Tom Verlaine performs with Television at the Bottom Line in New York City on June 11, 1978.
Musicians feel and experience influence in many ways. And to be certain, Tom Verlaine’s guitar playing—his deconstructed melodies, pointed attack, and capacity for flight—inspired many to attempt imitation. But for a lot of us, Verlaine’s guitar and voice, and the music he created with Television and as a solo artist, were much more than another set of musical tricks to nick. They symbolized liberation and freedom from musical constraints, the rush, promise, and exhilaration of bohemian city life, the world of poets, and the notion that outsider musical voices could find audience and reverence. In the end, Verlaine’s playing may have been impossible to duplicate. But the electricity in his expression suggested an enormity of potential to those looking for a ray of light in weird times.
Tom Verlaine was born as Thomas Miller in Denville, New Jersey, in 1949 and grew up in Wilmington, Delaware. (He later changed his last name to honor the French Symbolist poet Paul Verlaine.) As a youth he was captivated by Stan Getz, John Coltrane, and Richard Wagner. He took piano lessons, was drawn to the saxophone, and, in his telling, found rock ’n’ roll comparatively unexciting—at least until he heard the Stones, Yardbirds, Kinks, and Byrds. In their works he found the same sort of intensity he had found appealing in jazz. The revelation led Verlaine to guitar. And ultimately, the fusion of those influences—British Invasion energy, free jazz fire, and classical melodic instincts and concepts—would shape his approach to the instrument.
Verlaine conjured a visceral, even mystical sense of tension and release from his fingers. His lines could sound tattered and violent or hushed and tender. And in inhabiting the two worlds, he often approached the sublime elevation of his hero John Coltrane.
Verlaine moved to New York City in 1968. In time, he reconnected with fellow prep school delinquent and poet Richard Hell, with whom he formed Television in 1974. By then, Verlaine had also joined forces with another wildly talented guitar foil, Richard Lloyd. In 1975, Hell, whose bass chops and extroversion were better suited for punk’s more brutish side, was fired and replaced with Blondie bassist Fred Smith. Along with drummer Billy Ficca, they formed a potent rhythm section uncannily suited to Verlaine’s musical vision.
In this performance at Chicago’s Riot Fest in 2014, Tom Verlaine plays his Frankenstein S-style with a super-strat body, Danelectro lipstick pickups, and a mid-’60s Jazzmaster neck.
Photo by Debi Del Grande
Even with the benefit of hindsight, it’s still a wonder that Verlaine and Television managed to make their 1977 masterpiece Marquee Moon amid the ossified record industry environs of the mid ’70s. Though Television was instrumental in jump starting New York City’s punk revolution (Verlaine talked CBGB owner Hilly Kristal into taking a chance on the band, effectively launching punk’s most celebrated venue), Television was an odd fit in a scene of misfits. Between Blondie’s high-energy pop moves, the Ramones’ bonehead-genius riff machine, and Patti Smith’s live-wire, larger-than-life poet-goddess presence, Television’s combination of wiry, twitchy garage-rock threads and searching, extended jams must have seemed alien at times. Had punk’s ethos of “shorter, faster, louder” been more strictly codified at the time, they might have even been cast out for letting their jams sprawl in the fashion of the Grateful Dead or Quicksilver Messenger Service (Verlaine’s quivering string vibrato often bore a more-than-passing likeness to that of Quicksilver lead guitarist John Cipollina).
Television’s modest first single, 1975’s “Little Johnny Jewel,” recorded for NYC scenester Terry Ork’s small label, offers a taste of how odd they must have sounded in contrast to their peers and the slick-and-super-mega chart toppers of the time. In some ways, “Little Johnny Jewel” sounds unbelievably small. Verlaine’s guitar, sent direct to the console, sounds thin, plinky, even miniscule. Yet Verlaine’s solo on “Little Johnny Jewel” is filled with deep yearning and ache. The bass riff, built on a few descending three-note figures, suggests back-alley mystery and creeping menace. It may sound small, odd, and misshapen next to the brutal linearity of the Ramones, but it perfectly captured the romance and sensuality of the city in which it was created, and the spirit of the art outcasts that inhabited its quieter, darker corners.
As Television found their footing and formalized their roles, they morphed from tentative and sloppy into a band capable of crooked clockwork precision and power. Verlaine and Lloyd, meanwhile, evolved into one of the most fascinating guitar duos ever. Lloyd leads were often marked by fluid exactitude. Verlaine, however, conjured a visceral, even mystical sense of tension and release from his fingers. His lines could sound tattered and violent or hushed and tender. And in inhabiting the two worlds, he often approached the sublime elevation of his hero John Coltrane.
Little Johnny Jewel
Television’s wave crested and crashed early on. Marquee Moon was a masterpiece on arrival. And its centerpiece, the song which shares the LP’s name, was anchored around an extended Verlaine solo that ascended from cool and spare to frantic and white hot. Live, the song was often explosively ecstatic. (If you want to know what musical freedom sounds like, check out the versions of “Marquee Moon” and “Little Johnny Jewel” from the official live bootleg, The Blow Up.)But Television’s highly evolutionary approach to guitar music did not sit easily alongside the more accessible fare of CBGB compatriots Blondie or the Ramones. Their second LP, Adventure, was less visionary than its predecessor, yet it’s a showcase for some of Verlaine’s most melodic and lovely tunes, as well as some of his choicest solos (“The Fire” for one). In theory, Adventure was a more accessible work than Marquee Moon, yet it floundered commercially, effectively ending the band’s first chapter.
In subsequent years, Verlaine, who had little interest in the more grotesque trappings of the rock business, remained quietly busy and prolific. His early solo LPs were rich with bright spots and great songs, but sometimes compromised by contemporary production or short on the extended incendiary guitar flurries that had become his trademark. However, 1992 marked a vernal, transformative year for Verlaine. It saw his reunion with Television, the release of the band’s underrated third, eponymous LP, and his own instrumental LP Warm and Cool. The latter, in particular, a collage of beautiful, drifting, and fractured mood pieces and lost spy movie themes, hinted at the directions Verlaine would often take in the future—filmic, intimate statements that reflected his love of cinema, Morton Feldman, and painting, as well as a winking sense of humor. That thread found realization again in 2006’s Around, another collection of enthralling instrumentals that found Verlaine at ease, and still capable of communicating palpable intensity and anxiety in a minor-key drift and a flurry of a few notes.
Tom Verlaine performs with Television at the Bottom Line in New York City on June 11, 1978.
Photo by Ebet Roberts
If you followed Verlaine in the press—and it would be fair to call him a bit press averse—it was easy to assume he was irascible and unapproachable. And when you felt his most intense musical moments penetrate your heart and gut like darts, it wasn’t too hard to imagine that a spirit of confrontation, even anger, inhabited them. Yet when my partner Meg and I opened for Television and met Verlaine, I found him kind, open, quiet, even shy. We drank wine, smoked cigarettes, talked about ’60s soul, painting, food, the stupid rents in our respective cities, and thoughts of getting away from it all. He asked that Erik Satie play before Television took the stage. And when he left to go to dinner, he left his guitar behind for me to play. He was a sweet guy, full of humility. In those moments we shared, it was very easy to understand where the tender melancholy in his songs and melodies came from. Verlaine possessed a blinding fire inside. But he was also impossibly cool, and positively overflowing with heart and soul.
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Grammy Award-winning artist Warren Haynes is a cornerstone of the American music landscape, lauded as one of the most formidable and prolific guitarists, vocalists, songwriters, and producers of the modern era. Gibson is proud to announce its partnership with Warren Haynes for the release of his first signature guitar, the Gibson Warren Haynes Les Paul Standard. The Warren Haynes Les Paul Standard from Gibson is available worldwide now at the Gibson Garage Nashville and London, at authorized Gibson dealers, and on Gibson.com.
“I’ve always been a Gibson guy—I got hooked on that sound as a teenager and have been playing them ever since,” says Warren Haynes. “Needless to say, I’m honored to be partnering with Gibson to release my Signature Les Paul Standard. Being traditionally a humbucker guy, I’m really loving the hum-free P-90s. It’s a really cool tonal change, and the boost offers even more tonal options. I’m really enjoying playing this guitar on stage and looking forward to using it in the studio. I’m equally psyched that other guitar players will now have the opportunity to own and play one as well.”
Warren Haynes effortlessly cross-pollinates genres and unfurls solos that broil with passion in his distinctive, signature playing style. Renowned and highly regarded for his work in rock, blues, and Americana music through his work with the Allman Brothers Band, as a founding member of Gov’t Mule, the leader of The Warren Haynes Band, a solo artist, and as a session guitarist and sideman for numerous famous friends and groups. As one of music’s most treasured storytellers, Haynes and his artistry have led to thousands of memorable performances and millions of album and track sales. A master of multiple styles and genres, Warren has also shared his expertise with other players via multiple instructional videos. A self-described “Gibson man,” Warren has used several Gibson models throughout the years, including his cherished ’61 ES-335™, among others.
The new Warren Haynes Les Paul Standard is another standout, with features tailored specifically to Warren’s preferences, including a mahogany body with a plain maple cap, a 60s Cherry finish, a mahogany neck with a chunky 50s vintage profile like all of Warren’s favorite Les Pauls, a rosewood fretboard with acrylic trapezoid inlays and 22 medium jumbo frets, a pair of P-90 DC pickups that deliver hum-free performance with all the sonic nuances of traditional P-90 DC pickups, and a 15 dB boost that can be activated via a mini toggle switch. The quick-access battery compartment is mounted into the control cover on the rear, and the guitar will still function, even if the battery dies, by simply flipping the mini toggle switch to the off position.
Bearing the traditional looks and feel of a 50s-era Les Paul coupled with modern features like hum-free P-90 DC pickups and an onboard boost, the Warren Haynes Les Paul Standard bridges modern and traditional and is a great choice for players who, like Warren, want both a traditional appearance and modern functionality in one outstanding guitar.
Last fall, Warren Haynes released his fourth solo album, Million Voices Whisper, via Fantasy Records. Haynes sounds as energetic and focused as ever on the self-produced album, powering through an 11-song set of soulful blues-rock, his first solo collection in nearly a decade. Accompanying Warren on the collection are members of his current all-star band, including John Medeski on keyboards, longtime drummer Terence Higgins (of the Dirty Dozen Brass Band), and Gov’t Mule bassist Kevin Scott. Million Voices Whisper also features guest appearances from his Allman Brothers Band compatriot Derek Trucks, whose unmistakable guitar sound toughs up three tracks on the album that were co-produced with Haynes, and his Last Waltz tour co-stars Lukas Nelson and Jamey Johnson, who are featured on the forceful “Day Of Reckoning.” Joining Haynes in the studio for the first time since the final sunset of the ABB, one of the featured tracks with Trucks on guitar is “Real Real Love,” a song initially co-written with Gregg Allman that Warren finished in Allman’s style and methods as if Gregg were singing it to honor his friend.
Buzzing through the chart-topping album is the question of how to make things better—in love, in life, in the world—led by Haynes’s soaring vocals and the poignancy of his six-string mastery. Million Voices Whisper opens with “These Changes,” a co-write with Trucks, leading into “Go Down Swinging,” co-written with Johnson, which features a horn section and a Van Morrison vibe. Then, there’s the soulful power ballad “Till The Sun Comes Shining Through,” driven by Warren’s impassioned vocals and slide guitar skills. The expressive pipes of touring backup singer Saundra Williams are also heard on multiple tracks, including the lead single “This Life As We Know It,” which reached Top 15 on the Americana singles chart and Top 40 at Triple A radio. Among the four bonus tracks on the deluxe CD version is a new version of the Trucks-Haynes composition “Back Where I Started” featuring Warren on lead vocals and slide guitar and the power trio of Haynes, Nelson, and Johnson covering the CSNY classic “Find The Cost Of Freedom” into an extended version of “Day Of Reckoning.” Million Voices Whisper combines the eloquent musicianship of a triple-threat blues-rocker with the glowing spirit of a vital creative artist at the peak of his powers.
For more information, please visit gibson.com.
Gibson Warren Haynes Les Paul Standard Electric Guitar - '60s Cherry
Gary is not exclusively a destruction machine. Its distortion/overdrive section is a very streamlined take on EarthQuaker’s Gray Channel, a versatile DOD 250-derived double distortion. Like any good circuit of the 250 ilk, Gary’s hard clipping OD/distortion section bites viciously in the high- and high-mid frequencies, supported by a tight, punchy low-mid output. You can play anything from balanced M.O.R. studio crunch to unhinged feedback leads with this side of Gary. But it’s the envelope-triggered pulse-width fuzz—which most of us will hear as a gated fuzz, in many instances—that gives the Gary its werewolf duality. Though practice yields performance patterns that change depending on the instrument and effects you use around the Gary, its fuzz ultimately sputters and collapses into nothingness—especially when you throw a few pitch bends its way. The cut to silence can be jarring, but also compels a player to explore more rhythmic leads and choppy riffs that would sound like sludge with a Big Muff. The Gary’s unpredictable side means it won’t be for everybody, but its ability to span delicioso distortion and riotous splatter fuzz in a single unit is impressive.
EarthQuaker Devices Gary Automatic Pulse Width Modulation Fuzz/Overdrive Pedal
