Not long after he released an instrumental album with an aggregation known as the Tiki Gods, veteran southpaw guitarist Elliot Easton abruptly put the project into stasis when an opportunity arose to make music with fellow veteran musicians.
The new band is known as the Empty Hearts, and includes Wally Palmar (Romantics) on guitar and harmonica, Clem Burke (Blondie) on drums, and Andy Babiuk (Chesterfield Kings) on bass. Babiuk is the author of highly regarded books that dig deep into the details of the guitar, amps, and other gear played by the Beatles and Rolling Stones.
“It originated in a call from Andy,” he recalled. “He asked what I thought about having a band with this lineup of old friends, and I thought it sounded like a great idea, and potentially a lot of fun. Since we’re spread across the country, I wondered how we could do it, so I just said ‘Yes,’ thinking it probably wouldn’t happen. I learned something from that – never underestimate Andy’s perseverance!”
The band’s debut album is comprised of power-pop songs and straight-on rockers. Asked about any sonic challenges Easton encountered compared to his work in the Cars and Tiki Gods, he said, “Well, my tastes are pretty eclectic, but playing this music, for me, comes very naturally. It’s influenced by a lot of the music that I was influenced by as a kid. It’s encoded in our DNA; you just know what to do when you play it. We all handled our individual areas of expertise. Regardless of who had the initial idea for a song, we finished them together, which was a crucial step.”
As for instruments used on the recording, Easton detailed, “I used a Gibson Custom Shop SG Standard, a Fender Custom Shop Nocaster, and a Martin D-18. Wally played his black Rose Morris 1997 Rickenbacker exclusively, and Andy played his mid-’60s Gibson sunburst EB-2.”
The cover shows Easton sporting what appears to be a white Gibson Firebird.
“It’s not actually white, but Silver Poly Mist,” he said. “The guitar is my signature Gibson Tikibird, and its standard color is Gold Poly Mist, but since I was getting a few of them, I asked Gibson if I could get a couple in a different color so they wouldn’t all be the same!”
Another intriguing guitar that appears on the cover is a left-handed late-’50s/early-’60s Harmony H47 Mercury Stratotone, seen in Burke’s hands.
“That’s Clem’s personal guitar,” Easton said. “I don’t really know much about the details, but it was cool and old. We wanted photos of us holding guitars, and that was his choice. And yes, he is left-handed!”
As for devices he used, Easton recounted, “Since I had to fly to Rochester to record the album at Andy’s studio, I didn’t take a ton of stuff, plus he owns a music store, and had anything else we might need. I brought my Pedal Train Jr., which has a TC tuner, an MI Audio Crunch box, a Zen Drive, a BBE chorus/vibrato, a Jangle Box compressor, an MXR Smart Gate, an MXR Carbon Copy analog delay and a Line 6 Verbzilla. A couple of those pedals have been replaced since the making of the album.”
The album’s rollicking and raucous songs underline the abilities and experience of the participants. On tunes such as “(I See) No Way Out” and “Loud and Clear,” one hears booming note-for-note licks from Easton and Babiuk, and the guitarist averred they came about from “…just pure instinct. This type of music is so ingrained in us that you automatically know what is called for.”
“I Found You Again” is a tongue-in-cheek (but well-crafted) country tune that includes passages by Easton that sound much like a pedal-steel guitar.
“That’s just my Nocaster through the Jangle Box for some heavy compression, the Carbon Copy, and a Fender Twin’s spring reverb,” he said. “As a kid, I spent a lot of time trying to master that style, trying to play like Clarence White – but without a B-bender, like Amos Garrett, Jesse Ed Davis, Roy Nichols, Phil Baugh, and others. It’s just a Nocaster with me doing my pedal-steel licks.”
The veteran guitarist summed up his new musical experience by commenting on the final product, as well as future plans.
“We’re very satisfied with the album, especially considering how limited our time was together, fitting it in when we could between other projects and commitments,” he said. “I think we’re going to start touring in October, when Clem is done with his Blondie stuff, and as for the future, we all have very high hopes for this band and hope we can continue to make music together for a long time!”
This article originally appeared in VG‘s October 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
(LEFT TO RIGHT) A 1959 EB-2N and a 1967 EB-2D. EB-2N: Rick Malkin, instrument courtesy of Ben Taylor. EB-2D: Courtesy of Mike Gutierrez/Heritage Auctions.
In the mid 1950s, Gibson president Ted McCarty was paying close attention to two new instruments impacting the musical-instruments market – the solidbody electric guitar and the electric bass. Both had been developed by an upstart company called Fender, and Gibson’s original solidbodies, the Les Paul guitar and Electric Bass (VG, February ’06) were introduced after Fender’s goods had shaken up the scene.
Because the staid Kalamazoo company’s new products didn’t noticeably excite the market, McCarty wanted Gibson’s next series to be as innovative as some of the models purveyed by Fender. In early ’58, Gibson introduced a line of semi-hollow “thinline” guitars McCarty would call his proudest achievement in instrument design.
The thinline series had double-Venetian-cutaway silhouette, two f-shaped holes, and measured 16″ wide by only 15/8″ deep. All except the lowest-priced guitar had a block of mahogany running lengthwise through their center, from the neck juncture to the end pin (the ES-330 was fully hollow). The idea of the semi-hollow design was to evoke stronger resonance, like a solidbody electric guitar, but the hollow portions of the body reduced the harshness, and also reduced the weight.
The keystone instrument in Gibson’s new series was the ES-335TD. Its counterpart bass was the EB-2, which sported the same body and finishes, but had unbound f holes. Like the original Electric Bass, the EB-2’s headstock had rear-projecting/banjo-type tuners and a set neck made of Honduras mahogany, with 20 frets on a rosewood fingerboard and pearl dot inlays. It joined the body at the 18th fret, and its combination bridge/tailpiece was angled, which increased the accuracy of its intonation (if only in theory!).
Also like the Electric Bass, the EB-2 had one large pickup (with adjustable polepieces) mounted near the neck joint. According to the catalog (printed in ’58) that introduced the model, it was encased in an ebony “Royalite” cover, but some early EB-2s had a brown cover, which had been standard on the Electric Bass. Its controls were simple Volume and Tone knobs.
The catalog heralded the EB-2 and Electric Bass (now dubbed EB-1) as “a revelation in rhythm.” The new model received top billing and was promoted as “the ideal companion for the new ES-335T guitar.” Prices were listed at $282.50 for the EB-2N (natural finish), $267.50 for the EB-2 (sunburst finish), and $49.50 for a Faultless plush-lined case.
Changes were already in the offing for the EB-2 the very next year, as the model received a pushbutton tone switch.
“The EB-2 offers great facility and handling ease for all string bass effects,” the catalog trumpeted. “Tremendous sustain and tremolo, fast plucking and slap bass. It even adds a baritone voice with its new Vari-tone switch, which operates easily and quickly to provide two entirely different tonal characteristics.”
The natural-finish instrument shown here dates from ’59, a first-year example of a baritone switch-equipped EB-2. Several black EB-2s were built that year, and some Cherry-finish examples were built in March of ’60. By the turn of the decade, the model also had a string mute on its bridge.
In spite of its innovative design, the EB-2 didn’t set the world on fire, sales-wise, and after changes such as Kluson tuners were introduced in late 1960, the model was discontinued in ’61, only to be resurrected in ’64, as the fabled “guitar boom” began. Moreover, its Epiphone twin, the EB232 Rivoli (VG, March ’09) was heard on probably more recordings by British Invasion bands than was the EB-2.
In late ’65, Cherry became a second standard finish for the model, and ’66 saw the introduction of the EB-2D, which had the original large pickup plus a smaller one near the bridge like the EB-3 of the era. Unlike the EB-3, which had a four-position rotary pickup-control switch, the EB-2D’s controls were similar to most two-pickup guitars, with a Volume and Tone knob for each pickup and a three-way pickup toggle. The Baritone switch was also a standard feature on the EB-2D, as seen on this ’67 sunburst example (note the slide tab for the string mute at the bridge).
In the late ’60s, both basses were available in Walnut or Sparkling Burgundy finishes, and like other Gibsons, were fitted with three-piece mahogany necks.
The early ’70s marked the beginning of a decline in the quality and design of Gibson instruments. The EB-2 and EB-2D were discontinued in ’72, and perhaps it’s fortunate that those models escaped most of those times. Moreover, they are arguably the most innovative basses ever introduced by Gibson.
This article originally appeared in VG January 2012 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
If you’re the type of gearhead who turns heel and runs from DSP effects, let alone any equipment with a lower-case “i” in front of its name, set your preconceptions aside and dig into the DigiTech iStomp – a hardware stompbox that can be instantly reconfigured into the pedal effect of your choice. Any one of almost 50 e-pedals can be pulled off DigiTech’s “Stomp Shop” app store and loaded into the iStomp. Users keep their e-pedals on an iPhone or iPad and swap out the iStomp’s virtual guts at will.
The pedal’s slender metal housing includes familiar stompbox features: ins/outs for mono/stereo connections, a 9-volt power input (no battery option), and a footswitch for buffered bypass, but also an LED indicator that’s color-assignable to each effect. The four control knobs are unlabeled, since their functions change with each effect (though DigiTech provides reusable labels).
On the input side there’s an eight-pin DIN port where the included Smart Cable is connected to an Apple device running the free Stomp Shop app. Once an effect is loaded (around 30 seconds), the cable can be disconnected – the iStomp has transmogrified into an honest-to-goodness effects pedal.
While some healthy skepticism is understandable when approaching a gadget like the iStomp, the effects tested sounded excellent. There were reverent re-creations of classics like the Ibanez Tube Screamer, Boss CE-2 Chorus, and the MXR Dyna Comp, plus sophisticated new designs like a four-voice pitch shifter and a vibrato with a throw so wide it sounded like the strings were melting. The Lexicon Hall, a faultless emulation of Lexi’s famed Large Hall reverb, was a major standout. A very Scofield-like rasp was created with Digi’s version of the ProCo Rat (they call it the “Rodent”), and “Have a Cigar”-worthy Gilmour sounds were easily achieved with the Stone Phase.
While creating oddball effects for cover tunes are an obvious application for the iStomp, that job could be more conveniently fielded by a multi-effects unit. The iStomp shoots higher than that. Functionally, it’s more in line with software plug-ins like Amp Farm or Guitar Rig 2, enabling guitarists to explore a new effect without having to go out shopping for it or spend a lot of money; rarely used pedals won’t sit in a box collecting dust. It’s a real X factor when wired into a pedalboard. All that’s lacking are Bluetooth connectivity to replace the Smart Cable and non-Apple compatibility.
Yes, purists will balk. But that’s what purists do. They’ll also miss out on inventive approaches to signal processing that broaden sonic possibilities, ease their budgets, and put more options at their feet.
This article originally appeared in VG March 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Schertler’s JAM150 is a compact combo amp capable of pulling double-duty as an acoustic amp and a multi-instrument PA. Built in Italy and engineered in Switzerland, its elegant design is matched by its natural acoustic timbres and versatile feature set.
The handsome wood cabinet (also available in gray covering) has a rounded face, a stand mount on the bottom, and side handhold insets for a surprisingly comfortable carry of the 28.66-pound unit, even one-handed. The 150 watts are biamped to two speakers, channeling power separately to the 8″ driver and 1″ dome tweeter. On the back, below the heat sink, are the power in, an on/off rocker, and a toggle for ground lift, which is a welcome feature.
All of the JAM150’s controls and inputs/outputs are recessed into the top and laid out in channel strips, like a PA mixer. Four independent channels with a generous complement of inputs make it possible to connect and discretely control a variety instruments at once.
Channels 1 and 2 each have a balanced, phantom-powered XLR input and an unbalanced High Z 1/4″ input, good for connecting active piezo pickups. Channel 3 has another High Z plus a Low Z 1/4″ in, which is useful for padding hot signals. All three have High, Mid, and Low EQs; FX level; and Volume. Channel 4 has High and Low EQs and stereo RCA inputs suited to an iPod, computer, or keyboard (while acoustic and clean electrics both sounded great through the JAM150, guitars with passive pickups may benefit from a separate preamp boost).
The output section includes a DI output with very low noise and no detectable distortion, putting it head and shoulders above tone-suckers commonly found on stage floors. Because the DI output is always at maximum, while the master Volume controls only local volume, the JAM150 can be nicely situated as a monitor; shape the mix in the channel strips and send it out to the board via DI, and set your own monitoring level with the master. For recording, there are stereo RCA outs with a dedicated record-out level control.
The onboard digital effects – one delay and three reverbs, all by Alesis – are modest and can’t be fine-tuned, but they’re well chosen. The big room on the Rev 2 setting provides all the dimension needed for fingerstyle work and saves the bother of additional pedals. Regardless, an effects loop is also built in (Send, Stereo Return, master Effects Level), defeating the internal effects when active.
JAM150’s adaptable mixer design is a huge selling point for acoustic players who find themselves in different scenarios from one gig to the next. At a live set with a revolving door of players, the JAM150 performed beautifully, both with two acoustics and with one acoustic paired with an electric. The amp maintained the distinct voice of each guitar, and working with differing pickup outputs was easy. We also ran an acoustic through Channel 1, left an open mic on Channel 2, and put a harp player on a bullet mic through Channel 3. The topside controls made it easy to adjust settings on the fly, allowing the full, crisp acoustic guitar to occupy a wide harmonic spectrum while the honky harmonica drove right down the middle, with both sharing reverb room. All of that capability would mean bupkis if the amp didn’t perform on bare-bones solo fingerstyle work. The JAM150’s low-end response is not as deep as it would be with a bigger speaker, of course, but it’s tight and controlled. The midrange, while dominant, is likewise well controlled and can be EQ’d to dial out undesirable frequencies despite the lack of a notch filter. Light fingerwork felt airy, while strongly attacked notes were met with just enough natural compression to rein in the tone and prevent it from splaying. Amplifying a piezo-equipped acoustic played with a pick (where most acoustic amps really start sounding awful), there was none of that brash, synthetic front end that makes players want to rip out their saddle pickup (along with all of their hair).
The JAM150 is an excellent choice for intimate gigs; for bigger rooms, it can be used with a PA or to drive a second cabinet. Acoustic players will be hard-pressed to find another compact acoustic amp that compares with its sound quality and versatility.
This article originally appeared in VG June2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
In the realm of hot-rodded cars, there’s a cool genre known as rat rods – old, relic’d automobiles that sport a lowdown vintage vibe.
Meet the rat axe. Retro Guitar’s MelodyBurner is a similarly cool guitar that also bites as loud as it barks.
This Junior-styled double-cut starts with a body made of ash salvaged from a 100-year-old Midwestern barn. As the moniker suggests, the wood is scorched rather than conventionally finished. Jack Baruth and Chris O’Dee at Retro claim that the cool is much more than skin deep: The lack of nitro or poly paint and clearcoat means the finish doesn’t deaden vibrations. The hardware complements the look. The pickguard is cut from sheet steel and aged along with the TonePros hardware. The headstock logo is machined from solid brass and stylishly recessed. It’s sure got a style all its own.
Retro Guitar offers a choice of necks cut from maple, mahogany, or rosewood. The test guitar sported a neck duplicated from a ’58 Junior and mounted with beefy jumbo frets, though a more modern, slim cut with fast frets is also available. Rosewood fretboards come standard; maple is an option.
The guitar was powered by a single bridge Sheptone P-90, but the guitar can be ordered with double P-90s, a single humbucker, double humbuckers, or even a P-90/humbucker combo.
The test guitar was plugged straight into a Fender Vibro-King and, for an appetizer, run with a simple, dry signal. The P-90 boasted a clear and ringing tone without any mud or crud to it; maybe the lack of paint and that age-dried, century-old barn wood really does the trick, after all.
With a bit of reverb and then echo added to the signal, the MelodyBurner proved it’s got a sound befitting that ratted look – that is to say, a fine grind and growl that’s pure old-school Junior or Esquire. Think of a hot-rodded Flathead Ford saying its piece through wide-open pipes.
Retro Guitar offers a plentiful menu of options, but that working-man’s single bridge P-90 is perfect for the guitar’s patina. Up in the cowboy-chord zone, the fretboard is a mite narrow for larger mitts, but that also makes it ideal for chunking out rhythm power chops up and down the neck. Heavy strings – perhaps even meaty flatwounds – would enhance that glorious tone even more.
If you have to ask why, then the MelodyBurner probably ain’t for you. But if you get it after just one look, this is indeed one disturbingly cool guitar.
This article originally appeared in VG January 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Bobby Black with his Stringmaster. Photo: Richard Chon.
When he got the invitation, Bobby Black wasn’t sure. The pedal-steel virtuoso, a 20-plus-year veteran of San Francisco’s music scene, had just been asked to join the long-hairs in Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen.
It was the fall of 1971, and Black was in a comfortable situation – he owned a recording studio in San Carlo and, alongside his guitarist brother, Larry, was the driving force behind the Black Brothers, house band at a local club. But the Airmen needed a new steel player and the Commander was impressed by Black’s virtuosity. So they gave him a copy of their then-new debut album, Lost In the Ozone.
“At first I thought, ‘These guys, they’re dreamers’,” he laughs. “I thought, ‘No, I don’t think I want to play with them.’ But they persisted.”
In the end, Black not only joined the band, he transformed it, and today, Cody alumni remain in awe of his talents.
“When Bobby came in, as far as I’m concerned, that made the classic lineup of the band,” declared Billy C. Farlow, the Airmen’s lead singer. Fellow vocalist John Tichy calls Black’s playing “super tight, accurate, professional, and everything perfectly in tune. Every lick, he nailed.”
In 1974, Black move to Nashville, where two years with Cody “got me a lot of recognition and just opened a lot more doors.” Later, that reputation took him to the New Riders of the Purple Sage and Asleep at the Wheel, whose leader, Ray Benson, marveled at the depth of Black’s skills, explaining, “Bobby spanned the era from the earliest Western swing – Spade Cooley, Bob Wills – throughout the time when steel guitar was out (of favor).”
“Bobby, for me, was the living link to the past,” adds Bill Kirchen, original Lost Planet Airmen Telecaster wizard. “But he also was the most advanced player in the band. We could look all the way back and all the way forward with him. He was the guy who met Hank Williams, started playing in the ’40s on a straight (lap) steel… And on the other hand, he was the best bebop player in the band. It was just extraordinary.”
At 76, Black remains in demand, his experiences the envy of any steel guitarist. When he started, at the dawn of the ’50s, he played Western swing and country behind some of the biggest names in the business before moving to pop and rock, then eventually returning to country, swing, and the Hawaiian music he loves.
Country music was not part of his Southwestern, solidly middle-class roots. His father, Robert, swept floors in a Woolworth’s department store before rising into management. His mother, Ruth, played a bit of piano. Robert Lee Black was born in Prescott, Arizona, in 1934; Larry followed in ’36. Both studied piano once old enough, but, “I always dreaded the day the teacher was coming,” Bobby laughs. “I usually hadn’t practiced as much as I should have. But to this day, other than steel guitar, my favorite instrument is the piano. It helped me understand harmonies, chords, and construction.”
The family relocated to Tucson until 1942, when a promotion took them to Burbank. By then, Black had gravitated to pop and big-band sounds on the radio. Hearing Harry Owens and His Royal Hawaiians, he zeroed in on Eddie Bush’s steel. “I thought ‘What is that?’ It was simple stuff, sliding notes. All I knew was I wanted to learn how to do that, whatever that was.” Another form of steel soon grabbed his interest.
Texas-Oklahoma roots aside, Western swing’s California fanbase exploded as World War II defense jobs attracted tens of thousands from the Midwest and Great Plains regions. Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys settled there in ’43, while Hollywood fiddler Spade Cooley created a band blending Western players and schooled musicians playing sophisticated, distinctly West Coast swing – the kind Black favored. He particularly relished the playing of Cooley’s brilliant, eccentric teenage steel guitarist, Earl “Joaquin” Murphey.
“I don’t think anybody ever topped him. For me, he was head and shoulders above most, the kind of player who never played anything exactly the same way twice. Usually, he just went for it. He would be in the moment.”
Black also enjoyed Texas Playboy steeler Noel Boggs, who replaced Murphey in Cooley’s band. “Noel was a chord guy; most of his solos were chordal. He was really good at that. I never heard anybody play like him. Joaquin was a little more fluid in his playing… really advanced with his single-note stuff. He could do both. He had a great chordal style, totally different from Noel.”
In 1947, the family was on the move again after Robert Black was promoted to a new position in San Francisco. The family settled in San Mateo. Bobby, despite his stash of California Western swing records, didn’t yet own a steel guitar. That changed on his 14th birthday in ’48, when he took possession of a six-string Rickenbacker and amp. Two lessons from a nearby amateur who used an arcane Hawaiian tuning left him frustrated, until he heard Jerry Byrd’s 1949 recording, “Steelin’ The Blues.”
Formerly with Grand Ole Opry star Ernest Tubb’s Texas Troubadours, Byrd at the time was America’s most visible, influential country (as opposed to western) steel player. Along with his solo records, Byrd enhanced hits by Tubb, Hank Williams, and Red Foley, among many others. “He and Joaquin were my very favorite players, the most influential and inspirational,” Black asserts. “They were opposing styles. Jerry had more of a Hawaiian, smooth, legato type of playing, Joaquin more of a sizzle. I’d recognize those guys the minute I heard them.
“I wrote a letter to the Grand Ole Opry – to Jerry Byrd – and told him I bought his record.” Though Byrd had left the Opry, “Within a few days, I got this letter back and he gave me his C6 tuning. He was so kind. I put that tuning on, and it started me on steel guitar. I immediately recognized what was in that tuning from what I heard on the records. I learned how to play by ear, thanks to Jerry Byrd. Joaquin also used C6; that’s what got me started playing. From there on, I started copying all the solos on those records.”
Ruth Black fretted over her son’s obsession. When his doctor asked, “Does he have any heroes?” she cited Byrd, explaining he was a musician, not an athlete. Inexplicably, the physician prescribed cold showers! Even his brother “…thought I was odd. But when I got my steel, I finally convinced him he needed to learn how to play the guitar so he could accompany me with the rhythm – we’d be a team.”
Black’s rapid progress soon had him playing a short-scale Fender Dual 8 Professional, with two eight-string necks and a 221/2″ scale.
He and Larry never forgot seeing Murphey up-close when Tex Williams and the Western Caravan played San Jose’s Balcony Ballroom. He normally played a non-pedal Bigsby, but this night was different. “Joaquin was up in front, cussin’ up a blue streak and trying to set up his first Bigsby with pedals… totally ignoring everybody and looking unhappy. But he was playin’ terrific.” When Robert Black asked Williams for “Oklahoma Stomp,” Murphey’s signature instrumental, the bandleader gladly obliged. “Tex said, ‘Oklahoma Stomp!’ Joaquin looked away and went, ‘S**t!’ Years later,” he adds, “Tex told me that was the first and the last time Joaquin ever played (that Bigsby). He never did like it. The pedals were new to him.”
1)Black as young lap-steel student with his Rickenbacker in 1948. 2) “Big Jim” DeNoon (left), Vern Orr (bass), Bobby Black (steel), Wild Bill Hendricks (guitar) and Tex Neal (fiddle) on “Hoffman Hayride,” KPIX, 1953.
The brothers joined their first actual band in 1950 – a swing unit called the Double H Boys, which played dances around Palo Alto. A year later, they joined Shorty Joe Quartuccio and his Red Rock Canyon Cowboys, the house band at Tracy Gardens, which Bobby recalls as “a big old-fashioned dance hall where almost anyone of note in the hillbilly/Western swing field played at one time or another.” The brothers recorded two singles with the band, the opening act when touring stars played Tracy Gardens. Onstage, they accompanied local amateurs like a serviceman stationed at nearby Moffett Field known as Little Georgie Jones. “We’d just call him ‘the singing Marine.’ George would come out and sing Lefty Frizzell songs – and he sounded a lot like Lefty.”
Late in 1952, Larry remained behind as 18-year-old Bobby joined Blackie Crawford and his Western Cherokees, in Oklahoma City. The band, who’d backed Frizzell and Webb Pierce, relocated to Beaumont, Texas, in ’53. As they played Houston and Gulf Coast dance halls, Black awaited delivery of his first pedal steel – a triple-neck, four-pedal Bigsby (A6, C6, and E13 tuning) with his name inlaid on the front. It arrived at Beaumont’s railroad station in May. As Black and another band member opened the crate to inspect the instrument, ex-Marine George Jones happened by. He was back home and ready to sing professionally.
Neva’s, a Beaumont club, became the Cherokees’ home base. Owner Jack Starnes had just co-founded Starday Records, and used them as house band on the label’s early recordings. Black was showcased on a Western Cherokees’ single titled “Cherokee Steel Guitar.” They also backed singer Arlie Duff on “Y’All Come,” Starday’s first national hit, and accompanied George Jones on the Starday session that kicked off his storied career. Black’s Texas days, however, were numbered. “At that time, I was so homesick and my high school sweetheart wanted me to come home and get married.” Jimmy Day replaced him on steel.
The newlyweds settled in San Mateo, and Black went to work for Pacific Bell; Larry married soon after and worked at Lockheed. The brothers joined fiddler Big Jim DeNoon’s band on the local “Hoffman Hayride” TV show (later renamed “California Hayride”). Hosted by Cottonseed Clark, Black calls it “one of the biggest live shows on TV around here.” On the program, and onstage, DeNoon’s band backed local and national acts. As featured instrumentalists, the Blacks played the latest Jimmy Bryant-Speedy West tunes, Larry using a brand-new Strat and a Fender Pro, Bobby through a Fender Twin. “We didn’t realize how great those amps were. This has always been kind of mystifying to me, but Fender products were, by accident or design, the best, and they still are. That stuff is better than anything you could get today. The sound has never been matched, and it was before reverb. We had to buy those big old spring (reverb) units. We went to Standel after a time. We didn’t get tired of Fender, but thought we’d try something new.”
Western swing’s fading popularity didn’t stop them from joining a second group, the swing-oriented West Coast All Stars. Along with juggling two bands and day jobs, the brothers faced a problem at the “Hayride.” Cottonseed Clark, feeling Bryant-West instrumentals too jazzy, insisted they play other songs. After they ignored him, they were fired. The All Stars later disbanded, and with rock and roll becoming dominant, steel guitar’s popularity faded for a time. That began changing in 1959, with Santo and Johnny’s guitar-steel pop hit “Sleepwalk.” The Blacks, both divorced, and ex-DeNoon drummer Jack Greenback began writing songs and recording on a two-track Ampex in Larry’s bedroom.
They shopped the tape around L.A. in 1960, and in early ’61, Dore Records issued several vocal singles by The Tides, and the instrumental “Gently My Love” by The Triplets. It reached # 15 in San Francisco. In an era when disc jockeys routinely demanded that local acts with singles perform shows for free as payback for airplay, “Gently” brought them popularity – and problems. Asked to play a San Francisco concert gratis, the band refused. “In one week (the single) was gone! They took us off!” says Bobby. “We didn’t have a clue about payola.”
Dolton, the Ventures’ label, issued three instrumentals under the name the Five Whispers from 1962 to ’64, and their eerie rendition of Lionel Hampton’s ballad “Midnight Sun” hit #1 in Bakersfield. Now full-time musicians, Black, playing an early Sierra steel built by Chuck Wright, ditched his pedals and stood onstage, using electronic effects to mask the twang. Reacting to the British invasion, the band, wearing green Beatles wigs, renamed themselves the Green Beans. When they visited Nashville, Pete Drake, one of Nashville’s top pedal-steel players, got them signed to United Artists Records. But musicians they knew there didn’t buy the emerald image. “You guys are too good,” Jimmy Day told Black. “You don’t have to resort to this crazy stuff.” Off went the wigs. Renamed by the label and now going as U.S. 6, they blended vocals, choreography, and also backed up singers in the Bay Area.
As Country Cut Ups, they recorded Corn Shuckin’ Time, a low-budget 1965 instrumental LP of originals, oldies, and current hits Billboard called “superbly done.” It symbolized the brothers’ weariness with rock. “My playing suffered. Larry’s did, too,” Black says. “We weren’t really playing the stuff we wanted to be playing. We were just goin’ with the times to make a living. We decided, ‘Let’s get a country band and go back to the clubs and play like we used to.’” The Black Brothers band, including several U.S. 6 members, became house band at Cowtown. Robert Black helped his sons open Peninsula Sound, a San Carlos recording studio. In ’67, Bobby adopted a Baldwin Sho-Bud Crossover, allowing the player to switch pedals between necks. “It had a few bugs and as a result it never really caught on,” he says. “But I really liked mine, and it was probably the prettiest guitar I’ve ever owned.”
The next phase of his career began at Cowtown, where in 1970-’71, Wednesday Amateur Nights offered a $50 prize. Contestants included Lost Planet Airmen Kirchen, Tichy, who sang, and fiddler Andy Stein, whipping up crowds with a dazzling “Orange Blossom Special.” Despite their looks, Black recalls, “The audience liked them. They were different to look at and sounded pretty good.” Lost in the Ozone also showcased Farlow, pianist-rapper George “Commander Cody” Frayne, bassist Bruce Barlow, and drummer Lance Dickerson. Original pedal steel player Steve Davis (The West Virginia Creeper), relatively new to the instrument, had departed, and Stein, impressed by Black’s virtuosity, urged him to join.
3) U.S. Six: (from left) Mel Larson (keys), Hoyet Henry (bass), Larry Black (with Strat), Bobby Black (steel), and Roy McMeans (drums). 4) Commander Cody and his Lost Planet Airmen in 1975 (from left); George Frayne (a.k.a. Commander Cody), John Tichy, Lance Dickerson, Billy C. Farlow, Bill Kirchen, Bobby, Bruce Barlow, Andy Stein.
Forty years later, Stein still marvels at his friend’s artistry. “He was a master! He had beautiful tone and so much knowledge, so much background in Western swing. He was the right guy. He had the E9 neck completely (covered) – most steel players spend their life on that. But it turned out with the C6 neck, Western swing, he was also a total master.” Kirchen agrees. “By then, we had three or four years of listening to tons of really good (country) music on record. To see someone sitting in our midst, able to play that, was stunning.”
Black, who’d worked with many of the acts the band admired from afar, wasn’t sure about joining. “I remember Andy called me several times,” he says. While not impressed by the album, he grew to appreciate the Airmen’s quirky but admiring spin on country. “They did a lot tongue in cheek, weren’t making fun, but doing it in sort of a respectful way, like ‘Mama Hated Diesels,’ a play on the maudlin part of country. They listened to all that old stuff with respect. It wasn’t like Poco or the Burrito Brothers. They had their own way of doing it, closer to the source, much more than others.”
Black, toting his doubleneck Sho-Bud Professional and Fender Twin, signed on in December, and early in ’72 they recorded Hot Licks, Cold Steel, Truckers’ Favorites at Peninsula Sound, and his E9 intensity ratified his role as a musical catalyst. He infused authority into trucker classics “Truck Driving Man” (“He burns on that,” says Kirchen), “Looking at the World through a Windshield,” Kirchen’s original “Semi-Truck” and Blackie Farrell’s doleful “Mama Hated Diesels.”
“I always thought we were a bunch of inspired amateurs,” Tichy reflects. “All of a sudden, Bobby joins, and the whole thing came together. I realized, ‘Oh, we’re actually pretty damn good!’ He tied together all these loose ends, and turned it into a great band.”
Kirchen agrees. “It certainly was a revelation to hear somebody who could play like that in our band. Make no mistake, we knew he was special. Bobby could play rhythm steel, which you don’t hear that many people doing. He wasn’t sitting there smoking a cigarette, waitin’ for his turn to show off. Just to hear him comp along with stuff was a whole music lesson in itself. That’s an aspect of steel guitar that isn’t as known – him back there, kind of propping you up. I’d play a solo and there’d be some little cool thing under there that would kick me up a notch.”
“We started whippin’ out those Western swing tunes. With him and Bill and Andy, it suddenly became a real Western swing band,” adds Farlow. On rockers, I thought he was just awesome. At first, I didn’t know how much he wanted to play the rockin’ stuff. But we worked out how he would take the first solo on ‘Good Rockin’ Tonight,’ at the start of the set, when all eyes were on everybody. And he’d jump right into it, totally out front.”
Cody’s future was bright in the spring of ’72. It had a devoted rock following; “Hot Rod Lincoln” from the Ozone album became a Top 10 pop single. That fall, at Nashville’s annual country disc jockey convention, they won over a hostile, conservative audience so completely that country radio began programming their music. Black did sessions with rockers Link Wray and Robert Gordon. Kirchen also appreciated his forbearance during the band’s wilder offstage moments. “My hat’s off to him for putting up with the shenanigans going on around him, and being of good cheer on the whole thing.”
Black and the triple-neck Fender with the Saddle Cats (from left); Bing Nathan, Bobby, Richard Chon, Gordon Clegg.
If Hot Licks demonstrated Black’s E9 skills, Country Casanova unleashed his C6 side on “My Window Faces the South” “Rock That Boogie” and “Everybody’s Doin’ It.” On the latter, a remake of the notorious 1937 Modern Mountaineers Texas swing tune “Everybody’s Truckin’,” the Airmen faithfully reprised the original F-bomb lyrics. Record labels added stickers on LPs sent to radio identifying any tracks unsuitable for broadcast. Casanova’s, unfortunately, flagged the wrong song. The band’s country-radio airplay quickly evaporated.
It was a different story in Austin, where the convergence of country and rock differed from Nashville or L.A.’s softer country-rock. Cody became favorites at the city’s iconic Armadillo World Headquarters. Late in ’73, Paramount recorded Live From Deep in the Heart of Texas, a bracing blend of rockabilly, Cajun, country, and boogie, at the Armadillo, capturing Black’s blazing solo on “Good Rockin’ Tonight.” By the time of the album’s 1974 release, Bobby had left, and with Larry, moved to Nashville. Jimmy Day briefly replaced him before Ernie Hagar filled the Airmen’s steel chair.
Pete Drake again rolled out the welcome mat. “He was always willing to help people he liked,” Black explains. He ran Drake’s song publishing and the brothers did extensive session work at his studio, Pete’s Place. The brothers then joined singer Barbara Mandrell’s band, a far cry from the Airmen since Mandrell, a gifted pedal steel guitarist, and her manager/father, ran a tight ship so far as dress and deportment. “She wanted every solo the same on every show – no deviations. If (yours) was different, you were asked about it. She was a whip-cracker.” He’d adopted Peavey’s then-new Session 400 amp.
Upgrading to an Emmons 12-string doubleneck proved more challenging. “I felt like I added twice as many strings. I never could get used to it.” On “Mama Don’t Allow,” a Mandrell concert showcase, she played every band member’s instrument. Familiar with the knee lever setup on Black’s Sho-Bud, she’d never played the Emmons. After cluing her in about the 12-string neck and its setup, he says, “She never missed a note. She was a real pro – never got a chance to warm up on the guitar. She jumps behind the steel, sits down and just knocks out this solo. Amazing! She’s just that kind of a person!”
Larry remained behind when Bobby, tired of Nashville’s musical politics, returned to California in ’75. He found Cody and the Airmen in turmoil. Their new label, Warner Brothers, anxious to widen the band’s audience, pressured them to add generic California country-rock to its first album. Sales proved anemic. Hagar, despite his talents, was a less-than-optimal fit. So Black re-joined, but Tales From the Ozone, the second Warner album, faltered thanks to singer Hoyt Axton’s inept, hands-off production. “The only thing he ever said to me, and I thought he was just goin’ through the motions, was, ‘Now, what I want you to do, Bobby, on these songs, just come up with a hook.’ As if I hadn’t heard that before!”
Black lost his Emmons when the Airmen’s equipment truck was burglarized in New Jersey. Though Emmons began building a replacement, shows were pending. Cody’s road crew contacted steel players in each town and Bobby rented various instruments. Things occasionally were bizarre. In Chicago, he says, several steels were “lined up side-by-side, each owner standing in front. It was bizarre… made me very uncomfortable.” Once he decided, “The other guys would go ‘Awwwww!,’ turn away and sigh.” Nine months after receiving the replacement Emmons it, too, was stolen.
An early-’76 European tour became the Airmen’s finale. Tichy had departed; with Norton Buffalo in on harmonica, Warners recorded three British concerts, material for the double album We’ve Got A Live One Here! Everyone, Black included, was in top form, playing longtime Cody favorites. At the tour’s end, tired and frustrated, the band dissolved. Black later toured with Frayne’s Commander Cody Band.
With Larry returning to California in ’77, the Black Brothers band reunited and worked with Bobby on his ’78 solo album, California Freedom, issued by the Pedal Steel Guitar Record Club. Soon after, playing a 10-string Franklin, he replaced Buddy Cage in the New Riders of the Purple Sage for an uncomfortable year and a half, explaining, “They were trying another type of country-rock approach, tied to the Grateful Dead. I never thought I fit too well. Some of the gigs back east, people were hollerin’ out, ‘Where’s Jerry?’’’
The next gig was a far better fit; at Cowtown in late ’71, Black met Asleep at the Wheel founding members Ray Benson and Lucky Oceans, soon after the group arrived from West Virginia and settled in at the Airmen’s house in Oakland.
“The Wheel were there when I went to the first rehearsal with the Cody band,” Black recalls. “We became friends quickly. I really liked the Wheel.” In 1980, with Lucky departing for Australia, Black stepped in. “That was our dream, to get Bobby,” says Benson. He played on Framed, the Wheel’s sole MCA album (and at the label’s insistence, a non-Western-swing effort). “Live, it was a pleasure to listen to his solos,” Benson adds. “Bobby came up with the greatest influences and fulfilled them. What’s so cool is he also had that Hawaiian flavor. It never left his tone.” The feeling was mutual. “The band I had the most fun in, musically, was the Wheel,” Black says. “For me, it was closer to the kind of stuff I’d grown up listening to. I really did enjoy it.”
After leaving the Wheel, “I just decided I was not going on the road again. I did casinos in Nevada, lived in Lake Tahoe.” Around the time he joined the Wheel, he met longtime hero Jerry Byrd during a Hawaiian vacation (Black later performed there). A second solo album, Honky Cat, appeared in 1981. Now back in the Bay Area, “I pretty much get first call on steel guitar, because I’ve been in the business so long,” he says. He plays sessions, restaurants, parties, festivals, and luaus. “I don’t play clubs anymore; the club scene is pretty much gone,” he says.
Since 1985, he’s played with the Western swing band Lost Weekend, and worked in San Francisco with Jim Campilongo. In ’92, he was inducted into the Western Swing Hall of Fame. He and Larry remained in constant touch, reuniting for jobs (and for Black’s 2001 album The Steel Guitar of Bobby Black) until shortly before Larry died in ’05 (see sidebar). A few years ago, he joined the Saddle Cats, a Bay Area quartet led by ex-Dan Hicks violinist Richard Chon, that blends cowboy songs with Western swing.
He has done his share of steel-guitar events, as well, including the 2011 Southwestern Steel Guitar Convention, in Phoenix, and earlier, the annual International Steel Guitar Convention, in St. Louis. “It’s hard to play for your peers,” he reflects. “Lloyd Green said it was the toughest stage to play. They’re recording, taking pictures. You’re under the microscope.” He entered the Steel Guitar Hall of Fame in ’04, and a few years ago reacquired his ’53 Bigsby. “I let that thing go way too soon,” he reflects. “It showed up a few years ago in New Mexico. I bought it back and paid 10 times as much!” It remains, he insists, “the best sounding steel I ever heard.” But, he adds, “I realized it’s kind of clunky and heavy, and I wouldn’t be using it much.” He sold it back to a friend, who then sold it for $20,000.
An early 10-string doubleneck Carter is his primary pedal-model. “It works good – well made.” His lap-steel arsenal includes several older Fenders, his favorite being a short-scale triple-neck Custom that “sounds almost as good as my Bigsby.” Others include a Deluxe single-eight and a Dual 8 Stringmaster. His Rickenbackers are a B6 and a D8 Electro. Others include a single-neck 12-string MSA Super Slide, a single 12 custom-built West Coast, and single 10 Alkire E Harp. Amp-wise, “I just recently got a Peavey Nashville 112 (with a 12″ speaker). Most people prefer 15″ speakers, but it’s a good amp – smaller and not as heavy. I’m trying to downsize.” E9 and C6 remain his core tunings, though he recalls the days when “Some guys were inventing secret tunings. Now it’s become standardized.” One older tuning, E13th, remains on a neck of his Fender Custom.
Having played Cody/Airmen reunion shows in 2001, he also relished Asleep at the Wheel’s 2010 40th Anniversary concert with a chunk of band alumni. “I had such a ball,” he says. “That was a really great time. We had five steel players, seven fiddles, six or seven horns, and they all remembered the parts! There were a few times we all got up together. Willie Nelson was there. For the closer, we all played, then all of us played with him. It was incredible. Everything went off without a hitch, amazingly! Ray had the right people in place to pull that off.”
Summing up six decades, he quotes hero and friend the late Jerry Byrd. “He said, ‘Don’t worry about it, Bobby. Everything’s okay. I have done more than I ever thought I would ever do in my life with the steel guitar and the business. And I’m content. It’s okay. It’s quite all right.’ I can’t say that totally, but I think I can almost say it. I’m happy enough, I’m content. Not that I’ve done a lot. I feel very fortunate that I’ve been able to do what I’ve done, and to experience what I’ve experienced in my life. I’m not through. I’m going to keep on doing it ’til I drop.”
Black with his brother, Larry, in The Cowtown era, 1968.
LARRY BLACK TEAM PLAYER
“Larry and I, we were a team,” says Bobby Black about working with his younger brother. “We could play stuff almost without even talkin’ about it. That’s what happens when you’re workin’ with family. We could blow away a lot of people. We got a chance to back up Jim Reeves and Little Jimmy Dickens. Both those guys told us on different occasions, ‘You two should go to Nashville! You’re too good to be around here.’”Bobby had higher visibility, but Larry Dean Black made his own contributions. As a teenager, he turned down a job offer from country’s biggest star. Born in 1936 in Inglewood, California, he grew up in Tucson with the same piano training as Bobby. In the late ’40s, Larry heeded his brother’s advice to learn guitar so they could play together. He soon had a Kay K-42 archtop with a pickup attached, and an amp. His musical heroes included Nashville sideman Zeke Turner, known for rhythm licks and leads on numerous country hits and later, Jimmy Bryant. In ’51, he upgraded to an Epiphone Triumph and in ’52, to a Fender Telecaster. Two years later, he went to a Strat.
Working with Shorty Joe in ’52, they met Hank Williams when he headlined at Tracy Gardens. Arriving early, Larry and Bobby found him in a backstage room, “All by himself with his guitar and a bottle of whiskey. He was the nicest guy, sittin’ there havin’ a good time. He said, ‘I’m workin’ on this new song, boys. See what you think,’ and started singing ‘Kaw-Liga.’ We thought, ‘Wow, that’s really different!’ You weren’t used to hearing a country singer singin’ in a minor key. He said, ‘Why don’t you get your axes and jam a little bit?’ Larry got his guitar; I didn’t. Hank passed the bottle and my brother took a couple slugs. Larry did the Zeke Turner thing. Hank said, ‘I’d like to take you home. Would you go with me?’ Larry said. ‘My mama wouldn’t let me!’”
Larry Black (left) with Speedy West and Jimmy Bryant.
After their 1974 move to Nashville, Larry remained behind when Bobby returned to the West in ’75. He engineered and, while working sessions at Pete Drake’s studio, got to know longtime hero Jimmy Bryant. Larry played rhythm guitar on the 1975 Bryant-Speedy West reunion album Drake produced. Bryant used a Gibson hollowbody by then, not the Tele he’d used on the ’50s Bryant-West duets. At Larry’s and Speedy’s urging, he re-created his old sound on Larry’s ’52 Tele.
Back in California in ’77, Bob and Larry reconstituted the Black Brothers band for a time before he returned to Nashville, played, engineering, remarried, and raised horses. He and his brother remained in constant touch and in 1984 recorded the live album Pickin’ In A Skull Orchard. They’d planned an album “lookin’ at the recording adventures we went through… mostly country, some swing, maybe a little jazz. We could have gotten it done with top players, but Larry got too sick.” Their final gig was 2004’s International Steel Guitar Convention. Larry died in ’05. Vince Gill, who attended the ’04 Convention, purchased Larry’s ’52 Tele, two ’53 Teles, and a Martin from his widow, Linda Henson-Black.
“I promised Linda I was going to try to scrape up a bunch of stuff we had done. I’m still thinking about doing that… Just go in the studio and do a memorial.” He plans to title the album For Larry. – Rich Kienzle
This article originally appeared in VG December 2011 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
On June 23 of last year, the blues lost one of its greatest singers with the death of Bobby “Blue” Bland at age 83. Best known for a 20-year run with Duke Records that yielded such classics as “I Pity The Fool,” “I’ll Take Care Of You,” and his reworking of T-Bone Walker’s “Stormy Monday Blues,” he was a major influence on singers as diverse as Mick Hucknall and Elvis Presley.
Bland’s records invariably featured stellar guitar work. A decade before his tenure with Bland, from 1976 to ’79, Johnny Jones was a member of Nashville’s King Casuals, filling the slot left by Jimi Hendrix. An excellent ES-345 player, Jones said in a Gibson.com interview, “Wayne Bennett molded the sound with Bobby ‘Blue’ Bland for guitar players. He was strictly under T-Bone.”
Jones explained that Bland “didn’t want you bending no strings” – though Bennett clearly did his share of string-bending. He recalled, “When I first got with ‘Blue,’ he called me to the back of the bus and said, ‘You’re giving me just a little too much Lucille’” – referring to B.B. King’s bending approach. Bland gave Jones a tape of Bennett and Mel Brown to study.
While sophistication was often an earmark of Bland’s versatile guitarists, they could definitely play lowdown. On “Drifting From Town To Town,” from ’52 (as “Robert Bland”), the singer exhorts, “Alright, M.T.,” before Matt Murphy delivers a gritty solo with just enough distortion.
At least four sides from 1955, including “It’s My Life, Baby,” feature the out-of-phase guitar of Roy Gaines, and playing guitar on Bland’s first #1 R&B hit, “Farther On Up The Road,” was Pat Hare, known for his work with Muddy Waters and Junior Parker.
Overlapping the many recordings featuring Bennett was Clarence Holloman, who found resurgence in the ’90s, recording with his wife, singer/pianist Carol Fran. His guitar can be heard on “I Smell Trouble,” “Wishing Well,” and numerous others.
“Clarence played on a couple of Lavelle White CDs I produced, and it was the greatest experience I ever had with anyone in the studio,” said Austin blues guitarist Derek O’Brien, who has produced Snooky Pryor, Doug Sahm, Willie Nelson, and many others. “He was all about helping you make things right. Mentally and musically, he had great ideas and was always a team player.”
Wayne Bennett’s solo on 1962’s “Stormy Monday” cemented his place in any blues guitar hall of fame. The Oklahoman’s influences ranged from Lightnin’ Hopkins to Les Paul to Stan Kenton guitarist Sal Salvador. His first professional gig, at 17, was with popular rhythm and blues pianist Amos Milburn. Besides Milburn’s “Bad, Bad Whiskey,” he played sessions with Jimmy Reed, the Moonglows, Buddy Guy, Otis Rush, Elmore James, and Archie Brownlee’s Five Blind Boys.
In an unpublished 1982 interview, Bennett said, “Although I was a blues player, I learned enough jazz to be able to sit in with these people and learned how to read music so I could get work in Broadway shows when they came to Chicago. It made me an all-around, legitimate musician, instead of limiting myself.”
It wasn’t until Duke was acquired by ABC/Dunhill that Bland truly crossed over to a mass audience – considerably later than B.B. and Albert King. Although a songwriter famous for co-writing hits for Herman’s Hermits, the Grass Roots, and Johnny Rivers might seem an odd choice to navigate Bland’s transition, Steve Barri, who’d become Dunhill’s head of A&R, produced three excellent albums, backing Bland with the cream of L.A.’s session musicians. “Bobby wanted to see if the label could do for him what it had done with B.B.,” says Barri, “and I was always a huge fan of his and knew all his early records.”
For 1973’s His California Album, Dreamer the following year, and Reflections In Blue in ’77, Barri used Dean Parks and Ben Benay on guitars, along with Larry Carlton on the first two. “For the first album, I didn’t want to do anything too slick; I wanted to keep it simple. So we used Mel Brown from his band.” Like Bennett, Brown could straddle blues and jazz, and at times the two played in tandem with Bland, with Brown alternating between guitar and organ.
Bland was ready and willing to add strings, and Dreamer, his most successful in that vein, included three songs co-written by Barri, including a bona fide classic, “I Wouldn’t Treat A Dog.”
Despite Barri thinking that Together For the First Time Live, teaming Bland and King, was a disaster, because the two essentially winged it, he said, “it sold like crazy.”
Though he’d moved to Warner Brothers, Barri produced Reflections In Blue, which came with a humorous request from Bland. “Bobby told me he wanted to go, too. ‘No, your contract is with ABC.’ He said, ‘Can’t you get me a transfer?’”
At Bland’s funeral, lifelong pal B.B. King said, “Bobby, I miss you, old boy. He was my friend.”
This article originally appeared in VG March 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
While the new Carr Impala amplifier gets its name and some of its aesthetic inspiration from the classic Chevy muscle car, its tone inspiration comes from one of the classic ’60 workhorse amps – the Fender Bassman.
The Impala’s overall look and vibe are certainly mid-century retro, with heavily radiused corners and a curved, asymmetrical speaker grille giving it an automotive vibe. A dovetailed solid pine cabinet with a floating plywood baffle is covered by a masterfully executed black tolex application with white piping and a white control panel with black chickenhead knobs (a variety of color options, as well as tweed, are available). Also noteworthy are Carr’s proprietary handmade leather handle by Rocky River Leather Company, attached with rivets, a long hospital-grade power cord, and 6-gauge speaker lead.
Under the hood, the Impala sports a pair of Electron 6L6WGC power tubes producing a stout 44 watts; one 12AX7, one 5751, and two 12AX7 preamp tubes; custom-wound transformers; a custom Carr Elsinore ceramic-magnet 12″ speaker, and low-tolerance, high-end components – all point-to-point-wired in a heavy 12-gauge aluminum chassis. The straightforward circuit features Volume, Bass, Mid, and Treble controls, but adds a tube-driven reverb circuit (with a MOD spring reverb tank) and a Master volume control, all in a single 12″ combo.
The Carr Impala was tested with a Fender ’60 Relic Custom Shop Strat loaded with a trio of OEM single-coils, as well as with a Gibson Les Paul Standard Plus with a pair of BurstBuckers. With the Strat plugged in and the Master volume knob all the way up and out of the circuit, the results were classic Bassman – round, punchy lows, even and slightly pulled-back midrange, and clean, shimmering highs with lots of headroom. The amp produced a plentiful amount of natural overtones, and the tone stack is well voiced and natural sounding, allowing the player to dial up a variety of sounds.
The Impala’s Mid control is very interactive with the Bass and Treble controls, allowing for more versatility over the traditional Fender-style Mid control, resulting in a U.K.-style mid with more available midrange bite. Carr includes a small “68” mark for the Mid knob so the midrange frequency can be set to mimic a ’68 Bassman. This setting worked the best for clean sounds, while higher settings worked well for overdrives with more bark to the mids. The Volume control didn’t need much turning to add a bit of overdrive to the sound with nice touch-sensitivity. With a 44-watt powerplant, the amp gets loud quickly, and the Master control worked well to tame the overall output and to tighten up its open sound for a more focused low end and overdrive.
The Les Paul coaxed the most overdrive out of the Impala’s preamp, and the addition of an Ibanez TS9 overdrive achieved a crunchy distortion with lots of overtones. The amp’s pedal-friendly front end also reacted well to an MXR Dyna Comp compressor for a nice punchy chicken pickin’ sound with the Strat and a fat, round blues sound with the Les Paul. The lack of channel switching or multiple (clean/dirty) channels on the Impala wasn’t a real issue because between the Volume control on the guitar, the overdrive pedal, and the amp’s nice touch-sensitive front end, moving from dirty to clean was as simple as rolling down the guitar’s Volume control, disengaging the OD pedal, or simply lightening one’s pick attack. To top it off, the Impala’s tube-driven reverb offers a crisp-yet-warm old-school sound that can be made subtle with just a touch of ambience, or a deep soaking for a killer surf sound.
Like the Bassman that inspired it, the Carr Impala is an excellent foundation for a variety of musical styles. Its big powerplant, straightforward layout, pedal-friendly front end, and killer tank should make it popular with many players.
This article originally appeared in VG July 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Preamp tubes: four 7025 (12AX7 types)
Output tubes: two 5881 (a more-rugged 6L6 type), fixed-bias
Rectifier: solidstate
Controls: Bass Instrument channel: Volume, Treble, Bass; Normal channel: Volume, Treble, Bass; shared: Presence
Output: 50 watts RMS
Insiders from the golden era of the New Jersey amp manufacturer have frequently spoken of Ampeg founder Everett Hull’s unwillingness to embrace rock and roll in the late 1950s and early ’60s. By the late, ’60s, however, the company was ready to admit that rock was here to stay, and that it would have to jump onboard to survive in a fast-evolving market.
Like the massive SVT bass rig of the same year, the V Series guitar amps introduced in ’69 were all about rock and roll – big rock and roll, as blasted in stadiums and arenas on major tours – and they cranked it out in a style no amp had done before or has since. You want “big is beautiful?” This is where it comes from; you just aren’t likely to appreciate quite how beautiful until your ears are bleeding!
The 1972 Ampeg VT-22 is the 2×12″ combo of the V Series, and was the sibling, circuit-wise, of the V-4 head and V-40 4×10″ combo. All used four 7027A output tubes to generate a conservatively rated 120 watts, which can often top 140 watts downhill with a good tailwind… which is to say, when cranked. And though we say this was a rock-intended amp, it was rock as Ampeg intended it – bold, punchy, clear, and ungodly loud. Who could use such an amp today? Perhaps fewer players than back in the day, but, back when it was introduced, it proved to be exactly what plenty of touring pros required, most notably the Rolling Stones. The story sometimes goes that the SVT – the bass-amplifying sibling of the V Series guitar amps – was designed “for” the Rolling Stones’ 1969 tour. More accurately, the Stones acquired several prototype SVT bass amps and cabs (and, later, several VT amps) rather urgently while rehearsing for that tour, after their own amps failed at the hands of U.S. voltages. As such, the band served as beta testers for the new designs. In addition to bassist Bill Wyman’s initiation of the now-legendary 300-watt SVT, Keith Richards and new Stones guitarist Mick Taylor also played through the massive bass rigs, but the six-stringers soon evolved to V Series guitar amps, which provided some of the best Stones tones of the ’70s.
The V Series Ampegs were designed by Dennis Kager, and remain very much within the Ampeg ethos – or, perhaps more accurately, represent an extension and enlargement of that ethos. As a result, this VT-22 is unlike anything before it; it doesn’t come close to copying any of the popular Marshall, Fender, or Vox amps of the era, and instead does its own thing entirely. This individuality is seen in a plethora of oddball tubes employed in the circuit, and some extremely versatile frequency-shaping capabilities in its tone stack and unique sensitivity and voicing switches. The circuit and the tubes used in it evolved slightly through the ’70s, but this 1972 example follows the classic topology. After a couple of gain stages each provided by the two triodes of a 12DW7 in channel 1 and a 12AX7 in channel 2 respectively, the treble and bass pots are sandwiched between two more gain stages provided by a second 12DW7, with the midrange control and related three-way frequency switch brought in after that stage, before a quirky 6K11 tube (a triple triode, meaning it contains three individual amplification stages) used as gain recovery. A 6CG7 tube serves as reverb driver, while the second half of that third 12DW7 drives a 12AU7 phase inverter into the big 7027A output tubes. It’s all laced together across several printed circuit boards, but rugged printed circuit boards with broad tracks and sturdy mountings. For all this, a vintage VT-22 is not a particularly expensive amp on the used market. Not anywhere in the neighborhood of expensive, in fact. The weight, the volume, the odd tubes, and the lack of much of a backstory in the vintage-tone-cred department – its estimable Stones associations aside – all cooperate to keep prices way down.
Out the door, this combo weighed in at 88 pounds, a fact celebrated in the 1972 Ampeg advertising headline that ran “88 Pounds of Undying Devotion.” For owner Craig Randolph (who runs a backline-rental company in Glendale, California), however, “Weight is not an issue when you hear the tone this thing spits out. The amp is very punchy and full-sounding,” Randolph adds. “It cuts through nicely and every note is clear and precise. The cleans are very shimmery and pure-sounding… When the volume is bumped up a bit, the amp starts to get a little hair going and the Stones-type tones come out – classic rock to the bone. As more gain is added, it goes into some serious lead tones that are epic. It always maintains its full, warm tone no matter where the gain is.” Given its pedigree, Randolph’s VT-22 is frequently in demand for studio dates requiring that early-’70s Stones tone, but he has rented it out for everything from rock to reggae.
The VT-22 of this era was equipped either with CTS speakers, square-backed Eminence speakers, or Altec 417Bs as an upgrade. All had a propensity to blow if you hit them hard and long with the VT-22’s full girth, so today they frequently carry replacement speakers. This example sports a pair of Celestion Classic Lead 80s – a good choice both sonically and in terms of power handling. The Altec 417Bs would have been great-sounding speakers, and at 75 watts each, capable of withstanding the VT-22’s bluster for quite some time, but there are plenty of excellent high-powered replacement speakers available today that can eek out a little more sonic righteousness from this amp, when compared to either of its other two original-equipment drivers. The VT-22 had its own rendition of Ampeg’s famously lush reverb, and, while it’s an outright rocker at heart, it’s still a great jazz amp, too, as is Ampeg’s long-standing forte, with rich, full clean tones when you keep the volume reined in, and a stout enough voice to contain the potential boominess of a big-bodied archtop. So, both a bargain and a powerful performer, but you’ll want a strong-backed pal to help you lug it to the gig.
Amp courtesy of Craig Randolph, photos by Karl Irwin.
This article originally appeared in VG June 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Stompboxes range from organic, transparent circuits that let a guitar’s natural tone shine through, to effects that intentionally color the signal with gobs of sonic insanity. This trio of pedals from Walrus Audio and Celestial Effects truly covers all of those bases.
The Walrus Audio Deep Six, a studio-grade compressor in a little box, was inspired by the Universal Audio 1176, a legendary studio limiter known for giving guitars and drums that hard-rock smack in the ’70s (think Kiss, Aerosmith, and Led Zeppelin). The unit has a true-bypass on/off switch and controls for Level, Sustain, Attack, and Blend. It also converts 9-volt power from a battery or adapter to 18 volts to provide maximum headroom (i.e., the range of clean volume that doesn’t distort) for the player’s compressing pleasures (even when using humbuckers).
The Audio Deep Six is dead simple to use, like an MXR Dyna Comp or other floor box. Generally, the Level control is set equal or louder than the uncompressed guitar signal. Attack refers to how quickly the compressor reacts to each note – most players prefer it higher for single-note lead work and lower for more natural rhythm work. On their instruction sheet, Walrus even provides settings for popular sounds like “Blues lead” and “Brad Paisley-style/country chicken pickin’.” The critical knob, however, is Blend, which allows the player to ladle on heavy compression or back it off for more natural, uneffected tones.
Tested with a ’63 Fender Jaguar and a tube amp, the Deep Six was quiet but provided excellent response to picking nuances, making it easy to dial up a country twang sound, smooth country tones, and fierce blues sounds. The gain can be cranked for a slick high-voltage tone, or users can follow the lead of pros like Steve Lukather and Neal Schon, setting the Deep Six to a moderate level and leaving it on all the time for amore professional studio sheen. As most comp-heads know, just a dab’ll do ya.
Like any good overdrive pedal meant to embellish the natural gain of a tube amp rather than smother it with an “effect-like” fuzz or distortion, Walrus Audio’s Mayflower is a transparent booster that lets the guitar cut through the mix without losing its character. Unlike heavy distortions or fuzzes, this pedal allows a Tele to sound like a Tele, or an SG to sound like an SG. And that’s a good thing.
The Mayflower has true bypass, four knobs (Level, Drive, Bass, and Treble), and an on/off footswitch. This box is all about providing that special sauce needed to make a great guitar and a tube amp sing in harmony. There’s a natural, unforced quality that tubeheads will revel in – just plug into the Mayflower and enjoy the organic interplay between guitar and amp. Of course, the Mayflower will not make a crappy amp sound good, but it will make a good tube amp fuller and punchier. In testing, the Mayflower delivered fresh flavors and meatier overdrive sounds from amps and gave guitars bold, authentic textures, especially after dialing in the EQ controls on the pedal and the amp.
At the opposite end of the cleanliness spectrum is Celestial Effects’ over-the-top and wildly named Cancer Wah the Fuzz?, which is actually one mondo unit housing four pedals: Tube O.D., Muscle Fuzz, Octave Fuzz, and Fixed Wah. The Fixed Wah section has the same effect as leaving a wah pedal in a set position (i.e., the “cocked wah” booster trick perfected by Michael Schenker and Brian Robertson). The result is that cool, piercing sound that punches a hole through any stage mix. A single Wah Tone knob allows the user to pick frequencies ranging from from dark ’n’ smoky to sharp and eardrum-splitting.
The Octave Fuzz takes players to Jimi-ville with a vintage Octavia-like vibe. The effect has Volume and Fuzz knobs and an Octave on/off mini-toggle that can be adjusted for subtle to insane levels of farty fuzz, or to conjure up true shades of “Purple Haze.”
The Muscle Fuzz section is the heaviest, crunchiest part of the Wah the Fuzz? unit. Think Neil Young’s “Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black)” or other sick, garage-grunge riffery. A Tone A/B mini-toggle takes the attack from dark to sharp.
The JJ Tesla 12AX7 tube in the O.D. section of the Wah the Fuzz? provides classic ’70s overdrive tones. However, any of this pedal’s sections can be mixed and matched. Fuzzheads will spend many happy hours tweaking this exceptional stompbox.
This article originally appeared in VG July 2012 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
The cover shows Easton sporting what appears to be a white Gibson Firebird.
