A bandleader since she was 9, the 20-year-old guitarist goes deeper on her self-titled new blues-rock album with her trio, the Steppin Stones.
By nature, genres like the blues, funk, and jazz are meant for the stage. Groove and freedom of musical expression are at their heart, and they work best with the kind of kinetic, effervescent energy that can only be captured with a live audience. Which is why it makes perfect sense that Hannah Wicklund, 20-year-old guitarist and frontwoman of her blues-rock trio Hannah Wicklund & the Steppin Stones, lives for the stage.
“I’ve played as many shows as I can possibly book my whole life,” she says, “I don’t turn gigs down.” And that’s no small number, considering the guitarist has been a bandleader since the age of 9. Wicklund began her musical education not long after she began walking and talking, and claims to have learned everything she knows about the guitar onstage. When she describes her work, it’s glaringly obvious that a passion for performing is in her blood.
By extension, she sees her albums mostly as advertisements for her live shows. So her new Hannah Wicklund & the Steppin Stones, released in early 2018, was cut live in the studio, with the stage in mind. (Naturally, she hates overdubbing.) If the 10-song collection is meant to act as a teaser, it gets the job done—revealing the songwriter’s emotional depth and unflinching spirit as she drives the music forward in every second of every track.
Wicklund has more than one talent, as she’s capable of gripping an audience with her soulful, sometimes raspy vocals and clever, thoughtful lyrics. But in terms of musical aspirations, those elements of her songwriting aren’t nearly as important to her as becoming a better guitarist. For any dedicated musician, the bar is always just out of reach, and Wicklund places classic-rock idols like Lindsey Buckingham, Jimi Hendrix, and Jeff Beck on a pedestal. She’s a fan of overdrive, dropped-D tunings, and a power chord or two, but is currently obsessed with improving her fingerpicking technique, and similarly connects with more delicate, nuanced guitar work—something revealed in her interest in a band like Rush, whom she admires for their intricate and expressive instrumental compositions. As she furthers her already accomplished career, everything to her is about expanding her musical vocabulary and sharpening how to better articulate herself on the guitar.
While she may not be a gearhead, Wicklund’s definitely a guitar nerd, which comes across when she describes why she goes for Tom Anderson guitars onstage, but Teles in the studio. The dynamic, up-and-coming guitarist and songwriter goes into more detail about her influences, writing approach, and gear preferences in the interview that follows.
You started out so young. How did you begin playing guitar?
I started playing piano when I was 3. My parents got me into playing music, and I started out by playing Beatles songs. I learned 60 Beatles songs by the time I was 7—I was obsessed. Then when I was 8, we had to get rid of my trampoline and my dad got me a guitar instead. He taught me my first couple of chords, and I started taking lessons immediately. About six months after I started playing guitar, I started the band. I feel like most of my guitar skills were developed from playing live with the band. That’s kind of the foundation of my playing.
Do you come from a musical family?
My dad was a drummer for the first homegrown rock band on Hilton Head in South Carolina—where I’m from—about 35 years ago. When I was born, he picked up guitar, but it was always more of a hobby for him. I also have an older brother and an older sister who are both musical. Mainly my brother—he’s seven years older than me, and when I was 6 he already had his band, and I would be in the bars until midnight watching him play. That was my comfort zone, and I fell in love with every aspect of playing in a band.
How did you form a band at 9?
I got connected with some kids my age, and we just started playing together. The first couple of rehearsals were very spread out, but then once 2006 rolled around, that spring was when I really found the guys that I started the band with, which was a drummer, Mark Bradley, Jr., and my bass player, Mick Ray. We got our first gig playing at a Relay for Life [the annual international cancer research fundraising event]. We played “Rockin’ in the Free World” by Neil Young, and then we played an event at a school and things snowballed from there.
Hannah Wicklund’s self-titled album was produced by Sadler Vaden, guitarist for Jason Isbell. Wicklund cowrote a few songs with Vaden and former Cage the Elephant guitarist Lincoln Parish, but her favorite track on this release is “Strawberry Moon,” which she penned herself.
You’ve named AC/DC, Jimi Hendrix, and Jeff Beck as influences. What about your influences really inspires you?
My biggest influences overall are Tom Petty, Jimi Hendrix, Fleetwood Mac, and Jeff Beck. To me, they’re all completely authentic. I don’t think I could listen to any one of their songs and think, “This is corny; this is forced” or anything like that. Fleetwood Mac’s and Tom Petty’s songs are timeless. They were able to write No. 1 hits that resonate and connect with a ton of people without losing themselves.
How do you maintain that authenticity in your music?
I’ve been putting out music with the band since I was 12, and when I was younger I was able to pull from some real-life experiences, but [I would also create] circumstances to write about in my head. With the new album, I feel like for the first time I was able to draw from my life completely. That’s what any good songwriter aims to do, is to draw from their real-life experiences—’cause that’s when things are going to sound the most raw, and the most like you. I feel like my life finally caught up.
Do you see yourself as more of a guitarist or a songwriter? How have your influences informed your guitar playing?
I love being a guitar player. I’d rather be known as the girl that plays guitar than the girl who sings. Jimi Hendrix, Jeff Beck, and Lindsey Buckingham have so much expression in their playing and are able to emote so much in their music, let alone the lyrics and everything after that. I feel like I took a lot of influence from them as far as phrasing. Then especially Lindsey and Jeff Beck do a lot of fingerpicking, which is something that’s always intrigued me. I’m always trying to experiment a little more with the fingerpicking stuff.
“I learned 60 Beatles songs by the time I was 7—I was obsessed,” says Wicklund. She did that on piano, but now the multitalented siren’s main instruments are guitar and her voice. Photo by John Van de Mergel
You incorporated some fingerpicking on the new album in “Shadow Boxes.” What does that song mean to you?
I cowrote “Shadow Boxes” with Lincoln Parish, who was the guitar player in Cage the Elephant. I cowrote two or three of the songs on the album with Sadler [Vaden], my producer, but this is the only song on the album that I cowrote with an “outsider,” and I’m super happy with the way that it turned out. It’s my version of a social commentary. I’m guilty, just like everybody else, of getting too sucked into social media. Everything is set up to be so perfect, and you start to notice the negative effect that it has on you after a while. I’m trying to say that everything isn’t perfect, and even my fingerpicking backing track wasn’t perfect—but that’s also the style I love. Music breathes and it’s not this perfect manufactured thing wrapped up in a little bow.
Is that the kind of energy you try to capture in the studio?
We’ve tracked live on every album I’ve ever recorded. We did the whole album in seven days. I’ve never really done the studio in a polished way where [everyone records their tracks individually]. It just seems really cold to me. We set up shop like a rock band and played through the songs until we felt like we had the take. When you’re only doing a handful of takes on each song, they’re not perfect, but they’re right.
As the lead guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter, it looks like you supply the main source of power in the trio. What’s that like?
When you’re in a trio, everybody has to pull their weight a little more. But I feel like in the last year and a half, my confidence as a frontperson has developed much more. Going through changes over the last 10 months has heightened that side of it. Because I was playing with different people, I had to become the majority of the show in order for me to maintain a consistent show for people coming to see me every night. But it’s always been my band, I’ve always been the one pulling all the strings, and I was always the manager and booking agent and everything has always been ultimately my decision.
What are some of your favorite guitar parts on the album?
I love playing “Meet You Again.” I’m a sucker for dropped D. It’s really fun to play live—there’s something so ballsy about playing that guitar part even though it’s super simple. It’s just raw. But I think my favorite guitar solo and my favorite song overall is “Strawberry Moon,” that I wrote completely by myself. Within half an hour I’d written the whole song. It’s not the most flashy, and it’s not the most in-your-face on the album, but it’s the most personal, based on my ex and I’s relationship and how the first few months of the year had been going. That was also one of the first guitar solos that we tracked where as soon as we got done [recording], everyone was like “That was it!” That’s always a good feeling, when people have a strong reaction to something that you play in the studio. And that song was early on, so I feel like it helped set the tone for the rest of the album.
I noticed that was the only track on the album where you used slapback delay. What guided some of your production choices?
One of the reasons why I really wanted to work with Vaden on the album is because he’s a guitar player. He’s the first producer I’ve worked with who’s [a guitarist]. He helped me get a little more creative with guitar tones. I’m a fan of my long-hall delay—I really like the spacey sound, especially live. But on the album, that can muddy things up a lot. He helped me rein that in, and the slapback delay [on “Strawberry Moon”] was all him.
What were some of the guitars you played on the album?
I was using a lot of Tele tones on the album, which I love. But we also used some 12-strings subtly in there. On “Looking Glass,” we used a vintage 12-string, short-scale, black-and-white Rickenbacker [Tom Petty Limited Edition]. It was so sick. That’s the sound on that song at the end, where you hear that [sings the melody]. It reminded me of a troubadour [laughs]. That’s one of my favorite things that we added.
Guitars
Tom Anderson Drop Top Classic
Tom Anderson Top T
Martin HD-28
Custom Fender Tele (studio)
1991 Rickenbacker Tom Petty Limited Edition 12-string (studio)
1966 Gibson B-25 (studio)
Amps
Orange Rocker 30
Effects
Keeley-modded BD-2 Blues Driver
T-Rex Room-Mate Tube Reverb
MXR Carbon Copy Analog Delay
Keeley Rotten Apple fuzz
Fulltone Clyde wah
J. Rockett Archer overdrive/boost
MXR EVH Phase 90
MXR Micro Flanger
Strings and Picks
D'Addario NYXL (.010–.046)
Dunlop Ultex .73 mm
On “Shadow Boxes,” I was playing a really old small acoustic [1966 Gibson B-25]. It’s funny, because normally whenever I’m recording I try to fit in a Martin HD-28 or some huge acoustic, and this time I used a small, really clean-sounding acoustic—and it’s my favorite acoustic sound that I’ve had on any of my albums.
Which guitars do you bring on tour with you?
I play Tom Andersons live. I’ve been playing those since I was 8 or 9. The playability on those guitars is unmatched. I feel like I can play faster and cleaner on them. I don’t like a super chunky neck—a lot of their models have very slim, tapered necks, which I love. And I love the way they sound: Their bridge pickups and humbuckers are always very beefy and heavy and straightforward. They’re just amazing guitars.
What are your go-to effects?
I know some people dog on the pedalboard and some people are purists, but I like my pedals. I use the T-Rex tube reverb, which I bought in Boston years ago, and it’s my favorite reverb pedal. It’s warm, thanks to the tube, and it’s super reliable. I have that on always—I’m not a huge fan of dry guitar tone. The Keeley modified Blues Driver is my favorite overdrive pedal.
Did you play any other instruments in the studio?
We put a little bit of keys on a couple things. [Vaden] did the keys on “Ghost” and I did the organ sounds on “Crushin.” In the past, when I’ve had more of a say in the producer role, I’ve always been very nervous about adding any instrumentation that I can’t recreate live. For me, the album is more of a representation of what we are live. I’m just eager to play. The album has always been [an add-on] to the live show. With “On the Road” we threw in some congas, and even that was kind of a risk for me that I’m happy I took. But that’s about as crazy as we get instrumentation-wise.
If you could only make one more album, what would it be like?
I would be brutally honest about a lot of things—nothing held back. This album was more inward-looking, and if I could only have one more album, it would be more outward-looking. I would be writing songs about things that are going on in the world today, and about how people are being affected by so much chaos and negativity. Musically, it would sound much more on the side of “Meet You Again,” “Mama Said,” and “Strawberry Moon,” and I would like to write it with some badass musicians, where the music is taken on more of a ride. More in a Jeff Beck realm where the music is able to express more and isn’t just relying on lyrics. I’ve also been listening a lot to Jeff Buckley’s album Grace. That album is sick. I think that’s along the lines of what I’m thinking of right now.
If you could perform in a dream show with any musicians you could choose, who would they be?Me sitting in with Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and Stevie Nicks. I always felt like Tom and Stevie had this really cool musical connection and friendship. That’s something I’m on the hunt for in my own life—finding the musical equivalent of that relationship. They had this respect and admiration for each other. I would love to experience that onstage.
Armed with her Tom Anderson Top T, red stilettos, and bold, unshakeable force, Hannah Wicklund fronts her trio in the official music video for the lead single off her new self-titled album like a mythical creature warding off the enemy. Flanked by jungle foliage and a python resting easy at her feet, Wicklund digs into a wah-wah solo and exhibits the raw power she unleashes in every performance.
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Cory Wong Signature Volume/Wah/Expression Pedal
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.
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John Mayer Silver Slinky Strings feature a unique 10.5-47 gauge combination, crafted to meet John's standards for tone and tension.
“I’ve always said that I don’t play the guitar, I play the strings. Having a feeling of fluidity is so important in my playing, and Ernie Ball strings have always given me that ability. With the creation of the Silver Slinky set, I have found an even higher level of expression, and I’m excited to share it with guitar players everywhere.”
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hese signature sets feature John’s previously unavailable 10.5-47 gauge combination, perfectly tailored to his unique playing style and technique. Each string has been meticulously crafted with specific gauges and core-to-wrap ratios that meet John’s exacting standards, delivering the ideal balance of tone and tension.
The new Silver Slinky Strings are available in a collectible 3-pack tin, a 6-pack box, and as individual sets, offered at retailers worldwide.
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The folk-rock outfit’s frontman Taylor Goldsmith wrote their debut at 23. Now, with the release of their ninth full-length, Oh Brother, he shares his many insights into how he’s grown as a songwriter, and what that says about him as an artist and an individual.
I’ve been following the songwriting of Taylor Goldsmith, the frontman of L.A.-based, folk-rock band Dawes, since early 2011. At the time, I was a sophomore in college, and had just discovered their debut, North Hills, a year-and-a-half late. (That was thanks in part to one of its tracks, “When My Time Comes,” pervading cable TV via its placement in a Chevy commercial over my winter break.) As I caught on, I became fully entranced.
Goldsmith’s lyrics spoke to me the loudest, with lines like “Well, you can judge the whole world on the sparkle that you think it lacks / Yes, you can stare into the abyss, but it’s starin’ right back” (a casual Nietzsche paraphrase); and “Oh, the snowfall this time of year / It’s not what Birmingham is used to / I get the feeling that I brought it here / And now I’m taking it away.” The way his words painted a portrait of the sincere, sentimental man behind them, along with his cozy, unassuming guitar work and the band’s four-part harmonies, had me hooked.
Nothing Is Wrong and Stories Don’t End came next, and I happily gobbled up more folksy fodder in tracks like “If I Wanted,” “Most People,” and “From a Window Seat.” But 2015’s All Your Favorite Bands, which debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard Folk Albumschart, didn’t land with me, and by the time 2016’s We’re All Gonna Die was released, it was clear that Goldsmith had shifted thematically in his writing. A friend drew a thoughtful Warren Zevon comparison to the single, “When the Tequila Runs Out”—a commentary on vapid, conceited, American-socialite party culture—but it still didn’t really do it for me. I fell off the Dawes train a bit, and became somewhat oblivious to their three full-lengths that followed.
Oh Brotheris Goldsmith’s latest addition to the Dawes songbook, and I’m grateful to say that it’s brought me back. After having done some catching up, I’d posit that it’s the second work in the third act, or fall season, of his songwriting—where 2022’s Misadventures of Doomscrollercracked open the door, Oh Brother swings it wide. And it doesn’t have much more than Dawes’ meat and potatoes, per se, in common with acts one or two. Some moodiness has stayed—as well as societal disgruntlement and the arrangement elements that first had me intoxicated. But then there’s the 7/4 section in the middle of “Front Row Seat”; the gently unwinding, quiet, intimate jazz-club feel of “Surprise!”; the experimentally percussive, soft-spoken “Enough Already”; and the unexpected, dare I say, Danny Elfman-esque harmonic twists and turns in the closing track, “Hilarity Ensues.”
The main engine behind Dawes, the Goldsmith brothers are both native “Angelinos,” having been born and raised in the L.A. area. Taylor is still proud to call the city his home.
Photo by Jon Chu
“I have this working hypothesis that who you are as a songwriter through the years is pretty close to who you are in a dinner conversation,” Goldsmith tells me in an interview, as I ask him about that thematic shift. “When I was 23, if I was invited to dinner with grownups [laughs], or just friends or whatever, and they say, ‘How you doin’, Taylor?’ I probably wouldn’t think twice to be like, ‘I’m not that good. There’s this girl, and … I don’t know where things are at—can I share this with you? Is that okay?’ I would just go in in a way that’s fairly indiscreet! And I’m grateful to that version of me, especially as a writer, because that’s what I wanted to hear, so that’s what I was making at the time.
“But then as I got older, it became, ‘Oh, maybe that’s not an appropriate way to answer the question of how I’m doing.’ Or, ‘Maybe I’ve spent enough years thinking about me! What does it feel like to turn the lens around?’” he continues, naming Elvis Costello and Paul Simon as inspirations along the way through that self-evolution. “Also, trying to be mindful of—I had strengths then that I don’t have now, but I have strengths now that I didn’t have then. And now it’s time to celebrate those. Even in just a physical way, like hearing Frank Zappa talking about how his agility as a guitar player was waning as he got older. It’s like, that just means that you showcase different aspects of your skills.
“I am a changing person. It would be weird if I was still writing the same way I was when I was 23. There would probably be some weird implications there as to who I’d be becoming as a human [laughs].”
Taylor Goldsmith considers Oh Brother, the ninth full-length in Dawes’ catalog, to be the beginning of a new phase of Dawes, containing some of his most unfiltered, unedited songwriting.
Since its inception, the engine behind Dawes has been the brothers Goldsmith, with Taylor on guitar and vocals and Griffin on drums and sometimes vocal harmonies. But they’ve always had consistent backup. For the first several years, that was Wylie Gelber on bass and Tay Strathairn on keyboards. On We’re All Gonna Die, Lee Pardini replaced Strathairn and has been with the band since. Oh Brother, however, marks the departure of Gelber and Pardini.
“We were like, ‘Wow, this is an intense time; this is a vulnerable time,’” remarks Goldsmith, who says that their parting was supportive and loving, but still rocked him and Griffin. “You get a glimpse of your vulnerability in a way that you haven’t felt in a long time when things are just up and running. For a second there, we’re like, ‘We’re getting a little rattled—how do we survive this?’”
They decided to pair up with producer Mike Viola, a close family friend, who has also worked with Mandy Moore—Taylor’s spouse—along with Panic! At the Disco, Andrew Bird, and Jenny Lewis. “[We knew that] he understands all of the parameters of that raw state. And, you know, I always show Mike my songs, so he was aware of what we had cookin’,” says Goldsmith.
Griffin stayed behind the kit, but Taylor took over on bass and keys, the latter of which he has more experience with than he’s displayed on past releases. “We’ve made records where it’s very tempting to appeal to your strengths, where it’s like, ‘Oh, I know how to do this, I’m just gonna nail it,’” he says. “Then there’s records that we make where we really push ourselves into territories where we aren’t comfortable. That contributed to [Misadventures of Doomscroller] feeling like a living, breathing thing—very reactive, very urgent, very aware. We were paying very close attention. And I would say the same goes for this.”
That new terrain, says Goldsmith, “forced us to react to each other and react to the music in new ways, and all of a sudden, we’re exploring new corners of what we do. I’m really excited in that sense, because it’s like this is the first album of a new phase.”
“That forced us to react to each other and react to the music in new ways, and all of a sudden, we’re exploring new corners of what we do.”
In proper folk (or even folk-rock) tradition, the music of Dawes isn’t exactly riddled with guitar solos, but that’s not to say that Goldsmith doesn’t show off his chops when the timing is right. Just listen to the languid, fluent lick on “Surprise!”, the shamelessly prog-inspired riff in the bridge of “Front Row Seat,” and the tactful, articulate line that threads through “Enough Already.” Goldsmith has a strong, individual sense of phrasing, where his improvised melodies can be just as biting as his catalog’s occasional lyrical jabs at presumably toxic ex-girlfriends, and just as melancholy as his self-reflective metaphors, all the while without drawing too much attention to himself over the song.
Of course, most of our conversation revolves around songwriting, as that’s the craft that’s the truest and closest to his identity. “There’s an openness, a goofiness—I even struggle to say it now, but—an earnestness that goes along with who I am, not only as a writer but as a person,” Goldsmith elaborates. “And I think it’s important that those two things reflect one another. ’Cause when you meet someone and they don’t, I get a little bit weirded out, like, ‘What have I been listening to? Are you lying to me?’” he says with a smile.
Taylor Goldsmith's Gear
Pictured here performing live in 2014, Taylor Goldsmith has been the primary songwriter for all of Dawes' records, beginning with 2009’s North Hills.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/Tinnitus Photography
Guitars
- Fender Telecaster
- Gibson ES-345
- Radocaster (made by Wylie Gelber)
Amps
- ’64 Fender Deluxe
- Matchless Laurel Canyon
Effects
- 29 Pedals EUNA
- Jackson Audio Bloom
- Ibanez Tube Screamer with Keeley mod
- Vintage Boss Chorus
- Vintage Boss VB-2 Vibrato
- Strymon Flint
- Strymon El Capistan
Strings
- Ernie Ball .010s
In Goldsmith’s songwriting process, he explains that he’s learned to lean away from the inclination towards perfectionism. Paraphrasing something he heard Father John Misty share about Leonard Cohen, he says, “People think you’re cultivating these songs, or, ‘I wouldn’t deign to write something that’s beneath me,’ but the reality is, ‘I’m a rat, and I’ll take whatever I can possibly get, and then I’ll just try to get the best of it.’
“Ever since Misadventures of Doomscroller,” he adds, “I’ve enjoyed this quality of, rather than try to be a minimalist, I want to be a maximalist. I want to see how much a song can handle.” For the songs on Oh Brother, that meant that he decided to continue adding “more observations within the universe” of “Surprise!”, ultimately writing six verses. A similar approach to “King of the Never-Wills,” a ballad about a character suffering from alcoholism, resulted in four verses.
“The economy of songwriting that we’re all taught would buck that,” says Goldsmith. “It would insist that I only keep the very best and shed something that isn’t as good. But I’m not going to think economically. I’m not going to think, ‘Is this self-indulgent?’
Goldsmith’s songwriting has shifted thematically over the years, from more personal, introspective expression to more social commentary and, at times, even satire, in songs like We’re All Gonna Die’s “When the Tequila Runs Out.”
Photo by Mike White
“I don’t abide that term being applied to music. Because if there’s a concern about self-indulgence, then you’d have to dismiss all of jazz. All of it. You’d have to dismiss so many of my most favorite songs. Because in a weird way, I feel like that’s the whole point—self-indulgence. And then obviously relating to someone else, to another human being.” (He elaborates that, if Bob Dylan had trimmed back any of the verses on “Desolation Row,” it would have deprived him of the unique experience it creates for him when he listens to it.)
One of the joys of speaking with Goldsmith is just listening to his thought processes. When I ask him a question, he seems compelled to share every backstory to every detail that’s going through his head, in an effort to both do his insights justice and to generously provide me with the most complete answer. That makes him a bit verbose, but not in a bad way, because he never rambles. There is an endpoint to his thoughts. When he’s done, however, it takes me a second to realize that it’s then my turn to speak.
To his point on artistic self-indulgence, I offer that there’s no need for artists to feel “icky” about self-promotion—that to promote your art is to celebrate it, and to create a shared experience with your audience.
“I hear what you’re saying loud and clear; I couldn’t agree more,” Goldsmith replies. “But I also try to be mindful of this when I’m writing, like if I’m going to drag you through the mud of, ‘She left today, she’s not coming back, I’m a piece of shit, what’s wrong with me, the end’.... That might be relatable, that might evoke a response, but I don’t know if that’s necessarily helpful … other than dragging someone else through the shit with me.
“In a weird way, I feel like that’s the whole point—self-indulgence. And then obviously relating to someone else, to another human being.”
“So, if I’m going to share, I want there to be something to offer, something that feels like: ‘Here’s a path that’s helped me through this, or here’s an observation that has changed how I see this particular experience.’ It’s so hard to delineate between the two, but I feel like there is a difference.”
Naming the opening track “Mister Los Angeles,” “King of the Never-Wills,” and even the title track to his 2015 chart-topper, “All Your Favorite Bands,” he remarks, “I wouldn’t call these songs ‘cool.’ Like, when I hear what cool music is, I wouldn’t put those songs next to them [laughs]. But maybe this record was my strongest dose of just letting me be me, and recognizing what that essence is rather than trying to force out certain aspects of who I am, and force in certain aspects of what I’m not. I think a big part of writing these songs was just self-acceptance,” he concludes, laughing, “and just a whole lot of fishing.”
YouTube It
Led by Goldsmith, Dawes infuses more rock power into their folk sound live at the Los Angeles Ace Hotel in 2023.
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warmaudio.com
Though compressors are often used to add excitement to flat tones, pedal compressors for guitar are often … boring. Not so theWarm Audio Pedal76. The FET-driven, CineMag transformer-equipped Pedal76 is fun to look at, fun to operate, and fun to experiment with. Well, maybe it’s not fun fitting it on a pedalboard—at a little less than 6.5” wide and about 3.25” tall, it’s big. But its potential to enliven your guitar sounds is also pretty huge.
Warm Audio already builds a very authentic and inexpensive clone of the Urei 1176, theWA76. But the font used for the model’s name, its control layout, and its dimensions all suggest a clone of Origin Effects’ much-admired first-generation Cali76, which makes this a sort of clone of an homage. Much of the 1176’s essence is retained in that evolution, however. The Pedal76 also approximates the 1176’s operational feel. The generous control spacing and the satisfying resistance in the knobs means fast, precise adjustments, which, in turn, invite fine-tuning and experimentation.
Well-worn 1176 formulas deliver very satisfying results from the Pedal76. The 10–2–4 recipe (the numbers correspond to compression ratio and “clock” positions on the ratio, attack, and release controls, respectively) illuminates lifeless tones—adding body without flab, and an effervescent, sparkly color that preserves dynamics and overtones. Less subtle compression tricks sound fantastic, too. Drive from aggressive input levels is growling and thick but retains brightness and nuance. Heavy-duty compression ratios combined with fast attack and slow release times lend otherworldly sustain to jangly parts. Impractically large? Maybe. But I’d happily consider bumping the rest of my gain devices for the Pedal76.