Inspired by a hands-off new record company, a new 6-string pedal steel he can play while standing, and a forthcoming signature amp, sacred-steel hero Robert Randolph storms back to righteous form with the Family Band and the joyful new Lickety Split.
Making music is kind of like being in love: You have to take the highs with the lows, and sometimes the chemistry is there, sometimes it’s not. “When you’re not having that great creative process—and we all know how great it feels—that sucks the energy out of you,” says Robert Randolph. After a three-year hiatus, the renowned sacred steel player and his Family Band—a group comprised of Randolph’s actual family members, including his sister Lanesha Randolph on vocals—is on the upswing of that ebb and flow. And the proof is in the outfit’s first album for Blue Note Records, Lickety Split.
“I am just happy we were able to find a great label that shares the same vision with us, musically,” he says. “It allowed me to take some steps back and sit in the house and practice for four hours a day again—which is relaxing and stressful at the same time!”
Randolph co-produced Lickety Split and co-wrote nine of its12 songs, and he says the guitar tones were largely inspired by two things—working with legendary engineer Eddie Kramer, and his acquisition of a great new instrument. “People wonder why Hendrix and Zeppelin’s guitars sound like they do—a lot of that is just from being in the studio with Eddie Kramer. He just knows what to do, it’s the strangest thing.” As for the new tone toy—a Jackson Steel Guitar Company stand-up pedal steel—he sums it up simply, “That thing just has magical tone.” Randolph also included two covers, “Love Rollercoaster” and “Good Lovin’”—the latter of which employs fervorous Hawaiian-style slide riffs.
With song titles like “Amped Up,” “Born Again,” and “Brand New Wayo,” it should be clear that on Lickety Split the Family Band still has its roots in the gospel—and still has its signature upbeat energy. “We were always taught to make that [spiritual] connection and not play to the glorification of yourself,” says Randolph. “The church is about everybody getting together to create this one joyous atmosphere—a great day of singing and playing together.”
Lickety Split has a really live vibe. How do you tap into that so well in an isolated environment where everything is under the microscope?
Studios have turned into this place where everybody doesn’t really play together—nobody is in the studio at the same time. It’s more like, “We have technology, so let’s just piece things together.” With us, the real energy comes from being in the studio for hours a day, just playing all kinds of tunes—because it’s the interaction that brings about that live feel. I know I’ve got something good going when I can’t wait to perform the song live and see how the fans react to it.
When did you first get guitar fever, and what keeps you coming back?
I was a teenager, 15 or 16. I started playing the pedal steel guitar in church and, because our church has a history of the pedal steel guitar, I grew up watching all those older guys before me. They were my Muddy Waters, my Albert King and B.B. King. I always wanted to be like those guys, so I would spend all day practicing and trying to be like them. That’s when I first had the fever.
You’ve recently been bringing some attention to steel players Calvin Cooke, Darick and Chuck Campbell, and Aubrey Ghent—better known as the Slides Brother. Are they some of the guys you grew up watching in church?
Oh yeah. There’s a lot of guys who died along the way, but those are the remaining original guys. I grew up always wanting to be like those guys—they were the big stars of the church. The steel player was always the star.
There used to be a pretty big stigma from church members when sacred-steel bands ventured outside houses of worship. How is it now?
We’ve all been scrutinized, especially from the older guys. I was younger and didn’t pay it any mind. Older guys got hurt by it because they spent their whole lives dedicated to it, only for people to tell them they’re playing the devil’s music. Nobody pays that any mind, because now they see the love and joy that we share with people. Nothing is more satisfying than to be out here, spreading music across the world.
The new album opens with two high-energy songs “Amped Up” and “Born Again,” which kind of allude to a reawakening. Are those songs sort of emblematic of what you were going through while writing this album?
“Born Again” is actually a love song, to be honest with you. It’s about finding someone that makes you happy. It sounds like it’s a spiritual song, with all of the backup singers that sound like a choir. That’s sort of the great part of who I am and what we do—it can seem spiritual, and you want to lift your hands up or something. That’s just the root of where we come from. It’s like Sly and the Family Stone—they have the gospel influences, as well. I saw an interview with Sly explaining the song “I Want to Take You Higher,” and he said at the time everyone was getting high and it was all about getting higher—but it sounds spiritual.
Watch Robert Randolph & the Family Band perform the energetic single “Born Again,” which also appears on their new album, Lickety Split. Check out the solo around 4:30, and the slow, natural fade at the finish.
Photo by Frank White
How would you say your playing has evolved in the last decade or so?
I’ve learned a lot from being around great guitarists like Eric Clapton and Carlos Santana. Us young guitar players—people like Derek Trucks, Jack White, and all these young guys—we’ve all sort of grown, evolved, and gotten better, and most of us had time to be around legends like Buddy Guy, Clapton, Santana, or Kirk Hammett. One thing I appreciate about these older guys is they see us as the next group of guitar pioneers, and it’s great for them to be critical and tell us how to get better. I learned a lot from them in terms of really trying to stay original and do whatever inspires me to have that excitement at the beginning and keep that same vibe.
Speaking of Santana, you have a track with him on the album called “Brand New Wayo,” right?
Yeah. It was funny, because the chorus you hear was done after the music was recorded. We put up a mic and were doing the vocals while the music was playing back. We just left it all happening at the same time and there was this bleed of playback going into the microphone.
Do you get nervous when Santana’s watching you play?
I enjoy it. One thing I learned from these guys is that they’re watching you because they appreciate what you do. They want to see you rise, just like you want to see them. It’s great, because those guys don’t watch everybody.
Are you a gut-level player or does theory play a part in what you do?
I don’t even know theory, so for me it’s all about what goes together. In the studio, everything happens on the spot. I can never play the same thing twice the same way, really. We spent a lot of time with the great Eddie Kramer, and he said that Hendrix used to be the same way. Kramer said he always had to roll the tape when Hendrix was playing, because he would always forget what he played or it was never the same when he tried to play it again. That’s what happens with me.
What made you decide to record a cover of the Ohio Players “Love Rollercoaster”?
I had my iTunes going and the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ version came on, and I said, “Hey let’s see if we can beat the Chili Peppers’ version.” It came out really funky and punchy and dirty at the same time. I wasn’t even going to put it on the album, but people from the label heard it and said “You gotta put this on the album—this is cool!”
Is there a such thing as a sad Robert Randolph song?
[Laughs.] I don’t think I have any sad songs.
“Welcome Home” is sentimental, but it carries a positive message for veterans, right?
My house in New Jersey is by one of the armories. I talk to the guys there when I’m in my backyard, and I wrote that song in my living room after talking to them about what’s going on. Everyone’s starting to come home now, so that’s the story behind that song.
Let’s talk about your instruments. Are you still playing your 13-string pedal steel?
I have a new stand-up pedal steel now. It’s my original idea—it’s a 6-string Jackson Steel Guitar Company signature Robert Randolph pedal steel.
Has it been fun to switch from a 13-string to a 6-string?
It’s all relative, but the stand up looks a little more rock ’n’ roll—it makes me look sexier. [Laughs.]
You can’t kick your chair back now, though.
Yeah, but now I can kick the guitar around, y’know—like a regular rock ’n’ roll person.
This 2009 show is chock-full of shredding rock solos, call-and-response funk breakdowns, and intensely soulful jamming.
Photo by Frank White
How many guitars are you taking out with you for this tour?
I play four pedal steels: one stand up, one in dropped-E tuning, one in regular 13-string tuning, and then one in 12-string tuning, because one less string helps me to be able to sing and play with less thinking. I also have my red sparkle Fender Custom Shop Tele. I love that guitar.
Let’s talk about a different kind of pedal: What’s your go-to effects pedal?
The pedal I can’t live without is my Morley wah. I also have this pedal by a company called JAM. I won’t tell you which one—I don’t want to give away all my secrets—but JAM makes some of the best analog pedals. [Editor’s note: According to JAM’s website, Randolph is using (or has used) the Waterfall chorus/vibrato, Rattler distortion, Dyna-ssoR compressor/sustainer, Chill tremolo, and Red Muck fuzz-distortion pedals.]
Is that what you’re using in songs like “Take the Party,” where your riffs have a more vocal-like quality?
On that one I’m using my stand-up pedal steel with a chorus made by the JAM folks. It’s not all the way chorus-y—it’s sort of like a filter chorus on the low end.
You’ve said before that you haven’t found a rock ’n’ roll pedal-steel amp. Have you found one yet?
The perfect pedal-steel amp is in between the old Peavey Classic Chorus and a Fender Bassman … or a Fender Deville. It’s really those three. In the studio it’s much easier to swap in or swap out, but live it’s important because the steel is crazy—you want to be able to have it clean and dirty, but it’s gotta be mid-range-y and fat sounding. Think about it like this: All of those amps have been made for regular guitar. When people test them out, they test with a regular guitar, not a pedal steel. If you want more low end from a Fender Strat or a Gibson, you do this or you do that, but it’s never been done for a pedal steel. So I’m doing it, but it just takes time. I’m working with both Fuchs and Fender to see who really nails it. It’ll probably be ready in another month or so … we’ve been working on it for 9 months already.
Do you still use your Super Reverb or the tweed ’57 Fender Twin reissue that was originally built for Jeff Beck?
The Jeff Beck rig was great, but it wasn’t perfect so I’d get pissed off. The Super Reverbs break up too quick for me—they don’t stay clean how I need them to stay clean. Like that magical tone that you hear on “New Orleans” [from Lickety Split]—it’s so hard for me to get it like that live, because that was like three different guitar rigs going on in the studio, and then Eddie Kramer EQ‘ing it. If I didn’t hear it played back like that, I couldn’t play it like that. It’s like listening to Stevie Ray Vaughn playing “Lenny”—you know he had to hear his guitar sounding that beautiful while he was recording it. If not, he wouldn’t have known to play it that way.
There’s a rumor that you’re incorporating car speakers in your new amp design?
I learned a trick like that from Santana that I’m starting to explore, but that’s a little secret. [Laughs.]
In “Amped Up,” you sing about breaking a string. Does that happen to you often?
That’s relative to during our live shows when things are getting hot—especially years ago. I always used to break a string when we were in the middle of a good song or a good groove. I actually use my own strings made by D’Addario—I had to get custom ones, because my hands sweat a lot and I needed extra coating and protection on them.
What sorts of new things have been inspiring you and your playing recently?
I’ve been listening to old African music lately. But for me, it’s always been listening to Zeppelin—because the guitar is never really the same sound. In every song there’s this different sound and different things for you to want to try and go, “What was that? What’s he doing there?” Y’know? That’s what’s really important and inspiring for me.
Robert Randolph's Gear
Guitars
Jackson Steel Guitar Company 6-string signature stand-up pedal steel, Jackson Steel Guitar Company 13-string pedal steel, Mullen 13-string pedal steel (tuned to dropped-E), Mullen 12-string pedal steel (tuned to C#13), Fender Custom Shop Telecaster, Asher 6-string lap steel
Amps
Custom Fuchs 100-watt head driving a Fuchs , Fender Vibrosonic
Effects
Morley wah, Goodrich volume pedal, JAM Waterfall
Strings, Picks, and Accessories
D’Addario Robert Randolph custom coated pedal-steel strings, Shubb Robert Randolph custom bar slides, Dunlop signature picks
There’s a rumor that you’re incorporating car speakers in your new amp design?
I learned a trick like that from Santana that I’m starting to explore, but that’s a little secret. [Laughs.]
In “Amped Up,” you sing about breaking a string. Does that happen to you often?
That’s relative to during our live shows when things are getting hot—especially years ago. I always used to break a string when we were in the middle of a good song or a good groove. I actually use my own strings made by D’Addario—I had to get custom ones, because my hands sweat a lot and I needed extra coating and protection on them.
What sorts of new things have been inspiring you and your playing recently?
I’ve been listening to old African music lately. But for me, it’s always been listening to Zeppelin—because the guitar is never really the same sound. In every song there’s this different sound and different things for you to want to try and go, “What was that? What’s he doing there?” Y’know? That’s what’s really important and inspiring for me.
This full concert gives a mesmerizing view of Randolph’s pedal-steel slide work, including some lap steel playing at the 23-minute mark.
PG contributor Tom Butwin takes us through three exceptional solidbody electric guitars: the versatile Gibson Les Paul Studio, the uniquely styled Zemaitis SCW22, and the dynamic PRS CE 24. Each brings a distinct flavor—find out which one matches your style!
Gibson Les Paul Modern Studio Electric Guitar - Worn White
Les Paul Stu Mod, Worn WhitePRS SE CE 24 Standard Satin Electric Guitar - Vintage Cherry Satin
SE CE24, Vint Cherry SatOriginally introduced in 1975 as part of the Schaffer-Vega Diversity System (SVDS) wireless system, this mini boost pedal originated from a 1/4” headphone jack intended for monitoring purposes.
"The SVDS Boost is a recreation of one of the first full-frequency boosts ever used on stage."
Originally introduced in 1975 as part of the Schaffer-Vega Diversity System (SVDS) wireless system, this mini boost pedal originated from a 1/4” headphone jack intended for monitoring purposes. However, guitarists and bassists soon discovered an unexpected benefit: by connecting their instruments to the headphone output, they could boost their signal by up to 30dB.
Legendary guitarists like Angus Young, David Gilmour, Eddie Van Halen, Carlos Santana, and more utilized this technique. The SVDS Boost is a faithful reproduction of this iconic boost, which may very well be the first full-frequency boost ever heard on stage.
The Sound
Unlike typical clean boosts, the SVDS Boost adds vintage coloration and harmonics that instantly transport you to the golden era of rock. The unique "Goalpost" EQ design enhances the extreme ends of the frequency spectrum, while maintaining the integrity of your mid-range. With up to 30dB of boost, the SVDS unlocks new tonal possibilities, delivering rich harmonics, singing sustain, and even controlled feedback.
Pedal
Placement The SVDS Boost truly shines when placed after other overdrive, distortion, or fuzz pedals, adding dynamic response and restoring low-end fidelity that can often be lost with mid-boost pedals. Its ability to enhance your existing gear is unparalleled, making your guitar, amp, and pedals sound better than ever.
Build
Quality Precision-built using high-quality components, the SVDS Boost is designed to withstand the rigors of professional touring. Its robust construction ensures years of reliable performance, whether in the studio or on the road.
Availability
The SVDS Boost is now available at solodallas.com and authorized SoloDallas dealers worldwide.
Price: $129 USD.
Behind every great guitarist is probably a great tech.
The life of a tech is where art, craft, science, and sorcery collide. My story isn’t so different from thousands of others in the performing arts world. It began at an extremely young age, in what they now call middle school. As much as I wanted to play music, draw, paint, and photograph, I was also drawn to the technical side of the creative pursuits.
Luckily, schools at the time offered classes in photography and art right along with printing, drafting, woodworking, stage crew, and auto repair. I never thought of them as disparate—even then I knew they were all interconnected. There wasn’t a master plan—there was only a path.
Along the way, I met others who shared a passion for music and mechanics. One of the first was a ham-radio fanatic who also loved music. He was referred by a classmate for electronic repair on my guitar amp, and we soon found we had a lot of common interests. Vince was a high school student by day and a radio-phone operator by night. These were the days before cell phones, a time when car phones were huge radio transceivers stowed in the trunks of wealthy people’s cars. To place a call, the driver had to radio in to an operator who would connect them to a landline. Vince would make the connection and then go back to waiting for the next call. We got to talking about repairing guitar amps, or even the possibility of building one from scratch, and started work on an amplifier within days. While Vince worked on the amp chassis, I constructed a plywood speaker cabinet and stuffed it with 15" Utah speakers. After a few weeks and a dozen trips to the electronics store, we had a functioning, terrible-sounding amplifier. Vince was convinced it had something to do with the plate voltages. “Needs more pressure,” was his cryptic explanation. After that, we lost interest, moved on, and lost touch. But I’d learned enough to be dangerous to myself.
That was the beginning of my long-standing respect for technicians of all sorts. There was Gary, who owned a fledgling amplifier company and rental shop on the West Side of Chicago. His amps were robust and had plenty of clean headroom, which really wasn’t what guitarists were looking for by the end of the 1960s. Still, my long drives to his shop were rewarded with free-flowing lectures about amp design. It was a prototype for a DIY music gear business, which was inspiring.
“Because pros rotate through different tours, their experience and expertise come from an infinitely deeper and wider range of real-world experience than working in a music store or watching YouTube videos.”
Similarly, Bruce Gordon had a repair shop shoehorned into a tiny space off Dempster Street in Evanston, just north of Chicago. Gordon started his repair business while playing in local bands, including one that had a string of regional and national hits. I used to walk past his open door on my way to work in the morning and would often stop to talk to him. He might have been the first pro musician that I had ever met who was also a technician. Once again, I found a person who was willing to share information and tips readily. I worked at a later incarnation of his expanded business where I learned from more seasoned techs who were always comparing notes and helping each other.
Over the decades, I learned to lean on the expertise of pro guitar technicians. As the touring business grew, being a tech became a serious profession, and knowing the techs on the road was a constant source of great information and camaraderie. Because pros rotate through different tours, their experience and expertise come from an infinitely deeper and wider range of real-world experience than working in a music store or watching YouTube videos. When I deal with pro musicians as a guitar builder, it’s often through an introduction made by a tech as much as the other way around. If I find a guitarist to be lacking in the ability to verbalize their ideas, often a great tech is there to sort things out.
So here’s to all those who make the big wheels roll. They learn from each other and pass their lessons along to others freely with no strings attached. Like Jackson Browne sang: “They’re the first to arrive, and the last to leave.” They don’t get the spotlight, but the artists know that without them, there is no show. Without them, I wouldn’t be here today. Thank you to every one of you.
While this forgotten, oddball instrument was designed with multidextrous guitarists in mind, it never quite took off—making it a rare, vintage treasure.
At Fanny’s House of Music, you never know what strange or fascinating relics you might find. Guitorgan? Been there, sold that. A Hawaiian tremoloa fretless zither? We’ve had two.
Recently, the oddest of odd ducks strolled through Fanny’s front door. It looks like a Harmony Wedge lap steel that was thrown in the dryer to shrink a little bit. It has two flatwound bass strings, in reverse order from where you’d expect—the higher string is on the left side if you’re looking at the instrument’s face. Each string has its own fretting surface, bent at a 135-degree angle away from each other, and the frets are labeled with note names. A raised, thin strip of wood separates the strings from each other on the fretboard.
Oh, wait a moment. Did we say “fretboard?” We should have said “footboard.” Allow us to introduce you to the 1970s Mike Miller Foot Bass. That’s right—you play this adorable critter with your feet. The strings are tuned a fifth apart from each other. By setting the instrument on the ground and rocking your foot back and forth over the neck, you get a standard country root-fifth bass line—completely hands-free. Are you a guitar player? All you need is one of these puppies and a drum machine and, poof! You’re a whole band!
Along the “footboard” are markers for note names.
Thank goodness for the internet, which gave me access to the original promotional materials for the Foot Bass. Emblazoned with the all-caps header, “BE YOUR OWN BASS MAN,” its pamphlet extols the virtues of the Foot Bass. Describing it as “practically maintenance free,” it guarantees you’ll “amaze friends and audiences,” and “make extra MONEY.”
A brief meander through the United States Patent and Trademark website revealed the patent, whose filer was equally concerned with finances. “A currently popular form of entertainment is provided by an artist who both sings and accompanies himself on a guitar,” it reads, as if this hasn’t been a popular form of entertainment for a very long time. “The performance of such an artist may be enhanced by adding a bass accompaniment.... However, such an additional bass accompaniment ordinarily requires an extra artist for playing the bass and therefore represents an additional expense.” Sorry, bass players. Clearly, you all do nothing but cost us guitar players money.
“That’s right—you play this adorable critter with your feet.”
Be prepared to dig through your closet when you embark on your Foot Bass journey. If you start with your trusty Doc Martens, you’re in for a disappointing experience. Deep treads make for messy notes and poor contact with the strings. And while barefoot playing allows for more nimble, adventurous basslines, the lack of a rigid surface prevents the “simple and convenient” operation promised by the patent. What you need, as one Fanny’s employee described, are “church shoes”—something with a low profile and a flat sole.
This Mike Miller Foot Bass is from the 1970s, and has a patent for its design.
Even with the right footwear, playing the Foot Bass takes some getting used to. There’s a bit of foam under the pickup cover that mutes the strings when you’re not playing them, but you can still make a remarkable amount of clatter with this thing. It’s a subtle motion that works best, and it certainly takes practice to master it. Add in multiple chords or—be still, my heart—walking up from one chord to the next? Give yourself a couple weeks in the woodshed before you schedule your next show.
If you’re looking for something to watch tonight, there’s a documentary you can find on YouTube called Let Me Be Your Band. It covers the history of one-person bands, starting with blues pioneer Jesse “Lone Cat” Fuller and continuing up to the early 2000s with the careers of Hasil Adkins and Bob Log III, among others. It’s a touching portrayal of ingenuity and spunk, and an ode to owning your weirdness. Not a single person in Let Me Be Your Band had a Foot Bass, though. It’s high time the Foot Bass was celebrated for its cleverness and played by an enterprising solo act. It’s a bit like Cinderella’s glass slipper here at Fanny’s. We can’t wait to see who tries it on for a perfect fit.