
The faces of Failure: Kellii Scott, Greg Edwards, Ken Andrews.
Greg Edwards and Ken Andrews freshen up their space-rock sound on Wild Type Droid via studio improvs, low-end 6-strings, and revisiting their classic ’90s tones with modeling.
Failure was one of the most underrated bands of the 1990s. As they crafted their early groundbreakers Comfort (1992) and Magnified (1994), they developed a hardcore following, toured with and befriended Tool, played the Lollapalooza main stage, and got rotation on MTV. All that momentum culminated in their career-defining 1996 album Fantastic Planet. A quarter-century later, the band—co-founders Ken Andrews and Greg Edwards on shared vocals, guitar, bass, and keyboards, alongside drummer Kellii Scott—have released what may be their next classic, Wild Type Droid.
But getting here wasn’t smooth sailing. The blissful ignorance that Andrews and Edwards say brought Failure success in the ’90s is also what nearly destroyed them. “So much of what I did on guitar on that first album, I had no idea what I was doing,” says Andrews. “That brought something different to it.” Edwards agrees, adding, “We discovered as it went.”
While that approach opened the doors to creativity, it also brought frustration. “We knew when we were making Comfort that it wasn’t turning out the way we hoped,” Andrews relates. “Even on Magnified, there was this feeling of, ‘Dude, did we nail that? I’m not really sure.’ Case in point, the label actually wanted to release the demos for Magnified, as opposed to what we turned in as the finished thing. It was a struggle finding what our sound was until we took the reins for Fantastic Planet.”
Failure - Headstand - Music Video
Even on that self-produced album, which Edwards describes as “really spread out” and eclectic, the band was searching. He explains, “When I demoed the idea for‘Blank’ or ‘The Nurse Who Loved Me,’ I remember thinking, ‘These can’t be Failure songs.’ But they became staple Failure songs!”
Things soon came undone, and in 1997, at the height of their career,Failure broke up. Instead of headlining shows with their crushing space riffs, the guys moved on to other bands and projects, which for Andrews included some A-list pop studio credits with Nine Inch Nails, Paramore, Andrew W.K., and Tenacious D. Though they were staying busy, the fans were left without until 2013, when Andrews, Edwards, and Scott announced their reunion.
Far from a ’90s nostalgia trip, Andrews says the band wanted their return to be more intentional: “When we rebooted, and once we realized that the Failure sound is unique to these brains, it became more of a consideration of, ‘If we’re going to make music together, what kind of music is it going to be?’” Their subsequent albums The Heart Is a Monster and In the Future Your Body Will Be the Furthest Thing from Your Mind proved as vital, creative, and driven as ever.
"Even if we hadn't done what we did in the '90s, I still feel like what we're doing now is cool." —Ken Andrews
Now, on Wild Type Droid, Failure sound like a robust and streamlined machine with a renewed focus, incorporating new tones alongside their signature mammoth riffs, cosmic themes, and dissonant harmonies. That’s due at least in part to a fresh and in-the-moment recording approach. “In the Future was written by forcing the songs into being,” says Edwards. “With this new process, we committed to going into a room together for a month and recording—four or five days a week, and five, six hours a day—everything we played. It was very organic.”
Hours upon hours of jamming and creatively searching for new ideas did take a toll. Andrews says that process informed the sound of the album, calling it “a conscious decision to enter this mode of only improvising and not putting on the songwriter hat. That was a unique decision that I think paid off because it gave us this huge well of material. You can’t recreate that in a songwriting workshop studio thing. It’s that intangible randomness that happens when you have three brains working at the same time.”
TIDBIT: The songs on Wild Type Droid were written in long, jam-style sessions—a first for the band. That approach, along with the addition of a baritone guitar and Bass VI, encouraged new ideas and sounds.
And while it lead to exhaustion in the studio, Edwards sees that as an asset and likens it to “Kubrick’s theory of doing way too many takes. You exhaust the actor, and after you go through all the terrible takes, all of a sudden, you transcended into another state of consciousness, and interesting stuff starts happening.”
With both guitarists playing equal shares of guitar and bass, how do the songs begin? It’s as simple as one of them picking up an instrument. “I would see an instrument that I hadn’t played yet, grab it, then start making noise,” said Edwards. “Kellii would start playing a beat, and then all of a sudden, we’d be into something.”
With that in mind, Andrews introduced two new pieces of gear, hoping they would be inspiring. He was right, and Edwards quickly took to one of them: a Danelectro baritone. “This was my first experience playing baritone,” he says. “And because it’s what I always do, a lot of my baritone parts are way up on the neck. It had a different quality than anything I’d heard from a guitar. ‘Long Division’ is a good example.”
Failure's Gear
Ken Andrews, seen here with a Les Paul, has accumulated top-level studio credits through the years, working with artists such as Nine Inch Nails and Tenacious D.
Photo by Debi Del Grande
Guitars
- Danelectro baritone
- Squier Bass VI
- 1976 Gibson Les Paul
- Gibson Explorer
- Fender Jazzmaster
- Vintage Gibson LG-1
Amps & Effects
- Fractal Audio Axe-Fx III
Strings & Picks
- Ernie Ball Power Slinky Bass (.040–.-95)
- Ernie Ball Baritone Slinky (.013–.072)
- Ernie Ball Burly Slinky (.008—.038)
- Dunlop Tortex .60 mm, .73 mm, .88 mm
Andrews’ other new addition was a Squier Bass VI. Failure has always placed bass front-and-center, driving their music with grinding tones and low-octave chords, so the Bass VI was an easy fit. “We’ve been playing chords on 4-string bass for a very long time,” says Andrews, “but I found that when I was playing the Bass VI it’s a different quality. You can hear it on ‘Submarines’ and ‘Long Division.’”
Although there are appearances by a Jazzmaster, a new Gibson Explorer, and Andrews’ 1976 Les Paul, the Danelectro and the Bass VI defined the album. Failure’s other secret weapon was their trusty Fractal Audio Axe-Fx IIIs. “We were using presets and scenes from previous songs, from previous albums, even ’90s songs. And I’ve been using the Fractal since 2014, so I’m quite familiar with the unit,” says Andrews. “If I had recorded a DI track during writing, I could completely reconstruct the sound, hearing it in context with the final vocals at the end. There were several songs where, literally, I was playing back DI bass and DI guitar while essentially mixing them on the Fractal.”
The refined sounds of Wild Type Droid’s woven tapestry of guitar and bass are a reminder that the Failure guitarists also geek out on production techniques. Reminiscing about the band’s early years, Andrews says, “I remember having long discussions [with Edwards] about production, more than individual riffs and parts. We were very aware of how impactful production can be on establishing an emotional mood that you get from listening to music. It became an obsession, in a way.”
“So much of what I did on guitar on that first album, I had no idea what I was doing. That brought something different to it.”—Ken Andrews
That obsession pays off throughout Wild Type Droid, helping the album sound meticulously crafted while never losing Failure’s raw, straightforward character. Songs like “Headstand” and “Bad Translation” take the best of Fantastic Planet’s power, dissonance, and pop sensibilities, and amplify them. Andrews and Edwards chalk that up to their creative connection, strengthened by decades of making music together.
“Everything was very much about listening to the other person and saying, ‘What can I play that’s not stepping on that?’” says Edwards. “That’s a product of an evolving sensibility within the band members over many years,” Andrews continues. “We’re looking now at the challenge of complementing things, as opposed to doubling and strengthening things.”
Failure’s albums sound better than ever, they still have a loyal fan base, and their new release is a musical success, but the 6-string duo are quick to mention how hard survival has been in the music industry. “In the ’90s, being signed was the biggest factor in what we were doing at any given time,” says Andrews. “And if you weren’t signed in the ’90s, you weren’t taken seriously,” chimes in Edwards.
In the studio working on Wild Type Droid, Greg Edwards lays down a track with a vintage Gibson LG-1.
Photo by Priscilla Scott
But Andrews points out that being on labels had its share of problems. “We were basically on their schedule,” he says. “We couldn’t release the record if they didn’t want to do it, we couldn’t tour, we couldn’t do anything. It was all about promoting our band within our own label to get them to pay attention and do stuff for us.”
Today, that business model is dead, and most record labels have all but given up on album sales as a major revenue stream. “It’s crazy when you think about how much it changed from 2005 to 2012, and then from 2012-ish to now,” says Edwards.
“It was a whole different thing,” agrees Andrews. “I remember when record companies started sniffing around our shows. I went to the bookstore and got Donald Passman’s book about the business of music [All You Need To Know About the Music Business]. In that book, the first thing he says is, ‘Do not try to force yourself into the public eye or into the music business. You have to be invited in,’ which sounds kind of crazy in 2022. What’s even left to invite you into?”
“It’s like Kubrick’s theory of doing way too many takes. You exhaust the actor and after you go through all the terrible takes all of a sudden you transcended into another state of consciousness, and interesting stuff starts happening.”—Greg Edwards
Today’s uneasy music industry is all about streaming services, and Spotify sits comfortably at the top. But they’ve seen a steady trickle of artists challenging their platform or, as Neil Young did very publicly, abandoning the service altogether. Recently, Failure announced their decision to do the same. Though the day’s politics played a role, the band said it was inevitable and a long time coming. And since most artists don’t make much from Spotify streams anyway, leaving the platform wasn’t a major financial setback.
“Spotify, in some sense, is the streaming arm of whatever you want to call the major-label world,” says Andrews. “But it’s completely flipped on its head. It’s all about aggregating the most content possible and paying the lowest possible for individual streams. If you really game it out, how does Spotify exist past another 10 years? Eventually, musicians won’t want to use a service that doesn’t give anything back to them. That’s what happened to us.”
Andrews says Failure is in a better place now than during their first go-round. “I’m enjoying the process way more than I did in the ’90s. Even if we hadn’t done what we did in the ’90s, I still feel like what we’re doing now is cool. Why would you stop doing something when you feel like you’re getting more appreciation for it? I feel like we’re this independent, little business that happens to be a band. And we’re surviving.”
Failure - Another Space Song (Live on KEXP)
Greg Edwards’ clear, chime-y arpeggios float over the mesmeric groove created by Ken Andrews’ growling bass line and Kellii Scott’s repetitive kit work in this 2015 version of “Another Space Song” from Fantastic Planet.
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There’s so much to explore when you decide to dip your toes into altered tunings.
There’s so much to explore when you decide to dip your toes into altered tunings. The jangly beauty of DADGAD and the new shapes found in open E and open C offers new inspiration. Caitlin Caggiano teaches you not only the easiest way to get into these tunings, but also a few handy shapes that will kickstart your playing today.
Club- or festival-provided stage amps can be hellish or angelic. Here are some of the devils and angels Premier Guitar’s editorial director has encountered along the road.
I have a slight allergy to backline amps. I shouldn’t, because I’ve played through a lot of them at clubs and festivals over the years, and most of my experiences have been fine, but I think a few bad combos and unfathomable heads put me off to a degree I can’t quite shake.
One of the first times I got the backline shivers was in the ’90s at a New York City club gig supporting John Sinclair, where I was told we would not need to bring amps. Awaiting me was a severely scarred Peavey Bandit combo with nary a knob left on its face, and the EQ and pre gain didn’t even have posts left. I just twisted a few stumps and gave up on the rest. How was the sound? Like an amplified fluorescent light bulb. On the other hand, I’ve never met a backline Peavey Classic series amp I didn’t like. Or, really, almost any backline amp that got the TLC it deserved, along with the heavy use. I once plugged into a right-out-of-the-box amp delivered to a club in Geneva by a then-emerging European manufacturer that sounded great during soundcheck, but its transformer died on the first chord of the first song in my band’s set. Luckily, they’d sent two, so we had to stop, open a box, mic the new amp, and jump back on the horse.Another case: I like a little drive, so imagine my dismay to find a backline at a satellite tent at a major festival with zero master volume amps. At the time, I wasn’t using effects—just a Strat and a Tele. So I plugged into a big blonde Fender and just turned up. The stage volume was brutal, but I had my tone so it was great. At least for me. I hope the drummer who played with me that day can still hear.
Sometimes, even speccing the backline doesn’t help. While playing a series of gigs in France, I requested either Vox or Marshall amps, such as an AC30 or JCM800, and at one big stage I encountered a fresh-looking JCM 2000 Triple Super Lead atop a 4x12. I must confess, I took one look at both decks of buttons and push-pulls and my heart sank. I was out of my comfort zone at the time. Try as I might, I could not get anywhere near the mocha, mid-ripe sound I get out of my ’72 Super Lead without turning up to a stratospheric level. I felt terrible. Not for the audience. It was an outdoor stage with plenty of open space. But for the stage crew. When one of them shouted, “Ted, es-tu psychotique?” between songs, I didn’t need to consult Google Translate to know what he meant. I was embarrassed and regretful about the volume, but had a great time playing, nonetheless. (Sorry, crew!)
“Awaiting me was a severely scarred Peavey Bandit combo with nary a knob left on its face, and the EQ and pre gain didn’t even have posts left.”
Over this summer I played a voter registration benefit, and the large venue that held it sent a really appealing backline list, with a Deluxe and a DeVille included. When I got there, there was a Deluxe but no other guitar amp per se. I had to play through a bass amp, and it was okay, thanks to my pedals, but a decidedly less-than-magical experience.
I feel like I’m whining, but like most of you I’ve spent years chasing a particular tone, and when I have my own rig it’s as delicious as German chocolate cake. So maybe I’m spoiled. And there are some backline amps I’ve coveted at gigs—like the humble Blues Junior at Nashville’s Eastside Bowl that’s been upgraded with a Deluxe transformer. It speaks eloquently.
There have been many other funky, hard-to-manage (at least for me) backline amps I’ve wrestled with over the years. After all, I’ve played in a lot of juke joints and roadhouses. And I used to sweat about it. But I finally made my “whatever” peace with backlines thanks to some advice from Luther Dickinson: “No matter what an amp sounds like, you have to stay out of your own head.” Just let the music fly.
In that spirit, two of this issue’s gear features deal with backlines. One is a public service: If you’ve never played through a backline, here’s what you should expect; or if you’re putting one together, as I’ve had to do many times, here’s what to consider. The other piece polls eight heavyweight guitarists on their own backline gear specs—lending insight on how established pros ensure that they sound like themselves under any circumstances.
So, if stage life throws you a lemon for an amplifier, just plug in and make it as juicy as you can. Don’t worry, because there’s another gig down the pike where you’ll sound exactly like yourself.
Two Notes Unveil the Next Giant Leap in Their Reactive Load Box Legacy With Reload II
Introducing Torpedo Reload II - Two Notes Audio Engineering's latest groundbreaking reactive load solution, featuring twin-channel operation, multi-impedance compatibility, and continuous attenuation. With a Celestion® Approved Load Response and 215W per channel power amplifier, Reload II redefines backline control.
Two Notes Audio Engineering, the world's leading innovator and manufacturer of load boxes, attenuators, and digital cabinet emulators, has just announced Torpedo Reload II - The latest installment in Two Notes’ class-leading reactive load solution legacy marking the definitive watershed in contemporary backline control.
Featuring twin-channel operation, selectable multi-impedance compatibility, and true continuous attenuation, Reload II is Two Notes’ most advanced Load Box to date. Its mission is simple: unleash the power of any amplifier or line-level source without compromise. Armed with a ground-up rework of their defining reactive load for a Celestion® Approved Load Response, the match is set to drive any amp’s power stage (rated up to 200W RMS) to perfection, retaining all the sonic integrity your performance demands. Scalable from a whisper to a full-throttle onslaught, Reload II’s ultra-transparent dual-mono 215W (per channel) amplifier/attenuator and paired speaker outputs preserve every facet of your tone. Add a Stereo FX Loop, dual Line outputs, and GENOME Reload II Edition (software download) into the mix and Reload doesn't just enhance your rig, it redefines it.
“When it came to developing Reload II, it was obvious this couldn't be a run-of-the-mill update of its predecessor. Fuelled by an ethos rooted in continual redefinition of contemporary backline control, we set our sights on a ground-up rework of our defining reactive load. The results speak for themselves: hands-down the best-in-class impedance match available on the market to date and the first reactive Load Box to feature an industry first Celestion® Approved Load Response.” Said Guillaume Pille, Two notes CEO. “Whether it’s a tube amp, a line level source, or even both simultaneously, all the hookup flexibility you demand from a Two Notes product is here. Throw a 215W (per cab output) power amplifier into the mix, and you’re primed with everything from studio-friendly silent loadbox operation to mainstage-ready source amplification. If that wasn't enough, there’s a suite of expertly-tuned tone-shaping tools - plus a super-versatile Stereo/Dual Mono FX loop - that all combine to make Reload II our most adaptable solution to date. The next generation of our Reactive Load legacy has arrived. It’s now up to you to reimagine your backline with everything the Two Notes ecosystem has to offer!
Reload II is now available for pre-order from Two Notes stockists worldwide, scheduled for shipping Q1 2025. At launch, Reload II ships with the following MAP / MSRPs
US: $999.99 (MAP)
Euro: 999.99€ (MSRP)
GBP - £849.99 (MSRP)
For more information, please visit two-notes.com.
Introducing Torpedo Reload II - YouTube
On That’s the Price of Loving Me, “We’re Not Finished Yet” is a love letter to Wareham’s 1968 Gibson ES-335.
The singer-songwriter-guitarist, known for his time with indie rock heroes Galaxie 500, Luna, and Dean & Britta, reunites with producer Kramer on his latest song-driven solo effort, That’s the Price of Loving Me.
“You want there to be moments where something unexpected hits you,” says Dean Wareham. “They’ve done studies on this. What is it in a song that makes people cry? What is it that moves you? It’s something unexpected.”
The singer-songwriter, 61, has crafted many such moments—most famously during the late ’80s and early ’90s, helping cement the dream-pop genre with cult-favorites Galaxie 500. Take the tenor saxophone, by Ralph Carney, that elevates the back half of “Decomposing Trees” from 1989’s On Fire, or the Mellotron-like atmosphere that bubbles up during “Spook” on This Is Our Music from 1990—both of which, notably, were recorded with journeyman producer Kramer, who’s part of Wareham’s rich sonic universe once again with the songwriter’s new solo album, That’s the Price of Loving Me.
Following This Is Our Music, the final Galaxie 500 album, Wareham and Kramer went their separate ways. The former founded the long-running indie-rock band Luna, formed the duo Dean & Britta with now-wife Britta Phillips, worked on film scores, and released a handful of solo projects. Kramer, meanwhile, grew into a hero of experimental music, playing with and producing everyone from John Zorn to Daniel Johnston. They stayed in touch, even as they drifted apart geographically, and always talked about working together again—but it took the weight of mortality to make it happen.
“[Kramer has] been saying for years, ‘It’s crazy we haven’t made a record together,’” says Wareham over Zoom, his shimmering silver hair flanked in the frame by a wall-hung cherry red Gibson SG and a poster of Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s 1975 drama Faustrecht der Freiheit. “He was living in Florida, and I was living elsewhere and doing other things. But I did lose a couple of friends over the pandemic, and it did occur to me, you can’t just say, ‘I’ll get to it’ forever. Not to be morbid, but we’re not gonna be here forever. We’re not getting any younger, are we?”
Dean Wareham's Gear
Wareham was a member of the early indie dream-pop trio Galaxie 500. After their split, he formed indie rock stalwarts Luna as well as Dean & Britta, with wife and Luna bandmate Britta Phillips.
Photo by Laura Moreau
Guitars
Amps
- Lazy J 20
- Mesa/Boogie California Tweed
Effects
- EAE Hypersleep reverb
- EAE Sending analog delay
- Dr Scientist Frazz Dazzler fuzz
- Danelectro Back Talk
- Joe Parker Raydeen overdrive
Strings, Picks, and Accessories
- Curtis Mangan nickel wounds (.010–.046)
- Dunlop Nylon .88 mm picks
- Truetone 1 Spot Pro CS12
In 2020, Dean & Britta recorded a covers album, Quarantine Tapes—the perfect opportunity, amid the agony of lockdown, to finally get Kramer involved. The producer mixed their hazy version of the Seekers’ “The Carnival Is Over,” which planted the seeds for a bigger collaboration on That’s the Price of Loving Me. At first, though, Wareham didn’t have any songs, so he gave himself a hard deadline by booking some time at L.A. studio Lucy’s Meat Market.
“What is it in a song that makes people cry? What is it that moves you? It’s something unexpected.”
“I don’t write songs every day—sometimes I don’t write songs for a whole year or something,” he says with a laugh. “The only thing that gets me to do it is booking studio time. Then I have to write some songs because it’ll be embarrassing if I show up with nothing.”
The space itself—decked out with a jaw-dropping amount of vintage guitars and amplifiers and keyboards—helped animate his sleepy-eyed and gently psychedelic songs. “I thought I had a few nice instruments,” Wareham says, “but I showed up, like, ‘Oh, your Les Paul’s from 1955? I think I’ll play this one. Your Martin is from the ’40s?’” Speed and spontaneity were essential: They worked six full days, with Kramer guiding him to capture every performance without overthinking it.
Wareham’s latest was produced by Kramer, a former member of Shockabilly, Bongwater, and the Butthole Surfers who owns the legendary underground label Shimmy-Disc. He produced all three Galaxie 500 LPs.
“[That’s] how I worked with Kramer back in the day too,” he recalls. “Maybe it kinda spoiled me—he was always like, ‘Yep, that’s it. Next!’ I got lazy about going back and redoing things. We’d make the decision and move on: keep that drum track and bass track. Maybe Britta [bass, backing vocals] would change a few things. Sometimes you’re with people who think every single thing should be replaced and made perfect, and you don’t actually have to do that. When it came time for me to overdub a guitar solo or something, Kramer would just allow me two takes generally: ‘Do it again a little differently. That’s it. That’s good.’”
“I thought I had a few nice instruments, but I showed up, like, ‘Oh, your Les Paul’s from 1955? I think I’ll play this one.’”
The material itself allowed for such malleability, with ringing chord progressions and gentle melodies often influenced by the musicians who happened to be gathered around him that day. “You Were the Ones I Had to Betray” has the baroque-pop sweetness of late-’60s Beatles, partly due to the sawing cellos of L.A. session player Gabe Noel, who also added some boomy bass harmonica to the climax. “It’s an instrument you’d mostly associate with the Beach Boys, I guess,” Wareham says. “It kinda sounds like a saxophone or something.”
Wareham, his 335, and Mesa/Boogie California Tweed at a recent Luna show, with bassist Britta Phillips in the background.
Photo by Mario Heller
It’s easy to get wrapped up in the warm hug of these arrangements, but it’s also worth highlighting Wareham’s lyrics—whether it’s the clever but subtle acrostic poetry of “The Mystery Guest” (“I’d never done that before, and it’s not that hard to do actually. Sometimes it’s just to give yourself a strange assignment to get yourself thinking in a different way”) or the hilarity of “We’re Not Finished Yet,” which scans as carnal but is actually a love letter to his semi-recently acquired 1968 Gibson ES-335.
“Sometimes it’s just to give yourself a strange assignment to get yourself thinking in a different way.”
“I read this poem about a guy polishing an antique wooden cabinet or something,” Wareham explains. “I thought, ‘That’s funny—it’s vaguely sexual, how he’s like rubbing this thing.’ I thought it would be funny if I wrote a song not about a piece of furniture but about the guitar—the experience of buying this. The lyrics in there: ‘I waxed you; I rubbed you; I reamed you.’ It all sounds like a dirty song, but it’s like, ‘No, I had to get the peg holes reamed!’ It works kind of as a love song, but that’s what it’s really about.”
Which brings us back to that idea of the unexpected. The most beautiful touches on Loving Me, crafted with his ol’ producer pal, are the ones that appear out of nowhere—like the blossoming guitar overdubs of “New World Julie” and “Dear Pretty Baby.” Kramer, he says, liked to “run two or three guitar tracks at once, where it becomes a symphony of guitars.”
These surprises, indeed, are the moments that stick with you.
YouTube It
Luna’s four-song performance on KEXP showcases Dean Wareham’s sparse, low-key indie rock vibe as well as his simple and sweet guitar embellishments.