The self-proclaimed pedal geek lists his faves in five categories.
I am writing this column for two reasons: One, I was asked to and I thought "why not?" and two, I am a pedal geek. But I am serious about pointing out that, with all the chatter and obsessiveness surrounding equipment generally, and effects pedals specifically, all that matters is what you like.
That could just as well be an amplified wire hooked to a eucalyptus tree going into an old radio or some fabulous overpriced vintage guitar combined with a boutique amp and 23 Illuminati-approved effects pedals. Freedom of expression is what I am about, and gear is innocent fun! But please, let me invoke the brilliant Neil Young lyric that opens "Hippie Dream" before I undertake my arduously-considered mini-list of "essential" effects pedals" (I wish the number had been 10, and I already cheated and combined distortion, fuzz, and overdrive as one!): "Take my advice: don't listen to me"....
1. Volume
I have owned several volume pedals since the '70s. My first was a Morley with the photo-sensor system, and though cumbersome as hell and AC-powered, it was great. After compromising over the years with ones that are lighter and rather structurally unsound, I have ended up with the Boss FV-500. It looks like something on Buck Rogers' spaceship, and I have only broken two of them—which, for me, feels like victory. I use the volume pedal constantly and have ever since I got wind of Steve Howe and Robert Fripp in the early '70s. Constantly shaping/changing volume while keeping the same tone, the "violin effect" (swelling up just after picking), and keeping any single coil-derived 60-cycle hum at bay are just a few reasons why I rely on this item so heavily. That said, holding one foot on the volume pedal while keeping my weight on my other foot has taken a bit of a toll on my aging skeleton, though I am able to use either foot.
2. Distortion/Fuzz/Overdrive
This could quickly become overly complicated ... but I like distortion, and nowadays we delineate between "fuzz," "overdrive," and "distortion," so I will cave and do it as well.
Fuzz: I own a zillion fuzzboxes. I don't often acquire them as part of a search for "classic" fuzz sounds, however. This is a beautiful time for boutique effects pedals, and there are so many great ones out there, and I love them: the Fulltone '69 (classic), Uglyface (ultra-wild), Creepy Fingers MkI (classic), Catalinbread Octapussy (classic), Mid-Fi Electronics Random Number Generator (super sick), and the Devi Ever Soda-Meiser and/or White Spider (classic and sick) are just a few favorites. But the one I always bring along is the Z.Vex Fuzz Factory. Henry Kaiser turned me onto this thing ages ago, and I use it both in its wild, aleatoric mode and in a narrowed, "castrated" mode (after other pedals, which tames it) with equal effectiveness and joy. With Wilco, I use it in "tamed" mode for near-infinite controlled feedback and serious grunge. The pedals themselves are now rather legendary for their fabulous look—I treasure my custom-painted little Z.Vex boxes. I also use the Fuzz Factory on many an improvised music gig for all kinds of sonic mayhem—from sublime to vile. I rely on it!
Overdrive: I am one of those Klon Centaur cultists. This is another box that Henry Kaiser turned me on to years ago—when one could actually buy one! Back then (late '90s), it was the most expensive pedal I'd ever bought at more than $300, but now ... forget it! The thing is so great sounding, versatile, has plenty of gain, cleans up nicely, yet can drive hard. But what to do if you can't spend $650+ on the rare one you might see on eBay? Simple: get a Sarno Music Solutions Earth Drive. I have never seen one in a store, and I am not sure that Brad Sarno and his lovely wife are ready for an onslaught of orders (should I be sorry?), but the thing is inexpensive and almost as fabulous as a Centaur. It's much smaller, so it's what I bring on trips with my own band/improvisers (I must travel with lots of little pedals wrapped in socks in a little Pelican case when not with mighty Wilco).
I admit to not understanding the Tube Screamer thing—that mushy, underpowered green box. Sorry! So take this (and everything I write here) with several grains of salt. I've also enjoyed overdrive items by Crazy Tube Circuits, Fairfield Circuits, JAM Pedals, Catalinbread, and Walrus Audio. Henry K. even showed me the delights of the Tech 21 Randy Bachman pedal! But again, just use what works for you.
Distortion: I ended up loving the '70s-era Marshall Guv'nor distortion after many Pro Co Rat years. But the input/output jacks disintegrate and nothing fits into those big holes left after that plastic decays. The Z.Vex Box Of Metal almost stole my heart with its super-shaping tone knobs and cool gate option (it is good). Then I discovered the Crazy Tube Circuits Starlight, which is just as rich and creamy as a Rat or Guv'nor but has even more oomph—more presence (whatever that means). Made in Greece and marketed by Tone Concepts in Toronto, it's a killer. I am still a bit baffled as to why there are so few "distortion" options as opposed to "fuzz" and "overdrive," but as a previously-admitted Howe and Fripp guy, sometimes I want loud, creamy-with-definition, sustaining distortion for soaring, non-screeching melodic wailing. Between my old Guv'nors and the Starlight, I can get it.
Cline's late 2011 Wilco pedalboard is home to some of his favorite overdrive, distortion, and fuzz pedals: the Klon Centaur, Z.Vex Fuzz Factory, and Crazy Tube Circuits Starlight, among other tone toys.
3. Compression
I use the humble and sometimes maligned Boss CS-3 compressor pedal and have for ages. I played with two guitarists in the '80s who turned me on to the advantages of the compressor pedal: Nick Kirgo (in a band I was in called BLOC) and Bill Frisell (when we played together with Julius Hemphill). I usually use the compressor as a clean boost plus sustainer. It brings idiomatic sounds out of my guitar such as harmonics and string sounds behind the bridge and above the nut. It enables me to play a clean sound over any looping (my old looper requires a constant balancing act between the loop and the playing levels). And sometimes the compressed tone is just damn pleasing. I like the latch on/off on Boss pedals a lot—especially on the compressor when one can kick it in midstream and it just squishes on rather than pops on. I also really dig the Pigtronix Philosopher's Tone, which Jimmy Vivino turned me on to. I think it sounds better than the CS-3. but I'm an old dog.
4. Delay/Echo
The inimitable Electro-Harmonix 16 Second Digital Delay on Cline's board.
I used to always use an Echoplex for delay until it became too unwieldy—and back in the late '80s people actually ridiculed me for using it along with "stompboxes" instead of rack units and MIDI controllers. I sigh sadly as I ponder how many of those alleged "essentials" are rusting in landfills as I write this. Anyway, I now prefer a Keeley-modded Boss DD-3 pedal. The Keeley modifications provide some "warmer" delay effects choices while I am still able to get my old DD-3 weirdness happening (as in, really fast, heavy repeat-laden, digital-sounding, electro spazz-outs that I can cut on and off with no trail off). And, of course, I can get simple, tasteful bounce. I can get by with a plain old DD-3, too, but the Keeley one is just a bit better. I am not married to delay and reverb the way many guitarists seem to be, but I do want it when I want it. I also adore the Electro-Harmonix Deluxe Memory Man, Fulltone Tube Tape Echo, and the like, but try carrying all that stuff around in an under-50-pound suitcase! Runner up in the "Super Cool" and "Original Delay Dept.": the new Catalinbread Echorec, which has wild multi-delays and warble modeled on the classic Binson Echorec—beautiful. And it's small!
5. Looper
This last pick was almost a tie between the DigiTech Whammy Pedal and the mention of my antiquated and super-scarce Electro-Harmonix 16 Second Digital Delay (which would have been even more cheating on my part). I use them both all the time. I much prefer the original Whammy (the smaller red one) and have had some really aggravating experiences with the newer, "reissue" (the big red one that's not really a reissue at all—it's just red). But I am so lost without my old EH 16 Second. I have used it since Bill Frisell showed me his (he is the master) back in 1985. It's always recording, one can drop sounds into the loop non-destructively, do reverse (everything does reverse these days, but alas), it's small, It's magic. It's also rare as hens' teeth, and after writing this column it may be even more difficult to get! Too bad. To me, it's one of the coolest things ever, and I rarely leave home without it. I have tried other things; the nice folks at Electro-Harmonix even gave me a wonderful 2880 to mollify me since their "reissue" also wasn't a reissue and didn't do what the old one did at all, and I'd whined loudly and irritatingly about it. I think it was the first gratis piece of gear I ever got, and it came with a sweet note from Mike Matthews and everything—amazing! But sadly for me, the EHX 16 Second DD is all I like (try to find one and then try to afford one—my first one I got used for $225). It's become a part of my playing and my sound, especially in my own music (The Nels Cline Singers, et al), and with improvisers.
Well, that's it. Take from it what you will. I am just ... me. I hook up all my stuff and think to myself every time: "I have so much fun wherever I go!" Enjoying, making, manipulating, surrendering to the world of sound. You can do it with almost anything—clap your hands together, or hum, or whatever it is you do ... just enjoy.
[Updated 11/8/21]
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An '80s-era cult favorite is back.
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
Victory Figured Top Iguana BurstThe English guitarist expands his extensive discography with 1967: Vacations in the Past, an album paired with a separate book release, both dedicated to the year 1967 and the 14-year-old version of himself that still lives in him today.
English singer-songwriter Robyn Hitchcock is one of those people who, in his art as well as in his every expression, presents himself fully, without scrim. I don’t know if that’s because he intends to, exactly, or if it’s just that he doesn’t know how to be anyone but himself. And it’s that genuine quality that privileges you or I, as the listener, to recognize him in tone or lyrics alone, the same way one knows the sound of Miles Davis’ horn within an instant of hearing it—or the same way one could tell Hitchcock apart in a crowd by his vibrantly hued, often loudly patterned fashion choices.
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.
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“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.
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The majestic Roland Space Echo is having a bit of a resurgence. Here’s a breakdown on what makes it tick, and whether or not it’s right for you.
In this article, we delve into one of the most cherished gadgets in my guitar collection, the Roland Space Echo RE-201. This iconic piece of equipment has been used by legendary musicians like Jonny Greenwood, Brian Setzer, and Wata from Boris, which only heightened my desire to own one. A few years ago, I was fortunate to acquire a vintage RE-201 in good condition and at a reasonable price.
Using the RE-201 today has its advantages and disadvantages, particularly due to its size, which is comparable to an amplifier head. When compared to modern equivalents like delay pedals or software plugins that closely emulate the original, the vintage RE-201 can seem inefficient. Here, I share my personal and subjective experience with it.
The RE-201 is a tape echo/delay effect that gained popularity in the 1970s and ’80s. Unlike the more complex analog BBD delays or digital delays, tape delays use magnetic tape to simultaneously record and play back sound via a magnetic tape head (similar to a guitar or bass pickup). Because the recording head and playback head are in different physical locations, there is a time gap during the recording and playback process, creating the “delay” effect. This concept was first discovered by Les Paul in the 1950s using two tape machines simultaneously.
However, this method has a drawback: The magnetic tape used as a storage medium has a limited lifespan. Over time, the quality of the tape degrades, especially with continuous use. This degradation is marked by muddy, wavy sounds and unavoidable noise. Yet, this is precisely where the magic of real tape echo lies! New tapes produce clearer, hi-fi sounds, while older tapes tend to produce wavy sounds known as “modulated delay.” Additionally, increasing the number of tape-head readers extends the gap time/delay time of the output, and activating multiple tape-head readers simultaneously creates unique echo/delay patterns.
“This degradation is marked by muddy, wavy sounds and unavoidable noise. Yet, this is precisely where the magic of real tape echo/delay lies!”
Just as how fuzz and distortion effects were discovered, the “imperfections” of tape also represent a historical fact about how the creative process in music follows an absurd, non-linear, and unique pattern. In everyday practical life, signal delay is something typically avoided; however, in a musical context, delay adds a deeper dimension. Today, it’s hard to imagine a pedalboard without a delay effect at the end of the chain.
This uniqueness inspired me to create Masjidil Echo, embracing the “imperfection” of a vintage tape echo/delay with magnetic tape that hasn’t been replaced for years. Many newer pedals, such as the Boss RE-20, Strymon El Capistan, and the Catalinbread Echorec and Belle Epoch, draw inspiration from vintage tape repeat machines. Each has its unique interpretation of emulating tape echo, all in a more compact and maintenance-free format. Real tape delay requires periodic maintenance and has mostly been discontinued since the mid 1980s, with Roland ceasing production of the Space Echo entirely in 1985.
However, in recent years, interest in real tape echo has surged, perhaps due to nostalgia for past technology. As a result, many vintage delay units have appeared on marketplaces at increasingly gargantuan prices! If you’re considering acquiring one, I recommend thinking it over carefully. Are you prepared for the maintenance? Will you use it for regular performances? Are you ready for the fact that magnetic tape will become increasingly difficult to find, potentially turning your machine into a mere display piece? I don’t mean to instill fear, but the real deal, in my opinion, still can’t be fully emulated into a more practical and future-proof digital format.
So, I’ll leave you with one final question for consideration: What if the genealogy of technology were reversed chronologically, with multihead/multitap delay discovered digitally in the 1950s, and in the 2000s, a technological disruption led to the invention of mechanical tape echo to replace digital technology? Which would you choose?