of run out of fresh ideas. You don’t connect anymore. I talk to Billy Joel. He won’t make another record – wants nothing to do with it. McCartney keeps going but he’s not writing any new classics. Smokey Robinson ain’t writing anything. If you have your time, you’re really blessed.

Why did Eddie, who was Felix’s songwriting partner, leave the band in 1970 and basically do nothing in music until your Once Upon A Dream musical in 2013?

I can’t speak for Eddie, but he had difficulties with Felix. Felix couldn’t get him to live up to deadlines with lyrics, and it was a struggle for Felix. Eddie took the idea that, “Felix is acting like my boss,” but Felix just wanted to keep the work going. The day we were signing a contract with Columbia, Eddie got into a shouting match with Felix, and when Eddie walked out of the room, that was basically the end of The Rascals. The songwriting broke down and the spirit of the band broke down with it.

In retrospect, was leaving Atlantic a bad decision?

Yes, we should have never left Atlantic. Our time to be relevant, songwriting-wise, had passed, but they still pushed the hell out of our records. They wanted to keep us alive, but spent a lot more time with Aretha Franklin, who went a from a $15,000-per-year guarantee to a million dollars. So, at the end of our five years, they were still offering us the same $15,000. Columbia offered us $200,000 and said, “Look how many records we’re selling with Chicago – 30 million on each album around the world.” So, we said, “That’s for us.” We were not thinking. We were going to lose Arif Mardin, have to produce ourselves, and be in the corporate structure. It was just a bad deal all around. Even Clive Davis, who signed us, said in his book it was one of the biggest mistakes he ever made. Felix was the guy everybody thought could carry the whole thing by himself. But, he couldn’t. It was the four of us.

The Rascals are about the only famous ’60s band that today could do a full reunion with original members.

You nailed it. We checked it out, and there are bands where members are still alive but incapable of performing. We are still capable. We showed it on the 2013 shows. I would love to play with the guys again, without a doubt. Felix wanted to continue, but Dino and Eddie were shell-shocked. The Rascals were never smart. That’s the real tragedy of the band.

What about a new album?

It would be foolish to make another album, because nobody’s in the zone anymore. What are you gonna compete with, the greatness from before?  Arif Mardin is no longer with us, and he was the only person that all four of us respected totally. Sometimes it’s better to just leave things be.

What are your fondest memories of the time when The Rascals were one of America’s biggest bands?

There were so many things that went by so quickly. There wasn’t one night we didn’t kill onstage – we never once went out there and phoned it in. Even if one of us was sick, we still poured it on, and we loved each other when we were together.

Like brothers.

Totally. We’re still like brothers; sometimes we agree to disagree.

This article originally appeared in VG November 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

In 1972, one of Britain’s best bands, Mott The Hoople, still hadn’t made any impact on the charts. Its record company, Island Records, was getting impatient. Then, a future rock legend walked into London’s Olympic Studios.

“David Bowie said, ‘I hear you guys are on the verge of splitting up, but I’ve got a song you might like,’” recalls Mick Ralphs. “Then he played ‘All The Young Dudes’ for us, and we immediately knew it would be a hit.”

Born March 31, 1944, in Herefordshire, England, Ralphs started playing in bands as a teenager, and joining Mott in 1969 was his first big break. Fronted by the popular singer/songwriter Ian Hunter, the group became one of the leaders of the glam rock movement.

By 1973, Ralphs was becoming disillusioned with Mott’s musical direction, and steered his energy to a new group with singer Paul Rogers, drummer Simon Kirke, and bassist Boz Burrell. Dubbed Bad Company, all of its members had previously played in bands that achieved noteworthy recognition. Its self-titled debut album was a tremendous success and established the band as one of the world’s biggest musical attractions.
The original quartet disbanded in 1982, then re-formed four years later without Rogers. Ralphs stayed on until ’99 then returned in 2008. Another venture, The Mick Ralphs Blues Band, formed in 2011 with singer Adam Bonner, second guitarist Jim Maving, bass player Dicky Baldwin, and drummer Damon Sawyer. Its first proper album, If It Ain’t Broke, is a hard-driving mix of covers and originals. Unfortunately, Ralphs suffered a stroke three days after the final show of Bad Company’s 2016 tour (and following this interview). He is currently undergoing physical therapy in a British hospital. 

“We want Mick to fully focus on his recovery, and we have made the decision as a band to wind things up,” Baldwin said in a statement, adding that Ralphs was grateful to fans for their good wishes.

“I’d seen all the Kings live – Albert, Freddie, and B.B. – and they were all my heroes in the day, but Albert was my favorite.”

What was the first record you heard where the guitar really caught your attention?

Oh, the song that really inspired me to want to play was “Green Onions” by Booker T. and The MGs. Besides the groove, the guitar playing on it is really nasty. That record really got me into rhythm-and-blues music, along with soul – the sort of music I really liked at the time, and still do.

Around the same time, in 1962, the Beatles released their first record in England, “Love Me Do.” As a teenager, how did the Beatlemania phenomenon affect you?

I actually saw the Beatles play live before they were big, and thought they were really good. It was at a little club in Carnaby Walls. I thought it was really cool the way George, Paul, and John were in the front line, and Ringo was at an angle at the back of the stage, so he could see everybody and they could see him.

Do you recall what kind of guitar Harrison was playing? Was it the black Gretsch Country Gentleman?

It might have been, or the Duo Jet. In those days, it was hard to buy American guitars in England, but you could get them in Germany, which is where McCartney got his Höfner violin bass. Also, because they were from Liverpool and played Hamburg, which are both big seaports, they’d buy stuff off American sailors – guitars, records, stuff like that. As they say, they stole the march on everybody, because they were the first to really get into the American R&B. Their first album was almost all covers, as was the Stones’ first.

Songs on those early albums by the Stones, Yardbirds, or Cream showed composer credits with names like Ellas McDaniel, Chester Burnett, and McKinley Morganfield – performers who’d always used the pseudonyms Bo Diddley, Howlin’ Wolf, and Muddy Waters.

I know. Great names, weren’t they? Years ago, I did an interview at a radio station in Chicago, and they asked, “Who were your influences?” I mentioned a few then added, “Muddy Waters.” The bloke said, “Where is that?” (laughs) I said, “It’s a person, from right here in Chicago – a blues writer, singer, and guitar player.” 

British musicians took to that music more readily than the Americans did. They put their stamp on it and sent it back to America in versions by the Stones and other British bands.

So, when did you seek out the original versions?

Well, you couldn’t really get those records in England until the embargo was lifted in the late ’60s. Then you could buy American imprints. The first time I went to America in 1970 or ’71, I’d go to all the record shops, buying all the blues and soul albums I could find – Otis Redding, stuff like that. I’d read all I could about the artists, but information was not as easily available. If you wanted to talk to someone who had a really good album, they’d try to explain to you who was playing on it, but it was all a bit of an unknown quantity, which made it quite exciting.

The new album has an authentic feel, like a band playing a small club.

Yeah, the whole idea was to capture what we sound like in a club. I don’t like to waste a lot of time in the studio. Get in, lay it down, and nail it as soon as you can, you know? We play mostly small venues, but it’s good for me to keep my hands in and play songs I like. It’s all good fun.

There are two Freddie King tunes – “Same Old Blues” and “Going Down.” Was he was one of your heroes?

Yes, he was. But I was also a huge fan of Albert King, who I saw many years ago when he was on the same bill as Mott The Hoople at the Fillmore West. I went backstage, and was just in awe of him. He was a huge guy, maybe six and half feet tall. I’d seen all the Kings live – Albert, Freddie, and B.B. – and they were all my heroes in the day, but Albert was my favorite. Those Stax records had such a great groove and feel. I also had a Flying V like Albert played.

What gear did you use on the album?

These days, I’m mainly playing my ’02 Les Paul reissue and ’57 Fender Esquire, which is a wonderful instrument. 

Do you keep a collection of guitars?

Probably 25. I haven’t counted lately, but I used to have a lot more.

Any particular favorites?

A vintage Gibson Everly Brothers, which is great. Also my ’58 Les Paul Junior and a ’59 Epiphone Coronet. Most of the others are reissues or new-ish. If I find a new-ish guitar I like that sounds good and plays good, I’ll buy it rather than spend thousands on something that might not be as good. 

There are good guitars coming out these days, Fenders especially. We all love vintage guitars, but to me, the prices are ridiculous when many cost around $200 when they were made. I’ve had vintage Les Pauls, but they go for silly money. You have rich people paying $300,000 for a Les Paul or Jimi Hendrix guitar. You know it’s just going to be hanging on a wall somewhere and never get played, which is sad, really.

What’s in your typical effects/amp setup?

I like going straight to an amp – no pedals, nothing, just right into the amp and make it work. I’ve played that way since I started. On club gigs with the blues band, I use a little Holland combo that’s based on an old Fender with two 10″ speakers and about 50 watts output – a bit like a Victoria or Matchless. It’s perfectly adequate for the club gigs, but for bigger shows with Bad Company, I use 100-watt Marshalls.

What was behind the formation of Mott The Hoople?

Guy Stevens was a talent scout for our label, Island Records, and he wanted to form a British version of Bob Dylan and The Band. We went along with it to a degree, but kept our own identity. Mott went through a lot of changes trying to get acceptance. We weren’t really a glam band – we evolved into that because of our association with David Bowie. When we started, we were more like a punk band, a really hard, heavy rock band.

Ian played amazing piano on Mott’s records, especially “All The Way From Memphis.”

He was a big fan of Jerry Lee Lewis. I did a couple of tours with him a few years ago and he still really rocks out on the old piano. When he auditioned for Mott The Hoople, he didn’t play guitar at all. He only started that with us.

Mott was a very successful band, yet you left to help form Bad Company, which ultimately became much bigger.

Well, when I was in Mott the Hoople, Paul and Simon were in Free. We were signed to the same label, and we would go on tours together. So I got friendly with both… well, all of the band, really. I remember talking with Paul about songs, and I said, “I’ve got these songs I’ve written. Ian doesn’t want to do them, or he doesn’t feel he can sing them.” I later played them for Paul, and he said, “Well, I can sing that” and “I can sing that…”  I said, “After we finish touring, let’s do some writing and work together on a project.”

So, it came together as easily as that?

Well, I didn’t actually intend to form a group at that time. I was still in Mott The Hoople when Simon dropped in Paul’s house one day. We had just been chucking around songs, and Simon said, “Do you mind if I play drums on them?” We said, “Great!” I immediately said to Paul, “All we need now is to look for a bass player.” We tried out a lot of people before we ended up with Boz.

Did Bad Company offer more artistic freedom than Mott?

It was really just more my cup of tea because it was a blues-rock band. Paul and Simon were also into blues, so we had common ground, whereas Mott had become a glam band, which was groovy in Britain at the time, but I wanted to get into something simpler – more rock-and-roll, less flashy.

Its first album was a big hit, and songs like “Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love” had a very underproduced, almost demo-like quality.  

Yes, on the first two we were keen on keeping it simple, bare, and minimalistic, so it would sound like a live album. Actually, a lot of it was live because we’d all been in situations in studios where people said, “Oh, let’s overdub this. Let’s overdub that.” So, Paul and I made sure to keep the songs in their bare-boned state, and only add what was really necessary. A lot of the backing tracks were done quickly because we didn’t see the point in spending months in the studio. We just wanted to get in there and lay down the tracks quickly, as long as they sounded good.

How does Led Zeppelin fit in the picture?

Peter Grant was Zeppelin’s manager, and he managed us. Then we got on the same label, Swan Song, and got to know all of the Zeppelins as individuals. They became great friends, really. I’m still friends with Jimmy and Robert, though I haven’t seen Jimmy for awhile.

What special memories do you have of those first American tours?

Oh, they were great. It was all a runaway success that we weren’t really prepared for.  It was all a bit of a shock, but we went along for the ride because I remember saying to Paul, “This will never last, so let’s enjoy it while it does,” but here we are 40 years later, still touring.

Who were some of the best-known bands Bad Company toured with in the ’70s?

The first time we came to America we supported Edgar Winter’s White Trash, who were great. The next tour we were headlining, but in the Mott days we toured with Traffic and Mountain. Those were great days. The Humble Pie were up and coming, and it was a really good time for bands.

What did you think of the emergence of punk in England in 1977, when people like John Lydon referred to the older British bands as dinosaurs?

Well, by that time, Bad Company was well-established and we were also spending a lot of time in America, where the punk thing didn’t really take off. So, it didn’t really affect us at all. I think their comments were really aimed more at those self-indulgent prog-rock bands I never really liked anyway. Punk was the antithesis of that. It stirred things up, getting back to more simplistic stuff which, I think, was a good thing.

The music business has changed so much since the ’70s, when Bad Company was distributed by a major label selling millions of albums, to your now being on a small indie.

It is different, but that’s fine. These days, people don’t actually buy albums. You sort of rent the music online. In my day, it was nice to save up to buy an album you really liked and to physically hold it and read the sleeve notes while it was playing. For kids today, music has become very transient. Bands come and go much quicker than they used to. I don’t see any long-lasting bands, but change is inevitable, I’m afraid. When I started in music, it was a strange hobby to have. It was more of an exclusive club, where now everybody is into music because, with the internet and downloads, it’s all so instant.

Are there three or four Bad Company songs you tend to favor after all these years?

“Can’t Get Enough” has to be one because I wrote that in the Mott The Hoople days. I also like “Ready For Love,” another one I wrote. “Shooting Star,” which was written by Paul, is another favorite, as was “Bad Company,” which Paul and Simon wrote. I mean, they’re all good. They still stand up, which is great, and half the reason we still tour. The thing is now we can do a whole set of songs that everybody knows without having to say, “Here’s a track from the new album,” because we haven’t done one for years. We all live in different countries, so we don’t see each other that much.

You’ve been in two bands many believe should be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame…

Well, I think we should be in there, because as you say, having been in two big bands of the ’70s, it would be a nice accomplishment. I don’t really know how they go about the vetting process. If you’d like, put in a good word for me!

This article originally appeared in VG April 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

“Many years ago, I was in the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ dressing room with my son, Daxx,” recalls Rick Nielsen. “Flea says to him, ‘Your dad was weird before it was cool to be weird.’ Coming from Flea, especially, that’s kind of a left-handed compliment!”

Looking back now, Nielsen pauses, then laughs. “I’m recognized, but I’m not a rock star. I act goofy, maybe, but not starry.”

Nielsen has always stood out, in the band’s early days thanks to a uniquely cultivated look that included a flipped-up baseball cap, bowtie, sweaters, and suspenders. Then, of course, there were one-off instruments like his five-necked Hamer.

“When I started, every musician wanted to look like Keith Richards, Jimmy Page, or Jeff Beck, but that was last thing in the world I wanted to be. So, I came up with my own look.”

The image sometimes overshadowed Nielsen’s musicianship and songwriting, which earlier this year helped propel Cheap Trick into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. His stellar guitar work has been featured on recordings by John Lennon, Alice Cooper, Glen Campbell, Foo Fighters, Hall and Oates, and Mötley Crüe.

Following a legal battle with former drummer Bun E. Carlos, Nielson and fellow co-founders Robin Zander and Tom Petersson, along with Daxx on drums, are riding a resurgence with its latest album, Bang, Zoom, Crazy… Hello, and touring with fellow Hall of Famers Heart and Joan Jett.

Zoom has garnered great reviews. Did you consciously try to re-create the sound of your late-’70s albums?
Not really. There’s really no conscious effort of trying to alter anything we do. We’ve been together for so long, it’s all like riding a bike. We’re always enthusiastic about recording, and this time we had about 30 different songs to choose from.

How much of the album was recorded live?
Almost all. Probably the most we’ll do is maybe three takes because, by the time we record a song, we know what will sound good. We’ve been making Cheap Trick records for a long time, and we’re pretty good at it.

What were your main guitars?
Nothing I haven’t used before – a ’50s Esquire and a ’60s Telecaster. I borrowed a Gretsch Monkees from our producer, Julian Raymond.

Did you use any pedals?
Not really. I make the guitar work for me as opposed to fiddling with things. My distortion comes from the guitar itself, how I play it, years of technique and experimentation, and from the amp. I still use a Fender Deluxe that’s been modified for me. 

You’ve been married for 46 years and with Cheap Trick more than 40. Which has been a bigger challenge?
Well, the marriage has been easier, because my wife is more understanding than the band. When we got married, it was understood that she wanted to have kids and I wanted to be on the road, playing music. I was very ambitious, and if that meant sometimes sleeping on the floor of my mother-in-law’s house, I did it. Was it all worth it? Hell yeah!

This article originally appeared in VG November 2016 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

Most fans of classic-rock radio know The Standells garage-punk classic “Dirty Water,” which was listed in Rolling Stone’s “Top 500 Songs That Shaped Rock Music.”

The guitarist who created that recording’s iconic riff is still very active in music. Having just released a new single, “Late Night Radio,” with singer/songwriter Dan Markell, Tony Valentino is also currently producing new artists, recording with ex-Ramones drummer Richie Ramone, working on his first solo album, and planning a punk-rock musical. His playing is also featured on a new CD, The Standells Live On Tour – 1966.

He’s been called “The Godfather Of Punk Guitar,” and Conan O’Brien refers to him as “The Riffmaster.”

On the video for “Late Night Radio,” you’re seen alternating between playing with a pick and using your thumb. Has that always been your style?
It depends on the mood I’m in at a particular moment. When I do play lead, I like to use really hard picks. Playing rhythm is a different story.

How did you start out playing guitar?
The first guitar I got, when I was about 12, was made by my uncle back in Sicily. It became the joy of my life, having my own guitar and learning major and Italian chords. I also ordered one of those pickups from a magazine and hooked it up to a radio.

After you came to America, what was your first proper electric guitar?
It was a Sears Silvertone, and my brother tells me my first amp was ironically a Standel.

Who were the first artists to really make an impression on you?
Back in Italy, I heard Bill Haley’s “Rock Around The Clock.” I was flipped out by the way Danny Cedrone played the guitar – the solo drove me crazy! Later, when I came to America, a friend turned me on to an album by Freddie King which I listened to until it was worn out. It really gave me a big inspiration to start playing different kinds of chords, to put some soul into my playing and try to capture the feel of the American artists.

How did you come up with the famous riff for “Dirty Water?”
The song had originally been presented to us by our manager, Ed Cobb, as a regular three-chord blues thing. I had some lyrics, and then (lead singer) Dick Dodd started making up some… “I want to tell you a story. Tell you ’bout my town…” So, I started messing around on my guitar and the guys said, “Yeah, that’s great!” When the record came out, we weren’t credited as co-songwriters. Being from Italy, I didn’t know about things like writing credits. It took us a lot of years, but the courts finally awarded us our 50 percent of the song.

What kind of equipment were you using on the recording?
It was a white Telecaster that I had bought in Hawaii. I used it with a Vox AC30, and when I changed the electricity reduction and turned down the knob on top, the sound became fuzzy, like using a fuzzbox. The sound was incredible!

After “Dirty Water,” the band made great follow-ups like “Sometimes Good Guys Don’t Wear White” and “Why Pick On Me,” but didn’t have the same success.
Our label, Tower, was a subsidiary of Capitol, which was the Beatles’ label. We got caught in the whole Beatlemania thing. So, our records weren’t promoted that much, because they were totally devoted to The Beatles.

The Standells once kicked Lowell George out of the band.
He was much more musically advanced than any of us, but Larry Tamlyn hated him. “He’s like a hippie, he’s got no shoes!” (laughs.) He was great, but we let him go.

You’re not with The Standells any more.
Me and Larry own the name, but I don’t want to be involved with the new lineup, which isn’t the real band (Ed. Note: Dodd passed in 2013).

From your long musical career, what are you the most proud of?
That someone coming from a little town in the mountains of Sicily got to work with so many great stars, and came up with a riff that kids all over the world still play. Steve Lukather (from Toto) once came up to me, bowed, and said, “If it wasn’t for you, I would have never learned to play the guitar.” When I hear things like that I say, “Oh, my God. I did that?”

This article originally appeared in VG July 2016 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

“The title says it all,” explains Dave Alvin of his reunion with older brother Phil on Lost Time. Known for a long-standing sibling rivalry, they hadn’t recorded new music together in 30 years prior to last year’s Big Bill Broonzy tribute, Common Ground. But a near-death experience brought them back together.

“I’ve lost so many friends in the past few years, and I’m so grateful that I didn’t lose Phil,” Alvin admits. “He’s still recovering, and I’m making his life miserable by keeping him on the road (laughs), but musicians gotta work, man!”

It was their mutual love of ’50s rock and roll and rhythm and blues that led the Alvin brothers to form The Blasters in 1979. Though critically acclaimed, the band never sold many records. Dave left in ’86 to pursue a solo career, and the 60-year-old has worked with punk rockers X, country/rock band The Knitters, early rockabilly star Sonny Burgess, bluesman Little Milton, and rock revivalists Big Sandy and The Fly-Rite Boys. His best-known compositions include “Marie, Marie,” covered by Shakin’ Stevens, and “Long White Cadillac” for Dwight Yoakam.

On Lost Time, the Alvins, with Dave providing the guitar that supports soulful vocals mostly by Phil, tackle a cache of styles. They cover James Brown, Lead Belly, Willie Dixon, Leroy Carr, Blind Boy Fuller, a pair of gospel numbers and four songs by Big Joe Turner whom they consider a mentor.

On the album, Alvin used a ’60s Stratocaster copy, an original ’64 Strat, a ’57 Martin R-18, and a ’34 National Resonator. His amplifier of choice is a Fender Vibroverb reissue.

Why did you choose to cover “Mr. Kicks?”
Since Phil and I were kids, we loved it. In the early ’80s, we met (the song’s composer) Oscar Brown, Jr. He was totally blown away that two white guys knew these obscure songs of his. He’s a great lyricist, but mostly forgotten by the jazz and blues world. So, with that song, I thought, “Well, let’s change it from a big-band jazz thing to more what Little Willie John would have done.” I wanted it to sound like a King record with Johnny “Guitar” Watson.

How would you compare your musical talents with Phil’s?
My brother will always be a better singer, and he’s also a great harmonica player. By the time he was a teenager, he was adept at three- or four-finger picking, like Blind Blake – ragtime/pre-war kind of picking. My style tended to be more like post-war guys – Chuck Berry, Otis Rush, Magic Sam. I’m basically a blues guy, but all guitar players influence me, whether it’s Les Paul, Don Rich, or some lead guitarist in a garage band. Les Paul influenced me later, but as a kid, I responded to the guys who were, for lack of a better word, “funkier,” like Johnny “Guitar” Watson and Lightnin’ Hopkins. They were my heroes, but guys like Les Paul and Wes Montgomery, I figured, “I could never do anything like that, so why bother?”

Coming from California, you must have been aware of The Chantays, especially “Pipeline.”
There were so many bands like them in the early ’60s. You’d wake up on a Saturday to the sounds of surf bands playing in garages – all rehearsing the same songs, whether it was “Pipeline,” “Wipe Out,” or “Misirlou.” I really cherish those memories. They were all groovy guys who wore V-neck sweaters and were spinning magic. I thought you had to be a good-looking guy and drive a T-Bird to play guitar. I was a dork.

Do you have a good story about Sonny Burgess, who’s still on the road with his band, The Pacers, tearing things up at age 86?
I once did a crazy gig with Sonny. He called me up and said, “I’m in L.A., playin’ a party tonight. You wanna sit?” I figured it was just some rich guys’ private party, so I showed up late and just threw my amp onstage and started playing. I look around, and there’s Jack Clement, D.J. Fontana, and Sam Phillips. It was actually a taping of a PBS documentary on Sun Records. So, to impress Sam, I pulled out all the stops and started playing every Sun lick I knew, from rockabilly guys like Roland Janes to blues guys like Willie Johnson, Little Milton, and Pat Hare. Sam comes up to me afterward and says, “Boy, where’d you learn to play guitar like that!” (laughs)

When you’re playing folk-based music, country, blues, things like that, you do it till you die. With Top 40, it’s hard to be singing songs about 17-year-old girls when you’re 74. I don’t want to go to my grave thinking I never recorded enough songs that I’ve loved all my life.

This article originally appeared in VG March 2016 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

“I never thought this would happen to us all these years later,” marvels Sonics guitarist Larry Parypa on the reception the band is getting on its current tour.

On what should’ve been be a slow Thursday night at the Wonder Bar in Asbury Park, the band played to a packed house of patrons young enough to be their grandkids.

Now with bassist Freddie Dennis and drummer Dusty Watson, Parypa mixes songs from their latest album, This Is The Sonics, with old favorites. The album, produced by Jim Diamond, retains the sound that presaged punk, garage, and grunge a half-century ago.

What was it like being in the studio for really the first time in nearly 50 years?
It was great. We’d been putting off recording, and everything was done pretty quick – some songs were written on the spot, others were modified to fit our purposes.

Are you happy with the way the album came out?
Yes, but I can hear things where the meter is off or there’s a conflict between instruments. Our approach was to keep everything simple. I was told to play as if I was 16; I couldn’t remember exactly, but the message was, “Don’t get too tricky!”

What was your main guitar?
An Epiphone Riviera.

Who inspired you to play?
My uncle. He came to my house one day with an acoustic and I thought, “What a neat sound.” Later, he put a pickup on it, and that sound excited me to learn everything I could about the guitar.

When did The Sonics get together?
Around ’61; we played things like school dances. But, when we picked up Bob Bennett on drums, that changed.

Because of your setup and your first album being released a year after the British Invasion, many concluded The Sonics were modeled after The Dave Clark Five.
Just about every band that started at the time had the same setup, with sax and keyboard.

What gear were you using in the mid ’60s?
A Fender Jazzmaster through a Magnatone amp. After that, it was an Epiphone Rivera, which I like because it doesn’t have a clubby neck.

What led to the Sonics disbanding?
Bob Bennett wanted to do something different, so he joined Marilee Rush and The Turnabouts. Rob and I had the military breathing down our necks, so Rob went into the Navy and I went into the Air Force.

Were you drafted or did you volunteer?
We both volunteered because, if you didn’t, you’d be drafted and would wind up in the middle of a jungle (in Vietnam).

So, you missed out on the hippie movement, Woodstock, and changes in the rock world. 
The band stopped playing in ’67. After that, I never listened much to music or touched my guitar until the mid ’80s. I got with a local band, then quit again for 10 to 15 years. When The Sonics re-formed, we had to re-learn all of our old songs.

What do you think when people refer to The Sonics as a “garage band?”
Define what makes a “garage band.” I’m not sure what makes garage versus punk, or just rock and roll.

It’s more about the approach to a song…
Even if you’re not a good player, that’s what matters most – energy and fierceness. None of us are great musicians, individually, but as a band, we sure try hard.

This article originally appeared in VG September 2015 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

“A lot of critics perceived us as being pretentious,” says Rush guitarist Alex Lifeson of his band’s early years. “We were not representative of where they thought rock was heading.” • Responding after being asked about a comment he made in the award-winning 2010 documentary Beyond The Lighted Stage(“We always felt it was us against the establishment.”), Lifeson elaborates. “We only cared about playing and performing best we could. If people hated us for whatever reason, that was fine. Everybody’s got the right to like and dislike something, but it was painful, at times, to read stuff that was just plain nasty.”

In the summer of ’68, Lifeson joined friends Jeff Jones on bass and John Rutsey on drums to form a band they called The Projection. Jones left after one gig and was replaced by a schoolmate named Geddy Lee as the band evolved to become Rush. Six years later, as they prepared for their first American tour, management decided that Rutsey, whose diabetes was exacerbated by what they saw as excessive use of alcohol, couldn’t handle the stress of touring. So, Neil Peart took over on drums, and would subsequently become the band’s primary lyricist. In the decades that followed, Rush amassed more than 24 gold and 14 platinum albums, placing them in the company of the Beatles and Rolling Stones in terms of sales.

Their eponymous 1974 debut reflected the influences of Led Zeppelin, Cream, Deep Purple, and The Who. But by the next album, 1975’s Fly By Night, they began relying on their own musical instincts and Peart’s more-literary lyrics. With the 1976 release of 2112, the band was hitting its stride and released a string of impressive efforts leading up to 1981’s Moving Pictures, which includes its best-known song (“Tom Sawyer”) and remains its biggest seller.

Through the group’s many musical changes, Lifeson has provided unique guitar work on electric and acoustic guitar, as well as on mandolin, bouzouki, mandola, and keyboards. In concert, he incorporates a multitude of electronic effects, including bass pedal synthesizers.

Rush uses a MIDI controller in concert, which allows them to re-create the intricacies of their album sounds without having to add musicians or employ backing tracks.

On the band’s just-completed tour, Lifeson used several Gibson guitars, including his trademark ES-355, a ’58 reissue Les Paul sunburst, ’59 reissue Les Paul with tobacco-sunburst finish, and a Howard Roberts Fusion, along with two Martin acoustics (D-10 and D-12) and a Garrison OM-20 octave mandolin.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has just completed this year’s inductions, and Rush has once again been bypassed. What are you feelings on that?

It’s not a big concern. It’s a business that makes a lot of money and I have no problem with that, but it’s not a real representation of what rock music is about. There are certainly a lot bands in there that I admire, like Zeppelin and U2. But if we’re not wanted there, I really don’t care. Being inducted is not going to change my life at all.

As an aspiring guitarist, were you more impressed with Jimi Hendrix, or Eric Clapton with Cream?

Oh, from the very beginning, Hendrix blew my mind. He was just amazing. There was no thinking about ever reaching his level. Everything he did seemed so nuanced and out of this world, especially at that time. You could never replicate that tone, or how he played those things. I certainly didn’t have the dexterity to do it. As a kid, Clapton’s solos seemed a little easier and more approachable. I remember sitting at my record player and moving the needle back and forth to get the solo in “Spoonful.” But there was nothing I could do with Hendrix.

What about Jimmy Page as an influence?

Jimmy Page has always been my absolute guitar hero. From the first time I heard Zeppelin’s first album, I wanted to play just like him. I wanted to dress just like him. When I finally got to meet him in ’98, I was so nervous, like a little kid. My hand was shaking when I handed him a copy of my solo album, Victor, on which I had written something saying how much he meant to me.

Any other major influences outside of the usual suspects?

I loved Steve Hackett’s playing with Genesis in the early ’70s; the way he worked melodies into the context of the music. He would stay in the background for the rhythmic stuff, but when needed, add a line that echoed or complemented a keyboard. It was always tasteful and sounded great.

You saw The Who play live in ’67, when you were 14 years old. What do you remember most about the show?

They were opening for Herman’s Hermits, and were simply amazing. I remember watching Townshend, noticing his strumming, and how the voicing in his chords was unique and covered a lot of territory. It was incredible.

You started taking classical guitar lessons when you were 17…

Yes, and I was very serious. I enjoyed the discipline, but the following year, 1971, the drinking age in Ontario was lowered from 21 to 18, and we went from playing two or three gigs a month to playing six days a week in clubs, and sometimes Saturday afternoon. Everything became full-time, so I had to give up the lessons.

Was it a matter of ego that you decided Rush didn’t need a second guitar player?

Actually, I was very self-conscious about my playing in those days. And we did have a couple of other guitar players; Geddy’s brother-in-law played rhythm guitar and keyboards the first year. Then we had Mitch Bossie for awhile, but he was more about image than playing, so it didn’t work out.

There are still times when I’d like to have another guitar player in the band… most times (laughs)!

In Beyond The Lighted Stage, you say 2112 was a do-or-die album because the record company was considering dropping the band.

Well, there was definitely pressure to do something similar to our first album, which really reflected our roots and was very Zeppelinesque. Before we released 2112, we did Caress Of Steel, which was much more experimental than our early ones and an important part of our growth. But because it was a commercial failure, there was a lot of pressure to make something Mercury considered more palatable to a rock audience, not so esoteric.

That idea probably didn’t fly well with the band.

Definitely not. Even though all of us were very broke at the time, we weren’t going to buckle and remake our first album. We figured, “At the end of the day, Rush is about who we are and what we are. If we can’t do the album on our own terms, what’s the point? We may as well go back to working straight jobs instead of becoming a bar band for a few years then ending everything.”

So we went into the album with the passion of having to fight the establishment again. And the music resonated with fans and became very successful. It really bought us our independence and freedom from ever having anyone at a record company influence or control how we do our music. A lot of musicians from other bands look up to us for that, because that’s the ideal for any musician.

To what do you attribute the enduring popularity of “Tom Sawyer?”

There’s the spirit of the lyrics – that swagger. There’s that keyboard opening, that bass sound… that’s a real signature. Neil’s drumming is spectacular on it. Every time we play the song live, it’s a challenge for him to reproduce it. I guess, structurally, the song is very sound. It’s not particularly repetitive, and has some interesting dynamics. I could never have never imagined that 30 years later, it’s still very active in terms of requests that it gets for television and film usage, and, of course, radio airplay.

You reportedly only did five takes on it. Is that typical of the way you work?

Yes, most of my solos are like that. I prefer doing very few takes. Over the years, I’ve found that when I’m soloing, I get stale very quickly. I’m too self-aware of my playing. Everything works best for me when I’m impulsive.

Which three of or four Rush tracks do you think best display your virtuosity? 

Boy, that’s a tough question. “Limelight” definitely has one of my favorite solos. “Kid Gloves” is probably my second favorite; really off-the-cuff. Listening to it always makes me smile. “Natural Science” is always a challenge to execute in concert.

What were the first guitars you used after the band became popular?

I bought a Gibson ES-335 on our first tour, then got a Les Paul in ’76. Those were my main guitars until the late ’70s. I also had a Strat as a backup and for a different sound. I dropped a Bill Lawrence  humbucker in it, and a Floyd Rose vibrato. In ’76, I got another 335 – my white one – which became my main guitar. I love that guitar and still use it on tour and in the studio. It’s a perfect weight, and has real creamy tone.

What were your next ones? 

I started using a Howard Roberts Fusion as my main guitar for a few years, then a Signature, which was a Canadian-built copy guitar that was awful to play – very uncomfortable – but had a particular sound I liked. The last few years, I’ve used Gibsons almost exclusively. There’s nothing like having a low-slung Les Paul over my shoulder! The tonality and playing is so great, so traditional.

You’ve also used PRS guitars. Would you agree that Les Pauls typically have a heavier sound than a PRS?

Most of my experience has been with the PRS CE, which has a smaller body, which gives it a smaller presence and tighter midrange. The vibrato is fantastic; you don’t need a locking nut and I never had any tuning issues with them. The Les Paul seems more expressive to me. Their sustain is different, and the guitar resonates in a different way.

How is work on the new album coming along?

Well, our intent was to have it out this year, but after we started it, we thought, “Let’s go on a short tour, get in shape, then finish it.” Then the tour did so well that there was pressure on us to do another run, then we decided to do another leg. We’ll take a few months off after it’s finished, and complete songwriting. Geddy and I are working on several new songs to balance out the six we’ve already written.

As a band that has been recording for nearly 40 years, it must be a real challenge to come up with new ideas and avoid becoming a caricature of yourself.

That’s always our ultimate worry. We’re always concerned about repeating ourselves, always looking to go in different directions. But it’s difficult. You don’t want to go toofar outside what you’re known for just because you think you have to. Lately, I’ve been trying to challenge myself with different tunings, particularly in the context of songwriting, because the guitar becomes totally different, and having Geddy play off what I’m doing with the tunings sometimes takes us in new directions. I think we have a pretty good understanding of what our older fans want. I don’t think they want us to keep doing the same old thing.

Is there such a thing a typical Rush fan?

I don’t know. Since the documentary, we have a new level of popularity and a broader fan base. There are a lot more females at shows than in the past because there are things in the documentary that women relate to – the connections we have with our families, and the women we married when we were young and have been with ever since.

The typical Rush fan? Hard to say. Probably fairly intelligent; very interested in music and information. Knowledgeable.

Do you think rock music is healthy in 2011, or are its best days in the past?

Well, a lot of the music on classic-rock radio has great staying power. When that music was made, times were very different – the listening experience, the presentation. Now, communication is instantaneous and broad. Yeah, there’s a lot of lousy music around, but there are also a lot of different kinds. You have to look hard to find a niche you’re interested in.

I have to admit, music doesn’t connect with me the way it did when I was younger; when I really enjoyed the experience of spending the time exploring the talents of a particular artist. Also, having a nice big album cover to look at while I was listening to the music was a much richer experience than downloading and having an iPod with 1,000 songs.

It’s been a very long time since rock dominated the music charts.

Yeah! What happened? Is it because of the quality of music? This generation has grown up on different influences. Rap and hip-hop isn’t my cup of tea. I try to be open-minded about it, but honestly I don’t see any real quality there. I recently had to bring my TV into a place to get repaired, and while I was standing in the queue, I was watching a huge TV on the wall. The sound was turned off, and there was some concert footage of Ricky Martin with all this dancing. It looked so ridiculous. Music is all about dancing now. To me, it has lost the plot. Is all that dancing really more important to people than real music?

What’s the secret for keeping a band together as long as Rush?

Well, I think mainly it’s that we’ve always gotten along. We keep things light and fun, and have always been a great challenge and inspiration to each other. Geddy and I will get together to talk about what we’re going to do next, and we’ll sit around, drink coffee, laugh, and fart. He’s still my best friend in the world. We just happen to be in a band together. Me, Geddy, and Neil are like a brotherhood. We’re family, and we work hard at staying as one.

This article originally appeared in VG September 2011 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

“I’m only as good now as I should have been when I was 25,” laughs Francis Rossi, the 64-year-old lead guitarist, singer, and co-composer in Status Quo. “That’s why I practice at least two hours every night. I’ll watch some guitarist in a band opening for us and think, ‘I can’t bloody watch this,’ because I can’t possibly follow him.”

It sounds incredibly modest for someone whose band recently released its 100th single in Britain (more than 60 of which have charted, with 22 reaching the U.K. Top 10) and has sold nearly 130 million records worldwide. Status Quo is so revered in its native country, that Rossi and rhythm guitarist Rick Parfitt have been awarded the Order Of The British Empire.

Rossi, born May 29, 1949, in London, co-formed the band that morphed into Status Quo under the Scorpions moniker in 1962. In ’67, as psychedelic music entered the British and American charts, the band’s name was changed to Traffic Jam, then, to avoid being mistaken for Steve Winwood’s band, Traffic, management suggested they dub themselves Status Quo. The following year, the band enjoyed its only American hit to date, “Pictures Of Matchstick Men,” highlighted by Rossi’s memorable guitar break. Parfitt joined Quo shortly after, and the duo has been the backbone of the band ever since.

In addition to his body of work with Status Quo, Rossi has released a pair of solo albums; 1996’s King Of The Doghouse, and One Step At A Time three years ago. One of Britain’s most outrageous rock stars, in 1967 he paid £70 for the ’57 Fender Telecaster that helped him become an iconic musical fixture in England. 

As a youngster, who were the first artists to make an indelible impression on you?
Those who really made me want to learn guitar were The Everly Brothers, because they accompanied themselves on acoustics; I just wanted sing and strum. I thought they were the donkey’s knob, which is a British expression meaning very good. I was also very keen on Bruce Welch from The Shadows because he played rhythm (guitar), and that’s what I thought I could do. I never imagined I could learn to be a lead guitarist.

I grew up in an Italian family that listened mostly to Italian opera. I heard Radio Luxembourg, and that was it, really. There wasn’t much pop music for me to get. It wasn’t until later, when I went to the States, that I realized that most of the music I liked was by country artists or country-influenced artists that had pop hits. Americans piss me off because they’ve got such strong voices (laughs)! And the country singers – they’re damn good!

Since you’re so identified as a Telecaster player, was James Burton an early influence?
I wasn’t aware of people like him. I wasn’t one of those guys who made an effort to search out music, probably because I’m so bloody lazy. I didn’t know about people like Robert Johnson or the obscure American blues guys. I eventually got it from people like Rory Gallagher and Peter Green, Fleetwood’s Mac’s original guitarist. So, I was getting it third-hand from white boys who got it from black boys.

What was your first guitar?
When I was very young, my dad bought me a Guild Starfire, then a stereo Gibson. Later, I was doing things with Pete Ham from Badfinger, and he had this black-and-green Grimshaw, which was kind of a Les Paul copy. I loved it, and swapped my cheap guitar in return for his, but then the bridge collapsed and it was no good. I was in Scotland, and at that time you couldn’t get guitars repaired so easily. So, I tried these two Telescasters for a week, and asked our roadie, “Which one shall I keep?” He told me to keep the one with the sunburst. I still own it and have this love-hate relationship with it because it doesn’t stay in tune. However, onstage, it’s absolutely wonderful. So, the chances of my changing guitars now are very remote.

What’s the story behind your trademark green Telecaster?
Well, the first thing I did after buying it was to sand it down. I had this cheap furniture polish my wife had bought, so I decided to paint it black. Well, at first it looked fantastic, but by the time I got to our gig, it looked really horrible. So, I took it back home and painted it green. I’ve never actually finished painting it, and it’s in a terrible state, but the real joy of it is that I realized early on that no one would want to knick it. Generally, people who steal guitars are not guitar players. They’re usually punters. So, if they saw a nice, shiny glitzy guitar, they would pick that up first before knicking my funny-looking Telecaster with splits in it and shavings missing.

What changes have you made since purchasing it 46 years ago?
The only things that are different now are the machine heads. We only changed them for the first time around 15 years ago. Now, it seems we have to change them every year or two. I sometimes have problems with the bottom E string, but why the machine should roll sharp, is against all laws of physics.

Do you still use it for recording?
No, I don’t. You know, the other day I was talking with this longtime fan of ours, and he seemed so broken hearted because I said I hadn’t played it on any Status Quo recordings for over 25 years. I have various other Telecasters I use in the studio, but I can only use the trademark Tele onstage because it doesn’t really sound that good anymore. Other Teles sound better, feel better, play better, and I’ve really tried playing them onstage with a live rig. I don’t know why, but then I feel like a fish out of water… or maybe it’s just that I’m out of my normal comfort zone. So, I always go back to the green Tele.

What type of gear do you use onstage?
Using in-ear monitors was a bit weird for me at first, but they’re definitely the way to go. We used to have lots of Marshall 800 heads behind us, but now I only keep one in the back, in case I need it. We keep an AC30 and then there’s a simulator, which goes straight to my ears. The simulator just sweetens the sound and gives me a little extra bit of drive. After about 40 minutes onstage, the Telecaster loses a little bit of it, and all you hear is this clear sound. I don’t think a Marshall and a Telecaster should be put together. We’ve used both for years, but I would ideally use just an AC30 if I could.

What about in the studio?
I very rarely use an amplifier anymore when recording. When you use Line 6 Pods, the signal is clear, so you can push the levels (high) and all you hear are the signals. With amplifiers, there’s always some sort of harmonic distortion when you’re trying to mix.

You’ve always used heavy strings.
Yes, I use .10s, and it’s an important issue at the moment because I use a very flat neck with very flat frets. So, I always have an issue with tuning. When you have two Telecasters being played simultaneously, as with me and Rick, if one is out of tune, it can sound bloody awful.

How would you describe the way you and Rick work together?
Something magical happens the moment we start playing onstage. I don’t pretend to understand it, but I’m sure if I did, it would lose what people see in us. Years ago, we would say things to each other like, “You play this part, and I’ll play the bottom,” but now everything just happens instinctively and people obviously like it. Anything Rick and I do, we don’t mess with, because as humans we always find something wrong, and want to fix it.  I’ve always felt that anything that Status Quo has done, I should leave alone, because then my ego would get involved, and I might get so insecure I wouldn’t like anything.

You’ve had signature guitars made with your name. How do you feel about signature guitars in general?
I think it’s wrong for these manufacturers to make some poor kid think that if he buys one of these say Brian May or Eric Clapton ones, he’s going to sound like them. It took me years to realize that I can’t pick up a Clapton guitar, even with his rig, and sound like him. I’ll still sound like me. Something unique goes on in the hands. I don’t know what it is. They even did a signature on my Tele, [but] there’s no way it’s going to make someone else sound like me.

Any favorite guitarists?
I love Jeff Beck because his pure fretting is so clear. Ritchie Blackmore has such great classical influences, and I also really admire Don Felder, who used to play with The Eagles. His playing is rocking and he’s steaming away, but it also has sweet melody in it. The solo he played on “Get Over It” is so incredible.

Status Quo’s music has always been an amalgam of very different styles.
Yes, that’s very true. The thing I’ve always maintained about Status Quo is that it’s kind of a pop, country, rock, blues band. There are certain fans who absolutely hate it when we lean too much [toward one genre]. I never like to intellectualize too much about music, because it’s really just a bunch of notes that happen to appeal to certain people. I can never justify what I like. When I started out, I could feel the guitar sounds in my body. Things like that, to me, are the real joy of music.

Status Quo has been a major band in most European countries, yet it’s practically unknown in America. How do you reconcile this?
We were offered an American manager in the late ’60s, but he wanted to take half of what we would earn, so we told him, “F*** off.” Everybody kept telling us, “Your success isn’t going to last,” so we thought we’d look foolish trying to chase the American dollar. In retrospect, that was a huge mistake. Today, we would be able to do 5,000- to 7,000-seaters (in America) instead of being offered 1,200-seaters, which we won’t do because it would be too expensive to carry our regular production. We would have to shortchange the American audiences with cheaper, rented gear, and we would never do that.

But, do you have any idea why Status Quo’s music hasn’t been embraced over here?
Who knows? We just didn’t persevere. For ages, we’ve had fantastic reactions in just about every other place. America is such a huge place, and that’s healthy for any band. I would love for us to be big in America, are you kidding? If only for my (American) wife to be able to say to her family, “Look who I’m married to,” instead of being thought of by them as just some old guy who plays guitar in a band.

As the group has just released its 100th single, how do you feel about its future?
I suppose it’s good, but when I was 25, it did not seem possible to think of a band lasting 40 or 50 years. In the 1950s and ’60s, people were expected to be into this type of music between the ages of 12 and 16 or 17. Then they were expected to get married, settle down, and music was no longer supposed to be important. Our parents said that this type of music was just for kids and not valid, but I think because it has lasted, we’ve proved them wrong.

On the new album, Quid Pro Quo, Status Quo sounds like a hungry young band.
We are all actually in our 20s, but we stick on these fake wrinkles (laughs)! You’re talking to a guy who’s 64, and a lot of people think someone my age should be doddering around and walking with a stick. Mick Jagger and Paul McCartney are six and seven years older than me. I like to call both of them “uncle” just to wind them up. When I’m onstage, I never think about age.

So, you have no intention of slowing down in the near future?
I think there’s something in older bands that says, “I’m gonna hang on as long as I can.” In my case, what the f*** else can I do? I have no education whatsoever. I was such a loudmouth and dickhead in school that I left when I was 15. In this business, if you make it, by God, you’d better hang on. I’m so lucky, because there are very, very few of us who have been as fortunate. It all could have gone terribly wrong for me.  

After doing this for 50 years, do you still crave the adulation?
I’m like a child somewhat – an insecure little show-off. I really see myself as this spoiled child who got everything he ever wished for, yet sometimes I still lust after other people’s mundane lives. You know what they say, “Be careful what you want, because you might get it.”

What do think a psychiatrist would say about this?
It’s mainly the ego. In my case it never seems enough. I need this badly to validate me as a person. In some ways it’s quite sad, vacuous and pathetic, for a man of my age to get up onstage after all these years and still think, “Look at me, everyone. Please tell me I’m good. Please clap!” Why? Because as musicians, if you don’t go down, well, you get upset. You think, “Okay, they’re a useless audience.” No, the audience was fine. We’re the act that didn’t make it tonight.

This article originally appeared in VG March 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

“I’ve always wanted to rock,” gushes 63-year-old Ron Wood, whose journey from the shy 10-year-old washboard player in older brother Ted’s ’50s skiffle group to the renowned veteran guitarist in “The World’s Greatest Rock and Roll Band” has been one wild joyride.

Born Ronald David Wood on June 1, 1947, in London’s Hillingdon section to a family he describes as “water gypsies,” like most of his British contemporaries, Wood was also smitten by the first wave of American rockers. By ’64, the 17-year-old was proficient enough on guitar to join The Birds, an R&B-influenced outfit that was part of the first wave of English bands following the Beatles’ lead. After little commercial success, the group disbanded.

Wood’s first real break was joining the first edition of The Jeff Beck Group in 1968 as a bassist, along with a young gravely-voiced Rod Stewart on vocals. Following just two albums, Truth and Beck-Ola, Wood and Stewart left to join bassist Ronnie Lane, keyboardist Ian McLagen, and drummer Kenny Jones in The Faces. The band recorded hits like “Stay With Me,” albums like A Nod Is As Good As A Wink To A Blind Horse, and their shows provided heady competition for rivals like Led Zeppelin, The Who, and The Stones.

Soon however, Stewart’s career was sparked by solo smash singles like “Maggie May” and “I’m Losing You” and successful albums like Every Picture Tells A Story and Never A Dull Moment (featuring Wood’s very prominent input) before ego problems did in The Faces in ’75.

As fate would have it, Mick Taylor, the Stones’ talented lead guitarist, departed, leaving an opening for Wood. Names like Eric Clapton, Rory Gallagher, and even Jeff Beck were thrown about as Taylor replacements, and though like Taylor, all were more technically proficient guitarists, Wood, with his spiked hair, gaunt arms, and exuberant stage presence, was the perfect foil for the equally hard-living Keith Richards. Thirty-five years later, Woods has logged more time with the Stones than his two predecessors combined.

An accomplished painter as well as musician who has collaborated with such an array of legends ranging from B.B. King to David Bowie to Aretha Franklin, Wood has more than proved his worth with the Stones. The band’s most versatile onstage musician, fans are accustomed to seeing Wood switching from a seven-pedaled Emmons steel guitar (for songs like “Far Away Eyes” and “The Worst,”) to a baby sitar – either the Danelectro original or the Jerry Jones reissue for rainy outdoor shows on “Paint It Black” and “Jumpin’ Jack Flash.” For the slow acoustic numbers, Wood enjoys the slide effects he elicits from a hollowbody Weisenborn (“No Expectations”). His acoustics include a Gibson J-200 and a Zemaitis adorned with silver. Other favorites include a custom Zemaitis electric he uses for rockers like “Rough Justice,” “You Got Me Rockin’,” and the classic “Can’t You Hear Me Knockin’.” He also favors the unique “BBB” (black B-bender), a Ron Wood signature Fender Telecaster.

Wood’s most-used stage guitar is still his beloved ’55 Fender Stratocaster, while he’ll grab his prized original ’52 Telecaster for classics like “Honkey-Tonk Women.” And his readily identifiable slide sounds are partly the result of using slides fashioned by his guitar tech, Dave Rouze, using standard 3″ copper tubing.

While talk of a Stones tour in 2011 is being bandied about, Wood is focused on his new album, I Feel Like Playing (Eagle Records). His seventh solo effort, it’s his first in nine years. To get the raunchy no-frill rock-and-roll guitar sounds he is famous for, Wood used his trusty ’55 sunburst Strat, ’64 white Firebird reverse, red ’67 Strat, all cranked up through a ’50s Fender Tremolux, a ’56 Fender low-powered tweed Twin, a ’58 high-powered Twin, and a new Fender Vibro-King. To get an early Hank Marvin/Shadow’s sound when needed, Wood added a ’60 Watkins Dominator.

With an impressive cast of fellow rock-and-roll renegades including ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons, former Guns ’N Roses axeman Slash, Red Hot Chili Peppers’ bassist Flea, and Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder, the album is exactly what one would expect from Ron Wood.

Why did you now decide to come out with another solo album?
(Record producer) Steve Bing actually started the project. I happened to be in L.A., and he said, “Hey, Ronnie. I would love to hear you play. I’ve booked The House Of Blues, and I’ve got (drummer Jim) Keltner, and Ivan Neville.” I said, “Okay… cool.” I hadn’t thought about making any new tracks. So I got hold of Flea and brought in (longtime Rolling Stones backup vocalist) Bernard Fowler. We cut “Spoonful,” and it all just snowballed from there.

Did you have a stockpile of tunes ready for the album?
I had some phrases that had been knockin’ around my head, for awhile, like “Why’d you wanna go and do a thing like that for,” and (sings) “Well, I don’t think so.” So, there were songs waiting to come out from phases. One day, I heard Bernard say, “Sweetness, my weakness.” I said, “That’s not a greetin.’ That’s a song.” So he said, “You write it,” and I did. We’d write songs in the morning, and cut them in the afternoon. Everything on the album came together very easily.

Some time ago, you said, “You don’t make solo albums to have hits.” Do you still feel that way?
Well, I’ve changed my way of thinking, because I hope to have one or two hits of this album. When the record company told me “Lucky Man” became the most requested song on Amazon, I went, “Wow! Fantastic! I’ve had a little flash of fame of my own.”

How did Slash come to play on the album?
He was working in the next studio, and I’d bring him over, and say, “Come on, Slash. You know exactly what I want. Go ahead and play.” Then Billy Gibbons would walk in saying, “Hey, man. I’ve got a great song for you called ‘Thing About You,’ and I’d say, “Come on then. Let’s play it.” We’d work a little on the arrangements, then just do it. I love that spontaneity.

People buying the album might expect to hear you doing all of the solo work. But you recruited other guitarists, like Slash and Gibbons…
Well, I’m doing solos, but sometimes I’d let Slash take half, then I’d do half, and then we’d both perform the last part together. I did that with Billy, too. But for most of the songs, I left room for me to solo.

It’s nice to have a rapport with those kinds of guitar players, because they don’t mind playing a rhythm or just a simple thing in the background. However, if I’d also tell them, “Let loose,” they’d go, “It’s your album. You do the flashy stuff.” So, it’s not like they were trying to steal the limelight, or that I’d be giving up my rightful place.

It’s hard to explain; it’s a give-and-take thing going on among musicians. For instance, I might like a little phrase Slash did, and later decide to keep it on the track.

You can tell where Gibbons comes in with his trademark crunchy guitar on “Thing About You.”
That’s really me being a Gemini (laughs)! You see, I’m very chameleon-like. It’s me sounding like Billy Gibbons, and him sounding like me. We’re weaving together in the solos, so that quite honestly I don’t know where I start and leave off, where Billy takes over, and visa versa. It’s nice to know it’s not cut-and-dried, like he’s doing this bit and I’m doing that bit. Weaving is something I’ve been doing with Keith Richards since we started playing together. It’s an ancient musical form where we just “talk” to each other through our guitars.

The Stones have incorporated reggae for years, especially on some of your songs with them. “Sweetness My Weakness” is almost a tribute to Bob Marley.
It’s actually an homage to Gregory Isaacs, and I’m really pleased with the way it came out. I didn’t want to over-sing it. When you analyze that track, none of us is really playing a reggae beat. It just came out sounding like a reggae song.

When you were growing up in England, who were the first performers who inspired you, musically or visually, to think, “Hey, I’d like to do something like that with my life…”?
Oh, definitely the first was Fats Domino, with his record, “I’m Walkin’,” and alongside him, Jerry Lee Lewis (W oods performs on Lewis’ new album, Mean Old Man). The early Jerry Lee stuff was very important to the changeover in British musical tastes, blended with the influence of Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, and Chuck Berry, and even earlier, Big Bill Broonzy and Leadbelly. It all crossed over from the music of Louie Armstrong and Bix Beiderbecke. I got all of the traditional jazz influences from (brothers) Ted and Art, who were eight and 10 years older than me, and turned me on to R&B. They had bands who backed up some of these blues guys when they came to England.

And you actually backed Memphis Slim when you were very young…
Yeah, that was my first gig away from my group, The Thunderbirds. We later found out that (singer) Chris Farlowe had a group with the same name, so we had to knock off the “Thunder” part and became The Birds. This old, black crooner came up and asked (whispers) “Hey, boys. Would you back me up?” We were teenagers who didn’t know him from Adam. But he seemed like a gentleman, so we backed him for a bottle of whiskey. It was a real turn-on for me, though. Shortly after that, I got friendly with Bo Diddley at The 100 club.

I also used to go see Muddy Waters when he came to town. He always thought I was in the Stones. It was really funny when I saw him years later. I said, “Muddy, I’m finally in the band you always thought I was in.” He said, “I knew you’d do it.” (laughs)!

When you first saw The Stones perform at The Richmond Jazz and Blues Festival in ’64, did you seriously think that one day, someone in the group would drop out, and you would be asked to join as a full-time member?

You know, I was just so captured by their performance, I thought, “Someday, I’m gonna be in that band.” I was the last one out of this tent, and I banged my leg really hard on this huge tent peg. It really hurt, but I didn’t think about the pain. I was just thinking, “Yeah, that’s my band.” I got to meet them, and funny enough, after Brian Jones died, when they were initiating Mick Taylor, I was going around the outskirts of (London’s) Hyde Park, and right in front of me, Mick (Jagger) and Charlie got out of this car and called out, “How are you doing?” I said, “I’m fine,” and they shouted back, “Well, we’ll see you.”And I said, “Yeah, sooner than you think.” I was just in the right place at the right time when (five years later) Mick Taylor told Jagger he was leaving the band. Mick looked at me, and said, “What am I gonna do? Will you join?” It was so funny. It was like fate was playing the cards.

Of course, that must take you all of one second to consider…
Yeah, but Mick also said, “To be fair to The Faces, I don’t want to split them up.” I said, “Nor, do I.” So Mick said, “Well, if I get really desperate, could I ring you up?” I said, “Of course.” So about a year later, when I was in L.A., Mick rang me up.

This must have been in ’75, but didn’t Mick actually call you right after Brian left, and you didn’t learn about the call until around five years later?
Yeah, that’s right. He rang me up through Ian Stewart, the piano player/roadie we sadly lost around 20 years ago. Ronnie Lane told him, “No, Ronnie’s quite happy here.” When I found out, later, I said to him, “Why didn’t you tell me about the call?” He said, “Because you’re happier here, my boy!”

What do you remember about the first session you played with Keith Richards… as a bassist… on P.P. Arnold’s 1966 recording, “Come Home, Baby?”
We were doing the session for Andrew (Loog) Oldham. I remember people like Keith Emerson on the organ, Nicky Hopkins on piano, and Keith on guitar. We also did some other things with Rod, like “Little Miss Understood,” and P.P. Arnold’s cover of Cat Stevens’ “The First Cut Is The Deepest.” (Ed. note: Stewart’s version of “Cut” came many years later.)

It was really a great way of mixing and matching different genres of music together. Different bandmates from far afield all coming together. You’d get these random phone calls, “Can you be there at this studio?” You never knew who was gonna be there, or who’d walk in.” It was like, “Wow, there’s John Lennon over there,” or someone like him. Those were really fantastic days.

So you were all close in those days.
Yeah, it was a great, thriving time. Everything would come to a head at the record company Christmas parties. You’d jump from one company to another, and party with people like Viv Prince and The Pretty Things, then go to The Who’s office and party with Townshend and Keith Moon. All the members of The Small Faces would be up at Immediate Records. The Stones and Beatles would all be down the road. It was all mad. All everyone was thinking about was, “Wow, let’s party!”

What do you think has made that generation of British musicians endure, still active and creative more than 45 years after hitting the scene? Certainly, none of them could have foreseen being this popular in 2010.
Well, we were all born with that imbedded thing, almost like being born with a guitar in your hands (laughs)! I was like that. That’s what we all did. You wouldn’t give up, even if in the back of your mind you thought you really couldn’t play. You would just get up there and front it out, which is something I still do to this day. I’ve got a lot of front in me. I just jump in the deep end and play.

Your formative years in England must have been very exciting.
Back then, you’d bump into Jimmy Page, who was a top session guy at the time. Jeff Beck was a schoolmate of his, and he told me that Jimmy was the one who was playing the solos on all those hit records. Me and Jeff would be on a train, and we’d see Jimmy on the platform. It really was a small world. We’d go past Ealing Station coming home from school, and I’d see Keith Moon playing football. We were all just knocking around. But deep down, we had a dedication to playing music and sticking in there, never giving up.

If in 1964 some caricaturist had drawn a picture of what he imagined Mick Jagger would look like at 67, it would probably be of an old man with a cane. But of course, that’s not the case.
It’s like 65 has become the new 40. It’s all truly amazing, the music and continual creativity, the ambition, always wanting to get better and taking on new things.

It’s always that way for me in the art world with my paintings, going through phases. I’m always learning. It’s the same with music; always striving to find new ideas.

How did you feel about the recent Faces’ reunion shows?
They were both really good, actually. We did the O2 Festival in Goodwood, and another gig in Denmark with Mick Hucknall singing just like Rod did in the ’70s. Mick sang well, and shut up a lot of people who said, “What? He’ll never sound like Rod.” Well, he did!

Is there any chance Rod will be involved in future Faces’ reunions?
I just got an e-mail from Rod, and he’s open to ideas. He said, “Hey, let’s see about going out and playing again.” So we’ll see. We’re planning shows in January with Mick.

The Stones are rumored to have a new album and tour planned for 2011. What’s the latest on that?
We won’t know until we’ve had our winter meetings, but we’re all looking forward to them with itchy feet.

You’ve had an incredible 35-year run with The Stones so far. Can we assume you’ve forgiven Ronnie Lane for possibly preventing you from joining six years earlier?
To be truthful, if I had, I’d probably have become a junkie straight away, and would probably have OD’d… or I’d be dead now.

This article originally appeared in VG January 2011 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.