Michael Gregory Jackson, putting his Superman into it, onstage with his Stratocaster Deluxe.
During the climax of the final piece of an ensemble concert held at a gallery in New Haven, Connecticut, guitarist Michael Gregory Jackson climbed up a stepladder so tall that an acrophobic would have a heart attack just looking at it. Once high up in the sky, Jackson let loose a bucket of ping-pong balls in the direction of the audience. “Kinetic motion, sonically beautiful, startling, if not shocking,” recalls Jackson, “The concept was to break and disturb the plane and formality—the distance between the performers and the audience. To add a little mayhem and surprise. It also sounded great.”
Even as a youth, Jackson already had a rebellious nature. “I ran away from home to see Led Zeppelin’s first American tour. I knew I wasn’t going to get permission to go, but I had to go,” says Jackson. “It was as good as I thought it was going to be. It was great. You know what I mean? They were this incredible band and it was no frills back then. They didn’t have the whole giant stage. They were just four guys up there playing music. That’s my foundation.”
Jackson’s musical horizon has significantly broadened over the decades, to the point where it now defies categorization. Vernon Reid has noted, “Michael Gregory Jackson has always cut a singular musical path on his journey through the many genres that have been his wheelhouse, through many schools of jazz, through alternative rock, and even avant-folk.” Other luminaries like Pat Metheny, Bill Frisell, and Nels Cline have also sung Jackson’s praises. Unfortunately, the more outside the box you are, the harder it is to achieve mainstream notoriety. Jackson has largely remained an unsung guitar hero for decades.
Michael Gregory Jackson - "Prelueoionti" [Excerpt from the album 'Electric Git Box']
The Pathway to a Unique Musical Vision
Originally wanting to be a drummer, Jackson picked up the guitar at age 7 at his father’s urging. He took lessons at the local music store until he was around 14, and by that point he was already impressing audiences daily in his school’s expansive courtyard. In addition to Zeppelin, his early influences were classic rock acts like Hendrix and Eric Clapton. (“Clapton is a bad word these days,” jokes Jackson.) He later got turned on to jazz giants like Wes Montgomery and Grant Green before veering off and checking out more obscure artists. “I was always attracted to different music and still am to this day. My influences are definitely not only guitar players, by any means. I’m really influenced by drummers, saxophone players, and pianists. From the age of maybe about 12 or so, I would buy two records a week completely just based on the cover art. I would not know what the music was. So, one week I’d buy Tauhid by [saxophonist] Pharoah Sanders and the other album would be [rock band] Blue Cheer. And then I would also go to the library and take out all the Nonesuch recordings and anything else that struck my fancy—like Stockhausen and John Cage. There’s nothing that I won’t listen to. I don’t like everything, but I’ll listen to it. Of course, I have my mainstays. A Love Supreme [by John Coltrane] is my Sunday morning music. To this day, I listen to it every, every Sunday. The expansive feeling, emotion, and the meditative quality of that music are really attractive to me.”
A revelation led Jackson to follow and stay true to his own musical path. “I realized very early on that I had something to say, and I wasn’t going to get to the point where I could say it by emulating someone else. I knew that Wes Montgomery was amazing, but I knew I wasn’t going to take the kind of time it took for me to work on that style of music, even though I loved it. I just felt like there’s one Wes Montgomery, there’s one Miles Davis, there’s one John Coltrane, and on and on. So, I had no desire to occupy that particular space.”
I was putting my Superman as opposed to my Clark Kent into it, you know?”
Jackson’s musical inclinations have always reflected an uncommon eclecticism. In the ’70s, he immersed himself in the NYC loft-jazz scene. Not the famed loft scene with jazz giants Michael Brecker, Dave Liebman, and Steve Grossman, but its counterpart: the avant-garde jazz scene with the likes of Henry Threadgill, Oliver Lake, and Anthony Braxton. But playing free jazz was only one facet of Jackson’s musical personality. Simultaneously, he also enjoyed and pursued other musical interests.
In 1979, he landed a deal with Arista Records as an R&B artist and recorded Gifts. Jackson’s rebellious spirit soon came to the forefront. “After Heart & Center, my second record for Arista, I thought that I’d have a deal quickly, as I knew a lot of record people. I was meeting with Clive Davis and he wanted me to be an R&B singer, which I am, but at that particular point in time, that’s not what I was interested in,” recalls Jackson. “I was told if I wanted to play jazz or R&B they would sign me, but they would not sign me playing so-called ‘rock’ music.” In those days, the music business was extremely segregated, and record labels strictly cast white artists as rockers. The record companies pigeonholed Jackson as an R&B singer, not a rock singer. Seeing no pathway for a creative outlet, Jackson asked to be released from Arista Records.
TIDBIT: “It was kind of a fight to play the music because some of it’s difficult, but luckily I’m in touch with that part of myself,” Jackson says of his new album.
“That [being an R&B singer] wasn’t my plan at that time. I was interested in the punk-rock scene and I started my rock band, Signal,” explains Jackson.
Michael Gregory Jackson’s Signal toured extensively up and down the East Coast between 1979 and 1983. But even with a new, harder-edged focus, he was still in tune with his more introspective side. In 1982, he recorded Cowboys, Cartoons and Assorted Candy for the German label Enja, which was originally going to be a live solo performance from the Berlin Jazz Festival in 1981 but ended up being a studio album.
This period turned out to be particularly productive for Jackson. In 1982, he collaborated with the late Walter Becker of Steely Dan. That same year,Nile Rodgers heard him at Seventh Avenue South in NYC, the Brecker Brothers’ club, and proposed getting together. This meeting resulted in Situation-X, an album Rodgers produced for Island Records in 1983, which saw Jackson on lead vocals and guitar, and featured Steve Winwood on keyboards and backing vocals for the track “No Ordinary Romance.” Jackson had shortened his stage name to simply Michael Gregory for that album, to avoid confusion with the pop phenom who shared the same name.
Michael Gregory Jackson’s Gear
A 1959 Gibson SG and a 2006 Fender Stratocaster Deluxe are Michael Gregory Jackson’s two main instruments.
Photo by Gillian Doyle
Guitars
- 1959 Gibson SG
- 2006 Fender Stratocaster Deluxe
Strings & Picks
- Ernie Ball Regular Slinky (.010–.046)
- V-Picks Medium
Amps
- Polytone Mini Brute with Eminence Texas Heat speaker
Effects
- Pigtronix Echolution
- Pigtronix Disnortion
- Modified Boss DS-1
- DigiTech Supernatural
Jackson was very prolific in his rock explorations. At times, he would write five songs a day. But past Situation-X, he couldn’t get Island Records to record and promote another rock album. Disillusioned, Jackson left the music business and took on work helping people with disabilities.
The Healing Power of the Git-Box
In 1988, Jackson returned to the music business with an RCA/BMG album called What to Where. He has since rekindled his passion for improvised music and formed Michael Gregory Jackson’s Clarity Quartet and Trio, among other pursuits.
“The concept with that particular band is to make the songs as concise and powerful as possible within four to five minutes,” Jackson explains. “You hit the ground running. Obviously, there are times when we do a long-term build up into something, but sometimes I just really enjoy getting to it right away. That’s the way playing solo is. I’m not going to generally play a piece for 10 minutes—not that I couldn’t—unless it’s really happening for me at the time. So, I try and make the pieces concise, powerful statements. And structurally, when I’m playing solo, I can move the time around. I can slow down. I can speed up. I can do all these things. ’Cause I have the freedom to do that.”
Jackson’s latest release, Electric Git Box, is an honest reflection of the strife that weighed heavily on the guitarist during the period of the recording. It was a pivotal time in his life. He had made the trip from the East Coast to the West several times a year to escape the cold and had finally decided to permanently relocate from Maine to California. After about six months staying in Airbnbs, Jackson finally found a home in Pasadena. Then, abouttwo months later, just as he was about to immerse himself in the new scene, Covid hit.
Structurally, when I’m playing solo, I can move the time around. I can slow down. I can speed up. ’Cause I have the freedom to do that.
Jackson fell into a deep funk and found it hard to reinvigorate his musical passion. “Maybe a year or more into Covid, I was not feeling that great,” recalls Jackson. “I wasn’t feeling like playing music. I was pretty stressed out by all that was happening—between Covid and the police killings of black people. You know, I was in shock. That first year, especially, was particularly rough and it was a lot to grapple with. When you have things in you and they’re intense, sometimes painful things, sometimes the urge is you don’t feel like letting them out or talking about them. I really had to go inside and do some work on feeling better about things and feeling motivated to play and make music.”
As his spirits slowly lifted, he started picking up his git boxes (Jackson’s endearing term for his guitars) again. He was asked to do some streaming concerts and that kickstarted his musical reawakening. “I decided that I would record the music with some of the edge and angst I was feeling,” says Jackson, who found the timbre of an overdriven guitar sound instrumental in expressing his inner void. “It’s not like I’m playing heavy-metal distorted guitar. It’s a kind of distortion that’s based on blues distortion. Whether it be a harmonica or a guitar, there’s a certain overdriven edge to the music, because a lot of the music is really coming from that expanse of black music. The culture is historical, and the depth of that music is incredible. For me, this was very, very personal music that I really was feeling. I was putting my Superman as opposed to my Clark Kent into it, you know?”
Electric Git Box was recorded over a three-day period and features reworked solo arrangements of Jackson’s earlier compositions, in addition to some new songs. Unlike Jackson’s previous solo guitar release, Cowboys, Cartoons and Assorted Candy, there areno overdubs or loops on Electric Git Box.
Jackson circa 1988, when he returned to the music business after a hiatus with the album What to Where.
Photo by Ebet Roberts
Other than slight delay and reverb, it’s pure-toned solo guitar, which is an extremely difficult format to succeed with. Even the late, great Jim Hall has remarked that solo guitar albums can tend to get boring fast. Electric Git Box is a compelling listen, not because of any Joe Pass-style fretboard wizardry, but because of its undeniable raw emotion and the explicit heart-on-sleeve expression of Jackson’s inner turbulence.
It is akin to a public viewing of emotional surgery, with Jackson’s git box being the only doctor capable of mending his wounds. “I was really feeling it intensely and my feelings were very, very on the surface,” he admits. “It was kind of a fight to play the music because some of it’s difficult, but luckily I’m in touch with that part of myself. I was really in the right place to convey what I was feeling. It’s real and raw, but it’s also with the intensity, fire, and emotional push that I really wasn’t going to keep bottled up. It was really liberating, and it was really saying, ‘I am free. I am powerful. I can say what I want to say.’
“Music is liberation. I am free. It’s not like I don't face what I face here in this country—systemic racism, and all of that. And you know that’s not designed to support me, exactly. So, I, we, have to find ways to live our lives and make our lives enjoyable and functional, and not just be eliminated by that, you know? ’Cause that is the goal of it—to eradicate me—which is a strange thing to live with.”
Pieces like “Karen (Sweet Angel)” and “Theme-X (For Geri Allen),” with their question-and-answer phrasing between haunting chords and despair-filled melodies, explicitly reflect Jackson’s inner turmoil. The wistful, African-influenced “Prelueoionti” sees Jackson using a fingerstyle approach to make his guitar sound like a kalimba—before using his thumb to strum a funky chordal figure with a grooving bass line embedded. “Sweet Rain Blues” opens with angry double-stops, articulated with right-hand thumb and index fingers, in a call and response with fluid pentatonic runs.
The pieces on Electric Git Box reflect a fluidity of form. “I’m not really that concerned with that aspect of the music—song form. Music is a funny thing, you know. It can be analyzed according to anybody’s system. People say the blues is a 12-bar form, and I say the blues can be any form. It was never meant to be one thing and that’s it. I mean, same thing with quote unquote jazz. No one stayed in the same place—Miles or Coltrane or anybody that you’d like never stayed in the same place. There are people that stayed in similar spots because they have a style. But you know, Miles never was interested in going back and doing Sketches of Spain. He just kept moving. And that’s the inspiration for me.”
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Jackson’s Clarity Quartet is an outlet for him to explore new sounds in an ensemble context. “My goal for that quartet is to have them know what their voice is. Obviously, voices are always changing, but to have them know and be secure and strong enough in their voice that they could keep up and play with me,” says Jackson. “Because when I go out and play, I approach it as … I wouldn’t call it a battle, but I’m not leaving anything on the stage.”
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The experience of locking in with the Hawkins brothers for an hour of conversation is not unlike absorbing their gonzo, wildly effervescent take on classic hard rock. To be sure, Justin, 49, the band’s frontman and de facto lead guitarist, and Dan, 48, who plays guitar, produces, and contributes backing vocals, keep you on your toes.
An instance of deep creative insight will jump-cut to a well-executed crude joke with a set-up involving slide guitar, which Justin taught himself to play during Covid lockdown in standard tuning, “not the G cheating tuning.” Passages of admirable self-reflection are interspersed with a freewheeling riff on Kid Rock and a debate about the finer points of crawling up one’s own arse. It’s kind of a blast.
The sad inability of critics and even audiences to reconcile fantastic hard rock with a sense of humor has dogged the Darkness throughout its existence, to the point where Dan believes the “classic rock community” only really came around to the band after Justin and drummer Rufus Taylor performed in Taylor Hawkins’ all-star tribute in 2022. “Finally, ‘Okay, these guys aren’t actually just fucking around,’” says Dan. Fair enough, but what exactly are they doing?
The Darkness’ new album, Dreams on Toast, their eighth LP overall and sixth since reforming in 2011, is quite possibly their strongest set yet. In its wide-ranging, often surprising charms, it somehow manages to muddy the waters even further while also firming up an ethos—namely, that the Darkness are smart rock and pop mastercraftsmen who contain multitudes. Or, as Dan describes their M.O.: “We can do whatever the fuck we want, whenever we want, and we don’t have to worry about it.” Adds Justin, “The funny thing is what we actually want to do is just write timeless songs.”
Dreams on Toast, the British hard-rock band’s eighth full-length, is a testament to their indefatigable belief in the melding of hard-rock riffage with humor.
Justin Hawkins’ Gear
Guitars
- Atkin JH3001
- Atkin Mindhorn JH3000
- Dan’s red Gibson ES-355
- Dan’s Epiphone Casino (for slide)
- Atkin acoustic
- Brook Tavy acoustic
- Taylor 12-string
Justin and Dan’s Amps
- Ampete amp/cab switcher
- Vox AC30 head
- Mesa/Boogie Dual Rectifier
- 1959 Marshall plexi Super Lead
- Marshall 1987X
- Friedman Smallbox
- Friedman BE-100 Deluxe
- Marshall cab with Celestion Greenbacks
Effects
- Boss SD-1 Super Overdrive
- SoloDallas Schaffer Replica
Strings & Picks
- Rotosound Roto Yellows .010s
- Dunlop Tortex .73 mm
Dreams on Toast boasts moments of quintessential Darkness—in, say, “Walking Through Fire,” a hooky rock ’n’ roll behemoth that pays plainspoken tribute to the power of … rock ’n’ roll—and gets even more meta with a winky line about wasting time “shooting yet another shitty video.” For those who’ve followed the band from the start, it can evoke the shock of discovering the Darkness on MTV in 2004, when they were an exuberant burst of Queen-inspired virtuosity amidst so much overwrought post-punk and stylized garage rock. (“I fucking hate videos. I don’t even know why we bother,” shrugs Justin, the centerpiece of several of the most memorable rock vids of the 21st century.)
Elsewhere, Dreams on Toast has a knack for subverting expectations. “The Longest Kiss” leans into the progressive-pop facility of Jeff Lynne, Sparks, or Harry Nilsson. “Hot on My Tail” and “Cold Hearted Woman” are deft examples of rootsy pop writing, finding a niche between honky tonk and transatlantic folk. “The Battle for Gadget Land” engages in campy rap-rock, as if satirizing the nu metal that thrived when the Darkness was founded. It also betrays a British punk influence—a vestige, the brothers ponder, of their father’s excellent musical tastes and his decision to play his sons Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols. Bewilderingly, “Weekend in Rome” features a voice-over by the actor Stephen Dorff.
But the album’s absolute highlights belong to the signature balance that allows the Darkness to remain instantly identifiable while also being custodians of rock’s various traditions. “Rock and Roll Party Cowboy” seems to revel in macho rock clichés, until you notice a reference to Tolstoy in the chorus and realize that the badass at the center of the narrative is in reality a stone-cold loser. “There’s a line in there, which gives it away,” Justin explains, “where he says, ‘Where the ladies at?’” The truth hurts: “The party he’s describing is a disaster.”“The funny thing is what we actually want to do is just write timeless songs.” —Justin Hawkins
The same savvy defines “I Hate Myself,” a punked-up barroom-glam throwback that tackles heartbreak and self-contempt. The song also has a buzzed-about video in which Justin appears, unrecognizable, as a man who wears his grief, vanity, and insecurity on his face as questionable plastic surgery. The clip is startling, cinematic, and willfully not very much fun. Consequently it’s inspired pushback, even within the band. “I think on this record, from the recording to the videos and everything, I think we’re challenging people,” Justin says. “We’re trying to explore genres and visual ideas that we haven’t done before. Like, there’s only two of us on the album cover; me and Dan aren’t even on it.
“It’s like we’re doing everything differently, and in ways that make people go, ‘Well, what the fuck is this?’ I think we’re hopefully positioning ourselves as a band that cares about the art.”
The brothers Hawkins in action. They wrote the songs for Dreams on Toast on an acoustic guitar, face-to-face.
Photo by Gareth Parker
Fraternal Dynamics
Following 2021’s Motorheart, which was built piecemeal in the throes of the pandemic, Dreams on Toast is a welcome return to (literal) face-to-face collaboration. “Pretty much everything on the album was written on an acoustic, me facing Justin,” Dan says. “Holding my gaze,” adds Justin, with a straight face.
“We have quite a lot of success when I’ve just got an acoustic and I’m thrashing away,” Dan posits, though “thrashing away” isn’t quite fair. In fact, the through line tying Dreams on Toast to landmark Darkness singles like “I Believe in a Thing Called Love,” “Christmas Time (Don’t Let the Bells End),” or “Love Is Only a Feeling” is the precision of the craft—the sheer perfection of the sonics and the shape of each song, the seamlessness with which an intro becomes a verse and then a bridge before an earworm chorus breaks down the door. Track after track.
“I think we’ve always been good at arranging,” Dan says. “Sorry to blow our own trumpets, but I think that comes from Justin and my musical upbringing.” To wit: Fleetwood Mac’s pop-rock masterpiece Rumours was on heavy rotation at home. At the outset of his career, after he’d been a drummer and a bass player, Dan only “started playing guitar properly as a session player,” he says. “And that kind of taught me a lot about placing things, when to do things and when not to.
“The only reason I can play guitar is because I wanted to work out how songs were written,” he adds later. At one point during the chat, Justin mentions his experience writing and producing music for commercial clients—something he and his brother continue to partake in, in specific under-the-radar situations. He maintains that work doesn’t inform the Darkness too much, though he does allow that it furthers their understanding of the architecture of songs. “We learn about how they’re built,” he says, “what’s happening underneath the bonnet.”
In the end, Dan explains, the band doesn’t chase down a song in the studio until it’s been properly worked out. “Because there’s no point, is there?” Justin says. A delightful exchange about turds, and the pursuit of polishing them, ensues.
“The only reason I can play guitar is because I wanted to work out how songs were written.” —Dan Hawkins
Dan Hawkins’ Gear
Guitars
- 2000 Gibson Les Paul Standard
- Gibson ES-355
Effects
- Ibanez TS9 and TS808 Tube Screamers
- SoloDallas Schaffer Replica
- Keeley Caverns
- Keeley Katana Boost
Strings & Picks
- Rotosound Roto Greys .011s
- Dunlop Nylon .73 mm
Dreams on Toast features the band’s current lineup with the rhythm tandem of Rufus Taylor, the son of Queen drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist Frankie Poullain. It was produced by Dan, who helms his well-appointed Hawkland Studios in Sussex, England.
Unprompted, he shows us around via Zoom, and in his lighthearted practicality, you get a sense of the study in contrast that the Hawkins brothers have presented since they were boys in the English seaside town of Lowestoft. (For an intimate look at their relationship and the band’s hard-won return, check out the 2023 documentary, Welcome to the Darkness, which will be available on platforms in the States starting in mid April.) The conventional wisdom dictates that Justin is the YouTube personality, the opinionated fount of charisma, falsetto, and unforgettable guitar leads, and Dan is the engine room, the pragmatist and a rhythm ace in the mold of his hero Malcolm Young. It’s definitely not that cut-and-dried; Dan, despite his modesty, can put together a great solo, too, and they’re both affable and entertaining, with the pluck to have forged ahead through physical and personal challenges. But it’s true enough.
“I’ve been in my studio for eight hours a day working on my guitar rig for this next tour,” Dan says, feigning salty exasperation. “I’ve spent so much money.” Enter Justin: “And I learned how to go snowboarding.” Dan is interested in the guitar for “what it is capable of sonically, not necessarily emotionally,” he says. “I imagine that’s like the opposite of how I see it,” his brother replies. “That’s why it works!” says Dan.
“As soon as the amp question comes up … I don’t even know what my settings are,” Justin admits. “I’m more concerned about guitars, and I think Dan’s more concerned about amps.”
Dan the amp man: The younger Hawkins brother manages “Tonehenge,” the wall of amplifiers at his studio which he and his sibling use.
Photo by Gareth Parker
Visiting Tonehenge
Actually, Justin’s response to the amp question is terrific: “You could just send him a picture of the Tonehenge,” he says to his brother, referring to a mouth-watering monument of heads and cabs in Dan’s studio. Dan goes on to explain his wall of sound and how he uses an Ampete switcher to explore various combinations. On Dreams on Toast, he says, we’re hearing plenty of Marshall and Friedman—which “take care of the EL34 stuff”—as well as a Mesa/Boogie Dual Rectifier and a handwired Vox AC30 head that “played a major role.” Dan doesn’t feel compelled to “pull out loads of weird combos,” he says, because “we’ve got a big sound that we need to portray pretty much straight away.” Mission complete.
Guitar-wise, the big takeaway on Dreams on Toast is that we’re hearing less Les Paul than we might be used to on a Darkness record. Dan continues to swear by his 2000 Les Paul Standard, whose high-output 498 humbucker has had a huge impact on the consistency of his sound. “It’s only in recent years that I realized you could actually pull the volume back” and achieve the tone of “a really nice old Les Paul,” he says. His strings have thinned out to .011–.052 after he’d bloodied his fingers one too many times using .013–.054 sets with a wound G.
For his part, Justin has largely moved away from the white Les Paul Customs that became an indelible part of his image long ago, settling into a fruitful partnership with the English brand Atkin, whose esteemed reputation for handcrafted acoustics shouldn’t overwhelm its versatile lineup of electrics. “I know I’ve sort of become synonymous with the white Les Paul, and that’s good; I think every generation should have a white Les Paul player,” he says cheekily. “But maybe my time is gone now. Maybe it’s somebody else’s turn.”
Justin enjoys his Atkin signature models: the Frankenstrat-indebted JH3001 and the JH3000 Mindhorn, an offset with two humbuckers and an LP-style bridge. “I’ve always loved Strats,” he says, beginning to describe his concept for the JH3001. “I’ve always enjoyed the tonal variety, and the way they play is interesting.” But signature instruments are opportunities to correct annoyances and combine archetypes, and so it goes with the 3001.
He wanted a floating, Floyd Rose-style bridge, which would allow him to do dive bombs “and all the things I’ve been teaching myself to do,” he says. (Those shred moves impress as smartly deployed accents to tracks like “Rock and Roll Party Cowboy.”) Justin had long been frustrated with the standard pickup-selector location on Strats and “wanted the electronics to resemble more closely what the Les Pauls do.” A 3-way toggle for two handwound humbuckers can be found on the upper horn, and the wiring is visible via a transparent Perspex pickguard—an homage, perhaps, to Justin’s lovingly remembered Dan Armstrong acrylic guitar (for which he had only the Country Bass pickup). The JH3001, Justin says, is a “FrankenPaul, if you will,” or, as Dan recommends, a “Lesocaster.” The Mindhorn, whose offset body might strike you as a meld of Firebird and Fender, offers Justin the reliability of a Tune-o-matic-type bridge; on other offsets he’s played, like a Jaguar, he’d pick so hard the strings would pop out of their saddles. “Also, the selector’s in the right place for me,” he says.
He also leans on his brother’s collection. One of his go-to instruments for his flourishing slide skills is Dan’s old Epiphone Casino. And Justin explains that Dan’s red Gibson ES-355 was the axe of choice for two of his hardest-hitting solos on the record: the twinned-up lines of “The Longest Kiss” and the breakaway Angus-isms of “I Hate Myself.”
“We’ve got a big sound that we need to portray pretty much straight away.” —Dan Hawkins
Justin’s signature Atkins JH3000 Mindhorn, wielded here, has forced his recognizable white Les Paul into a supporting role.
Photo by Gareth Parker
Solo Break
Which brings us to the choreographed majesty of Justin’s solos across the Darkness catalog—masterpieces in miniature, as hooky and bulletproof as the songs they complement. Justin expounds on his process: “When I’m trying to build a solo, we normally just run the track and I have a go. And usually, I’m going 100 miles an hour, finding phrases and trying to modify them so they don’t sound like where I’ve nicked them from. But the most important thing is that you can sing along to it, so it becomes a countermelody.” He thinks technical dazzle can work beautifully in a solo, but only when it’s held in judicious balance among less-showy principles. “The thing that sets the great guitarists apart from the other ones is the expression,” he says. “I’m talking about dynamics and vibrato.”
His lodestars of lead playing include Mark Knopfler, whose “Tunnel of Love” solo “shows you an infinite number of harmonic choices” atop a straightforward chord sequence. “It’s full of ideas,” he says. “None of it’s showing off; it’s all logic.” Other favorites are similarly thoughtful rockers, among them Brian May and Jeff Beck.
He digs EVH too, though those concepts came later. “There was a guitar teacher in Lowestoft that would teach everybody how to do that—the tapping and all the things that Eddie Van Halen invented,” he recalls. “I didn’t go to that guitar teacher. I was more interested in blues playing, really, and that kind of expression. It wasn’t until later that I thought, ‘Ah, fuck, I kind of wish I’d learned that properly.’ Because now I’m asking my guitar tech how to do it.”
His brother’s lead playing is an inspiration as well, in its ability to surprise and draw contours that Justin simply would not. “He makes interesting choices,” Justin says, “and then I always scratch my head and go, ‘Wow, I would never have thought to play that note.’ So I try and sometimes I think, ‘What would Dan do?’”
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Watch the Darkness rip a trio of exuberant rock ’n’ roll romps to a massive festival audience.
