“I wasn’t really a Coltrane fan, but when I heard Kind Of Blue I was like, ‘Hell, as long as it’s got soul.’”
For sacred-steel specialist Robert Randolph, it’s all about soul. After absorbing the philosophy of his church and using his talent to create a hybrid of uplifting secular music, Randolph has just released, Got Soul, with guests Darius Rucker, Snarky Puppy keyboardist Cory Henry, and R&B vocalist Anthony Hamilton. It’s an album full of incendiary pedal-steel assaults of sanctified exultation and intelligence.
Got Soul is more accessible than your past records.
We focused on sounding great and offering a universal message. The audience at my shows is all kinds of people – old, young, white, black, hippies, classic rock, and hard rock. That’s who we are, and that’s who I am. Eric Clapton and Carlos Santana told me, “As guitar players, we like to find songs we know we can kick ass on, so we can record it, make it great, and make it our own.” Clapton was telling me what he did on “I Shot The Sheriff,” Carlos about how he’d take old African music and make it his own. It started to sink in.
Your music always carries a strong sense of spirituality.
I come from the church. Collaborating with younger artists, they’ll say, “Why is this person’s song more famous than mine? Maybe I should do this, maybe I should try that…” instead of accepting who they are. For me it came full circle when I realized I’m the guy who’s supposed to bring the sense of spirituality, love, hope, and happiness to people through music – without being preachy.
I have a seven-year-old daughter, and I change the radio every second because I don’t want her singing those lyrics. I’ll always be known as a spiritual guy that gives people a sense of hope, and sound like a preacher, but not really. Someone who makes people want to be happy, be better, and do better. That’s who I’ll always be.
Describe how you’ve made the sound of sacred-steel your own thing.
We all have roots – where we come from, what we studied. If you look at all the guys who picked up an instrument and evolved, like Jimi Hendrix, he said, “I’m just playing the blues.” But people’d say, “You don’t sound like the blues. That’s something else.”
I’m trying to be like the older sacred-steel guys but there are other influences like Jimi, Stevie Ray Vaughan, and Muddy Waters but with different feels and scales. I’m a mix of all of that while also trying to play like the older sacred-steel guys – Calvin Cooke, Lorenzo Harrison, and Harry Nelson. If the world had known about them, they would have been stars. Part of it is that, musically, I keep trying different things.
Which amps and pedals are you using?
I use a Peavey Delta Blues and my Peavey signature Steel Amp One and Two; the Two is similar to the Delta Blues – 60 watts with a 15″ speaker. The One is a head, and it’s the loudest amp out there, which is how I get the low bass. It’s 500 watts.
My pedal board was made by Henretta Engineering. On the title song, “Got Soul,” and on “Lovesick,” you can hear their Moody Blue Reverb, which combines a few effects. There’s a lot of MXR Phase 90, which sounds great, and the wah is a Dunlop 535Q.
What’s next?
I’m trying to get Dave Grohl to produce my next record (laughs). It’ll probably be a power trio with me and Dave and a drummer. I’ve been writing in a bluesy-rock style with a dirty-gospel edge. I’ve got 12 songs ready to go!
This article originally appeared in VG May 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
All photos by Max Crace. Johnson with his Maton CS Classic.
On Eric Johnson’s new – and first all-acoustic album – EJ, the guitarist takes a break from the intervallic inventions of his electric work and finds greater depth in his artistry, stripping away the non-essentials and exploring the purity of acoustic performance.
The compositions reveal an artist reaching for musical substance, humanity, and intimacy. On five tunes – “Wonder,” “Fatherly Downs,” “All Things You Are,” “Once Upon a Time in Texas,” and “Song for Irene” – he employs the 1980 Martin D-45 received as a gift from his late father. There are covers of Simon and Garfunkel’s “Mrs. Robinson” and “Scarborough Fair” – the latter highlighted by Johnson’s piano, and a nylon-string Ramirez is heard on the mellow instrumental “Serinidad.” “Wrapped in a Cloud” has Johnson accompanied by acoustic bass, cello, drums, and percussion, while a charming arrangement of Jimi Hendrix’s “One Rainy Wish” includes guitar and jazzy piano.
Known for a meticulous approach to making records, Johnson, unamplified and employing only a few microphones, relays a more-immediate feel thanks to being cut mostly live including a few tracks where he simultaneously played and sang.
You have a reputation for being a connoisseur of great electric-guitar playing, but you’re also a fan of Simon and Garfunkel. EJ includes covers of “Mrs. Robinson” and their version of “Scarborough Fair.”
A guy I work with who does road managing and sound for me sometimes also works with Art Garfunkel. He was out with Art and he said, “I work with this guy named Eric and he did an acoustic record. He did two Simon and Garfunkel songs.” Art looked at him and said, “Really? Why?” (laughs) He was kind of perplexed because he told him that I began it with a Simon and Garfunkel tune, and put another as the next to the last song. He was surprised (laughs).
I almost put three of their songs on it, but I didn’t want to be ridiculous. I could do the whole record as Simon & Garfunkel. I was thinking about putting “April Come She Will” or “Kathy’s Song” on there.
You could do more on another acoustic album…
Yes, and in fact I have 12 new acoustic pieces I’m planning on doing for Volume Two. I’ll start on it when I get back from this tour. I’ll probably do “April Come She Will.”
What made you want to record an acoustic album?
I’ve enjoyed folk and acoustic music since I was a kid; I got my first acoustic guitar and seriously started trying to play when I was 18, then got a bit of recognition on electric guitar. So that became what I did and I kept acoustic as part of my private life. It’s like getting a contract to be Andy of Mayberry and then you just go with it for 20 or 30 years. But at some point in the last few years, I thought I should do a better balance and include it for the public.
You have an idiosyncratic picking style with an acoustic guitar, which is really apparent on “Song For Irene.” Where does that influence come from?
On that tune, there’s some Chet Atkins and Merle Travis, but simpler. Most of that is like a James Taylor kind of thing – I’m a real fan of his playing. It’s so musical, with that groove. And it’s so dynamic, the way he lilts it with his voice. That kind of fingerpicking is more difficult than it sounds. Django, Paul Simon, Joni Mitchell, Andy McKee, Tommy Emmanuel, Doyle Dykes, and Doc Watson are great. John McLaughlin does beautiful things on acoustic.
If you listen to what Bob Dylan did – he was a pretty accomplished as a fingerpicker – he wasn’t going nuts, but he had a groove and he was playing the parts.
What is it about Paul Simon’s songwriting, in particular, that moves you?
When I was a kid, his songs were like chapters in my childhood. I remember how and where I was when those records came out, and they were killer songs – “For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her,” “Kathy’s Song…” I’ve always loved the sound of solo acoustic guitar – the early Joni Mitchell records, Song To A Seagull and Blue. Ladies Of The Canyon is, I think, one of the greatest pop records ever.
You made “Mrs. Robinson” all your own.
I was trying to think of something to open the record that was kind of a rocker, and that song came to mind.
Johnson live with his 1980 Martin D-45.
Is it harder to make an acoustic record because of the vulnerability and humanity that has to translate?
Absolutely. You don’t have the same latitude to go into a studio and piece it together. I have a different opinion about that now with electric music than I did. If you would have asked me three years ago, I would have said, “Yeah, lets record the bass drum, then the floor tom.” But I don’t subscribe to that. There’s dance music, electronica, and rap and all that where that works great, but what I try to do won’t turn out as good as if I performed it.
I think that’s true of any music for me, personally, as a directive of what I want to do in the future. Especially with a solo acoustic instrument, it’s immediately more demanding. You basically have to go in and just sing and play it live. You’re capturing an event and a feeling. It would be less apparent with multi-orchestrated electronic music.
It would be very apparent if I went into the studio and punched in a G chord and an A chord. It would be like that saying, “That was absolutely perfect but not very good at all.” I knew it would be challenging, because I had to practice a piece so I could go into the studio and perform it live.
You have to find the balance between technical perfection and a visceral performance.
Exactly. I like the fact that you don’t have a lot of options. You have to rise to the occasion to have that impact, have that feel, and have that emotive quality. You don’t have the loopholes. The loopholes are more blatantly there if you choose to have them and thereby you lessen the quality of what you’re doing. I like that. You have to do the best you can to make it work.
You chose to record yourself playing and singing at the same time.
I noticed that if I got into the right vibe and the right place, it kind of flowed. It started having this magic. It’s really a matter of you becoming a spectator. You become a part of the observer. Then this magic can happen. Anytime I’m thinking, “Look what I’m doing. I’m playing this acoustic part, I’m singing these songs,” the quality is not there.
That was the first thing where you have to go behind the curtain and look at all the constituents of how you feel and what you’re trying to say. Are you in a place emotionally or mentally where you are really clear with this? Is your intention to really be focused and make it happen and exemplify that emotion?
If you listen to the early Joni Mitchell and James Taylor stuff, your voice has to be balanced, decibel-wise, to the loudness of the guitar. My voice is too loud for my guitar. We had all sorts of trouble with the vocal mic or the guitar not bleeding into the vocal mic. I ended up almost turning the vocal mic off and there was plenty of vocal in the guitar mic.
I’m not accomplished enough as a singer to know how to turn down my voice, but a lot of singers, when they’re well-trained, know how to get the most use out of their air so they don’t have to sing as loud. They can balance it. If they’re playing an instrument at the same time, they can balance it together. There’s a negotiation of balance of the volume between your voice and your instrument. That was pretty tricky for me.
“…it’s no mystery why the electric guitar has become a bit archaic. We really squeezed the rag to the last drop…”
What did you record with?
I used a 1980 Martin D-45 and had the most luck with smaller diaphragm mics because they’re not as boomy. I used a Neumann KM56, which is a great mic for acoustic guitars. I also used a Maton guitar on one tune, an old Silvertone acoustic, and a Ramirez nylon-string on “Serinidad.”
Your duet with Doyle Dykes is a highlight.
He and I have been friends for years. I played on a couple of his tracks, and when I was doing this record I thought it’d be cool to have him on it. He’s such a fun player – he can do Chet Atkins and Merle Travis styles so well. “The World Is Waiting For The Sunrise” is like Les Paul and Mary Ford from 1951.
You play great piano on the record.
I played piano before I played guitar. I never became a super-accomplished pianist, but I can play pretty well and I’ve kept it up over the years. I decided to do more now because it’s close to my heart. I really enjoy it.
There’s all sorts of piano tunes that I have that I’ve never recorded and never done live. It’s one of the aspects of “me.” Three or four years ago, I started listening to my records and thought, “Where can I go from here?” I want to perform stuff more organically in the studio, so I can get a more-honest, sincere vibe.
I think there’s a way to make my music more profound or more interesting – for lack of a better word, make it better. It’s not “play louder” or “play faster” –if I’m going to do that, I’ll just keep rocking out on electric guitar – it’s to be more sincere and musical, more honest to what you are, what turns you on, and what you’re feeling.
I also feel it’s more honest of me to show all the sides that interest me, where my heart is, in the same way of me making more performance-oriented records. I need to be more honest about all the music that I’d like to do, instead of just sectionalizing it into only guitar music or even into guitar/shredding music.
It sounds like you’re exploring things that attracted you to music in the first place. You’re not distracted by gear and techniques that don’t serve the musicality.
It’s almost like a roller coaster. Sometimes it’s more fun to be on than it is to watch somebody on the roller coaster. I see things where I’m doing a solo on electric guitar, and two minutes into the song I’m going, “Great. Wrap it up, Eric.” But five minutes later, I’m still having a lot of fun watching me play. “We don’t mind you soloing, but Jesus! You’ve said what you needed to say! Get to the last chorus!” (laughs)
It’s an interesting thing where you check-and-balance your perspective as the initiator, the listener, the spectator, or the doer. You realize that it’s no mystery why the electric guitar has become a bit archaic. We really squeezed the rag to the last drop, because we’re so intoxicated with that doer aspect instead of the spectator. But it’s all good; it’s just a matter of tempering it.
What’s next for you?
I’m going to Europe, then coming back to tour America next year. Then I’ll get on this Volume Two acoustic record and “April Come She Will.”
This article originally appeared in VG January 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Amp courtesy of Steve Cole. Photos: John Maysenhoelder. • Preamp tubes: three 7025 (12AX7 equivalent), one 12AX7, two 12AT7 • Output tubes: two 6L6GC • Rectifier: GZ34 • Controls: Normal channel: Volume, Treble, Bass; Vibrato channel: Volume, Treble, Bass, Reverb, Speed, Intensity; Bright switches on both channels • Speaker: Originally, two Oxford 12T6 • Output: approximately 35 watts RMS
Fender’s “blackface” amplifiers made from late 1963 through ’67 have earned enduring “classic amp” status. Simultaneously collectible, they’re desired for their rich vintage tones and renowned as everyday workhorses that cover several sonic bases better than many bells-and-whistles amps manufactured today.
We tend also to ascribe pre-CBS goodness to blackface amps en masse, even in the knowledge that amps produced in ’65 and after were manufactured under the watchful eye of CBS. That’s as it should be, since most do retain full pre-CBS DNA because Fender was slow to change circuits, and several retained ’64-era specs into the silverface years of ’68 and ’69. The Pro Reverb, on the other hand, was never a pre-CBS amp; it arrived as a new model in ’65, and its 2×12″ cab signaled the death of the long-running 1×15″ Pro combo of the tweed, brownface, and early blackface eras.
So, should we treat it as some kind of ugly stepchild, unworthy of the admiration heaped on others of its ilk? Of course not! The Pro Reverb might have arrived after CBS had taken the reins, but its AA165 circuit was lifted directly from resolutely pre-CBS amps like the Vibrolux Reverb and Deluxe Reverb. Not too big or too small, neither over- nor under-powered, and with enough headroom for most modern gigs yet able to break up sweetly when pushed (shy of ear-splitting volumes), the Pro Reverb might be the best example of the versatile, utilitarian blackface combo.
The Deluxe Reverb has always been a hugely popular club amp, the Princeton Reverb likewise for smaller clubs and sessions. Stepping from 6V6s to 6L6s without adding a ton in size or weight, the Vibrolux Reverb 2×10″ has been declared by many the best all-round amp ever created by Fender. Well, we might posit that if you can only own one blackface combo and need to cover a diversity of gigs, the Pro Reverb makes a better choice. Its 2×12″ configuration gives it a deeper voice than the Vibrolux Reverb, yet it isn’t much more of a load. It has more headroom than the Princeton or Deluxe, yet its apparent volume isn’t so offensively beyond that of the larger 6V6-er – at least once you get it up into the sweet spot. The funny thing is, too, that a good Pro Reverb can often be had for significantly less cash on the vintage market than any of these other three, when considering amps of the same year and in similar condition.
The Utah speaker (right) dates from 1969 and briefly replaced the original Oxfords.
Its few detractors point to the undersized output transformer (also found in the Vibrolux Reverb), which essentially makes it a 35-watter rather than 45 or 50. The smaller OT means a lighter, softer low-end response, as well as an earlier breakup. If you want firmer and bolder, move to a Super Reverb or even a Twin Reverb. Over the years, some have loaded Pro Reverbs with larger OTs, but a big part of the Pro Reverb’s charm stems from its easier/earlier onset of tube distortion and the full 6L6 tone without 50 watts of pummeling sound-pressure levels. It seems a shame to ditch a vintage OT (and its oft-desirable characteristics ) to make one of these into something else.
All that aside, the bulk of the Pro Reverb’s appeal aligns perfectly with any good reverb-and tremolo-equipped blackface combo. For many, it simply feels like home. Archetypal clean machines with a clarity and bounce that lays waste to the wannabe “rhythm channels” of so many lauded channel-switching creations. Yet crank them up a little and you’re rewarded with toothsome bite and sting that really makes blues and rock-and-roll leads sing.
The “blackface sound” comes from several ingredients that show how these were very different from the tweed models Fender was producing five years before. In that span – 1959/’60 to ’63/’64 – Fender redesigned the preamp and EQ stages in its amp, and while alterations were also introduced elsewhere, they entirely changed the sound and feel of otherwise similarly spec’d models. Tweed amps routed signal straight from the first preamp tube to a Volume control then on to the cathode-follower stage in a second tube that preceded the tone controls. Blackface amps, on the other hand, went from the first tube stage, through the tone controls, and finally to the channel’s Volume control before hitting a second tube stage. Add changes in coupling-capacitor values along the way, as well as different voltage levels at many points within the preamps (blackface preamps, more often than not, running on higher plate voltages), and you’ve got very different sound and feel. Where the tweeds were midrangey, chewy, and a little forgiving in the pick attack, with warmer lows and grittier highs, the blackfaces were scooped and precise, with firmly twangy lows and sparklingly cutting highs.
Yeah, these are just a lot of words, but plug into examples of one after the other and you’ll get the picture.
This particular ’66 Pro Reverb is a beautiful example. It’s had a long and active life, and is still out there and kicking. But it’s also in impressively clean and original condition. Most stock components have been retained, including the sweet blue Ajax “molded” signal caps that players and collectors like to see, with only a few power-supply resistors and electrolytic caps having been replaced to keep it functional. Its factory speakers were long ago removed. From the factory it had Oxford 12T6s (which proved unpopular), while a few were given Jensen C12Ns; if this was one of those, their absence is a real loss. The only other change of note is a 5R4 rectifier installed by the current owner in place of the GZ34 to bring plate voltages back down to period-correct levels – important for retaining tone and response.
Now loaded with a reissue Jensen C12Q and, for kicks, one of Celestion’s new Neo Creambacks, this Pro Reverb is a thing of sonic beauty. Plug in a good Tele, Strat, Les Paul, or ES-335, get the tremolo throbbing and dial the reverb until it’s just short of splashing, and there are fewer more-compelling sounds in vintage-amp land.
The chassis has the blue signal caps purists like to see, with only a few replaced power resistors and filter capacitors to keep the amp alive.
This article originally appeared in VG January 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Graham Clise is one of the most-heralded underground rock guitarists of the past 15 years. A mashup of Chuck Berry, BOC’s Buck Dharma, and Black Flag’s Greg Ginn, his style is unique and relentless.
Clise plays in a half-dozen groups, but his main gig is with scuzz rockers Lecherous Gaze, which will release its new album, One Fifteen, in January.
What gear did you use on One Fifteen?
For the majority of the guitar tracks I used a 1970 Dan Armstrong guitar with stock Rock Treble pickup, which is a low-output single-coil. My main rhythm amp was a’68 200-watt Marshall Major. That amp sounds really great and is horrifyingly loud. They’ve got this clarity I haven’t found in other Marshall amps. But it’s super-unreliable – constantly blowing up on me, which is highly annoying, especially at a gig. But it sounds awesome, so I think it’s worth the hassle. For the leads I used a ’69 100-watt Marshall Super Bass into a cab with 65-watt Celestions, which gave me a really clean, clear sound but still kept it aggressive, which for me is always a hard balance to find in the studio.
How about pedals?
I went with an Analog Man Beano Boost treble booster for the lead tones and a King of Tone boost for the rhythm.
What’s your live rig?
The Dan Armstrong, the Marshall Major and Super Bass, a ’73 Marshall Super Lead, and three cabs with 65-watt speakers. I’ve got a King of Tone pedal going to two of the amps that are on at all times for my basic rhythm channel. When the lead loop is engaged in my pedalboard, it first hits a treble booster, then into a delay set to a slight slap-back, then into a Zvex Super Hard On pedal for added headroom, and finally out to the third amp that comes on when I step on a switching system. So, essentially it’s like having a 100-watt half-stack as a boost pedal. Having that much stage volume is really a sound guy’s worst nightmare.
The band’s sound has expanded with One Fifteen. “Blind Swordsman” and its opening acoustic guitar riff is a good example.
Our singer, Zaryan, had this sort of Ennio Morricone/Spaghetti-Western-sounding guitar lick that I really liked. It set the vibe for the whole song and the other parts just came together pretty effortlessly. We spent a lot of time layering different acoustic and electric guitar parts. It sounds pretty different from a lot of our older songs just because we were messing around with lots of different tones and dynamics this time. We even have a little synth stuff on this record. There’s a lot more experimenting. It’s less typical meat-and potatoes rock.
Your style is usually described as classic-rock-meets-hardcore. Do you think that’s accurate?
Yeah. I’ve always been super-obsessed with ’60s and ’70s rock and late-’70s punk, especially the English stuff. When my old band first started touring, playing all these brutal basements and squats all across the states and Europe, we’d attempt to play like sped-up Blue Oyster Cult and Hendrix-type riffs to all these confused and annoyed punks. It was really offensive to a lot of people! But I think things have changed a lot. These days, kids are way more open-minded and into a wider selection of music. The internet has made it much easier for younger people to get hip to cool old bands.
Which guitarists have influenced you the most?
As a kid, I saw Bl’ast play and was blown away by how intense they were. Mike Neider’s playing instantly inspired me. My other big influences are Larry Wallace and Paul Rudolph of the Pink Fairies. To me, that’s the perfect band. They had that ’60s west coast psychedelic sound, only through a UK filter and really nasty-sounding.
Also, for the past five-plus years, I’ve been the guitar tech for J Mascis, and he’s taught me so much. Just getting to pick his brain and geek out on gear over the course of all the tours has vastly improved my tone. I’ve really gained a lot of knowledge from hanging out and working with him.
Lecherous Gaze has played some exotic places. Do you have a favorite?
Australia is our favorite place to tour. We all really love that country and the two times we’ve gone have been a blast. In early 2016, we did a really fun southeast Asian tour of Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia.
Any broken-guitar horror stories?
Luckily, not yet! I make sure to never check my guitar when flying. If you get a small enough case, you can take your guitar on the plane, or at the very least check it at the gate, which is a much safer way to go.
This article originally appeared in VG January 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Call it twang with attitude. Ruby Dee and the Snakehandlers’ new album, Little Black Heart, is a heady mix of rockabilly, country, swing, and jump blues – all propelled by the stellar guitar picking of Jorge Harada.
The Austin-based four-piece launched in 2002, but its latest may also be their masterpiece – at least so far.
“We’re definitely not what most folks call traditional anything – whether that’s country or rockabilly or Western swing,” said band leader Ruby Dee Philippa. “We do riff off of all those traditional sounds, though, mixing a bit of this with a swinging rock-and-roll beat. It all depends on what the song tells me it wants to be.”
Their sound also moves smoothly between genres, powered by upright bass, drums, and Harada’s arsenal of Gretsch archtops and Teles. But the band isn’t hung up on a vintage vibe, explains Philippa.
“We don’t go the full distance with low-fi electronics that sound period-specific. We turn it on and crank it up, so there’s a definite nod to all the classic sounds combined with a more rockin’, in-your-face crispness I associate with modern sounds.”
And she applauds Harada’s blend of style.
“He’d rather play with someone who has half the chops but twice the great attitude. I’m lucky in that I get to play with someone who has that mojo inside and out.”
In a recent talk with VG, Harada shared some of that mojo.
What are your major inspirations?
I think just about everything I’ve ever listened to has influenced me in some way. For guitar playing – Billy Zoom, Tony Gilkyson, and Dave Alvin during their tenures in X. The Beat Farmers and the Clash are big faves. It was through these bands that I discovered Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochran, Sun Records, rockabilly, country blues, and traditional country-western. I love Pete Anderson’s playing with Dwight Yoakam.
How did the album’s lead-off song, “Not For Long,” come together?
It was pretty organic. Ruby presented the lyrics and sang them to me with the melody line. It’s one of those songs where the entire thing is hinged together on a riff, playing along with the vocal. We tried different key signatures until we got one that sounded right in terms of the structure and her singing range, and we were off to the races! She really wanted a New Orleans rock-and-roll feel for the song. The sax on the recording really makes it.
Ditto for the title track?
“Little Black Heart” required more finesse. Ruby had the nucleus verse and chorus written; we recorded it onto the laptop so I could work on it. Eventually, I wrote a bridge that was a mini-song that split the song in two; Ruby put some lyrics on it, and it was a leadoff for the solo, which mimics the melody line. Dave Biller played some wonderful textures on the steel guitar that added depth.
What six-strings did you employ?
Most rhythm tracks were recorded live with the drums and bass using a custom-built Tele-style guitar with DiMarzio Twang Kings or a Gretsch G6120-DSW with TV Jones T-Armond pickups. Almost all the lead tracks were recorded with a Gretsch G6119 or the G6120-DSW.
On “I See Green,” I used a Fender ’50s Classic with Lindy Fralin Stock Tele pickups and a Collins B-Bender. On “Camille,” the lead is a ’90s Danelectro U2 baritone reissue.
There’s also a ’80s Telecaster Custom with a Bigsby for different textures throughout the record. Since it has a Gibson ABR-1 bridge that doesn’t pivot, it has a meatier, darker tone than your average Tele.
Most of the acoustic tracks were done with a Martin D16RGT or D28.
And what about amplification?
We kept it pretty simple. I ran the guitar into the first input on the Normal channel of a Fender Deluxe Reverb reissue; the second input was connected to an Alamo with a 15″ speaker – can’t recall the amp model, but it sounded huge!
Any effects?
The signal between the guitar and the amp was processed through a Barber Gain Changer, Xotic RC Booster, Catalinbread Belle Epoch Tape Delay pedal, and Strymon Flint. I primarily used the RC Booster to “wake up” the amp. I play fairly clean: I mostly hang out in the “right after clean right before distorted” zone, which seems to record real well, has clarity, and doesn’t clash with the vocals. I always have some kind of low-gain overdrive engaged and vary the picking attack or roll off the Volume on the guitar to adjust for the different songs and sounds, and turn it up for solos.
This article originally appeared in VG January 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
On Dust & Bones, Gary Hoey continues his foray into blues using one part guitar virtuosity, one part production skill, and two parts homage. It’s a muscular blues-rock recording with fat tones, a primal rhythm section, and plenty of pentatonic diversity. Wailing over feisty shuffles and post-Hendrix blues-rock, Hoey is taking his artistry to new heights.
Successfully combining technique and emotion has been every artist’s great challenge, but Dust & Bones has a greater significance.
What made you decide to dig deeper into the blues?
It’s always been a dream of mine, doing the blues-rock thing, and for a long time it wasn’t in fashion. If you did blues, you were off in the corner somewhere.
I love all kinds of music, so I’d always done what felt right at the time – it made sense and I wanted to commit to this because it was something I could do for the next 20 years and feel good about getting up in the morning.
As an artist, if you play ’80s spandex rock or whatever and you want to do that forever, you can if it’s what you really want to do. There are still bands out there carrying the torch of what they’ve been known for. The Rolling Stones are so old, but they’re still doing it because their music is timeless. That’s what I want to do now. I want to create a lot of music that is classic blues that will live on.
Who are your major blues influences?
Playing with Johnny Winter was an inspiration, and I wanted to keep that sound alive. The song “Steamroller” was all about him. I felt the same way about Robin Trower, and wrote “This Time Tomorrow” and “Ghost Of Yesterday.” It’s definitely in the style of Trower because his thing was that the songs were long and fun, and they felt live even when they were recorded in the studio. Brian Setzer was the influence on “Who’s Your Daddy,” which is a fast swing. “Born To Love You” was my tribute to ZZ Top and that whole driving blues-rock sound.
B.B. King and Jeff Beck were big influences on me. “Boxcar Blues” starts off the album, which has a Robert Johnson “Cross Road Blues” sound. I used my Republic Highway 61 Resonator with heavy strings on it – .017 to .062. The band kicks in and it sounds like Led Zeppelin. I wanted to fuse the old school with the new school.
Is it harder to create a blues album than an instrumental rock record?
Yes, much harder. It’ll scare the pants off you if you have any respect for the blues; you’re taking on the blues when there’s people like Buddy Guy still out there. I’m also coming up with lyrics and songs with meaning. Giving an emotional performance within the blues is way harder.
I was also struggling with tones, so I just took my live rig and plugged it in. I used the same pedals I use on tour, recorded my actual effects, and it sounded better. The album had a better live-sound feel because of it.
What did you use?
I used my EVH 5150 III and a Vox Time Machine Delay. I have the most incredible flanger I’ve ever heard in my life – the Barracuda, by Toadworks. I have a Dunlop Crybaby wah, a Tube Screamer, and a pedal I created called the Skull Crusher, made by Homebrew Electronics. It’s like a power booster but gives more volume and compression. It’s my signature pedal and sounds really good on my dobro.
I also have a Custom Shop ’60s Relic Strat made by John Cruz, a Shoreline Gold ’97 Big Apple Strat, and a blue Strat with a lefty headstock that I use for drop-D tunings. I also used a ’78 Fender Super Reverb that I used on “Soul Surfer” and “Born To Love You,” and a 15-watt Vox head on “Who’s Your Daddy” for clean rhythms. Most of the tracks were done with my 5150.
What’s next?
We want to play a lot of shows behind this record. We’re getting good exposure in Europe. They love this album in the U.K. and Italy, so we’ll be touring there in the New Year. I’m also building a new website with a bunch of cool guitar lessons. I’m transcribing the whole album in tablature for a book, so people can play the songs. I have a 14-year-old son who loves the blues, so this is for him.
This article originally appeared in VG January 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
After five records with his glam-rock-inspired band Crash Street Kids, guitarist Ryan McKay has settled in with Louis Prima, Jr. and the Witnesses. Fronted by the son of a jazz legend, the band has a third album on the way – and McKay continually sharpening his jazz chops.
He landed the spot after an audition in Las Vegas.
“Louis wanted people who were comfortable jumping around onstage, but adept at jazz,” he said.
Accustomed to Les Pauls and Marshalls, the job also required new tools.
“I owned a Fender Twin, but needed a hollowbody, so I bought an Ibanez Artcore. After a while, Louis got a deal with Gretsch, so I now play a White Falcon. It’s gorgeous, and the pickups are perfect for the music. Out of the box, it was, ‘Oh, yeah. That tone!’ I got a Vox AC30 to accompany it.”
With effects, he believes less is more.
“I keep it simple – a Fulltone OCD and a Boss Tuner. With the AC30, I turn it up until it breaks up a bit, and that’s my rhythm tone. I use the OCD to boost solos and add a touch more gain for leads.”
Establishing a balance with the other players in the band is also essential to the sound.
“It’s a 10-piece, so we can get into serious traffic jams if we all try to fill the sonic space. So it’s okay to lay out on certain parts for the sake of dynamics.”
Of course, McKay’s parts are all about the swing.
“You have to really get that; I try to be dynamic with my right hand because Louis’ dad’s guitar players were real technicians when it comes to swinging. It’s that eighth-note rhythm where you push the offbeat as far to the right as you can – almost on top of the next downbeat – and swing as hard as you can.
“The first record, Return of the Wildest, is Louis’ dad’s material, and I was still using the Ibanez. After touring, the label asked if we could write, so a few of us wrote what would become the second record, Blow. By the time we got to the studio, I had my Gretsch and the AC30. I also used a Glasswerks Overdrive Deluxe amp and I kept a Les Paul around. There was one track, ‘Fame and Glory,’ that was perfect for a big Gibson rock solo.
“It wasn’t lost on us that we were recording at Capital Records, where Louis’ dad recorded a lot of his famous material. His picture hangs in the hallway and we put it in Studio B with us, where he recorded “Jump, Jive and Wail” and “Just a Gigolo.” There was some magic in that studio.”
McKay hasn’t forsaken his rock repertoire.
“Greg Chaisson and I have a project with Michael Beck, called Kings of Dust. We recorded an album’s worth of material but went on break because Greg was battling cancer. Everyone kept writing and now that Greg’s got a clean bill of health, we’re hoping for a fall ’17 release. The music is heavy rock like Deep Purple and Black Sabbath, and it’s a chance for me to stretch as a player.”
This article originally appeared in VG January 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Equal parts anniversary party, all-star jam, and “you really needed to be there” celebration, a September ’15 performance by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band at the Ryman Auditorium kicked off the group’s 50th year of existence and featured reworked arrangements of its classic songs abetted by special guests including Vince Gill and Alison Krauss along with songwriters who had long been the band’s own heroes.
Assisting were steel/dobro icon Jerry Douglas, multi-instrumentalist Sam Bush, and bassist Byron House. “They’ve been an extended part of our band whenever we could get ’em,” Hanna said. “They have great careers in their own right, but they’re also great friends.”
Tunesmiths who joined included John Prine (Hanna’s favorite moment was singing “Paradise” with him), Rodney Crowell, and original member Jackson Browne. Jerry Jeff Walker helped on “Mr. Bojangles,” and former member Jimmy Ibbotson played on two songs.
Hanna has an impressive vintage guitar collection, but tends to use reissues onstage.
“As much as I dearly love my old guitars, subjecting them to the rigors of the road is not a very good idea,” he said. His primary electric at the Ryman was a reissue Gretsch Duo-Jet with hump-block fret markers and a Gretsch Bigsby. The guitar has a reissue DeArmond pickup in the neck position and a TV Jones pickup at the bridge.
“I love the Bigsby,” he enthused. “I use it every chance I get. I love that sound; it’s like nothing else.”
His acoustic was a limited-edition Gibson Advance Jumbo Concert.
“It has pre-war appointments and a thinner body,” he detailed. “It’s a great guitar and my favorite stage Gibson. I’ve been playing modern Gibsons on the road for a long time.”
Late in the concert, Hanna played a figured-top Gibson Les Paul Standard Collector’s Choice Series #33 Jeff Hanna model from the Custom Shop. “They cloned my ’60 sunburst, and it looks like the real thing and plays great,” he said. “I think the level of instrument building, right now, is at an all-time high among the American builders, and the Japanese,” he said. “Fender, Gibson, and Gretsch are making fantastic instruments.”
Hanna also used a Strat at the Ryman.
“That one’s kind of odd,” he chuckled. “It’s a ’62 reissue in Olympic White with a ’89 neck from my first ’62 reissue. It has Samarium Cobalt pickups and a Hip Shot drop-D tuner. It sounds like an early-’60s model.”
Ever the enthusiast, Hanna spent a good bit of time checking out the instruments played by others during the performance, including House’s Epiphone Jack Casady bass, a five-string Fender Jazz, and an old Czech upright. Vince Gill used a Martin 0000-28, and Rodney Crowell played a ’30s Gibson L-00. Nitty Gritty multi-instrumentalist John McEuen played a ’27 Gibson Florentine banjo, a Givens mandolin, a ’55 Fender Champion lap steel, and a Mervyn Douglas Smooth Talker six-string instrument made in South Africa. Jimmy Ibbotson played an’80s Gibson J-100, Jerry Douglas went horizontal on a Paul Beard resonator and Lap King steel, and Sam Bush played his iconic ’37 Gibson F-5.
“John Prine was playing a new Martin D-41, and Jerry Jeff was playing my Gibson Woody Guthrie model,” he noted.
A consummate musician, Hanna is rightly proud of the concert.
“Everybody brought something great. We’d worked so hard that we were somewhat tired when we hit the stage, but the energy from that crowd had us levitating!”
This article originally appeared in VG January 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Carl Johnson examines a violin in his workshop. Carl Johnson photo courtesy of Wade Thames.
“Art for art’s sake.” The expression is common. But how often is it practiced?
In a basement studio on Chicago’s North Side, Carl Johnson epitomized the maxim while building archtop guitars bearing the Albanus brand from the 1950s until the ’70s. Rather than seek fame or fortune, Johnson was content to live modestly and draw pleasure watching people play his instruments, including professionals Fred Rundquist, Johnny Gray, Pat Ferreri, Ron Steele, Jack Cecchini, Bobby Roberts, Earl Backus, and Dick Curtis.
Today, many compare the sound and quality of Johnson’s guitars to those of D’Angelico, yet little is known of his life or craftsmanship.
Born Carl Albanus Johannson on December 18, 1892, his family lived in Fjallbacka, a fishing village in Sweden. Known for its herring industry, a periodic shortage may have caused the family to move inland to Barfendal by the time Carl’s last sibling was born in 1900.
Between 1910 and 1922, Johnson immigrated to the United States and settled in Akron, Ohio. On October 2, 1923, he married Maria Therese Kjellson. Their marriage license says Carl was employed by Mason Tire and Rubber.
The ensuing six years included a move to Chicago and the birth of a son, Werner. As a sideline, Johnson played violin at Swedish dinner dances, which is how he met a young Fred Rundquist. Life was uneventful for the young family until Maria contracted tuberculosis and had to be committed to the Chicago Municipal Tuberculosis Sanitarium. After several years of confinement, she passed away March 30, 1932.
With the advent of the Great Depression, Johnson struggled to maintain steady employment. With little work available, he sent his young son to Sweden, where he then lived with Johnson’s sister. Carl did not see the boy again until he traveled to Sweden in 1969.
(LEFT) The headstock on this circa-’69 Albanus has Johnson’s script logo and fleur de lis headstock inlay. (RIGHT) The headstock on this circa-’73 Albanus has the broken scroll pediment and inlaid stars. ’69 Albanus courtesy of Skinner, Inc. 1973 Albanus courtesy of Gary Dick.
As the country entered a new decade, Johnson continued to struggle to make a living. The 1940 census lists him as a lodger in a house on Beacon Street, in Chicago, his occupation, “Machinist.” He was employed for just 21 weeks in ’39.
A draft-registration card issued in ’42 indicates Johnson resided on Malden Street and was once again unemployed. Most interesting, though, is that in the field labeled “Name and Address of a Person Who Will Always Know Your Address,” Johnson wrote, “Mr. C. Rundquist, 2031 Wilson,” indicative of the bond between Johnson and the family of Fred Rundquist.
It’s not clear what Johnson did for a living from the mid 1940s until the mid ’50s, though a clue may be found in a March ’88 interview in Archtop magazine by Martin Taylor with Carl’s friend, professional guitarist/luthier Bill Barker (1924-1991). In the feature, Barker said Johnson “…never did luthiery on a full-time basis – he was actually a maintenance machinist with one of the railroads.” Prior to 1950, though, Johnson began constructing violins, violas, and cellos – primarily student-grade instruments sold directly or through local shops. One person who purchased several for students was Karl Fruh, a cellist and teacher.
Around this time, Johnson moved to 1909 Wilson Avenue, the address that would serve as his home and workplace for the rest of his life. A basement apartment, it consisted of a bathroom and one other room that served as workshop, kitchen, and bedroom.
By the early ’50s, Rundquist, then an NBC staff musician and member of the Art Van Damme quintet, was bringing his guitars for Johnson to repair; through the years, Rundquist owned multiple Gibson, D’Angelico, and Stromberg archtops, which gave Johnson the opportunity to observe differences in design and construction.
Albanus 10-string mandolin made for Earl Backus. Albanus mandolin courtesy of Ron Steele.
One enduring myth is that Johnson learned archtop guitar construction from Charles and Elmer Stromberg at their shop in Boston. This has been commonly surmised in part because all three were of Swedish descent and because Johnson used a single diagonal brace to support the top plate in some of his guitars. To date, though, no evidence suggests there was anyone other than Elmer and Charles working at the Stromberg shop in the ’50s. This was confirmed by the late guitarist Chet Krolewicz, a close friend of Elmer who recalled Johnson’s name coming up in e-mail correspondence with Stromberg expert Jim Speros.
Prior to his death in 2009, Rundquist corresponded with Speros about a Stromberg Deluxe he purchased from Hank Garland in 1953/’54. It had a short scale, and Rundquist asked Elmer to build a long-scale neck and send it to Johnson. Elmer communicated with him about its installation (Stromberg did not use glue to attach necks, preferring instead a very tight joint). One can speculate this work would have provided Johnson the opportunity to study Stromberg’s work in-depth (bracing, carving, etc.) and ask sufficient questions.
Though it’s not known exactly when Johnson began to build archtops, it happened prior to mid 1955 thanks to encouragement from Rundquist and guitar teacher George Allen, who pointed out a need for such professional-grade instruments in Chicago. Guitarist Art Ormaniec ordered one at that time, likely having heard about Johnson from Ron Steele, one of Allen’s students. Ormaniec received the guitar in early ’56, shortly before joining Tommy Alexander’s big band for a tour of the South and Midwest. On the evening of May 20, Ormaniec was a passenger in a car (driven by Alexander) that was in an accident outside of Berlin Heights, Ohio. Seriously injured, Ormaniec was confined to Sandusky Memorial Hospital for several days; the accident and his discharge were reported in the Sandusky Register Star-News on May 21 and 25, respectively. Ormaniec’s guitar sustained a split in the top and was repaired by Johnson.
In 1957, guitarist Pat Ferreri took a job as staff musician for the ABC television affiliate in Chicago and needed a top-quality archtop. As luck would have it, Ferreri was also a student of Allen, who had recently taken delivery of an Albanus cutaway archtop and offered his non-cutaway Albanus to Ferreri. According to Allen, the non-cut was the second archtop made by Johnson and originally shared the deep-red finish on Ormaniec’s guitar (and no other Albanus uncovered to date); Johnson disliked the color and asked Ferreri to let him refinish the instrument in sunburst.
Pat Ferreri performing with Bobby Christian’s band.
Ormaniec’s awareness of Albanus guitars meant at least one was already in circulation. Considering the time it takes to construct an archtop, Johnson probably started building Allen’s first one prior to ’55. Therefore, a best guess is that Johnson completed his first guitar in ’54.
Thanks to the quality of workmanship, materials, and the style, by the late ’50s, word-of-mouth demand for Albanus archtops had increased to an extent that Johnson had more than enough work to occupy his time. He used solid-wood bodies and hand-carved tops and backs (typically, cello sets). Though he offered a floating pickup, his guitars were primarily built to be played without amplification.
Despite having little spare time, Johnson imparted his knowledge to several people, the most well-known being Barker, who was looking for an alternative to life on the road. Barker lived in Toledo and began making weekly visits to Johnson’s shop, where he would take pictures, make drawings, copy tools, and use certain pieces of Johnson’s equipment. The only restriction was that Barker could not look over Johnson’s shoulder while he was working. After months of “bugging him out of his mind,” Barker learned enough to begin making jigs and templates of his own designs. Circa ’61, he built his first guitar.
Johnson continued to make guitars into the ’70s. In ’74, he was diagnosed with chronic pancreatitis which over the next two years evolved into cancer. By September of ’76, the cancer had spread to other parts of his body. It’s not known when Johnson’s final build was completed, but he was still taking in work as late as October, when he returned a questionnaire to Susan Caust Farrell for her book, Directory of Contemporary American Musical Instrument Makers.
On June 9, 1977, Johnson passed away after a short stay at St. Francis Hospital, in Evanston. Barker estimated Johnson built approximately 75 guitars during his lifetime.
Characteristics and Innovations
Pat Ferreri in the late ’50s, playing the second Albanus at ABC Television studios in Chicago.
Albanus guitars are many things. One they are not is cookie-cutter.
Billy Cook, who apprenticed with Barker and now operates Cook Guitars, has seen a lot of Albanus guitars and speculates Johnson used few templates. In fact, based on instruments tracked down to date, it appears Johnson was highly experimental. His top-bracing patterns include parallel, X, and a single diagonal brace similar to later Strombergs. Scale lengths range from 24″ to a 26½”, lower bouts from 17″ to 18″, and body depth from 31⁄8” to 33⁄8“.
LEFT) The second Albanus guitar, made circa 1955, has a cutaway and tailpiece added later. (RIGHT) 1957 Albanus made for Johnny Gray with hand-made violin-style tailpiece. Johnny Gray guitar courtesy of Michael Gaughan.
Some guitars were designed to accommodate the playing style of the owner. When he visited the shop, Ferreri would often play for Johnson. Johnson was impressed by how Ferreri used the full range of the instrument, and wanted to build one pitch-tuned to fit him. If a player focused on chord voicings using the lower strings (a la Freddie Green), Johnson would build the guitar to resonate at the note G. If the person played in a more-modern style focused on higher chord voicings, it would resonate at the note A. In Ferreri’s case, Johnson adjusted the pitch midway between, and the resultant guitar served as his primary instrument until it was stolen several years later.
Johnson’s experimentation was not limited to body design. His earliest employed a standard Kluson trapeze-style tailpiece, but by ’56 he’d designed a one-piece unit with four cutouts and an X-shaped center. In ’57, he introduced a violin-style tailpiece consisting of an ebony or rosewood façade with a brass inset. The inset extended beyond the façade and attached to the body. Each string passed through an opening in the wood, but the ball-end secured against the metal portion. In addition to aesthetic appeal, the wood eliminated sympathetic vibration of the strings.
On some guitars, Johnson installed hand-made tuning machines. Employing his machinist skills, he used a friend’s shop to construct brass tuners he installed in place of the Kluson Sealfasts on some models. His have an engraved A on the back of the gear box and buttons with curved edges. Their ratio is equal to or higher than the Klusons.
In addition to violin-family instruments and archtop guitars, Johnson made at least two mandolins, for guitarists Earl Backus and Jack Cecchini. The instruments have 10 strings tuned like the first five of the guitar, making for an easy transition.
Dating Albanus Guitars
(LEFT) Art Ormaniec with his early-’56 Albanus, with red finish and brass tailpiece. ( RIGHT) Ron Steele in 1958, holding his circa-’56 Albanus with original sunburst finish and hand-made brass tailpiece.
Dating an Albanus guitar is not simple because chronological markings are almost nonexistent. At least one has a label with the Albanus name. Written in ink is the year (1957), the original owner’s name (Johnny Gray), and a serial number (111) that does not appear to have chronological significance. It may have been included strictly to identify the instrument in case it was stolen. The only way to date most Albanus guitars is by finish, hardware, and headstock design. The earliest were Cherry Red and used a Kluson tailpiece and tuners. Also, the top of the headstock was contoured similar to a pre-1940 Gibson archtop. By ’56, Johnson’s guitars retained the red finish, but had his first hand-made (all-metal) tailpiece and the headstock top was shaped in a descending curve bisected with a single cusp (this pattern was used at least through the ’60s, perhaps later).
Carl Johnson’s hand-made tuning machines on a late-’50s Albanus.
In ’56, Johnson began applying a sunburst finish and in ’57 he began using the violin-style tailpiece. For at least the next five years, he made no significant changes to his instruments; Pat Ferreri’s guitar from ’62 stands in testament. However, by ’65, the original Albanus logo in block print and five-point star on the headstock had been replaced by a cursive version of the logo and a diamond inlay. By ’69, the diamond inlay had been replaced with a fleur-de-lis, and by ’73 the headstock had a broken scroll pediment with two inlaid stars.
Conclusion
Jack Cecchini recalls that Johnson particularly enjoyed hearing him play Bach’s solo violin works on Albanus guitars. Johnson loved music and strived to create instruments people loved to play. He received neither fame nor fortune, but left a legacy of noteworthy instruments.
James Leckinger is a guitarist and bassist from Lebanon, New Jersey, who is especially interested in jazz of the 1940s and ’50s.
He can reached at jwl5710@gmail.com. This feature is dedicated to the memory of Dick Curtis.
This article originally appeared in VG February 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
1983 Dumble Overdrive Special OD150 WR • Preamp tubes: six 7025, one 7247 (12DW7), one 5751 • Output tubes: four 6550 or KT88 • Rectifier: solidstate • Controls: Volume; switches for Bright, Deep and Rock/Jazz; Treble, Middle, Bass; Overdrive controls (on dual concentric knobs) for Trigger, Level, Ratio, and Taper; Reverb Send and Return; Tremolo Rate and Modulation; Master Volume, Presence • Output: 150 watts RMS 1983 Dumble Overdrive Special: Dean Gurr.
Alexander Dumble’s creations were already established as legendary when we probed our first example in this space back in May of 2011. Since that time, however, Dumbles have become the hot ticket for cloners on the boutique scene, and originals are perhaps the hottest amps on the vintage market. The difference in price between used Dumbles and vintage Fenders, Voxes, and Marshalls? Oh, about 10x… or more.
While all Dumbles are prized, the real peaches are those with solid provenance and an intriguing back story – and few are more enticing than this ’80s Overdrive Special.
Dubbed by its creator as the Overdrive Special OD150 WR, it was one of a pair (yea, two identical Dumble heads) built along with four 2×12″ cabinets with ElectroVoice EVM12L speakers ordered by ace studio and touring guitarist Todd Sharp.
Now a respected Nashville amp tech and builder/marketer of hand-wired amps (see his “Builder Profile” in the November ’16 issue), back in the ’70s and early ’80s he was a hard-working road warrior backing Hall & Oates, Christine McVie and Mick Fleetwood, Rod Stewart, and Delbert McClinton, among many others. Flush with gig money, he set out to assemble an amazing tone rig.
After playing the amp onstage and in the studio, including notable tours with Rod Stewart from 1989 through ’91, Sharp decided he didn’t need two massive Dumbles after all, and sold this one. In a cruel twist, soon after, its partner was stolen.
In addition to its four big 6550 output tubes, the OD150 WR’s rear panel has two unusual features for a Dumble – a half-power switch (immediately right of the BNC connector inputs) and bias-test points.
Any Dumble amp is a formidable beast, but this is a particularly complex creation. The amp generates 150 watts from a quartet of 6550 (or KT88) output tubes and a set of massive transformers. Along with a rendition of the maker’s classic input and EQ stages, there’s a tweaked version of his overdrive circuit, reverb with controls for Send and Return, and onboard tremolo (a Dumble rarity). Its clean tones have been described as a combination of Steel String Singer and Dumbleland, and its sophisticated overdrive employs a 12DW7/7247 dual-triode. The stage includes two dual-concentric pots (modified by Dumble from a four-knob OD that had two pots on the front panel and two on the back), including a Trigger control to adjust how much signal is fed to one side of the triode, a Level control to adjust how much is sent to the other triode, a Taper control to adjust the scale of the high frequencies, and a Ratio knob to determine how much overdrive is blended back in from previous preamp stages.
The amp’s tremolo (another unusual feature for Dumble) has a broad range that works with the reverb – the same two-knob circuit often used on Steel String Singer models to add lush, hypnotic effects to an already harmonically rich tone. On the back panel is a 150W/75W (i.e. half-power) switch along with more rare touches like bias-test and adjustment points for the output tubes. The four-knob footswitch selects on/off for each of the effects, plus Overdrive and Preamp Boost.
“I first played a Dumble at The Alley rehearsal studio in North Hollywood while rehearsing with Mick Fleetwood in 1981 or ’82,” Sharp recalled. “Alexander had left the amp there for me to try, and it blew me away at first touch – never heard anything like it; the overdrive was thick, rich, and delicious. Aside from Mesa, no one at that time was paying a great amount of attention to building an amplifier with onboard tube overdrive. But above all, that was what Dumble did better than anyone. Fair to say, its [clean] channel was also quite good – very clean, tight, bedrock-solid, and fairly Fenderish in character, but much bigger.
The original four-knob footswitch selects on/off for each effect, plus Overdrive and Preamp Boost.
“I offered to buy the amp, but it was spoken for by David Lindley, I think. So, I put down a deposit and ordered two very much the same except I wanted reverb, tremolo, and the bias test points at the rear panel.”
Sharp used his Dumbles in the studio with a handful of artists, as well as on his own self-titled 1986 album for MCA, but recalls there was only one setting in which he really got to wind them up.
This amp’s Overdrive stage is governed by four functions on two dual-concentric pots (toward the right side).
“I joined Rod Stewart’s band in 1989 and I remember the first day of rehearsal – Tony Brock hit his snare drum once and it nearly blew me over a few feet coming out of the side-fill monitor. I looked at Davey Bryson, the monitor mixer, and he just grinned back, then, in his thick Glaswegian drawl, said something like, ‘Welcome to the loudest f’ing band in the world, mate.’ I’d brought my Fender Dual Professional and Vox AC30 thinking they’d do the trick. Second rehearsal, though, I had both Dumbles and plugged them into some white-painted Marshall 4×12″ cabs – everything on Rod’s stage had to be white – and in short order took care of the volume disparity. That was really the only band I ever played with where my Dumbles fit, power-wise,” Sharp said.
However formidable the amp’s power, its current owner (who prefers to remain anonymous) finds pleasure in its exalted tone.
“I’ve owned the amp for two years and play it almost every day. My routine is to play for an hour before work, always through this amp; the connection puts me in a great place to experience the day. I consider it a piece of art that I can interact with, explore, and enjoy. I’m grateful to own it.”
This article originally appeared in VG February 2017 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
His acoustic was a limited-edition Gibson Advance Jumbo Concert.
