“Don’t ever think that you’re going to impress people by reminding them that you can play faster, stretch your fingers longer, be louder, and look cooler,” says Joe Satriani. Those words carry a lot of weight coming from Satch, who can, of course, do all those things. But while he’s received plenty of attention for his endless supply of dexterous digital athletics over the years, he’s always been a committed melody player. And if you ask him, that’s even harder to dish out.
“The songs that sound like they don’t have a lot of technique are actually the hardest ones to play,” he admits. “And the ones that people think showcase the most amount of technique are actually the easiest to practice and perform.”
Satriani has long understood that guitarists cannot live on shred alone. With the release of his 18th studio album, The Elephants of Mars, he proves himself a living example of this message, showcasing the electric guitar as a lyrical, emotionally attuned instrument that can exist on a chromatic spectrum of senses—particularly when it’s in the right hands. The album covers a range of ground, from the Middle Eastern-influenced “Sahara”—whose release was accompanied by a music video directed by Satriani’s son ZZ—to the melancholic ballad “Faceless” to “Dance of the Spores,” which features a full-on circus music breakdown.
Joe Satriani "Sahara" (Official Music Video)
Having an extensive body of work makes it that much harder for some players to keep things fresh, but Satriani pulls it off. For Elephants, he decided to use the isolation of the early pandemic to focus creatively and give remote recording a shot, calling upon bandmates bassist Bryan Beller, drummer Kenny Aronoff, and keyboardist Rai Thistlethwayte to contribute.
When Satriani’s previous album, Shapeshifting,was released in April 2020, he and his team imagined that its promotional tour would be postponed for about three to six months. He considered recording a vocal album to offer as a free supplement, but months later the world was still on hold—and he realized that his audience would be expecting an entirely new project the next time he was to release something. So, he got to work on what would eventually become Elephants.
“I’m always a bit shy around people and it gets reflected in how I play.”
The remote recording experience created a significant change of pace. “For the last couple of records, I really enjoyed going to the studio, having the clock on the wall ticking fast,” he shares. “In a way, having a schedule is good; it just gets you motivated to work hard. If everybody’s stuck at home and there’s no clock on the wall, then we can’t use that as an excuse anymore. Now it’s just you listening to your performance, and it comes down to whether you’re going to stand behind it.”
As the guitarist became more patient and considered, he asked his band to do the same, telling them, “I’m not going to send you anything until I think it’s the best version that I can give you, and I expect everyone else to take their time. Don’t feel pressured by me to just get it done. And if you want to do something different, change my mind with a great performance.”
TIDBIT: Recording remotely gave Satriani access to a broader range of emotions while working. It’s a first for the guitarist, who says he “never would have felt that vulnerable or comfortable” if he weren’t alone while tracking.
That freed the instrumentalists from the restraints of both time and peer pressure, and for Satriani, performing all his parts in solitude yielded a more peaceful creative process: “[If I hadn’t been recording alone,] I never would have felt that vulnerable or comfortable. I’m always a bit shy around people and it gets reflected in how I play, so this setup worked for me in a way that it’d never worked before.”
“Guitars are made of wood and wood comes out of the ground, so you have only so much control; nature really has most of it.”
But wouldn’t that environment, free from time constraints, give way to extreme perfectionism? Not if you set rules for yourself, Satriani says. His solution was to remind himself not to “sit there and fix everything,” but rather to make sure he was tuned in to the moods of the tracks he was recording. He was sure that if he wasn’t having fun while recording the upbeat, bass- and synth-driven “Pumpin’” or the funk-infused “Blue Foot Groovy,” the music would bore his audience. And on “Dance of the Spores,” he immersed himself in pure fantasy. “I came up with this idea where, while we’re worried about politics and the virus and the environment and all this kind of stuff, there are spores having parties because everything’s great for them,” Satriani muses. “Like SpongeBob: It’s so insane, it’s so impossible, and yet it’s so funny and sad and cute. Everything about life is in that absolutely ridiculous concept. So, what would that sound like?”
Joe Satriani’s Gear
Reaching for a big bend on a guitar that bears his likeness, Satriani picks ecstatically at a concert at the Tower Theater in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania.
Photo by Frank White
Guitars
- Ibanez AR3212 12-string electric
- Ibanez JS1CR No. 3
- Ibanez JS2480 MCR No. 2
- Ibanez JS2450 B&W Paisley prototype No. 1
- Ibanez JS2 Gold Chrome Hum-Sing-Sing prototype (1989)
- Ibanez JS Sing-Sing-Sing Blue prototype (2005)
- Ibanez JS6 Style 7 String prototype No. 1 (2001)
- Jerry Jones Electric Sitar (1997)
- Ibanez JSA20 Acoustic prototype No. 1 (2012)
- Martin HD-28E Retro (2014)
Amps
- Avid SansAmp plug-in
Effects
- TC Electronic Sub 'N' Up Octaver
- EHX Micro Q-Tron
- Dunlop Hendrix ’69 Psych Series Octavio Fuzz
- VOX BBW wah
- Palmer Y-Box splitter
Strings & Picks
- Extra heavy celluloid picks
- D’Addario .010 sets
On the other end of the emotional spectrum, Satriani spent days repeatedly trying to embody the grief he wanted to convey on the darker “Desolation.” Finally, unrehearsed and unpracticed, he improvised something that fit perfectly. “I never would have done that had we been in a studio with people standing around,” he says.
Since around 1999, Satriani’s standard protocol for tracking has been to record direct and reamp later. But this time around, reamping “seemed to get rid of a certain percentage of my personality and replace it with ‘general electric guitar.’” Instead, mixing engineer Greg Koller employed the Avid SansAmp plug-in to the guitar tracks for the entire album.
“I’m not sure if that’s a letting go of ego or just realizing your place in the big scheme of things. But I had to realize that it wasn’t all about me.”
“I plugged into a Millennia Media HV-37 Mic Pre and went right into Pro Tools,” Satriani elaborates. “A couple of times there was a wah-wah pedal, a [TC Electronic] Sub 'N' Up, a [Dunlop Hendrix ’69 Psych Series] Octavio Fuzz, or an [Electro-Harmonix] Micro Q-Tron. And that was it!”
If you’ve read Satriani’s autobiography, Strange Beautiful Music, you know that the guitarist is obsessed with gear. He spends several chapters—each devoted to the making of a different album—sharing every technical approach and gear combination that went into each recording. When asked about his signature guitars, he’s a bit Zen. “Guitars are made of wood,” he says, “and wood comes out of the ground, so you have only so much control; nature really has most of it.”
Donning his other signature item—black Oakleys—Satch boogies down at the Fillmore in Detroit.
Photo by Ken Settle
But that hasn’t stopped him from refining the design of his signature models over the years. “All these changes that I’ve requested and that Ibanez made really did help me bring my music forward to a higher level of expression.” Picking up his Ibanez JS2450 B&W Paisley Proto, Satriani points out some of those refinements: “the height of the bridge, the fact that the edge bridge is such a well-made machine piece, the Satchur8 pickup, the size of the frets, and the fact that Ibanez now stock puts in the Sustainiac in the bridge position. It’s a 24-fret model, with a compound-radius neck. Everything about this guitar helps me express myself, and I’m still working on it. I’ve never changed my pursuit of trying to make the guitar less resistant to my musical ideas. I feel more like I have so much to say, and my body just will not cooperate to let me get it out properly,” he says, laughing.
Satriani has been searching for ways to express his ideas ever since his early days growing up in Westbury, Long Island, where he not only dedicated himself to his music, but to sharing what he’d learned by modeling his educator mother, Katherine, and, at the age of 15, famously teaching a young Steve Vai. “I realized everything that my mother learned in life she hands over—without holding anything back—to these kids that she’s teaching,” he explains. “So that’s what I should do for this little Steve Vai kid who’s just got these amazing hands, great timing, and really sharp ears. I’m not sure if that’s a letting go of ego or just realizing your place in the big scheme of things. But I had to realize that it wasn’t all about me.”
“Playing a ballad with a few notes and making every note count—that is a skinny mountain road and any variation is death. You’re plunging off the road into ultimate failure.”
That concept still permeates his music. It comes back to expression of melody, and Satriani cites Tony Bennett as an inspiration for knowing when to pause or use fewer notes. “The amount of technique that he has to use to nail it is far more intensive. He has to edit every little bit,” he says. “It’s not like playing your fastest and sticking your tongue out and running around the stage. That’s the easy part. That is a six-lane highway with no lines on it. But playing a ballad with a few notes and making every note count—that is a skinny mountain road and any variation is death. You’re plunging off the road into ultimate failure.”
Authenticity and humility are at the heart of making truly meaningful art, and, speaking with Satriani, it’s clear that those ideals are deeply entwined with what he does. He’s a dedicated practitioner who is still growing, learning, and sharing. “This only works if you give it away,” he adds. “You can’t make people think about your music the way you thought about it—it becomes theirs. When they hear it, it becomes the soundtrack to something in their life. And it’s got nothing to do with you, ’cause you’ve given it away.”
Joe Satriani - Always with Me, Always with You (from Satriani LIVE!)
No song better exemplifies Joe Satriani’s penchant for expressive melodic leads as his classic “Always with Me, Always with You” from Surfing with the Alien. This 2006 performance features all the slick moves of the original with an extra dose of live energy.
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Originally released in the 1980s, the Victory has long been a cult favorite among guitarists for its distinctive double cutaway design and excellent upper-fret access. These new models feature flexible electronics, enhanced body contours, improved weight and balance, and an Explorer headstock shape.
A Cult Classic Made Modern
The new Victory features refined body contours, improved weight and balance, and an updated headstock shape based on the popular Gibson Explorer.
Effortless Playing
With a fast-playing SlimTaper neck profile and ebony fretboard with a compound radius, the Victory delivers low action without fret buzz everywhere on the fretboard.
Flexible Electronics
The two 80s Tribute humbucker pickups are wired to push/pull master volume and tone controls for coil splitting and inner/outer coil selection when the coils are split.
For more information, please visit gibson.com.
Gibson Victory Figured Top Electric Guitar - Iguana Burst
English singer-songwriter Robyn Hitchcock is as recognizable by tone, lyrics, and his vibrantly hued clothing choices as the sound of Miles Davis’ horn.
Itchycoo Park
“I like my songs, but I don’t necessarily think I’m the best singer of them,” he effaces to me over Zoom, as it’s approaching midnight where he’s staying in London. “I just wanted to be a singer-songwriter because that’s what Bob Dylan did. And I like to create; I’m happiest when I’m producing something. But my records are blueprints, really. They just show you what the song could be, but they’re not necessarily the best performance of them. Whereas if you listen to … oh, I don’t know, the great records of ’67, they actually sound like the best performances you could get.”
He mentions that particular year not offhandedly, but because that’s the theme of the conversation: He’s just released an album, 1967: Vacations in the Past, which is a collection of covers of songs released in 1967, and one original song—the title track. Boasting his takes on Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” the Beatles’ “A Day in the Life,” Pink Floyd’s “See Emily Play,” and Small Faces’ “Itchycoo Park,” among eight other tracks, it serves as a sort of soundtrack or musical accompaniment to his new memoir, 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left.
Hitchcock, who was 14 years old and attending boarding school in England in 1967, describes how who he is today is encased in that period of his life, much like a mosquito in amber. But why share that with the world now?
In the mid ’70s, before he launched his solo career, Hitchcock was the leader of the psychedelic group the Soft Boys.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/tinnitus photography
“I’m 71; I’ve been alive quite a long time,” he shares. “If I want to leave a record of anything apart from all the songs I’ve written, now is a good time to do it. By writing about 1966 to ’67, I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
Hopefully, I say, the publication of these works won’t ring as some sort of death knell for him.
“Well, it’s a relative death knell,” he replies. “But everyone’s on the conveyor belt. We all go over the edge. And none of our legacies are permanent. Even the plastic chairs and Coke bottles and stuff like that that we’re leaving behind.... In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth. But I suppose you do probably get to an age where you want to try and explain yourself, maybe to yourself. Maybe it’s me that needs to read the book, you know?”
“I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
To counter his description of his songs above, I would say that Hitchcock’s performances on 1967: Vacations in the Past carve out their own deserved little planet in the vintage-rock Milky Way. I was excited in particular by some of his selections: the endorsement of foundational prog in the Procol Harum cover; the otherwise forgotten Traffic tune, “No Face, No Name and No Number,” off of Mr. Fantasy, the Mamas & the Papas’ nostalgic “San Francisco,” and of course, the aforementioned Floyd single. There’s also the lesser known “My White Bicycle” by Tomorrow and “I Can Hear the Grass Grow” by the Move, and the Hendrix B-side, “Burning of the Midnight Lamp.”
Through these recordings, Hitchcock pays homage to “that lovely time when people were inventing new strands of music, and they couldn’t define them,” he replies. “People didn’t really know what to call Pink Floyd. Was it jazz, or was it pop, or psychedelia, or freeform, or systems music?”
His renditions call to mind a cooking reduction, defined by Wikipedia as “the process of thickening and intensifying the flavor of a liquid mixture, such as a soup, sauce, wine, or juice, by simmering or boiling.” Hitchcock’s distinctive, classic folk-singer voice and steel-string-guided arrangements do just that to this iconic roster. There are some gentle twists and turns—Eastern-instrumental touches; subtly applied, ethereal delay and reverb, and the like—but nothing that should cloud the revived conduit to the listener’s memory of the originals.
And yet, here’s his review of his music, in general: “I hear [my songs] back and I think, ‘God, my voice is horrible! This is just … ugh! Why do I sing through my nose like that?’ And the answer is because Bob Dylan sang through his nose, you know. I was just singing through Bob Dylan’s nose, really.”
1967: Vacations in the Pastfeatures 11 covers of songs that were released in 1967, and one original song—the title track.
❦
“I wait for songs to come to me: They’re independent like cats, rather than like dogs who will faithfully trail you everywhere,” Hitchcock explains, sharing about his songwriting process. “All I can do is leave a plate of food out for the songs—in the form of my open mind—and hope they will appear in there, hungry for my neural pathways.”
Once he’s domesticated the wild idea, he says, “It’s important to remain as unselfconscious as possible in the [writing] process. If I start worrying about composing the next line, the embryonic song slips away from me. Often I’m left with a verse-and-a-half and an unresolved melody because my creation has lost its innocence and fled from my brain.
“[Then] there are times when creativity itself is simply not what’s called for: You just have to do some more living until the songs appear again. That’s as close as I can get to describing the process, which still, thankfully, remains mysterious to me after all this time.”
“In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth.”
In the prose of 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left, Hitchcock expresses himself similarly to how he does so distinctively in his lyrics and speech. Amidst his tales of roughing his first experiences in the infamously ruthless environs of English boarding school, he shares an abundance of insight about his parents and upbringing, as well as a self-diagnosis of having Asperger’s syndrome—whose name is now gradually becoming adapted in modern lexicon to “low-support-needs” autism spectrum disorder. When I touch on the subject, he reaffirms the observation, and elaborates, “I think I probably am also OCD, whatever that means. I’ve always been obsessed with trying to get things in the right order.”
He relates an anecdote about his school days: “So, if I got out of lunch—‘Yippee! I’ve got three hours to dress like a hippie before they put me back in my school clothes. Oh damn, I’ve put the purple pants on, but actually, I should put the red ones on. No! I put the red ones on; it’s not good—I’ll put my jeans on.’
Robyn Hitchcock's Gear
Hitchcock in 1998, after embarking on the tour behind one of his earlier acoustic albums, Moss Elixir.
Guitars
- Two Fylde Olivia acoustics equipped with Sennheiser II lavalier mics (for touring)
- Larrivée acoustic
- Fender Telecaster
- Fender Stratocaster
Strings & Picks
- Elixir .011–.052 (acoustic)
- Ernie Ball Skinny Top Heavy Bottom .010–.054 (electric)
- Dunlop 1.0 mm
“I’d just get into a real state. And then the only thing that would do would be listening to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart. There was something about Trout Mask that was so liberating that I thought, ‘Oh, I don’t care what trousers I’m wearing. This is just, whoa! This music is it.’”
With him having chosen to cover “See Emily Play,” a Syd Barrett composition, the conversation soon turns to the topic of the late, troubled songwriter. I comment, “It’s hard to listen to Syd’s solo records.... It’s weird that people enabled that. You can hear him losing his mind.”
“You can, but at the same time, the fact they enabled it means that these things did come out,” Robyn counters. “And he obviously had nothing else to give after that. So, at least, David Gilmour and the old Floyd guys.... It meant they gave the world those songs, which, although the performances are quite … rickety, quite fragile, they’re incredibly beautiful songs. There’s nothing forced about Barrett. He can only be himself.”
“There was something about Trout Mask Replica that was so liberating that I thought, ‘Oh, I don’t care what trousers I’m wearing. This is just, whoa!’”
I briefly compare Barrett to singer-songwriter Daniel Johnston, and we agree there are some similarities. And then with a segue, ask, “When did you first fall in love with the guitar? Was it when you came home from boarding school and found the guitar your parents gifted you on your bed?”
Robyn pauses thoughtfully.“Ah, I think I liked the idea of the guitar probably around that time,” he shares. “I always used to draw men with guns. I’m not really macho, but I had a very kind of post-World War II upbringing where men were always carrying guns. And I thought, ‘Well, if he’s a man, he’s got to carry a gun.’ Then, around the age of 13, I swapped the gun for the guitar. And then every man I drew was carrying a guitar instead.”
Elaborating on getting his first 6-string, he says, “I had lessons from a man who had three fingers bent back from an industrial accident. He was a nice old man with whiskers, and he showed me how to get the guitar in tune and what the basic notes were. And then I got hold of a Bob Dylan songbook, and—‘Oh my gosh, I can play “Mr. Tambourine Man!”’ It was really fast—about 10 minutes between not being able to play anything, and suddenly being able to play songs by my heroes.”
❦
Hitchcock does me the kindness, during our atypically deep conversation—at least, for a press interview—of sharing more acute perceptions of his parents, and their own neurodivergence. Ultimately, he feels that his mother didn’t necessarily like him, but loved the idea of him—and that later in life, he came to better understand his lonely, depressive father. “My mother was protective but in an oddly cold way. People are like that,” he shares. “We just contain so many things that don’t make sense with each other: colors that you would not mix as a painter; themes you would not intermingle as a writer; characters you would not create.... We defy any sense of balance or harmony.
“Although the performances are quite rickety, quite fragile, they’re incredibly beautiful songs. There’s nothing forced about Barrett. He can only be himself.”
“The idea of normality.... ‘Normal’ is tautological,” he continues. “Nothing is normal. A belief in normality is an aberration. It’s a form of insanity, I think.
“It’s just hard for us to accept ourselves because we’re brought up with the myth of normality, and the myth of what people are supposed to be like gender-wise, sex-wise, and psychologically what we’re supposed to want. And in a way, some of that’s beginning to melt, now. But that probably just causes more confusion. It’s no wonder people like me want to live in 1967.”
YouTube It
In this excerpt from the Jonathan Demme-directed concert film of Robyn Hitchcock, Storefront Hitchcock, the songwriter performs an absurdist “upbeat” song about a man who dies of cancer.
"This bass is a reflection of everything I love about playing," said Blu DeTiger. "I wanted an instrument that could handle the diversity of sounds I create, from deep, funky grooves to melodic lines that cut through the mix. Fender and I worked closely together to make sure this bass not only looks amazing but sounds incredible in any setting."
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Her successful releases including "Figure It Out,” "Vintage," and recent album “All I Ever Want is Everything” have earned her accolades and sent her on the road to tour across the world to perform for her dedicated fanbase. Her distinct style of playing has also seen her play live with top tier artists such as Olivia Rodrigo, Bleachers, Dominic Fike, Caroline Polachek, Chromeo, and more.