
Dave Alvin enjoys the “magic” of playing guitar with his trusty 1964 Fender Stratocaster. Much of that wear was put on by Alvin, with the help of flying beer bottles. When the fretboard was nearly worn out, Alvin’s friend Drac Conley built him the replica that he takes on tour today.
The guitarist and songwriter came up in Southern California’s fertile music scene to play in the Blasters and X, and grow a brilliant solo career as a Strat-slinging storyteller. Today, he’s an American-music legend.
Is Dave Alvin a guitarist or a medium? Listening to him play live, it’s hard to decide. Sure, there’s a custom copy of his beloved ’64 Strat in his hands, pumping loud and salty through an ’80s, Paul Rivera-made Fender Concert. But, rather than simply playing, he seems to be channeling every foundational 6-stringer from the 1940s through the 1960s.
As Alvin revisits songs from his catalog with the Blasters, or his two recent albums with his brother, Phil, or from his brief stint with the band X, or his own deep discography of nearly 20 albums, ghosts are audible in his aggressive thumbpicking. Amidst the cascading melodies, pointed accents, and transcendent dialog of his solos are flashes of everyone from Carl Hogan to Pete Cosey. Alvin explains it this way: “My playing is a combination of Sun Records, Johnny ‘Guitar’ Watson, Chess Records, T-Bone Walker, and that kid with his first guitar in the garage. I try to approach it like that, because, to me, guitar is a magical thing.”
“My earliest memories are of sitting in my Mom’s Studebaker and spinning the dial. Southern California was wide open, musically.”
There’s more to Alvin’s magic than his ability to draw on history or haints to shape a style that shakes every centigram of meaning from each note. He’s also a profoundly good songwriter, in the North American tradition that extends from Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, and Jack Elliott to the original cowboy poets clustered around their campfires with guitars. Alvin’s songs evoke the open expanse of the old frontier and its modern landscape, as well as the heat and diesel of factory towns and the working-class people who occupy them. Just scrape the surface of the 67-year-old’s catalog—his recent releases, the compilation From an Old Guitar: Rare and Unreleased Tracks and the reissue Eleven Eleven, are a good place to start—and the American spirit resonates through what you’ll find. Over the decades he has written about the deaths of Hank Williams (the Blasters’ “Long White Cadillac”) and Johnny Ace (“Johnny Ace Is Dead”), the pain of love’s irrevocable loss (“Harlan County Line”), the wilds of the gold rush (“King of California”), the gilded age of labor unions (“Gary Indiana 1959”), life on the margins (“Thirty Dollar Room”), and the quiet desperation of hearts fading cold, in X’s most poignant song, “4th of July.”
Dave Alvin - Murrietta's Head
“The first songs that struck me when I was a kid were all stories,” Alvin explains. “‘El Paso’ by Marty Robbins, a lot of the Coasters’ records, Elvis, of course, and Carl Perkins’ ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’ There was a plethora of story songs in the ’50s, in a variety of genres. Whether it’s ‘Saginaw, Michigan’ by Lefty Frizzell or ‘No Particular Place to Go’ or ‘You Can’t Catch Me’ by Chuck Berry. What attracted me to story songs is you can say a lot of stuff, without hitting people over the head. You don’t have to go, ‘I’m against this’ or ‘I’m for this,’ because then you become a one-dimensional songwriter. In a story, you kind of slip it into people subconsciously. It’s a little sneaky, but, since Aesop’s Fables, telling stories makes sense of the world. If you go back and listen to all the great folk songs—I mean real folk songs, like ‘Black Jack David’ and ‘Shenandoah’ … themes that have been around for centuries—they’re telling stories.”
Alvin ascribes his songwriting prowess to “trial and error. When I first started writing songs, I had to—unlike the average singer-songwriter—sell them to the Blasters, and they were very strict, because for them doing original material, like ‘Marie Marie’ and ‘Border Radio,’ was outside of their comfort zone. Bringing in original work was scary. My brother, Phil, and I would have big arguments over chord progressions. We had a couple of fisticuffs over minor chords, and so I’m reticent to this day about bringing in new songs. I still expect the Blasters’ reaction.”
The Alvin brothers grew up in Downey, California, just south of Los Angeles. “Nineteen-fifties Downey was different than ’60s Downey,” Alvin relates. “In the ’50s, before the freeways and all had taken over everything, it was semi-rural. There were a lot of orange groves and people were riding horses. There were areas around the San Diego River that were literally wild. And there was AM radio, which, of course, continued into the ’60s. My earliest memories are of sitting in my Mom’s Studebaker and spinning the dial. Southern California was wide open, musically. Whether it was on the radio, or on TV, or in the local restaurants, or lounges, or bars, you could hear everything from Western swing to rhythm and blues to rock ’n’ roll. There was a lot of surf music, and I don’t mean the Beach Boys variety. I mean the Fender Jaguar, a Fender Strat, a Fender Mustang, a Fender P bass, and a drummer kind of surf music—no vocals. I have really pleasant memories of waking up on Saturday mornings and hearing two or three surf bands in the neighborhood, all rehearsing in their garages.”
A close-up view of Alvin’s ’64 Strat. Although the guitar has a vibrato bridge, Alvin, who plays hard, prefers to eschew it onstage.
Photo by Chip Duden Photography
But Dave and Phil also pursued another important path to musical enlightenment. “The story goes that if you were Black in Mississippi, you went north, and if you were Black in Louisiana or Texas, you went west,” Alvin explains, “because there were so many aerospace jobs and a slightly ... slightly … less segregated vibe out here. My brother Phil and I were little record collectors, collecting 78s and 45s, so we loved blues records, and we figured out that not only were some of these people still alive, but they were playing a mile away. If you didn’t act like an idiot, you could maybe sneak into a bar and see ’em, and that’s what we started doing.”
“I was learning; it was rudimentary, but it was good stuff: Chuck Berry, Carl Perkins, Johnny ‘Guitar’ Watson. Put those together and it worked.”
With a neighborhood full of bands and a head full of blues, R&B, and primal rock, the Alvins formed a series of groups. Or, at least initially, Phil, who is two years older than Dave, did. Most of these bands played primarily in the garage, and eventually Dave was allowed to join on sax and flute—although he was also coming up on guitar. One night, he got his lucky break. Phil’s band was booked to play a wedding and needed another guitarist. Dave was called in. “I had an early evening gig, playing at a mental hospital in Long Beach with my own little noisy band,” he recounts. “After we were done, I packed up the Twin and the Les Paul knockoff I had borrowed, and I drove to this wedding reception, and the people loved it. Bill Bateman was playing drums, and that was the first gig of what became the Blasters.”
Inspired by his blues heroes, Alvin uses a thumbpick much like most plectrum-employing guitarists tend to use a flatpick. It’s one of the reasons for his pointed attack and ultra-responsive tone.
Photo by Chip Duden Photography
The Blasters were a sweat-soaked speedball who roared onto the L.A. punk turf in ’79 alongside X, the Germs, Black Flag, Fear, the Circle Jerks, and pretty much every other outfit in Penelope Spheeris’ documentary The Decline of Western Civilization. With their dirty roots in gut-bucket American music, perhaps they were most akin to the Delta-blues-inspired Gun Club, who were also on the scene. But they had muscle and crunch and focus that made them unique. Roughly a year into their tenure, after befriending blues legends like Big Joe Turner, Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee, and T-Bone Walker, they added one to their band: tenor saxist Lee Allen, who was a key figure in the development of rock ’n’ roll in the ’50s as part of New Orleans’ studio community.
With Phil as vocalist and Dave as songwriter and spark plug, the Blasters played hard and constantly. “What happened onstage was, my brother and I had developed two totally different types of guitar playing,” says Alvin. “His was based on fingerpicking but also he wasn’t a single-string guy. He could do it, but it wasn’t his deal, where it was mine. Because I was learning; it was rudimentary, but it was good stuff: Chuck Berry, Carl Perkins, Johnny ‘Guitar’ Watson. Put those together and it worked. Even my brother had to admit it. He was like, ‘We got something here.’ Our friend, the late blues harmonica player James Harman, knew that I needed a guitar if we were gonna have this band. In a Santa Ana, California, pawnshop, he bought a ’64 Fender Mustang for me, for, like, $70. That would have been around March of ’79.”
When the Blasters made their first album, 1980’s American Music, “James had a white ’61 Strat that he swore belonged to Magic Sam, so that’s what I played on that record. And then on the first album we did for Slash Records, the one with the sweaty face on it [1981’s The Blasters], James brought me a ’56 Les Paul goldtop. The Mustang didn’t really appear on records until the second Slash album, Non Fiction.” And for ’85’s Hard Line, Alvin played a ’51 Broadcaster owned by the band’s guitar tech, who went by Tornado. “I was a fry cook,” Alvin notes. “I didn’t have money for fancy guitars and amps, and, if I did, I wouldn’t have known what to buy.”
The classic ’80s Blasters lineup, from left to right: drummer Bill Bateman, pianist Gene Taylor, Phil Alvin, bassist John Bazz, Dave Alvin with his ’64 Strat, and the legendary saxist Lee Allen.
Photo courtesy of Dave Alvin
That Mustang, currently on display at Nashville’s Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, became a stage favorite. “It was light and very good at deflecting beer bottles,” Alvin says. “If you look closely at that guitar, you’ll see where there is a slash across the upper cutaway. That is from a beer bottle at the Cuckoo's Nest [in Costa Mesa], when we were opening for the Cramps in, like, January/February 1980. Blammo! And if you look closely at the paint job, you’ll see glass embedded all over that guitar, from me holding it up going, ‘Not gonna get this guy, pal.’”
“I didn’t have money for fancy guitars and amps, and, if I did, I wouldn’t have known what to buy.”
Seeking a less combative home for his songs, Alvin left the Blasters in 1986—although he’s played reunion shows and tours with the band since, and recorded two duo albums with his brother. The next few years were busy as he shifted toward building his own outfit. He replaced guitarist Billy Zoom in X, and contributed “4th of July” to X’s 1987 album, See How We Are. Alvin had started his musical association with John Doe and Exene Cervenka from X in 1985, when he joined them in folkie spinoff the Knitters for the album Poor Little Critter on the Road, and he pitched in again for the follow-up, The Modern Sounds of the Knitters, 20 years later. In ’87, he also released his first solo album, Romeo’s Escape, which added new compositions to reprised versions of the Blasters’ “Jubilee Train,” “Long White Cadillac” (which Dwight Yoakam also cut), and “Border Radio,” and allowed Alvin to begin his journey as a vocalist.
Thirty-six years and 14 studio albums later, he has a singing voice like polished oak, with the warm tone and wise phrasing of a seasoned barroom confidant, intent on getting every nuance of his stories across. He also has a Grammy, for his 2000 album Public Domain: Songs from the Wild Land, and two more nominations, and starting in 1995 began publishing his writings: two collections of poems and lyrics, and last year’s New Highways: Selected Lyrics, Poems, Prose, Essays, Eulogies, and Blues, which covers all those categories as well as poignant autobiographical tales.
Dave Alvin’s Gear
The Blasters were known for their sweat-soaked, high-energy performances. Here, Alvin’s playing through a Fender Super Reverb, before his switch to a Rivera-built Concert.
Photo courtesy of Dave Alvin
Guitars
- 1964 Fender Stratocaster (studio only)
- Replica of his ’64 Strat built by Drac Conley (live)
Amps
- Rivera-built Fender Concert (live)
- Fender Vibroverb reissue (recording)
Effects
- TC Electronic Hall of Fame Reverb
- Boss BD-2 Blues Driver (modded)
Strings and Picks
- D’Addario EHR350s (.012–.052)
- Thumbpick
For many of those years, Alvin’s 6-string companion was an ivory 1964 Stratocaster he’d purchased in the early ’80s. “I needed a great all-around guitar,” he says. “It took me a while to get over my gun-shyness about taking it out on tour and all that. But once I got used to it, our relationship together deepened. I started figuring out what it was capable of doing, and what I was capable of doing. But it eventually got to where the rosewood on the fretboard was just a veneer, so one of my dear friends, Drac Conley, built me an exact copy. Because I knew my Strat had to be retired from the road. I hate to say it’s even better, but it’s capable of more stuff.”
These days, Alvin’s clean tone, with just the right amount of crunchy breakup and crisp, punchy attack, is a signature committed roots music fans immediately recognize. That attack is mostly the result of his furious thumbpicking. “When I was a kid going to see certain players at the Ash Grove [a now-gone L.A. club that focused on songwriters], when I was trying to figure out this magical thing called guitar playing, I would see Reverend Gary Davis—one night on a double bill with Johnny ‘Guitar’ Watson, and they were both playing blues-based music from an entirely different direction, and they were both thumbpick players. And then Brownie McGhee would use a thumbpick. I’d see people like that and wonder ‘what is that?’
“My brother played with no picks, but my thumbs were too sensitive to pull that off. Then, I had this other problem: I was clumsy with a flatpick. I can hold a flatpick and strum, but to do anything else? So, when I really started trying to be a serious guitar player, I gave up on flatpicks,—‘Get rid of this shit’—and the thumbpick came absolutely naturally to me. And so, what I’ve done for years is, I use a thumbpick and on my index finger I have an acrylic nail. Not one of the press-on ones. It’s one I’ve built up with whatever vile stuff they use. And because of the strength of the index fingernail, I could really make use of what the guitar can do. If I really want to play an aggressive solo, I will hold the flat side of the thumbpick with my index finger, as if it’s a flatpick, and bend the notes doing that, so it gets extra push. If it’s a quieter song, I’ll use the index finger only to play single-string solos. Or I will play chords with only the index finger or use the skin of the middle finger to strum if I’m doing a tender ballad.”
The Blasters back up the great blues shouter Big Joe Turner in 1983 at Club Lingerie, a Sunset Strip venue that was an essential part of the L.A. punk and alternative rock scene. The room closed in 1995.
Photo courtesy of Dave Alvin
His only pedals are a TC Electronic Hall of Fame Reverb and a Boss BD-2 Blues Driver. “Once I start singing, I don’t want to have to worry about what my feet are doing,” he says. “I can take my pinky and slide up the guitar volume, or move the pickup selector to get different tones, but when I’m on stage it’s so exciting that I can’t bother with pedals.”
His other ace is volume. Alvin opens up his amp so its full voice can be heard, and he can achieve sustain, feedback, ringing overtones, and distortion organically. “In one of my road cases, there’s a sign that I made, apologizing for the volume and the damage, but if you’re gonna sit there,” he says, chuckling, “you’re asking for it.”
In 2020, Alvin opened up another new vista, by revisiting a different kind of old music: psychedelia. Working as the Third Mind, Alvin and cohorts Victor Krummenacher, Michael Jerome, and David Immerglück tore a page from the paisley textbook and covered songs by the Butterfield Blues Band (“East-West”), Alice Coltrane (“Journey in Satchindananda”), the 13th Floor Elevators (“Reverberation”), and other twisted troopers. It’s elegant and visceral, and was likely a surprise to many of Alvin’s longtime fans, but Hendrix is also part of his DNA, even if he found it unapproachable until now.
“In one of my road cases, there’s a sign that I made, apologizing for the volume and the damage, but if you’re gonna sit there, you’re asking for it.”
“I’m a barroom guitar basher, but I thought, ‘Let's go down the rabbit hole,’” Alvin says. “When I was around 12, I saw Jimi Hendrix twice, and about a year and a half later, I saw Big Joe Turner and T-Bone Walker with the Johnny Otis Orchestra, and those were the nights! With The Third Mind, I’m less Jimi imitator than using techniques he and Michael Bloomfield used, like manipulating the pickup selector and leaning into the volume.”
That same year, he was almost permanently sidelined by colorectal cancer. He’d spent nearly 12 months on the road and was feeling exhausted. “I was thinking, ‘Maybe I just can’t do this anymore,’” until his diagnosis cleared up the mystery. The cancer had migrated to his liver as well.
Dave Alvin & The Guilty Ones "Harlan County Line"
Dave Alvin leads his band through “Harlan County Line,” the opening track on his Eleven Eleven album—rife with his deft thumbpicking and snappy, biting, clear tone.
“It was extremely difficult,” Alvin allows. “The chemotherapy caused this terrible neuropathy in my feet that still hasn’t gotten better, and they kept saying ‘Well, it’ll take about another year,’ but my hands.… I could not play guitar for about seven months. It was too painful. Touching the guitar was razor blades because my hands were swollen. I won’t say that I had to completely relearn how to play guitar, but I honestly had to teach myself how to play guitar again. The synapses weren’t firing correctly for a long time—between the fingertips and the brain. So, it meant playing a lot of scales, which I still do now. And the scales really helped the neuropathy in my hands, which are no longer swollen. I’m able to play shows. I’m about 90 percent where I was before the chemotherapy.
“It’s not like I’ve ever said, even when I wasn’t sick, ‘I don’t need the practice, I’m pretty good, I can outplay that guy,’” he continues. “I’ve had my ass handed to me by so many guitar players over the years that I’m still just.… Well, by the time I kick the bucket, I would like to say I don’t suck. I wanna be the best as I can be on guitar.
“The one thing I will say is that I’m very lucky, in that I’ve had fans that have stuck with me through a lot of changes. But all of my changes have been organic. I’ve stuck to my guns, taking, basically, the same idea we had when we started the Blasters to the extreme: 'Let’s see how long we can do this and not work a day job.'”
- Ear to the Ground: Dave & Phil Alvin’s “All By Myself” ›
- 17 Guitar & Bass Heroes Hail Their Heroes ›
- 1967 Gibson ES-335, Burgundy Metallic ›
The two-in-one “sonic refractor” takes tremolo and wavefolding to radical new depths.
Pros: Huge range of usable sounds. Delicious distortion tones. Broadens your conception of what guitar can be.
Build quirks will turn some users off.
$279
Cosmodio Gravity Well
cosmod.io
Know what a wavefolder does to your guitar signal? If you don’t, that’s okay. I didn’t either until I started messing around with the all-analog Cosmodio Instruments Gravity Well. It’s a dual-effect pedal with a tremolo and wavefolder, the latter more widely used in synthesis that , at a certain threshold, shifts or inverts the direction the wave is traveling—in essence, folding it upon itself. Used together here, they make up what Cosmodio calls a sonic refractor.
Two Plus One
Gravity Well’s design and control set make it a charm to use. Two footswitches engage tremolo and wavefolder independently, and one of three toggle switches swaps the order of the effects. The two 3-way switches toggle different tone and voice options, from darker and thicker to brighter and more aggressive. (Mixing and matching with these two toggles yields great results.)
The wavefolder, which has an all-analog signal path bit a digitally controlled LFO, is controlled by knobs for both gain and volume, which provide enormous dynamic range. The LFO tremolo gets three knobs: speed, depth, and waveform. The first two are self-explanatory, but the latter offers switching between eight different tremolo waveforms. You’ll find standard sawtooth, triangle, square, and sine waves, but Cosmodio also included some wacko shapes: asymmetric swoop, ramp, sample and hold, and random. These weirder forms force truly weird relationships with the pedal, forcing your playing into increasingly unpredictable and bizarre territories.
This is all housed in a trippy, beautifully decorated Hammond 1590BB-sized enclosure, with in/out, expression pedal, and power jacks. I had concerns about the durability of the expression jack because it’s not sealed to its opening with an outer nut and washer, making it feel more susceptible to damage if a cable gets stepped on or jostled near the connection, as well as from moisture. After a look at the interior, though, the build seems sturdy as any I’ve seen.
Splatterhouse Audio
Cosmodio’s claim that the refractor is a “first-of-its-kind” modulation effect is pretty grand, but they have a point in that the wavefolder is rare-ish in the guitar domain and pairing it with tremolo creates some pretty foreign sounds. Barton McGuire, the Massachusetts-based builder behind Cosmodio, released a few videos that demonstrate, visually, how a wavefolder impacts your guitar’s signal—I highly suggest checking them out to understand some of the principles behind the effect (and to see an ’80s Muppet Babies-branded keyboard in action.)
By folding a waveform back on itself, rather than clipping it as a conventional distortion would, the wavefolder section produces colliding, reflecting overtones and harmonics. The resulting distortion is unique: It can sound lo-fi and broken in the low- to mid-gain range, or synthy and extraterrestrial when the gain is dimed. Add in the tremolo, and you’ve got a lot of sonic variables to play with.
Used independently, the tremolo effect is great, but the wavefolder is where the real fun is. With the gain at 12 o’clock, it mimics a vintage 1x10 tube amp cranked to the breaking point by a splatty germanium OD. A soft touch cleans up the signal really nicely, while maintaining the weirdness the wavefolder imparts to its signal. With forceful pick strokes at high gain, it functions like a unique fuzz-distortion hybrid with bizarre alien artifacts punching through the synthy goop.
One forum commenter suggested that the Gravity Well effect is often in charge as much the guitar itself, and that’s spot on at the pedal's extremes. Whatever you expect from your usual playing techniques tends to go out the window —generating instead crumbling, sputtering bursts of blubbering sound. Learning to respond to the pedal in these environments can redefine the guitar as an instrument, and that’s a big part of Gravity Well’s magic.
The Verdict
Gravity Well is the most fun I’ve had with a modulation pedal in a while. It strikes a brilliant balance between adventurous and useful, with a broad range of LFO modulations and a totally excellent oddball distortion. The combination of the two effects yields some of the coolest sounds I’ve heard from an electric guitar, and at $279, it’s a very reasonably priced journey to deeply inspiring corners you probably never expected your 6-string (or bass, or drums, or Muppet Babies Casio EP-10) to lead you to.
The author in the spray booth.
Does the type of finish on an electric guitar—whether nitro, poly, or oil and wax—really affect its tone?
There’s an allure to the sound and feel of a great electric guitar. Many of us believe those instruments have something special that speaks not just to the ear but to the soul, where every note, every nuance feels personal. As much as we obsess over the pickups, wood, and hardware, there’s a subtler, more controversial character at play: the role of the finish. It’s the shimmering outer skin of the guitar, which some think exists solely for protection and aesthetics, and others insist has a role influencing the voice of the instrument. Builders pontificate about how their choice of finishing material may enhance tone by allowing the guitar to “breathe,” or resonate unfettered. They throw around terms like plasticizers, solids percentages, and “thin skin” to lend support to their claims. Are these people tripping? Say what you will, but I believe there is another truth behind the smoke.
It’s the shimmering outer skin of the guitar, which some think exists solely for protection and aesthetics, and others insist has a role influencing the voice of the instrument. Builders pontificate about how their choice of finishing material may enhance tone by allowing the guitar to “breathe,” or resonate unfettered. They throw around terms like plasticizers, solids percentages, and “thin skin” to lend support to their claims. Are these people tripping? Say what you will, but I believe there is another truth behind the smoke.
Nitrocellulose lacquer, or “nitro,” has long been the finish of choice for vintage guitar buffs, and it’s easy to see why. Used by Fender, Gibson, and other legendary manufacturers from the 1950s through the 1970s, nitro has a history as storied as the instruments it’s adorned. Its appeal lies not just in its beauty but in its delicate nature. Nitro, unlike some modern finishes, can be fragile. It wears and cracks over time, creating a visual patina that tells the story of every song, every stage, every late-night jam session. The sonic argument goes like this: Nitro is thin, almost imperceptible. It wraps the wood like silk. The sound is unhindered, alive, warm, and dynamic. It’s as if the guitar has a more intimate connection between its wood and the player's touch. Of course, some call bullscheiße.
In my estimation, nitro is not just about tonal gratification. Just like any finish, it can be laid on thick or thin. Some have added flexibility agents (those plasticizers) that help resist damage. But as it ages, old-school nitro can begin to wear and “check,” as subtle lines weave across the body of the guitar. And with those changes comes a mellowing, as if the guitar itself is growing wiser with age. Whether a tonal shift is real or imagined is part of the mystique, but it’s undeniable that a nitro-finished guitar has a feel that harkens back to a romantic time in music, and for some that’s enough.
Enter the modern era, and we find a shift toward practicality—polyurethane and polyester finishes, commonly known as “poly.” These finishes, while not as romantic as nitro, serve a different kind of beauty. They are durable, resilient, and protective. If nitro is like a delicate silk scarf, poly is armor—sometimes thicker, shinier, and built to last. The fact that they reduce production times is a bonus that rarely gets mentioned. For the player who prizes consistency and durability, poly is a guardian. But in that protection, some say, comes a price. Some argue that the sound becomes more controlled, more focused—but less alive. Still, poly finishes have their own kind of charm. They certainly maintain that showroom-fresh look, and to someone who likes to polish and detail their prized possessions, that can be a big plus.
“With those changes comes a mellowing, as if the guitar itself is growing wiser with age.”
For those seeking an even more natural experience, oil and wax finishes offer something primal. These finishes, often applied by hand, mostly penetrate the wood as much as coating it, leaving the guitar’s surface nearly bare. Proponents of oil and/or wax finishes say these materials allow the wood to vibrate freely, unencumbered by “heavy” coatings. The theory is there’s nothing getting in the way—sort of like a nudist colony mantra. Without the protection of nitro or poly, these guitars may wear more quickly, bearing the scars of its life more openly. This can be seen as a plus or minus, I imagine.
My take is that finishes matter because they are part of the bond we have with our instruments. I can’t say that I can hear a difference, and I think a myth has sprouted from the acoustic guitar world where maybe you can. Those who remove their instrument’s finish and claim to notice a difference are going on memory for the comparison. Who is to say every component (including strings) went back together exactly the same? So when we think about finishes, we’re not just talking about tone—we’re thinking about the total connection between musician and instrument. It’s that perception that makes a guitar more than just wood and wire. The vibe makes it a living, breathing part of the music—and you.
Featuring a preamp and Dynamic Expansion circuit for punch and attack, plus switchable amp simulations.
"Like a missile seeking its target, Heatseeker will give you the explosive sound of rock! Inspired directly from the gear setup used by Angus Young,it features the most important sonic elements to match the tone of the short-pants-rock-God.
It’s no secret that a major role to his sound, along with the Marshall-brick walls, played one of the first wireless systems for guitar that quickly became a classic among guitar greats, the Schaffer Vega Diversity System."
The preamp along with the Dynamic Expansion circuit found in the wireless transmitter/receiver gave it its distinct sound. Besides boosting the signal, the preamp tightens up lower frequencies and slightly accentuates mid frequencies while the Dynamic Expansion circuit enhances the dynamic response and harmonics of the signal giving punch and attack to ensure that it will cut through the mix. Instead of opting for a prefix setting for the Dynamic Expansion circuit as found in the original unit, we have re-imagined our version with the enhanced knob on the Heatseeker to have more control over the guitar tone’s dynamic response. Setting it around 10 o‘clock is a good starting point to add some extra sparkle. Max it out to bring back to life even the most dull and colorless sounds.
Utilizing an all-analog JFET circuit, running on 27 volts via an internal voltage boost (DO NOT plug higher than 9V DC power supply), we have captured the tone and feel of three British tube amplifiers, synonymous with the sound of rock and roll, with an excellent clean-to-mean dynamic response. With the flip of a toggle switch, you can capture the sound and feel of a JTM45, 1959 Super Lead, or JMP 2203. A smart switching circuit follows the signal path and respective gain stages tuned for each amp and combines them with an actual Marshall style EQ and power amp simula-tion circuit for thundering rock tones. Angus Young usually plugs into Channel 1 or High Treble input of his JTM45s and Super Leads so we opted for that sound when we started visualizing Heatseeker on the drawing board. We have also extended the range of the presence control beyond the original so that the user will be able to match the pedal to any amp or gear setup. The master volume offers plenty of output so that you can also use the pedal as a preamp and plug it into a clean power amp or straight to your DAW. Note that the pedal doesn’t feature any speaker simulation circuit so we recommend using a separate hardware or software guitar speaker simulation when going direct to DAW or a full-range speaker.
A new feature to our booster/drive + amp-in-a-box line of pedals, recreating legendary sounds, is the switchable WoS (Wall of Sound) circuit. We have carefully tuned this circuit at the output of the AMP section of the Heatseeker to open up the soundstage by increasing the output, adding thundering lows, and thickening high mid frequencies. Imagine standing in front of a wall loaded with Marshall amp heads and 4x12 speaker cabinets, grabbing your SG, and hitting a chord. You will be blown away by the sound projection! In combination with the tube power amp simulation and the enhanced circuit of the right section, we’ve made sure that the pick attack will be as dynamic as it gets, so¥er picking will produce clean and slightly crunchy sounds, and hard picking will give explosive distorted sounds! While primarily designed for Angus Young sounds, Heatseeker will definitely open the door to countless other guitar-great tones that use these Marshall amps and/or the Schaffer Vega Diversity System. Think of KISS, Peter Frampton, and Van Halen to name a few.
Like our other dual overdrive/amp-in-a-box designs, Heatseeker features a passive effects loop to give you the option to connect your beloved pedals between the preamp/enhancer and amp-in-a-box circuit or use the two sections as separate and independent effects when using an external bypass switcher/looper. SND is the output of the BOOST/ENHANCE section, RTN is the input of the AMP section. SND is connected to RTN when no instrument jacks are inserted in the effects loop. Note that all pedals inserted in the passive effects loop are still in the signal chain when any or both sections of the Heatseeker are in bypass mode.
Heatseeker features a power-up bypass/engage pre-set function for the footswitches. You can change the default function by holding down the footswitch(es) during power-up. That way you can select which state your pedal will go to when you plug the power supply. This function comes in especially handy to people who use remote pedal switchers/loopers as they only set the state of the pedal once and then operate from the controller.
Street/MAP Price: $279
For more information, please visit crazytubecircuits.com.
A thick, varied take on the silicon Fuzz Face that spans punky, sparkling, and full-spectrum heavy.
Dimensional, thick variations on the silicon Fuzz Face voice. Surprisingly responsive to dynamics at most tube amp’s natural clean/dirty divide. Bass control lends range.
Thins out considerably at lower amp volumes.
$185
McGregor Pedals Classic Fuzz
mcgregorpedals.com
Compared to the dynamic germanium Fuzz Face, silicon versions sometimes come off as brutish. And even though they can be sonorously vicious, if dirty-to-clean range and sensitivity to guitar volume attenuation are top priorities, germanium is probably the way to go. The McGregor Classic Fuzz, however, offers ample reminders about the many ways silicon Fuzz Faces can be beastly, sensitive, and sound supreme.
Even though the two BC107B top hat transistors will look familiar to many who have poked around other SFF-style circuits, the Classic Fuzz is not precisely a silicon Fuzz Face clone. It’s distinguished by a low-pass filter “bass” control that true SFFs lack, but which widens its vocabulary extensively. In an A/B test with a solid, archetypal-sounding BC108 Fuzz Face clone, the Classic Fuzz sounded roughly equivalent at the 60-percent mark of the bass control’s range. But the Classic Fuzz was more dimensional, and on either side of the bass control I heard many intriguing tone variations spanning garage-punk snot and corpulent, almost triangle-Big Muff thickness.
Like most SFFs, the Classic Fuzz sounds best with a generous spoonful of amp volume. I ran it with a Fender Vibrolux just on the clean side of breakup. At amp volumes much lower than that, the fuzz voice thinned, the nuanced responsiveness to guitar volume attenuation dropped off, and the range of clean tones became much narrower. In its happy places, though, the Classic Fuzz rips—lending sparkling overdrive colors and banshee-scream aggression to Stratocasters and sounding especially sweet and terrifyingly mammoth with humbuckers