As one of the lead guitarists of Slayer, the outspoken, opinionated King has also bred snakes off and on since the late ’80s.
Covid helped shape the foundation of King’s musical future, because the pandemic inadvertently created a luxury he’d rarely experienced before: time. Rather than feeling inconvenienced by the delays, he homed in on elements of his craft in ways he’d never done before, and the resulting album and his solo debut, From Hell I Rise, became his hammer.
“The pandemic really shaped the sound and the performance on this record,” says King. “It gave us some flat tires at first, because Paul [Bostaph, drums] and I both caught Covid, and it took a while for us to get back in the saddle.”
Bostaph had already digested so much of the material by the time they dove back into recording that it became a real game changer compared to how they’d worked together previously in Slayer. “It was the first [project working together where] he heard all the lyrics before he recorded, and he heard all the leads except one or two. It’s the most prepared he ever was, and being so familiar with it made it that much easier for me to play what I wanted to play.”
Kerry King - Idle Hands (Official Audio)
King is a cofounding member of Slayer and arguably one of the most instantly recognizable and well-respected thrash metal guitarists of his generation. Over nearly 40 years, he has pioneered some of the most brutal and revolutionary guitar riffs ever created in the genre. His singular use of the tremolo—pulling up more than pressing down—and the multiple tunings that pepper the band’s catalog, from D# to C# to B, are just two of the attributes that set King apart from his contemporaries. He also wrote or cowrote some of Slayer’s most incendiary songs, including “Mandatory Suicide,” “Repentless,” “Hell Awaits,” “Disciple,” and “Raining Blood.”
With Slayer—who have announced reunion dates for September 2024, five years after the group’s official terminus—King lays claim to six RIAA gold certifications, one multi-platinum plaque, and five Grammy nominations with two wins in the category of Best Metal Performance for the songs “Eyes of the Insane” and “Final Six,” both off of the Christ Illusion album.
“[My solos are] usually an afterthought, and the last thing to get done. This time everything was thought out [beforehand] and not just thrown in there.”
Known for his allegiance to the Las Vegas Raiders NFL football team, his love of snakes, and his taste for Jägermeister, King is outspoken, opinionated, and authentic. The self-proclaimed “metal kid” famously takes himself a little too seriously for some. But the real testament to his seriousness lies within his attention to detail, and the songcraft on From Hell I Rise, as well as the time he and Bostaph spent refining the material during the pandemic, is demonstrative of his commendable work ethic.
Kerry King's Gear
As King’s debut solo release, From Hell I Rise was born and shaped during the pandemic, which came on the tails of Slayer’s last show in 2019.
Guitars
- Dean USA Kerry King V Limited Edition
- Dean Kerry King V Black Satin
- Dean USA Kerry King Overlord Battalion Grey
- EMG KFK Set
- Kahler Tremolos
Amps
- Marshall JCM800 2203KK
- Marshall MF400B Mode Four
Effects
- Dunlop DCR-2SR Cry Baby Rack Wah
- Dunlop Wylde Audio Cry Baby Wah
- MXR Flanger M117R
- MXR Kerry King Ten Band EQ KFK1
- MXR Wylde Audio Overdrive
Strings & Picks
- Dunlop String Lab Series Kerry King Guitar Strings (.010–.052)
- Dunlop Triangle .73 mm
Every note seems intentional, every beat meticulously composed, yet all of it played with a spontaneity that belies its years-long incubation period. Having almost all of his solos worked out by the time he went into the studio was a refreshing approach. “They’re usually an afterthought,” he admits, “on the back burner, and the last thing to get done. This time everything was thought out [beforehand] and not just thrown in there.”
From Hell I Rise is a decisive musical statement from a man on a mission, out to prove himself after the then-apparent demise of one of thrash metal’s “Big Four,” and was eventually spurred on by a furious two-week recording session at Henson Recording Studios in Los Angeles. Featuring a band that also includes bassist Kyle Sanders (Hellyeah), guitarist Phil Demmel (Machine Head), and vocalist Mark Osegueda (Death Angel), the record rages with intensity—real musicians playing real metal in real time. In an era when technology can often smooth the edges off the human element on recordings, From Hell I Rise features fire-breathing performances from musicians who clearly honed their craft long before the crutch of technology was made available. And even though it has an intangible, nostalgic vibe to it, make no mistake, it is not some relic from the bygone past, but rather a bristling, modern-sounding tour de force.
“If you’ve ever liked any Slayer throughout any part of our history, then there’s something on this record that you’ll get into.”
From the opening salvo of “Diablo,” an instrumental call to arms that harkens back to early ’80s Iron Maiden, to the first single, “Idle Hands,” a fast, aggressive track that highlights King’s deft, articulate approach to rhythm guitar, to the detuned manic riffing in the title track, From Hell I Rise runs the gamut from classic punk to thrash to straight-up old-school heavy metal. Familiar topics, including religion and war, abound. Herculean speeds are achieved. King says the album is heavy, punky, doomy, and spooky. “If you’ve ever liked any Slayer throughout any part of our history, then there’s something on this record that you’ll get into.”
Part of the X factor on From Hell I Rise comes courtesy of producer Josh Wilbur (Korn, Lamb of God, Avenged Sevenfold, Bad Religion). King says Wilbur grasped his lead guitar sound better than anyone he’s worked with in the past. “It’s a hard thing to duplicate if you’re not standing in front of it in a live environment,” he attests. “Whatever Josh did in his mixing and mastering, it’s the closest to my live sound I’ve ever heard. I know it’s a weird adjective, but it’s really fat and ominous. I’m super happy with it.”
For From Hell I Rise, King took a new approach by planning out his solos in advance of the album’s recording.
Reigning Phoenix Music cofounder Gerardo Martinez was responsible for suggesting Wilbur to King. “We had a meeting down in Southern California,” he recalls. “I wanted to make sure I could respect the guy because if I don’t respect the guy, I’m not going to play it 10 times if he asks me to. I want somebody that will tell me to do that if I need to, and I’ll listen to him.” He says Wilbur is a wizard in the studio who brought intensity and energy to the recording sessions.
King doesn’t tinker much with his rhythm tone in the studio from song to song. He’s more of a set-it-and-forget-it kind of guy. “We just go for the main rhythm because there’s not a whole lot of things that need my sound to change,” he explains. “If it’s a spooky song or something that needs a different vibe, I’ll mess around with it. But I’m going for the home run. I’m going to set my tone and roll with it.”
“Whatever Josh [Wilbur] did in his mixing and mastering, it’s the closest to my live sound I’ve ever heard. I know it’s a weird adjective, but it’s really fat and ominous.”
King is a bona fide “super old-school” guitarist and runs through a very meat-and-potatoes signal chain for his rhythm tone. He goes from his Marshall JCM800 2203KK signature amp to Marshall MF400B Mode Four speaker cabinets with “a guitar right in front of it.” That’s it. No frills to the core. His self-assessed “primitive” approach also applied to the demos he sent to Bostaph in the early stages of writing the new album—he has no home studio to speak of. “I’m playing out of an amp that’s about as big as my boot and recording it on my phone,” he admits. “It’s deceptive how decent that sounds.”
King performing with Slayer at Nassau Coliseum in Uniondale, New York on February 14, 1991.
Photo by Ebet Roberts
Live, King runs three of his signature amps and staggers the speaker cabinets—head one will go to cabinets one and four, head two goes to cabinets two and five, and head three goes to cabinets three and six. In this setup, the heads are not powering the cabs directly below them in a column. “I really love it because I’ve got a wash of all three heads at once,” he explains.
Due to his writing style, there’s also not a whole lot of space for effects in his guitar sound. “There’s not room for things like delay, because it’s very precise,” he says. His rhythm playing is a cornerstone of his brand, and much like James Hetfield with Metallica and Scott Ian with Anthrax, he plies his trade by executing flawless, intricate rhythms at breakneck speeds. The secret he says, is all in the wrist. “A lot of people don’t know that they don’t need to play from the elbow,” he explains. “If you want any kind of speed and you want to be articulate, you’ve got to play from the wrist. You’ve got to have as minimal movement as you can.” The elbow, he explains, is too far from the pick to be the appropriate hinge for speed. “If your action is coming from your wrist, you’ve got a lot more control over the speed and the articulation. That’s how it’s got to be if you want to play this kind of music.”
“I wanted to make sure I could respect the guy because if I don’t respect the guy, I’m not going to play it 10 times if he asks me to.”
King has historically paired himself with equally capable guitarists: first Jeff Hanneman, then Gary Holt, and now Demmel. He says that he’s never had to adjust his playing style to any of them, but does note what differentiates Holt and Demmel from Hanneman, and how that affects his live performances. “I had to learn to not listen to Gary and Phil because they’re a lot more melodic than Jeff was,” he assesses. “And I don’t mean that in a detrimental way. It’s just that Jeff had his style. Gary is super melodic, and I think Phil’s even a bit more melodic.” Shifting his focus from listening to what the other guitarist is doing so he can pay attention only to what he’s playing has become King’s superpower when playing live.
With Slayer, King has six RIAA gold certifications, one multi-platinum plaque, and five Grammy nominations.
Photo by Jordi Vidal
The addition of Sanders on bass has, however, pricked up King’s ears and facilitated an adjustment on his part, albeit in the demoing and recording phase of music making. “Early on, I sent Kyle four songs with no bass just because I didn’t want to influence him, even though I’m totally capable of playing bass on a record or on demos,” he attests. “I’m like, ‘If I’m going to let this guy play bass, let’s let him come up with something.’ Maybe it’s something I wouldn’t think of because I’m a guitar player. I’m not a bass player.” Within two days, Sanders sent back the same four tracks with bass. King was blown away. “I’ve never had anybody that into playing bass—it was very refreshing for me. So every time I sent him demos, I sent him bass-free ones.”
“I just play stuff until I find something that has a strong chorus, intro, or verse rhythm. Then I try to find some friends that make it a better song, and go from there.”
King moved to New York after Slayer called it quits in 2019. Now, when he goes back to Southern California to rehearse, he gets a rental car with SiriusXM radio, and has since gone through “a real big Ritchie Blackmore renaissance,” he shares. “Man, Deep Purple was so good. Blackmore was a madman. And that band was a supergroup. I mean, [keyboardist] Jon Lord, [drummer] Ian Paice; regardless which singer you’re talking about, there’s so much talent in that band. It took me a minute to go back and realize it and now I’m like, ‘How did I not like this more [when I was younger]?’” King, perhaps influenced by this “supergroup” concept, certainly assembled an A-list cast of musicians for From Hell I Rise.
Despite the musical pedigree Bostaph, Demmel, Osegueda, and Sanders bring to his first solo album, one can’t help but wonder if King’s criteria for bandmates has as much to do with camaraderie as it does skillset. “I put a lot of songs together in ’20 and ’21,” he attests. “I just play stuff until I find something that has a strong chorus, intro, or verse rhythm. Then I try to find some friends that make it a better song, and go from there.”
YouTube It
Ignited by Kerry King’s co-lead playing, Slayer decimates the audience in Sofia, Bulgaria back in April of 2020.
Dickey Betts plays one of his many Les Pauls. This model, and the SG, were the Gibsons that were the cornerstone of his distinctive tone.
Magic happened when Dickey Betts and Duane Allman played together. Their sinuous, twined, harmonized guitar lines—inspired in part by Western swing and Miles Davis—were like nothing else in rock when the Allman Brothers Band’s debut album was released in 1969. And their Les Paul and SG partnership led the way in creating the Band’s reputation as the finest rock ensemble players of their day. Although that partnership was short-lived, due to Duane’s fatal motorcycle accident in 1971, that transcendent dual-guitar sound, best captured in the heroic performances on the live At Fillmore East double-album, continued throughout the band’s career and became a hallmark of Southern rock, largely thanks to Betts. And it will endure as one of the most recognizable dialects of electrified guitar-based music.
Betts soldiered on with the Allman Brothers Band until 2000, living in the shadow of Duane, whose early death cemented his legendary status. But Betts’ playing was equally commanding—the yin to Duane’s fat-toned, slide-driven yang. As a composer, he minted melodies and riffs that endure. “Jessica,” “Blue Sky,” “Ramblin’ Man,” and “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” are Betts’ work. As a player, he was unerringly melodic, with a Gibson and Marshall tone that blended clarity and heft with the tang of distortion. He played loud. Really loud. But that volume fueled his expressive dynamic touch and his supremely articulate 6-string language was always worth hearing.
“The band was so good we thought we’d never make it. It was so amazing I don’t even know how to put it into words—even now.”
Dickey Betts died on April 18, reportedly from cancer and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. He’d been sidelined since 2018, when he had a mild stroke which was followed by an accident at his home, which necessitated surgery to relieve swelling of the brain. He was 80 years old.
Like the Allman Brothers over the decades, Betts’ own career had its hills and valleys, but his musical character and abilities remained intact until recent years. When I spoke with him a decade ago at Nashville’s Hutton Hotel, the then-70-year-old observed, “I’m amazed that at my age I’m still effective. I have a formidable band together and I write new songs, although mainly we just do renditions of things like ‘Jessica’ and other hits.
Those are fun to play and people enjoy those songs. I’ve got a full catalog of instrumentals that I could play all night if I wanted to. A rock ’n’ roll career is supposed to last about as long as a professional football player’s—five years and you’re done. But I’m still out there swinging, filling theaters, and playing festivals.”
Passing the torch: Betts onstage with his son, Duane Betts, who leads his own band today. Here, they recreate the dual-guitar sound first cast in bronze by Betts and Duane Allman in 1969.
Photo by Jordi Vidal
Betts was in Music City on that occasion to celebrate the launch of the Gibson Custom Shop’s Southern Rock Tribute 1959 Les Paul, based on an instrument he owned, and was about to embark on one of his annual summer tours with his band Great Southern, which he’d been leading in various configurations since 1977. He also had his Dickey Betts Band, which he started in 1988 and included Warren Haynes, whom Betts drafted into the Allmans when the Brothers reformed in 1990 after a near-decade hiatus. I’d been warned by Betts’ handlers that he could be difficult, and Allman Brothers Band lore contains enough stories of his wicked temper and edge-of-violence outbursts to serve as warning. He was arrested for assaulting a police officer in 1993, and reportedly held a knife behind his back during a band argument shortly before he was dismissed from the Allmans. But, sipping a glass of wine while wearing a sleeveless white tee shirt, a straw cowboy hat, and a necklace of alligator’s teeth, he was cordial, funny, and thoughtful.
He reflected on his role in bringing jazz influences to the early Allman Brothers, which tapered well with Duane and Gregg Allman’s blues sensibilities. “I got that, initially, from Western swing,” he recalled. “My dad did play fiddle, but we didn’t call it bluegrass. It was called string music and he also played Irish reels and things. So, I think I got my sense of melody from Western swing and my dad.
“I also got my sense of tone from my dad. I saw how my dad would pay attention to his fiddle sound. He knew how to tune a fiddle by putting a tone post in, to push the top of the fiddle up. He would move that post around until he had just the right tone. So, I think that search for tone is just in my disposition. I always wanted my guitar to have a little edge on it, but with a clear sound. I experimented with different speaker combinations until I found it. Part of your tone is in your hand, too.”
After playing in a series of bands from his native Florida into the Midwest, including an outfit called the Jokers that Rick Derringer name-checked in his hit “Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo,” Betts was recruited for the Allmans by Duane in 1969. “We didn’t do it consciously,” Betts said of their conflagrant dual-guitar sound. “We knew that when we started improvising, things fit, and we didn’t analyze it. Duane was more real militaristic into urban blues. And then I had a Western swing lilt to my rock playing, and it fit together beautifully. A lot of older folks said they thought we sounded like Benny Goodman, and it made sense to me later on when I listened to Goodman. He was pretty hip for his day, and would interweave his instruments together, too. We also listened to Miles Davis, who we thought was one of the greatest composers and bandleaders.
“Right from the beginning, we knew what we had,” Betts continued. “The band was so good we thought we’d never make it. It was so amazing I don’t even know how to put it into words—even now. With Duane, Berry Oakley, Greg and me as the songwriters, with everybody’s musicianship … it developed like a Polaroid picture. Nobody knew what it was going to be. They tried it at first as a trio, with Duane, Berry [Oakley, bass] and Jaimoe [Johnson, drums], and they cut some demos that were okay but they knew it wasn’t the Cream or Jimi Hendrix. And Berry told Duane the magic was happening when Betts was around, jamming, and from there we just grew into a six-piece naturally.
“We were elated with our sound, but every record company in the country turned us down. ‘All the songs sound the same.’ ‘They don’t have a frontman’… all this corny junk. So, we just started to travel around the country playing for free. In Boston, I remember we moved into a condemned building and ran an extension cord from the next building. We played in the park there. We’d get some hippies together and build a stage.”
While ’69’s The Allman Brothers Band sold poorly at first, it received critical acclaim, and the band’s grassroots mentality and love for playing—often relayed live via extended versions of their songs with plenty of improvisation—took hold in the potent American youth culture. The follow-up, Idlewild South, fared a bit better commercially, but At Fillmore East became their breakthrough. Sadly, Duane died just three months after its release.
“When we started getting killed off, well, there was nothing we could do about that,” Betts reflected. “It was tough times after we lost Duane and then we lost Berry. But then we had our biggest record [Eat a Peach, from 1972]. We figured. ‘Why quit when you’re losing?,’ and it worked out.
“And then, of course, the whole thing came apart,” Betts said of his 2000 ouster from the band. He was removed by the other charter members for the transgressions he was notorious for: drug and alcohol abuse, aggressive behavior. “But the Allman Brothers weren’t like the Rolling Stones, where we toured every five years. We were a working band. Thirty years is a long haul—especially when you’re doing something where your emotions are on your shirtsleeve all the time. The social dynamics just blew apart.”
Regarding the Southern rock mantle, Betts said, “We didn’t like it at first. It was kind of a reckless business label put on us by record companies. We thought of ourselves as progressive rock. We wanted to be more sophisticated than Southern rock sounds. We also didn’t think Southern bands sound that much alike, so why categorize them that way? As I get older I understand it was about record company marketing, but the difference between Marshall Tucker and the Allman Brothers Band is vast. They were more Western and we had a lot more jazz and blues, and improvising. My favorite was Molly Hatchet.”
Until his stroke and other illnesses waylaid him, Betts settled into his own music, seemingly content to be out of the heavy cycle of touring and recording required by a major band, settled into his life on Florida’s Gulf Coast. “I like fishing,” he said. “We live on the water and I’ve got a boat. I’m an archer. I can shoot stuff out of the air. We hunt wild hogs on the islands. It’s good to have something to do when you go home besides take dope [laughs]. I’d always get in trouble. On the road you’re busy; you go home and you don’t know what to do. Now I have some other good ways to apply myself.” Betts is survived by his wife, Donna, and four children: Kimberly, Christy, Jessica, and Duane, a skillful guitarist and bandleader in his own right.
In just seven years since meeting based on a recommendation, Eric Burton and Adrian Quesada formed the Black Pumas, released two albums, and have already been nominated for seven Grammys. However, this fruitful friendship was almost never developed.
Quesada was enrolled at the University of Texas but flunking out due to his dedication to guitar over textbooks. His parents gave him a proposition: Either stay home in Laredo, or return to Austin without a guitar in hand to focus on studying. He went with option B and headed back for school in Austin—or so his parents thought. Quesada took his remaining book money (about $200) and headed to Ray Hennig’s Heart of Texas, where he snagged a Squier Telecaster Thinline. His parents eventually figured out the switcheroo, but Quesada was determined and hasn’t looked back. (Side note: The family obviously sees and supports his musical talents, and attended Black Pumas’ Ryman show the night before the filming of this Rig Rundown.)
That matador move pulled off by Quesada allowed him to become a longtime fixture in the Austin music scene with bands Brownout, Ocote Soul Sound, Spanish Gold, Echocentrics, and Grupo Fantasma (with whom he played for over 15 years, earning a 2011 Grammy for Best Latin Rock or Alternative Album). He started to explore new ideas that didn’t fit the mold for Grupo, and needed someone to narrate his musical vistas. A friend recommended he link up with Austin newcomer Eric Burton, who traded his busking spot on the Santa Monica pier for the bright lights of Sixth Street. The duo met up, and as the results prove, the rest is history.
Before the Black Pumas’ second headlining show at the Ryman Auditorium in downtown Nashville, bandleader Adrian Quesada, bassist Brendan Bond, and band tech Bryan Wilkinson invited PG’s Chris Kies into the hallowed grounds for a chill conversation about their tonal tools. During our time with the Black Pumas, we learned about Quesada’s love for tremolo (he even included it as a secret weapon in a semi-hollow Jazzmaster), Bond’s fateful trip to the Wilco Loft in Chicago, and why a ’59 ES-125 is Wilkinson’s perfect pairing with Burton’s expressive and emotive voice.Brought to you by D'Addario:
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The Custom Shop Cracks the Code
Black Pumas’ 2019 self-titled debut was like a drug—it soothed, it hypnotized, it recalled the past, it burned slow, and it was an addictive listen. It helped the band tally four Grammy nominations. But in addition to all that attention, it caught the collective ear of the Fender Custom Shop squad, who wore it out for months—so much so, that the team built the above Telecaster. Their aim was to create a guitar that nailed Quesada’s tones on the album, and they surprised the Texan with it. He’s been in love ever since, and mentioned that he’s collaborated on two other Teles—having some input on specs and design—but neither sound as stellar as this one. This one-off Tele is a pairing of a ’60s-style T (sunburst finish with a maple fretboard, standard-sized headstock, small pickguard, and barrel knobs), and a ’72 Telecaster Custom (single-coil-and-humbucker pickup configuration). Since acquiring it, this Tele has been Quesada’s main guitar onstage. He puts D’Addario EXL125 XLs (.009 –.046) on all his guitars, and uses Dunlop Tortex picks with custom printed Black Pumas graphics.
Lucky Loaner
The guitar that Quesada used the most prior to Black Pumas was a Gibson ES-446 that marries a 335 with a Les Paul. He loved its woody core tone and its humbuckers’ ability to lasso fuzz in a musical way. He’s retired the steed to the sanctuary of the studio, but stills requires sinewy sounds, so he checked in with Gibson to borrow a 335. They didn’t have one available but gave him this 345, which has proven a dependable sidekick punching in for time onstage and in the studio. Quesada mentions that the Varitone switch is useful for the studio, but he leaves it in position one (bypass) for Black Pumas’ sets.
A Puma and Jaguar Walk Into the Ryman...
And they sell it out two nights in a row! This fresh feline is the result of another partnership between Quesada and the Fender Custom Shop. He wanted another thinline instrument, but already designed a Tele, so he gravitated to the popular offset body style. The alder body with a natural finish is a nod to his first Squier Tele. The pickups are a custom gold-foil (adorned with a coy puma hood) in the bridge and a covered ShawBucker. It features a Fender American Vintage Jazzmaster bridge and tremolo. A striking bound rosewood fretboard with block inlays sits atop a maple neck that is capped with a blacked-out headstock. The 4-bolt neck plate honors Quesada’s Electric Deluxe with the recording space’s logo.
The real magic in this cunning cat is where the Jazzmaster’s rhythm circuit is supposed to reside. In its place is a tremolo circuit because Quesada cooks his tone in that effect like it’s salt and pepper. In 2022, he confessed to PG, “I love everything with tremolo. I put tremolo on everything,” so we should’ve seen this coming. The rocker switch toggles the tremolo on and off, and the two rollers control speed and depth.You're My Boy, Blue!
Adrian adores Fender amps. His Austin-based recording studio is loaded with noteworthy models from the company’s golden years, yet he proudly tours with a Fender Limited Edition Electric Blue ’68 Custom Deluxe Reverb reissue. (It’s worth stating that a proper ’72 silver-panel Deluxe Reverb was in a road case.) The bright tolex covers an otherwise standard circuit, however the stock combo did have a Celestion Creamback in it. But when Quesada’s tech Bryan Wilkinson found and landed the score for his boss off Craigslist, it had been modded with an Electro Voice SRO Alnico 12" speaker. Adrian loved how it sounded, so it stayed in, and he’s been using the combo on tour ever since.
Adrian Quesada's Pedalboard
We’ve established that Quesada lays on some tremolo any time his guitar is plugged in, but another stompbox spice he rarely avoids is reverb. He does acknowledge that amp reverb, especially from Fender combos, is tasty, but having it in a pedal format allows fine-tuning from gig to gig and room to room. Doing the heavy lifting for both effects is the Strymon Flint. (Adrian mentions that he turned Alejandro and Estevan of Hermanos Gutiérrez onto this staple, found on both of their boards.)
The other stomp stalwart has been the Electro-Harmonix Holy Grail that provides a healthy dose of spring reverb. Both ’verbs are engaged for drippy songs like “Fire.” He has a pair of delays: a Line 6 Echo Park used for its tap tempo function, and a Catalinbread Echorec for longer, dreamier repeats. The Boss GE-7 Equalizer works to match the different outputs between his three main instruments. A Catalinbread Belle Epoch preamp/buffer pedal replaced an Xotic EP Booster because it has a second knob for preamp for more detailed contouring.
Any growl or sizzle Quesada needs for his Tele and Jazzmaster, the EarthQuaker Devices Park Fuzz handles it. The Fulltone Clyde Wah Deluxe has stepped in for a different filter sweeper because Adrian digs its full-sounding throw that stays warm from heel to toe. A Jam Pedals Ripple two-stage phaser gets used on a track from Chronicles of a Diamond, and a TC Electronic PolyTune2 Noir keeps his guitars in check.
His second board (bottom) bypasses the amp and was specifically built to play roughly with Quesada’s 345, recreating a guitar-into-console overdrive sound that gets pumped into the onstage monitors and PA. To capture that crackly goodness, he runs the 345 into a combination of pedals including a JHS 3 Series Delay, a JHS Crayon, and an Electro-Harmonix Nano POG. Utility boxes on here—Strymon Ojai, JHS Mini A/B, and TC Electronic PolyTune—handle switching, tuning, and power.
P for B
Black Pumas bassist Brendan Bond had the good fortune to hang out at the Wilco Loft in the Irving Park neighborhood of Chicago. He quickly bonded with an old P bass that preoccupied most of his time in the space. Up to that point, his fingers have mostly danced around newer basses, so the allure of vintage gear never tempted him. That all instantly changed (“It was like I was playing a different instrument,” he commented), and when he landed back in Austin, Texas, he took a car right to Austin Vintage Guitars, where he landed this 1974 Fender Precision bass. It’s been his main sweetheart ever since. He puts D’Addario ECB81 Chromes Flatwounds (.045 –.100) on it, and always plays with his fingers in Black Pumas.
Tube Time
Bond has toured with lightweight, class-D bass amps, but now given the opportunity that his own back doesn’t have to lug the gear, he’s bringing out the big guns in the shape of an all-tube, 6550-powered Fender Super Bassman that hits a matching Bassman 410 Neo cab.
Brendan Bond's Pedalboard
Three pedals get the job done for Bond: an Acme Audio Motown D.I. WB-3 Passive D.I., a JHS Colour Box, and a Boss TU-3 Chromatic Tuner.
A '59, But Not That '59
Black Pumas’ singer/guitarist Eric Burton started his career busking in Santa Monica. He’s always accompanied himself with an acoustic guitar, but as the Black Pumas formed and took off, he needed something louder, which pushed him into the hollowbody and semi-hollowbody realm. His main collaborator has been this 1959 ES-125 that is all original and still has its purring P-90. He uses it for the Pumas’ songs “Colors,” “Stay Gold,” “Fast Car,” and “Tomorrow.” Burton’s guitars take D’Addario NYXL1149 Nickel Wounds (.011 –.049).
Stealth Cat
For songs needing more gas and go, Burton will dance with this stock ES-335.
Regal Prince
This prototype was born from conversations with the Fender Custom Shop, who took inspiration from Eric’s connection with hollow and semi-hollow instruments. The Telecaster Thinline has a few special appointments, including a sparkle-purple finish offset with gold hardware and an anodized gold pickguard, conjuring thoughts of the president of Paisley Park. The other interesting bit is the hot P-90 in the neck position.
Mighty Mate
Burton plugs all his guitars into an off-the-shelf Fender ’65 Princeton Reverb.
Eric Burton's Pedalboard
Burton is the band’s lone wireless member. To accommodate his onstage prowling, tech Bryan Wilkinson uses a Radial JDI passive direct box that takes in the XLR from the audio subsnake wireless rackmount and routes it into the first pedal Boss TU-3 Chromatic Tuner. From there, Burton only has a couple pedals—a DigiTech Mosaic to mimic a 12-string for “OCT 33” and a JHS Colour Box for any required heat. A Strymon Ojai turns everything on.
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JHS Colour Box
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D’Addario NYXL1149 NYXLs (.011 –.049)
Gibson ES-335
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Fender ’65 Princeton Reverb
Radial JDI Passive Direct Box
DigiTech Mosaic
The CHI was designed as an easily portable amp that Lifeson can reach for when a last-minute show pops up. It’s ostensibly “Marshall-y” in attitude, though it’s also very much a modern-voiced circuit with footswitchable clean and lead channels. It generates 30 watts via two 6L6EH output tubes and three 12AX7s in the preamp and phase-inverter stages. It’s a straight-ahead amp, wonderfully free of excess features to throw you off course. And while it's perfect for the diehard Rush fan (manual-suggested settings for several Lifeson signature tones, including “Limelight,” “Fly by Night,” and “Working Man,” confirm as much), there’s plenty here to satisfy guitarists outside the Canadian prog-rock obsessives club.
Greek to Me
The CHI exudes a businesslike demeanor, but it’s also stylish enough to stand apart from the scores of lookalike classic clones out there, dressed up as it is in race-grey levant vinyl, red-garnet piping, and black-matrix grille cloth. The logo panel sports a striking red font inspired by the text on the iconic Moving Pictures album cover, and the control panel carries an etched Starman graphic that lights up red when you flip the power switch (there’s no standby on this model). The 24" x 20" x 9", 49-pound amp, with its Baltic birch cabinet, feels solid and substantial, too. Mojotone’s reputation for quality cabinets extends back further than its amplifier business, and the company has supplied many top boutique amp builders. It’s easy to imagine why.
“Access to the fluid, singing tones that define much of Lifeson’s playing with Rush is easy.”
Controls include input gain, lead master, output master, treble, middle, bass, and presence, and there’s a pull switch for a “rhythm clip” function on the input gain, which adds a little dirt to erstwhile clean tones. Around back, you’ll find a jack for the single-button footswitch, a send and return for the effects loop, two 8-ohm speaker outs, and a single 16-ohm out. Inside, the CHI’s circuit is wired across a primary printed circuit board. Three smaller boards host output-tube connections, effects send/return and speaker outs, and the LED array that lights up the Starman. Workmanship is tidy throughout, with neat wire runs and tube sockets that are bolted to the chassis for support in addition to their connections to the respective PCBs.
The CHI’s 30-watt rating comes courtesy of cathode-biased 6L6s. The configuration slightly reins the power from these tubes, which can produce around 45 watts in a fixed-bias configuration, but they can often sound a little juicier and more harmonically complex when cathode biased. The setup also means you can replace the output tubes without having to reset their bias. (We will say, though, be careful when removing or reaching behind the amp’s upper-back panel: A sharp edge on the roughly cut protective screen left this reviewer with a slice on my index finger.)
A Ride in the Red Barchetta
Tested with a Gibson ES-355 and a Fender 1956 Stratocaster Reissue, the Lerxst CHI swiftly revealed itself as a versatile performer—able to do far more than the expected Lifeson-alike tricks that would appear to be its raison d’etre. Going straight to the gained-up lead channel with input gain set at 2 o’clock or more—a route that’s hard to resist on an amp like this—accesses a boatload of muscular grind, sustain, and sizzle. Attaining the fluid, singing tones that define much of Lifeson’s playing with Rush is easy. Dial down the input gain to noon or below, though, and you can tap into plenty of earthy, rootsy rock ‘n’ roll tones. A little tweak here and there delivers everything from gritty classic rock to dirty blues to gnarly garage-rock tones.
Rhythm channel tones will stay relatively clean at pretty hot settings, so you can play loud without sounding muddy. This capability will be a boon for texturalists who need headroom for detailed time-based and modulation effects. But the rhythm channel also works great with overdrive pedals (a TS10 Tube Screamer and Wampler Tumnus Deluxe both sounded excellent). Pulling out the input gain knob for rhythm clip is also an effective tool for adding dirt to the rhythm foundation. The overall level drops slightly, too, but since it’s not a footswitchable function you’re more likely to use this very practical mode with its own gain settings.
With that in mind, it’s worth noting that the CHI’s gain staging, and the knobs that control it, take some getting used to. Since input gain controls the drive level for both channels, you’re tied to finding a compromise between them, then balancing the lead output via the lead master control, and the overall volume of both channels at the output master. Including just one more knob to allow for both rhythm gain and lead gain controls would be more intuitive. As it is, the setup certainly works once you get the hang of it, and both channels can sound great, but it sometimes requires a little deviation from your ideal tone on one channel or another.
The Verdict
The Lerxst CHI combo is a convenient, versatile amp with more than enough punching power to keep up with a heavy drummer, and still sounds great when reined in to basement practice levels. While saturated rock sizzle is very much its forte, the medium-grind overdrive tones are appealing, and both cleans and clipped settings on the rhythm channel are useful and satisfying. Independent rhythm and lead gain controls would have been a plus, but the CHI combo has much to offer just as it is, whether you’re a Rush fan or not
