1) This ’57, from batch 253xx, has the added intrigue of a gold G-cutout tailpiece in place of the Bigsby vibrato. In addition to the standard Amber Red stain on the 6120, the Bigsby was requisite on the Atkins-endorsed models. Having a 6120 that lacks both the finish and the vibrato seem to constitute heresy! Other than the horseshoe headstock motif and the gold “signpost” pickguard, it’s hard to recognize this specimen as a 6120. Its identity is validated, however, by the model stamp on the paper label inside the guitar’s body, as well as the confirmation that its serial number jibes with a documented batch of 6120s. The original owner was reportedly a jazz musician and a fan of Atkins who presumably didn’t appreciate Western Orange or require a Bigsby. The Melita bridge was probably more attractive to such a player for its ability to fine-tune, and it’s also possible the guitar was more resonant. In 1957, Gretsch didn’t offer a 16″ dual-Dynasonic archtop other than the 6120, so this was most likely the only way to acquire a Gretsch that fit his needs.
’57 Gretsch photo: Frank Walboomers. Gretsch ’56 photo: Stephen Davis. Guitar courtesy of Jerry Duncan. Gretsch ’59 photo Courtesy of Herb Schwartz. Gretsch ’60 photo courtesy of the Vermont Collection.
When the Gretsch Company introduced its Chet Atkins Hollowbody model 6120 guitar for the 1955 model year, it was not making a subtle statement. In addition to the impossible to ignore G-brand affixed to the body, the steers-head motif on the headstock, and the cowboy-styled engravings in the fretboard markers, the Western panache of this guitar was only amplified further through its ostentatious Amber Red (a.k.a. Western Orange) translucent stain finish.
Although a flagship model for the company, these guitars experienced a multitude of feature evolutions from its 1955 debut in full-blown Western flavor, until the last batch of the more streamlined single-cutaway format in ’61. About the only feature that escaped modification over these years was the signature finish. Even when the 6120 was subjected to a complete redesign for the ’62 model year, and the double-cut sealed-top Electrotone body design was incorporated, the Western Orange finish was retained and provided one of the primary indicators to the buying public that these were still Chet Atkins 6120 guitars.
As a result, for most Gretsch enthusiasts, the Western Orange finish on the 6120 has become iconic, and synonymous with the model, and shared only with the companion 6121 Solidbody. Typically, most Gretsch models were produced from the Brooklyn factory in batches of 50 or 100. But in the case of the 6120, many batches included a quantity of 6121 Solidbody models. This was a curious practice, duplicated to a lesser extent with batches of White Falcon (model 6136) and White Penguin (model 6134).
Gretsch has been recognized for pioneering, and subsequently popularizing, the use of colored finishes on its electric archtop line of the ’50s. Many of these hues, and their use in combination, were inspired by the automotive stylings of the period. As a result, most of the company’s models were available in multiple finish options, while the 6120 remained steadfast in its commitment to the Western Orange aesthetic.
This didn’t necessarily mean it was impossible to acquire a 6120 in something other than orange. It simply meant that for most it was unthinkable. However, there are always those who prefer the road less traveled. Perhaps some musicians were attracted to the sonic qualities the 6120 package, but just weren’t interested in presenting the kind of visual impact the standard finish delivered. For these few, the Brooklyn factory would create – on a one-off/custom-order basis – a Chet Atkins 6120 in something other than Amber Red.
In the seven years the Chet Atkins 6120 was manufactured in the single-cutaway format, there were approximately 50 batches of the model produced, translating to no more than 4,000 guitars. Today, these are among the most popular Gretsches, and appear regularly on the secondary market. Only on rare occasion however, does a custom-color single-cut 6120 surface. Ironically, when they do, they tend (with a few exceptions) to not be finished in one of the company’s automotive-inspired options, but instead in the more pedestrian brown-sunburst the company applied to most of its base model electric archtops. On the face of it, and considering the model in question, this might seem counterintuitive. But if the objective was to not stand out in the crowd, what better way to understate the visual of the 6120 than to mute its flamboyance through a more-traditional archtop finish.
2) One of the earliest 6120s to surface in the brown-sunburst finish, this guitar resides in the 185xx batch from 1956. Further disguising itself from the original, it lacks the G-brand on its lower bout, and the gold-Lucite pickguard (which is original) does not have the Chet Atkins signature signpost motif. This guitar retains the Western-style accoutrements such as the etched “cows and cactus” imagery on the fretboard markers, and the inlaid steers-head motif on the headstock. The hardware conforms to ’56 spec, with dual gold-plated DeArmond Dynasonic pickups, arrow-motif control knobs, and a chrome-finished, enamel-faced Bigsby B6 vibrato, with a fixed arm and spoon handle. Open-back Waverly tuners and a large truss rod cover on the headstock are consistent with the standard 6120 package of the day. The label has a 6120 model stamp, and the 185xx serial number batch is a confirmed group of 100 6120 guitars.
3) Perhaps one of rarest 6120s, this ’59 from batch 325xx was a custom order in ultra-rare left-handed orientation. The finish is rare enough, but consensus among “Gretsch-perts” is that the company made fewer than 100 left-handed guitars in the ’50s and early ’60s. Today, the ’59 is one of the most-desirable iterations of the 6120; they employ Filter’Tron pickups, elegant neoclassic fretboard markers on an ebony fretboard, and an optimized version of the internal (trestle) bracing system introduced to the 6120 the previous model year. This guitar has all that, but it may not command the price of a standard-finish/right-handed 6120. That aside, its rarity could make it quite a prize for a hardcore 6120 collector. It’s all-original and displays the signature ’59 features of a zero fret, “Patent Applied For” Filter’Tron cases, enamel-faced Bigsby B6 (with Philips-head bolt) and the aforementioned lighter trestle bracing in its 2.75″-deep body. The plain pickguard is commonly found on lefty Gretsches.
4) The 1960 model year 6120 is easily identified by its adoption of the V-style Bigsby B6 vibrato unit, (and less obvious to the casual eye, a thinner 2.5-inch body depth). This handsome specimen, from the #388xx batch, retains those features as well as the horseshoe inlay in the headstock and the gold Chet Atkins signpost pickguard. It is also the most recent member of our sunburst-finished 6120 line-up. Another interesting aspect of this guitar is the survival of its original bill of sale, dated October 27, 1960. The other valuable information this original receipt provides is documentation of the $25 premium charged for the custom color. With an original retail price of $475, that would have made the pursuit of a custom color 6120 a relatively affordable prospect, and it’s interesting that more weren’t produced. Presumably, that’s more of a testament to most Gretsch fans’ inability to disassociate the classic Western Orange finish with the Chet Atkins model 6120.
The small fraternity of original Gretsch owners who opted out of the flashy Western Orange 6120 have, 50 years later, created a challenge for current owners of these rarely encountered anomalies. First, it’s not unreasonable to assume that if a collector or musician were seeking to acquire a vintage Gretsch 6120, he/she would probably desire it to be finished in the celebrated Amber Red stain. Second, there seems to be a natural skepticism about these brown-sunburst specimens, and questions regarding their legitimacy often result. Recent serial number and batch analysis has been helpful in these cases, as well as for determining the authenticity of any guitar being represented as a Chet Atkins 6120. The fact that periodic attempts have been made to pass off “6120 conversions” (from lower-end Gretsch donor guitars) as legitimate Chet Atkins 6120s have made prospective buyers wary of even certain Western Orange examples. So, when an uncommon specimen, not to mention one with a brown-sunburst finish, surfaces, it tends to raise even more eyebrows. The following specimens are authenticated examples of the ultra-rare Gretsch Chet Atkins 6120, in the custom factory brown-sunburst finish.
As the ’60s progressed, custom-color/double-cutaway 6120s became more numerous, most sporting interesting hues (not the brown sunburst!). By then, however, the Western aura of the original had all but faded, and the signature finish was losing its impact. In the spring of ’72, the sun set on the Western Orange finish as the Baldwin Piano Company, which had taken over the brand in ’67, discontinued the finish as it revamped the model, giving it a red finish and reassigning it as the 7660 Nashville.
Ed Ball is the author of Gretsch 6120, History of a Legendary Guitar (Schiffer Publishing).
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.
Forget about the classic quartet. Forget the power trio. Forget any preconceived shortcomings you may have concerning a rock-and-roll duo. There’s no denying it – the Black Keys crank out impressive noise.
As one half of the band – drummer Patrick Carney – once joked, “We’re normally a 12-piece jazz big-band, but the other 10 pieces just couldn’t be with us on this tour.”
Carney and guitarist/vocalist Dan Auerbach’s current tour in support of their latest album, El Camino (Nonesuch Records), will take them on a five-month jaunt around the globe and across North America. Along the way, they’ll headline at stadiums and arenas, including two sold-out nights at New York City’s Madison Square Garden.
To play these grand venues, the Black Keys have augmented the group with touring bassist Gus Seyffert and rhythm guitarist/keyboardist John Wood. But at heart, the band is still just a duet.
The burden of crafting the guitar riffs and solos falls on the shoulders of Auerbach. Asked how two guys can create such a wall of sound onstage, he shrugs it off as “Nothing out of the ordinary. No trickery; just a guitar, some pedals, and some amps.”
Again with no trickery beyond good rockin’ music, the Black Keys got big fast in the past two years. Auerbach and Carney joined forces a decade ago in their native Akron, Ohio, and released their debut, The Big Come Up, in ’02. The album was a down-and-dirty rave-up of classic deep blues by Muddy Waters, R.L. Burnside, and Junior Kimbrough, blended with originals.
But it wasn’t until their 2010 album, Brothers, that the Keys broke wide. The album won them three 2011 Grammy awards and an ever-broadening fan base ranging from guitar enthusiasts to frat brothers. Their rootsy music – stripped-down but full-on – spoke to deep-blues traditionalists just as well as classic rockers.
Auerbach recently told VG about his guitar inspirations; “From Marc Ribot to Robert Quine to Fred McDowell to Junior Kimbrough, Jerry Garcia to Lightnin’ Hopkins to the Sonics to Shinki Chen.” And that’s not including his love for rockabilly, psychedelia, doo-woppers like the Cadillacs, and above all, his deep respect for John Fogerty and Creedence Clearwater Revival.
“I’m inspired by all kinds of guitarists from all genres,” he said. “Anything goes – as long as it’s interesting.”
This broad base of interests led to El Camino – Spanish for “the road” – which pays tribute to the Keys’ own musical journey. Car geeks, relax! The minivan on the cover is not what the bandmates think is a Chevy El Camino. Instead, this down-at-the-wheels, plastic-wood-sided vehicle is a brother to the van that Auerbach and Carney originally toured in back when.
El Camino is a road map for the route the group is now traveling. Brothers boasted a modern blues and soul sound, thanks in part to the band’s self-production at the famed Muscle Shoals Studio in Alabama. El Camino rides a funk, British rock, and heavy-metal groove, recalling bands like Led Zeppelin, Cream, Black Sabbath, and T. Rex. It was cut in Nashville, at Auerbach’s own Easy Eye Studio.
Both albums were produced by Brian “Danger Mouse” Burton, whose wide-ranging résumé runs from his own pop group, Gnarls Barkley, to production for Beck, Gorillaz, even U2. Burton helped the Keys’ spice their rock and blues with hip-hop and R&B. But deep down, this is still an album all about guitar and drums.
El Camino was cut blending old-school and new tech. In Auerbach’s studio, they had time to play, crafting each song the way they wanted. “Every song has a foundation of a live guitar-and-drums performance, but then we added instrumentation and vocals on top liberally until we were satisfied.”
The Black Keys’ El Camino pays tribute to the band’s musical journey, recalling the music of bands like Led Zeppelin, Cream, Black Sabbath, and T. Rex.Auerbach’s guitar collection runs in tune with his roots-music fascination.
“For the most part, [on this record] I used a ’53 Les Paul, a ’58 Strat, a ’50s Harmony, and a ’60s Danelectro,” he reports. In truth, his Les Paul and Stratocaster – as well as a Gibson J-160E, Gibson Firebird, and Rickenbacker bass – are rare nods to “normalcy.” Auerbach is perhaps the highest-profile user of bizarre guitars on the current rock scene – those great off-brand classics that fueled much of the blues and early rock and roll. And he’s proud of it.
His Harmony collection boasts a dual-pickup Stratotone and a triple-pickup H77 modded with a Bigsby. His quiver also includes a black National Westwood 77 “map guitar,” a white Supro Martinique with two DeArmond single-coils, and a glorious funky-shaped sunburst Guild Thunderbird.
The tone of these guitars cuts through El Camino. “Gold On The Ceiling” features Auerbach’s trebly guitar soaring above Carney’s deep drumbeat and fuzzed-out keyboards. “Run Right Back” rides a riff that is a feast of fuzz.
Auerbach loves fuzz. In the studio, he opts for small amps and their inherent overdrive, all in the spirit of Jimmy Page and his mystery Supro or Eric Clapton and his Fender Champ on Layla. Auerbach’s fave is a little Magnatone with a 10″ speaker.
“No matter what size amp I use, I’m generally trying to find that sweet spot where the overdrive – the tube or speaker or combination of both – is constant, but still reacts well to pedals… fuzz especially.”
On tour, he’s using a Fender Quad Reverb and Marshall JTM45 with a vintage Marshall 8×10 cab.
He admits to owning a “sick amount of pedals.” He has a small collection of Russian-made Sovtek Big Muff Pi fuzzes for use with large amps on the road, an early-’70s Ibanez Standard Fuzz octave fuzz with two sliders that he has used throughout his career, and a vintage ’60s Marshall Supa Fuzz. But his favorite for coaxing the best sound out of a smaller amp is his Japanese-made Shin-ei Companion Fuzz.
Other effects on this album include a Fulltone tube Echoplex re-creation “…and various other normal, over-the-counter effects.” In other words, too many to list politely!
This article originally appeared in VG May 2012 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
CAPTIONS:
Dan Auerbach photo: Reid Long.
The Black Keys’ El Camino pays tribute to the band’s musical journey, recalling the music of bands like Led Zeppelin, Cream, Black Sabbath, and T. Rex.
The banjo and American music cross paths in a remarkably entangled web of complexity. The banjo was brought to the New World – conceptually, at least – by African slaves who used it to create music subsequently appropriated by 19th-century white entertainers, who created blackface minstrelsy, which became the basis of Vaudeville and a great source of opportunity for waves of new, more-willing immigrants. Among these were many Europeans, including an Italian family by the name of Iosco, which figures both in the rise of ragtime and in the existence of the Yosco No. 2 Tenor Banjo.
The Iosco family – Americanized to Yosco upon their arrival – hailed from Castemezzano, Potenza, Basilicatena, in south-central Italy, an area historically associated with harpists and harp making, thus explaining, in part, the musical routes to success taken by some members. Family records indicate that the parents, Domenico and Maria Antonia, emigrated to the U.S. in 1877. Their youngest known son, Rocco Giuseppe (1874-1942), changed his name to Robert Joseph Yosco. Robert, who played mandolin, teamed with harpist George Lyons (probably originally Giorgio Leoni) and joined the national Vaudeville circuit as Yosco & Lyons, singing and doing comedy routines. Like minstrelsy before it, early Vaudeville depended heavily on self-deprecating ethnic humor. Yosco & Lyons are considered early ragtime performers whose songs frequently reference their Italian heritage. Their biggest hit was the song “Spaghetti Rag,” which they recorded in 1910.
The Iosco’s oldest known son was Rocco Lorenzo (b. 1869), who changed his name to Lawrence and apparently inherited an aptitude for building instruments. Whether trained by his father or with a New York manufacturer (or both) is unknown, but by 1900 (at the latest) he had established the Yosco Manufacturing Company, promoting mandolins and banjos.
Yosco seems to have been a fairly prolific manufacturer, since a fair number of his instruments have survived. Yosco is perhaps best known for his Colossus, a guitar banjo, a large banjo with a six-string guitar neck.
In 1918 Lawrence Yosco was granted a patent for a “double internal resonator” called the “Yosco Double Rim,” as seen on this banjo. Basically this consisted of a regular outside rim doubled by a second internal rim about 6″ smaller in diameter. The banjo’s head rests on both rims, making it an “archtop” instrument; the resonator is formed by a rounded piece of wood attached to the bottom of the two rims, forming a hollow sound chamber. This particular example is made of curly maple and sports 16 brackets and what appears to be an original skin head. The example you see here has a nickel tone ring. Its planetary tuners are typical of the ’20s, the fingerboard is rosewood, and the pearl inlays are also fairly standard. The bridge is a modern replacement. The instrument’s condition is in part due to its having spent a good deal of its life in the attic of a central New Jersey firehouse.
Yosco Double Rim banjos hit the market just in time for prohibition and the “jazz age.” Except for the guitar-necked Colossus, virtually all Yosco banjos are either tenor or plectrum; no five-strings have, to our knowledge, surfaced, though one or more certainly could have been made. There has been a fair amount of conversion on them, with later five-string necks being added.
Like many banjo manufacturers, Yosco graded his banjos based on how fancy they were; No. 1 would presumably be plainer, probably with dot inlays, No. 2 was likely in the middle, and No. 3 was the fanciest, though the few seen look quite similar. Some were made of figured walnut.
A number of sources suggest Yosco did not make its own banjos, but that they were made by Rettberg & Lange or William L. Lange. Others suggest only the necks were made by Rettberg & Lange. However, since Yosco had been building its own mandolins since at least 1900, they could have made their own banjos. The body and neck on the banjo seen here certainly look like they were made by the same maker. Lange had entered the banjo business about the same time as Yosco, doing business as Rettberg & Lange from circa 1897 to 1922. Rettberg & Lange also took over the manufacturing operations of J.H. Buckbee, a major 19th-century maker who supplied instruments to many retailers under many different names. So there certainly was a tradition of building for other companies (19th-century banjos of uncertain origin are often labeled “Buckbee,” kind of like all mystery guitars are called Regals!). In 1922, William L. Lange took sole control of the company and was responsible for the Orpheum and Paramount brands. So if, indeed, there was participation in Yosco banjos, this example would reflect that. Since this banjo references the patent, it’s clearly from later than 1918.
Yosco banjos were distributed by the New York wholesaler Perlberg and Halpin, and were available into the ’30s. Just when Lawrence Yosco passed away is unknown, but by the ’30s he would have been in his 60s, so it’s reasonable to assume the company ended when Yosco died or retired. By the ’30s, guitars were clearly the ascendant in terms of popularity, while banjos were receding. Yosco declined to make the transition.
There’s no evidence concerning how many Yosco banjos were produced. The one shown has serial number #441, which presumably is consecutive. Despite years of neglect, it has survived pretty well. The head shows its age, but it plays well and sounds quite nice.
The Yosco Double Rim is a sturdy, decent-sounding banjo, even if it’s not perceptibly superior to banjos equipped with a full-sized resonator covering the entire back – especially if you consider the better models. But one sure to sound great on it would be Robert Yosco’s “Spaghetti Rag!”
This article originally appeared in VG August 2011 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
The Band’s double-LP Rock of Ages was released in August 1972, their first live collection – as well as their last before they disbanded with 1978’s The Last Waltz. As phenomenal as their finale show was, guest stars and all, the earlier collection captured them at a creative peak and was a much more characteristic period set.
Yet the Band’s erstwhile leader and current keeper, Robbie Robertson, was never truly happy with the sound and mix on Rock of Ages. The original was culled from four shows at New York City’s Academy of Music on December 28-31, 1971. This new collection – available in a two-CD set and expanded four-CD one-DVD album – rewrites that history. As Robertson pronounces in the liner notes here, “I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to have another crack at this.” The result is a new collection with what he claims is “a sonic life in these recordings that was meant to be.”
For the shows, the Band was augmented by a five-man horn section scored by Allen Toussaint. And as these new remixed and remastered versions prove, the group perhaps never sounded better.
The Band Academy of Music
The Band’s setlist drew on their four previous studio albums, plus Motown and R&B covers. From “The Shape I’m In” to “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” they work together like few bands before or since – part of their legacy that’s perhaps made them even more famous today. Garth Hudson’s keyboard improvisations, Richard Manuel’s piano, and Robertson’s Telecaster lines sparkle within the stellar rhythms of Levon Helm and Rick Danko. The horns are icing on an incredibly tasty cake. As Robertson writes, “Within The Band there was a tight togetherness and ambition to have a good time at the gigs.” Right on both scores.
These two packages offer soundboard mixes of further shows from the run. But the most exciting addition is the encore with special guest Bob Dylan.
Dylan was largely silent at that time. Remember, this was between ’70’s New Morning and ’73’s Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid soundtrack and his eventual “return” with ’74’s Planet Waves. A nervous Dylan had recently return to the public eye at George Harrison’s Concert for Bangladesh in August ’71, but fans at the time had little sense if he was writing new material or had retired to a house in the suburbs.
Dylan made an appearance at the Band’s concert at Robertson’s invite, playing a four-song encore to the final show in the early-morning hours of New Year’s Day. Dylan roars into “Down In The Flood,” proving he had not forgotten how to rock and roll. The gig would in part inspire Dylan and the Band’s 1974 tour, captured on the performance-rich, sonically challenged Before the Flood.
If you’re a fan of The Band or Dylan, you need this collection. No question. And perhaps with the creative success of this set, Robertson could inspire Dylan once again, and a revised and expanded Before the Flood will be next.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s February ’13 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Carl Verheyen is a member of that elite (and shrinking) group of musicians known as “session guitarists.” Super-qualified pickers, they’re the hired guns brought in for the most demanding and important recording dates.
They command triple-scale fees, but work in a pressure cooker where time is money, where skillsets call for expertise in blues, jazz, pop, country, rock, and orchestral situations, where producers and composers presume tone, touch, and technique on tap, and where players are routinely expected to one moment sight-read pages with more black than white, and in next deliver an authentic metal-shred vibe.
For more than 25 years, first-call guitarist Verheyen has made his mark as one of L.A.’s most successful studio players. In that time, he has crossed enumerable musical boundaries and amassed an impressive array of credits. His playing graces albums by everyone from the Bee Gees to Miley Cyrus, Dolly Parton to Glenn Frey, Cher to Dave Grusin, and Tiffany to Victor Feldman. Moreover, he is heard on the soundtracks of prominent films including The Milagro Beanfield Wars, The Crow, Moscow on the Hudson, Ratatouille, Blow, and Stand and Deliver, as well as iconic TV shows such as “Laverne and Shirley” and “Cheers.”
Unlike most of his contemporaries, Verheyen does not toil in anonymity. Instead, he has chosen the path less traveled but more rewarded – the one pursued by predecessors like Larry Carlton, Lee Ritenour, Howard Roberts, and Steve Lukather. For more than a decade, Carl has maintained a strong global presence as a solo artist, composer, virtuoso guitar player and bandleader, touring internationally with his own group and as a member of Supertramp, which he joined in 1985.
Despite his heavy client load, Verheyen regularly enters the studio to record his own music. Since 1988, he has released a string of solo albums filled with ear-catching guitar moments and memorable compositions. The latest is Trading 8s, a sonic cavalcade that finds him stretching out on his instrument and sharing the limelight with guitar-wielding colleagues like Joe Bonamassa, Steve Morse, Robben Ford, Albert Lee, Rick Vito, and Scott Henderson.
Poised for a European tour, the indefatigable Verheyen recently sat with VG to discuss vintage guitars, his perspectives on tone, and the new album.
What are some of the highlights of your guitar collection?
My heart and soul is in the Fender Stratocaster. My number one live guitar is a ’61 Strat in Sea Foam Green, made of light swamp ash with a rosewood fretboard. I believe it was repainted at the Fender factory in the pre-CBS days; it has a different patina than my other vintage Strats, which are also checking differently. I have a ’58 Strat with a maple board I bought about 15 years ago. I love that one; it’s a fine rock guitar and weighs 7.3 pounds. Seymour Duncan advised me to buy that one. He said it has the best continuous three-pickup sound he ever heard; the pickups are very even and each is a logical progression in tone. I’m very into that; when I go to the rear pickup, I don’t want it to sound like a different guitar. The middle pickup has to have that glassy tone, and the neck pickup has to have that big, fat, warm, woody tone. I also have a ’65 Strat, pre-CBS L-series; it’s a great rhythm guitar with huge low-end reminiscent of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s tone. I used it a lot on the new record for dirty rhythm and clean picking, and it distorts well, too. I tend to use it in the studio more than the others.
Verheyen loves the neck pickup on his ’54 Gibson Les Paul. “I use it for solos a lot because… it cuts through a wall of guitar sounds,” he says.
I have a newer Fender Strat I take on the road, and a guitar made by John Suhr with the exact neck of my ’61 Strat, except it’s all maple. It has a set of his noiseless pickups, which give a more modern tone. It’s a great rhythm guitar. I also have a number of offset double-cuts built by Tommy Metz, who has made a new guitar for every European tour I’ve done for the past 10 years, all necks duplicated from my ’58 and ’61 Strats. I keep most of them in Germany to use when I play in Europe.
What made the Strat your main guitar?
I started out playing Gibsons; I had an SG in high school, then a Les Paul, then a 335. I got into the Strat in the late ’70s, when I was playing jazz with Victor Feldman’s band, then with Max Roach a little, and a lot of jazz gigs. I remember driving home from a gig when I heard a Joe Walsh solo on the Eagles’ “Those Shoes.” It was so powerful I had to pull over. After that, I had to reassess rock guitar, because I’d left it in the early Aerosmith days, when I got into jazz – Wes Montgomery, Pat Martino, and all those guys. But when I heard that Walsh solo, I said “Man, this is the music of my people” (laughs)!
Then I started learning everything I dug, like Chet Atkins. I learned to play classical guitar, country guitar… everything. In the process, the Strat started to appeal for its tonal colors, like the high-end sparkle, which was a new thing to me.
Then I really got into the Strat’s nuances. I was exploring the sounds of all the different combinations; I change pickups about three times per note (laughs)! I’m all over that. Another thing I do is set up my Strat with a floating vibrato so when I pull up on the bar the G string goes up a minor third, my B goes up a whole step, and my high E goes up a half step. It gives me intervals I can depend on, so I can use the bar for melodies, like Jeff Beck. I balance the tension with the claw angle and springs, and put more tension on the bass strings. I dial it in to find that spot where the spring tension gives me the minor third on the G string, and go from there. I don’t care as much about the intervals on the lower three.
Do you experience any tuning issues?
No, it stays in tune really well, even with fairly fresh strings; I use a .009-.046 set, light top, heavier bottom; Thomastik-Infeld makes a Verheyen set. And I put a little Archer lube in the bridge, the nut, even the string trees.
Is there something inherently special about Strat tone?
In my opinion, guitar players who get saturated distortion tones using single-coil pickups always have more character, a more personal sound, like David Gilmour, Eric Johnson, or Stevie Ray Vaughan. They’ve had to jump through more hoops, try harder, and experiment with effects; they’re generally more the “tone guys,” to my ears. But there are plenty of exceptions – Duane Allman, Van Halen, Eric Clapton in the Cream era – but so many the humbucker players sound exactly the same because they’re hitting the front of their amps with a really big signal, making sort of a square wave. Whereas if you have a single-coil, it’s a weaker signal and you have to do something to it – find the right pedal or something.
And how does your amp play into the sound?
I tend to use amps without a master volume, and crank them. I’ll use an attenuator or a Variac and go for that big power-tube distortion, then add a pedal or two – distortion or gain pedal.
Do you use stock Fender pickups in your Strats?
I use everything. In my old Strats, they’re all stock; I buy them for that. But I’ll use my ’97 Strat for pickup experiments. I’ve tried everything – Lindy Fralins, Seymour Duncans, Joe Bardens, and a bunch of others.
What were you playing just before the Strat?
My ’65 ES-335, for the most part.
Was it a difficult transition?
At first, the Strat was harder to chord when I had to stretch because of the difference in fretboard scale. My first custom guitar was made with a Gibson 24¾” scale by Dale Fortune. It was cool, but didn’t sound like the longer 25½” scale. I like to play a Strat through Vox AC30s, and I really need those harmonics and that sparkle.
In the ’80s, I had a few hotrodded Strats with humbuckers, some stunt guitars with Floyd Rose vibratos built by Norik Renson. I used one on The Crow. But since the mid ’80s it’s mostly been a true Strat. In the late ’80s, I abandoned the rack because my ’61 Strat through a blackface Fender Princeton Reverb sounded better than $60,000 worth of rack gear. It’s that marriage of wood – this guitar and that amp. I broke away from the L.A. studio guys at that point, though I still use some of that stuff for movie scores. There are some orchestrators in town who write parts for me to play along with strings for that sound. Then I’ll use a volume pedal and rackmounted delays for the echo and swelling effects; the rack thing does that very well.
This ’58 Gibson ES-175 is Verheyen’s primary jazz guitar.
How about other Fender guitars?
I have a 1960 Telecaster Custom – sunburst with the bound body. It has a slab-board neck and is a beautiful-sounding guitar. I don’t use it for country; I like it better for “swampy” things… claw-picking, a la Jerry Reed. That and my Tele Thinline are my two best guitars for the semi-crunch sound with slight distortion – maybe paired with a tweed Fender amp, a THD, or even a Marshall.
The Thinline is a 1970 model that weighs nothing – I love lightweight guitars. It has a rosewood fretboard and is a great jazz guitar when it’s got heavier strings. It’s liberating to play; you can fly on the fingerboard. And I love the feel of that body vibrating against my ribs (laughs)!
Do you have any favorite Gibsons?
I’ve got a ’54 Les Paul goldtop with the wrap-around bridge. That’s a secret-weapon guitar. It has a very powerful neck pickup. I use it for solos a lot because it has a sonic girth and cuts through a wall of guitar sounds. On Slang Justice, I played it on the title track and the cover of “Two Trains Running.”
I also have a sunburst ’72 Les Paul Deluxe I bought because it was so light. Someone replaced the mini-humbuckers and routed the body for [humbuckers], so I installed real PAFs from a ES-175. It’s a great little guitar; I use it all the time.
Speaking of the ES-175, you’ve played semi-hollow guitars for decades, right?
Yes, I still have – and love – my sunburst ’58 175. It’s my main jazz guitar, the one I played in the mid ’70s. A lot of my favorite players used them – Pat Metheny, Joe Pass, and Jim Hall. In the early ’70s I got a ’65 ES-335 with a skinny neck. The original trapeze tail had been converted to a stop-tail early on. But what a tone; I can get that exact Clapton “Crossroads” sound out of it!
One of the guitars on the new album is your Gibson korina Flying V.
It’ a ’92 Heritage reissue – very light, with a big baseball-bat neck. I used it a lot on my Take One Step record, like the solos on “Lighthouse” and “Georgia’s Reel.”
And your cherry SG Standard is very cool…
I bought that – it’s a ’66 – from a friend who removed the stock Vibrola and replaced it with a stop tailpiece. It’s lightweight and has great access to the upper register.
Does it have a specific purpose in your arsenal?
I like it for doubling with a Les Paul, playing both on the bridge pickup. For example, on the title track on Take One Step, I wanted a huge lead sound with two guitars. To beef up the chorus, I used tiny amps with them – a Gibson Falcon with the SG in one channel, the Les Paul in the other channel with a tweed Deluxe.
I think about combinations like that. For example, for chordal things my Tele Thinline with a little distortion sounds great mixed with a Rickenbacker 12-string set perfectly clean. I think layering and orchestrating guitars is what’s happening in guitar records these days. Everybody can shred, but now we want to hear combinations of tones.
(LEFT TO RIGHT) ’65 Gibson ES-335. This ’66 Gibson SG was Verheyen’s first guitar.
What other notable electrics do you have?
I have a ’59 Gretsch 6120 with Filter-Trons. That was the perfect year. According to Brian Setzer (VG, September ’05), the 1958 is braced wrong and the 1960 has the wrong pickups… or something like that. When I looked up the serial number and date, I said “Score!” (Supertramp producer) Jack Douglas got me started on a quest for the Gretsch as an alternate or quirky sound in the studio. It took a long time to find the right one; most didn’t feel right or sound right.
My blond ’67 Rickenbacker 360/12 is the Byrds model, with the rounded body. The Byrds’ guitar sound still jumps out of the radio at me; they inspired me as a kid, so I had to have a Rick 12; mine has a skinny neck, but I can get around pretty well on it. I use it for arpeggio parts, mostly worked out on the bottom four strings.
I also have a ’56 Supro Dual-Tone set up for slide. I use heavy-gauge flatwound strings on it, and play with distortion or clean tone for notes and chords. I use mostly open tunings – A and G, E and D – that’s about my extent of it. If I have to sight-read music, I’ll keep it in standard tuning.
What about amps?
The blackface Princeton is the ground-zero amp for me – a perfect reference point. I have three – 1965, ’66 and ’67; I keep two in my studio room where I do my practicing, listening, playing and teaching. Those are the amps I use to tweak guitars, adjust pickup heights, and to listen to my hands. The Princetons are true to what God has intended electric guitar to sound like. They’re not hyped; they have the perfect frequency with 17 golden watts and the old Oxford and Jensen speakers. I have used them for playing live and recording.
My ’63 Fender Tremolux is an interesting amp. It sounds great at any volume – you can turn it up to 10 and it sounds like Keith Richards, or you can play it at 3, where it’s nice and clean. I’ve matched it to a blackface Band Master 2×12 cabinet modified so it has an open back; the sound bangs around the room better and it’s more efficient. I love those old Oxford speakers.
I also use a 1963 Gibson Falcon. It’s a little 1×12 amp, the Gibson equivalent of the Fender Deluxe. I contend the reverb sounds better on that amp than a Fender. I use it all the time; it’s a honey tone with the 175. You can get a beautiful jazz tone but when you crank it breaks up well. The more you turn it up, the quieter the reverb. I bought it years ago when I was on the road in Toronto for 70 bucks.
Currently I get my definitive clean sound with either two Vox AC30s or two Fender Twin-Reverbs, in stereo. I have many ways of getting right and left clean tone, but the ’63 Vox and ’64 Twin are my favorite. The Twin gives the great, fat low-mid and bottom-end, not a lot of high-end sparkle, and the Vox gives everything else. I go into the Normal channel of the Twin and the Normal channel, not the Top Boost, of the Vox most of the time; it’s a perfect blend and a nice stereo image. For smaller gigs, I’ll use two blackface Princetons, or I could do it with the Tremolux and a Jim Kelly.
(LEFT TO RIGHT) The “perfect year” for the Gretsch 6120 was 1959, Verheyen says. ’58 Fender Stratocaster.
What about the Kelly amp?
I was an early Jim Kelly customer; at one point with Supertramp, I took three out on the road. The Kelly FACS is coming from a Fender direction with four 6V6s, very sweet tube sound. It has two channels, one voiced a little grittier than the other; one is like a clean Fender and the other one has a dirt factor. Jim had an attenuator to control power tubes for power-amp distortion. The Kelly was a big part of my early sound with Strats; I used them a lot in the late ’70s. They were one of the first boutique amps.
What’s your preference for distorted amp sounds?
My go-to Verheyen sound is usually the ’61 Strat with a Marshall plexi head or the Dr Z SRZ-65, and various cabinets. And I use pedals for distortion; these days it’s the Landgraff, the Fuchs, and an Italian box called Il Distasore. I’m using the Dr. Z for my main distortion amp; I have two of them. They have a master volume, but turned all the way up it’s out of the circuit, and that’s the way I use them. The template for me is the ’68 Marshall JMP 50-watt plexi. Turning the amp up to 6 gives me just enough distortion to where using a pedal throws it over the top. So it’s a nice power-chord sound without a pedal and, with it, a perfect lead tone. Most pedals these days are so sophisticated that the guitar volume cleans them up nicely. I also have a 1966 JTM-45 with a script logo; that’s a beautiful blues amp. I like to play it with my Gibson guitars; turn it up to 6 or 7 and you’re dialed for that Blues Breaker tone.
I also have a 1969 100-watt Marshall metalface I modified to go through the power amp only; I take a speaker-out into a Hot Plate, then direct out of the Hot Plate into a cabinet. That’s a dry straight-through sound that can be attenuated. Then I can go from the line-out into a Lexicon PCM-41 at line level. From there I go into the power amp of my modified 100-watt Marshall. With a flick of a little switch I’m into the power amp, and that’s my delay side. So I’ve got wet and dry. If on the next song I don’t need as much wet sound, I just walk over and turn down the Marshall a little bit. I don’t have to mess with delay parameters.
Are there certain guitars that work best with the Marshall?
Any Strat through the 50-watt plexi is amazing, with or without a pedal, though I usually use some distortion pedal. If I want to sound like Hendrix, I’ll use the ’65 Strat and the 100-watt. The Les Paul, 335, and Flying V all sound great out of the JTM-45.
Do you have any notable acoustics?
(LEFT TO RIGHT) ’61 Fender Stratocaster in Sea Foam Green. ’65 Fender Stratocaster with L serial number.
I like Gibson acoustics. John Fogerty turned me on to them. He said, “Martins are nice and sweet for the bluegrass thing, country sounds, and folk strumming. But Gibsons rock!” And he’s right. So I found a ’59 J-50, and I love it. Then I found a ’51 J-50 that was even better. You can really dig on it, and I love the way it sits in a track. I use the J-50 a lot for strummed parts.
I also have a ’36 Gibson L-00, a Robert-Johnson-style guitar with a little body. When I have a lot of acoustics on a track and they want me to play a melody on top of them, that’s the guitar I use. It has its own character and fills a sonic space the others don’t, and it’s great for slide.
But you have more than just Gibson acoustics?
Yes. I use my ’59 Martin D-18 for country stuff and fingerpicking. My ’75 Guild F-50 feels like an L-5; it has a bound neck and an ebony board. It’s a maple guitar – jumbo beyond jumbo – but it isn’t very loud! It has a softer sound.
I also have a couple of Mark Angus steel-strings, made at the Laguna Beach Guitar Shop. Mark makes my signature acoustic guitar, the CV model. He makes four or five of them a year. It’s modeled after a 1920s/’30s Martin with a slotted headstock; it has a small body with a cutaway. The Mark Angus CV has a sound like nothing else, completely unique. I did a solo acoustic record a few years ago, Solo Guitar Improvisations – Eddie Kramer produced a bit of it – and we tried 14 guitars, all my acoustics, borrowed guitars… you name it. In the end, the winning tone was the Angus CV. It’s killer.
A nylon-string I’ve used on countless recordings, movies scores, and the like is a 1980 Ramirez 1A I got in their Madrid showroom. The ’55 Maccaferri G-40 I have is supposed to look like a Django guitar, and it has the Django quality and a primitive, bluesy vibe. It’s good for slide, as well. My other nylon-strings are hand-made Avalons. The Lowden people make them in Ireland, they’re a little thinner and won’t feed back. They’re fantastic guitars. I also have an Avalon D-32; it’s like a Martin D-28. I use it in the studio a lot; it’s a workhorse.
What’s in your live setup?
The clean side of my live rig uses a couple reverbs; a T-Rex Room-Mate pedal and a rack-mount spring reverb by Robert Stamps, a chorus pedal by TC Electronics, and a Lexicon MPX-100, stereo-in/stereo out, which ties the two clean amps together. The distortion side uses a Dr. Z SRZ-65 slaved through my ’69 100-watt Marshall using a THD Hotplate and a Lexicon PCM-41.
I keep five or six amps in Europe; a Dr. Z, two Fender Twins, two Vibro-Kings, and two THDs. When I travel, I take only a pedalboard. I’ve duplicated my L.A. rig for use over there.
What’s in your pedalboard?
(LEFT TO RIGHT) Verheyen prefers this 1960 Telecaster Custom for “swampy” things, like claw-picking a la Jerry Reed. Verheyen says this 1970 Fender Telecaster Thinline makes a great jazz guitar when it has heavier strings. This ’67 Rickenbacker 360/12 is part of Verheyen’s collection due to the influence of The Byrds. “(Their) guitar sound still jumps out of the radio at me; they inspired me as a kid, so I had to have a Rick 12.”
It’s an A/B system running stereo clean, mono dirty. I’ve got three distortion pedals on B – the dirty side – a new Landgraff Perfect Distortion, the Il Distasore, and a Voodoo Labs Pro Octavia. I have one distortion box, a Zen Drive, for A (the clean side) in case I want to dirty it up a bit. I also use a new one, the Fuchs Cream pedal.
I’ve got five pedalboards – one for the studio, one for my live A/B switching rig, a little one, one that has specific strange sounds with vintage pedals – all “wiggle” effects like the old CE-1, Phase 90 and Mutron Bi-Phase – and one for the acoustic.
Are you into vintage effects?
I have a ’68 Fender Vibratone that’s definitely guitar-oriented and works different than a Leslie. You don’t mic the front; you mic the sides and the top – that’s where the sound comes out. Once we figured that out, it was a usable tool – a secret weapon, perfect for an alternate sound.
I also have a couple old Fender Reverb units – a ’63 and a ’64. I’m a reverb fanatic, and I initially used them in my live rig, but now I pull them out only for surf parts when they want the real thing.
What’s the story behind the new record.
Well, I wrote a handful of tunes, then thought about guests to play on it. For the country-oriented tune “Country Girl” I picked Albert Lee, and for the slow blues “New Year’s Day” I picked Robben Ford. I thought maybe I’d get Steve Morse for the ballad “On Our Way” with his real lyrical side; I got the lyrical side and the burning side, too. Joe Bonamassa played on the instrumental “Highway 27.” I ran into Rick Vito at my clinic in California Vintage Guitar; I’ve always been a fan of his, so I got him to play slide on “Higher Ground,” which has an extended ending. He played brilliantly. And then I have a version of “Taxman” I’ve done live for the last five or six years; Scott Henderson is on that track. We traded eights, and Joe Bonamassa and I also traded eights. That’s where the title came from. Albert and I traded fours and then eights later. Robben and I traded 12-bar blues solos, and Rick and I traded 12s, too.
Was it recorded in L.A.?
(CLOCKWISE) ’64 Fender Twin-Reverb. This ’68 50-watt plexi is Verheyen’s favorite Marshall amp. ’69 Marshall 100-watt.
Mostly. Steve Morse did it in his studio in Florida, and Rick Vito played his parts in his studio in Maui. The rest of guys and I recorded together. It was really interesting to hear everybody’s sounds and to find out how they produced them, because I’m meticulous about my sound.
I did my guitar parts at Sunset Sound, to my ears the best-sounding guitar recording studio on the planet – you know, Led Zeppelin IV, Van Halen I and II, The Doors, The Stones’ Sticky Fingers, Richard Thompson… I booked it for a week and did my guitar parts there, a tune or two a day. The basics were done at the Firehouse in Pasadena, which gave a real fat, clean drum sound. Then I went to different studios to get the guest tracks.
Do you pursue specific recording strategies for guitar albums?
When I make a record, I orchestrate the guitars on a given track with the intention of determining who’s going to be the “Frank Sinatra.” What I mean is how Frank’s voice cut through the glorious big-band arrangements on those classic Capitol sessions. As glorious as those big bands and orchestras were, Frank’s voice was even more glorious, above it all. If I put a clean stereo Strat out of two AC30s on a track, and maybe a 12-string acoustic in the middle, and then beef it up with one of my Teles with a little crunch – that’s a wall of sound. What will cut through? You can do it mic’ing techniques – distance mics and close mics – or maybe, if I have Fenders for the basics and there’s a lot of highs and upper mids, I’ll use a humbucker guitar like a 335, Flying V, Les Paul, or an SG to cover the center frequencies.
You must’ve experienced some special musical moments making the album…
Sure! When Joe Bonamassa recorded with me in Studio 1 at Sunset Sound, he walked in with his signature Les Paul and said, “Do you have any Marshalls?” I’d had maybe 30 amps delivered and 10 or 15 cabinets – a candy store (laughs)! So I offered him my favorite Marshall – the ’68 50-watt plexi – but he wanted a 100-watt amp. So he played my ’69 Marshall head and cabinet with a Tube Screamer. I used the Strat, the Fuchs pedal and the Dr Z into another cabinet. When I’m going for a specific sound, I don’t always use a pedalboard; I’ll use just a single pedal like a Fuzz Face. So Joe used a pedal and I used a pedal, and we put a baffle between our two 4×12 cabinets and played. I wanted the bleed of my solo in his mics and visa versa. We did four takes and the last was the one – no fixes. We had jammed a bunch of times before, so there was a friendly competition. We were in and out of the studio in an hour and 15 minutes, including selecting amps and getting sounds.
(TOP) Verheyen calls the ’60s Fender Princeton “a perfect reference point.” He has three of them, from 1965, ’66 and ’67. (BOTTOM) ’64 Vox AC30 “Top Boost”.
How about the cover of the Beatles’ “Taxman” with Scott Henderson?
I took the basic tracks to Scott’s home studio. He has an interesting strategy; he records dry with some plug-ins so it sounds good while recording, then re-amps it with a tube Echoplex. That way, he has the option of using as much echo as he wants with a fader. Instead of having a delay plug-in, it adds one more analog tube stage.
And what did you use on the track?
I used a lot of things – the Fender Vibratone set clean, Phase 90s, and other stuff. For my solo it was the Strat, Dr Z, and the Landgraff pedal. Scott played his Suhr, a 100-watt Marshall, and an 808 Tube Screamer. Our sounds are completely different; it was great – his has more saturation and heavier gain. And there was a section where he played electric sitar and we traded.
What did you think of Scott’s playing?
He played so brilliantly! He’s got a more reckless spirit than I do, and he played some insane stuff with that wammy-bar Jeff Beck approach. He warned me to stop him when I thought it was good, and I tried, but he wouldn’t stop (laughs)! He always felt he could do it better.
“On Our Way” with Steve Morse is a pretty ballad.
Yes. On that track, I played my ’65 Strat through my favorite clean-amp combination – a ’64 Twin-Reverb and a ’64 AC30 Top Boost, with a little delay.
But the solo sounds very different…
Well, for the solo, I searched for something interesting, and used the korina V through a blackface Princeton – which is unusual for me. I think of those as clean amps, but when pushed with a humbucker, they break up in a unique way. I started the solo clean, then added an Xotic BB Booster halfway through, to give little bump.
Do you know what Steve used?
I don’t, but I’d guess his Music Man guitar and an Engl amp. I asked him to play a solo and maybe a lower harmony part to my choruses.
And how did he do?
He surprised me; I was expecting his clean sound on a ballad, but he came in with the heaviest distorted crunch early in the tune. At first I didn’t know what he was doing, but after a couple of listenings I said, “Genius!”
What did you use on “Constant As The Wind”?
I cut that with my Suhr Classic and an old English Arbiter Fuzz Face with a Marshall for that real saturated sound. The Suhr noiseless pickups are great with a Fuzz Face because they’re so noiseful (laughs)! That old Fuzz Face is a quirky pedal; it sounds good after about an hour. It needs to be plugged in for a while.
And “Higher Ground” has the Rick Vito slide solo…
Yes. Coincidentally, we both use Supro Dual Tone guitars for slide. They’re great for that – big baseball-bat necks setup with a high nut. He used a Supro amp, too, and I played my ’72 Les Paul, somewhat clean.
And on “New Year’s Day” we hear a Strat, correct?
Yes, my ’58. I love the sound it gets with my ’66 JTM-45 and my ’68 plexi – not distorted, but clean, in stereo. It’s a really warm Strat tone, almost like a hollowbody jazz guitar. I also used just a little delay, like the Lexicon MP-100, to image. I like darker analog delay sounds with less sizzle for distortion, and a brighter pinging digital sound for clean tone. It adds sparkle to the high-end. “New Year’s Day” is a blues in B minor and I did the solo with my ’61 Strat, a pedal and the Dr Z, my fat Strat tone.
Robben Ford guested on the track.
He played a ’68 ES-335 through his Dumble, no pedal, with just a close mic. Those amps have a Master Volume. I’m not a master-volume guy, so the two sounds are quite different. I took my tracks to a studio near Robben’s place, and what was so cool is how he reacted to my parts – the trading and the hand-off between phrases are so musical. I love his touch and the subtlety of the tail-end of his bends. I play a couple of choruses, he plays a couple, then a vocal verse, then we trade eights on the I-chord at the end.
Did you record it in one take?
He listened once, played one for pacing, then took it from the top – recorded the whole thing, didn’t punch a note. It’s an amazing tribute to his ability to play the blues.
How about the acoustic piece, “Henry’s Farm”?
I expanded that piece for the band at the suggestion of (bassist) Dave Marotta. I orchestrated it for bass and percussion, played the acoustic part, then played a clean Mark-Knopfler-sound Strat part on top of it. It’s one of my favorite things on the album. I decided to write a second part that features Jim Cox, one of my favorite keyboard players. We recorded it at the Firehouse, where they have a great big Bosendorfer grand piano. I asked Jim to be a cross between Keith Jarrett and Bruce Hornsby; I played a Strat and traded guitar/piano with him. He did a bunch of takes and each was better than the last, absolutely brilliant.
It’s a really nice track.
I love it, thanks. And it’s funny, because at first I thought it was going to be filler.
Albert Lee helped on “Country Girl.”
We did that in Studio 3 at Sunset Sound, which is a glorious guitar room with great old analog gear. Albert had just come back from Europe and brought a Music Man 1×12 combo from the ’70s. He likes to play his Music Man Albert Lee model through a rack-mount Korg A-1, which has a very subtle flange effect. That’s his thing. Albert has a B-bender, so he did some neat chordal bends. I used my ’60 Tele Custom with a THD Flexi-50 head, which gives a nasty, growling Tele sound, just slightly overdriven. I did it intentionally, thinking a contrast would be cool because Albert never uses overdrive or distortion, yet I found it hard to make the two sounds work together. At first they sounded too much like they were recorded in different studios, which they were. So we had to re-amp and put them in the same room.
Any interesting memories about the last song, “Eastern Steppes”?
It was written while I was between cues at the Star Trek movie date. I was plugged into some rack gear I have for film scores and hooked up headphones so I could practice. So I wrote it while getting paid for the movie date (laughs)! The next day, I layered it with some backward guitar. I wrote it to give the band somewhere to go live, a real open improvisational area in the set that can be different every night. It can be a shuffle, or it can go into 6/8, straight eights, anything…
So what did you take away from the process of making the album?
In retrospect, it was a great learning experience – an opportunity to peer into the methodology of some of my favorite players and watch how they put it together.
This article originally appeared in VG August 2009 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Quiz time, guitarheads. What was the second video played on MTV? If you guessed “You Better Run” by Pat Benatar, you win.
And, since there was no guitarist in the Buggles’ video for the prophetic track “Video Killed the Radio Star” (the first video aired) that makes Benatar’s longtime bandleader/producer/husband Neil Giraldo the first guitarist to appear on MTV!
Giraldo, a Cleveland native born to Sicilian parents, took up guitar at the age of six, and by his early teens was gigging. By his late teens, he’d worked in bands that earned some popularity in the Midwest.
In 1977, he moved to New York and eventually hooked up with Rick Derringer. He toured with Derringer in support of the 1978 album, If I Weren’t So Romantic I’d Shoot You, and played keyboards on 1979’s Guitars and Women. Later that year, Rick Newman, proprietor of the Catch A Rising Star comedy club, offered Giraldo the chance to assemble a band to back a new vocalist he was pitching to major labels.
Being somewhat dissatisfied with his role in Derringer’s group, and relishing the opportunity to write and record his own material, Giraldo jumped at the opportunity. It was a fortuitous decision.
Giraldo and the singer, Benatar, immediately bonded as vocalist and songwriter/bandleader. And although Benatar’s first album, 1979’s In The Heat of The Night, was released amidst an onslaught of “female rocker” records, she would immediately prove herself the frontrunner, and ultimately the endurance champion.
Just a couple months after being paired professionally, Giraldo and Benatar became partners on a personal level. And today, that bond remains as strong as ever. They recently founded their own record label, Belchiasso Records, and this summer will release a new album, titled Go, then tour to support it. And when they’re done with the outing, they’ll take respite in their brand new home in Hawaii.
Vintage Guitar: From your childhood, what do you remember about how music became part of your life? Neil Giraldo: A couple of things come to mind. One was dime stores like Woolworth and Kresky’s, where I used to buy these 45s that they packaged 10 of for 99 cents. You only knew whose records were on the front and back of the bundles, but you’d take ’em home, and stuck in the middle were records by John Lee Hooker and Albert King and Chuck Berry. I didn’t have any idea who these guys were, and didn’t know anything about their music – I was seven years old – but I remember thinking, “Hey, this is kinda cool!”
Giraldo‘s original BC Rich Eagle I was a high-profile instrument onstage, on recordings, and on videos.
And later, my uncle, who was only five years older than I was, introduced me to the Yardbirds, the Stones, Led Zeppelin, and all that.
Was your dad anywhere near as hip as your uncle?
No, no. Pop was a Sicilian carpenter – and tone deaf, too! My mother sang really well, so some of that musical stuff comes from her.
My parents wanted me to play an instrument, and when the school said I couldn’t play flute because there were no more positions – and they were kind of rude about it – my mother and I said, “Okay,” and left.
See, my sister played the accordion, and they wanted us to do duets…
So you got a guitar… Did you take lessons?
I took lessons – and hated it! To tell you the truth, I didn’t like playing guitar at all. It was frustrating. I liked playing football with my friends, so I’d be out in yard and mother would call out, “C’mon, you gotta practice!” and I’d growl and go in.
But I just hated it. But there came a point where I started to really love it.
How long did it take?
I don’t know exactly, but my uncle took me to see The Who in about ’67, on their first tour of America, and when I saw that and realized that you could turn an amp up and it’d sound a certain way and all this other stuff went on, I went “Ooo, I’m lovin’ this!” Because my guitar teacher would always tell me, “Don’t turn it up past this, because it won’t sound good,” and I’d say, “Oh, alright.”
He was so misguided…
Yeah, but he was great. He used to fart and burp during the lesson, as he was telling me, “Play it again!”
So did you start playing along with some of that rock and roll?
I did. In ’64 the Beatles did “I Saw Her Standing There,” and I was playing along and digging all these records by Chuck Berry and Bull Moose Jackson, and I didn’t care if my amp was distorting or not. I was just digging it… until my uncle heard it and said, “Oh, that doesn’t sound anything like what they’re doing.” Then either he or my father got me a fuzztone. The next thing ya’ know, I was feeling really good! Actually, turning up the amp was the most important thing. The fuzz was just a thing that let me play “Shapes of Things” by the Yardbirds.
Did learning those rock songs come easy for you?
Yeah, the ear part of it… See, I struggled with the reading part. I mean, I could figure stuff out, but I didn’t enjoy it at all because it was all single-line stuff. But as soon as I quit lessons and my cousin Skeeter pulled out his red Strat and told me about playing by ear, I went great guns.
Did Skeeter mention that just about everything you’ll ever need to play has the D, G, A, and E chords?
No, but I wish he would’ve told me that! But he was cool. He had the red Strat, greaser points, the whole thing going on. It was workin’.
Ah hah! Was it that influence that showed up in the early Pat videos, where you looked fairly “greaser-ish”?
Well, I always was pretty greasy, but my hairstyle in those early videos is more from bad hair products!
What was the first song you could play, beginning to end?
Probably one of the duet songs I played with my sister – “Santa Lucia.” But I could play a bunch of single-line stuff, like “Old Man River,” “Red River Valley…”
How about the first rock song?
I think it was “Saw Her Standing There,” because I remember spinning the record, trying to figure it out. What was the first solo you learned by playing along with a rock record?
Mmmm… (pauses). Something about “Communication Breakdown” is ringing a bell, or it could’ve been “Shapes of Things.” I was into a lot of the Yardbirds’ stuff…
If your parents wanted you to play guitar, did they start you off with a decent instrument?
It was a Kay, and it was horrible… so hard to play!
What was your first good electric?
I had the Kay for a long time. I didn’t get a bunch of guitars, because we just didn’t spend money like that! But in ’68 we traded it for a Les Paul with the mini-humbuckers. I was 12 or 13 years old, but at that point I was jamming with 18-year-olds – the “big” guys – and my uncle was taking me to concerts. I caught on quick and was playing teen clubs, YMCAs, and crazy places when I was 14… sneaking in through back doors.
(LEFT TO RIGHT) A “transition logo” (late ’65/’66) Fender Stratocaster in Ice Blue Metallic. One of Giraldo‘s primary axes from his early days with Pat Benatar was this sunburst 1964 Fender Stratocaster. Giraldo‘s second BC Rich Eagle I, in green sunburst.
Were you mostly playing songs of the day – current stuff, etc.?
Right. Anything that would go over in the clubs and at dances.
And that reminds me… There was a guy on our street – Phil Meglarino – who played a Guild Starfire, and he and his band used to rehearse in his basement, and I’d watch him whenever I heard them playing. He was probably the most inspirational player to me as a kid. Being able to watch him was great. Today, kids have videos and all this stuff to learn how to play. Back then, we didn’t. But I was lucky enough to have Phil.
Talk about you first real band.
There was one called Poison Ivy. It was two guitars. And there was another one called Neil, which was really stupid. But that was my uncle’s idea! And I don’t remember which one was first…
Your uncle was also named Neil?
No, Tim. But he just named the band Neil…
Kind of took the pressure off of him (laughs)…
I don’t know what it was, but it was stupid. But again, I don’t really remember which was first, and I may even be missing another band.
What were these bands about? School dances, other things…
Yeah, except maybe for Poison Ivy, because we were pretty extreme. We’d do crazy stuff, and we did alot of swearing. We lost a lot of gigs that way…
But I was never in a band that did commercial stuff. We always picked the most obscure songs by a certain band. We did Hendrix, but always something obscure. We’d have people staring at us like, “What the hell was that?”
At some point, you must’ve been in bands that were trying to get record deals.
Yep. There was one called Lover’s Lane that was probably the strongest local band I was in. And we used to get teased… I played piano and guitar; I was “Buddy Love” and the singer was “A.J. Lane” and he was totally nuts. We were a good, hard-rockin’ little band.
How long was it around?
A couple years… from when I was 16 to 18 years old. We used to play a couple places with the Dead Boys and Frankenstein, and Rocket From the Grave. And we’d hang with them all the time. They were a punk band, and we were a rock band, but we were really close to punk. The only difference was that we tried to play more. It was less image control, and more trying to play on the edge. People loved us and we packed places, but we never got out of Ohio.
After that, I left and went to California…
(LEFT TO RIGHT) A 1970 Gibson SG Standard. A 1958 Gibson Les Paul Special. A 1960 Gibson ES-335.
…where you got a tip that Edgar Winter was looking for a bass player…
No, it was Dan Hartmann, who was the bass player with Edgar’s band. Dan had a band, and Rick [Derringer] had a band, and they were all in the White Trash band.
At the time, I was playing in a great band, musician-wise, but playing horrible songs. It was on the verge of being a lounge band… sort of a “musician for hire” sort of thing. The idea was for us to make enough money so we could make a record.
I played bass and guitar. Well, one night some guy saw me playing bass and told me that Dan was looking for a bass player. I said, “Well, I’m not a bass player, I’m just kind of doing it for fun.”
He said, “Well, give me your number and let me hook it up for you. It’s in New York.”
He set it up, then asked me if I knew any guitar players, because by then Rick was auditioning.
I said, “Wait! I’m a guitar player. Let me do Rick’s first and then I’ll do Dan’s if that doesn’t work out.” But I never made it to Dan’s…
So you were offered the spot with Derringer…
I think he auditioned something like 300 guitar players, and he made me the guy not because I was a better guitar player than any of those guys, but I could do more things. I could sing background, play keyboards… all those things weighed in.
When Rick called me to tell me I was in, he had me go to his studio and said, “Come on, let’s go play some,” and he handed me his Explorer. That totally freaked me out; here I was, 21 years old and standing there playing Rick Derringer’s Explorer!
How long did it take to make the Guitars and Women record?
Well, we first went on tour behind If I Weren’t So Romantic, I’d Shoot You, and there were keyboards on it, so I played those parts. And I think Rick saw that and then considered me more of a side guy.
So you being relegated primarily to piano had nothing to do with your guitar playing intimidating him?
No, of course not. He was amazing… but he never did give me any kind of good guitar stuff to play on the record!
But his tone is great, and he’s a natural burner… great, great player. He taught me all kinds of stuff.
(LEFT TO RIGHT) An early-’70s Fender Telecaster with factory Bigsby vibrato. A 1951 Fender “Nocaster.”
Did you see yourself in his band long-term?
Well, I did and I didn’t. I did up until the record was about done, with the exception of two songs he did with the Cheap Trick guys. And that was when Rick said to me, “You know, I don’t think you’re needed here. How ’bout a free trip home, and we’ll call you if we’re going to tour?”
I felt kinda bad, thinking, “I was brought here to do this record, now I’m being sent out…” But hey, it was his record and the things he was doing made sense.
So he told me I was leaving the next day, and it just so happened that another offer came along…
That being in the form of producer Mike Chapman, who wanted you to put together a band to back up a singer he was working with…
Mike produced the Guitars and Women record, and he did see that band play live, and saw what was happening. So, when he was called to do the first record for my wife – before there was anything really going – he told them, “You need a musical director, a guy who knows how to arrange; a player – multi-instrumentalist, strong on guitar, and aggressive. Because what you’re doing now isn’t happening.”
And it wasn’t because what they were trying to do with Pat was weird, but that it was basically a lounge act trying to make a rock record.
So I got the call, but only because I was sittin’ in Woodstock, waiting to go home! But I said, “Sure, on my way to New York, I’ll go and meet this girl and see what it’s about.” And I didn’t even have a guitar! I went down thinking, “How am I going to play?” But I borrowed one of the band’s guitars and sat down, saying, “Okay, let me listen to this song. Okay, good. Now let’s figure this out.” And the next thing we knew, we were on our way.
So whose idea was it to convert the band to rock?
Pat wanted to have an aggressive rock band, but she didn’t understand what that was, because she’d never done it. She’d done cabaret and other stuff that was nowhere near rock and roll – though she thought she was doing rock and roll… And when Chapman heard it, he thought it was ridiculous. He said, “Man, the girl sings great, but what the hell is going on here?”
So I jumped in and we carved away. And our styles fed each other – her voice started to change when I started playing, and her singing made me play harder because it was the first time I’d played with a real singer.
It was the perfect place, the perfect situation, because I was leaving a situation where I was just the side guy, the hired hand, and going into a situation where I was going to develop something from the very beginning. It was a band that we put together from scratch.
And everyone gelled pretty quickly?
Oh, yeah. We hit it quick, and away we went.
How did you and Pat write songs? Did Pat do lyrics and you do music and arrangements?
Mostly, yes. I’d write the melodies and stuff, and she’d pop in the words. Plus, Chapman had some cover tunes and some stuff he’d written.
And your being the music director explains why the early music was so guitar-driven…
Well, Crimes of Passion reflected what it was like to be on the road with the songs from the first record, then going straight into the studio with the band.
On the third record, Precious Time, I didn’t want to play as much, but Pat kept saying, “You gotta play more!” She loves it. But I kept saying, “Well, can’t there be piano?”
For example, “Promises in the Dark” was written on piano – it was a piano song… Until we went to rehearsal and I thought, “Maybe it does need a little riff in there or something to glue it together.”
Some of the most memorable leads in rock songs of the era came from those early Pat songs. How did you go about constructing leads?
Well, when we did the Heat of the Night record, me and Pete Coleman, the engineer, were in the studio all the time. And I sat through [mixing] all that vocal stuff. And I knew that Pat’s vocals were really strong, but I thought they could be stronger still.
So after being on the road, by Crimes of Passion, her vocals were even more powerful. So I knew that when we went into an instrumental break, it had better match her vocal. So as soon as she stopped singing, I’d have to carry the song until she came back in. And if I didn’t do it right, it’d sound bad.
So that’s why on some songs, you’ll notice that the last note of her vocal is the first note of the solo.
Neil Giraldo with a sparkle-top GMP. Photo: Matt Touchard.
You did that to great effect. So you were basically just keeping up with the vocals…
Right. We’d put the song together in the studio, and leave, say, 21 measures in the middle for me to fill, and I’d have to do justice to the vocals.
The “Precious Time” solo is a fine example. There are elements there that fans of mainstream rock radio may not have heard otherwise – tapping, pick harmonics, the use of certain effects…
One thing I can’t do is “dweedle” real heavy like a lot of those guys do, like Steve Vai and Rick [Derringer]. And I don’t particularly like to do it myself, so if I do it, I like to use it as a melodic gesture, an element.
“Precious Time” is one of my favorite solos, and the funny thing is that the night before we recorded it, I was out late and drank too much. So I came in all hung over and told them, “Listen, guys. I can only do this a couple times, then I gotta get outta here.”
So I only did, like, three passes, then I put the guitar down and said, “That’s it, I’m outta here.” And I left (laughs)!
I figured I’d have to re-do it another day. Little did I know that I nailed it (laughs)!
Who came up with the concept for the video for that song?
I don’t remember, but it was horrible!
…you had that thing on your head…
Yeah, the “harem scarem” thing! [The video] was supposed to be a Salvador Dali-type of thing when the solo happened. I’d be by an hourglass in the desert and all… but I was supposed to have belly dancers! The whole idea was that belly dancers would be all around me, so it became this mythical desert scene.
So what happened to the belly dancers?
Well, the record company didn’t think it was a good idea…
Has your playing ever drawn comparisons to other players? Especially early in your career?
The closest thing, just from a tone factor and the aggressiveness and the attack factor, was Jeff Beck. Not the notes, and not the bending so much or the beautiful stuff he plays, but just from the mental approach.
Do you think you sound like Beck?
No. But I do think we attack the notes similarly. When he hits notes, you definitely hear the note. It’s not soft. And Jimmie Vaughan has a similar approach. He sounds the same no matter what he plays through, no matter what guitar he’s on. Stevie sounded like Stevie, no matter he did. He had more of that Hendrix solo tone, and he developed his own thing sort of based on Albert King’s playing.
And the same goes for me; my tone is what it is, and my hands play a certain way.
Have you been pretty consistent in regard to amp setup through the years?
Sure. It’s always been Marshall 2×12 combos. Mine were made in ’78, I think, and they were a model that Jim Marshall didn’t like and they were going to stop making. But before they did, I told them I needed about eight of them. So they sent me eight of them – and they laughed!
It’s a master volume amp, but it never really distorts. I used EV speakers in them, and I like to play clean… a little distorted, but with good note definition.
I used those amps on every record except our blues record, True Love, where I was trying for a different thing.
Have you ever collected guitars?
Never. It was about the tools I needed. As we’d travel to different parts of the country, people who had large supplies of guitars would call and ask if I was interested in Strats, for example. And they’d bring eight of them to the gig, and I’d look ’em over and say, “These two are great. I’ll take ’em.”
Next time through, it might be Teles. So I have a total of 80 or 90 guitars. But when I’m recording, I don’t consciously decide that I need a particular sound or tone from a guitar. I’m more likely to grab whatever’s around and make it work for me.
For the most part, you were known as a Strat or BC Rich player. How did that affinity develop?
From my days with Rick. Up to then, I didn’t have any money, and all I had was an SG – which I used when I auditioned for Rick. But as soon as I joined, he said, “You gotta get into this BC Rich thing.” And he called them, and they gave me the brown one that I used on most everything back then. It’s a great guitar, and they made it exactly the way I wanted.
On the first tour with Pat, all I had was a couple of BC Riches. Later, I might take a Strat and a BC Rich or a Tele and a BC Rich. The Riches were always hanging around. They had a special thing to them.
What did you play on the “Heartbreaker” solo, one of the most heard on classic rock radio?
Well (laughs), that was a Strat! And that was a case of just playing what was around.
I do remember that when I did it, Suzie Quattro was in the other studio with some of her people, and they came over to listen to our stuff. I was getting set to do that solo and they asked, “Can we hear it when it’s done?” I said, “You can hear it when I’m doing it if you want to.”
I used a Strat quite a bit on that record. The BC Rich did the rhythm parts, because I played those live with the drums.
I had one ’64 sunburst Strat that had a strange pickup in it. It was a DiMarzio or hand-wound Seymour Duncan. I ran it through the Marshall.
When you play it live, do you keep it pretty true to the record?
Yes, I do it exactly like the record, except at the end, where I bust loose. I think people get used to hearing it a certain way, and I think it makes the song more complete. It’s like a two-note chord by Pete Townshend that you’re just so used to hearing.
Neil Giraldo live in 2002 with one of his custom GMP guitars. Photo: Matt Touchard.
You’ve co-produced or produced all of Pat’s records, right?
Yes. On Heat of the Night, I was really more watching Pete Coleman, and he taught me an awful lot. But by Crimes of Passion, I was really thrown to the lions. Keith Olson was co-producer, and he has a tremendous ear, but there were times when I’d have the tape operator punch me in here or there, do the vocal comp, or whatever.
But that album was more like crash-course learning.
As you became more and more the producer, did your guitar parts become less important because your focus changed?
Yeah. I started arranging more material without a guitar in my hands. Like “We Belong,” where I was doing loops, and I got back into keyboards. Kind of mixed it up. Guitar became less important, at times.
And Pat is a good example of singer who had evolved tremendously. As producer, did you push her that way?
I definitely did. Totally. That was my mission. When I knew that [the label wasn’t] going to change the name and call us a band, I thought, “Let’s try to make it as diverse as possible, so every record is a different-sounding thing and we don’t make Crimes of Passion and Precious Time over and over.” It’s about different textures.
Your connection with Keith Olson helped you put your mark on some other notable pop records in the early ’80s. One was Rick Springfield’s Working Class Dog record, with the hit “Jessie’s Girl.” What’d you play on that one?
I played guitar and bass.
Did you play the lead?
Yeah.
Well, Rick sure did a good job of faking it for the video…
Oh, I know (laughs)! He lives near me, and he came by the other day, saying, “Neil, man, I’m sorry! You should’ve done that video.” But I told him, “What are you talkin’ about? I don’t care…” (laughs). He felt bad. But I told him it was cool. I never thought twice about it.
But I approached that recording the same way I did all of ours. We laid down the drums and rhythm guitar together, then I did the bass, and we left a break in the middle. I went back later and figured out what I wanted to do with the solo. And it’s the only number one song that I’ve ever played on.
I also did the guitar/bass parts on his other hit from that album, “I’ve Done Everything For You.”
And then later in the ’80s you hooked up with the Del Lords…
Yeah, they asked me to check them out while I was in New Jersey once. And I liked them. They had a lot of energy. I did two records for them.
And now, me and [Del Lords vocalist/guitarist] Scott Kempner are putting something together.
What’s the status of the new Pat album?
Well, I’m about four songs away, mixing, from being done. And it’s a very guitar-driven record, by the way.
It is?
Yes, I started listening to my wife when she’d tell me to play more! So I strapped on, and there’s some pretty hard-poppin’ stuff on there. I think people will enjoy it. And it’s not so much solo stuff, but really aggressive rhythm stuff.
Then you’ve got a tour to do…
Right, and the record will be done before we go. It started June 12 and goes until September 1.
CATCH UP with Neil in the interview from the September 2012 issue of Vintage Guitar magazine.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s Sep. ’03 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Bergen Guitars ST and TL
Price: $2,195 (ST, base)/$2,595 (as tested); $1,895 (TL, base)/$2,295 (as tested)
Info: www.bergenguitars.com.
If your goal, as a solitary craftsman, is to improve upon two designs that are acclaimed paragons of industrial perfection, what do you do? Paul Bergeson, owner and luthier of Bergen Guitars in Lake Zurich, Illinois, began with eye-catching finishes and primo hardware, and then included figured maple that any Stradivarius disciple would expect in their instrument. The results, his Bergen ST and TL, feature not just old-school craft and aesthetic, but top-notch performance as well.
The ST and the TL share a number of features like an impeccable vintage-thin lacquer applied over alder, a wood with fine tonal attributes that is also appreciated for its woodworking properties. Weighing in at 7 pounds 11 ounces, the TL body has rounded edges, while the ST features a generous top-body bevel, bringing its weight down to an ounce less. Both models feature aged white/black/white plastic pickguards.
Next, both the ST and TL feature nickel hardware, locking tuners, Callaham bridges, CTS potentiometers, Switchcraft switches, and copper foil-shielded cavities. The C-shaped necks include two-way truss rods as well as internal carbon fiber rods to enhance stability and sonic properties. Further, both necks are inserted into their pockets with the kind of care to which every luthier ought to aspire.
The treatment of the Michigan maple necks shows the kind of care that a single guitar builder can apply to the craft. On both models, the ’60s-inspired neck is hand-tapered to a slight V for a subtly slimmer feel up to the middle of the neck. Dunlop 6105 fretwire is dressed with loving handwork. While the TL has a fat slab of rosewood, the ST has a visually intense birdseye maple fingerboard. Both are dressed with abalone dots. Both models feature a 111/16″ nut and measure 23/16″ at the heel. A special touch is the application of gun oil over the playing part of each neck and on the TL fingerboard. All of this goodness is topped with a Gothic-script Bergen logo on the lacquered headstocks.
Strung with D’Addario .010s, both guitars’ nut, action, intonation, and fret details are on the money, especially for players not addicted to super-low shred action. The string height and 10″ fingerboard radius facilitate bending, and who doesn’t want to bend strings when playing these classic designs?
Plugged into a late ’50s Ampeg Jet with the Tone knob set at 7, the ST sparkled in all pickup settings. The pickups, set up a little higher on the treble side, gave a balanced response in single-pickup mode, and the frequency cancellation in combination mode that gives a triple-pickup model one of its characteristic voices. Because the Lindy Fralin pickups are slightly overwound, there was no wimp factor. The ST exhibited remarkable sustain, even at low volumes, while the attack was well defined with bare fingers or plectrum. Playing through an Ibanez Tube Screamer, the ST simply sang. For rock shredding, power chording, or teasing out subtle Knopfler-esque phrasing, this interpretation of a time-honored design will please any guitarist.
With its rosewood board, flamed maple neck, and compensated three-barrel bridge, the TL was, predictably, a different animal. The oft-maligned Tele-style neck pickup was powerful enough to show some real character, while the combination voice had the clarity for satisfying funk rhythm with no significant drop in volume from the neck setting. At the bridge pickup, the TL had sting and bite without harshness, with the same kind of sustain that characterized the ST. Country licks tore out of the TL, while a touch of slapback induced primal rockabilly, and the lead pickup, with the Ampeg opened wide, evoked the Boss’s intro to “Kitty’s Back in Town.”
The neck heft and the stabilizing carbon fiber rods were primary factors in the solid response of both guitars, plugged or unplugged. The tightly fitting neck joints, high-quality parts, large frets, and well-cut, rounded nuts all enhanced the overwound Fralins.
No single detail is responsible for what Paul Bergeson has achieved with his Bergen ST and TL. Rather, it’s the sum of many factors that add up to exceptional takes on two of the most iconic designs in the history of electric guitar.
This article originally appeared in VG November 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
(LEFT) Epcor bass. (RIGHT) Gruggett Stradette. Photos: Michael Stewart. Instruments courtesy of Bob Shade.
The history of guitar manufacturing in the Bakersfield area of California includes names like Mosrite, Hallmark, and Standel. One of the most unusual (and rare) was the Gruggett Stradette.
Guitar builder and company founder Bill Gruggett had affiliations with Mosrite and Hallmark before setting out on his own in 1967. He designed the Stradette to look like nothing else, and though he set out to make basses only (he was a bassist), the line ultimately consisted of one- and two-pickup basses, a six-string guitar, a 12-string guitar, and a doubleneck.
Stradette bodies, described in company literature as “semi-acoustic,” measured 121/4″ wide and 31/2″ deep, were made from alder with a laminated arched top and back, and had three-ply binding front and rear. Necks were maple, with a bound rosewood fretboard and dot markers. Scale length on the bass was 301/2″, tuning keys were Klusons, and some of the hardware, such as strap buttons and the handrest, was the same used on instruments produced by other companies in the neighborhood. The Hi-Fi pickups were hand-wound and covered with a tortoiseshell-colored plastic. The neck pickup was mounted at a trendy angle favored by local builders.
Advertised finishes were Goldenburst and Cherryburst, but this rare Cardinal Red example may have been dressed up for the 1967 NAMM show in Chicago. As for its odd shape, Gruggett says he was trying to combine a classic violin with a modern double-cutaway guitar. The hybrid look is arguably the line’s most endearing feature.
The Stradette never really got off the ground, and in ’68, Gruggett closed his company’s doors. Only a few basses were made. The one featured here spent decades in the possession of a restaurateur in Bakersfield who passed it on to his son, who in turn sold it to the present owner.
Today, Bill Gruggett is a builder and consultant to the present-day Hallmark, which offers (among other models) retro versions of Stradette guitars.
An even-more-shortlived (and rarer) brand from Bakersfield was Epcor, a line built by Hallmark when the company was run by Joe Hall. It was conceived by Ed Preager, a manufacturer’s rep who lived in Beverly Hills, drove a Cadillac, sported a Rolex, and wanted to sell a guitar that would not conflict with any of the lines that made him successful.
Preager approached Hall in September of ’67, wanting to create a budget-priced hollowbody, which was something of a contradiction since hollowbody guitars and basses are inherently more expensive to produce than solidbodies. Nevertheless, Hall and Preager agreed to create the Epcor line (the name being a combination of Preager’s initials with the first three letters of “corporation”) and set a goal of producing 200 instruments per month – six-string guitars, 12-strings, and basses. They used laminated bodies made in Italy with either red or three-tone sunburst finish, five-ply binding on top, three-ply on the rear edge, and single-ply on their f-shaped sound holes. Necks and pickups were made by Hallmark.
The Epcor headstock silhouette alluded to the letter E… a concept essentially plagiarized from the M-topped headstock of nearby Mosrite. The bolt-on maple neck was two-piece, with an unbound Brazilian or Indian rosewood fretboard. Its scale was 301/2″.
Hardware and other parts included bridges made by Bigsby, Kluson tuners and tailpieces, and Hallmark strap buttons and knobs. Pickups were Hallmark’s own design.
An estimated 30 Epcor instruments were made before the deal fell apart for financial reasons, though Hall reportedly assembled a few more, perhaps using other brand names, from leftover parts.
“My guess is that about 35 instruments exist today,” said Bob Shade, who today owns the Hallmark company (and this instrument). “There are no shipping records, so it’s really hard to know how many were made. But the necks were very fast, and the pickups were powerful. This is the only Epcor bass I have encountered, and it plays and sounds excellent.”
These are just two more examples of American instruments that started with a solid concept and good marketing, but didn’t last long. One wonders how many others would fit the category.
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.
While most folks are happy to buy guitars off the rack, the Cardinal Magpie is a prime example of today’s handcrafted, built-to-order guitars that exist apart from the masses. Coming from the shop of Austin, Texas, luthier Sam Evans, the Magpie exudes old-world craftsmanship and crisp attention to detail.
The chambered, single-cutaway Magpie as tested featured bookmatched, deeply figured old-orchard-growth Claro walnut on the top and back, and a core of black walnut. The edges of both the top and back were elegantly rounded off for a seamless transition between wood sections. Purpleheart accent stripes between the claro and black walnut added visual detail.
Cardinal’s Magpie features a bolt-on black walnut neck with a large flat-C carve and a Texas ebony fretboard with a 12″ radius and 251/2″ scale length and fitted with a vintage bone nut.The guitar is finished with a nontoxic, hand-rubbed varnish made from a thin, late-19th-century recipe. The result is very satiny, almost-bare stain – you hardly know it’s there. Running a hand around the body reveals a seductively smooth finish.
Design-wise, the Cardinal Magpie tested featured a singular headstock with downward-facing tuners and unique mother-of-pearl inlays and side dots. The thin, lyre-like headstock was faced with a claro walnut veneer to match the body. A TonePros wraparound six-saddle bridge and Sperzel Sound-Lok tuners were both nickel, while a rear control-cavity cover cut from the back itself was a clever design.
The Magpie’s electronics were pretty straightforward: a pair of Lollar El Rayo humbucking pickups with tortoise covers and chrome bezels, along with CTS Volume and Tone knobs and a Switchcraft three-way pickup selector. The Magpie, which came with a Hiscox hardshell case featuring retro luggage latches, weighed in at approximately 7.6 pounds.
Plugged in, the Cardinal Magpie sounded as cool as its looked. Perhaps not too surprisingly, the nontraditional tonewoods typically produced non-trad guitar sounds more in the Fender camp than Gibson despite the humbuckers. The bridge pickup had a definite twang to it, while the bridge was warmer and fat, but with a puckery edge. However, the middle combination offered a nasally, out-of-phase type of tone excellent for the blues, and dialing in various flavors with volume and tone resulted in a wide range of interesting tones that were not quite Strat single-coil, but closer to an edgier P-90 vibe. All manner of blues, country, and retro guitarists could be sure to find many wonderful pleasures. More importantly, in all positions, the walnut body held notes for many seconds longer than a lot of other guitars.
The Magpie’s neck was exceptionally well-finished and easy to play. Note that the Magpie has a big neck, even near the lower frets, which seems to be a microtrend among some luthiers today. It doesn’t affect comfort, but prepare to grab some serious wood when playing the Magpie. Consider, too, that this is a custom guitar and, when ordering, the buyer can surely discuss with Evans particular tastes in neck shape.
Overall, the Cardinal Magpie is a hip, handmade guitar featuring beautiful craftsmanship and killer looks that are not afraid to plow off the beaten path. If looking for a singular instrument with a gorgeous finish and killer sustain, this is one to consider.
This article originally appeared in VG June 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Usually, the hook with boxed reissues is that they include previously unreleased songs, alternate takes, live material, and maybe some extra tchotchkes like rare photos, revisionist essays, or poster reproductions. Sometimes it’s remixed versions of familiar hits. It’s rare that the main attraction is un-remixed albums the way they came out 40-odd years ago – the case with ZZ Top’s 10-disc Complete Studio Albums, 1970-1990.
When ZZ Top’s First Album came out in 1970, the Blues Revival spearheaded by bandleaders like Paul Butterfield and John Mayall was going strong. Along came guitarist Billy Gibbons, bassist Dusty Hill, and drummer Frank Beard, proudly brandishing their Texas roots. Although ZZ’s early albums owed no small debt to Peter Green’s original Fleetwood Mac (e.g. “Brown Sugar”), the band was a little too rock (sometimes of the Southern variety, like “Old Man”) to be embraced by hardcore blues nerds. At the time they were more apt to wear cowboy boots and hats than the shades-and-harp-briefcase look of Charlie Musselwhite (that Dan Aykroyd later appropriated for the Blues Brothers).
The trio earned a following on its on terms, and of course the rest is history. But sometimes history merits repeating, not altering.
After ZZ’s mega-success with 1983’s Eliminator and its follow-up, Afterburner (’85), the group’s first five albums plus their seventh, El Loco, were repackaged in ’87 as Six Pack, which is rarely spoken of today without “dreaded” preceding it. The albums were spruced up with overdubs and new mixes, in an effort to make them conform to Eliminator’s glossier production. Purists, and eventually most fans, cried foul.
The four-CD compilation Chrome, Smoke & BBQ (2003) reverted to the original mixes, but, alas, it included only selected tracks from each album. Collectors were resigned to breaking out their old vinyl (the warmth and feeling of space of a clean platter played through a decent turntable and sound system is hard to beat). In fact, there are more than a few who swear that the original cassette releases were no joke (yes, once upon a time, labels released albums on magnetic tape in funny little plastic cases).
The packaging here is stripped down, but so is the price – which is obviously a major attraction, listing at $59.98. That comes to a mere six bucks per album (and the usual online outlets will obviously mark it down more). Literally just 10 CDs of the 10 albums ZZ Top produced during that time span, in “wallet” reproductions of the original covers (including the fold-out covers of Tres Hombres and Tejas), encompassed in a five-by-five flip-top box. The back of the box lists each album’s tracks, because they’re virtually impossible to read, shrunk down from 12″ x 12″.
There’s not even a booklet with more readable track listing and credits (a la Sony/Legacy’s budget “Complete Albums” series). Would it break the bank to let some starving music journalist wax poetic on this American institution? Come on, Rev. – hook a brother up.
This article originally appeared in VG November 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
