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.

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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.

Hailing from Los Angeles, Jerron Paxton is a remarkable bluesman, able to conjure sounds of the rural, interwar South through his voice and fingerstyle guitar, as well as banjo, harp, accordion, and piano. But don’t fob him off as another Robert Johnson wannabe. Paxton is a scholar of country-blues and early jazz music, owing to his family’s Louisiana roots and own experiences. All can be heard on his riveting Smithsonian album, Things Done Changed.

Country-blues music was a part of your upbringing. What attracted a young man to those sounds?
The natural beauty of the sound. My grandmother would play blues radio very loudly on Saturdays, and 98 percent of the music was electric blues. At the age of eight, I had learned enough that whenever I heard the eerie sounds of acoustic blues, I would run to record them off of the radio. Unlike the saturated popular sounds one is exposed to, country-blues was a direct line to my culture that I could hear as well as feel – unlike gangster rap or rock, which I don’t ever remember hearing in my very black community.

The challenge of solo acoustic blues is that one musician is carrying all the parts – chords, bass line, and lead or slide jabs – as on “Things Done Changed.”
As a musician who grew up without other people to play with, part of what attracted me is the ability of one person to sit with an instrument and create a world where nothing is missing. In the words of Fats Waller, “It’s easy to do when you know how!” The “how” usually comes with practice and exposure. I’ve had plenty of both.

On “So Much Weed,” you change up the thumb-bass lines and throw in those slide licks? What tuning are you in?
I tune the guitar in the way I feel best to play a certain song. “So Much Weed” is in Vestapol tuning, which is the primary tuning for guitar evangelists in my neighborhood. That changed with the generations, just as all church music in my community has changed from the sound of spirituals to a more popular-oriented sound with a large choir. In South Central L.A., you could still hear people who played like Blind Willie Johnson or Mississippi Fred McDowell, whose Amazing Grace album I’d listen to. Also, Sister O.M. Terrell, who lived until 2006.

Who were your primary guitar influences?
My primary influences were Bukka White, Scott Dunbar, Mississippi John Hurt, Blind Blake, Skip James, Robert Wilkins, Lonnie Johnson, Smith Casey, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Willie Brown, and Reverend Gary Davis.

“Mississippi Bottom” speaks to the ragtime sound of Piedmont blues, which is different from Delta and Texas blues. How did you develop a feel for all these different styles?
I don’t really think of that as a ragtime tune. In rural black culture, playing a rag means going around the circle of fifths. Although there is a II chord in the song, there’s also one in “Love In Vain” by Robert Johnson, which we certainly wouldn’t call a rag. One develops a feel for different styles but doesn’t get stuck in one. I wouldn’t be much of a professional musician playing in one style for my [entire] set. For a true musician, the natural tendency is to explore and expand; only people who dabble stay in one style forever.

These are also sounds of my culture, and though there are slight regional differences, commonality between the cultures tends to be eroded by academic pursuits of regionalism.

What’s your primary guitar?
I mainly play a Carson J. Robeson Kalamazoo by Gibson, and a Fraulini Felix. The big, booming Fraulini is best for accompanying other instruments while the Gibson is best for solo blues. When recording the title track, I was fortunate enough to switch between the two and found the Gibson made me better achieve the sound I was after.

Are some blues songs better suited to guitar than banjo, or vice-versa?
There are banjo songs and there are guitar songs. Certain songs exist for each respective instrument, but the nature of music is to experiment and see if things can be traded back and forth. The late Gus Cannon playing slide guitar on his banjo is an example.

What has been the reception to Things Done Changed?
The reception has been pretty good so far. Playing traditional music gives you a certain confidence. You play the song because you know it’s good and made you feel a certain way, which you hope to share that with your audience. It’s a little more intimidating when the songs are from your own pen and haven’t been passed through the veil of time.

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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.

Blues guitarist Khalif Wailin’ Walter now makes his home in Essen, Germany, but the sound that emanates from his fretboard is pure Chicago. Born in the Windy City, Walter keeps the blues alive in the old country while pushing the genre forward. On Phoenix Risin’, the blues veteran pays homage to earlier blues styles of Texas and Chicago and does it with originality and soul. Also noteworthy is that he produced, recorded, mixed, and played most of the instruments.

Phoenix Risin’ feels like an homage to the blues of the 1950s and ’60s.
I was really into Albert Collins and his band’s sound. But I’m an independent artist, so everything is up to me. Nowadays, you can’t just be a guitar player. You have to have other skills, so I studied engineering and recorded everything myself including guitars, vocals, and bass. I love this stuff. I reached out to a few producers, and interestingly enough, they responded and invited me to sit with them and learn. A few of these guys had worked with people like David Bowie and Slash, and they were more than willing to answer my questions. It was a real education. I love working with mics and plug-ins, mixing, and trying different guitar, amp, and pedal combinations. Some of the songs were older, and some I wrote specifically for Phoenix Risin’.

In what order did you record instruments?
When my drummer, Barry Wintergarden, got off tour, we went into the studio. It was just him on drums and me on bass. Some of the basic tracks also had drums and guitar with me singing. That was just a scratch vocal so Barry could hear the structure. I ended up using only one of the scratch vocals. We laid it down and fixed things here and there, then I brought in a horn section. I used Martin “Tinez” van Toor and Tommy Schneller for the sax parts, and Chris Rannenberg and Paul Jobson play piano and organ. It was very improvisational. I would hear lines, hum them, and they’d play what I sang. I love horns on blues records, and I love big-band music.

You lean into the older blues styles but with a more-modern guitar tone.
I used my Vox AC30 and a few different plug-ins like the Neural DSP Mesa Boogie Mark IIC, Nembrini Audio Faceman 2 head, and the Nembrini Overdrive Special. I found that plug-ins sound best when you stack them. My favorite – the one I used most – was the Mesa Boogie.

It’s a vibrant tone, like using Santana’s rig on a Texas shuffle from the ’50s.
Yeah. I also used some Fender tweed plug-ins, my Vox, and a Crazy Tube Circuits Unobtanium pedal. One side sounds like a Dumble, the other like a Klon Centaur. I sometimes stack them live, but I only used one side on the album.

How about guitars?
I like to modify my guitars. I used different Strats and Teles where I upgraded the pickups – I put humbuckers in a Tele, so of course it has an entirely different sound. I love Lindy Fralin pickups, so I put a set of his single-coils in my Strat.

The guitar tone on “The Streets” is very intense.
That was my tribute to one of my favorite guitar players, Carl Weathersby. I sent that track to him and said, “This is me trying to do my best imitation of you.” He replied in an e-mail, “Uh-huh.” That was all he wrote (laughs).

What’s the story behind “Chi-Town Soundcheck?”
I wrote that a while ago. It was supposed to be a jam between me, Toronzo Cannon, and Mike Wheeler. I wrote a head for it and we were all going to take solos in the middle. When I contacted Toronzo’s label, they told me it wasn’t going to happen. When I spoke to Toronzo, he laughed and said he knew nothing about it but would have loved to play on it. So, I put it out myself.

What’s your advice for guitar players who want to record their own music?
Have a plan and know what you want to achieve before you begin the work. Also, don’t be afraid to ask for help. You’d be surprised at the number of producers who would gladly answer questions. Guitar players can be stingy with knowledge or giving up secrets. Not so with producers and engineers.

What’s next for you?
I want to come back to the States and perform, but until then I’ll be touring Europe, including Austria. I’m already working on a new album that has a Tedeschi Trucks vibe. I’m mixing it now.

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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.

Jesse Ed Davis was an unsung guitar hero – unless you were a legend like Eric Clapton, John Lennon, George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Rod Stewart, Conway Twitty, Taj Mahal, Jackson Browne, and countless others who played with him and revered his talent. The Oklahoma-born Davis became an L.A. session wizard who released three solo albums in the early 1970s. In ’88, he died of a heroin overdose at age 43.

Douglas K. Miller, a former touring musician and current professor of Native American history, has written an engrossing biography, Washita Love Child: The Rise of Indigenous Rock Star Jesse Ed Davis.

You say this biography takes a “cultural narrative” approach. What do you mean?
I feel like I’ve got to tell everybody, “Don’t skip the opening chapters.” I’ve been guilty of that: “Just get to the part where they’re making my favorite album and talking about the guitar they played!” I tried to explicitly say, “This is where Jesse comes from.” Of course, everybody comes from their family and their ancestry and their geographic place. But you cannot understand Jesse Ed Davis without understanding what his parents experienced.

Davis always seemed on the cusp of widespread fame.
Even at his highest point, when he was playing with George Harrison and John Lennon, he’s not a household name. The music intelligentsia knows who he is. Music fans probably know him from Taj Mahal records or some other affiliation. From the ’80s up to the present, or at least the last few years, it’s guitar aficionados who kept his legacy alive. If I talk to a guitar player, they know him as a Telecaster player.

With Jesse’s story, there are a few examples where he just misses the moment or he’s on the right path, then it falls apart. Often, it’s through no fault of his own, though occasionally it’s totally his fault. He joined the Faces for an arena and stadium tour early in summer ’75 and by December they’d broken up. That had nothing to do with him.

He wanted fame and success, but when he’d achieve a taste of it, he almost seemed embarrassed.
Later in his too-short life, he would say to friends that he was disappointed that he didn’t really get his due. And from what I’ve come to understand, not so much in an arrogant “I’m an incredible guitar player” way as much as just that he knew that he was good, he did a lot of work, and he did play with Bob Dylan, John Lennon, George Harrison, and Leon Russell. He might have attributed that to his own failings or his own illness with drug addiction.

He felt that he had achieved something that hadn’t quite been appreciated. He wasn’t a real showman – he didn’t carry on with long, self-indulgent solos. He didn’t use a lot of effects. He really played for the song. I think he understood that was what people wanted from him.

He was a sensitive player and a deeply sensitive person. There’s also modesty. And then there’s his Native American culture and upbringing. Among a lot of Native people, being loud and boisterous is not a virtue. Talking about yourself at length and flashing your talent isn’t a virtue. He experienced a lot of racism and resentment growing up that probably had a deep effect on his psyche. There were probably times he knew he was a great talent and was succeeding, but there were voices in his head saying, “You don’t belong here.”

Davis’ friends and family – even ex-girlfriends and ex-wives – still loved him and looked after him even when his addiction caused bad behavior.
I’ve researched Jesse for five years. I wrote a big book about him. The first draft was almost 600 pages. I have an unhealthy amount of knowledge about Jesse Ed Davis. People I interviewed, from family to Taj Mahal and Jackson Browne, said I was teaching them. They were more interviewing me.

There was something about him that was really magnetic, really powerful. People would never give up on him, no matter how bad he burned them. There had to be something special about this person, just to be in his presence, to play music with him, to share a meal, tell jokes, walk along Venice Beach, whatever it was. This was a powerful person who had a big effect on people.

You’re also involved in other upcoming Davis projects.
I co-produced Tomorrow May Not Be Your Day, a new two-LP collection of 17 previously unreleased songs from 1970-’71. I’m also co-curating “Jesse Ed Davis: Natural Anthem,” an exhibit at the Bob Dylan Center in Tulsa.

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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.

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.”

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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.

If a Venn diagram reveals a surprising truth between overlapping concepts, Richie Kotzen is the Venn core of heavy rock, fusion, and soul-funk guitar. This multiple-threat instrumentalist plays almost all the instruments on Nomad, including drums, delivering a tour-de-force of rockin’ funky jams. With strong writing, the album also showcases Kotzen’s powerhouse voice and guitar work that ranges from sweet jazz to face-melting shred. Let’s catch up with the Venn master and analyze his uncanny platter.

Funk, heavy rock guitar, and jazz-fusion aren’t supposed to exist in the same song, but you do that naturally on “Insomnia.”
I grew up listening to a lot of R&B, from Parliament/Funkadelic to Stevie Wonder. Stevie was my first concert, then I saw George Benson, so that’s the root of my influence. After that, I got into heavier rock, and Kiss would be the first rock band that caught my attention, immediately followed by Iron Maiden. So, by the nature of what I was exposed to, my influences are in that wheelhouse.

The opener, “Cheap Shots,” is reminiscent of a smokin’ Kiss rocker.
Again, Kiss was a big reason why I got into rock and roll. My father made a Gene Simmons suit that I would parade around in through the house, so it’s surreal as an adult musician to have met the band and be on friendly terms with those guys. It’s very cool and something that I’m very happy about – I’ve always loved Kiss.

Your solo on “These Doors” starts with jazz over R&B lines – and then freaks out.
I like the way you describe that it “freaks out” because it does go berserk (laughs). I have a Leslie rotating-speaker simulator made by Tech 21 that lives in my RK5 FlyRig; anyone who purchases that Fly Rig can get that exact sound. It’s the rotating speaker at full speed, and it gives you that wacky modulation effect.

Do you come up with any preconceived ideas for guitar solos?
I push “Record” and let it rip. My attitude is, “Let’s see what happens,” because that’s the best of both worlds. You’ve got true inspiration happening in the moment, then if you decide to amend a solo you played as part of an improvisation, you compose a new guitar part.

Which pedals and amps did you use on Nomad – or did you record with software?
I would not be caught dead using software on guitar – I don’t like the way it sounds. The amplifier on most of the recording is a Marshall Handwired 1959 100-watt head. If it’s not that, it’s a Fender Vibro-King. Sometimes, I plugged direct into an API mic preamp with an Anthony DeMaria Labs compressor for clean sounds. As far as pedals, mostly that RotoVibe-type setting in the Tech 21 Fly Rig.

What about guitars?
Most of what you’re hearing is my signature Telecaster and signature Stratocaster. Occasionally, I use a Yamaha hollowbody that looks very much like a Gretsch; I’ve had that guitar for a very long time and you can hear it on the rhythm to “Cheap Shots.”

“Nihilist” is a cool piece of vocal and guitar fusion that works great to close the album.
The funny thing is that “Nihilist” is the first song I wrote, and for me it’s the most important song on the record. It’s a true representation of me as a solo artist because it covers so much ground in one composition.

You’ve been recording and touring for 35 years, almost nonstop. Are you a musical workaholic?
I do love the creative process. When I have an idea and it comes out in the form of the finished song, that’s absolutely my favorite part of all this. I’m aware that the impression on the outside is that I’m always working, the truth is I’m not; in fact, I was recently talking to someone about the extraordinary amount of time that passes when I don’t touch a musical instrument. After the Winery Dogs tour ended in 2023, I didn’t play for three months. Then I went on the Monsters of Rock cruise and did a show; it was exciting because I was on one hand worried about whether I was going to be able to play, but on the other hand, everything felt new again. Even though I’m not always active, I think that’s what propels me moving forward. This way, I can put out a record and still get excited about new music.

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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.

In 1984, Kerrang magazine coined the buzzword “thrash,” signaling the arrival of an unprecedented heaviness in rock music – not only in volume and aggression, but precision, velocity, complexity, and social messaging.

Alongside fellow seminal thrashers Megadeth, Anthrax, and Slayer, Metallica represented the zenith of the form’s evolution, personified by larger-than-life sonics and challenging commentary beyond the machinations of ’70s metal bands from which they sprang.

Representing the vanguard of this movement inspired by predecessors Iron Maiden, Motörhead, Tygers of Pan Tang, Saxon, Diamond Head, and the “New Wave Of British Heavy Metal,” Metallica made its dramatic debut with Kill ‘Em All and established their hegemony by year’s end with Ride the Lightning and attained preeminence with Master of Puppets.

Metallica was formed in ’81, when guitarist/vocalist James Hetfield and Danish drummer Lars Ulrich met through an ad in the The Recycler and began collaborating on “power metal,” a hybrid offspring of NWOBH and punk rock. They recorded “Power Metal,” a demo for Metal Blade Records, were sporadically augmented by Dave Mustaine (founder of Megadeth), and in ’82 released “Hit the Lights” with lead guitarist Lloyd Grant and Hetfield on bass and rhythm guitar. They recruited bassist Ron McGovney to play their first gig on March 14, 1982; by their second gig, they were opening for Saxon. Cliff Burton, who’d impressed Ulrich and Hetfield with his virtuosic wah-colored bass solo at L.A.’s Whiskey a Go Go at a concert by his band, Trauma, joined in late ’82 on the condition they move to El Cerrito in his native San Francisco Bay Area. The relocated lineup debuted at The Stone nightclub in March ’83. In April, guitarist Kirk Hammett replaced Mustaine (who suffered from substance abuse and was prone to violence); he played on the debut album recorded in May.

Released in July on the indie Megaforce label, Kill ’Em All epitomized thrash’s dynamic approach, distinguished by fast tempos and musical precision emerging from the underground, and paved the way for its more-ambitious, sophisticated successor, Ride the Lightning, recorded at Sweet Silence Studios in Copenhagen with producer Flemming Rasmussen (of Rainbow’s Difficult to Cure fame). The latter, released in July ’84, received overwhelmingly positive critical attention, led to an eight-album deal with Elektra, and catapulted Metallica into the mainstream bolstered by an auspicious performance at Monsters of Rock. The stage was set for their masterpiece.

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Every Metallica piece offers a wealth of guitar riffs; the nuclei of their music organisms. “Master of Puppets” is a mini symphony, with numerous sections defined by explicit riffs. Two exemplary riffs of differing characters are presented here; exhibiting two distinct sides of their musical persona. Both contain identifiers that pervade modern metal. Note mixed meters in each – 4/4 and 5/8 in the first [A], 2/4 and 4/4 in the second [B]. The first (0:52) is the driving main riff that dominates the verses. Played at a 220-plus bpm, it highlights thick, distorted guitar sounds and combines a pedaled low E in steady eighths with slurred power chords. Note the characteristic insertion a the tritone Bb5 in the second bar. The second (3:33) occurs over a contrasting mid-tempo rock feel and exploits clean-toned arpeggiations for a pastoral, almost bucolic effect. Note the modal progression Em-D-C-Am-B7 in first-position chords with ringing open strings contributing to the folksy mood.

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Master of Puppets, recorded from September through December of ’85 at Sweet Silence, was also produced by Rasmussen, though Ulrich originally sought Geddy Lee’s supervision. Its music eclipsed thrash/speed metal categorization and embodied Metallica’s perfectionism and disciplined work ethic. Avoiding the era’s slick production and overreliance on keyboard synthesizers, they pursued a more-organic production laden with extensive guitar orchestration. Motivated to surpass Ride the Lightning, primary songwriters Hetfield and Ulrich composed and crafted material in an El Cerrito garage, shaping riffs and ideas to be presented to the band, then arranged and graced with Hetfield’s lyrics. To prepare, Ulrich and Hammett studied with instrumental teachers to sharpen their skills – Hammett with Joe Satriani. Almost every piece was preserved on demos, leaving room for only minimal changes before entering the studio; only “Orion” and “The Thing That Should Not Be” had to be completed during recording sessions.

Metallica’s growing complexity was evident throughout. Each song was analogous to a mini symphony, with interludes and instrumental bridges that required considerably more studio time than previous efforts. Their guitar sounds became the de facto metal tone of the era. Hammett played his ’74 Flying V, ’85 Jackson Rhoads, and Fernandes superstrat with EMG pickups. Hetfield favored a Jackson V and Gibson Explorer. Both played Mesa Boogie Mk IIC+ heads (sometimes as preamps) and Marshall cabinets with 65-watt speakers. The Mk IIC+ became the signature Metallica sound and is currently the most-coveted vintage Boogie.

Final mixes were done in January ’86 by producer Michael Wagener (Accept, Dokken, Ozzy Osbourne). Like other works that changed history, such as Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue, John Coltrane’s Giant Steps, and John Mayall’s Blues Breakers, the band considered it an exemplary but routine recording at the time: “We were just playing music and drinking beers,” said Ulrich. Like its forerunners, it boasted assured mastery and transcended its genre and historic period.

“Battery,” the opener, became a favorite among fans and received numerous covers. Like “Fight Fire” and “Blackened,” it’s a shorter song with terraced dynamics and tempo changes that acts as a prelude to the album’s title track. Beginning with acoustic guitars layered to produce a medieval-consort impression, it proceeds to a heavy reorchestration (0:37) with drums, bass, and distorted guitars, then segues to a fast metal riff (1:06) that establishes a verse figure. The tritone E-Bb, a defining interval since Black Sabbath, dominates the main riff (E-Bb5-A5) juxtaposed against requisite low-E gallop rhythms. That mixture and variants are identifiers of Metallica as are odd bars of 5/4, 2/4, and 7/8 punctuating 4/4 phrases, and Hammett’s thrashing wah-inflected solo that acknowledges the influence of Michael Schenker, an early idol. The storyline’s ethos pledges allegiance to San Francisco’s familial underground metal scene, a reaction against L.A.’s glam-metal poseurs.

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Hammett’s ear-catching solos enliven every track on Master. “Battery” boasts a definitive flight that captures the energy and abandon of his style. This excerpt (3:29-3:38) finds him building momentum with a series of fast pull-off sequences moving up the fretboard. Each pull-off is a small three-note cell, two of which are fingered while the third is the open third string. These are repeated as ostinatos and sequenced up in whole-step increments – a synthesis of Angus Young, Randy Rhoads, and Van Halen resulting in interesting chromatic relationships and dissonance. The phrase is answered in measure 5 by a straighter eighth-note melody that acknowledges the blues-rock/modal influence of Michael Schenker, exacerbated by prominent use of the wah as a rocked pedal and EQ filter.

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“Master of Puppets” was the album’s sole single. Reputedly composed by Ulrich, the lengthy (8:36) multi-textured sectional piece reaches back to Mustaine’s tenure in the band and was Burton’s favorite track. Exceedingly popular with audiences, it remains their most-played song, with a grim storyline of drug addiction underscored by idiomatic metal mannerisms. Its heavy, muted riffing at 220 beats per minute (a speed-metal standard) includes bars of 5/8 in the oblong truncated verse phrases executed with machine-like precision. A half-time interlude (3:33) of clean-chorused arpeggiation with inserted 2/4 bars overlaid with a repeating neoclassical harmonized counter line leads to the first solo (4:10), a melodious medieval-tinged modal statement played by Hetfield. It builds to a heavier ensemble orchestration (4:49) and contrasting Phrygian (F#5-G5) down-stroke riff (5:10) for an additional verse before returning to 220 bpm (5:39) to accommodate Hammett’s speedy solo. The latter features Blackmore-like arpeggio riffs as well as tremolo picking, Satch-inspired whammy-bar antics, blues-rock string bending, and metallic shredding. The final section contains a reinterpreted quote from Bowie’s “Andy Warhol” (6:19) as transition riff into the last verse, and an effects-laden coda (8:00) with processed guitar and overdubbed laughter.

“The Thing That Should Not Be” reopened the vault of H.P. Lovecraft, venerated author of weird horror stories about unimaginable creatures from other dimensions; it had earlier unleashed “Call of Ktulu.” Its atmosphere personified metal’s occult imagery with a slower, menacing groove and eerie intervals played by acoustic guitar building to distorted electrics rendering dissonant chromatic and tritone progressions. Metallica enlarged its customary low-end girth by using Drop-D tuning for acoustic and electric rhythm guitars. The brief Hammett solo has an eccentric quality emphasized by wah sounds in conjunction with trills, whammy-bar zaniness and a careening harmonized phrase in mid flight.

“Welcome Home (Sanitarium)” was the single’s B side, a masterpiece conveying Hetfield’s heartfelt depiction of madness with progressive tangents, intricate guitar orchestration, and rhythmic fluctuations. The brooding rock-ballad feel supports its hypnotic main theme, comparable to asymmetric prog-rock figures – a cycling arpeggiated riff of 28th notes (8+8+4) rendered on clean guitar and enlarged by Hammett’s theme-conscious solo interludes in E minor illustrating his handling of mixed pentatonic and minor modes (0:47), command of diatonic semi-classical sequences, and modernistic slurred fifth intervals (2:09). An aggressive solo in double time (4:27) develops further pentatonic/modal combinations (Phrygian, Dorian) while a fourth (5:25) at the original ballad tempo explores alternate melodic colors over a harmonized riff. The cohesive arrangement is united by extensive doubled and harmonized guitar parts decorating each episode.

“Disposable Heroes,” a term borrowed from Ray Bradbury’s dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451, trumpeted an anti-war theme about expendable soldiers controlled by superiors. The master take re-created the demo with the exception of a riff cut and moved to “Damage, Inc.” One of the album’s faster tunes, it rivals earlier speed-metal tempos and was another sprawling (8:17) epic replete with unpredictable mood shifts and meter changes: beginning with the intro’s 6/4 time and 4/4 verse leading to complex combinations of 4/4 and 3/4 resulting in 11-beat (4+4+3) phrases at 1:58. A recurring Hammett part in verse endings alludes to old war-movie music while his solo, almost a minute long (4:26-5:24), is a strong personal statement – the epitome of shred-guitar heroics repurposing influences from Page, Blackmore, Schenker, Rhoads, and Malmsteen.

“Leper Messiah” is unflinching social commentary excoriating the greed, subjugation, and hypocrisy of televangelism. Origins remain elusive. While Hetfield and Ulrich claim authorship, it has become a Burton trademark song with fans for its instrumental style. Mustaine insisted he wrote the main riff, and in ’72, Bowie referenced a “leper messiah” in “Ziggy Stardust.” In any case, it sports all the right Metallica ingredients – heavy mixed-mode power-chord verse riff, inserted 3/4 and 5/4 bars, extensive chromaticism, feel and tempo changes, section-defining figures, and a concise Hammett solo merging arpeggio ostinato patterns, sequential runs, neoclassic shred, and blues-rock licks.

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In “Leper Messiah,” Hammett mixes neoclassic shred, chromaticism, and pattern playing with diatonic scalar melody and pentatonic blues rock. This noteworthy solo (3:57) begins with keyboard-inspired arpeggios that have been stylistically correct since Blackmore and Deep Purple. He outlines Em, F, and G triads in the triplet patterns of measures 1-6. The slurred sequential run in 7-8 alludes to Rhoads in its tonality-defying mix of notes that culminates in E minor. The final passage, measures 9-12, conveys a contrasting bluesy feeling emphasized in its phraseology, string bends, and pentatonic note choices.

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“Orion” is an instrumental opus intended as an extended bass solo. Written primarily by Burton, it begins with a faded intro of heavily processed bass parts layered to resemble an orchestra, then revolves around a moody bass line and overdubbed guitars; combining two solos by Burton (one unaccompanied in 6/8), one by Hetfield and three by Hammett. The title refers to the constellation with its “spacey sounding bridge.” Originally part of “Welcome Home,” it was separated in the studio and remained an instrumental.

The closer, “Damage, Inc.,” begins with atmospheric swelled chords and light guitar harmony suggesting a reinterpretation of J.S. Bach’s sacred song for voice and continuo, “Komm, susser Tod, komm selge Ruh” (“Come, Sweet Death”) (BWV 478). The final track mirrors the terraced dynamics of the opening song in a clever piece of bookending. However, gentleness inevitably gives way to thrash mayhem (1:19) with a heavy, punctuated metal riff that moves through various modes before establishing the main riff (verse), which spells an E diminished arpeggio in power chords – Bb5-G5-E5. Hammett’s solo is emblematic of his style, with Eurometal phrases colored with wah (rocked in time and as fixed filter) but contains some clear references to Rhoads and Van Halen in his closing chromatic patterns and ostinato tap-on sequence (4:27).

Master of Puppets was released on March 3, 1986. It reached #29 on the Billboard 200 and #7 on the Top Rock Albums chart, spent 72 weeks on charts and eventually garnered six-times Platinum. Heralded by many as the genre’s greatest album – one that redefined heavy metal, it found the band at their creative pinnacle foreshadowing …And Justice For All. It was the first metal recording honored by the Library of Congress for its cultural, historical, and aesthetic relevance. In its wake, Metallica toured with Ozzy Osbourne from March through August of ’86, increasing their fanbase in metal and mainstream hard rock. Tragedy struck during the European leg of their Damage, Inc. tour when Cliff Burton was killed in an accident that September 27, when their bus rolled off the road and he was thrown through a window. The album remains a triumph but a bittersweet work accorded an even deeper reverence for its connection with their lost bandmate.

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Wolf Marshall is the founder and original Editor-In-Chief of GuitarOne magazine. A respected author and columnist, he has been influential in contemporary music education since the early 1980s. His latest book is Jazz Guitar Course: Mastering the Jazz Language. Others include 101 Must-Know Rock Licks, B.B. King: The Definitive Collection, and Best of Jazz Guitar. A list credits can be found at wolfmarshall.com.

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