Jules Leyhe is a regular at San Francisco’s Biscuits and Blues, a venue devoted to live blues music and Southern cuisine. Here, Leyhe hits a sweet spot on his Fender Deluxe Special Stratocaster while playing at the club in 2019.
Jules Leyhe is gonna piss off some blues guitar purists.
His main passion is the blues, and he cuts the best blues-slide licks since Derek Trucks—maybe even Duane Allman. But you won’t find one blues song on his newest release, Your First Rodeo. In fact, they’re not really on any of his albums. His songs are a steady stream of EDM, ’70s funk, Hendrix-like psychedelic jams, and horn sections from south of the border. Think Oz Noy and his admittedly twisted take on jazz. That’s what Leyhe brings to the blues.
“Oz is doing his version of this thing, too,” says Leyhe. “He loves Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughan as much as he loves Allan Holdsworth, Thelonious Monk, and John Coltrane. He’s just doing his mutant Oz Noy version of that. And I’ve got my more slide-guitar-centric version of that.”
Leyhe sees the best of the Delta, Chicago, and 1960s rock in even the most modern genres. And it’s his mission to connect today’s music fans to the bluesy core of their favorite songs. It’s a mission that started at a very young age.
“There was always music in the house when I was growing up, and we were always dancing,” he says. “Way before I ever played, I liked the Beatles, blues, and jazz. I had a CD player, my headphones, and a little CD collection. I loved music. But by the time I saw School of Rock as a 13-year-old, I knew what I needed to do.
Jules Leyhe - Start Your Engines (Official Video)
“That same week I went to see Doc Watson with my dad,” Leyhe remembers. “Driving home from the show, we drove by the Warfield where Jeff Beck happened to be playing. My dad saw ‘Jeff Beck’ up on the marquee, and he goes, ‘Hey, we’re not going home yet; we got to go see Jeff Beck.’ I got my ass kicked by the guitar that night. I’m 13, and I saw Jeff Beck! After that, I said to my dad, who had a Telecaster, ‘Hey man, you got to teach me everything you know.’ I dove in headfirst.”
Leyhe immediately took to the instrument, but he wasn’t into the musical flavors of the week. “I was listening to all the early acoustic blues guys: Robert Johnson, Son House, Muddy Waters. My dad introduced me to it. And he took me to shows. I saw the Rolling Stones, Buddy Guy, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, all as an 8-year-old. That was part of my life.”
All of those experiences and his love affair with the 6-string came together in one magical night—a night that certified Leyhe’s blues credibility. “I played with Buddy Guy for the first time when I was 16. My dad and I went to see him, and Buddy had some wireless setup so he could walk around the entire place. He’s walking right by my dad, and my dad goes, ‘Buddy, my son is here, and he can play some blues.’ Buddy walks back up onstage—and this is all in the middle of a song—and he’s pointing at me and goes, ‘Come on up here.’ I ran up. He put his guitar on me. He literally took his guitar off his back, his famous polka dot guitar, and put it on me. We played a slow blues in G, and he let me take it away. The crowd went bonkers. I’ll never forget it. We became friends that night, and I play with him anytime he’s in town. He was always really supportive. I’ve kept in touch with him ever since. He’s been so freaking cool to me for over half of my life now.”
“As soon as you’re playing the Klon into a Dumble on a Les Paul, it’s like you grew up driving an old Volkswagen Beetle. Now your dad’s giving you the keys to his Maserati and telling you to go have fun on the freeway.”
Leyhe’s love for the blues has never waned since being called onto that stage. It’s apparent in his slide style. But, strangely, it’s not so apparent in the music he writes and records. There’s a good reason for that.
“That’s definitely on purpose. I certainly started as a blues player, but I’m trying to stretch what that can be,” Leyhe explains. “I’d love to make more of a straight-ahead blues record, too. But my mission is to expose the younger generation, who might be listening to totally blues-influenced music, to the origins of where that is coming from. Say, hip-hop, where they’re sampling jazz and blues records. Like, I heard a sampled thing of Johnny Smith, one of my favorite jazz guitar players, the other day. I told my friend, ‘That’s Johnny Smith.’ She said, ‘No, it’s some hip-hop artist who sampled it.’ That’s a great illustration of what I want to do. It’s a baton handing-off between the old generation and the new generation. My music is the moment that both hands are on the baton, and it’s cross-generational inspired.”
Though some purists would call it sacrilegious to play over hip-hop and call yourself a blues guitarist, they obviously haven’t been paying attention. If it was wrong, Muddy Waters would never have electrified it, Clapton couldn’t have cranked his Les Paul into a Marshall JTM45, and Hendrix’s outer-space experiments would be off the table. Don’t even get me started on ZZ Top’s use of synthesizers.
As far as Leyhe sees it, these experiments are all part of the inevitable evolution of the blues. And his playing might just help push it forward.
“I’m trying to filter these things through my slide guitar,” he said. “It’s super Duane Allman-influenced, but I play in a context with maybe hip-hop beats, EDM, or more modern-sounding beats. Like, say, “Taco Truck.” It’s basically Buena Vista Social Club with Cardi B and then a funk band from Oakland. That’s the style.”
TIDBIT: Jules Leyhe says his engineer, Protist (Nick Bergen), used a Boss Waza Tube Amp Expander as the main studio tool when recording Not Your First Rodeo. When it came to experimenting with effects, Leyhe went deep. “I’m a kid in the candy shop with too many options,” he says. “I really work well that way.”
Your First Rodeo is full of sonic mashups like “Taco Truck.” On the one hand, “The Journey” offers understated melodies with some of the most captivating tones on the album. Then “Start Your Engines” strips everything back to an electronic beat and exploding slide riff. After Leyhe takes us on a wild ride, the album closes with “Sad but True,” a beautiful ballad with a decidedly Motown feel. As you can tell, crossing genres throughout the album was easy for Leyhe and his band (the Jules Family Band). Recording it, however, was not.
“It was totally COVID,” Leyhe says. “It was recorded way before people got vaccinated. It was all done separately and all in one day. No two musicians recorded at the same time. All the musicians came into the studio and took turns. Luckily, we’re all great buddies. We’ve been playing together for 10 years, and we all know each other’s tendencies, so we can give each other space and play off each other.”
The band’s camaraderie is obvious as they ebb and flow through different genres with a tight and live feel. They fill each song with new tones, new instrumentation, and new layers that always keep you guessing. But above all, they make every song entertaining from beginning to end.
“It’s basically Buena Vista Social Club with Cardi B and then a funk band from Oakland. That’s the style.”
“I think music should be really fun,” Leyhe says. “I think that’s something you get if you look at the cover of Your First Rodeo. Everybody chuckles when they see it. That’s what I’m trying to bring—some levity, creativity, and art. Then I think that matches the experience you have when you hear it. Like on the opening track, you’re going, ‘Wait, is this even a guitar record?’”
Though Leyhe’s musicians enjoy plenty of space to stretch out, Your First Rodeo is absolutely a guitar record. And once it was his turn to track, Leyhe didn’t hold back. “Protist [Leyhe’s recording engineer, Nick Bergen] and I used the Boss Waza Tube Amp Expander. That was our studio. We never recorded a cabinet. And there were so many options between pedals and impulse responses that we were spoiled rotten. I think some people feel like, ‘Ah, there are too many options.’ But I felt like, ‘I love too many options!’ I’m a kid in the candy shop with too many options. I really work well that way.”
Those options manifest throughout the album in a myriad of guitar tones. But even though they shift from vintage ’50s cleans with spring reverb to fuzzed-out explosions of energy, the core of Leyhe’s rig is as classic a setup as you can imagine.
“One of the best moves I’ve ever done was getting an Overtone Special, 50-watt amp by Ceriatone. They make Dumble clones. Oh my gosh, this amp was a game-changer for me, my sound, and everything. At this point, I’ve been playing for, man, it’s close to 20 years. And after working hard on it, I finally have an amp that really brings my voice out, and tells the story I want, how I want it to.”
Jules Leyhe’s Gear
Jules Leyhe prefers his Gibson SG with a Coricidin bottle for playing slide. “It’s the ’61 reissue, and it barks,” he says. “There’s something about the Coricidin bottle. It’s this magic. The tone, it’s this sweet spot. It feels really good on the strings, and I swear it sings.”
Photo Lizzy Myers
Guitars
- Gibson Les Paul 1959 Reissue
- Gibson SG 1961 Reissue
- Fender Deluxe Special Stratocaster
Amps
- Ceriatone Overtone Special 50
- Milkman 1x12 with Celestion G12M-65 Creamback
Strings, Picks, Slide
- GHS Boomers .012 sets, on the SG
- Dunlop .010 sets on the Les Paul
- Dunlop Eric Johnson Jazz IIIs
- Coricidin bottle
Effects
- Ceriatone Centura overdrive
- Vertex Dynamic Distortion
- Vertex Ultraphonix Overdrive
- Vertex Boost
- Vertex Steel String Clean Drive
- Xotic EP Booster
- Line 6 DL4 delay
- TC Electronic Hall of Fame Reverb
- T-Rex Tremster
- Dunlop Cry Baby Mini Wah
- Dunlop Volume (X) Mini
- Mojo Hand FX Luna Vibe
Leyhe is so in love with his Overtone Special that it’s the only guitar amplifier on the record. He often rounds out his rig with the other two-thirds of a tonal trinity. “My high-gain tones are definitely the dirty channel on the amp with a freaking Gibson Les Paul,” he shares. “It’s one of the ’59 reissues. Ceriatone also makes a Klon Centaur clone that I use. They call it the Centura, and, man, that thing is so great. As soon as you’re playing the Klon into a Dumble on a Les Paul, it’s like you grew up driving an old Volkswagen Beetle. Now your dad’s giving you the keys to his Maserati and telling you to go have fun on the freeway. [Laughs.] Part of that is using a lot of gain. That’s a technique or a trick that I definitely rely on. I love the tone you get from a lot of gain. Like, Stevie Ray when he’s playing 'Lenny,' he’s definitely using a lot of gain, but, man, you gotta roll back a little bit to get that sound. Jeff Beck does that a ton, too. I’m sure a lot of guys do that, but those are two of my favorite influences for that sort of thing.”
As hairy as Leyhe’s high-gain sound gets, it’s the exact same setup on the more delicate-sounding solos of “The Journey.” The only twist is Leyhe’s secret weapon: a Dunlop Volume (X) Mini Pedal.
“It’s cool because it’s the same setup, but everything’s way dialed back. It’s still nice and fat, but we turned all the gains down, and I’m riding the volume pedal a lot,” explains Leyhe. “The volume pedal really is a big part of my sound. There’s always a little life on the notes because I’m riding the volume most of the time. Between being expressive with it and the tone from this amp, that’s my sound now.”
But Leyhe’s not afraid to dig into his other effects and experiment. He’ll often throw one of his favorite Vertex overdrives on for a different shade of grit or create full-on soundscapes, “giant worlds” as he calls them, with a Line 6 DL4. “The Planetarium” features this technique. “That song’s in the key of D major,” says Leyhe. “So, I’ll build a big D-pad, where I make random noises and get a layer that I can play over. It almost comes off as the synthesizer or something, but it’s a guitar.”
Another of Your First Rodeo’s standout tones is the harmonica solo on “High Street” … except it’s not a harmonica. It’s his trusty Gibson, Ceriatone, and Klon clone. “It sounds like an old Howlin’ Wolf record or something,” he says. “It’s super raw and nasty. There’s this nasty-ass, low, gritty, bluesy thing and this tight, Tower of Power-ish funk thing going on, too.
“I saw the Rolling Stones, Buddy Guy, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, all as an 8-year-old. That was part of my life.”
“Those are the worlds we’re combining there. But it’s just me playing and trying to sound like a harp. I think part of the sound is that the strings were jangly. I tuned way low to C, and I didn’t use the right [gauges] or anything. They were kind of angel hair pasta-ish [laughs]. But it’s cool that way. You don’t do that the whole time. But once is fine, and actually cool.”
Once is right. “High Street” is the only time Leyhe deviates from his two favorite tunings—standard and open E for slide—for the entire album. And while he often uses a pick, he plays slide with his fingers alone.
“I only play slide on my SG. It’s the ’61 reissue, and it barks,” he explains. “I have it strung up with the action really high. Also, I’m in a band called the Alameda All Stars. They were Gregg Allman’s touring band for a good 12 to 15 years. The guitar player in that band, Jellyroll [Marke Burgstahler], gave me a Coricidin bottle slide, and I use that as my main slide. There’s something about the Coricidin bottle. It’s this magic. The tone, it’s this sweet spot. It feels really good on the strings, and I swear it sings.”
Coricidin bottle slide on pinky finger, Leyhe is on the rise at the perfect time. Derek Trucks is at the height of his lauded career, and roots-based players like Justin Johnson, Ariel Posen, and Joey Landreth (The Bros. Landreth) dominate YouTube guitar channels and are hitting the charts. People can’t get enough slide guitar.
On his new album, Jules Leyhe’s winning combo was a Les Paul, a Ceriatone Overtone Special, and a Klon clone. But he doesn’t ever stick to just one guitar. Here he dons a Telecaster, which is the model he started playing with his dad at age 13.
Photo by Bob Hakins
“Slide is the most powerful way of specifically conveying my musical thoughts,” Leyhe says. “It has a heavy sound. You can really get sad and mournful, or you can really rock a room. Like, we were playing last night, some classic Chicago blues romp, and everyone’s shaking their ass. But then I can make people cry playing ‘Amazing Grace’ like we’re at church or something. It’s amazing what you can do. People respond to it so much. If there’s a slide playing a melody well, people melt. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but I’ve seen that over and over. It gives me goosebumps, and it’s what I’m into. It’s this mysterious thing.”
Unfortunately, people may have to wait to hear Leyhe’s slide in person. Like most artists, he hasn’t been able to perform as often as he’d like. But that doesn’t mean you can’t watch him play. Harnessing the power of YouTube, Leyhe created a guitarist’s dream channel full of his performances, lessons, gear overviews, and more. Hell, he may be in front of more fans now than ever.
With a new album, a growing YouTube channel, and even playing the “Star Spangled Banner” at Oakland A’s games, Leyhe is in a good place artistically and career-wise. But the future is calling. He’s already recorded his next album, tentatively titled Dub Blues. If all goes as planned, itwill be another step in lifting the blues into the future.
“It doesn’t have to be like, ‘I went to this blues show, and I heard some slide guitar.’ What if you went to a classical show, or opera, or anything else?”
But Leyhe doesn’t want to go it alone. He hopes his genre-bending forays rub off on his contemporaries. “The blues is in a funny place, and I think it needs to be carried forward with more than chops,” Leyhe says. “I’m trying to say that delicately, but we got to do what the Beatles did in the studio.
“They weren’t going to have two-minute pop tunes forever. They needed to be artists. I want to hear more of the art. I love guys like Josh Smith, Kirk Fletcher, and Eric Gales. Shit, these guys are all amazing. Everybody can ball. If you get guys like Eric Gales, Joe Bonamassa, Josh Smith all playing, that’s an NBA All-Star game. But I’d love for those guys to hear what I’m doing here. I want to hear the imagination that’s on records like Electric Ladyland and Sgt. Pepper’s.”
Whether his heroes share this view, we’ll have to see. But one thing’s for sure, Leyhe’s not putting any limits on his favorite music. Considering slide guitar’s current popularity, he’s happier than ever to bring it to a broader audience.
“I love it, and people love it everywhere. It’s this universal thing. People fucking love slide guitar. So it doesn’t have to be like, ‘I went to this blues show, and I heard some slide guitar.’ What if you went to a classical show, or opera, or anything else? That would be really wild. I’m definitely trying to do my part to bring it into other contexts.”
Jules Leyhe and the Family Jules Band | PayPal: jleyhe@gmail.com
Jules Leyhe and his band played a traditional-flavored blues gig in early 2021, performing as a quartet with guitar, drums, saxophone, and keys. Jump to 43 minutes in to see Leyhe’s slide chops.
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Gibson originally launched the EB-6 model with the intention of serving consumers looking for a “tic-tac” bass sound.
The Gibson EB-6 was announced in 1959 and came into the world in 1960, not with a dual-horn body but with that of an elegant ES-335. They looked stately, with a thin, semi-hollow body, f-holes, and a sunburst finish. Our pick for this Vintage Vault column is one such first-year model, in about as original condition as you’re able to find today. “Why?” you may be asking. Well, read on....
When the EB-6 was introduced, the Bass VI was still a glimmer in Leo Fender’s eye. The real competition were the Danelectro 6-string basses that seemed to have popped up out of nowhere and were suddenly being used on lots of hit records by the likes of Elvis, Patsy Cline, and other household names. Danos like the UB-2 (introduced in ’56), the Longhorn 4623 (’58), and the Shorthorn 3612 (’58) were the earliest attempts any company made at a 6-string bass in this style: not quite a standard electric bass, not quite a guitar, nor, for that matter, quite like a baritone guitar.
The only change this vintage EB-6 features is a replacement set of Kluson tuners.
Photo by Ken Lapworth
Gibson, Fender, and others during this era would in fact call these basses “baritone guitars,” to add to our confusion today. But these vintage “baritones” were all tuned one octave below a standard guitar, with scale lengths around 30", while most modern baritones are tuned B-to-B or A-to-A and have scale lengths between 26" and 30".)
At the time, those Danelectros were instrumental to what was called the “tic-tac” bass sound of Nashville records produced by Chet Atkins, or the “click-bass” tones made out west by producer Lee Hazlewood. Gibson wanted something for this market, and the EB-6 was born.
“When the EB-6 was introduced, the Bass VI was still a glimmer in Leo Fender’s eye.”
The 30.5" scale 1960 EB-6 has a single humbucking pickup, a volume knob, a tone knob, and a small, push-button “Tone Selector Switch” that engages a treble circuit for an instant tic-tac sound. (Without engaging that switch, you get a bass-heavy tone so deep that cowboy chords will sound like a muddy mess.)
The EB-6, for better or for worse, did not unseat the Danelectros, and a November 1959 price list from Gibson hints at why: The EB-6 retailed for $340, compared to Dano price tags that ranged from $85 to $150. Only a few dozen EB-6 basses were shipped in 1960, and only 67 total are known to have been built before Gibson changed the shape to the SG style in 1962.
Most players who come across an EB-6 today think it was a response to the Fender Bass VI, but the former actually beat the latter to the market by a full year.
Photo by Ken Lapworth
It’s sad that so few were built. Sure, it was a high-end model made to achieve the novelty tic-tac sound of cheaper instruments, but in its full-voiced glory, the EB-6 has a huge potential of tones. It would sound great in our contemporary guitar era where more players are exploring baritone ranges, and where so many people got back into the Bass VI after seeing the Beatles play one in the 2021 documentary, Get Back.
It’s sadder, still, how many original-era EB-6s have been parted out in the decades since. Remember earlier when I wrote that our Vintage Vaultpick was about as original as you could find? That’s because the model’s single humbucker is a PAF, its Kluson tuners are double-line, and its knobs are identical to those on Les Paul ’Bursts. So as people repaired broken ’Bursts, converted other LPs to ’Bursts, or otherwise sought to give other Gibsons a “Golden Era” sound and look ... they often stripped these forgotten EB-6 basses for parts.
This original EB-6 is up for sale now from Reverb seller Emerald City Guitars for a $16,950 asking price at the time of writing. The only thing that isn’t original about it is a replacement set of Kluson tuners, not because its originals were stolen but just to help preserve them. (They will be included in the case.)
With so few surviving 335-style EB-6 basses, Reverb doesn’t have a ton of sales data to compare prices to. Ten years ago, a lucky buyer found a nearly original 1960 EB-6 for about $7,000. But Emerald City’s $16,950 asking price is closer to more recent examples and asking prices.
Sources: Prices on Gibson Instruments, November 1, 1959, Tony Bacon’s “Danelectro’s UB-2 and the Early Days of 6-String Basses” Reverb News article, Gruhn’s Guide to Vintage Guitars, Tom Wheeler’s American Guitars: An Illustrated History, Reverb listings and Price Guide sales data.
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
Released in 1983, the Roland SDE-3000 rackmount delay was a staple for pro players of the era and remains revered for its rich analog/digital hybrid sound and distinctive modulation. BOSS reimagined this retro classic in 2023 with the acclaimed SDE-3000D and SDE-3000EVH, two wide-format pedals with stereo sound, advanced features, and expanded connectivity. The SDE-3 brings the authentic SDE-3000 vibe to a streamlined BOSS compact, enhanced with innovative creative tools for every musical style. The SDE-3 delivers evocative delay sounds that drip with warmth and musicality. The efficient panel provides the primary controls of its vintage benchmark—including delay time, feedback, and independent rate and depth knobs for the modulation—plus additional knobs for expanded sonic potential.
A wide range of tones are available, from basic mono delays and ’80s-style mod/delay combos to moody textures for ambient, chill, and lo-fi music. Along with reproducing the SDE-3000's original mono sound, the SDE-3 includes a powerful Offset knob to create interesting tones with two simultaneous delays. With one simple control, the user can instantly add a second delay to the primary delay. This provides a wealth of mono and stereo colors not available with other delay pedals, including unique doubled sounds and timed dual delays with tap tempo control. The versatile SDE-3 provides output configurations to suit any stage or studio scenario.
Two stereo modes include discrete left/right delays and a panning option for ultra-wide sounds that move across the stereo field. Dry and effect-only signals can be sent to two amps for wet/dry setups, and the direct sound can be muted for studio mixing and parallel effect rigs. The SDE-3 offers numerous control options to enhance live and studio performances. Tap tempo mode is available with a press and hold of the pedal switch, while the TRS MIDI input can be used to sync the delay time with clock signals from DAWs, pedals, and drum machines. Optional external footswitches provide on-demand access to tap tempo and a hold function for on-the-fly looping. Alternately, an expression pedal can be used to control the Level, Feedback, and Time knobs for delay mix adjustment, wild pitch effects, and dramatic self-oscillation.
The new BOSS SDE-3 Dual Delay Pedal will be available for purchase at authorized U.S. BOSS retailers in October for $219.99. To learn more, visit www.boss.info.
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.