After more than 50 years of making music, Ry Cooder returns to his roots with The Prodigal Son, a trenchant spiritual quest that shows he’s still fascinated as ever by the deep mystery of how music connects us to one another.
Ry Cooder has never been the type to just sit on his hands and shut up. It comes through in his earliest solo work, from his 1970 rendition of Blind Alfred Reed's “How Can a Poor Man Stand Such Times and Live?" to his own three-album “California trilogy" of Chávez Ravine (2005), My Name Is Buddy (2007) and I, Flathead (2008): a restless and relentlessly incisive voice, always speaking truth to power, always aligned with the underdog. Not that Cooder is a political firebrand—far from it, in fact—but in the vein of one of his heroes, Woody Guthrie, he feels compelled to call out injustice when he sees it. And he sees a lot of it.
Of course, his approach to the guitar meshes with his personality: unhurried, unadorned, and unusually reverent of tradition, without being tethered to it. His technical prowess and expressiveness with the instrument is legendary, whether he's channeling the solitude and vast open spaces of Wim Wenders' film Paris, Texas or conversing with Malian guitar hero Ali Farka Toure on the 1994 classic Talking Timbuktu. Deeper still, his ability to capture and commit to a sound, especially in the bygone Afro-Cuban rhythms and melodies of Buena Vista Social Club, or in the modernized blues of John Lee Hooker's late-career resurgence-spurring Mr. Lucky, has positioned Cooder as a producer with a remarkably sharp ear for what works in service to a song.
That said, The Prodigal Son, Cooder's first solo outing since 2012's outspoken and agitated Election Special, is the work of an artist who's taking a hard look at the world around him, as well as a look back to the music of his eclectic Southern California upbringing. “When I was in high school," Cooder reminisces, “this country music radio station here in L.A. was sort of aimed at the defense plant workers that had come out to work in the aircraft factories. So at that time, you had Ray Price leading the pack with his honky-tonk band, which I was absolutely nuts about. The thing I lived for every day was to get home from school and turn the radio on, and then I'd sit there and wait for something to happen."
Along with Price, he discovered Wynn Stewart, one of the early proponents of what became the “Bakersfield sound" in country music. “If I'd have been really smart, I would've gotten on a bus to Bakersfield," Cooder says, “and gone to the Hub Café, where all these guys were playing. You could've seen them onstage. It would've been probably life-changing, as people say. I mean, I might not have come back!"
Lucky for us, he picked up a Martin guitar, eventually got his hands on a Fender Stratocaster (which he grabbed new off the rack at the Fender factory in 1967, just as he was heading into the studio with Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band for their seminal debut album Safe As Milk), and kept moving. Over the years, Cooder has developed a slide sound that has become instantly recognizable, in no small measure thanks to his famous “Coodercaster," a modified '60s Strat that he outfitted with a wider C-shaped neck and a Hawaiian lap-steel pickup near the bridge to reduce the level of “screech" that comes from using the glass slide on roundwound strings. (Cooder uses flatwound strings on his '67 Strat; he first made the switch to get a better bottleneck sound, but as the Coodercaster took over that role, he found that keeping flats on the Strat gave him a warmer, softer sound reminiscent of Curtis Mayfield.) He never uses a pick unless it's on his thumb, and his fingerpicking style, borrowed and built upon from years of listening to blues masters like Blind Willie Johnson (a prominent influence on The Prodigal Son), is so earthy you can almost feel the dust being kicked up when he plugs into a small vintage amp—a '50s Gretsch Artist among them.
TIDBIT: Ry Cooder's 16th studio album, The Prodigal Son, was recorded at engineer Martin Pradler's Wireland Studios and at Sage & Sound Recording in Hollywood. Cooder arranged a collection of strategic old-school gospel covers, mixed with a few originals, and he also played bass on most of the tracks.
Overall, The Prodigal Son is a triumph of intimate recording. Tracked with Cooder's son Joachim—now 39 and a trusted collaborator—on drums at engineer Martin Pradler's Wireland Studios and at Sage & Sound Recording in Hollywood, the album features ingeniuous covers of classics like the Pilgrim Travelers' gospel ode “Straight Street," Blind Alfred Reed's haunting “You Must Unload," and the Stanley Brothers' soulful bluegrass anthem “Harbor of Love," as well as Cooder's arrangements of Johnson's “Nobody's Fault But Mine" and the title cut.
Comprised largely of first and second takes, with Cooder even playing bass on most of the songs, the album is pristinely mixed, and yet it projects an edgy but controlled rawness—a bluesy and distinctly American wail—that has come to signify Cooder's timeless guitar sound. On his own song “Shrinking Man," for example—a dry, Dylan-esque send-up on growing old and searching for hope in a heartless society—Cooder wrenches a perfectly jangly tone from a vintage Kent Electric Mandola that helps define the character of the song.
“Recording is a funny thing," Cooder notes, “because nobody will teach you this. It's just not taught. It's not like somebody sat me down and explained everything about microphones and wires and gain structure and what happens in the studio. I had to learn by doing, and I was lucky to be able to learn it. I mean, it's taken me a lifetime, but I'm always messing with stuff, and I have to say, at age 71, thankfully, I feel like I'm there, you know?"
The Prodigal Son seems to point specifically to a coming back home to something deep and essential. Is that how making this album felt for you?
Oh, it's hard to say how you feel when you make an album. I mean, each tune is a little problem to solve, so it's an experiment every time, I guess, although I have to say after having done this for 50-odd years, I'm a little more certain that I know what's going to happen. It's not like being in the dark all the time, like I used to think. I was always puzzled.
But after all this time, I have Joachim with me now, so there's a degree of certainty there because he's a good colleague. That makes a lot of difference. We get a little idea, we try it, and if it's good then we go on to the next one. When it's done and you look it over, then you say, “Oh I see, this is about the Prodigal Son, so it's some kind of quest. For what? [Laughs.] What do these tunes suggest?" To me, empathy and sympathy among people. Why? Because it's hard to find. It's like Buddy the red cat [from My Name Is Buddy] searching for solidarity. It's the same thing really—Buddy was the prodigal son, after all. What was he looking for? He was looking for fellow feeling. So in this case, we say simply let's be empathetic and let's be sympathetic to one another. Treat a stranger right, as Blind Willie Johnson says.
Along those lines, you draw on a wealth of influences with the songs you chose to interpret—some of them familiar, like Blind Willie Johnson (“Nobody's Fault But Mine"), and then others maybe less so, like Blind Roosevelt Graves (“I'll Be Rested When the Roll Is Called") and William L. Dawson (“In His Care"). How did you go about choosing them?
Well, I knew those tunes. Roosevelt Graves, I've known that song for a long time. I don't really know who he was. He seems to be one of these peripheral characters, and he recorded with his brother, who was not even named, so it's always “Blind Roosevelt Graves and brother," which is funny. It's kind of mysterious, but I love that song. That's my best shot at sounding like Roosevelt Graves—who's really good. He didn't do just gospel, either. He did secular tunes and comic songs, and he sounds almost like a minstrel player—kind of like Emmett Miller. But who knows who some of these people are?
I had a Folkways 10" of “In His Care" [performed by Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee] when I was pretty young. It was probably the first gospel song I ever heard, and I loved it. It was really stomping, and I thought, “Man, that is good. That's the kind of thing I like." Nobody said to me, that's gospel music. I didn't know what the song was about. I knew it had something to do with the Bible, but I didn't grow up in a church-going area. In Santa Monica, you don't really encounter that. The records were it. They were like this portal, you see, to another world. That's why I liked them.
Cooder's main slide guitar is his '60s Coodercaster, which has an early '60s Teisco neck pickup given to him by David Lindley, and a Valco lap-steel pickup in the bridge. Photo by Jordi Vidal
So did you set these records to the side hoping to record versions of them one day, or did your choices come together more organically as you started work on the album?
I think it just came together. Over time, I had recorded some gospel music, but to do a whole record, I never would've considered it until Joachim and I went out on tour with Ricky Skaggs and the White family. We prepared for about a year, and then toured for about a year, and we did a lot of gospel music—all country gospel. And I actually had the best time of my life. I never had such fun, because I was afraid that I was getting older, I was going to miss out. And I wanted to do it. As a teenager in high school, I used to think, “I'll be like J.D. Crowe. I'll just play banjo, and I'll be in one of these bluegrass bands, and I'll sing all this music, and that will be the way I'll live." Of course, it didn't happen—anything but. But then time goes by, and you think, “This is what I wish I could do." So we finally did it, in a way.
I would say to Ricky and the Whites, “Are you sure you want me singing this? I don't come out of this tradition, so what do you think?" “Oh, no," they said, “you just keep doing it. It's good." Then we'd do some shows, and I'd go, “Well, I don't know. I'm not nailing this Lester Flatt voice at all." “Oh, no, you keep doing it." So by the end of the year, I thought well dang it, if they think so, then I think so. Let's look into this. But we needed to find our own way of doing it that wasn't the straight traditional way, because that's just too hard.
Did you and Joachim talk about all this before you went in the studio?
No, we don't talk [laughs]. How it works is, I needed some kind of method of how to think about these things, rather than just, “Jesus, do I have to sit here and bang everything out of nothing?" It's too much work. Joachim had all these tracks that he made, very ambient and very pretty, and some of which involve sampling bits and pieces of my old stuff. They're nice little ideas that he comes up with, plus these array instruments that he plays—they're like orchestral mbiras that are finely tuned, very ethereal and very large. You can find videos of him playing them. It's pretty fascinating.
So he played me these tracks and I said, “You know, I think I can convert that into 'Straight Street,' or I can make 'Harbor of Love' out of that." Then I'd play and sing over the top, and work on them a bit. The decisions had already been made about tempos and keys, you know? I don't have to carve everything out of a block of wood.
Ry Cooder's Gear
Guitars
'60s Fender “Coodercaster" modded with an early '60s Teisco pickup (neck) and a Valco lap-steel pickup (bridge)
'67 Fender daphne blue Stratocaster, modded with a Guyatone pickup (neck) and a Bigsby steel-guitar pickup (bridge), with a Bigsby tremolo
1959 Gretsch 6122 Country Gentleman
Japanese Kent Electric Mandola
1960 Martin D-18 (formerly owned by guitarist and gospel singer Ralph Trotto)
'70s Ventura “Lawsuit" Jazz bass
Amps
Fender Tweed Deluxe
Fender Vibroverb
'56 Fender Super
'50s Gretsch Artist
The “Green Man" (dual tube guitar preamp designed by Danny McKinney)
Strings
D'Addario EXL115W Nickel Wound Medium (.011–.049, on the Coodercaster)
D'Addario ECG25 Chromes Flatwound Light (.012–.052, on the daphne blue Strat)
And then some of these we played live in the studio. “Shrinking Man" is straight from the floor, with the guys [Terry Evans, Arnold McCuller, and Bobby King] singing with me. “I'll Be Rested" is done that way—which is fun too, because that's real dynamic. You sit there and you bang it out. That's nice to do when the song is simple enough, and you know exactly how you're going to do it. But if you have to find it, these other methods help you get there. “Gentrification" was a track that [Joachim] had. I simply played guitar and sang over it. It was a funny track, and I thought the lyrics were funny, so I made up a tune out of it.
Was there a basic setup that you relied on to record your guitar, or did that change?
Well no, it's always the same. What I have here in terms of equipment, some people have asked me about this thing I call Green Man. It's a little device that looks like a Variac [variable transformer], but it's a stereo conversion thing. So the guitar goes in mono, and comes out stereo, with tubes and transformers jammed up inside it—it's like something NASA made. It has phase correction in it, too. But on top is this great big volume knob, so if a guitar is low power, let's say, you can turn it up. If your guitar is too hot, you can turn it down. So you have a lot of control over the game.
Then that goes into two amps, and the trick is to find two that sound good together. And not just two amps, but a setup that gives you a summing kind of effect. Suddenly there's an expansion, a harmonic richness that you can get, but you have to have the right combination, and then it can't be too loud for the room. So I use little amps—they're pretty small, but they sound good this way. On “Shrinking Man," for example, I used a tiny little Gretsch Artist and a '56 Fender Super that gives you a real nice, almost hi-fi sound.
But the Green Man is the answer to everybody's prayer. I used to have a hell of a time with amps and electric guitars, because they were always so strident and brittle and loud. There was always that one speaker blasting away and yelling at me! I couldn't stand it, and then finally, Danny McKinney, who's a friend—he makes the retro Standel amps—I told him, “This is what I need. Can you do that?" He says, “Oh, sure." So he made this thing, and it's the answer. I use it onstage, I use it when I'm at home, I use it in the studio, and it's an incredible device. To get a big sound, and spread it out so it's not so pointy and not so goddamn insistent—it just sort of fills the space up and you can really deal with these low-power guitars that have a sweet sound, like say a Premier or a funny old Teisco. Nobody had ever heard the richness of these instruments before, because they always play them through an amp that's hitting you over the head. Now, I get this harmonic content coming out of these funny old electric guitars. That finally opened it all up for me.
In “The Prodigal Son," you reference Bakersfield and pay tribute to Ralph Mooney, not just in the lyrics but in the slide parts and leads you're playing. How has Ralph's music influenced you?
Well, “You Took Her Off My Hands," that was Wynn Stewart's first big record, and the steel guitar enters this thing and I thought, “What is that?" Somebody told me, “That's pedal steel," and I thought, “I'd like to know about that," but you can't just walk into it. Somebody has to show you, and it's not like guitar. It's hard.
One of the greatest sounds is Ralph Mooney on that Fender 1000, because those string pulls are so fast, it enabled him to make these chord dips that were real syncopated because he had that pedal action. It's different from a Sho-Bud or a Bigsby steel, which is more gradual—a little more languid, I suppose. A steel player friend of mine, Steve Fishell, explained all this to me. The pulley action on the Fender 1000 is real abrupt, so he could make those things happen. And the way they recorded up there in Bakersfield, if that's where they did it, it was pretty stripped down out to where you heard everything. It wasn't mixed back with a lot of echo.
So I liked that very much, and I still do. In fact, I love it so much, I was doing “The Prodigal Son," which only has two verses, and Joachim says, “It's too short. What are you going to do?" How do you rewrite a tune like that? Then Martin says, “Well, he leaves and then he comes back. So what happened in the meantime?" It was like a story conference for a movie [laughs].
So I just made up this whole business about how I wandered into a tavern where a band was playing. It's like this hobo holy man looking for something. “Is this a new teaching?" and the waitress says, “Yeah, as a matter of fact." And that's faith. He found faith. The old Bible story says he found God. Well in this case, he found Ralph, which I think is funny, and it's also quite realistic. I mean, you might be converted! I'm sure that if I had gone to Bakersfield in 1960 and heard these guys, I never would've left, and I probably wouldn't be talking to you right now.
There are a few layered guitars on your song “Gentrification." How do you go about making parts like these fit together?
I have this mandolin-ish, long-neck electric that's real twangy, with thin strings that make it sound like a harp. I started off with that, just to have something quiet so I didn't have to sing against the amps. Also I didn't want to cover up this funny track of Joachim's that's just him playing this array of actual nails that are tuned. You use resin on your fingertips, and you kind of bow them to get that whistling sound. We wanted to make sure that's heard because that's what gives the track a sense of humor. So I just played this mando and kept it down low in the mix.
Once I'd sung it, I put two guitar parts on it that are sort of answering one another, like squirrels running after each other, just to provide some chord movement. So you're hearing these two parts with the capo way up high, really screechy and good, almost like a keyboard. Then Martin did some processing on it and contained it in a nice way, so it's not too big. That's a question of balance, which, of course, is what recording is all about.
You've talked about how there's a mood of reverence that takes hold when you play and sing these songs. That sounds like an exalted state.
[Laughs.] You may be right! But to instill reverence on the one hand is to say you're being aware of everything. Your awareness is up rather than down. Your feeling for things is in tune, rather than out-of-sync with everything. In other words, be part of the world. Be in on things, and be in tune with things. That's what a musician is supposed to do, and I like that very much. I had not thought of the word reverence that way, and I credit my granddaughter's nursery school teacher with the idea. She's Kashmiri and Islamic, very sweet and very quiet, and she sings everything, because that's of course an easier way to get people to pay attention. It's not a command. It's an encouragement.
Another word for reverence is empathy, which is also what I feel these songs hopefully are about. It's so we don't feel isolated and cut off from other people. We include them, so they don't feel marginalized. So when Jesus says, “I like sinners better than fascists any day"…. I don't know if people are going to take it this way, or how they'll read it, but that's the intention. It wasn't clear to me until I finished the record, but it's a good idea anyway, you know?
YouTube It
Ry Cooder explains the gospel and roots connections that inspired his new album, The Prodigal Son, in this mini-documentary.
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In collaboration with Cory Wong, the Wong Press is a 4-in-1 Press pedal features Cory’s personal specs: blue & white color combination, customized volume control curve, fine-tuned wah Q range, and a dual-color STATUS LED strip indicating current mode/pedal position simultaneously.
In collaboration with Cory Wong, this Wong Press is a 4-in-1 Press pedal features Cory’s personal specs: Iconic blue & white color combination, customized volume control curve, fine-tuned wah Q range, and a dual-color STATUS LED strip indicating current mode/pedal position simultaneously.
Renowned international funk guitar maestro and 63rd Grammy nominee Cory Wong is celebrated for his unique playing style and unmistakable crisp tone. Known for his expressive technique, he’s been acclaimed across the globe by all audiences for his unique blend of energy and soul. In 2022, Cory discovered the multi-functional Soul Press II pedal from Hotone and instantly fell in love. Since then, it has become his go-to pedal for live performances.Now, two years later, the Hotone team has meticulously crafted the Wong Press, a pedal tailored specifically for Cory Wong. Building on the multi-functional design philosophy of the Soul Press series, this new pedal includes Cory’s custom requests: a signature blue and white color scheme, a customized volume pedal curve, an adjustable wah Q value range, and travel lights that indicate both pedal position and working mode.
Cory’s near-perfect pursuit of tone and pedal feel presented a significant challenge for our development team. After countless adjustments to the Q value range, Hotone engineers achieved the precise WAH tone Cory desired while minimizing the risk of accidental Q value changes affecting the sound. Additionally, based on Cory’s feedback, the volume control was fine-tuned for a smoother, more musical transition, enhancing the overall feel of volume swells. The team also upgraded the iconic travel lights of the Soul Press II to dual-color travel lights—blue for Wah mode and green for Volume mode—making live performances more intuitive and visually striking.
Features
- True Bypass
- 4 in 1 functionality (volume, expression, wah, volume/wah)
- New dual-color STATUS LED strip indicating pedal mode and position in real time
- Cory’s custom volume curve and wah Q control
- Classic-voiced wah tone with flexible tonal range
- Active volume design for keeping lossless tone
- Separate tuner and expression outputs for more connection possibilities
- 9V DC or 9V battery power supply
Introducing the Hotone Wong Press - Cory Wong's signature Volume/Wah/Expression Pedal - YouTube
Check the product page at hotone.com
Big time processing power in a reverb that you can explore for a lifetime.
An astoundingly lush and versatile reverb of incredible depth and flexibility. New and older BigSky algorithms included. More elegant control layout and better screen.
It’s pricey and getting the full use out of it takes some time and effort.
$679
Strymon BigSky MX
strymon.net
Strymon calls the BigSky MX pedal “one reverb to rule them all.” Yep, that’s a riff on something we’ve heard before, but in this case it might be hard to argue. In updating what was already one of the market’s most comprehensive and versatile reverbs, Strymon has created a reverb pedal that will take some players a lifetime to fully explore. That process is likely to be tons of fun, too.
Grinding out impressive DSP power via an 800 MHz tri-core ARM processor with 32-bit floating-point processing, the BigSky MX introduces seven brand-new reverb algorithms, allows users to load any compatible convolution reverb (or impulse response) as well as to use two reverbs simultaneously—in series, parallel, and split—plus it delivers several other mind-bending features. Given this wealth of goodies, it’s impossible to test and discuss every sound and function, but what we heard is exciting.
Infinite Space
The updated MX will look very familiar to those who know the original BigSky. The form factor is nearly identical, though the MX is a bit larger. Its control interface is similar too, albeit rearranged into a single row of knobs that looks more balanced. Rotary controls include decay, pre-delay, tone, mod, parameter 1, parameter 2, and mix. A value knob enables effect-level manipulation on the larger, clearer OLED screen. It also allows you to select between the older or “classic” algorithms from the original BigSky and the seven new ones. Three footswitches allow for preset selection, bank up or down (two switches pressed together), and an infinite hold/sustain switch that’s always available. The rotary “type” knob in the upper-left corner spins between 12 basic reverb voices. As with most things Strymon, many of these controls are multi-function.
Also very Strymon-like are the top-mounted, 5-pin DIN MIDI I/O connections, which come in handy if you want to maximize the pedal’s potential in a MIDI-controlled rig. But you can access more than enough right from the pedal itself to satisfy the needs of most standard pedalboard-based setups. A USB-C port enables computer connection for MIDI control via that route, use of the Nixie 2 editing app, or firmware updates.
There are stereo jacks for both input and output, plus a multi-function 1/4" TRS/MIDI expression jack for use with a further range of external controllers. The standard center-negative power jack requires a DC supply offering at least 500 mA of current draw.
It is utterly hypnotic and addictive once you settle in and work a little more intuitively.
Sky’s the Limit
The BigSky MX was, initially, a bit mind-boggling on account of the seemingly endless possibilities. But it is utterly hypnotic and addictive once you settle in and work a little more intuitively. Suffice it to say, the core quality of the reverb sounds themselves are excellent, and the sheer variety is astounding. Beyond the standard emulations, I really dug several permutations of the cloud reverb, the chorale mode (which adds tenor and baritone harmonizing tones), and bloom mode (which generates deep synthesizer-style pads), and I could have gotten lost in any of these for hours if there wasn’t so much more to explore. Among the highlights: There is now an option to pan reverbs across the stereo field. The MX also uses audio design concepts borrowed from tape delays to create rhythmic pattern-based reverbs, which is an excellent compositional tool.
The Verdict
This latest evolution of the already impressive and super-capable BigSky is the kind of pedal that could cause you to disappear into your basement studio, never to return. The sounds are addictive and varied and can be configured in endless creative ways. The programmability and connectivity are also superb. Additionally, the new algorithms weren’t added at expense of the old BigSky algos. There’s no doubt that it will be flat-out too much horsepower for the guitarist that needs a few traditional sounds and, perhaps, a few more spacious options. And it would be interesting to know what percentage of the pedal’s customers end up being synth artists, engineers, or sound designers of one kind or another. If you’re the kind of guitar player that enjoys stretching the sound and capabilities of your instrument as far as they will go, the BlueSky MX will gladly ride along to the bounds of your imagination. It may test the bounds of your budget, too. But in many ways, the BigSky MX is as much a piece of outboard studio gear as a stompbox, and if you’re willing to invest the time, the BigSky MX has the goods to pay you back.
This reader solicited the help of his friend, luthier Dale Nielsen, to design the perfect guitar as a 40th-birthday gift to himself.
This is really about a guy in northern Minnesota named Dale Nielsen, who I met when I moved up there in 2008 and needed somebody to reglue the bridge on my beloved first guitar (a 1992 Charvel 625c, plywood special). Dale is a luthier in his spare time—a Fender certified, maker of jazz boxes.
Anyway, we became friends and I started working on him pretty early—my 40th birthday was approaching, and that meant it was time for us to start designing his first solidbody build. If you stopped on this page, it’s because the photo of the finished product caught your eye. Beautiful, right? The 2018 CCL Deco Custom: Never shall there be another.
Old National Glenwood guitars were my design inspiration, but I wanted a slim waist like a PRS and the like. We used a solid block of korina to start, routed like MacGyver to get the knobs and switches where I wanted them. Dale builds all his own lathes and machines (usually out of lumber, y’all), as the task requires. This beast took some creativity—it’s tight wiring under that custom-steel pickguard. Many were the preliminary sketches. Four coats of Pelham blue, 11 coats of nitro. Honduran mahogany neck, Madagascar ebony fretboard with Dale’s signature not-quite-Super-400 inlays. He designed the logo; I just said, “Make it art deco.”
We sourced all the bits and bobs from StewMac and Allparts and Reverb and the like, mostly to get that chrome look I so adore. Graph Tech Ratio tuners, Duesenberg Radiator trem (had to order that one from Germany), TonePros TP6R-C roller bridge. The pickups were a genius suggestion from the builder, Guitarfetish plug ’n’ play 1/8" solderless swappable, which means I have about 10 pickups in the case to choose from: rockabilly to metal. And both slots are tapped, with the tone knobs serving as single- to double-coil switches. I put the selector on the lower horn to accommodate my tendency to accidentally flip the thing on Les Pauls—definite lifesaver.
Reader and guitar enthusiast, Cody Lindsey.
Dale offered to chamber this monster, but I said what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. It weighs in at 11 pounds, if it’s an ounce. We carved the neck to match a ’60s SG, so it’s like the mini bat you get at the ballpark on little kids’ day. Easy peasy. 1 11/16" nut, 25" scale, jumbo frets, just 2 1/8" at the 12th fret.
Delivery in its lovely, hygrometer-equipped Cedar Creek case actually happened a month or two shy of my 41st, but hey, you can’t rush these things. We ended up with a studio Swiss Army knife; it does a bit of everything and does it effortlessly. A looker, too. Dale didn’t spend his career doing this kind of thing—he was in IT or some such—and I imagine he’s winding this “hobby” of his down these days, enjoying retirement with a bottle of Killian’s and a lawn chair at Duluth Blues Fest. But this guitar will live on as a marker of his skill and otherworldly patience. It sits at the head of the class in my practice room, welcoming any visitors and bringing a smile to my face every day. And Dale, my friend, I’ll be 50 before you know it....
Cody requested that Dale design an art deco logo for the guitar’s headstock.
This convenient, easy-to-use controller can open up an entire world of sonic shape-shifting. Here are some tips to either inspire you to try one or expand how you’re currently using this flexible, creative device.
If you’re not yet using expression pedals, you should consider them. They have the power to expand and control your sonic universe. For the uninitiated, expression pedals are controllers that typically look like volume or wah pedals. Of course, traditional volume and wah pedals are expression pedals, too, but they are dedicated to controlling only those two effects.
Modern expression pedals allow you to assign and control parameters of your stomps or modelers by moving the expression pedal as you would a volume or wah. Dunlop, Boss, Ernie Ball, Yamaha, Behringer, Mission Engineering, and other manufacturers make these handy devices.
Many, but not all, of today’s stompboxes and modelers have expression pedal inputs that allow for manipulation of one or more parameters of those devices. In the past, this required bending over and turning a knob, or trying to turn a small knob with your foot—both of which can hamper your playing. The freedom of an expression pedal is the control you have over more aspects of your sound, especially in a live setting.
Although some of the uses for expression pedals below can also be accomplished by creating multiple presets, that will not allow real-time control over the parameters like an expression pedal will. Here are some notes about expression pedal use that might get you thinking about how one could help you.
Delay Repeats: Controlling the timing of a delay with tap tempo is very common, but how about controlling the number of repeats? With an expression pedal, by setting the expression control on your delay to control the number of repeats, you can easily go from a few for your rhythm sound to more for your lead sound, and then back off again.
Reverb and Delay Mix: The mix control on reverb and delay pedals allows you to balance the amount of wet to dry signal that you hear. There is often a delicate line to having just the right amount of wet signal with these two effects. If you have too much, your sound can be washed out and undefined. Too little and it can be dry and lack space. The part you are playing, and the venue you are in, can also change the amount of mix you need for these effects. By using an expression pedal for the mix control on reverb or delay, you can alter the sound on the fly to compensate for the part and the room, including turning down the mix for busy parts and up for parts with fewer notes.“Some uses for expression pedals can also be accomplished by creating multiple presets, but that will not allow real-time control over the parameters like an expression pedal will.”
Modulation Depth: The depth of a modulation effect, like a phaser, can drastically alter your guitar sound. A light amount can create a feeling of subtle movement, while a heavy amount can give a thick, underwater-type sound. An expression pedal can help you create a constant feeling of change throughout a song, allowing you to build up and break down the depth for different sections as you see fit.
Tremolo Speed: While the speed of tremolo can often be controlled by tap tempo, using an expression pedal for the same parameter offers other creative uses of the effect. With an expression pedal, you can easily speed the tremolo up to make subtle increases to the energy of a part or slow it down to decrease the energy. You can also create drastic changes in the speed that sound like a fan accelerating or slowing down. Or you can abruptly turn the tremolo off. This last option can be an exciting way to end a song or part.
EQ Change: Every guitar player uses EQ to sculpt their sound—whether via the tone controls on your instrument or amp (modelers included), or a dedicated equalizer used as part of your rig. Subtle tweaks can help you do things like balance out different guitars, cut through the mix more, or compensate for a boomy stage. Real-time control of EQ with an expression pedal is more common in the modeler world than the amp and pedal world, but it does exist in both. For example, increasing the midrange can give you more clarity and cut for solos. Decreasing it can create a flatter sound that can help you stay in the mix with the rest of the band. An expression pedal allows you to have one setting and alter it for multiple situations or guitars as opposed to having separate presets.
While this is a very short list of options for expression-pedal use, it should give you a good place to start. The most important thing is to always be creative, have fun, and find your own voice. An expression pedal can help you do all three.