Early press about this made a big deal about it being one big composition. But there’s so much variation that it works to the ear as separate pieces, too. And they all sound great. The band plays great, as does Metheny, and the music has the gorgeous, layered sound we’ve come to expect from Pat and the boys.
Chris Whitley was a brilliant player who made a near-perfect major-label record like Living With the Law, and could also do the off-the-wall independent stuff he did for the last 15 years of his life. So it’s fitting that this posthumous release combines the feel of both.
In some ways, Reiter In is as accessible as Whitley has been since the early ’90s. Check out the slow boogie and haunting vocal of Willie Dixon’s “Bring It On Home,” which Whitley recorded with a band. And the interplay between him and Sean Balin (on violin) on cuts like “Inn” is simply haunting. The song is basically instrumental, like the closer “Come Home,” where Whitley shares the stage with Tim Beattie on lap steel.
There’s also a fascinating remake of the Stooges’ classic “I Wanna Be Your Dog” – dissonant, grungy, and crunchy by the end. Rock and roll for the apocalypse.
Whitley was known for the otherworldly feel to much his music, and the guitar in “Cut the Cards” sounds like it was recorded in a closet. Mix haunting violin and spoken-word, and it gets a bit spooky.
Any fan of Whitley will love this disc. If you’re not a fan, it’s a good place to start. Or better, grab Living With the Law, and work your way up. The journey is hard work, but well worth it. The music and guitar world is in a lesser place because of Whitley’s death.
The history of early Texas jump blues is often summed up in one name – T-Bone Walker. While Walker’s pioneering guitarwork, great original songs, and landmark recordings are justly famous, his star quality eclipsed numerous other fine musicians. Some of these players have seen the spotlight here and there on compilation LPs and CDs, but now with JSP’s stellar four-CD box set Boogie Uproar, they take center stage and get the recognition they’re due.
Much of the first two CDs here are devoted to Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown, a familiar name to most blues fans. And yet these early Peacock-label recordings by Gatemouth have long been tough finds. Inspired by Walker – like most other players here – Gate took up the guitar and began copping T-Bone’s best. These early sides may thus be derivative, but they boast a charming crudity and energy that is rollicking and rolling.
Gatemouth’s developing style here didn’t hold a candle to T-Bone’s sophistication, but he makes up for any shortcomings with his inspired energy – as well as his overdriven tone, glorious distortion, and sheer joyous volume. Some of his instrumental boogies are pure proto-rock that alone mark this budget-priced boxed set as worth every penny.
The recordings of Gatemouth’s brother, James “Widemouth” Brown, are also resurrected from the dusty vaults here. Widemouth’s playing lacks his brother’s drive, but the family’s signature guitar-picking is there in spades. Must have had something to do with the teeth.
Also included are obscure, overlooked, or simply impossible-to-find sides by guitarslingers like Goree Carter, Nelson Carson, Lester Williams, and R. B. Thibadeaux. All are taken from the originals, boasting beautifully clear “vintage” sound, carefully remastered to not sound coldly digital.
Best yet is the reissue of the four vintage sides by Zuzu Bollin; these have been available before, but are notoriously tough to track down. While the arrangements and playing are a bit awkward at times, the soulfulness burns bright. If you’re a fan of Bollin’s phenomenal 1993 “rediscovery” album, Texas Bluesman, from Chuck Nevitt’s Dallas Blues Society, you’ll want this collection simply for these sides.
With 103 cuts and more than four hours of music, plus a fine booklet of Texas blues history, you simply can’t go wrong here. Great stuff!
Possibly no name is more associated with the classical guitar than that of José Ramírez (1858-1923), the founder of a long dynasty of Madrid makers dating from the late 19th century through the current era.
Important not only for the large and varied production of instruments that have come from their shop, the Ramírez family is also remembered as much for the quantity and quality of makers who trained in their shops over the past century – a list much too lengthy to reiterate here. According to popular legend, it was José Ramírez I who taught his younger brother, Manuel (1864-1916), to make guitars. Most aficionados now are familiar with the legend of Andrés Segovia and Manuel Ramírez, who provided Segovia with his first really good concert-quality guitar, an instrument now residing in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. Long before this instrument was constructed, however, the two Ramírez brothers had ceased speaking to each over Manuel’s failure to follow through on a promise to establish a Paris branch of the family business, choosing instead to open a competing shop close to José’s. Adding further insult to injury, Manuel began making guitars in a style more derived from the work of Antonio de Torres, whose Sevilla models were finding favor with many of the migrating flamenco players arriving in Madrid to take advantage of the growing marketplace for commercial flamenco in the tablaos there.
José had come from the shop of Francisco Gonzÿlez, located at San Gernimo 15, where he began working for the Gonzÿlez widow in 1880. The Gonzÿlez guitars were characterized by a heavily domed top and back, a form of construction known as “ahuevada,” or egg-shaped. Although many writers attribute this feature to Francisco Gonzÿlez, I’ve observed it in mid-19th-century Andalusian guitars by makers such as Manuel de Soto y Solares, Francisco Moriaga, and Antonio Lorca, among others. It is not entirely clear where this idea originated, but suffice to say that José I was an ardent follower of the concept, which was also known as “guitarra de tablao” or “barroom guitar.” This type of instrument was primarily popular with flamenco players of the era, although its use also extended to classical players such as Agustín Barrios from South America (“Guitars With Guts,” July ’02), who made the first classical guitar recordings using a 1911 José Ramírez guitar of identical form and size.
This exceptionally well-preserved instrument was made in 1904 at the Concepci”n Jer”nima No.2 shop in Madrid where the Ramírez operation had been established since at least 1890, and possibly earlier. It is a full-size deluxe model made of the finest materials and construction, and according to the catalog of José Ramírez issued circa 1916, this is most likely either a Model 26 or a custom order, which would have sold for anywhere from 150 to 500 pesetas, the equivalent of nearly half a year’s salary for a skilled tradesman in those days. It was originally fitted with wooden pegs, as can be seen in the head slot details, but sometime in the 1950s or ’60s, it was skillfully converted to mechanical tuning. The Ramírez catalog prices are based on wooden friction pegs as standard equipment, machine heads cost anywhere from 10 to 30 pesetas extra – a significant cost, considering that the first five models of guitars José sold in the catalog each cost 10 pesetas or less!
Most importantly, I believe this instrument was actually made by José Ramírez II, as it shows evidence of two stamps, one placed underneath the label which is now faintly visible telegraphically, the second identical stamp located on the back below the lower left corner of the label. José II’s full name was José Simón Ramírez de Galarreta Pernias, and it appears this intricate stamp is a amalgam of these initials. Certainly there is a tradition of the Ramírez shop using initials to identify the maker of an instrument, and José II was definitely working in the Ramírez shop during the year this guitar was made. He would have been 19 years old, and this instrument was made before he emigrated to Buenos Aires, Argentina. To date, it is the only instrument known to me with this monogram stamped internally, and this stamp is a highly important documentation of the continuity of the Ramírez tradition from father to son.
It’s interesting to note that this guitar is typically braced with nine fan struts, which perfectly hold the very domed shape of the soundboard. And these struts are not shaped at all like those of Torres and his followers. These are taller than they are wide – a very intelligent use of the strength of the material. Furthermore, they are mortised under the edge of the lower cross strut, and locked in place by the individual tentellones connecting the top and sides of the instrument. The doming of the top appears to have been achieved by gluing the fans and top bracing to the top using a dished-out workboard that allowed the thin soundboard to be flexed out in an exaggerated domed shape. The workboard (“solera” in Spanish) most likely was shaped exactly to the inside outline of the guitar, and the braced top was trimmed exactly to this outline. The sides were then bent and fitted around the outside perimeter and clamped in place against the top outline, and the individual glue blocks (tentellones) were then fitted around the inside perimeter of the top/side joint. Once dry, the overhand of the sides was trimmed down to the top, and the purfling could be fitted quite readily after installing the back linings and back. This method made fitting the compound dome of the soundboard to the side assembly mindless and foolproof. Even after over 100 years, the instrument still shows a perfect top dome, free of distortion.
In terms of body dimensions, this instrument is a colossus – bigger than most modern classical guitars. The lower bouts measure 15″ wide, the upper bouts are 111/16″ and the scale is 253/4″ long (many Spanish instruments of this era were made using English rulers marked in inches). Curiously, José’s catalog lists the dimensions in metric, but in only gross approximations. For instance, the lower bout width of this model is listed in the catalog as being 38 centimeters, but in actuality it is 38.2 cm. I’ve consulted with several other Spanish guitar experts such as Eugene Clark, Robert Ruck, and others who are in agreement that it was most likely that the rulers, and in some cases actual tools used by these makers, came from English suppliers and were marked in inches, not metric measurements. The catalogs probably listed nominal metric measurements, which would have been familiar to their clients.
Typical of Spanish instruments, the bridge was set with no compensation, and is actually placed a little bit too close to the fretboard, a mistake acceptable only because the action is still in its original low setting, which by today’s classical guitar standards is too low (less than 1/16″ at the 12th fret). This type of action set up was the norm at that time, and today continues to be the typical flamenco setup. What we consider a normal classical guitar action is strictly a 20th-century phenomenon that gained popularity with classical players since WWII.
The fingerboard is made of rosewood, although it would be debatable to suggest this was done for economy. Rosewood may have been less expensive than ebony, but it’s also less dense, and hence has slightly less sustain. In terms of sound, it might have been considered the superior medium for making a fingerboard, especially for a player who wanted more explosion and less “hang time.” And this would have definitely been a consideration for the typical flamenco player of the era. The celluloid golpeador (tapping plate) was probably added by a former owner. The catalog itself makes no mention of golpeadores, nor does it illustrate instruments with golpeadores, even for those instruments which are listed as intended for flamenco players, so it is my strong suspicion that the subject of the golpeador was left to the individual player to decide the shape, material and style of coverage they desired, if any. The presence of a golpeador strongly suggests that at some point, this instrument was used by a flamenco player despite the fact that it is made of beautiful figured maple rather than cypress. For Spanish players, the wood never defines the instrument, only the player can define what an instrument is.
The novel bridge arms were typical of José’s work of this era, the 1911 instrument owned by Barrios had a nearly identical bridge. Unfortunately, the small rhomboids of mother of plastic were added later, as Jose would have only used real mother of pearl. But the instrument still retains its original nut, saddle, and frets, allowing us to see the original low-action setup typical of instruments of the era. The varnish and ground is still original – a small miracle given the cavalier treatment so many of these older instruments experienced in the hands of modern Madrid luthiers and their quickdraw spray guns. Except for a few minor crack repairs and a conversion to mechanical tuning, this guitar has survived the past 100 years in entirely original condition. It is a pinnacle of the art as established by the founder of Spain’s most famous dynasty of guitar makers.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s Jan. ’06 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
A Parker acoustic? And a cyber-age single-cutaway? Yes, folks, it’s the 21st century, and the Parker guitar company is responding with new designs for a new era.
Of the two, the P8E steel-string acoustic will elicit the most “whoa” from the guitar public. Its shape is daring and distinctive – long a Parker hallmark. More than that, this acoustic has a simply stunning design – modern, yet balanced. This is definitely the kind of guitar Picasso would have grooved on.
The P8E has a solid Canadian cedar top with rosewood binding, and a solid flame-maple back and sides, again with rosewood binding. The P8E’s neck is mahogany (251/2″ scale) with a micro-dot inlaid, 19-fret ebony fingerboard and rosewood-capped headstock (the machine heads are Grover Sta-Tite 97 Series). Its neck is fast, and the generous cutaway allows for excellent access to the upper frets. The bridge is Parker’s “bass balanced” ebony with a bone saddle and, overall, the guitar weighs 4.5 pounds. You’ll also notice a zero fret, which Parker feels improves intonation and creates a more uniform tone between open and fretted notes.
For electronics, the guitar uses a combination of a Fishman hum-canceling magnetic pickup and an Acoustic Matrix piezo pickup under the saddle. A control knob allows the player to blend the two pickup systems together for the preferred tone. Other controls include active bass and treble boost/cut and a master volume on the face of the guitar. The small, grooved plastic knobs are easy to grab and adjust. Jacks include standard 1/4″ and XLR outs. Interestingly, you can run these outputs simultaneously to send your guitar signal to two different destinations, such as a P.A. and an acoustic amp. Cool idea.
Performance-wise, the P8E’s destiny is primarily as a live guitar, since its killer looks and electronic pickups seem geared for the stage. The unamplified output of the guitar isn’t incredibly loud, again reinforcing the notion that this acoustic is meant to be plugged in and used onstage. Still, the sound is very good for a “plug-in” acoustic (though for studio work, nothing still beats a mic’ed acoustic). If I could suggest any electronics to add on a future model, it’d be a mini-condenser mic mounted on the interior, which you could blend with the other pickups, which could add a more natural sound to the amplified signal.
While the P8E’s price is higher than what most of us expect from a Chinese-assembled guitar, it’s made at a factory known for turning out high-end acoustics and, indeed, the workmanship is stellar. The corners are clean, the abalone is exquisite, and the fingerboard and frets are nicely dressed. The guitar-buying public might simply need to adjust to a new reality that says, “Yes, you can get high-end axes from China.” Twenty-five years ago, a similar revelation transpired when guitarists realized that many axes from Japan (such as late-’70s Ibanez and early-’80s Tokai) were better than many U.S.-made guitars of the same era. Now China is stepping up to the plate, and you can see that quality in this Parker axe.
‘Nuf said. Now go check a P8E out for yourself. It’s another radical turn from a manufacturer from whom we expect to set the pace in guitar design.
PM-20 Pro
Yes, you might think of Parker’s PM-20 Pro solidbody as a “Les Parker,” at least in the looks department. Like the P8E, the PM-20 Pro electric has a very elegant, attractive body styling. Indeed, Parker seems to have a gift for finding the middle ground between radical design and ergonomic balance.
Otherwise, this Korea-made electric is as straightforward a guitar as Parker has ever created; it has a mahogany body, set neck (251/2″ scale) with an ebony fingerboard with 22 frets. Tuning machines are locking Sperzels, the nut is graphite, and the bridge is a TonePros through-the-body type. For humbuckers, there’s a Seymour Duncan Jazz in the neck and JB in the bridge, both with pull-out coil taps on the volume and tone knobs. Playing through both a Mesa/Boogie Rectifier tube preamp and Line 6 POD yielded excellent tones in both clean and crunchy situations. You won’t be disappointed.
The flamey, arched maple top again suggests a vintage Gibson, so the player who grabs this axe probably wants the best of both worlds – vintage style with a modern Parker vibe. I’d love to see a model with a whammy bar, but that’s just me.
Again, if you want a good-looking guitar with a solid rockin’ tone, the PM-20 is a contender for your chopsmanship. It’s a modern rethinking of the classic single-cutaway design and, in its class, achieves that goal. More than anything, though, it’s the guitar’s clean, classy appearance that most sways the heart. It’s a looker!
For the past decade, Nashville’s own Richard Bennett has been a touring guitarist for Mark Knopfler. The gig is just the latest installment in a long and varied career that has seen Bennett wear the hats of session veteran, record producer, and touring side man.
Prior to the Knopfler gig, Bennett spent 17 years as a guitarist on tours with Neil Diamond, and in the studio he has worked with everyone from Billy Joel and Barbara Streisand to Rodney Crowell and Vince Gill, and produced Grammy Award-winning artists including Steve Earle, Emmylou Harris, and Marty Stuart.
Bennett’s career started humbly. In the late 1960s, his first gigs were in Phoenix bars before he was taken under the wing of session legend Al Casey. The relationship led to Bennett spending 15 years as a sessioneer in Los Angeles, and then touring with Diamond. In 1985, he moved to Nashville and changed his focus to production, working on several high-profile albums including seminal Guitar Town by Steve Earle and Live at The Ryman by Emmylou Harris and the Nash Ramblers.
In ’94, he did his first sessions for Knopfler. The album and subsequent tour reinvigorated his love for the guitar, and his most recent work has been with Gill and new country star Miranda Lambert.
Bennett is currently cutting an album with Casey, and preparing to tour with Knopfler and Harris in support of their soon-to-be-released duets album.
Vintage Guitar: What inspired you to pick up the guitar in the first place?
Richard Bennett: I suppose hillbilly music, really. I came up listening to early-’50s hillbilly music – Lefty Frizzell, Hank Williams, and Johnny Horton… Hank Thompson, Hank Snow.
So, did you start on lap steel or standard guitar?
It was a regular Spanish-style guitar. There was Elvis on the Dorsey show, and the Ed Sullivan shows from when I was a kid. That’s when I said “I want to play that instrument.”
So, what age were you when you finally got that guitar?
I got my first guitar when I was 11. We were living in Phoenix, and my folks used to occasionally go to McAllister on weekends, just across the border in Mexico. They bought me a little Mexican guitar, which I still have hanging on my wall.
Who was your first teacher?
A guy named Forrest Skaggs. He was the kingpin Western bandleader in Phoenix from the late 1940s on through the ’50s. By the time I started taking lessons in ’62, he was playing only weekends. In his store, the walls were lined with 8×10″ photos autographed by George Jones, Johnny Horton, Tex Ritter, Eddie Dean, Ricky Nelson… all of them. In the ’50s he had a Saturday-night barn dance show called the “Arizona Hayride.” It was at a boxing ring, and whenever [those guys] were near the Phoenix area, they came and played the “Hayride.” I went to his store with my guitar and my mom a couple days after I got the guitar, and the walls were lined with 8×10 glossies autographed by George Jones, Johnny Horton, Tex Ritter, Eddie Dean, Ricky Nelson – all of them. I knew that was the place to be taking lessons.
Forrest was a great Hawaiian-style player. He knew Sol Hoopii, and Dick McIntire. All those guys who had moved to the West Coast. He was living on the West Coast from the ’30s into the early ’40s – there was that mass migration of Hawaiians coming to Hollywood because that music was huge. They were making movies and records, and he knew all of them. So I suppose that was where my love of Hawaiian music came from. And I still kind of play old Dick McIntire-style Hawaiian guitar.
What was your first professional gig?
It was probably with Skaggs because he was working weekends, and if he felt you showed promise, he’d drag you along on a gig and let you play a few tunes. Shortly after that, I got a weekend gig at Mack and Marge’s Snack Inn, near the slaughterhouse in South Phoenix. It was a horrible place – literally, a chickenwire place. All of the roughnecks would go there, and it was every horror you could imagine. Fights would break out, cue sticks and horrible stuff. People on the fringe of society. I was thrilled to be there, even though I couldn’t even drive yet. My parents would drive me down, dump me off, and come back to get me at 1 a.m.
How old were you?
I was probably 15. My parents, bless them, allowed me to go do that, and it was the greatest thing. Six bucks a night, and I was thrilled to get it.
What kind of music were you playing?
In that place, it was country. But I was the kid in the band – the youngest guy other than me was probably 40. So it wasn’t even country music of the ’60s, it was country music of their youth; ’40s and ’50s country. That’s what I grew up playing… and Hawaiian music. I had the weirdest upbringing. I just didn’t come up playing rock and roll like everyone else.
What gear were you using at the time?
I had just got a guitar made in California for a couple years called a Bartell. That and a little Fender student-model steel guitar I’d play on some tunes. Shortly after that, I got a little Fender 400 pedal-steel, and learned to play it out on the gig.
I did that gig at the Snake Inn for about a year. It was great, and I’ll never forget it. But it was a horrible place.
What came after the Snake Inn?
A series of marginally higher-class gigs. I played a few cocktail lounges, but mainly country gigs, all of them great experiences.
What was the next step?
My big break was the fact that Forrest Skaggs taught a player by the name of Al Casey about 15 years earlier. Al, at that point in the ’60s, was a first-call L.A. session guy. Unbeknownst to me, I was a huge fan before I knew the name or who he was. He played on “The Fool” by Sanford Clark, and “Endless Sleep.” Those were wonderful records, and I remember not being able to wait until they played those songs on the radio. So, after a little time taking lessons with Forrest, the name Al Casey kept coming up. It turned out that Al’s folks still lived in Phoenix, and Al would come to town at least once a year. So I met Al through Forrest, and Al took me under his wing. That was my biggest break of all.
I spent a summer in Hollywood, with Al, before I actually moved to the West Coast. I got to meet all the guys – James Burton, Joe Osborn, Hal Blaine, all of them because Al had a little music store. I was the kid hanging around, and they were so good to me.
By the time I graduated from high school and moved to L.A. in the summer of ’69 with the intention of getting into studio work, I had a place to go, to work, and to teach. The studio thing fell together quickly for me, and it was at that point that I was getting tired of country music. I didn’t like what it sounded like. So, I threw myself into pop music, which was the bulk of what was being done there.
When do you do your first session?
That had happened in the summer of ’68, when I was tagging along to sessions with Al. It was like a bad B movie; there were three guitar players booked, and only two showed up. So they handed me a guitar, and there I was on my first Hollywood session – thrown into the deep end.
When you moved to L.A. which guitars did you have?
I had a ’65 Fender Esquire Custom, an Ampeg amp, a Fender 400 pedal steel, and a ’30s National guitar. Then, after watching other session players and Al, I started amassing stuff I thought I’d need – a “kit.” In those days, there was no such thing as being an “acoustic guitar player” or “electric guitar player,” you had to play everything. You had to be a rhythm-guitar playe and you had to be a lead player. Whatever else you could strum on – ukulele, Hawaiian guitar, tiple, banjo – whatever it was, you took it with you. If you were the tenor-banjo guy, you were a hero even if you couldn’t play it that well. You’d become known as a multi-instrumentalist. So, I got a cheap little Japanese gut-string, then whatever I could get my hands on. To this day, I carry weird stuff and play odd, ethnic instruments. They all come in handy.
Did cartage exist in the late 1960s?
It was just starting. One night in Al’s store, there was this rumbling about cartage. The guys were really nervous because they were afraid they’d lose accounts if they tacked on another $40 for delivery. Al organized a meeting with Hal Blaine, James Burton, Joe Osborne, and a bunch of the guys. They decided they all had to do it, or all let it go. After much hemming and hawing, they decided to try it. But prior to that, everyone just loaded up their trunks. And they all drove Cadillacs, not necessarily because they loved them, but because they had trunks that could hold eight or nine guitars and a Princeton amp. Barney Kessell’s favorite line when asked about the hardest thing about studio work was, “Finding a good parking spot.” By ’71, I had a cartage trunk.
How did your session playing progress?
Well, I was one of the young kids coming up with Larry Carlton and Dean Parks. Then, a drummer friend of mine, Dennis St. John, got a call to do gigs with Neil Diamond. At first he didn’t want to because he was doing a fair bit of session work. He had recently moved to L.A. from Atlanta with bassist Emory Gordy, and they’d done a lot of recording in Atlanta. They kept calling him for the Neil thing, and he ended up doing a few weekends, and really liked it. After a couple of months, Dennis pulled Neil’s sleeve, and said, “I’ve got a group of musicians I work with and I think it’s time you improve your band.”
So Neil came to a session and that was it. No audition, we just went to work rehearsing. Our first gigs were March or April of ’71, and I immediately began recording with him because I was a little more on my way in Hollywood. When I think about it, it’s amazing how I’ve just fallen into things.
What was the first Diamond record you played on?
I played on a couple songs on Stones. The first full album I played on was called Moods, which had songs like “Song Sung Blue,” and “Play Me.”
I played on all of Neil’s records through ’87, when I left to pursue production and session work. It was a great association, and I learned so much from him about putting together songs, arrangements, and records. He took a long-term lease on what used to be the Liberty studio, in West Hollywood. We used it to rehearse, and he would often come in with the barest of ideas – a chord sketch or a bit of melody. I learned about working sections of a song, and how to tear a tune apart, and putting it together in different ways. Neil is a master at that.
I also learned a lot about being on tour and on stage – your focus, how to present yourself. It was a great finishing school, and we ended up writing a handful of tunes together, one was “Forever in Blue Jeans.” He was very patient with my crappy ideas, bless him. I think the world of him.
What were you using, gear-wise, at that time?
My touring rig was a Yamaha SG 2000 and a silverface Fender Twin.
What was one of your favorite sessions of the ’70s?
One that stands out is playing on “Captain Jack,” from Billy Joel’s Piano Man album. I overdubbed a Danelectro six-string bass on the chorus, doubling the guitar line. It gave the song a lot more punch. This was at a time when no one was really using those instruments.
In the early ’80s, you played on records by Rodney Crowell and Rosanne Cash.
That was through Emory Gordy, who was playing with Rodney, and they both played in Emmylou’s Hot Band. I toured with Rodney and Rosanne as part of the Cherry Bombs, which had a rotating guitar chair with myself, Albert Lee, or Vince Gill. Playing on their records led to my first sessions in Nashville, which was about 1982. I began flying to sessions for Emory, Tony Brown, and Jimmy Bowen. I liked the way they cut records, because it was the way we used to cut in Hollywood – six or seven guys in a room, making a record. L.A. was becoming very piecemeal and very keyboard-oriented. Those sessions made me start to consider moving to Nashville. The Neil thing was secure, but I thought of myself as a session guy first and enjoyed what we did here.
What really got me to move was working on the Steve Earle record, Guitar Town. Steve wanted me involved, and asked, “Why don’t you just move?” It was a snap decision. I moved to town in ’85, did Guitar Town, and began establishing myself as a session player in Nashville.
You played the signature tick-tack lick on “Guitar Town.”
Yes, I played it on that Danelectro six-string bass.
Doing that album opened a lot of doors for me, in session playing and production. I moved because I was antsy to produce, and that album was a good coming-out party.
How did you end up leaving Neil?
When I started producing, I had deadlines. And I couldn’t take off for a month to play shows. They got Hadley Hockensmith to fill in, and it evolved to become his gig. I never was fired, never had to quit.
Who did you produce after Steve Earle?
I produced a couple records by Marty Stuart and Emmylou Harris in the early ’90s. I was very proud of Emmy’s Nash Ramblers and Bluebird albums.
Did you play on them?
Yes. A lot of people don’t like to play and produce, but I don’t mind it. As a musician, when you’re on the floor, you have a pretty good sense of whether the take is happening. Not always – there are times when you listen down and its crap – but most of the time, your instinct is correct.
Do you still work with Emmylou?
I have off and on. I played on a cut on Wrecking Ball, and on the Mark Knopfler/Emmylou Harris duets album. I love working with Emmy, but she’s been working with Buddy Miller, who is a great player. Every now and again I end up on something with Emmy. I cherish that working relationship and friendship.
Your ’65 Telecaster has a string bender.
It’s actually a Custom Esquire that I took to Fender, had a neck pickup added, and had the headstock logo changed. I later had the bender installed by Dave Evans. He calls it a “pull string.”
Have you done much bender playing on record?
Not a whole lot. I played some for an artist I produced for Capital, George Ducas, on a cut called “Teardrops.”
How did you start working with Mark Knopfler?
Much of that is due to songwriter Paul Kennerley. Mark had started spending time here, initially because of Chet Atkins, and the Straits thing had finally been packed up in the attic. He was recording with the thought of his first solo album. He had done some recording in Ireland and Louisiana, just trying things out. He stopped here, and Paul recommended me, as did producer Chuck Ainlay and steel guitarist Paul Franklin.
Mark was very concerned about “the other” guitar player. He wasn’t looking for a bunch of fancy licks, just a good feel, and was a bit concerned that I’d played with Neil Diamond and the fact I was a session guy. So we cut a couple sides, and that was it. A couple months later, Chuck called to book more sessions with Mark. We fit together well musically and personally. I know how to be a good second banana – I’ve done it all my life.
How much direction did Mark give?
Next to none. I think he was at a point where he felt secure enough to let go. He became more “Let’s see what you can give me,” instead of making you try to play like him. Sometimes, he’ll give a little direction, such as “Think about a certain era.” Which is helpful. It’s very flattering, really.
The sessions became the Golden Heart album. Talk about the opening chords to “Rudiger.”
That was my Gretsch 65 from the late ’30s. I played it on one of the takes, and he loved it. That was one of the first sessions I played on for him, and it really helped set the tone for our work together.
After the Golden Heart tour, did you go back to producing?
Yes. I produced a couple of albums I was very proud of that did nothing at radio. One was by Kim Richey, another was with George Ducas.
I was getting frustrated, and really let my playing take a back seat through 10 years of producing. I was no longer thinking of myself as a guitar player first. So, when the Knopfler thing happened, it made me realize that one, I wasn’t ready to let go of being a musician, and two, how crappy I’d become. I was onstage with one of the great living musicians, who happened to play the same instrument I did, and I was struggling at every turn. It was a difficult tour for me, but Mark never said boo about it.
I did a lot of serious self-examination on that tour, and when it was over, I pulled myself up by the bootstraps. For the first time since I was a kid, I seriously began practicing, wanting to improve myself. I had a great role model in Mark, and I hadn’t had one in a long time. All of my role models were dead. But here was a contemporary I looked up to. It was really a reawakening.
What material did you use to practice with?
Chord-scale books. It was like going to the gym. I also dipped back into the Mickey Baker books. I started writing what became the Themes From A Rainy Decade album. I decided to do something that wasn’t your typical guitar wank. Most of those records are terribly impressive for the first listen or so, but you can’t hum any of it. I began listening to Tony Mattola, Al Caiola, and I had always listened to Chet. Tony, in particular, was just a stunning guitar player. Also, Hank and the Shadows. And I thought “Who’s doing that now?” No one.
So you played with Mark up to his most recent album, Shangri La.
Yes, played a couple records and soundtracks. We recorded at Shangri La studio, in Zuma Beach – The Band’s hangout on the West Coast. Mark had the great idea to use fewer instruments, so we limited the number of guitars – Mark’s ’53 Southern Jumbo for the acoustic tracks, a ’56 6120, a Knopfler Strat, a ’64 Jazzmaster, and a National.
How much pre-production did you do for the Shangri La tour?
We rehearsed for about three weeks, two of which were nuts and bolts re-learning the tunes. Then, we did a third week on a soundstage to do lights and get the set together. For the first tour, in ’96, we rehearsed for about six weeks.
Did you have freedom on the Dire Straits songs, or were you required to play parts like on the record?
A bit of both. I did the things I felt were important markers. On some songs, like “Brothers in Arms,” I play a 12-string picking part. And on some songs, we have returned to the original arrangements. On “Sultans of Swing,” we go back down to a four-piece, and copy the record. On “Money for Nothing,” I play cowbell!
What was your setup for this last tour with Mark?
A ’54 Tele, Knopfler Strat, Martin 12-string, OM-28, Flatiron Bouzouki, my old Gretsch 65 – Mark’s ’57 6120s, a late-’20s National, Mark’s ’54 Strat, and a ’54 tribute Strat. I used a volume pedal, Hot Cake overdrive, Dunlop tremolo, and a Boss delay. I used a Vox AC30.
What have you been up to since the Knopfler tour?
I got a call to play on cuts for Vince Gill. He’s such a lyrical player. I also played on Rodney Crowell’s The Outsider, and the album by Miranda Lambert. I’m beginning to cut another instrumental record. There is, of course, the upcoming Mark and Emmylou tour, and then another Knopfler record later in the year.
Bennett and his early-’54 Telecaster. Photo by Rusty Russell
This article originally appeared in VG‘s June ’06 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
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