Moths and butterflies are admirably, amazingly adaptable in flight. I mean, imagine you weigh mere milligrams. You’re trucking along, minding your own business, and a 45 mph gust blows you straight into the path of a garbage truck. As a moth, you have to be ready for anything. I’ve been in a lot of jams like that. The Moth Electric C. Regalis would have been a perfect companion.
The C. Regalis (the name honors the largest moth, by mass, found north of Mexico, making the moth in my earlier metaphor seem pretty lame) derives its own adaptability from blendable drive and clean tones. There’s nothing revolutionary about that idea. But the C. Regalis has a drive section that sounds great and is very versatile by itself and makes the whole very special. It has a flexible +/-15dB treble-and-bass EQ and a smooth/crunch switch that functions, more or less, exactly as advertised by adding even-order harmonics. The many possible tones from the drive section can, in turn, be compounded exponentially with the dirty/clean blend. All this room to roam in the controls means C. Regalis isn’t encumbered by a rigid agenda. It cares little about whether you use a Jaguar or an SG, a Fender Deluxe Reverb or a Marshall. The C. Regalis is eager to please. And it’s hard to imagine a player that couldn’t find a sound, or 30, to love in this pedal.
Master of Metamorphosis
Overdrive pedals, even lovable, essential, invaluable ones, can be pretty boring. And I can’t remember the last time I thought of an overdrive as a songwriting machine. But the C. Regalis is varied, forgiving, and intuitive in ways that facilitate fast movement between tones and make morphing between mere sounds and more concrete musical ideas fluid and effortless. There are many springboards and templates to work from too: Randomly choosing pedal settings, I bounced between sweet, toppy clean boost, hot treble-boosted tones, tweed Deluxe haze, Stonesy grime (’60s and ’70s versions), Dinosaur Jr. grind, and Sabbath sludge—and that was with a single guitar and amp.
Not surprisingly, for an overdrive and distortion with a clean blend control, there are strong hints of Klon, and I found many comparable tones in the C. Regalis and my fave klone at many settings. But the C. Regalis is also generally airer and less compressed than the klone, which translates to a lot of headroom and range. That range can reveal potential in the amps and guitars you already have. A few examples: I turned a raspy P-90 and Marshall combination into deep, pillowy Kevin Shields smoke. A Telecaster and vintage Vibrolux bellowed like a plexi, then ripped lines of treble-boosted acid twang. Curtis Novak Wide Range pickups in a Telecaster Deluxe plus the Moth sounded good with … everything. And I don’t remember encountering undesirable combinations that couldn’t be fixed with a simple, quick adjustment to the pedal or guitar controls (the C. Regalis is also highly responsive to guitar volume and tone attenuation).
The Verdict
Moth Electric’s C. Regalis is a really lovely, thoughtfully designed drive unit. At $179, it’s also a deal. The controls are smooth, precise, and situated in a clean, clear, and straightforward layout. And the simple, spacious design makes it easy to move between drastically different tones, mid-performance, without feet or presets. (Yes, bending over mid-jam kinda sucks, but if you don’t have enough time to pull this off, you’re probably playing too many notes.)
There are, of course, specific drive sounds that the C. Regalis can’t recreate. But it was hard to find any sizable holes in its performance envelope. And it can convincingly approximate almost any pedal, and many amps, at anywhere along the clean-boost to mid-gain distortion spectrum. If you chase specific pedal tones at super-granular levels, the C. Regalis might not always hit the mark. But if you’re out to craft a tone of your own that’s rooted in the organic, analog, vintage realm, C. Regalis has a very high likelihood of delivering.
A Canada-built, tastefully styled mini jumbo serves up comfort, a unique and expansive tone profile, and addictive playability.
Godin may be a Canadian company that skews modern in its design approach. But staring across the room at the new Godin Connaisseur MJ, glowing in soft spring sunlight, I kept thinking about two very classic American guitar companies. Martin and Rickenbacker are famous for very different things, and one of them rarely made acoustic instruments. But check out the Godin’s sunburst finish—it sure reminds me of Rickenbackerfireglo. The herringbone-patterned purling evokes that found on a D-28 as well as Rickenbacker’s checkerboard binding. The split-hexagon fretboard inlay? It conjures thoughts of aD-45, and Rickenbacker’s shark-fins. There are practical reasons that this Godin feels like an alternate-universe offspring from the two American companies—most notably the super-satisfying playability. Hermann Rorschach might have told me I’m more inclined to see and feel these likenesses in the Connaisseur MJ (I’m genuinely captivated by the beauty of Rickenbackers and Martins). But style is a big part of what sets the Connaisseur MJ apart, and you don’t need an inkblot test to know that the Godin Connaisseur MJ is a handsome, well-built, and fine-playing flattop. It’s a guitar that reveals its virtues quickly and easily.
Maple Leaf Rag
Consider another unorthodox melding of concepts: “mini” and “jumbo.” Obviously, they are a contradiction in terms. But as an acoustic guitar design guideline, the combination can yield pure gold. The jumbo in mini jumbo (MJ in Godin nomenclature) alludes to the body’s basic shape which, in its fluid curvaceousness, echoes Gibson’s SJ-200. But while the Connaisseur MJ isn’t a behemoth like the SJ-200, it’s not exactly mini either, and feels much more like a shapelier Martin OM. It’s a very comfortable profile that does much to alleviate the arm fatigue that can come from wrestling a dreadnought or genuinely jumbo jumbo.
At $2,499 the Canada-built Connaisseur MJ is Godin’s most expensive flattop by several hundred dollars. And at that price it has to tussle with giants like Martin, Gibson, and Taylor—all of whom sell very established and well-known models in a crowded market segment that most of us could call “getting expensive enough to hurt.” So, what distinguishes the Godin in a densely populated field? Well, it’s certainly pretty, and the melding of classic flattop design touchstones and contemporary styling moves achieves a unique, attractive result rather than an uncomfortable, incohesive mash up of influences.
Golden Glow
In the sonic sphere, theConnaisseur MJ exhibits many classic spruce-and-mahogany characteristics. The warm, concise fundamentals, sunset-hued, softly decaying overtones, and lack of brashness are all hallmarks of this tonewood combination. But the Godin definitely doesn’t live on the dusty, dry, and antique end of the mahogany-and-spruce spectrum. It’s alive and dynamic and responsive in ways you might even categorize as “modern,” and has ample headroom that leaves space for shifts in mood and intensity without shedding its essential voice. It’s easy to be struck by the Connaisseur MJ’s sparkle, especially when you use a light fingerstyle touch. But as I got to know the guitar, I grew to love the balance and resonance in the low end. I suspect that the mini jumbo body, and perhaps the 25.5" scale, have a lot to do with the Godin’s even, inviting voice and range. There is a beautiful combination of energy and air, even in the most softly plucked notes, and it’s easy to see how the extra expanse of spruce aft of the bridge might have a lot to do with how lively and rich the Godin sounds.
“The Godin definitely doesn’t live on the dusty, dry, antique end of the mahogany-and-spruce spectrum. It’s alive and dynamic and responsive in ways you might even categorize as ‘modern.’”
All the tone in the world doesn’t mean much if a guitar plays like a log. But the Connaisseur MJ shines in the playability realm. A few less-than-perfectly-dressed fret ends aside, the neck is addictively comfortable. If there’s a lot of Richard Thompson hammer-ons and pull-offs in your own playing vernacular, you’ll love the snappy touch responsiveness.
The Verdict
The biggest compliment I can offer the Connaisseur MJ is the considerable time I spent with it in a meditative musical state—thinking not about a review, just basking in its warm, sprightly resonance and inviting touch response. At $2,499, the Godin arguably offers more personality than a satin-finished instrument at the same price with a more famous name. It’s well built and feels like a guitar that’s in it for the long haul. And when it comes to tone and a pure playing experience, the Connaisseur MJ shines.
Andy Powers’ influence on the substance and style of Taylor guitars has been truly significant. Over his 14-year tenure leading Taylor’s design efforts, he’s introduced entirely new bracing patterns and body profiles—never easy when working for a legacy brand in a tradition-oriented industry. In crafting the new Gold Label 814e Koa Super Auditorium, Powers might have created Taylor’s prettiest body shape yet—a blend of sweeping curves, airy lines, and graceful proportions that, like a river stone, appear as if shaped by water.
Stylish, for sure. But there’s substance in abundance, too. The ever-tinkering Powers reconfigured the V-Class bracing Taylor introduced in 2018 for the new Gold Label 814e guitars. There’s also a new glue-free long-tenon neck—significant news considering how large Taylor’s NT neck looms in the company’s identity. What’s interesting about those moves is that Powers was keen to bake a visceral sense of vintage-ness into this guitar. The Gold Label 814e doesn’t sound much like the old American flattops I run into, but it’s distinguished by sweetness, clarity, balance, and expressive range.
Presence and Proportions
The Super Auditorium body shape that debuts with the Gold Label 814e is a close relative of Taylor’s lovely Grand Auditorium shape, which, at 30 years old, is now a foundational part of Taylor’s line. In fact, the 814e Koa is just 3/16" longer and 1/4" wider than a Grand Auditorium. More obvious is the absence of a cutaway, and the symmetry of the curves highlight lovely, just-about-perfect proportions. It’s a beautiful guitar, but it’s probable the increase in dimensions has more to do with Powers chasing a specific sound. Certainly, more size could align with aspirations to the antique tone glow of a vintage American flattop.
The collective effect of the body dimensions (which live in a sweet spot between grand Concert and dreadnought size) and the modified V-Class bracing means the Gold Label 814e’s voice is distinctive rather than overtly “vintage” (a broad, unspecific term at best). At the risk of disappointing Powers and Taylor, I think the Gold Label 814e exhibits many classically Taylor tone attributes to excellent effect, and the snappy midrange and relatively even string-to-string balance at times evoke an acoustic that’s been EQ’d and compressed by a recording engineer. But what will resonate for many players is the way the Gold Label 814e complements the modern facets of its voice with toasty bass from the 6th string and a little less top-end brilliance from the 1st and 2nd strings—qualities you’re more likely to hear in a guitar with 70 years of toil baked in. In the Gold Label 814e, those tonalities are bookends for a broad midrange that is very present and very Taylor, and whether that whole suits your playing style has a lot to do with how much you can leverage its impressive dynamics. Heavy-handed strumming confirms that the Gold Label 814e is capable of being very loud. It also highlights a pronounced midrange that, for all the guitar’s string-to-string balance, can be a bully if you have a heavy touch. If your approach is more varied and sensitive, though, the extra volume becomes headroom and the midrange becomes a chrome shine set against a dusty desert patina. It’s a killer recipe for fingerstyle. A light touch can still generate detailed, complex overtone pictures, while the high headroom accommodates and inspires high-contrast high-intensity counter phrasings. There’s a lot of room to explore.
Grease the Runway
Playability is, as expected, a strong suit. The action feels extra-easy and encourages hyperactive playing styles as well as languid chording that utilizes the instrument’s sustain, range, and rich pianistic qualities. The 1:21 ratio Gotoh 510 tuners feel ultra-precise, making moves between alternate tunings easy and enhancing an already strong sense of performance stability. Flawless fretwork, meanwhile, feels fantastic and underscores Taylor’s super-high quality. A fatter neck profile certainly would have suited me, and even though you can feel the tiniest hint of a V-profile bump at the neck contour’s apex, it still feels a touch thin. Even so, a lack of hand fatigue and a sense of fleetness in the fingers make the trade-off worthwhile.
Appropriately, for a guitar that costs $4.8k, the Gold Label 814e is a feast for the eyes, but in a sneaky, not-too-extroverted kind of way. The Hawaiian koa back and sides, which are a $300 upcharge from the rosewood-backed 814e, are, along with the Continental inlays, the flashiest element of the instrument. And though the high-quality lumber elsewhere in the guitar (torrefied spruce top, ebony fretboard, mahogany neck, ebony tuning keys) all feel luxurious, the deeply figured koa adds an extra splash of bespoke flash. Seasoned Taylor spotters will also note that the lines of the koa sides are not cluttered with the controls of the Expression System 2 electronics, which have been replaced here by an excellent L.R. Baggs Element VTC system that utilizes controls tucked inside the soundhole.
The Verdict
Though the 814e Koa aspires to 1940s and ’50s American flattop vintageness, it doesn’t always deliver on that count. For the right player, though, the instrument offers a unique and complex voice with a super-wide dynamic range and soft-focus bass and treble tones that temper the midrange. The new glue-free, long tenon neck can be reset fast and inexpensively should that time ever come, which might make the sting of the hefty $4,799 investment feel less risky—at least in maintenance terms. Yep, it’s really expensive. But consider, too, the joys of beholding the 814e Koa’s graceful curves all day—you might be able to justify the cost as a musical instrument as well as art.
Wanna talk about rabbit holes? Well, few are deeper or darker than one that awaits when you compare the virtues, shortcomings, and construction peculiarities of Big Muffs. Make no mistake, I love the things. And studying real, audible differences among Big Muff variants is fun. But I would happily take back many hours I’ve spent contrasting Ram’s Head, Triangle, and Sovtek versions, and their clones—all to arrive at the conclusion that they all sound awesome in their own right. One dude that has spent about a million hours dissecting Muff tone minutiae is EarthQuaker Devices founder Jamie Stillman. Hisefforts to reverse engineer his pal Dan Auerbach’s unique-sounding Sovtek Muff begat theHoof, which remains among EarthQuaker’s most enduring and successful products.
Just as Auerbach’s Muff possessed a certain something missing in otherwise identical Sovteks, so it was with a Version-6 (V6) Electro-Harmonix Big Muff used by James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem for his band’s fuzz-bass tones. As 40-something pedals will, Murphy’s V6 Big Muff got a bit fussy for tour life, so Stillman and EQD were tasked with crafting a replacement. But like so many vintage pedals that have become notorious and legendary, Murphy’s V6 Big Muff is distinguished by construction inconsistencies that made it a quirky and unique thing.
EQD’s interpretation of this formula—made manifest here in the Chelsea Low End Fuzz Driver—is a Big Muff-style voice that leans more Ram’s Head than Sovtek. In strictly sonic terms, that means lots of grind, presence, and a delectable balance between air and aggression that make the Chelsea soar. Like a vintage V6 Big Muff, it features a tone-bypass switch which removes the tone pot entirely. The midrange-heavy result is appealing and impressive in its own punky way. But the rangeful tone control, and the oxygenated sounds that live in its treblier zones, in particular, are highlights of the pedal’s vocabulary that make it distinctive.
As the “Low End Fuzz Driver” handle and Murphy’s historically bass-oriented usage suggest, the Chelsea’s tone profile is a great tool for crafting gnarly, nasty, bottom-end sounds that have a trace of almost saxophone-like honk and grit on top of mere mass—a sound composite that gives bass and baritone riffs lift and definition. But as sweetly and swaggeringly as the Chelsea gels with bass, guitarists will find it a source of rich and blistering tones, and a distinctive alternative to early Triangle-, Ram’s Head-, and V6-style Big Muff sounds.
Park and fly with this mid-focused but very vocal wah honoring Bowie’s right-hand man.
Dunlop Mick Ronson Wah - MAIN by premierguitar
Mick Ronson—lead ripper, lieutenant, riff-dealer, and arranger in David Bowie’s Spiders from Mars—was such a cool amalgam of ’60s British guitar voices. He had Keith Richards’ sense of rhythm and hooks, Jimmy Page’s knack for evil-sounding ear candy, and a preference for loud, simple rigs: Les Paul, Marshall, Tone Bender, Echoplex, and, most critically, a Cry Baby wah. You know the sound of this Cry Baby. It’s everywhere on early 1970s Bowie records—“Queen Bitch,” “Moonage Daydream,” and “Width of a Circle,” to name a few—and it put discernible fangs and venom in his playing. There are many such sounds in Dunlop’s excellent new tribute, the Mick Ronson Cry Baby.
Ronno was not a wah player in the “wocka-wocka” sense. He primarily used the pedal in a fixed position or with subtle longer sweeps. His favorite wah for the job was an early Cry Baby built in Italy by Jen. These wahs were notoriously, shall we say, “unique” from specimen to specimen. And without Ronno’s original on hand for comparison, it’s hard to know how close the tribute gets to nailing it. But there is an unmistakable mid focus that mirrors and invites Ronno’s biting phrasing—particularly in Bowie’s live recordings from the time. The new pedal’s sweep starts out squawky at the heel-down position, where my other vintage-voiced wahs just sound foggy. That midrange emphasis and presence remains through its sweep, suggesting the Ronson wah’s singing range is narrow. On the contrary, the many distinctly different vowel sounds within that range color the base tone more strongly than many wahs with a smoother, bassier taper. That profile lends itself to great control and multiple bold, distinct sounds—particularly when an angry gain device is situated upstream.