
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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The Brian May Gibson SJ-200 12-string in the hands of the artist himself.
Despite a recent health scare, guitarist Brian May cannot be stopped. With the Queen reissue project, he’s celebrating his legacy, and with his new SJ-200—a limited edition signature Gibson acoustic guitar—he looks to the future.
Long lasting instrumental relationships are something we love to root for. Neil Young and Old Black, Willie Nelson and Trigger—those are inseparable pairings of artist and instrument where, over the course of long careers, those guitars have been shaped, excessively in both cases, by the hands that play them. Eddie Van Halen went steps beyond with Frankenstein, assembling the guitar to his needs from the get-go. But few rock ’n’ roll relationships imbue the kind of warm-and-fuzzy feelings as the story of Brian May and his dad building Red Special, the very instrument that hung around his neck for his rise to superstardom and beyond.
Together, with a legion of Vox AC30s and a few effects, May and his homemade Red Special have created some of the richest, most glorious guitar sounds that have ever been documented. It is with that guitar in his hands that he’s crafted everything from his velveteen guitar orchestras to his frenetic riffs and luxuriant harmonies to his effortlessly lyrical leads, which matched the dramatic melodic motifs of Freddie Mercury in one of the most dynamic lead singer/guitarist pairings in rock music.
Although it has a smaller role in his body of work, overshadowed by such an accomplished, prolific electric guitar C.V., May’s acoustic playing is a major part of the story of his music. His bold opening strums of “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” are some of the most recognizable D-major chords in the classic-rock canon, and his supportive work on “Spread Your Wings” adds lush dimension between Freddie Mercury’s arpeggiated piano chords and his rich electric guitarmonies. The multi-tracked 12-string figure that opens “’39”—his “cosmic folk song”—is among his most recognizable.
It’s a surprise, then, that when I ask May about the acoustic guitars used while recording with Queen, the most notable is his Hallfredh acoustic, a “cheap as hell” guitar from a virtually unknown brand. “My little old acoustic, which I swapped with my dear friend at school,” he reminisces. “The strings were so low on it that everything buzzed like a sitar. I capitalized on that and put pins on it instead of the bridge saddles, and you can hear that stuff on ‘The Night Comes Down’ [from Queen]. I used it all the way through Queen’s recordings, like on ‘Jealousy’ [from Jazz] years later and lots of things.” He also recalls his Ovation 12-string and some others, but the Hallfredh remains in the foreground of his acoustic memories.
The cosmic inlays on the Brian May SJ-200 represent the rock legend’s work in the field of astrophysics, in which he holds a PhD.
In recent years, May has been performing the 1975 ballad and emotional Mercury vehicle “Love of My Life,” which appears on A Night at the Opera, as an acoustic tribute to the late singer. May and his acoustic 12-string sit center stage each night as he leads the crowd through a heartwarming rendition of the song, joined at its climax by a video of Mercury. For that powerful, commanding moment, he’s relied on “a number of guitars we won’t mention, but it just came to the point where I’m thinking, ‘This isn’t sounding as good as I would like it to.’”
At one concert, a Gibson representative who was around piped up and offered to make him a guitar to his specs specifically for this piece. “I was surprised that they would notice me in the first place,” May recalls, “because part of me never grew up.” A surprising take from a rock star of such stature, but he explains, “I’m still a kid who was reading the Gibson catalogs and not able to afford anything, seeing the SGs and the Les Pauls and dreaming of being able to own a Gibson guitar. I now have a couple of the SGs, which I absolutely love, but, of course, I made my own guitar and I now have my own guitar company, so I went a different way. But to me this was a joy that they would offer to make me a guitar, which I could take out onstage.”
After building one for the guitarist, Gibson created a limited edition run of 100 instruments of the new model, called the Brian May SJ-200 12-string. Featuring a AAA Sitka spruce top with a vintage sunburst finish, AAA rosewood back and sides, a 2-piece AAA maple neck with walnut stringer, and a rosewood fretboard, it’s a top-of-the-line acoustic. The most noticeable feature on the SJ-200 is probably the string arrangement, which is flipped—as is most commonly found on Rickenbacker 12-strings—with the lower string above the higher string in each course. May has made that modification on other 12s, because he likes to string the high string first when fingerpicking. “You get an incredibly pure sound that way,” he points out. “‘Love of My Life’ is a good example—if it’s strung the other way, it sounds very different.”
On its pickguard, all seven of the other planets in our solar system are etched. The shaded one, close at hand, is Mercury, a tribute to the Queen singer.
May’s aesthetic customizations draw from his astrophysics work and add a personal sparkle to the large-bodied acoustic. The pickguard features a custom design with the seven other planets in the system, which is to say, not Earth. Mercury sits close at hand, a tribute to the singer. The fretboard and headstock include 8-point star inlays—to give a “more cosmic feeling”—that are made from agoya shell, as are the bridge inlays.
“It became a discussion about art and science, which I love,” May says of the design process. “That’s probably the biggest thread in my life, this path trodden, some people would say, between art and science. But I would say that they’re the same thing. So, I just tread among art and science.”
May’s own Gibson has already appeared in concert during the “Love of My Life” segment of Queen’s show, and occasionally for “’39.” On social media, where May stays active, many fans caught a glimpse of the guitar when he posted a new song for Christmas Eve. “I just wanted to say Merry Christmas, and that’s the way it came out,” he says. “It was incredibly spontaneous. I wanted it to be a gift. I didn’t want it to be, in any way, a way of advertising or making money or anything. It was just a Merry Christmas gift to whoever wants to listen to me.”
“It became a discussion about art and science, which I love,”
While that was one of the first things created with the new Gibson, he has more plans. “I’ve been playing around with it. In fact, we’ve been dropping the D,” he says, hinting at some future plans with guitarist-vocalist Arielle. “I have quite a few songs with the bottom D dropped. I haven’t normally played them acoustic or 12-string, but I’m discovering that some of that sounds really good. It gets such a lovely big clang and a big depth to it.”
Recently, May spent a great deal of time looking back as the band prepped the Queen I box set. The remixed, remastered, and very expanded version of their 1973 debut, Queen—they’ve added the “I” here—which was released last October, encompasses a rebuild of the entire record, plus additional takes, backing tracks, a version recorded specifically for John Peel’s BBC Radio 1 show, and a 1974 live concert recording from London’s Rainbow Theatre.May says of his new Gibson: “To me, this was a joy that they would offer to make me a guitar."
Revisiting this early document over 50 years later, it’s amazing to hear how well-developed the guitarist’s sound already was—full of the propulsive riffs and harmonies that would become part of his signature. May concurs, “You go back into these tracks quite forensically, and I hear myself in the naked tracks and I think, ‘Wow, I didn’t realize that I could do that at that point.’ It must have happened very quickly.”
Reflecting on those formative times, he continues, “I think there’s a period of just exploding, knowing what it is in your head, and striving to make what you play match what’s in your head. But I see it in other people, too. Sometimes, I go back and listen to the first Zeppelin album, and they were pretty young when they made that. But I think, ‘My God, how did they get that far and so quick?’”
“I thought guitars do work as primary orchestral instruments, so that’s what I want to do.”
Before Queen, May had already recorded a two-part guitar solo on the song “Earth,” a late-’60s track recorded with his earlier band, Smile, which also featured future Queen drummer Roger Taylor. While that lead certainly points toward the ambition in May’s later work, its raw untamedness doesn’t quite show evidence of his ultimate precision. But he says he had it in mind from early on. “There weren’t any more tracks to do three parts” when they recorded with Smile, he says, “but I always dreamed of it. It goes back a long, long way to hearing harmonies in other ways from the Everly Brothers, from Buddy Holly and the Crickets, from all sorts of things that we were listening to when we were kids.
“I wanted to make the sound of an orchestra just using guitars, and there’s other little inspirations along the way,” he continues. “Jeff Beck was an inspiration because there’s that wonderful track, ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining,’ which Jeff hated. But there’s one bit where he double-tracks the solo and in just one point it breaks into a two-part harmony, probably by accident. I guess I should have asked him—damn well wish I had. But that sound echoed in my head, and I thought guitars do work as primary orchestral instruments, so that’s what I want to do. I could hear it in my head for a long time before I could make it actually happen.”
Brian May and his Red Special at a recent concert.
Photo by Steve Rose
Though the Queenrecording sessions gave the guitarist his first opportunity to explore the larger harmonized sections that would become part of his signature, many of the sounds on the record left the band dissatisfied. Recorded at Trident Studios in London, the young band could only afford to use the room during downtime. Over the course of four months, they had sessions, usually at night, with in-house producers John Anthony and Roy Thomas Baker, both early supporters. However, the Trident style and sound wasn’t what Queen had in their collective ears, and they’ve remained unhappy with the sonic quality of their debut all these years.
The drums were the band’s primary issue, which Taylor describes as having a “very dry, quite fat, dead sound.” May’s tone is recognizably his own. “Well, I’m a very pushy person,” he laughs. “But nevertheless, it was difficult for me, too. Because of this Trident style of recording, the intention was not to have room sound on it. I kind of pushed, I suppose, to have a mic on the back of the amp as well as the front. That gave me a bit more air. I did feel a little hampered and the change is more subtle on the guitar, but it’s there.
“Jeff Beck was an inspiration because there’s that wonderful track, ‘Hi Ho Silver Lining,’ which Jeff hated. But there’s one bit where he double tracks the solo and in just one point it breaks into a two-part harmony, probably by accident.”
“It’s funny because it changed radically as time went on,” he continues. “And I can remember by the time we got to Sheer Heart Attack, Roy is putting mics all over the room and miking up windows in the booth and whatever to get maximum room sounds. It’s certainly nice to go back and make everything sound the way we pretty much would’ve liked it to sound at the time.”
With Queen I out, a new Queen IIset is in the works, which May calls “a very different kettle of fish.” The drum sounds on their sophomore effort were more in line with the band’s original vision, but the dense layers of overdubs that famously appear on the record came at a cost. “I think it is the biggest step musically and recording-wise that we ever made,” says May. “But there’s a lot of congestion in there. There’s mud because of all this generation-loss stuff [caused by overdubs], and because we liked to saturate the tape, which seemed like a good idea at the time. It made it sound loud. But if you disentangle that and get the bigness in other ways, I think Queen II is going to sound massive.”
The AAA rosewood back and sides of May’s signature acoustic are stunning.
At 77 years old, May certainly seems to keep his schedule packed with music work—not to mention his animal advocacy and scientific endeavors. In May of last year, though, everything came to a halt when the guitarist suffered a stroke. “I couldn’t get a fork from the table to my mouth without it all going all over the place,” he recalls. “It was scary.” Luckily, things began turning around quickly. “After only a few days, it’s amazing what you can get back. By sheer willpower, you just start retraining your muscle.” Not quite a year on when we speak, May estimates he’s regained 95 percent of his abilities, which, he says, “is enough.
“The short answer is, ‘I’m good,’” he assures.
May is in great spirits and appears excited about all his recent projects, finished and in-progress alike. In this time of looking back on his earliest works, I ask him to think about his beginnings, when he would gaze at Gibson catalogs but had to build his own guitar out of necessity, because, as he points out, he “couldn’t afford anything else.”
So, what would young Brian May, stepping into an afterhours session at Trident, making his band’s debut, think about his new limited edition signature model Gibson acoustic? He takes a long pause. “It would have been …” he pauses again, “unthinkable.”
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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.
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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.
The Delecaster offers a passionate Mexican-culture spin on the tried-and-true Tele model.
Drawing on the appointments of the traditional acoustic instruments that have been the Delgado family’s stock-in-trade for three generations, a new take on the Tele is born.
Growing up as the son and grandson of luthiers renowned for their concert classical and flamenco guitars, I was immersed in the world of handcrafted instruments from a young age. While I learned the traditional techniques passed down through generations, my musical tastes spanned a wide spectrum, from the soulful melodies of boleros and mariachi to the raw energy of punk and folk. This diverse musical upbringing instilled in me a deep appreciation for the unique character and personality of different guitar styles.
At Delgado Guitars, we build more than 45 different types of stringed instruments that help players cover plenty of ground. Our concert classical guitars, bajo quintos, acoustic steel strings, and mariachi instruments are sought after by musicians worldwide, often with a waiting list. In recent years, we've expanded our lineup to include a modern classic with a twist: the Delecaster. It’s not an acoustic instrument, but bear with me. I think it’s a story worth sharing.
My vision for the Delecaster was to create an instrument that honored the iconic Telecaster design while infusing it with the distinct flavor of my Latin American heritage. I've always been drawn to the elegant simplicity and versatility of the Telecaster, but I also wanted to push the boundaries and explore new sonic possibilities.
“I've always been drawn to the elegant simplicity and versatility of the Telecaster, but I also wanted to push the boundaries and explore new sonic possibilities.”
”Each Delecaster is handcrafted in our workshop, where traditional techniques mingle with modern innovations. We use only fine tonewoods, carefully selected for their resonance and beauty. The body is typically crafted from lightweight ash, known for its bright and articulate sound. The maple neck provides a smooth and comfortable playing experience, while the 9.5"-radius, 25.5"-scale-length ebony fretboard adds a touch of warmth and sustain.
One of the hallmarks of the Delecaster is its unique aesthetic. I drew inspiration from the intricate inlay work and vibrant colors found in our traditional Latin American instruments, and incorporated these elements into the Delecaster's design. The binding is what you would see on our bajo sexto instruments and similar to designs on our vihuela or guitarrón. The purfling I have also used to create rosettes on requintos and jaranas. The vibrant colors are seen throughout Mexico’s art, architecture, and festivals. They have spiritual and mythological meanings, and can represent beliefs, passion, and tradition.
The combination of Fralin Vintage Hot Tele pickups and a 4-way switch system delivers a wide range of tonal possibilities, from classic Telecaster twang to thick, overdriven tones. The Wilkinson string-through bridge with compensated saddles ensures accurate intonation and sustain, while the Wilkinson tuners provide smooth and precise tuning, and the bone nut adds a touch of warmth and clarity to the overall tone.
At Delgado Guitars, we believe that the soul of an instrument lies in the hands of its maker. That’s why we don't rely on CNC machines, shapers, or assembly lines. I pour my heart and soul into each instrument. From the initial selection of tonewoods to the final setup and inspection, every step of the process is carried out with the utmost care and attention to detail. We take pride in our work, and the Delecaster demonstrates this passion.
The Delecaster is a work of art, a symbol of cultural fusion, and a testament to the power of human creativity. It’s an instrument designed to inspire musicians to express themselves in new and exciting ways. Wherever we’re from, isn’t that what we’re all looking for?