The great multi-instrumentalist, world music pioneer, and larger-than-life personality is warmly remembered by his friend, veteran music journalist and musician Dan Forte.
People often ask me, “Who was the best musician you ever met?” or, “Who was your favorite interviewee?” I always say David Lindley and David Lindley. Across 47 years and some 1,000-plus interviews, with such fascinating subjects as Frank Zappa and George Harrison and master musicians the caliber of Stéphane Grappelli and James Jamerson, Lindley takes the cake.
Have you ever been too depressed to cry? That’s been my condition since hearing that Lindley died on the morning of March 3 due to complications with long Covid. I did nine articles on David and interviewed him several times more. In the grand scheme of things, it’s very rare for a writer and artist to become friends and have a relationship beyond the interview. But there was a connection from our first meeting, and I was lucky enough to spend quality, “off the clock” time with David.
I’ve been asked to share a few stories about Lindley … not to make it all about Me, but to illustrate what kind of person, as well as musician, he was.
In 1967, I saw the man in Kaleidoscope, arguably the first “world music” rock band, decades before the term was coined. They played an “Electric Band Session” as part of the Berkeley Folk Music Festival. I was not quite 14. Practically every member of the group was a multi-instrumentalist, and David even brought his huge Gibson harp guitar (an early-20th Century Style U) on the road. At one point they’d gotten themselves situated with their chosen instruments when, just before the downbeat, some fan hollered, “Louisiana Man!” They paused, looked at each, and then started exchanging instruments while the crowd laughed. They proceeded to peel off a terrific rendition of Doug Kershaw’s Cajun classic.
Decades later, I interviewed Ben Harper, who was a neighbor of the Lindleys growing up in Claremont, California. He’s about 15 years younger than I am, and when I told him I’d seen the band, we got into a “No way!” “Way!” exchange à la Wayne’s World.
I first interviewed Lindley in 1977, after a United Farm Workers benefit with Jackson Browne and Warren Zevon. Riding to the hotel with Lindley and Zevon, their back-and-forth had me laughing all the way, including a battle of the Long John Silvers: Robert Newton versus Wallace Beery.
Completing the interview a month later at his home, David allowed me into the “inner sanctum,” where instruments took nearly all floor and wall space—guitars, steels, banjos, mandolins, fiddles, viola de gamba, saz, tar, cümbüş, the Gibson harp guitar, and more. Regarding his approach to disparate instruments, he said, “You know how an ant can taste and hear and smell with one organ—this all-encompassing feeler? That’s more what it’s like … being an ant.”
Blurring lines between traditional and iconoclastic, he studied, investigated, incorporated, and became a prominent voice in styles spanning the globe, on more instruments than even he knew. He said, “I played all kinds of things which were ‘not played’ on guitar.” This included bowing an electric guitar. He laughed, “And it wasn’t Jimmy Page.”
David Lindley lays into a vintage Silvertone. Dan Forte recalls, “He was the first guy I saw in a major act playing Silvertone amp-in-case models or a Dan Armstrong London with two sliding pickups—extracting killer tones—leading me down a rabbit-hole hunt for Goyas and Zim-Gars.”
Photo by Ebet Roberts
In the process, he expanded the parameters of popular music, stylistically and instrumentally, to a degree that precious few can claim.
His inspiration for taking up lap steel was the late bluesman Freddie Roulette. But of influences on the instrument, he said, “I’m basically a sax player”— naming King Curtis, Junior Walker, and David Sanborn.
Obituaries lump him in with soft rock, which was true of much of his ’70s work. But the highlights of countless Jackson Browne concerts were Lindley’s incandescent lap-steel solos on “Doctor My Eyes” and “Running on Empty.” And his performances were also an indelible part of hits by Linda Ronstadt, Rod Stewart, Zevon, Dolly Parton, and many more.
When it finally came time for a solo album, 1981’s El Rayo-X defied and exceeded all expectations. It was mature, fully realized, and original; eclectic but cohesive. Rather than present a Whitman’s sampler of various styles, he said, “I wanted to have a coherent theme to the whole thing.
“You know how an ant can taste and hear and smell with one organ—this all-encompassing feeler? That’s more what it’s like … being an ant.”—David Lindley
His associates were eager to sing his praises, and I was able to interview several. Booker T. Jones said, “He’s the one who makes the band go,” while Ry Cooder declared, “He has the sensitivity that allows him to grasp what the hell is going on.”
Graham Nash described a session with Lindley on fiddle: “I said, ‘I’d like you to stand on the street corner and play like an old bum.’ And he said, ‘Boy, that’s real easy for me.’”
Ronstadt offered, “He just instinctively gravitates towards something that is extremely high-quality and has integrity in whatever art form he’s contemplating—which is a lovely thing to have.”
Although Lindley supports Jackson Browne on round-neck guitar here, the highlights of countless Browne concerts were Lindley’s incandescent lap-steel solos on “Doctor My Eyes” and “Running on Empty.”
Photo by Ebet Roberts
And Browne stated, “I can’t even call it ‘my music’ when I think about David, because he’s such an integral part of it."
The band David put together, also named El Rayo-X, was without question one of the top five live bands I ever saw. And I saw Jimi Hendrix twice! Mr. Dave had me open for them in 1981, when my surf combo Cowabunga had only done three gigs. But I got to actually play with David in ’98, as part of the Festival d'été de Québec City’s “guitar summit,” featuring Martin Simpson, Bob Brozman, percussionist Wally Ingram, and Lindley on acoustic Hawaiian Weissenborn slide. During a mini-rehearsal, I’m guessing he could sense that I was nervous. (Wouldn’t you be?) But he put me at ease, and wanted to give me a chunk of the spotlight. I asked him if he still did “Brother John,” the Wild Tchoupitoulas song. I had a second line take on “Limbo Rock,” so we stitched them together. Somewhere during my solo, I quoted War’s “Low Rider,” and Lindley was on it in a millisecond.
Things That Lindley Fans Might Not Know About Him
• Correlating his musical aptitude and high school track career, he said, “I could run hurdles the first time—I knew what I was doing. So, they put me in the 120 low hurdles.”
• Also, during high school, he played flamenco in a guitar duo.
• The bane of Lindley’s existence was that loud knock from housekeeping—despite threatening signs he affixed to hotel doors. As good as he was with voices, his impersonation of a mad dog just inside the door was so convincing, the next sound was that of the maid running for dear life.
• He was a great cartoonist, illustrating his solo CDs with comical self-portraits.
• David once mentioned that Peter Lewis of Moby Grape was his cousin. I said, “Isn’t he Loretta Young’s son?” “Yep.” “So, Loretta Young is your aunt?” It’s true: Lindley was part of the same gene pool as the epitome of Hollywood glamor.
• At a time when female producers were extremely rare, he asked Ronstadt to helm his fourth solo album, Very Greasy.
• He was an expert marksman and archer.
• He and guitarist/producer Henry Kaiser traveled to Madagascar to record the acclaimed A World Out of Time albums with indigenous musicians, resulting in considerable income for the Malagasy players and citizens.
The Zone
I’ve always been fascinated with the so-called “zone” musicians sometimes achieve, like a basketball player with a hot hand, when you play something you didn’t know you could. It doesn’t require virtuosity, but the chances for someone with Lindley’s talent surely improves the odds. He described the sort of out-of-body experience. “I fail a lot. When that happens, that’s when you have to fall back on all the mechanical stuff and technique,” he told me in 2006. But being in the zone, he said, was like watching himself from three feet away.
“The bane of Lindley’s existence was that loud knock from housekeeping. His impersonation of a mad dog just inside the door was so convincing, the next sound was that of the maid running for dear life.”
I’ve thought about what influence, if any, David had on me. Not as a guitarist, really, because I can’t play like him; no one can. But he was the first guy I saw in a major act playing Silvertone amp-in-case models or a Dan Armstrong London with two sliding pickups— extracting killer tones—leading me down a rabbit-hole hunt for Goyas and Zim-Gars. He even gave me my pen- and stage-name, Teisco Del Rey. Then there was his clothes. Need I say more?
He was a serious musician not taking himself too seriously. He didn’t hide his wacky sense of humor in order to make music of the highest order. That’s the dichotomy. He wrote songs like “Sport Utility Suck,” “Cat Food Sandwiches,” and “When a Guy Gets Boobs,” and told hilarious stories onstage. He led audiences in singalongs to Frizz Fuller’s “Tiki Torches at Twilight.” So, you’d see this leprechaun in garish polyester, talking about Krispy Kreme donuts, and then he’d play something beautiful like his “Quarter of a Man” or something biting like "Revenge Will Come” [for every child kept down].
He gave me permission to display all sides of my personality, and you have that permission too. We have him to thank for that and so much more.
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It’s almost over, but there’s still time to win! Enter Stompboxtober Day 30 for your shot at today’s pedal from SoloDallas!
The Schaffer Replica: Storm
The Schaffer Replica Storm is an all-analog combination of Optical Limiter+Harmonic Clipping Circuit+EQ Expansion+Boost+Line Buffer derived from a 70s wireless unit AC/DC and others used as an effect. Over 50 pros use this unique device to achieve percussive attack, copious harmonics and singing sustain.
Kevin Shields of My Bloody Valentine is one of the loudest guitarists around. And he puts his volume to work creating mythical tones that have captured so many of our imaginations, including our special shoegaze correspondent, guitarist and pedal-maestro Andy Pitcher, who is our guest today.
My Bloody Valentine has a short discography made up of just a few albums and EPs that span decades. Meticulous as he seems to be, Shields creates texture out of his layers of tracks and loops and fuzz throughout, creating a music that needs to be felt as much as it needs to be heard.
We go to the ultimate source as Billy Corgan leaves us a message about how it felt to hear those sounds in the pre-internet days, when rather than pull up a YouTube clip, your imagination would have to guide you toward a tone.
But not everyone is an MBV fan, so this conversation is part superfan hype and part debate. We can all agree Kevin Shields is a guitarists you should know, but we can’t all agree what to do with that information.
This episode is sponsored by Fender.
Learn more: https://www.fender.com./
He’ll forever be remembered for his unparalleled mastery of the Telecaster, but Roy Buchanan kept an open mind when it came to his guitars.
Perhaps you’ve read something where an artist or a brand is dubbed “authentic.” It’s marketing hype that’s both real and manufactured, but I assure you it can be both a legit and important concept. The problem is when it gets used in the first person. Who judges whether something is authentic or not? Critics? Magazines? The internet? A brand itself? What does it mean to you? We often refer to things as the “real deal,” so is that the same? Not exactly.
The real deal can be something that is what it purports to be—like a working cowboy. But if you see his hat brand in a store in New York, is that authentic? If you think this is splitting hairs, you might be right. We’d like to think that when we choose a guitar to play, our desire for playability and sound is at the forefront of the decision-making process, and mostly it is. But that blacked-out, pointy axe with the studded strap just won’t fly in your bro-country cover band, so you glom onto a paisley Telecaster, even though it doesn’t feel as good to you. Does this make you authentic? Personally, I’d love to see some chicken pickin’ on that pointy fiddle. Busting down barriers and breaking rules is the spirit of expression and creativity, and that’s authentic.
There’s no shame in honoring tradition and nodding in reverence to your influences, but you don’t have to bow down so low that you can’t be yourself, too. I used to think I was a “Gibson guy.” To a large extent, I still am, but many of you know my love of the Strat and Tele. My music room is full of other brands that I adore and use for certain applications. I believe that you have to use an instrument, effect, or amplifier to get what you need for the situation you’re in, no matter what the social connotation is.
“If Roy freaking Buchannan can rock out on a Les Paul or a Hamer Standard, you can break some rules, too.”
One night in the late 1970s, I answered the phone at the Hamer Guitars factory, mostly to see who on Earth would call at that late hour. To my surprise it was Roy Buchanan, the original master of the Telecaster. He wanted to chat about our Sunburst model that was fairly new to the market. His questions revolved around scale length, fretboard width, fret size, and weight. When I asked why he was interested in our guitar when he was known for playing Telecasters, he told me that he already had one of our Explorer-shaped Standard model guitars! I found this even more puzzling than the fact that Roy Buchanan had cold-called our office at night. Roy went on to say that in the studio he used a lot of different guitars, including a Les Paul with P-90s that he liked a lot. He used the Tele onstage, he said, “because people expect me to do all those Telecaster things.” He didn’t ask me to ship him a guitar for free or inquire about an artist discount. He said he’d check one out at a dealer. I recommended one near him, and we said goodnight. I began to wonder if it was a crank call.
I’d forgotten the whole episode until recently, when I saw a newspaper photograph of Roy Buchanan with his young daughter, Jennifer. I thought about how happy they looked and how sad it was that his death had stolen that little girl’s father from her. And right there in that photo, he’s playing that Hamer Standard. I’m not gonna lie and say that I didn’t cry.
So there it is, folks. If Roy freaking Buchanan can rock out on a Les Paul or a Hamer Standard, you can break some rules, too. I’m certain that he was most comfortable onstage with that beat-up old Tele, but it wasn’t his only love. It’s just the one that people think of when they imagine the authentic guy.
Songwriters often say they strive for connection through authenticity in their music and lyrics. And at the very core, that’s what it’s about—human connection. If you love that cowboy hat and live in Philadelphia, I’m not going to criticize you—just go ahead and wear it, dude. It’s about wearing the hat for its intended purpose, not putting it on to hope it makes you authentic.
Introducing the Martin M-6 and M-7 Johnny Marr signature guitars, featuring a unique seven-string configuration to honor Marr's sound.
The standout feature of the Martin M-7 is its unique seven-string configuration, adding an octave G string to the mix. This design delivers Marr’s unmistakable jangle, making it perfect for replicating the lush, intricate sounds of his most iconic tracks. Also available as a standard six-string model, the M-6, and designed in close collaboration with Marr, these guitars feature a genuine mahogany neck with a full-thickness profile and slightly thinner width at the nut for a unique feel, allowing for fluid transitions and complex chord structures.
Wide like a Jumbo with the thickness of a 000, its Grand Auditorium (0000/M) body size ensures plenty of comfort and projection while offering a precise distinction between the treble and bass. Equipped with LR Baggs Anthem electronics, these guitars ensure your sound is perfectly captured on stage or in the studio with volume, mix, mic level, and phase controls.
“I've now got my own signature guitar that makes me sound like in the studio when I've put this really great old compressor on it with a great mic and a little hint of the high string in there,” says Marr. “All of these things that I do on record using a few guitars, I've all got it in the one guitar that I can carry around with me, and if I go play with a pal or go and guest with someone, I sound like me.”
Marr’s history with Martin guitars is storied – his beloved 1971 D-28 has been the backbone of several classic Smiths songs, including “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out” and “Cemetry Gates.” The M-6 and M-7 pay homage to that legacy while ushering in a new era of sonic possibilities. A hardshell case and exclusive Souldier™ strap are included.
For more information, please visit martinguitar.com.