Segall’s favorite Travis Bean guitar figured prominently into his latest album, “Hello, Hi,” as did a vintage Martin D-35 and a Neumann U67.
On a much-needed break from the first leg of his current tour with his road-tested Freedom Band, Ty Segall takes a seat in his mood-lit studio control room, mug of hot java in hand, and looks around with a visible expression of what can only be described as wonder. “You know, to have my own place to work on stuff is just pure joy,” he says. “I’m often like, ‘How did this even happen?’ It’s a great place to hone my skills and to get weird ideas going, with no pressure. The clock’s not running. We’re not burning a budget here. You get to do whatever you want. It’s just totally insane.”
Segall has made a career out of being prolific, so it was probably inevitable that he’d pool his resources into designing the three-room complex he calls Harmonizer, named for the album it spawned after he put the finishing touches on the studio build-out, completed in early 2021 at his home in the Santa Monica Mountains just outside Los Angeles. Compact but state-of-the-art, Harmonizer not only stands as testament to the long hours Segall has logged on his way to becoming an A-list producer, but it also plays a key role as an instrument in Segall’s arsenal that’s just as crucial to his sound as his trusty Travis Bean TB1000S or, more recently, his vintage Martin D-35 acoustic.
Ty Segall "Hello, Hi" (Official Visualizer)
Title track from "Hello, Hi", available on LP/CS/CD on July 22, 2022 from Drag City.Preorder now:https://ffm.to/tyhellohiAll three figured prominently, in fact, into the making of “Hello, Hi”—Segall’s latest studio realization of what he calls a “back to basics” album. “It was about coming back to the acoustic guitar, to be honest,” he clarifies. “I think a lot of the records I make have to do with my relationship to songwriting at that time. And I hadn’t really played the acoustic or written on it since probably Freedom’s Goblin, which at this point is maybe five years ago. So, to me it was really like falling back in love with the acoustic guitar. It was a very nice experience to have.”
If there’s a modern California sound—a throwback to the late-’60s Laurel Canyon “freak folk” vibes of the Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, and many more, but infused with a wild and rambunctious onslaught of psychedelic garage rock—then Segall’s music radiates it, and “Hello, Hi” might be the closest he comes to creating a West Coast “concept album” without openly admitting it.
From the lovely waking dissonance and pastoral colors of songs like “Good Morning,” “Blue,” and “Looking at You” to the thick, hard-knocking grooves of the title track and the sublime coda, “Distraction,” Segall touches on themes of reflection and connection that feel immediate, palpable, and deeply moving. It can be a bit of a nostalgia trip, but he pulls off the balancing act with well-wrought songs that convey a sense of longing without a trace of schmaltzy artifice.
“You know, to have my own place to work on stuff is just pure joy. “I’m often like, ‘How did this even happen?’”
At the heart of that authenticity is the Martin, which inspired Segall not only to write with renewed vigor, but also spurred him to get his hands on a microphone that could do it justice. “For all the records that I’ve done, I try to get one piece of gear, and that’s the expense of the record,” he explains. “This one was pretty crazy. I got a [Neumann] U67. That’s basically the guitar sound on the whole record.”
Among studio heads, the U67 is a legendary, and legendarily expensive, microphone that has been central to the sound of classic albums from the ’60s and ’70s, perhaps most notably Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde on Blonde. The mic can harness a huge arc of low end without distorting, but it can also preserve an elusive and intimate “proximity effect” on vocals and acoustic instruments that has made it one of the most desirable, and essential, pieces of gear in any major studio.
“I couldn’t help myself with the wild-style production move on that one. You know, you’re at the restaurant and you’re like, ‘Ah fuck it, I’ll get the lobster!’”
The album’s closing suite of songs, beginning with the whimsically titled “Saturday (Part 1),” probably best signifies how Segall was able to use the U67 to his advantage. The opening acoustic filigree and Segall’s hypnotic vocal combine to recall vestiges of White Album-era Beatles, but with a startling presence and stereo imaging that creates a real under-the-skin sensation.
“Saturday (Part 2)” brings in the Freedom Band’s Charles Moothart on drums and Mikal Cronin on saxophone, with Segall on bass and electric guitar, gradually stoking a psychedelic heat that would take the Doors to task. When Cronin crashes into the mix with a horn solo that consists of two stacked takes, the in-your-face blast suddenly elevates the song to a completely different level.
Ty Segall’s Harmonizer Studio Gear
“The clock’s not running. We’re not burning a budget here. You get to do whatever you want. It’s just totally insane,” says Ty Segall about working in his own studio.
Photo by Denée Segall
Guitars
- Late-’70s Travis Bean TB1000S (tuned to D standard)
- ’69 Les Paul
- Vintage Martin D-35
- Gibson B-25 (for live shows)
- ’68 Gibson EB-0 bass
Amps
- Fender Quad Reverb
Effects
- Boss FZ-2 Hyper Fuzz
- Death by Audio Apocalypse, Fuzz War, and Octave Clang
- DOD Performer Flanger 575
- Electro-Harmonix Nano Small Stone
- Electro-Harmonix Sovtek Deluxe Big Muff Pi
- Moog Minifooger MF Delay
- Roland Space Echo RE-201
- Univox Super-Fuzz
Studio Console & Select Outboard Gear
Trident 88 Console (“Hello, Hi” was tracked on Segall’s TAC Scorpion Console, now retired)
Studer 2" tape machine (circa mid-’80s)
Ampex 351 Preamps (vintage)
Antelope Audio Orion 32 AD/DA audio interface
Electrical Audio EAPreQ
Eventide H949 Harmonizer (four units)
Highland Dynamics BG2 compressors
Normaphone custom preamps (designed by Greg Norman at Electrical Audio)
SPL Transient Designer
Universal Audio Classic 1176 Compressor (vintage)
Strings & Picks
- .011-gauge strings
- .88 mm picks (no preferred brand for either)
“I couldn’t help myself with the wild-style production move on that one,” Segall jokes. “You know, you’re at the restaurant and you’re like, ‘Ah fuck it, I’ll get the lobster!’ It was fun, and Mikal just obviously rips. He came over to the studio for maybe an hour, and after it I was like, ‘Amazing dude, thank you!’”
It’s worth mentioning here that Segall records almost obsessively to 2" tape, which lends another layer of analog thickness to “Hello, Hi” that isn’t easy to reproduce with a strictly digital setup (although he has recently started transitioning to hybrid digital-analog recording). “I demo on tape, which is insane,” he reveals, “but I do like the idea of burning over something if it’s not good. For me, keeping something bad is just a waste of tape. If there’s a cool idea there, rip a shitty mix to the computer so you have it, and then roll over it. I don’t want to be the kind of studio that has 50 reels just stacked in a corner, you know?”
Tape saturation plays a role in the Led Zeppelin II-like sound of the album’s closer, “Distraction,” which features Moothart channeling the ghost of John Bonham on drums, but the real secret sauce boils down to Segall’s ability to adapt as an engineer and producer.
Ty Segall’s Harmonizer Studio was named after his 2021 album, which he was inspired to make after building out a three-room recording space in his home in the Santa Monica Mountains. Note his MVP Neumann U67 at center.
Photo by Denée Segall
“Like the rest of the record, as far as the writing went, it was a coffee-in-the-morning thing,” he says. “After the acoustic demo, I did the first version with Charles, and it sounded big and electric, but I miked the drums wrong and the room treatment was wrong, so I had to start from scratch.”
Moothart’s drum kit was set up in Harmonizer’s isolation room, which Segall retreated by adding more sound-deadening panels and stripping down the microphone scheme. “I just re-miked everything in a simpler way, and then I cooled off on the compression and EQ because I thought it would be a better vibe to not be so heavy-handed. And that was when I got my Trident [mixing console]. I took a whole day to mix it, which you don’t get in studios when you’re paying for time. So that song has three versions out there. That’s not rare for me. Some have three or four, because I’m constantly looking to redo something if it’s not right.”
This Trident 88 Console is a new acquisition to Ty Segall’s Harmonizer Studio. “Hello, Hi” was tracked on a TAC Scorpion Console, which Segall has since retired.
Photo by Denée Segall
Segall held to simplicity when recording his beloved Travis Bean TB1000S, which he always routes through a beat-up Fender Quad Reverb. He comes back to the album’s moshpit-ready title song as an example. “I just felt like the record needed one ripper, so I picked that one and it worked,” he says.
“For me, keeping something bad is just a waste of tape. If there’s a cool idea there, rip a shitty mix to the computer so you have it, and then roll over it. I don’t want to be the kind of studio that has 50 reels just stacked in a corner, you know?”
He added a Boss FZ-2 Hyper Fuzz to the signal chain, giving the guitar an explosive sound that comes very close to peeling paint at the volume Segall usually plays. “That’s the U67 on almost everything except the bass. I mean, I have to say it again, that mic just makes it so easy to record the guitar. I always do the hand trick, where you spread out your fingers and place it about a hand’s width away from the speaker. Source and signal are not gonna hurt that mic—just turn it up and there it is. I think I used my Ampex for the mic preamp, but that’s it.”
A Martin D-35 inspired Ty Segall not only to write with renewed vigor, but also spurred him to get his hands on a microphone that could do it justice. “The U67 really just changed the feeling of everything,” he says. “I always ended up going back to pointing it at the 12th fret, usually somewhere between six-to-eight inches away.”
Photo by Denée Segall
“Hello, Hi” is Segall’s 14th album in an unbroken stretch of feverish creativity that began in 2008 with his self-titled debut—an ultra-raw slab of sinewy protopunk surf garage that still holds its charms, but Segall is in a completely different headspace now.
“Sure, you know, it always feels great to get the sound you’re looking for,” he says. “Even though I just wanted to keep this one classic, I feel like there’s always a question mark until a record is out, and until you have time away from it. When I was fully finished with it, I wasn’t sure, but now that I’ve had some time apart from it, it is what it is. And I really love what it is.”
We’d still love to call it the first wave of a new California sound, but maybe that’s best left to the producer, too, until next time.
Ty Segall & Freedom Band - Full Performance (Live on KEXP)
In this recent KEXP studio concert, Ty Segall digs right into his Travis Bean TB1000S, introducing a full-on guitar feedback attack as the Freedom Band follows suit in the feverishly funky, fuzzed-out “Whisper,” from Segall’s 2021 album, Harmonizer.
![Green Day Rig Rundown [2024]](https://www.premierguitar.com/media-library/youtube.jpg?id=53614011&width=600&height=600&quality=85&coordinates=325%2C0%2C235%2C0)
Billy Gibbons is an undisputable guitar force whose feel, tone, and all-around vibe make him the highest level of hero. But that’s not to say he hasn’t made some odd choices in his career, like when ZZ Top re-recorded parts of their classic albums for CD release. And fans will argue which era of the band’s career is best. Some of us love drum machines and synths and others don’t, but we all love Billy.
This episode is sponsored by Magnatone
Released in 1983, the Roland SDE-3000 rackmount delay was a staple for pro players of the era and remains revered for its rich analog/digital hybrid sound and distinctive modulation. BOSS reimagined this retro classic in 2023 with the acclaimed SDE-3000D and SDE-3000EVH, two wide-format pedals with stereo sound, advanced features, and expanded connectivity. The SDE-3 brings the authentic SDE-3000 vibe to a streamlined BOSS compact, enhanced with innovative creative tools for every musical style. The SDE-3 delivers evocative delay sounds that drip with warmth and musicality. The efficient panel provides the primary controls of its vintage benchmark—including delay time, feedback, and independent rate and depth knobs for the modulation—plus additional knobs for expanded sonic potential.
A wide range of tones are available, from basic mono delays and ’80s-style mod/delay combos to moody textures for ambient, chill, and lo-fi music. Along with reproducing the SDE-3000's original mono sound, the SDE-3 includes a powerful Offset knob to create interesting tones with two simultaneous delays. With one simple control, the user can instantly add a second delay to the primary delay. This provides a wealth of mono and stereo colors not available with other delay pedals, including unique doubled sounds and timed dual delays with tap tempo control. The versatile SDE-3 provides output configurations to suit any stage or studio scenario.
Two stereo modes include discrete left/right delays and a panning option for ultra-wide sounds that move across the stereo field. Dry and effect-only signals can be sent to two amps for wet/dry setups, and the direct sound can be muted for studio mixing and parallel effect rigs. The SDE-3 offers numerous control options to enhance live and studio performances. Tap tempo mode is available with a press and hold of the pedal switch, while the TRS MIDI input can be used to sync the delay time with clock signals from DAWs, pedals, and drum machines. Optional external footswitches provide on-demand access to tap tempo and a hold function for on-the-fly looping. Alternately, an expression pedal can be used to control the Level, Feedback, and Time knobs for delay mix adjustment, wild pitch effects, and dramatic self-oscillation.
The new BOSS SDE-3 Dual Delay Pedal will be available for purchase at authorized U.S. BOSS retailers in October for $219.99. To learn more, visit www.boss.info.
English singer-songwriter Robyn Hitchcock is as recognizable by tone, lyrics, and his vibrantly hued clothing choices as the sound of Miles Davis’ horn.
Itchycoo Park
“I like my songs, but I don’t necessarily think I’m the best singer of them,” he effaces to me over Zoom, as it’s approaching midnight where he’s staying in London. “I just wanted to be a singer-songwriter because that’s what Bob Dylan did. And I like to create; I’m happiest when I’m producing something. But my records are blueprints, really. They just show you what the song could be, but they’re not necessarily the best performance of them. Whereas if you listen to … oh, I don’t know, the great records of ’67, they actually sound like the best performances you could get.”
He mentions that particular year not offhandedly, but because that’s the theme of the conversation: He’s just released an album, 1967: Vacations in the Past, which is a collection of covers of songs released in 1967, and one original song—the title track. Boasting his takes on Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” the Beatles’ “A Day in the Life,” Pink Floyd’s “See Emily Play,” and Small Faces’ “Itchycoo Park,” among eight other tracks, it serves as a sort of soundtrack or musical accompaniment to his new memoir, 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left.
Hitchcock, who was 14 years old and attending boarding school in England in 1967, describes how who he is today is encased in that period of his life, much like a mosquito in amber. But why share that with the world now?
In the mid ’70s, before he launched his solo career, Hitchcock was the leader of the psychedelic group the Soft Boys.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/tinnitus photography
“I’m 71; I’ve been alive quite a long time,” he shares. “If I want to leave a record of anything apart from all the songs I’ve written, now is a good time to do it. By writing about 1966 to ’67, I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
Hopefully, I say, the publication of these works won’t ring as some sort of death knell for him.
“Well, it’s a relative death knell,” he replies. “But everyone’s on the conveyor belt. We all go over the edge. And none of our legacies are permanent. Even the plastic chairs and Coke bottles and stuff like that that we’re leaving behind.... In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth. But I suppose you do probably get to an age where you want to try and explain yourself, maybe to yourself. Maybe it’s me that needs to read the book, you know?”
“I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
To counter his description of his songs above, I would say that Hitchcock’s performances on 1967: Vacations in the Past carve out their own deserved little planet in the vintage-rock Milky Way. I was excited in particular by some of his selections: the endorsement of foundational prog in the Procol Harum cover; the otherwise forgotten Traffic tune, “No Face, No Name and No Number,” off of Mr. Fantasy, the Mamas & the Papas’ nostalgic “San Francisco,” and of course, the aforementioned Floyd single. There’s also the lesser known “My White Bicycle” by Tomorrow and “I Can Hear the Grass Grow” by the Move, and the Hendrix B-side, “Burning of the Midnight Lamp.”
Through these recordings, Hitchcock pays homage to “that lovely time when people were inventing new strands of music, and they couldn’t define them,” he replies. “People didn’t really know what to call Pink Floyd. Was it jazz, or was it pop, or psychedelia, or freeform, or systems music?”
His renditions call to mind a cooking reduction, defined by Wikipedia as “the process of thickening and intensifying the flavor of a liquid mixture, such as a soup, sauce, wine, or juice, by simmering or boiling.” Hitchcock’s distinctive, classic folk-singer voice and steel-string-guided arrangements do just that to this iconic roster. There are some gentle twists and turns—Eastern-instrumental touches; subtly applied, ethereal delay and reverb, and the like—but nothing that should cloud the revived conduit to the listener’s memory of the originals.
And yet, here’s his review of his music, in general: “I hear [my songs] back and I think, ‘God, my voice is horrible! This is just … ugh! Why do I sing through my nose like that?’ And the answer is because Bob Dylan sang through his nose, you know. I was just singing through Bob Dylan’s nose, really.”
1967: Vacations in the Pastfeatures 11 covers of songs that were released in 1967, and one original song—the title track.
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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.”
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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.
The new AD200 is still designed on the premise that the best tone comes from the shortest signal path from bass to speaker. Whatever type of bass, playing style, or genre of music, the AD200 faithfully retains the tone of that instrument.
The addition of a new clean switch, in combination with a powerful three-band EQ, gives AD200 players an even broader frequency spectrum to dial into their amp. In addition, a brand new output transformer, with 3 inches of laminations, harnesses double the power at 30Hz, offering better response at low frequencies. ‘It now pushes more air, flaps more trouser leg — simple as that,’ explains Orange Amps Technical Director Ade Emsley. From mellow hues to heavy, percussive growl and even slap bass, the ultimate incarnation of the AD200, has just become even more versatile.
Internal changes make the amp easier to service and maintain. Each output valve now has its own 12 turn bias pot, so unmatched valves can sit side by side. ‘Now, any tech with a multimeter can bias the amp and match the valves into the amp,’ explains Emsley. ‘So, if you’re on the road with a band, you can go swap a worn valve for a new one, dial it in and you’re good to go.’ Whilst the four KT88 output valves push 200 Watts of power, the amp will run equally as well on 6550s or a combination of the two.
‘It’s a big improvement on the previous version,’ says Ade Emsley, of his work on the updated AD200. ‘It still does everything the old one does, it’s still the industry standard, but it’s now simpler, easier to use, easier to service and futureproof.’
The new, decluttered front panel design is reminiscent of the company’s iconic 1970’s amps with its original ‘bubble-writing’ Orange logo and the ‘pics-only’ hieroglyphs, all wrapped in the company’s distinctive orange Tolex covering.
Over the last forty years, the Orange Bass Cabinets have become an undeniable industry standard. They have been remodelled to use Celestion Pulse XL bass speakers across the OBC810C, OBC410HC, and OBC115C cabs. The upgrade delivers a tight, punchy low-end with a warm mid-range that’s full of presence. The premium build of these cabinets remains, delivering players, bands and techs the road-worthy dependability they demand. In addition, the popular OBC410HC has been modified by removing one vertical partition and strengthening the horizontal one to be lighter and tighten up low-end response.
For more information, please visit orangeamps.com.
