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Ward Meeker | Vintage Guitar® magazine

Author: Ward Meeker

  • VG Q&A: Fret Differential

    VG Q&A: Fret Differential

    Bill Brown’s United Guitars archtop, straight from the ’50s, and Brian Mckenney’s ’98 Guild Starfire IV.

    Can someone please explain the differences between playing an instrument with jumbo frets versus one with smaller/shorter frets? – John Mackey

    Until you master playing with tall frets, it’s very easy to press the string too hard/farther than needed to create the note, because the flesh of your finger will push until it hits the fretboard and cause the note to go sharp. This is true even if you use low action (height from bottom of the string to top of fret) and the guitar has been well-intonated at the saddle.

    Low frets don’t have nearly the same issue, but touch/over-pressing a string is still something that must be mastered. – Dan Erlewine

    I recently picked up a ’50s archtop with what looks like early Franz pickups. There’s no logo on the headstock or serial numbers anywhere. Could it be from United Guitar, in New Jersey? There’s not a lot of info on them floating around. It’s well-played and needed a little binding repair, but man, it sounds and plays great, and came with what looks like the original pickguard and bridge, but also with an added Bigsby. – Bill Brown
    This is definitely a United Guitars product, made in Jersey City – the 17″ single-cut archtop being close to their top-line model. And it’s almost certainly from the ’50s. Non-cutaway archtop electrics appeared in the mid ’30s and, after a hiatus for World War II, returned in the late ’40s.

    Gibson is credited with introducing the single-cutaway hollowbody electric with the ES-350P in 1947. An immediate success, by the ’50s, all makers were offering a version, and United continued making them as late as 1960. By that time, however, demand for thinline and solidbody electrics had far surpassed the big-bodies.

    Little is known about United Guitars except they were an OEM manufacturer whose main customers were New York City distributors Peter Sorkin (Premier), Buegeleisen & Jacobson (S.S. Stewart), and Maurice Lipsky (Orpheum). United was descended from the Oscar Schmidt guitar company, itself preceded by the Menzenhauer Guitar-Zither Company (founded 1879), both also of Jersey City.

    In 1896, Oscar Schmidt became a partner of Menzenhauer, then sole owner in 1900. Schmidt’s company expanded quickly and was making a million instruments annually by 1903, and by ’25 claimed to be the world’s largest instrument manufacturer. Its own primary brands were Stella and Sovereign, but its bread and butter was making instruments for Sears and Montgomery Ward.

    Oscar Schmidt passed away in 1929. By ’32, the company was in receivership, and when the bank failed in ’35, assets were taken over by John Carver. In ’37 or ’38, brand names Stella and Sovereign were sold to the Harmony Company (which introduced its versions of Oscar Schmidt instruments in ’39). Its guitar-making equipment was sold to a group of Italian luthiers who likely had been Oscar Schmidt employees and subsequently established United, which built guitars not much later than 1960, likley unable to withstand the assault of low-cost guitars from Japan.

    Your guitar may have begun life as an Orpheum Symphonic, an S.S. Stewart Wondertone, or an early Premier. The logo plate being removed and the refin make it difficult to say, but the neck, back, and sides were probably a dark sunburst, the top perhaps sunburst.

    That three-way switch replaced the pointer-knob pickup selector. It, along with the Volume and Tone knobs, would have been white Bakelite, as would the original pickguard. The bridge may or may not be original, but the Waverley tuners appear to be.

    The pickups are likely original, though the neck unit looks to have been turned – pole pieces on both should face the neck. Made by the Fransch Electric Company in Queens, they were indeed sometimes called “Franz,” and were also supplied to Guild and a few other guitar companies.

    United Guitars are almost always better in quality than you’d expect. The company’s luthiers were experienced, but, as OEM manufacturers, they were building for clients (jobbers) whose niche was selling a few price points lower than premium brands. Picture the shop salesman: “Look, son… I understand that you can’t afford this expensive Guild right now, but I have this other very pretty guitar that might just fit your budget.”

    Just because they weren’t called “Gretsch” doesn’t mean they couldn’t be great-playing guitars, and now, they’re genuine pieces of history. – Michael Wright

    I have a Guild Starfire IV with a serial number of AG1260. It’s in like-new condition with no dings or scratches. Can you tell me more about the Starfire line, when mine was made, and an approximate value? – Brian Mckenney
    Guild serial numbers in the mid/late 1990s were incomplete, but the last Starfire IV listed in ’97 is AG937, so yours is likely from ’98. In all-original/excellent condition, The Official Vintage Guitar Price Guide 2025 puts the value at $1,500 to $2,000.

    The Starfire IV, V, and VI were thin/semi-hollow guitars with a center block, similar to Gibson’s ES-335, while their predecessor Starfire I, II, and III were fully hollow with a single florentine cutaway. – Jay Pilzer

    From the same mother: Kit Kildahl’s Crestwood and Michael Wright’s Ventura V-1007.

    I have a Crestwood copy of a Gibson ES-175 that I believe is carved, not laminated. The fit and finish are top-quality and it’s a joy to play, but I can’t find any real information on it. – Kit Kildahl
    What you have is a Crestwood-branded Ventura from the 1970s, made in Japan for Kaman Corporation’s distributing subsidiaries.

    The Ventura brand was central to a number of important developments. By ’71, Kaman was enjoying success with its novel Ovation guitars and expanded its distribution channels by purchasing Coast Wholesale Companies, in California, and C. Bruno of New York/San Antonio. Both were promoting high-quality Japanese guitars.

    Most (not all) early Japanese guitar makers were OEM manufacturers who would put whatever brand the customer wanted on guitars, much like Kay and Harmony in the U.S. Ventura was one of the marks used by C. Bruno by ’68, possibly earlier.

    It’s not known exactly when Bruno began importing an ES-175 copy it called the V-1007, but it wasn’t in the 1970 Ventura catalog. Sellers today claim all sorts of dates beginning in the late ’60s, but a good guess would be it first appeared in ’73/’74 and was offered at least into ’78.

    Ventura guitars were from the “copy era,” during which Japanese manufacturers dented the American market with “copies” of popular models. Ironically, the strategy coincided with a slide in quality control among the big American companies. As the Japanese got progressively better at duplicating, American makers became increasingly alarmed. By ’76, Gibson’s lawyers were sending threatening letters, and in June of ’77, Norlin (the parent of Gibson) filed suit in Philadelphia Federal Court against Elger (the American partner of Hoshino/Ibanez), demanding they stop infringing on Gibson’s “open-book” headstock design.

    During its run, the V-1007 had two headstocks – open-book and later, a more-rounded crown without the dip. It’s probable this change occurred to avoid the implications of Gibson’s lawsuit, which would date the headstock to around ’77. It’s also possible the difference was completely random.

    Venturas are typically thought to have been built in the Matsumoku factory, in Matsumoto, which opened in 1951 to make cabinets for Singer sewing machines as well as for audio and television makers. In ’63, it began making classical guitars and violins, then ramped up to make electric guitars and basses, eventually producing some of the finest electric guitars of the ’70s and early ’80s.

    The typical technique for making an archtop in Japan was to use heat and steam while pressing the wood into a curve. However, Matsumoku was an early pioneer in CNC technology, so the top could on yours could have been “carved” by machine.

    Ventura guitars were distributed by C. Bruno and/or Coast, and we may never know how the Crestwood brand fit, historically. But we know it was used by a high-volume customer – maybe a regional chain or a smaller importer/distributor who ordered directly from Matsumoku. – Michael Wright


    Special thanks to Michael Newton. This column addresses questions about guitar-related subjects, ranging from songs, albums, and musicians to the minutiae of instrument builds, manufacturers, and the collectible market. Questions can be sent to ward@vintageguitar.com with “VG Q&A” in the subject line.

    This article originally appeared in VG’s December 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

  • Fender Blu DeTiger x Player Plus Jazz Bass

    Fender Blu DeTiger x Player Plus Jazz Bass

    Price: $1,399.99
    www.fender.com

    With a quick glance and a dash of judginess, Fender’s Blu DeTiger x Player Plus Jazz Bass looks like what you’d expect when a Gen Z TikTok influencer storms the design room. But boomer, check yourself! Because behind all that rizz is Fender’s first signature-model bass bearing the name of a female player, and it’s full of cool twists.

    Yup, the unique Sky Burst Sparkle finish is flashy (esoteric?) and confident given the matching headstock, and the mirrored pickguard and chrome hardware speak to DeTiger’s status as a stage-obsessed rising pop-funk star (and EDM DJ). This bass, though, has go to match the show.

    After donning sunglasses and grabbing hold, the DeTiger’s next twist becomes apparent in how it doesn’t feel so drawn to planet Earth. That’s because its ash body is chambered – a first for a Fender signature bass, making it noticeably lightweight. Also, near the bridge is a Player Plus Active Meteora Fireball humbucker (custom-tweaked per DeTiger) engaged with a mini-toggle tucked next to a stacked knob; the 18-volt Player Plus preamp offers +/- 18 db of bass and treble boost/cut, along with +/- 12 db using the bottom Midrange knob. Other controls are master Volume and a pan knob to blend the mid-mounted Player Plus Noiseless Jazz Bass pickup.

    Strapped on, the DeTiger hangs like you’d expect, and there’s familiarity in the 34″ scale, vintage-tall frets, and 1.5″ nut. The neck shape is based on a ’61 Jazz, thanks to Blu (see our interview in “First Fret”) having sifted through the collection of Jerry Barnes to find a shape that was just right. Here, it gets a modern satin finish and 9.5″-radius rosewood fretboard.

    We sorted the DeTiger’s sounds using two small, powered three-way PA tops and a 2×12 bass cab, the former flexing its midrange punch and snap, the latter letting it show off the full, round bottom of the Player Plus system. There’s a lot to like about not only how the bound neck plays, but how, even in passive mode, the array of tones one finds using just the pan pot make it fun to experiment.

    Jumping to active mode brings the vivacity. Turning up the stacked knobs inspired a run at “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin),” where it deftly mimicked the trademark quack of Larry Graham’s popped notes. One might nitpick at how the mini-toggle is tucked so tightly between knobs, but in a live setting it’s unlikely you’d switch to passive mode.

    No matter your style or sound, the DeTiger x Player Plus can provide anything from soft and mellow to punchy and aggressive, without breaking a sweat.


    This article originally appeared in VG’s December 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

  • Don Culig

    Don Culig

    The Covid pandemic forced immeasurable change on humanity. Much of it involved temporary adaptation, but there were also plenty of new norms. And there’s no shortage of people like Don Culig, who, after losing his, was given the opportunity to chase a dream.

    Laid off in the summer of 2020, Culig pondered his options and decided to focus his energy on some element of the guitar-making process. But what, exactly?

    “Finish work has always been my favorite part of the craft,” he said. “And in Canada, we didn’t have many options for good old-fashioned nitrocellulose lacquer.”

    To fill that gap, he started Oxford Guitar Supply in Windsor, Ontario. We asked him about the details.

    Safe to say that from day one, you were giving your new company full-time effort?
    From the get-go. With our first baby on the way, a mortgage, and my wife soon to be on maternity leave, I had just a few months to bring home the bacon. I respect anyone who can make a side-hustle work for them, but I’ve always had to throw myself into a project full-time.

    What was your premise?
    Our focus was specifically having the original custom colors, all available in nitrocellulose lacquer. Many colors, especially into the ’60s, were an acrylic lacquer that was then top coated with nitro. We’ve formulated all our finishes in nitro, to best serve the instrument.

    What were your first offerings?
    We started with about 30 of the original Fender and Gibson colors – Surf Green, Shell Pink, Lake Placid Blue – and offered our lacquers in aerosols as well as cans of lacquer for finishers with spray equipment.

    What guided your decisions as the business grew?
    During the last three or four years, so many people fell in love with guitar for the first time or were diving further down the rabbit hole. There’s been a host of new builders popping up as well as many people getting into repair work or DIY projects. To support that growing market, we expanded the line to about 60 colors along with finishing supplies such as tinted grain fillers, polishes, and dyes.

    We’ve also partnered with Solo Music Gear, an online retailer that offers a catalog of parts, materials, and electronics for guitar builders and players. Ara Pekel and the team there have been vital in our growth. It seemed like the perfect fit for Oxford since it’s a one-stop shop for anyone looking for parts and supplies.

    How many people are on your crew?
    We have a core of four including my wife, Jessica, doing admin and finance, Brendan does marketing, and Joel and Fred handle production. I handle R&D, shipping, and customer service.

    How do you strive to set Oxford apart?
    Well, you can find nitro at many big-box hardware stores, but most are a modified, modern product. We spent the first two years of our existence reverse-engineering and testing various blends that would ultimately become our Vintage Formula Clear lacquer. The solvent blend is based on a formula from the ’50s that still adheres to today’s guidelines. The lacquer is free of any plasticizers, and as a result, it dries very hard and thin. It’s susceptible to finish checking if exposed to extreme temperatures, but it can also be preserved if well cared for – just like the finish on vintage instruments.

    What are your hopes for the future of guitar building?
    There’s amazing work coming out of the boutique builder world. Some pay homage by crafting stellar examples of legacy designs, while others are developing unique body shapes with innovative hardware and runway-worthy aesthetics. Every city has at least a few up-and-coming builders, and we’ll look back on this time as a golden age for innovation and creativity.

    What are your goals for Oxford?
    There are so many amazing opportunities with colors and finishes – flip through a color-swatch book at your local body shop (laughs).

    I love the finishes we’ve come to know as the original “custom colors,” but that’s only about 50 colors if you total up all the brands and decades. I’d love to add to the palette and offer it in a nitrocellulose base, as I feel it’s still the best finish for stringed instruments. There’s a reason that manufacturers are still using it, decades later.


    This article originally appeared in VG’s December 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

  • Blu DeTiger

    Blu DeTiger

    When she was seven years old, sibling rivalry spurred Blu DeTiger to get a bass so she could play along with her brother on his new drum kit. After honing her skills for a few years at School of Rock, taking lessons, and playing in high-school bands, she also became a DJ on the New York electronic dance music (EDM) scene, setting herself apart by plugging in her bass to jam along.

    In 2017, DeTiger began releasing original music, using social media to spread the word about her funky, bass-driven songs that fit a wave of disco-influenced pop. Emblematic of how the business works in the 21st century, her following (including 1.4 million on TikTok) garnered attention from Fender, which recently launched a signature Jazz Bass that sets a precedent while bringing an array of cool elements (see this month’s “Approved Gear”).

    You got into playing because your older brother, Rex, started playing drums when he was 10. How did you land on bass?
    I wanted to try playing something and there are always a lot of people playing guitar, so I wanted to be different. I tried bass and fell in love with it.

    What was your first?
    A short-scale Gretsch, which was really cool. From there, I got a Fender Mustang, then a reissue Precision and a Rickenbacker. I did the rounds before I landed on the Jazz Bass as my go-to.

    What sort of music were you into when you started?
    Classic rock like Zeppelin, the Beatles, and Rolling Stones. From there I got into Bowie. Growing up in New York, I was always around cool music and that energy.

    Did bass come easy to you?
    It did not (laughs). I wasn’t naturally gifted; I had to really put in the work the first few years. Being so young and the bass being a giant, heavy instrument, the physicality of it took a while to get down. My hands were small and I had to build muscle memory. That took a while, as did training my ear.

    What led to your playing funk?
    I started getting into that music; I did Victor Wooten’s bass camp at Berkeley, and I did Grammy Camp. By then, I was fully focused on getting better. That’s when I started learning to slap.

    Were there certain slap parts that you really dug into?
    “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)” was a big one, and “Hair” – I was in awe of all of Larry Graham’s stuff. I remember thinking, “That’s the coolest sound a bass can make!” “Glide,” by a band called Pleasure, has an insane bass line.

    In high school, you started getting gigs as a DJ.
    Yeah, on the cusp of the EDM craze, one of Rex’s friends was throwing a bunch of parties in New York and the guy told me, “You have to meet my friend. He’s teaching people how to DJ. It’s gonna be a big thing and you should learn.” I thought, “You know what? That sounds really sick.” I grew up hearing house music and stuff my parents played, and my dad had turntables at home. So, I got into it and started getting gigs. I’d bring my bass so I could play over songs.

    When did you start writing?
    Once I was in band settings. I had a band in high school and we’d write songs together in the room. I didn’t start writing my own until I was 18 or 19, when I was recording and singing. I never really got into singing, but I realized that if I wanted to put out my own music, I’d need to sing.

    How did you decide on the neck shape for your new signature Jazz Bass?
    I did a lot of research and had help from Jerry Barnes, who plays for Nile Rogers and Chic. He has a huge collection of vintage basses – different styles including a lot of Fenders and other brands. I went to his studio and tried a bunch until I was like, “Okay, this neck shape is what I like the best.” The signature model is more based on a Custom Shop Jazz we did a few years ago with the same finish.

    What inspired the finish?
    Aesthetically, I wanted something that fit my brand and my vibe. The blue sparkle came from wanting something that was different and unique. I like instruments that can stand alone as a piece of art – things that are beautiful to look at. And because performing is my favorite thing in the world, I like instruments that stand out onstage. My name being Blu, I had to have blue (chuckles), and we did a bunch of color swatches for the sparkles to make it right; the first iteration was too sparkly, so we went back.

    What were you going for tone-wise?
    I love the Bernard Edwards late-’70s funk sound. We discussed ways to get that, and they thought it could be cool to try the humbucker and active preamp, to keep it from losing midrange or low-end because of the chambering. When they sent the first prototype, I loved it. We made a few tweaks to the bridge and some other things, aesthetically, and with the second prototype I was like, “This is perfect! It’s getting every sound I want.”


    This article originally appeared in VG’s December 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

  • Steve Cropper

    Steve Cropper

    Steve Cropper: Stacie Huckeba.

    Even before he began to record seminal music using an Esquire plugged into a Harvard amp – creating one of the favorite pairings in history – Steve Cropper was the epitome of a team player. Sixty-plus years down the road, his new album, Friendlytown, celebrates collaboration and the joy of the guitar tag team. With guests Billy Gibbons, Brian May, and rising country-rock singer/songwriter Tim Montana joining Cropper’s band The Midnight Hour (lead vocalist Roger C. Reale, bassist Jon Tiven, and drummer/percussionist Nioshi Jackson), the disc is even more guitar-centric than his typical effort.

    Cropper’s fate was steered by a Silvertone when he was 14. By then, his family had moved from rural Missouri to Memphis, where local radio filled his head with gospel, R&B, and early rock and roll. After an uncle let him hold an old Gibson, the bug bit and he asked for a six-string of his own.

    “I remember my mother setting aside $17 and change, and when we ordered that Silvertone, they said they could deliver it for 25 cents. We told them, ‘Forget that!’ and I went to pick it up myself,” he laughs. “If we’d had to pay that extra quarter, I’d never have been a guitar player.”

    Later, he bonded with schoolmate Charlie Freeman over their infatuation with guitars and music, and they formed a group called Royal Spades.

    Memphis at that time was a burgeoning musical hotbed thanks in part to a recording studio run by Sam Phillips, whose Sun Records label was fostering the upstart careers of Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Carl Perkins, who were making music that melded the blues trickling up from the Mississippi Delta with country from Nashville and hillbilly songs from the Ozark Mountains. By 1961, the band had changed its name to The Mar-Keys and its members were backing singers in the studios of the newly-dubbed Stax Records. That year, they also scored a million-selling #1 hit with an original instrumental, “Last Night” (the song having no guitar part, Cropper played secondary organ). After morphing again, they scored a hit in ’62 as Booker T. & the MG’s with the instrumental “Green Onions,” propelled by Booker T. Jones’ organ melody and Cropper’s razor-sharp Esquire/Harvard licks backed by Stax A-listers Al Jackson, Jr., on drums and Lewie Steinberg on bass.

    At Stax, Cropper spent the ’60s backing star vocalists, along the way, co-writing “In the Midnight Hour,” “Knock on Wood” and “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay.” He has also collaborated with Jeff Beck, Muddy Waters, Roy Buchanan, Albert King, Robben Ford, and is one of the Blues Brothers. Cropper and the MG’s were inducted to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in ’92.

    In 2021, Cropper released Fire It Up, his first album of original instrumentals in more than a decade. The pandemic lockdown meant its tracks were recorded remotely (forsaking the feel and spontaneity of playing in a room together). Nonetheless, it earned a Grammy nomination for Best Contemporary Blues Album. Friendlytown brought more old-fashioned studio interplay.

    “Steve and I started to get together weekly to see if we had anything to say, musically,” said Tiven. “When we finished [something], we’d send it off to Roger to get words and a melody started. We came up with a half-dozen compositions in no time.”

    Early on, Cropper suggested they invite a guest guitarist to bring in different flavors.

    “Brian May and I have been close friends for many years, and we had called upon him to work on Steve’s Dedicated album [in 2011],” Tiven noted. “That had been fun for all involved, so I suggested to Steve that we try to convince Brian to write one with us and play on it. He was all for it, and Brian took no convincing, so I sent off one of the instrumentals for him to work on. I didn’t hear anything for about a month, so I sent a nagging e-mail, to which he replied, ‘I’m behind, I must confess/My apologies/Too Much Stress.’ A chorus was born.”

    Hearing May’s tracks, Cropper was delighted.

    “I listened as a Brian May fan, and loved it,” he said. “What he did with the track is incredible. His playing is super and his singing is great.”

    Around the same time, Tiven ran into Billy Gibbons while shopping at Trader Joe’s. Having become acquainted when they appeared together onstage with John Belushi, Tiven mentioned the work he and Cropper were doing on a new album.

    Steve Cropper with the custom Peavey signature guitar made to celebrate his 75th birthday in 2015.

    “His eyes lit up and he said, ‘I’ve got a song for you,’ to which I replied, ‘It only goes on the record if you play on it.’ He smiled, said ‘That could be arranged.’

    “Two days later, he was at my house writing a new song with Steve and myself, and as we finished the first verse I implored him to leave room for Roger to write words. We had several more sessions, and we were all buzzing afterwards. Billy was particularly vocal about how much fun he was having, and after he left, I mentioned to Steve that Billy’s enthusiasm might be opening a door. ‘Why don’t you ask him to join our group?’ Steve suggested, which I did. Next thing we knew, we had a new member and a name – Steve Cropper and The Midnight Hour.”

    Tiven went to work coordinating schedules and studio time. “I wanted to make sure we jumped on this before anybody changed his mind,” he said. “So if you’re wondering how we got three of the greatest guitarists to ever walk the face of the Earth on one record… just lucky, I guess.”

    Loaded with radio-friendly hooks, Friendlytown also includes guest spots from Free/Bad Company drummer Simon Kirk and Rascals co-lead vocalist/keyboardist Felix Cavaliere.
    To dig further, we chatted with Cropper.

    What were some of the first songs you learned on that Silvertone?
    I didn’t listen to albums, but I listened to Top 40 radio all the time. Whatever was in rotation, that was my thing. But I didn’t copy other records; I’d go in the studio and try to create something a little stronger, a little better.

    Do you recall the first songs you wrote?
    I don’t, but they weren’t all that good, so I threw them away. The first song I wrote for Stax was notes to “I’ve Got No Time To Lose” which Carla Thomas recorded in 1964. They tried forever to get her another hit to follow “Gee Whiz,” and finally I told Carla one day, ‘We wrote this song, you’re going to love it.” I wrote it on piano, and I can’t even play piano (laughs), but her brother, Marvell, taught me just enough chords that I could write with them.

    With Stax, you famously used an early-’60s Tele, but was the Esquire heard on “Green Onions” your first good guitar?
    Yes, it was an old one I bought for nothing and was beat up. I took the strings off and painted it. I went down to Western Auto and got some Candy Apple Red paint so I could spray the guitar. But I didn’t prime it, so it soaked into the wood and left a purple hue (laughs). Everybody said, “Don’t change it! That’s good-looking.” So I had a purple Esquire for years – only one in the world (laughs).

    Do you remember what happened to it?
    It used to be at Jimmie King’s mother’s house. For a long time I thought it went down with Jimmy and Otis [Redding] when their plane crashed in ’67. Three months later, a friend was going to visit Jimmie’s mom and I asked him to tell her how sorry I was. He came back, shaking, and said, “You know that purple guitar you used to use?” I said, “Yeah,” and he said, “Man, it’s on her wall.” When he went back tell her the guitar belonged to me, she fainted right in front of him. She thought it belonged to her son. It and a pair of jeans he’d left for her to wash were all she had of his. After that, I said, “Leave it on the wall. It’s worth much more to her than me.” After she died, it was gone. So, somebody has that guitar, and probably don’t know what they’ve got. My wife is kind of looking for it and says she’ll find it (laughs). She probably can.

    What makes you decide to start recording new songs or an album?
    Usually, it’s the record company (laughs). They tell you, “It’s time!” Our A&R director, Stu Fine, and Jon Tiven put it all together; Stu did A&R on the last one, too – Fire It Up – and it was nominated for a Grammy. I hadn’t had an album in years before that.

    You released “Too Much Stress” as the first single, with Brian May singing and sharing lead breaks with Billy Gibbons.
    Yes, and it has done great so far. Brian hadn’t had a record in nine or 10 years, so fans are eager to hear new music from him.

    What was your connection with him?
    Jon has been friends with Brian for years, and I met Brian when he and I were at the James Burton & Friends show. Jon told him, “Brian, we’re making another album. You want to be on it?” But then we didn’t hear anything for six weeks. So, Jon called and said, “What’s going on?” Brian said, “I apologize. Just too damn much stress!” And Jon thought, “There’s a song right there!” So he went in and cut it.

    Speaking of, how does song creation work for you?
    I co-write everything because I dislike my own writing. I love it when somebody says, “Man, that’s good. Do that again.” To me, that means everything in songwriting – working to come up with a good line: “What did you just say? That’s a great line! Let’s keep it.” I love hearing that, and doing it with somebody else. If they write something good, I tell ’em it’s good.

    Is that how things came together for Friendlytown?
    Yeah, Jon and I wrote with Roger, and it came together quickly. Roger wrote most of his lyrics at his home in Connecticut, and this was the first time we were in the studio together. We cut all the tracks in a day or two.

    How did you connect with Tim Montana?
    We had a little costume party, and he showed up as Steve Copper – had the beard and everything. I said, “Get outta here!” (laughs). He looked more like me than I do (laughs).

    Do you remember the first ZZ Top song you heard?
    It was probably “TV Dinners.” The thing I always wondered about Billy was how could three people get that much sound onstage at one time? Well, I found out he plays two parts at once. I tried that, and I’m not very good at it. With country music, the bass always follows the chords and becomes a tonic, and I like playing around the tonic – fifths and thirds. Maybe that’s my sound.

    How did your songs with Billy come together?
    We met with Billy in the studio and he asked, “What do you got?” and I said, “Well, I played a Bo Diddley rhythm on this one…” He started playing along and my engineer said, “That’s good! Keep going.” He played on eight or nine songs that day.

    So it was all pretty spontaneous?
    Well, the tracks were, but not necessarily the songs. Jon and I did the same thing we did Fire It Up. We’d write every Tuesday – two or three tracks. Once Roger had all the lyrics, the guys came together for one or two days and we got every track. When we cut ’em, it was just titles until Roger started singing. Then it came to life. It’s about things you feel in life.

    Which guitars did you use?
    I mostly used the custom-made Peavey they built for my 75th birthday nine years ago – the one I ran over three or four years ago.

    You drove over it?
    Yeah, I was backing out of a parking spot when I felt a bump. I thought, “Oh, no! I didn’t run over the guitar, did I? But yeah, I did. I figured when I unzipped the case I’d find nothing but toothpicks, but lo and behold, the tire had just pushed the controls in. I took the back off and hammered it back to level, then plugged it in. It played perfectly. My engineer later told me it sounded like it always did, so I took it down the road again with the Blues Brothers. The only thing I changed was one of the knobs.

    Which amplifier did you use?
    It’s a Victoria, hand-made in Chicago. It’s a lot like my Fender The Twin, which is what I like to use on the road.


    Billy Gibbons

    Crop’s Side Man

    Steve Cropper, Jon Tiven, and Billy Gibbons at the desk during sessions for Friendlytown.
    Tiven, Gibbons, and Cropper: Stacie Huckeba.

    Like virtually every other guitarist, Billy Gibbons first heard Steve Cropper playing “Green Onions” on an AM radio in 1962. An aspiring 13-year-old, that tune and Cropper’s work backing an array of Stax singers throughout the ’60s were elemental in his musical edification.

    In the heyday of making records that jolted a range of artists into international prominence, like so many, I was magnetized with what Steve was doing with his guitar and production sounds,” Gibbons recalls today.

    But until Cropper’s new album, Friendlytown, they’d never been heard together on an audio recording. Gibbons was gung-ho to talk about how it happened.

    What was your reaction when Jon Tiven hit you up at Trader Joe’s?
    When Jon whispered the name “Steve Cropper,” needless to say, I got fired up!

    How did you and Steve first meet?
    There was a fateful encounter in Memphis, at the infamous Molly’s La Casita, down Madison Avenue between John Fry’s Ardent Records and Steve’s Trans-Maximus Studios. From that point forward, it has remained our mutual admiration of the mystique of guitars, guitars, and more guitars.

    You share a lot of similarities and vibe.
    There exists a mutual awareness of the challenge maintaining impact through simplicity. It might be fair to say Steve wrote the book on economy while staying focused on ferociousness.

    He’s so low-key while also being a legend.
    Yeah, man – legendarily low-keyed with an up-front passion for tastefulness and tone. When seeing what is possible with the straightforwardness of a bare-naked Fender slab-body straight into a Fender tweed… better stand back for the attack.

    Do you have a favorite Cropper song or album?
    There are a wealth of tracks aimed at the faves list. The stand-alone starter that got things rolling, of course, is the all-time winner, “Green Onions.” And not to be missed is the B-side sleeper, “Behave Yourself,” where Steve injects a walk-down interlude that empirically states “R&B.” Gotta squeeze in “Chinese Checkers”; the rhythm chops in stanza three are Cropper at his most-wicked.

    What was it like to work with Steve in the studio?
    One word when working aside Steve is “acceleration.” The adrenaline works overtime, which is ironically balanced when creating laid-back guitar figures. The title track, current to this behind-the-scenes view with Friendlytown, slips a bluesy six-string smoothness throughout, which paves the way for absorbing the record’s feel.

    How did you sort guitars and amps for your contributions?
    Knowing Steve’s prowess playing stridently Cropper-like on just about anything, we waited for his arrival in order to spy out which axe of his would be favored for session ignition. Lo and behold, Steve – in fine fashion – strolled in, had a look around, and of course grabbed the studio’s classic 1960 Fender Esquire! Pearly Gates (Gibbons’ ’59 Les Paul Standard) was immediately put into service as a complementary tonal companion. Steve also held his twin-pickup Peavey for extra sass. Fender and Magnatone amplification made the collection of sounds blend together handily.

    How did you work out guitar parts?
    We positioned a sizable studio corner to allow that elusive element of providing a sense of space for everybody to enjoy a slice within each song. Steve’s direction was invaluable, indicating moments within each arrangement where a slight sonic stab might be enough while still leaving room for everyone on the session. Brian May’s injection dug in right, keeping the three-lane avenue wide open.

    Did you get to interact with Brian?
    Not face to face, but it was quite obvious we both were enamored with the opportunity to keep the invitation front and center. Ain’t no doubt the joint enthusiasm accompanied the performances to a satisfying sense of Steve-approved style.

    Did the experience have special meaning to you?
    It kinda tops it off in soothing the soul.

    Is there a way to describe Steve’s importance to guitar music?
    If ya’ need further reassurance of the depths of Steve’s importance, just take it from the well-known shout-out in the Sam and Dave hit, “Soul Man”: “Play it, Steve!” says it all.

    For Crop, every day is just another day in Groovesville.


    This article originally appeared in VG’s October 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

  • Classics: Harold “Sonny” Wright’s 1965 Gibson J-45

    Classics: Harold “Sonny” Wright’s 1965 Gibson J-45

    All photos by Stacy Wright.

    Growing up 10 miles from Earl Scruggs’ birthplace in North Carolina with a music-loving father and two older sisters who could impress on the piano, it makes sense that Harold Wright became a musician. And while he followed in the girls’ footsteps by starting piano lessons when he was 12, after two years, he (and his parents!) realized it wasn’t a good fit.

    In 1962, “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet” was still popular on TV, and young Harold (who family and friends called “Sonny”) was fully tuned into Ricky Nelson singing while James Burton picked behind him. Toss in Duane Eddy’s “Rebel Rouser” on the radio, along with Scotty Moore backing Elvis and tunes by the Ventures, et al. The guitar was starting to boom. Having sandbagged his way out of piano lessons, “I knew what I wanted to play,” Wright recalls. “After much discussion and begging, my parents agreed to get a guitar for me, but only if I took lessons because they weren’t about to spend their hard-earned money on something I’d throw under the bed and forget about.”

    He was happy to oblige, and a few days later, a shiny new Silvertone Model 1415 and 1471 amp arrived, courtesy of Sears mail-order. Sonny readily jumped into lessons, digging everything about it. After six months, the teacher said he was ready to fly on his own, “And I did,” he chuckled. “I was on a roll, and popular with the girls since I was the only 14-year-old boy around who played an instrument of any kind. It was great!”

    Submitted for your approval – the idyllic existence of a babyboomer teen. Then along came the Vietnam War.

    By 1966, Wright was an 18-year-old facing the draft. Preferring to have a say in his role, that August he enlisted in the U.S. Air Force and was shipped to basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, followed by advanced training as a B-52 mechanic at Chanute AFB in Illinois. After a year at Warner Robins, Georgia, he received ship-out orders to Tan Son Nhut Air Base, Saigon. Given leave before the deployment, he went home to visit friends and family. One day, his dad, Allen, suggested that Sonny take a guitar along on his hitch, and offered to buy one.

    “Of course I liked the idea, so I started checking the classifieds,” he said. “A couple days later, I saw an ad for a Gibson J-45 for $100. Dad and I went to see it, and the lady’s five-year-old daughter brought the guitar from a back room, dragging it by a string (laughs). Picking it up, I noticed smudges of peanut butter and jelly on the front but it had been played very little. We settled on $75.”

    A couple days later, he was off, J-45 in its chipboard case, latches taped to ensure they’d stay closed, ID tag tied to its handle, set to ride in the belly of a Boeing 707 as they traversed the Pacific Ocean.

    Aircraft mechanic in Vietnam was a go-where-needed job, so Wright saw a lot of base-to-base travel, J-45 along at every stop. “If I was going by chopper, I had my duffle slung over my shoulder and the guitar in my hand,” he said. “No pilot or crew chief ever refused to let me carry it onboard. In the barracks, I usually left it on my bunk; sometimes it would disappear for two or three days, but I never worried about it. It’d show up right where I had left it, sometimes with a note from another GI saying, ‘See you back home’ or just ‘Thanks’.”

    Wright’s tour ended a year later and he returned home safe and sound. Life returned to normal and he started dating a local girl named Judy Allen. The young couple often sat under an old oak tree in her yard, Harold playing the guitar and singing for her – everything from “Blue Suede Shoes” to “Long Black Veil.”

    When a co-worker asked him to show her some chords so she could play for young people on outings for her husband’s church congregation, Wright was more than happy to oblige, and they started spending one lunch hour per week practicing songs. One day, though, someone with bad intent saw him put the guitar in his car.

    “I always locked it when we were finished, but when I left work later that day, the guitar was gone,” he said. “Someone had stolen it.”

    Every bit as depressed as you’d think, he struggled to grasp why…

    “I couldn’t believe it. A guitar that had followed me halfway around the world and brought joy to countless GIs, then serenaded my future wife, was gone forever. The loss was terrible, and I’ve always thought it hurt Dad as much or more than me since he played such a big part in helping me get it.”

    He filed a police report, started checking pawn shops, and even wrote a letter to the local newspaper, offering a reward. Nothing turned up.

    Several years later, he found another sunburst ’65 J-45 and bought it from the family of its original owner. And while it’s identical in every respect, “I’ve never had the same feeling when I play it,” he said. “Does it bring back memories? Yes; when I look at it, I remember Dad smiling as I played ‘Wildwood Flower,’ ‘Jimmy Brown,’ or his favorite, ‘Little Rosewood Casket’ and him joining in on harmonica. I see all the soldiers playing it and singing songs, and I see Judy smiling at me under that big oak tree, dreaming of our future together.

    “Most players have a guitar that’s more like a friend or loved one. The J-45 was that for me; Judy and I have been married 54 years and it was a huge part of our lives.”

    On the sunny side, the “replacement” has helped create its own share of memories.

    “For sure, it has provided countless hours of happiness to me and my family. It’s been a part of weddings and – sadly – funerals for friends and relatives.

    “In a way, each guitar has a life of its own. I’m just glad I was allowed to be part of the lives of two special guitars.”


    Special thanks to Susan (Wright) Spencer.


    Do you have a collectible/vintage guitar with an interesting personal story that might be a good fit for “Classics?” If so, send an e-mail to ward@vintageguitar.com for details on how it could be featured.


    This article originally appeared in VG’s October 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

  • Jim Weider

    Jim Weider

    Jim Weider: Jim Rice.

    Ever dream of hanging out with a couple handfuls of guitar legends while breathing fresh mountain air and (mostly) unplugging from the world? If so, Jim Weider has something you’ll dig – a summer camp for guitar-music fanatics to gather and bond.

    Dubbed Masters of the Telecaster Guitar Camp and set for September 30 through October 4 at Full Moon Resort in the Catskill Mountains of upstate New York, it’s an educational seminar dressed in vacation clothes. The idea came to Weider as he watched his two related events grow in popularity – the Masters of the Telecaster concerts he and G.E. Smith have been hosting for a decade, and his Camp Cripple Creek, featuring players in The Band’s orbit and attended by fans of roots rock.

    Realizing that when it comes to music, there are plenty of diehard fans of any musical niche one could conceive – and they enjoy gathering with the like-minded – he teamed up again with the Music Masters Collective, a group of producers and artists who in the mid ’90s began planning a home base for such interactive, immersive music events. In 2019, the group established a foundation that was granted non-profit status and adopted a more-formal mission of producing the events for people of all backgrounds, skill levels, and financial status.

    While Camp Cripple Creek draws fans of The Band and similar roots rock, Weider says Masters of the Telecaster leans to players – though he emphasizes one does not need to be player to have a great time.

    So, what can attendees expect at Masters of the Telecaster?
    Along with hosts Weider and Joel Harrison, seminars will be taught by Albert Lee, Bill Frisell, Brent Mason, Larry Campbell, G.E. Smith, Jon Herington, Guthrie Trapp, Redd Volkaert, Adam Levy, Joe Louis Walker, Carolyn Wonderland, and Cindy Cashdollar. Classes and concerts will touch on the styles of iconic players such as Danny Gatton, Roy Buchanan, Steve Cropper, Robbie Robertson, Roy Nichols, Ted Greene, and Eldon Shamblin, and also include potential topics such as studio tricks, hybrid picking, slide, chords, rhythm chops, tone, ensemble playing, and mixing jazz elements with blues, rock and roll, and country styles. Instructors may also delve into elements of their personal styles.

    Jim Weider: Jim Rice.

    “Albert will be teaching Albert Lee tricks and techniques, and I know I’ll be at his class, mostly to watch his right hand,” Weider chuckled. “His picking is so perfect with that light touch, so it’ll be fascinating to see how he plays.

    “I’ll teach a class on the roots of rock and roll, another on assorted Tele techniques,” he added. “G.E. Smith’s session is called ‘Navigating The Fretboard: Make It Your Friend,’ and Larry Campbell will teach his three-finger style.”

    After each day’s workshops and classes, campers will have the option to gather in two rooms – one electric and one acoustic – where instructors and backing musicians will jam with them.

    “Then, there will be a concert every night, each different,” said Weider. “We’ll get to play and hear some great music and crank up some tweed amps.”

    Beyond the fact this is the first such Tele camp and he has rounded up so many great players, Weider’s inner gearhead is also excited.

    “I’ll have all of my vintage instruments,” he said. “G.E. will bring some, too, and I’m sure others will.

    “A Telecaster camp is something I’ve always wanted to do, and Full Moon Resort is such a beautiful place,” Weider said. “To me, it’s historic.”


    This article originally appeared in VG’s October 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

  • Greg Kihn

    Greg Kihn

    Greg Kihn

    Greg Kihn, songwriter/guitarist and founder of the Greg Kihn Band, died August 13. He was 75 and battled Alzheimer’s disease.

    Born in Baltimore, Kihn started playing guitar as a kid, strumming Harmony and Kay acoustics before he found a Guild 12-string that became his main instrument writing and performing folk music as a teen.

    In his mid 20s, Kihn moved to Berkeley, California, where he busked while painting houses and working at a record store. After shifting to play rock and roll, he was signed to the upstart label Beserkley Records and recorded his 1976 debut album with a four-piece band; his ’60s-inspired melodic pop (dressed with the tones of his Rickenbacker 360/12 and Vox Phantom XII) became part of the label’s identify. Over the next five years, Kihn (and starting in ’79) the Greg Kihn Band released five studio albums and one live disc. In ’81, they scored a hit with “The Breakup Song (They Don’t Write ’Em), which reached #15 on the Billboard Hot 100 and finished the year as the #47 pop single. His second (and final) hit came with 1983’s “Jeopardy” from the album Kihnspiracy. It reached #2 and was held out of the top spot by Michael Jackson’s “Beat It.” The following year, “Weird Al” Yankovic’s parody, “I Lost on Jeaopardy,” reached the Hot 100 thanks in part to the corresponding video, in which Kihn made a cameo appearance.

    The success kept Kihn busy touring, holding opening slots for the Rolling Stones, Journey, the Grateful Dead and garnering appearances on TV’s “Solid Gold” and “American Bandstand.”

    On tour, Kihn’s workhorse guitar was a sunburst Telecaster with a late-’60s body and an ESP neck. At ChicagoFest in ’83, guitarist Gary Phillips used it to defend Kihn from a man who jumped onstage and started running toward Kihn; having just grabbed the instrument while a string was being replaced on his own guitar, Phillips swung it like a baseball bat and knocked the would-be assailant out cold, then kept playing.

    “The Tele stayed in tune!” Kihn laughed while telling the story to VG’s Bret Adams in 2018. “There’s still a big nick in it from where the guy lost a tooth. You can brain a guy with [a Tele] and it stays in tune. Unbelievable!”

    In the mid ’90s, Kihn began a 17-year stint as morning-radio host on KOME/KUFX in San Jose and also released his first of six novels. He also hosted a nationally syndicated radio program and is a member of the Bay Area Radio Hall of Fame.

    In 2007, Kihn was inducted to San Jose Rocks Hall of Fame. In ’10, he was recognized by the Lymphoma Society. He also donated time and helped raise money for Operation Care and Comfort, which sends care packages to deployed military units.

    After his radio stint, the Greg Kihn Band returned to recording and performing with Kihn’s son Ry, on lead guitar. Their final album was Rekihndled, which he discussed in the March ’18 issue of VG. At the time, Kihn owned about a dozen guitars including Martin and Gibson acoustics, the Tele, Les Pauls, and a boutique 12-string acoustic he used for solo shows.
    Kihn is survived by his wife, Jay Arafiles-Kihn, son Ryan, daughter Alexis Harrington-Kihn, and extended family.


    This article originally appeared in VG’s October 2024 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

  • Dudley Taft

    Dudley Taft

    Dudley Taft: Robert Wilk.

    A songwriting blues-rocker in the purist sense, Dudley Taft is succeeding in an era when nothing comes easy for his ilk. His new album, The Speed of Life, required a departure from the norm; while his previous three were recorded at his own studio in Cincinnati, this one used down time during a European tour to track songs with bandmates in Prague. And while its personnel varied, the songs are exactly what fans expect.

    Speaking from his home during a power outage caused by a storm the night before, Taft rolled with the punches. “I’m very comfortable expanding songwriting in this weird little zone that is blues rock,” he said with a chuckle. “I would say I’m 80 percent rock, 20 percent blues. And that should be enough for anyone.”

    Given your time on the job and your heavy touring schedule, does creating new music present any specific challenges?

    Well, it’s my job and I’m always working on my craft, always looking forward to the next album, trying to make it good. For this one, I had 35 or 40 little ideas that I refined to get 12 tracks.

    How does songwriting work for you? 

    Typically, a riff or a chord progression on guitar leads to an emotion or something to say that works with it. Rarely do I have words first; it’s “Get the guitar and go,” smoke a little weed to open my mind and try not to think of anything else. That’s when songs start to happen.

    How old were you and what was going on musically when you were learning to play? 

    I was 12, going on 13 when I got interested in music. In Houston, my friends listened to rock and roll – Foreigner, Styx, then we got into Zeppelin, Deep Purple Skynyrd, Allman Brothers, and ZZ Top started happening. We lived in Houston for a year and a half, then moved to Indianapolis, where I found a guitar teacher’s phone number on a handbill. I learned to play on an acoustic, but when I was 13, electric guitar had me at “Hello!” From that point, whenever one of my favorite bands had new album, it was like, “I’ve got to listen to this immediately.” It’s hard to describe to kids now when they have instant access to millions of songs. 

    Are there a couple of songs on The Speed of Life that stand out for you?

    “Miles and Miles To Go” and “Pretty Little Thing” for the same reason – they’re not just verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge. I’m proud of my solo work on those two songs, in particular, because they fit the vibe of the song so well. They’re a mix of melodic and snappier phrases without being shred, because I’m not shred (laughs). I would rather be compared to Jeff Beck, Billy Gibbons, or Joe Walsh than Warren DeMartini or Joe Satriani (chuckles).

    What are some of the guitars we hear on the album?

    An uncle died in 2023, and my brother and I were his only nephews; we got part of his estate and my portion was $8,900. I thought “I could throw it into my account, or I could do something meaningful.” So I went to Carter Vintage and bought a ’69 Les Paul Custom that is now my “Uncle Tom guitar” and is the one you hear on the solos in “Miles and Miles To Go” and “Pretty Little Thing.” There’s something about the pickups – maybe they have fewer winds – but they have a crisp sound. It’s not great for rock-and-roll power chords, but you can hear something in the chirp when the pick hits the string, and it’s gorgeous.

    I was blown away when I first heard it. The guitar is heavy as f**k, so I won’t play it live because I have six other Les Pauls and I’ve always been a Strat guy. But, 45 years down the road, you start doing different things. 

    One’s style changes…

    Well, as a player, I’ve developed my own flavor of solo language, and I feel very comfortable in it.

    The beginning of the solo in “Pretty Little Thing” has these fluid, legato lines reminiscent of David Gilmour.

    I like the smooth, spidery licks (laughs). Pink Floyd was huge to me when I was young – Dark Side of the Moon and, to a lesser extent, Animals and “Shine on You Crazy Diamond.” The chirpy rhythm stuff on that song and “Wanted Man” was done on a ’74 Tele Thinline.

    How did you decide on amps and effects to use on the record?

    Well, I am in love with blackface Fenders, so my typical rig is a ’66 Deluxe Reverb and almost always an original silver Klon. Nothing sounds like a Klon; it does a unique thing – it’s not really soft clipping, it’s not really hard clipping. It’s just nice. After that, I use an Analog Man Prince of Tone or, for a harder clip, a Fulltone OCD. Almost everything was recorded with those pedals. I’m also a fan of the Zen Drive, especially for a Strat when I’m playing a solo because it adds some nice thickness.

    I have a couple of EL84 amplifiers that are nice – a Dr. Z and an Oahu built by Oliver Archut in the ’90s. He built these little amps and Keith Richards bought 15 of them, Paul McCartney bought one, Billy Gibbons has one. It’s two EL84s and just Tone and Volume knobs. One of those with the Zen Drive and a Stratocaster, it’s game over.

    I also have a 1990 Vox AC30 that doesn’t sound too good, but the speakers are amazing – old Greenbacks in an open-back cab. I put mics about a foot from the speakers. I also have a Victory Jack of all Trades head with a 2×10 Alnico speaker cab made by Todd Sharp, and that thing sounds great. 

    I have different amps for other textures. When I want to get heavy, I have a Friedman I used on the backing power chords in “Burn It Down,” and I used a Bassman for the beginning of that song, with the Strat. I also have a couple Deluxes, a Pro, a Super, a Princeton, and a couple Vibroverbs. I have not found any modern amp that reacts on the front end like an old blackface Fender. Maybe it’s the sag, I don’t know.

    Did you use more than one Strat on the album?

    I have a few. My ’99 Mary Kaye is one of the first Relics ever made. It has a one-piece swamp-ash body and a birdseye maple neck, and it really sings; it vibrates nicely. Another is a Custom Shop that I found in Nice, France. It’s Surf Green with a rosewood fretboard, which has a midrangey sound. Those are the two shades of Stratocaster.

    Any mods on them?

    I don’t do anything crazy. I have stacked Seymour Duncan humbuckers in the bridges.

    I also have this ’59 reissue with different electronics and a finish made to look like a Joe Perry Les Paul, and there’s something weird with that one – it’s so chimey, not like other Les Pauls when you use both pickups and the Volumes all the way up. Maybe it’s just the setup, but I f***ing love it. That’s on a lot of rhythm stuff. It has tiny frets, so I put .009 to .046 strings on it. I normally play .010 to .052. 

    And then I have this Jeff Hanna Collector’s Choice Les Paul. That’s the rock Les Paul, with a lot of low-mids. It’s great for chords.

     

  • Jedd Hughes

    Jedd Hughes

    Jedd Hughes: Libby Danforth.

    After landing on American shores in 2002 to study bluegrass, then shifting into a career as a country singer/songwriter/picker, Jedd Hughes has spent 20 years on an alternate – but rewarding – path as A-list session player and touring sideman.

    While being busy tempered his flow of original music, in 2014 he returned to songwriting, so his latest solo album, Nightshades, is just his third. Created with help from songwriter/performer/producer Rodney Crowell, it’s more collaborative than 2019’s West, yet also more personal. We chatted with Hughes as he prepped for a session with country star Eric Church.

    How did the songs on Nightshades come together? 

    The same way I started West – at home, recording and building songs while writing. In the process, I was talking to Rodney quite a bit – he and I were writing as well, and there was so much material we were thinking of doing two records. Finally, I asked him to help me conceptualize the record and put a definitive list together. We added drums and bass – real humans – on top of tracks I built.

    Was there one place where you did most of the work?

    We ended up at Dan Nobler’s studio, Goosehead Palace, where Dan engineered and mixed the record. We tracked a few things at Dark Horse Recording, as well.

    How were tracks sorted?

    I let Rodney take the reins. He has such a great song sense, lyrically and melodically, and after 20 years of playing shows and working on records together, I really trust him with knowing my sensibilities and governing the quality of the songs.

    How did you decide to cover Rodney’s “Stay, Don’t be Cruel”?

    That happened at his house. I was thinking it’d be great if we had one or two barnburners that would be fun to play live so we could stretch out. I couldn’t come up with anything, writing-wise, so he said, “Well, I’ve got this old song I wrote with Keith Sykes,” and he played it for me acoustically in his little studio. I was like, “Oh yeah, that’s got to be in there!” He and I were talking about Delaney and Bonnie, and Sarah Buxton has been a longtime close friend and collaborator, and he was like, “Why don’t we bring Sarah in and we can frame this thing as a Jedd and Sarah song?” 

    When he played it that day in the studio, what hooked you?

    I liked the simplicity of the song. A lot of times, simpler narratives are harder to come up with, and there was something about it, melodically, that felt like it fit me.

    Is there a song that best represents where you are now as a writer and guitarist?

    “Nightshades” is one I’m pretty proud of. It started with a different lyric; I was going for late-night/J.J. Cale. I sent it to Rodney, who had just read Hemingway’s A Movable Feast. He said, “We should impose some storytelling from this book.” So we rewrote the lyric then went in to track it. I wanted to keep it super-minimal and dark, and I played acoustic while we cut it, then came back with my main guitar straight into a really good-sounding old Gibson GA-20 and we carved a nice, clean sound – almost a “bluesman” approach.

    I’ve been on this kick… We’d just made Rodney’s [The Chicago Sessions] with Jeff Tweedy, and I didn’t use any effects pedals at all. I was like, “It’d be really cool to stay on that train.” So we set up in the middle of the room and I tried to come up with a sound that was “country-blues Telecaster” – real simple. We got exactly what I was going for.

    Is the GA-20 part of your collection?

    Yeah, it has become a staple in my recording setup and live. I re-housed it in a Mojo cabinet with a bigger speaker and it became the tweed Deluxe I always wanted (laughs). Usually, those ideas fall apart once you get into the mechanics of transposing chassis, but the holes lined up exactly and it just fit together. The amp has a magic of its own.

    What’s the story behind “Kill My Blues”?

    That was the second song I wrote with Guy Clark, about 20 years ago. It’s been sitting around, and I wanted to record it with a Bob Dylan Love And Theft vibe – small blues band, very live-feeling, with that ratty tone. I used a Greco Les Paul copy with mini humbuckers plugged straight into an Oahu amp, turned up. I wanted all the overdrive naturally out of the amp. That’s another thing I gleaned from working with Jeff Tweedy.

    Does its tone compare to any other amp? 

    Not really. I love those little old amps and have a pile of them. They all have their own quirky personality and I’ve been through dozens of ’em over the years; I’m down to three that I really love because they have a midrange that sits well in the track and you never have to do anything to it, EQ-wise. It stays away from other instruments.

    Talk about the acoustic sound on “Loving You Is The Only Way To Fly.” 

    That’s a really special ’38 Martin 0-18. I love its midrange. I can really articulate what I want with it, and it’s one of the better guitars to solo on and play rhythm in one pass.

    How long have you had it?

    Just a couple years. I got it on the Martin Guitar Forum, from a guy in Canada. I know it sounds ridiculous, but looking at pictures of its top, I was like, man, “That thing’s got to be good!”

    Was there pick wear or other clues?

    The fading of the top, the pick wear… I’m very hesitant to buy acoustic guitars without playing them, but he’d had it for a while and had all the right work done. It was really in great playing shape. 

    You’ve mentioned being pleased with the way “Underground” turned out.

    That was the most “built at home” track because I recorded the nylon-string part while I was writing it. On electric, I was going for two modalities – one really liquid, dreamy, and ambient, which was my old blue Teisco with square-pole pickups. 

    Yin to its yang was a Robbie Robertson dry electric sound; Rodney played one of Robbie’s solo records for me years ago – a song called “Unbound,” that has a great, raw electric sound. I had my Telecaster and played it straight into the GA-20 with a little dirtier tone. I love the way the two guitars dance around each other, like characters in a movie.

    Which nylon-string do we hear?

    It’s a Del Vecchio that I really love. That guitar is instant music – it’s one of my favorites.

    Speaking of instant music, the lick for “Riff Raff” was inspired by a Kay fuzz pedal that your wife bought for you.

    Yeah, she got that for me for Valentine’s Day. I’d seen it in the used case when we were at Sam Ash, but I walked out thinking, “The last thing I need is another fuzz pedal.” (laughs). But she went back and bought it. When I plugged into it, the first riff I played was that one, and she came into the room and said, “What is that?” I said, “I’m just seeing what this pedal does.” She was like, “That’s pretty cool. You should remember that one.” So I recorded it on my phone. It’s not often I get the nod of approval from her on riffs (laughs). 

    The guitar we hear most is one you built, right?

    Yeah, during Covid. 

    Were you motivated simply by being on lockdown?

    Well, when all the work went away at the beginning, I had to sell a bunch of stuff to keep us afloat – my ’57 Tele and a handful of other things. I thought, “I’ve had a ton of old Teles over the years and I could probably build something that would keep me going for a while.”

    One day while I was working on it, my five-year-old son said, “Wow! That’s so cool.” So I started thinking we should build him one, too. So we got on StewMac and found a kit, a finishing book, and some nitro rattle cans, then for a couple weeks we worked on the body for his and I shaped necks from blanks. We had fun building guitars together.

    How did you shape the necks?

    I bought a rasp, some scrapers, a ton of different sandpapers, and started whittling away. I kept mine on its body so I could play it a bit, take more off, then play it again until it felt the way I wanted. It came out great and now I take it to every session.

    Is it similar to the ’57 you sold?

    It’s pretty close – sort of a soft V at the nut that ends up being a full C. It’s also similar to a ’53 I had for a while that transitioned from that V to full C/almost D. I had that in the back of my mind.

    Was it difficult to install the B bender?

    Well, I called Gene Parsons…

    Not to name-drop or anything (laughs)….

    Years ago, when I was with Emmylou [Harris] and Rodney, I had a red Tele that Jeff Senn built with one of his benders; Jeff introduced us and I stayed in touch with Gene. He knew that musicians were going through a tough time, and he took care of me.

    How did you get turned on to the bender?

    The guy I grew up idolizing in South Australia, Bill Chambers, had a homemade B bender in his Tele, so from the age of 10, I’ve been enamored with that sound.

    How did you shape the neck on your son’s guitar?

    I made it for his little hands. It was kind of pre-cut, but I took some of the shoulder out of it and made it a very gentle V/C shape, then I reshaped the headstock like a Tele. He picked Sonic Blue for its finish. Building it is one of my favorite memories.

    We should touch on the new album’s acoustic ballad, “Day After Day.”  

    I wrote that song after hearing of a friend’s sudden passing in Australia. It was very shocking, and that song is one of the few I’ve ever written that, as the words came out of my mouth and onto the page, didn’t go through any editing. It felt as real and guttural and raw as any song I’ve ever written. And I’m glad it made the cut, because it means a lot to me.

    Which guitar do we hear on it?

    I played that on a “banner” J-45 I borrowed from Rodney that belonged to a good friend of ours who passed on.

    You’re going out with Vince Gill again this summer. Are you opening any shows for him?

    I don’t know. Tom Bukovac is also going out with us, and he and I do a duo thing, so we may end up doing that a bit. Tom’s going to work that angle (laughs). Vince doesn’t traditionally have openers, and I’ve used up my hand. We’ll see.

    With you and Tom, what are your roles in Vince’s band?

    We’re just the rhythm guys. We did a run at the Ryman last year and it was really fun and really challenging to come up with parts that weave in and out. I think Vince likes having both of us because he knows he’s covered and he can really sing and play solos when he wants to play, but also feel like we’ve got his back.