The life and legacy of one of the most brilliant and influential guitar instructors who ever lived.
Born: September 26, 1946
Died: July 23, 2005
Best Known For: Ted Greene devoted his life to unlocking the secrets of the guitar’s fretboard and sharing them with whoever wished to learn. His four books—Chord Chemistry, Modern Chord Progressions, and Jazz Guitar Single Note Soloing Volume 1 and Volume 2—have taken literally untold thousands of players through the deepest recesses of guitar theory.
In life we sometimes encounter people who, like Virgil in Dante’s Inferno, guide us along treacherous paths to our ultimate destination. For many on the path to guitar excellence, Ted Greene was that guide.
A heart attack claimed Greene’s life on July 23, 2005, yet he continues to teach through his books, videos, and lesson guides, many of which are posted on his official website, tedgreene.com. Ted Greene was many things: musician, friend, eccentric, mentor, and student. But to many, he was simply a hero.
Moving Torsos
Theodore “Ted” Greene was born September 26, 1946, in Los Angeles, California. Music seemed to be woven into the fabric of his being. His mother recalled her baby rocking back and forth to rhythm from the time he could sit up. His intellect became apparent once he started school. He was a math whiz with an IQ of 160—well into genius territory.
Greene received his first guitar in 1957 at age 11. “I had a horrible guitar with the highest action in the world, especially down at the nut,” he later reminisced. “I almost quit, but my parents’ encouragement and a true love of music carried me through.”
Though he was left-handed, he opted to play right-handed. He took lessons from local jazz guitarist Sal Tardella. Despite his later affinity for the genre, said Greene, “the sounds of rock and roll were pulling my ears.” In 1960 he joined his first band, the Cage Kings, and acquired his first good guitar: a Gretsch 6120. He later admitted he wasn’t ready to play in a group. “But it didn’t matter,” he said, “because we could make a lot of noise. That seemed adequate to get people’s lower torsos moving on the floor.”
Greene didn’t embrace guitar as a lifestyle until after high school. At 19, he’d spend hours—even days—in his bedroom, obsessively expanding his music theory knowledge. As his longtime partner Barbara Franklin wrote in her memoir, My Life with the Chord Chemist, “If a book suggested doing an exercise in a few keys, such as spelling major triads, Ted would do the exercise in all keys, major and minor, until he had memorized them cold. Greene learned to instantly recognize everything from interval identification … to knowing the quality of every chord on each scale degree, the many uses for each chord, the inversions, traditional voice leading, and more.”
Ted Greene with jazz singer Cathy Segal-Garcia circa 1977. Photo courtesy of Leon White
To Teach Is to Love
In 1965, Greene found his calling when he accepted a teaching position at Ernie Ball Guitars in Tarzana, California. “I didn’t mean to be a guitar teacher,” he said, “but I just fell in love with it.” His playing ability and musical knowledge quickly attracted a large pool of prospective students, and soon there was a two-year waiting list to study with him.
Students were drawn to both the method and the man. Hundreds of Greene students will expound at great length on his kindness, patience, humor and generosity. Leon White—a Greene pupil and co-producer of Solo Guitar, Greene’s only solo album—recalled that, “If a guy came in and said, ‘I’m a little short this week and I can only pay you half,’ Ted would say, ‘Well, can you afford that half? Do you want to keep it and pay me some other time?’” In fact, throughout his life, Greene charged criminally low rates for lessons—usually no more than $25 per half hour. He just seemed to love teaching, and he believed that no one should be denied a chance to study with him because they couldn’t afford it.
Meanwhile, Greene continued to gig around Los Angeles with various rock and blues acts. In 1967, he joined a group called Bluesberry Jam that featured future Canned Heat member Adolfo “Fito” de la Parra on drums. The group regularly played the Magic Mushroom club, as well as the larger Shrine Auditorium, where they supported such acts as the Doors, Iron Butterfly, Joe Cocker, and Alice Cooper. While Bluesberry Jam gained a following around the city, they never made it to the next level, and the band folded when de la Parra departed for Canned Heat. Sadly, no Bluesberry Jam recordings survive. However, Greene did record with psychedelic rocker Joe Byrd, including on Byrd’s 1969 album The American Metaphysical Circus.
Ted Greene's timeline
Greene then threw himself even deeper into teaching. Simple diagrams he’d previously drawn to demonstrate his concepts grew increasingly more detailed. Barbara Franklin would later recall how he made charts of all closed-voiced triads in all major and minor keys. “On the same page would be a list of the most common chord progressions to be memorized. The page went on to include adding the 6th, 7th, 9th, 11th, and 13th degree to each chord.”
In fact, to say that Greene was systematic in his approach to teaching, playing, and writing music would be an understatement—to some it appeared to border on obsession. Others believe Greene might have suffered from an undiagnosed case of Asperger syndrome—an autism-spectrum disorder that typically affects social interaction and is often accompanied by restrictive or repetitive interests and behaviors. Those who subscribe to this theory believe it explains his later decisions to limit his exposure to the public at large. Franklin notes in her memoir of Greene that, "This thought or that, a moment split by the minds' idle chatter or a tune running through it and a week flies by."
Chord Chemist
Dale Zdenek, owner of the music shop where Greene taught, took note of these minutely detailed diagrams. In 1971, Zdenek, who had no background in publishing, proposed a book based on Greene’s work. Greene was interested, but instead of simply compiling his extant material, he decided to create something completely new.
The resulting book, Chord Chemistry, went on to become essential reading for players seeking a deeper understanding of chords. Its success established Greene’s name in the guitar community, and the desire to study with him and see him perform increased exponentially. In 1976, Greene published a second important chord book, Modern Chord Progressions. (It’s worth noting that while the contents of Greene’s chord books were meant to be absorbed in the order they’re presented, they’re not so much formal methods as encyclopedias of ideas.)
Meanwhile, Greene continued his own studies. He took eight weeks of lessons from the “Father of the 7-String Guitar,” George Van Eps, and worked on expanding his knowledge of single-note playing. In 1979, he published two books on the subject: Jazz Guitar Single Note Soloing Volume 1 and Volume 2.
Greene’s four books offer up a staggering amount of information, including many concepts never before available in print. Even if he’d never done anything else, these volumes would have secured his place in guitar history.
Telecaster Crazy
Greene was best known for playing highly modified Telecasters, but he also loved classic Gibson guitars.
Photo courtesy of Leon White
In April of 1965 Greene acquired his first Fender Telecaster, a 1953 that cost $135. It was the beginning of a lifelong love affair with the Tele. Greene estimated that he owned 200 Telecasters at one point or another. “The versatility of the Telecaster is almost unmatched,” he said in an interview.
When Fender decided to manufacture a reissue model of their famed 1952 Blackface Tele, the company turned to Greene and his vast collection while designing the prototype. Greene regularly offered suggestions about how to improve the reissue. Fender asked him to play the new guitars at their 1982 NAMM show debut, which he happily did.
In later years Greene’s favorite Tele was a hybrid: a ’52 body fitted with a ’51 Esquire neck. He routed the body himself, installing two DiMarzio Dual-Sound humbuckers in the neck and middle positions. He also replaced the stock bridge pickup with one from a 1954 model. Interestingly, Greene removed the pole pieces from a pair of stock Gibson humbuckers and installed them into the DiMarzios, which were then set low into the guitar—beneath the pickguard, even—with the pole pieces set high near the strings. His explanation for the unusual parts swapping and positioning was that he did it to “get rid of the mud.” Another uncommon choice was Greene’s choice of rather heavy strings for his Telecasters, including a .013 or sometimes even a .014 for the high E.
While Telecasters held a special place in Green’s heart, he owned many other guitars, mostly Gibsons. His collection included a goldtop Les Paul, an ES-335, and a number of hollowbody archtops.
Photo courtesy of Leon White
Throughout his life Ted Greene preached the gospel of harmony. Everything from blues to Baroque was fair game, and Greene made every chord move a teachable moment. Since his passing, many former students have made his handouts, arrangements, and lesson notes available through tedgreene.com. Nearly all the material consists of scanned versions of actual lesson handouts, and they feature Greene’s unique method for diagramming chords. Many of these documents are signed and dated, and contain what could be thought of as one of Ted’s Musical Commandments: “Don’t let the music die on the page.”
In this lesson we’ll look at two distinctly different (but sublimely “Ted”) ways Greene approached the blues. Fig. 1 is a gospel-influenced blues progression that makes use of many concepts that Greene illustrated in his opus on harmony, Chord Chemistry.
This blues in G starts with a I-IV progression in the first measure to establish the sound of the key. One of the most essential—and amazing—aspects of Greene’s style is his masterful command of voice leading, which is the technique of moving from one chord to another in the most musically economical way possible. To better understand this idea, think of each chord shape as a collection of individual voices rather than a “grip” or “shape.” In the first measure, notice how Greene keeps the common tone (G) on top while moving the lower two notes up to the next closest chord tones.
Creating a smooth and melodic series of chords, while still sticking to a harmonic framework, is like solving a challenging puzzle. In the third and fourth measures, Greene uses a scalar bass line (D–E–F–E–D–C–B) to set up a G7/B chord going into the IV chord (C7). Greene uses a dim7 chord in the next measure to create some tension before returning to the I chord in the sixth measure. A diminished chord is made up of a series of minor third intervals, and this allows any note to function as the root. The scalar bass line technique gets a reprise in measures seven and eight before the progression heads to the V chord in measure nine.
While focusing on economy of motion and outlining the harmony, Greene creates a somewhat symmetrical melody line over the V and IV chords, above the ever-so-slightly shifting the harmony underneath. Finally, in the last two measures he combines the previous diminished harmony with a masterful bass line to create a turnaround that’s as functional as it is sophisticated.
In Fig. 2, we see how Greene combines a traditional form with more extended harmonies and substitutions. The first thing you’ll notice about the voicings is that they’re almost exclusively played on the 5–4–2–1 string set. Greene was a devout fingerstyle player and these “split” voicings will expand your right-hand technique and suggest alternatives to typical jazz grips. When Greene originally presented this material, it was merely a bunch of chord diagrams on a page. Following his advice, I took those chords and added a more syncopated rhythm.
If you look at how Greene constructed these chords, all of them start on either the 3 or 7. Those two notes are the most essential harmonic elements because they define both the chord’s quality and tonality. The first harmonic twist is in the fourth measure where Greene inserts a IIm–V7 progression to create a stronger pull into the Bb9 chord in the next measure. The key changes momentarily to Ab in the sixth measure with a IIm-V7. The Eb13 in measure six keeps two common tones while the harmony gracefully shifts up for a return to the I chord in the next measure.
The eighth measure contains the standard altered VI chord, but this time its own altered V7 precedes it. In harmonic terms, this measure can either be thought of as simply a III7–VI7 progression in the key of F, or an added secondary dominant (V of VI). The final four measures begin with a dom7 chord built on the second degree of the scale. Usually in the blues form this would be a min7 chord, but Greene deftly adds a tritone substitution after this in order to let the lower notes of the chord remain while the upper notes shift. This sets up a proper IIm–V7 progression in the next measure before ending with a I–VI7–II7–V7 turnaround.
Greene's genius survives through his books and recordings—and the hundreds of students whose lives he touched.
Photo courtesy of Leon White
Solo Guitar
In 1976 Greene began performing his first solo gigs, taking up a Sunday night residency at the Smoke House in Toluca Lake, California. Southern California guitarists flocked to hear the master perform. One frequent attendee was Greene’s friend and sometime student Leon White. Recalls White, “In the parking lot after the show I said to him, ‘We have to record that. You don't have to prepare anything. Just come and sit down and play.’ We ended up having that same discussion in the Smoke House parking lot for two years. He just didn’t want to do it!”
Ultimately, White’s persistence won the day, and Greene went into the studio with White and friend William Perry. Over the course of roughly 10 hours spread out over two days, Greene sat alone in the studio, playing almost continuously. There was no game plan, not even a song list—just Greene playing whatever came to mind.
Greene’s uncompromising meticulousness sometimes made for a grueling process. “He played all those songs front to back, so each tune is a single performance,” says White. “He would start up on something, get three and a half minutes into it, not like it, and stop. We were going through reels of tape like you have no idea!”
The result was Solo Guitar, a breathtakingly beautiful set of standards played as only Ted Greene could play them. The album received near-universal praise. “On this record he defies the technical physics of jazz melody chord voicings but creates an organic and inspired listening delight,” Steve Vai told Guitarist magazine. “It’s a must for anyone who puts their fingers on an instrument with strings.” Sadly, Solo Guitar is Green’s only solo release.
A Teacher Affects Eternity
Greene ceased writing instructional books after 1979, though he continued teaching and learning. For the rest of his life, he coached aspiring guitarists at his home, at Musicians Institute in Los Angeles, and at seminars throughout Southern California.
He stopped playing solo gigs, too—reportedly because he disliked the way guitar players would scrutinize his technique and execution on the guitar rather than soaking in the music he drew from the instrument. According to Leon White, Greene often said, “I’d rather play at a retirement home for blue-haired old ladies than at a club. At least the old ladies would listen to and enjoy the music and not watch my hands the whole time.”
When Greene passed away on July 23, 2005, approximately 700 people attended his memorial, nearly all of them guitarists. Greene had many loves in his life: baseball cards, fast cars, and his partner Barbara Franklin. But above all else, he loved music and teaching.
As the noted writer Henry Adams once said, “A teacher affects eternity. He can never tell where his influence stops.” Greene’s legacy may outlive us all.
Ted Greene's Must-Watch Moments
Live footage of Ted Greene is quite rare, but the following three segments on YouTube show the genius in his element as both a performer and an instructor.
Ted Greene performs a masterful and completely improvised performance of the Beatles classic “Eleanor Rigby.”
Greene's performance of “Embraceable You” is a great example of his chord mastery.
Greene doing what he did best: teaching. Lovely examples of classical and jazz pieces throughout.
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Gibson Victory Figured Top Electric Guitar - Iguana Burst
Victory Figured Top Iguana BurstThe English guitarist expands his extensive discography with 1967: Vacations in the Past, an album paired with a separate book release, both dedicated to the year 1967 and the 14-year-old version of himself that still lives in him today.
English singer-songwriter Robyn Hitchcock is one of those people who, in his art as well as in his every expression, presents himself fully, without scrim. I don’t know if that’s because he intends to, exactly, or if it’s just that he doesn’t know how to be anyone but himself. And it’s that genuine quality that privileges you or I, as the listener, to recognize him in tone or lyrics alone, the same way one knows the sound of Miles Davis’ horn within an instant of hearing it—or the same way one could tell Hitchcock apart in a crowd by his vibrantly hued, often loudly patterned fashion choices.
Itchycoo Park
“I like my songs, but I don’t necessarily think I’m the best singer of them,” he effaces to me over Zoom, as it’s approaching midnight where he’s staying in London. “I just wanted to be a singer-songwriter because that’s what Bob Dylan did. And I like to create; I’m happiest when I’m producing something. But my records are blueprints, really. They just show you what the song could be, but they’re not necessarily the best performance of them. Whereas if you listen to … oh, I don’t know, the great records of ’67, they actually sound like the best performances you could get.”
He mentions that particular year not offhandedly, but because that’s the theme of the conversation: He’s just released an album, 1967: Vacations in the Past, which is a collection of covers of songs released in 1967, and one original song—the title track. Boasting his takes on Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” the Beatles’ “A Day in the Life,” Pink Floyd’s “See Emily Play,” and Small Faces’ “Itchycoo Park,” among eight other tracks, it serves as a sort of soundtrack or musical accompaniment to his new memoir, 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left.
Hitchcock, who was 14 years old and attending boarding school in England in 1967, describes how who he is today is encased in that period of his life, much like a mosquito in amber. But why share that with the world now?
In the mid ’70s, before he launched his solo career, Hitchcock was the leader of the psychedelic group the Soft Boys.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/tinnitus photography
“I’m 71; I’ve been alive quite a long time,” he shares. “If I want to leave a record of anything apart from all the songs I’ve written, now is a good time to do it. By writing about 1966 to ’67, I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
Hopefully, I say, the publication of these works won’t ring as some sort of death knell for him.
“Well, it’s a relative death knell,” he replies. “But everyone’s on the conveyor belt. We all go over the edge. And none of our legacies are permanent. Even the plastic chairs and Coke bottles and stuff like that that we’re leaving behind.... In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth. But I suppose you do probably get to an age where you want to try and explain yourself, maybe to yourself. Maybe it’s me that needs to read the book, you know?”
“I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
To counter his description of his songs above, I would say that Hitchcock’s performances on 1967: Vacations in the Past carve out their own deserved little planet in the vintage-rock Milky Way. I was excited in particular by some of his selections: the endorsement of foundational prog in the Procol Harum cover; the otherwise forgotten Traffic tune, “No Face, No Name and No Number,” off of Mr. Fantasy, the Mamas & the Papas’ nostalgic “San Francisco,” and of course, the aforementioned Floyd single. There’s also the lesser known “My White Bicycle” by Tomorrow and “I Can Hear the Grass Grow” by the Move, and the Hendrix B-side, “Burning of the Midnight Lamp.”
Through these recordings, Hitchcock pays homage to “that lovely time when people were inventing new strands of music, and they couldn’t define them,” he replies. “People didn’t really know what to call Pink Floyd. Was it jazz, or was it pop, or psychedelia, or freeform, or systems music?”
His renditions call to mind a cooking reduction, defined by Wikipedia as “the process of thickening and intensifying the flavor of a liquid mixture, such as a soup, sauce, wine, or juice, by simmering or boiling.” Hitchcock’s distinctive, classic folk-singer voice and steel-string-guided arrangements do just that to this iconic roster. There are some gentle twists and turns—Eastern-instrumental touches; subtly applied, ethereal delay and reverb, and the like—but nothing that should cloud the revived conduit to the listener’s memory of the originals.
And yet, here’s his review of his music, in general: “I hear [my songs] back and I think, ‘God, my voice is horrible! This is just … ugh! Why do I sing through my nose like that?’ And the answer is because Bob Dylan sang through his nose, you know. I was just singing through Bob Dylan’s nose, really.”
1967: Vacations in the Pastfeatures 11 covers of songs that were released in 1967, and one original song—the title track.
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“I wait for songs to come to me: They’re independent like cats, rather than like dogs who will faithfully trail you everywhere,” Hitchcock explains, sharing about his songwriting process. “All I can do is leave a plate of food out for the songs—in the form of my open mind—and hope they will appear in there, hungry for my neural pathways.”
Once he’s domesticated the wild idea, he says, “It’s important to remain as unselfconscious as possible in the [writing] process. If I start worrying about composing the next line, the embryonic song slips away from me. Often I’m left with a verse-and-a-half and an unresolved melody because my creation has lost its innocence and fled from my brain.
“[Then] there are times when creativity itself is simply not what’s called for: You just have to do some more living until the songs appear again. That’s as close as I can get to describing the process, which still, thankfully, remains mysterious to me after all this time.”
“In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth.”
In the prose of 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left, Hitchcock expresses himself similarly to how he does so distinctively in his lyrics and speech. Amidst his tales of roughing his first experiences in the infamously ruthless environs of English boarding school, he shares an abundance of insight about his parents and upbringing, as well as a self-diagnosis of having Asperger’s syndrome—whose name is now gradually becoming adapted in modern lexicon to “low-support-needs” autism spectrum disorder. When I touch on the subject, he reaffirms the observation, and elaborates, “I think I probably am also OCD, whatever that means. I’ve always been obsessed with trying to get things in the right order.”
He relates an anecdote about his school days: “So, if I got out of lunch—‘Yippee! I’ve got three hours to dress like a hippie before they put me back in my school clothes. Oh damn, I’ve put the purple pants on, but actually, I should put the red ones on. No! I put the red ones on; it’s not good—I’ll put my jeans on.’
Robyn Hitchcock's Gear
Hitchcock in 1998, after embarking on the tour behind one of his earlier acoustic albums, Moss Elixir.
Guitars
- Two Fylde Olivia acoustics equipped with Sennheiser II lavalier mics (for touring)
- Larrivée acoustic
- Fender Telecaster
- Fender Stratocaster
Strings & Picks
- Elixir .011–.052 (acoustic)
- Ernie Ball Skinny Top Heavy Bottom .010–.054 (electric)
- Dunlop 1.0 mm
“I’d just get into a real state. And then the only thing that would do would be listening to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart. There was something about Trout Mask that was so liberating that I thought, ‘Oh, I don’t care what trousers I’m wearing. This is just, whoa! This music is it.’”
With him having chosen to cover “See Emily Play,” a Syd Barrett composition, the conversation soon turns to the topic of the late, troubled songwriter. I comment, “It’s hard to listen to Syd’s solo records.... It’s weird that people enabled that. You can hear him losing his mind.”
“You can, but at the same time, the fact they enabled it means that these things did come out,” Robyn counters. “And he obviously had nothing else to give after that. So, at least, David Gilmour and the old Floyd guys.... It meant they gave the world those songs, which, although the performances are quite … rickety, quite fragile, they’re incredibly beautiful songs. There’s nothing forced about Barrett. He can only be himself.”
“There was something about Trout Mask Replica that was so liberating that I thought, ‘Oh, I don’t care what trousers I’m wearing. This is just, whoa!’”
I briefly compare Barrett to singer-songwriter Daniel Johnston, and we agree there are some similarities. And then with a segue, ask, “When did you first fall in love with the guitar? Was it when you came home from boarding school and found the guitar your parents gifted you on your bed?”
Robyn pauses thoughtfully.“Ah, I think I liked the idea of the guitar probably around that time,” he shares. “I always used to draw men with guns. I’m not really macho, but I had a very kind of post-World War II upbringing where men were always carrying guns. And I thought, ‘Well, if he’s a man, he’s got to carry a gun.’ Then, around the age of 13, I swapped the gun for the guitar. And then every man I drew was carrying a guitar instead.”
Elaborating on getting his first 6-string, he says, “I had lessons from a man who had three fingers bent back from an industrial accident. He was a nice old man with whiskers, and he showed me how to get the guitar in tune and what the basic notes were. And then I got hold of a Bob Dylan songbook, and—‘Oh my gosh, I can play “Mr. Tambourine Man!”’ It was really fast—about 10 minutes between not being able to play anything, and suddenly being able to play songs by my heroes.”
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Hitchcock does me the kindness, during our atypically deep conversation—at least, for a press interview—of sharing more acute perceptions of his parents, and their own neurodivergence. Ultimately, he feels that his mother didn’t necessarily like him, but loved the idea of him—and that later in life, he came to better understand his lonely, depressive father. “My mother was protective but in an oddly cold way. People are like that,” he shares. “We just contain so many things that don’t make sense with each other: colors that you would not mix as a painter; themes you would not intermingle as a writer; characters you would not create.... We defy any sense of balance or harmony.
“Although the performances are quite rickety, quite fragile, they’re incredibly beautiful songs. There’s nothing forced about Barrett. He can only be himself.”
“The idea of normality.... ‘Normal’ is tautological,” he continues. “Nothing is normal. A belief in normality is an aberration. It’s a form of insanity, I think.
“It’s just hard for us to accept ourselves because we’re brought up with the myth of normality, and the myth of what people are supposed to be like gender-wise, sex-wise, and psychologically what we’re supposed to want. And in a way, some of that’s beginning to melt, now. But that probably just causes more confusion. It’s no wonder people like me want to live in 1967.”
YouTube It
In this excerpt from the Jonathan Demme-directed concert film of Robyn Hitchcock, Storefront Hitchcock, the songwriter performs an absurdist “upbeat” song about a man who dies of cancer.
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The majestic Roland Space Echo is having a bit of a resurgence. Here’s a breakdown on what makes it tick, and whether or not it’s right for you.
In this article, we delve into one of the most cherished gadgets in my guitar collection, the Roland Space Echo RE-201. This iconic piece of equipment has been used by legendary musicians like Jonny Greenwood, Brian Setzer, and Wata from Boris, which only heightened my desire to own one. A few years ago, I was fortunate to acquire a vintage RE-201 in good condition and at a reasonable price.
Using the RE-201 today has its advantages and disadvantages, particularly due to its size, which is comparable to an amplifier head. When compared to modern equivalents like delay pedals or software plugins that closely emulate the original, the vintage RE-201 can seem inefficient. Here, I share my personal and subjective experience with it.
The RE-201 is a tape echo/delay effect that gained popularity in the 1970s and ’80s. Unlike the more complex analog BBD delays or digital delays, tape delays use magnetic tape to simultaneously record and play back sound via a magnetic tape head (similar to a guitar or bass pickup). Because the recording head and playback head are in different physical locations, there is a time gap during the recording and playback process, creating the “delay” effect. This concept was first discovered by Les Paul in the 1950s using two tape machines simultaneously.
However, this method has a drawback: The magnetic tape used as a storage medium has a limited lifespan. Over time, the quality of the tape degrades, especially with continuous use. This degradation is marked by muddy, wavy sounds and unavoidable noise. Yet, this is precisely where the magic of real tape echo lies! New tapes produce clearer, hi-fi sounds, while older tapes tend to produce wavy sounds known as “modulated delay.” Additionally, increasing the number of tape-head readers extends the gap time/delay time of the output, and activating multiple tape-head readers simultaneously creates unique echo/delay patterns.
“This degradation is marked by muddy, wavy sounds and unavoidable noise. Yet, this is precisely where the magic of real tape echo/delay lies!”
Just as how fuzz and distortion effects were discovered, the “imperfections” of tape also represent a historical fact about how the creative process in music follows an absurd, non-linear, and unique pattern. In everyday practical life, signal delay is something typically avoided; however, in a musical context, delay adds a deeper dimension. Today, it’s hard to imagine a pedalboard without a delay effect at the end of the chain.
This uniqueness inspired me to create Masjidil Echo, embracing the “imperfection” of a vintage tape echo/delay with magnetic tape that hasn’t been replaced for years. Many newer pedals, such as the Boss RE-20, Strymon El Capistan, and the Catalinbread Echorec and Belle Epoch, draw inspiration from vintage tape repeat machines. Each has its unique interpretation of emulating tape echo, all in a more compact and maintenance-free format. Real tape delay requires periodic maintenance and has mostly been discontinued since the mid 1980s, with Roland ceasing production of the Space Echo entirely in 1985.
However, in recent years, interest in real tape echo has surged, perhaps due to nostalgia for past technology. As a result, many vintage delay units have appeared on marketplaces at increasingly gargantuan prices! If you’re considering acquiring one, I recommend thinking it over carefully. Are you prepared for the maintenance? Will you use it for regular performances? Are you ready for the fact that magnetic tape will become increasingly difficult to find, potentially turning your machine into a mere display piece? I don’t mean to instill fear, but the real deal, in my opinion, still can’t be fully emulated into a more practical and future-proof digital format.
So, I’ll leave you with one final question for consideration: What if the genealogy of technology were reversed chronologically, with multihead/multitap delay discovered digitally in the 1950s, and in the 2000s, a technological disruption led to the invention of mechanical tape echo to replace digital technology? Which would you choose?