Our Last Call columnist considers his dream Rig Rundown subject.
“Django was music made into a man.” —Emmanuel Soudieux, Django’s bassist
My friend and colleague Chris Kies recently filmed a Pantera Rig Rundown. One could argue that Pantera is the reason that Rig Rundowns exist. Pantera, more specifically Pantera’s guitarist “Dimebag” Darrell, got Kies into guitar, and he eventually—along with former PG editorial director Joe Coffey—came up with the idea of filming guitarists with their rigs. So you have Hell’s own cowboy, Dimebag, via Kies to thank for the Rundown brand of infotainment.
When the Rundown team got together to yak about Kies’ white-whale interview during a Gig Rundown, I began to wonder what my dream Rig Rundown would be. The choice is easy, though filming it would require a DeLorean, a flux capacitor, and 1.21 gigawatts of power to take us back to 1946 when Django Reinhardt toured the U.S. with Duke Ellington.
Django Reinhardt remains my personal guitar hero. You’ll never hear a player who is more in command of the instrument. Django’s playing was creative and fearless, lighting fast, but never rushed, fiery but relaxed, showy but subtle and sweet. And as brilliant as Django’s playing was, the man was as remarkable as his music. Django seemed to embody everything beautiful and terrible about musicians, incarnating the bad luck, immense talent, shifty business practices, hubris, and laziness. He’d show up for scheduled concerts without a guitar or skip sold-out concerts to take a walk on the beach or whatever he felt inspired to do. Some days he’d refuse to get out of bed at all.
”Django seemed to embody everything beautiful and terrible about musicians, incarnating the bad luck, immense talent, shifty business practices, hubris, and laziness.“
Django Reinhardt was born in a Roma encampment near Belgium in 1910. As a child, the nomadic camp moved outside of Paris, where Django excelled at playing violin, banjo, and guitar, as well as stealing chickens. When he was 18, a fire engulfed his trailer one night, which paralyzed the third and fourth fingers on his left hand. During his 18-month convalescence, Django reinvented his guitar playing. In doing so, he created a new style of music dubbed "gypsy jazz," making him the first great European jazz musician.
During World War II, Nazis exterminated over a million people of Roma heritage and Hitler decreed that listening to jazz could get you sent to a concentration camp. Paradoxically, Django enjoyed the most lucrative period of his career, living and playing openly among Nazi soldiers, who used Paris as a party town during the war.
After the war, while on tour in Zürich, Django lost most of his money gambling in a casino. But in a quick reversal of fortune, he was contacted by a William Morris agent who told him that Duke Ellington would like Django and his musical partner Stéphane Grappelli to join him on tour in the U.S. Django selfishly chose not to tell Grappelli about the tour and went alone.
According to Reinhardt biographer Charles Delaunay, Django was accustomed to his brother Joseph carrying and tuning his guitar, so he arrived in the U.S. without luggage or a guitar. Django believed American companies would be throwing guitars and money at him when he arrived. He was wrong. An agent rounded up a high-action Gibson ES-300 that felt nothing like his sleek, low-action Selmer strung with light ”silk-&-steel” strings (.010–.046). He plugged into an amp he didn’t know how to operate, and oscillated between too loud and inaudible. Accounts say it took him five minutes to tune his guitar. At their Carnegie Hall concert, according to Delaunay, Django ran into boxer Marcel Cerdan on the street, and the two headed to a cafe. Consequently, the guitarist was two hours late. Django went back to Paris not long after the ill-fated show because, as Duke put it, “Somebody at the William Morris Agency had beat him playing billiards, and he got mad and left.”Childish, selfish, brilliant, joyous, jealous, and vain, with little common sense, Django was a Zen-gangsta with an indomitable human spirit, laughing his way through life with no real goals, carefree, spending money as fast as he made it. He embodies everything I’d hope to be as well as everything I fear I might be
While we’re all caught up in the online-gear-shopping rat race, our columnist wonders: Is there a better way?
Without a doubt, America’s greatest contribution to civilization is consumerism. It’s not only the “engine” of our economy, but I’ve read it’s the force behind everything good worldwide. (I know you come here for insight on how to make your guitar sound like Eric Johnson and Buddy Miller at the same time, but trust me, this is important.) Our obsession with guitar gear is outpacing our ability to shop, but I’ve got a next-level solution. With my track record of predicting the future, I’m betting on this, so buckle up, people.
How many times have you wanted immediate satisfaction? You think you know what you want, and maybe even where to find it. Or, maybe you are just bored with those endless hours of fruitless noodling, and need a brand new muse to break the cycle. First stop? The internet, where everything is at your fingertips. It’s a vast ocean of options where you can get lost in the undertow of specifications, features, and demo videos. Before you know it, you’ve grown a (longer) beard, and your path to the bathroom is blocked by pizza boxes and empty bottles of Pedialyte.
I know what it’s like on multiple fronts. In my shop, I have a 1946 Northfield bandsaw that weighs 950 pounds, and is one of the few things that’s not on wheels. Generally, that’s not a problem, but if I want to move it for any reason, I have to break out the 6' Johnson bar and crab the damn thing around a few inches at a time. So, one evening, I got the idea to put “Old Northie” on a set of leveling casters. This would allow me to not only level the machine, but I could then move it when needed. I have a similar set on a 3' x 4' cast-iron-surface-plate table, and let me tell you, they work great.
“While an online purchase wouldn’t have even been boxed up yet, you’d be jamming hard on your brand new gear, happy as a clam.”
The problem was that the foot of the saw’s casting required a certain amount of clearance because the underside was slightly hollow. So, just like an online guitar safari, I began to search out specifications and, if possible, a technical drawing of potential purchases. Much like shopping for guitars, those specifications were harder to find than I would have liked. After more than an hour of poking around, I found some rudimentary dimensions and clicked “buy.” I figured the package would arrive in less than a week, and if they didn’t work, I could just send them back. It wasn’t instant gratification by a long shot.
While I waited, I started questioning how thorough my research had been, and began to second-guess my judgment in buying the items at all. It seemed like the problem wasn’t worth the cost of the solution. This wasn’t the first time I’d gone through this exact scenario, and I wondered if there was a better method. What if there was a way to determine if products were going to work without all the hassle and stress that online shopping creates? Then it hit me. I could see the future of commerce, when decisions can be made on purchases with almost 100-percent certainty; a future where you could be sure that the hype of ad copy was true to the product, and you could get it right away!
I thought, “What if there was a place I could drive to in under an hour and actually put my hands on the product?” I’d be able to measure the levelers, feel the quality, and check for any unanticipated hangups that might scuttle the job. Then I thought, “What if you and I could handle a guitar or an amp, to feel the quality, playability, and even hear what they sounded like, all before putting down any cash? What if there was a specialist at this place who could give you some real-world tips on how the gear worked, and other options you might consider?” I’m not talking about some hack “influencer” who is shilling for the manufacturers, but a real, live person who you could vet in real time.
This could be a total game-changer—you could be back at home that same afternoon or evening with the product, without the worry that you’d made a mistake. While an online purchase wouldn’t have even been boxed up yet, you’d be jamming hard on your brand new gear, happy as a clam. Like I said, I’ve had a pretty good run as a predictor of trends, so stay tuned, and watch out for the launch of some new startups called “Store Places.” It’s gonna be epic. Oh yeah, and I’m still waiting for those levelers.
Have a bit of a budget? Here are eight options that will level up your at-home tones.
There are a million places where you can find the first handful of mics you need when you start to record. But what about when you have the basics down and need to get to the next level? I’ve gathered info about eight different mics that might hit your wallet a bit harder, but the results will be well worth it.
Shure KSM137
A matched pair of these ubiquitous condenser mics works wonders on piano, acoustic guitars, and even drum sets. The KSM137s sport a gold-layered Mylar diaphragm, subsonic filter, and a 3-position pad.
$699/pair
shure.com
Sennheiser MD 441-U
This dynamic mic is perfect for when you need pinpoint precision. It includes a treble boost, 5-position low-frequency contour switch, and a hum-compensating coil.
$1,099 street
sennheiser.com
AKG C414 XLII
This multi-pattern condenser mic is a bona fide classic. It can handle nine different polar patterns, features three different bass-cut filters, and gives you an LED light to keep an eye on clipping.
$1,319 street
akg.com
Neumann U 87 Ai
As one of the most legendary mics ever made, this new iteration has been updated with modern circuitry, switchable 10 dB pre-attenuation, and three directional characteristics.
$3,295 street
neumann.com
AEA N22
This active ribbon mic houses a custom-made German transformer, and a maximum SPL of 141 dB, so let those amps cook! It combines both vintage and modern elements in the RCA tradition.
$1,099 street
aearibbonmics.com
Royer R-121
The company’s flagship microphone might be the only mic to win a Grammy. The figure-8 pattern offers increased sensitivity, can handle very high SPLs, and gives equal response from either the front or back of the element.
$1,499 street
royerlabs.comom
Earthworks QTC50
This omni-directional condenser mic has plenty of headroom to capture even the loudest of audio sources. QTC (Quiet Time Coherent) allows the mic to excel even at lower volumes with strings, vocals, and distant sound sources.
$1,399 streetearthworksaudio.com
Telefunken ELA M 260
Originally released in the ’60s, this modern version features a new-old-stock EF732 vacuum tube along with a thread-on TK6x Series capsule that provides cardioid, hypercardioid, and omni polar patterns.
$1,295 street
telefunken-elektroakustik.com
Musicians are always chasing the one big gig. But what happens after it’s over?
Being a professional musician is one of the few scenarios where an adult builds an entire life around an interest that grabbed their attention when they were children. Ask kids what they want to be when they grow up, and they usually answer with their fantasy job: professional athlete, cowboy, movie star, princess, president, astronaut. Time usually reveals that many of these career paths are not likely to work, so most of us silence that childish dream and stumble into something that pays the bills. But plenty of musicians never quite make the leap to practicality.
The other night, I played a club with my longtime friend and bandmate Andy Hull—a great musician, great drummer, great guy. On a break, we were doing what musicians do: talking about music and dream gigs. Andy said that when he saw a Genesis concert as a teen, he thought, “That’s the life for me. I would love to be in the Chester Thompson seat, part of a great band playing in front of 80,000 people.” Then he added, “But that’s probably not going to happen, and that’s okay. I’ve got a beautiful life.”
I responded, “Andy, you’ve been on a bunch of big tours. When you’re not on the road, you’re making records. And for the record, you and I played Nissan Stadium together last winter. It was packed with something like 82,000 people, plus another five million watching on TV. Great money, great gig, great band. If our 16-year-old selves could see that, we would feel like the luckiest kids in the world.” Andy’s reply dropped off: “Ya, but….” Then we laughed and got back on stage, and sloshed through another night of live music.
“Everyone who attains a hard-earned goal knows the hollowness you feel after the after-after party, when the congratulations, back-slapping, and basking in the glory end.”
The conversation reminded me of a poignant scene from Pixar’s 2020 movie, Soul. The main character, voiced by Jamie Foxx, is Joe Gardner, a 45-year-old middle school music teacher from New York who dreams of becoming a jazz pianist. He gets his chance when a former student, now a big-time jazz drummer, lines up a last-minute audition for the piano slot for top-tier saxophonist Dorothea Williams. Joe nails the audition, gets the gig, and then promptly falls to his death through an open manhole. Joe is not ready to leave this world with his lifelong ambition nearly consummated, so his ghost-like soul works and schemes a way back into his body to play the gig.
That night, after much cunning, effort, and breaking the rules of mortality, the dream gig is everything Joe hoped for. A lifetime of preparation pays off: Joe plays great, the band loves him, the audience is into it, his mom finally supports his music career, and his dream is realized. As the band leaves the venue after the gig, Joe asks Dorothea, “So, uh, what happens next?” Dorothea replies, “We come back tomorrow night and do it all again.”
Joe looks confused, deflated, and empty. He explains to Dorothea, “It’s just that I’ve been waiting for this day my whole entire life. I thought it would feel … different.”
Dorothea tells Joe a metaphorical story about a fish who swims up to an older fish and says, “I’m trying to find this thing they call the ocean.”
The older fish replies, “The ocean? That’s what you’re in right now.”
“This?” says the young fish, perplexed. “This is water; what I want is the ocean.”
Dorothea gives Joe a knowing look, then speeds off in a cab.
Everyone who attains a hard-earned goal knows the hollowness you feel after the after-after party, when the congratulations, back-slapping, and basking in the glory end. When you’re alone with your thoughts, you realize that your achievement doesn’t make you feel any different. You’re wondering, “What’s next? Is that all there is?”
When you put all your focus on the outcome, you can attach an unattainable illusion of fulfillment, happiness, perfection to it. The seemingly successful unhappy person is often stuck in a cycle of searching for external things, accomplishments, and/or material objects, to fulfill and complete them. Sadly, they often miss the best part: the journey.
This drive is totally understandable. Professional musicians know that at times, you are motivated by fear: fear of poverty, fear of failure, fear of abandoning your dreams and losing this sense of who you think you should be. Honestly, this fear is a good motivator to improve your skills and hunt for the best work scenario. Those who don’t have those fears usually don’t survive the industry. I think this is the natural wiring of humans. Our knuckle-dragging ancestors were less likely to survive unless they did worry how they were going to eat and not be eaten. But while vigilance and hard work are good things, you gotta know when to turn it off and not become attached to your vision of what life should be.
I have a tendency to live thinking, “Everything will be cool when I have the killer gig, have more money, have more free time, have a 1958 Gibson goldtop Les Paul,” etc., etc., etc., ad nauseum. It’s like I’m waiting to live until my conditions are met. But the old fish knows that you’re swimming in what you are looking for.
Jazz musician Johnny Smith set the bar high when it came to the design of his signature model, doing his own research and hopping manufacturers when his expectations were left unmet.
A giant of mid-century jazz guitar, Johnny Smith had a fastidious style. He could strike rapid solos, embellish ballads with languid lines, and craft complex chords. Whatever he played, his intention and articulation were crystal clear. Smith’s music is “incredibly intricate and detailed, every note he played, there was nothing extra there. It’s just the essential thing,”—or so said the modern great Bill Frisell, when Reverb interviewed him and Mary Halvorson in 2018 around their Johnny Smith tribute album, The Maid with the Flaxen Hair. That same devotion to detail is apparent in the many signature guitar models that bear Smith’s name, like the 1968 Gibson Johnny Smith featured in this edition of Vintage Vault.
Smith played a lead role in the development of his guitars. Though there are several versions from various brands, they are essentially one model, made and remade to Smith’s liking or disliking. Like a great jazz tune, it was never played quite the same way twice.
In the mid ’50s, Smith first sketched out the theme of his signature model with Guild, not Gibson, having secured an endorsement deal from the then-NYC-based company. He had been playing a Guild X-500 (aka the Stuart), which was a 17″ archtop with two single-coil pickups screwed into the body. But Smith’s heart lay with a custom D’Angelico New Yorker, one with a solid spruce top and precise X-bracing that allowed it to boom like a speaker. He hung out at D’Angelico’s workshop and learned all he could about guitar design.
Unsatisfied with the signature model that Guild produced for him, Smith took his ideas over to Gibson, where he was given nearly complete control over a new design.
Photos courtesy of Reverb/Gitarren Total
Despite the detailed designs Smith handed to Guild’s founding president Al Dronge, what he got was something like a D’Angelico translated through the Guild X-500. Smith was after resonance and tone. He didn’t want anything interfering with the body. He requested that a single DeArmond pickup float above it, with the control knob and output jack affixed to the pickguard rather than the body. This, Guild granted him. But he also had ideas for the carved top and internal construction that he thought would increase balance and sustain, which Guild ignored. Like the X-500, Smith’s top was made with laminated spruce rather than solid wood.
Thus, 1956’s Guild Johnny Smith Award does represent the first record of his signature model—it had the 17″ body and floating pickup that would become a repeating chorus—but it didn’t live up to Smith’s standards. Only 20 or so were made, and soon, Guild and Smith annulled their partnership.
By 1961, Smith was working with Gibson’s Ted McCarty to realize his vision, while Guild had cut Smith’s name and re-released its guitar as the Artist Award. Smith, talking about his first Gibson in 2008, said he was given nearly complete control: “I designed everything myself. I designed how the guitar would be braced, how the top would be carved, the dimensions, the binding, and you name it. The only aspects the company did were some of the cosmetic touches which really did not matter to me.”
“Like a great jazz tune, it was never played quite the same way twice.”
The 17″ Gibson Johnny Smith was introduced with a slightly shallow depth (3 1/8″). Compared to his Guild, it had a 25″ scale (vs. 24.75″), a mini-humbucker rather than the DeArmond, and maybe most importantly to Smith, an X-braced top of carved solid spruce, just like his beloved D’Angelico.
The 2-pickup 1968 Johnny Smith Double variant you see here was first released in 1963. In 1968, a sunburst Johnny Smith Double—with two volume knobs, two tone controls, and a rotary selector—would have retailed for $1,145. Today, you could pay between $8,000–$16,000, depending on condition. This particular guitar, in very good, all-original condition aside from a replacement guard, is listed at $15,319 by the Switzerland-based Reverb seller Gitarren Total.
The guitar has a 17″ body made of flamed maple, with two floating humbuckers.
Photos courtesy of Reverb/Gitarren Total
With Gibson, Smith made the guitar of his dreams, but only for a time. In 1989, he transferred his artist model to Heritage, the company founded by former Gibson luthiers when Gibson moved from Kalamazoo. (Taking a cue from Guild, Gibson re-released its own Johnny Smith model by a different name, Le Grand, in 1993.)
When asked later to explain all his jumping around, Smith said, “Let’s just say I am very particular about instruments with my name on them,”—perhaps, fans of his music might say, as particular with the instruments as the notes he chose to play on them.
In a final twist, his signature model would have one last coda at the place where it all began. In 2002, Smith and Guild reunited, this time with renowned guitar maker Bob Benedetto at the helm of the archtop’s construction. The last Guild Smith signature stayed in production until 2007, while Smith himself passed away in 2013.
Sources: Reverb listings and Price Guide data, Gibson June 1968 price list, Gruhn’s Guide to Vintage Guitars, American Guitars: An Illustrated History by Tom Wheeler, “Johnny Smith Goes Full Circle” by Charles H. Chapman for Fender Players Club, “‘Just the Essential Thing’: Bill Frisell and Mary Halvorson Honor Johnny Smith’s Jazz Legacy” by Nick Millevoi for Reverb.