Dean Fertita and Jack Lawrence—the guitar-and-bass team from Jack White’s other other band—talk about fuzz, their intertwined roles, and just how much their boss bosses them around.
Few contemporary bands have reached the level of commercial success that the Dead Weather repeatedly achieves with its simple, potent equation: anarchy + chaos + melody = rock ’n’ roll. As the Nashville-based quartet featuring Jack White on drums has progressed from its 2009 debut, Horehound, to 2010’s Sea of Cowards (both of which debuted in Billboard’s top 10) and now to this year’s Dodge and Burn, they’ve amped up that math to create the sonic equivalent of a human cannonball. Songs like “I Feel Love (Every Million Miles)” and “Cop and Go” fly out of the speakers—arms and legs of octave-fattened guitars, buck-wild keyboards, fuzztone bass, and expressionistic power drumming poking out in all directions—then somehow tuck into a neat landing via Alison Mosshart’s seductively ferocious vocals.
At the center of the aural cyclone, usually seen manhandling a big-boned Gretsch White Falcon in his job as melodist, riff master, and sonic insurgent, is Dean Fertita—who can also be seen filling those roles in various balances with Queens of the Stone Age, the Raconteurs (White’s other other project), and in his own smart-pop project Hello=Fire. Fertita knows guitars and keyboards like John Henry knew hammers and spikes, and he can—and does—drive them to places that are both unpredictable and a reflection of the Big Rock Handbook, which must be where he got the Jimmy Page tone on Dodge and Burn’s ripping “Let Me Through.”
Although he’s lived in Nashville, the eye of White’s ever-expanding Third Man Records hurricane, for three years, Fertita hails from Detroit, home to one of America’s original sonic-anarchist outfits, MC5. And while Fertita’s doesn’t incorporate the twisted jazz elements that MC5 guitarist Wayne Kramer did as he and his ’60s proto-punk bandmates patrolled the badlands between Chuck Berry, Sun Ra, Dick Dale, and John Coltrane, the same untamed spirit is in his playing.
Piano was Fertita’s first instrument. “From ages six through 12, I studied classical piano, and then the ragtime, Scott Joplin thing,” he says. “But I got a guitar and an AC/DC record when I was 13 and it was ‘game over.’ Studying became all about playing guitar and learning from listening to records.” Motor City radio fed him a steady diet of classic rock, and then in the ’80s punk rock slam-danced into the picture. The ’60s figure into the equation, too: Part of Dodge and Burn’s sound is dipped from the reliquary of epic rock mixing. The wild panning, lustrous textures, and bold separation of tracks flash back to late in that decade, when artists like Hendrix, Pink Floyd, and Peter Green’s Fleetwood Mac were inventing the bumper-car trickery of the headphone mix.
Eyeballing Fertita’s current resume—and the multi-band antics of White, Mosshart (who also fronts spiky rockers the Kills), and bassist Jack Lawrence (of the Raconteurs, garage rockers the Greenhornes, etc.)—it’s obvious why it took five years to make Dodge and Burn. But along the way subscribers to Third Man Records’ Vault program got sneak peaks at four of the album’s dozen songs.
“Open Up (That’s Enough),” with its spanking guitar chords, and the psychedelic potboiler “Rough Detective” were released as a teaser 7" single in 2013. The next year, “It’s Just Too Bad” and the Fertita-fueled riff machine “Buzzkill(er)” followed. Nonetheless. Dodge and Burn is cohesive as an atom—even though, as Fertita explains, it was chiseled from a fat slab of choices, sometimes starting with his own multi-instrumentalist impulses.
Playing in so many stylistically different bands—Queens of the Stone Age, Raconteurs, Dead Weather, Hello=Fire—must be a kid-in-a-candy-store experience.
It is. I can explore every part of my musical personality. What’s great is there’s no pressure in any one band to try something that might not be appropriate just because I’m interested in it. There’s a place for every sound and idea.
The Dead Weather's arsenal of Gretsch guitars and basses. Angelina Castilla for Third Man Records
The bands do seem to have a similar unpredictability and devil-may-care attitude. Are there other similarities?
Because of how these bands operate, you don’t really bring in finished songs. For example, there were two songs on Dodge and Burn that I’d tracked the guitar ideas for—although when I recorded the ideas I didn’t have any specific songs in mind. They were parts I figured I’d use at some point, and they ended up in “Buzzkill(er)” and “Too Bad.” In “Buzzkill(er),” the main guitar riff sound is an Electro-Harmonix POG and the Fulltone Tube Tape Echo. But with all these situations, it’s more about discovering something new or thinking about your instrument in a new way. It’s not so much that I develop a stockpile of riffs and stuff. It’s more developing gut instincts and ideas.
In the Dead Weather, you’re a lead guitarist in a band that has a terrific lead guitarist behind the drum kit. Does Jack White ever voice opinions on your playing?
I have free rein but of course, if he has suggestions, it’s an easy relationship that way. I might want to go on and on doing takes, but having another guitar player there to say “That was the cool one” makes my job a lot easier. But he never suggests what I play or insists on anything. He enjoys playing a different role in this band.
How would you define your role?
It’s difficult to pin down, but I feel like what I do is in direct connection to Jack Lawrence on bass. It’s important that the guitar and bass feel connected at all times. The [Electro-Harmonix Bass] MicroSynth-driven sound he plays is part of the defining sound of Dead Weather, so for me the guitar and bass become one big thing together. If Jack records a song with that sound on it, it will drive me to find another way to complete the space. I never really know what that is until I play it. It could be a clean part that cuts through Jack’s bass part, or maybe the same part he’s playing but with some fuzz—which we did for my riff on “I Feel Love”—or maybe some kind of counterpoint. On “Let Me Through” I felt the guitar needed to be an extension of his tone but still be distinctive. To emphasize the lyrics, the guitar needed to bust through, too. So I used the Bit Commander pedal, which gave a percussive, synth-like feel to the guitar.
Armed with Gretsch White Falcon, guitarist Dean Fertita rips away at Third Man Records HQ in Nashville. Photo by David James Swanson
Do you typically approach the songwriting process in terms of sounds, or as notes, chords, and scales?
I lean more toward sounds. That’s probably the result of all the things I listened to growing up, and taking lessons and finding where my real interests were. I took theory classes when I was younger, and I liked learning about the way things relate to each other musically, but it wasn’t exciting. I never found myself thinking that way when it came to being in a room with people and writing music. It’s more instinctual, primitive, for me. I like to feel music more than think about it.
Which of your early musical interests would you say fueled your interest in sounds over academics? Were you into Detroit bands like the MC5 or Iggy Pop, or textural jazz like John Coltrane or Sun Ra?
No, I didn’t listen to any of that stuff. I didn’t even discover Iggy and the Stooges or the MC5 until much later, when I was already playing and recording in bands. It was pretty much whatever was on the radio, and growing up in the ’70 and ’80s in Detroit, all we had for radio was classic rock. I loved AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath. I wanted to be Jimmy Page for a while, until I realized that was impossible [laughs]. And there was some hair metal. Eventually punk rock come along and I heard the Dead Kennedys and the Sex Pistols.
Do you record riffs on your own or spend time in the studio working on new guitar sounds to create a bank of ideas you can draw from?
I really don’t. I should, I think, but maybe I’m too lazy or just need that push of being in a recording situation. I did record the riff for “Buzzkill(er)” when I was in a studio one day—just by luck I came up with it and figured it would come in handy at some point. If I come up with an idea while I’m sitting around at home, I might record it on my iPhone, but I prefer to create sounds by reacting. In the Dead Weather, everything is very spontaneous: Whatever I play depends on what’s in the room. I like to hear where the song seems to be going and then I might plug my guitar into a certain amp, grab a few pedals, and dial up a sound to see if it fits. If it doesn’t, I’ll tweak it or try to find another sound. Or I might walk up to the keyboard. It kind of depends on what’s available and what other people are already doing. For me, being flexible keeps things exciting and creative, and everybody in the Dead Weather is into that kind of spontaneity.
Let’s talk about some specific songs on Dodge and Burn. “I Feel Love (Every Million Miles)” has this turbulent wall of sound that parts like the Dead Sea and then rolls back in again. How did you create those huge, roiling guitar sounds?
The intro riff features a Moog analog delay. I just plugged into it and started playing that riff, and it became the foundation for the song. It’s also double-tracked. We played the song through three or four times, and then decided we wanted more clarity in the verses and choruses than the intro and the bridge riff—there was too much delay. So for the verses and choruses, we plugged my Tele into a combination of Selmer and Magnatone amps, with a Fulltone Tube Tape Echo—which I use mostly for the gain stage. In the verses, I leaned heavier on the Selmer and might’ve used an MXR Micro Amp as a preamp. The bridge was mainly my reissue Magnatone with the delay.
Dean Fertita’s Gear
Guitars
Fender Telecaster
Gretsch White Falcon
Amps
Magnatone
Fender Twin-Reverb
Selmer
No-name “magnetic” amp
Effects
EarthQuaker Devices Bit Commander
Fulltone Tube Tape Echo
Moog MF-104M Analog Delay
Electro-Harmonix POG
MXR Micro Amp
Strings and Picks
Ernie Ball Regular Slinky strings (.010–.046)
Fender medium picks
Jack Lawrence's Gear
Basses
Gretsch White Falcon
1964 Fender Jazz
1966 Fender Precision
Vintage Hofner 500/2 Club
Amps
1965 Fender Bassman
Ampeg B-18
Effects
Electro-Harmonix Bass MicroSynth
ProCo Rat
Custom DI box
Strings and Picks
LaBella Deep Talkin’ flatwound strings (.049–.109)
Fender heavy picks
Speaking of the Magnatone, what drew you to it?
I have a reissue that I’m also using with Queens. It’s about character with me—finding things that just twist your ear and your way of thinking a little. To hear the same things you’ve been playing forever differently is, again, key for me. I like the response the low strings have on the Magnatone, especially at lower volume. I’ve also recently been playing a Watkins Dominator II. That’s also one those amps that, wherever you set it, it sounds great and full.
“Rough Detective” has a lot of radical separation and panning in the mix. How do you decide which songs get the psychedelic treatment?
We did the album with the idea that we were going to make singles. When people used to make albums, they were a compilation of singles. We cut songs two at a time for the first eight we did.
Mixing was about finding the strategy that complimented the other song. “Rough Detective” lent itself to getting a little psychotic with the mix.
Besides the POG and Fulltone, do you have a palette of go-to effects?
There were just a couple of effects that were used a ton on Dodge and Burn. The EarthQuaker Devices Bit Commander, which is an octave pedal, saw a lot of light for these sessions. And the Fulltone Tube Tape Echo. They make guitars sound big.
What do you look for in a guitar?
A new way of looking at doing the same thing. You learn the basics of guitar in a couple weeks and spend the rest of your life refining how you
interpret those ideas.I recently got a Goya guitar, which is a 1960s Italian brand. It’s not the easiest to play. I can’t really take it on tour. It’s hard to control the sound in a live environment. But I love that guitar, and it makes me play a little differently than my Tele or the Echo Park guitars I’ve been playing with Queens.
Tell us more about this Goya.
I used it in place of playing an acoustic. It’s a hollowbody, so it was nice for playing at home and not having to plug into an amp. But the tone sounded very electric, even while playing it acoustically. That’s what drew me to it. I could visualize how stuff was going to sound through the Magnatone. Every guitar has a personality of its own, and having a different sensation in my fingers makes me play differently. I don’t have a “type.” I go for something that makes me feel something that day.
YouTube It
Dean Fertita’s slippery, corpulent riffs set the mayhemic mood while Jack Lawrence’s rumbling bass and Jack White’s brutal drumming provide a bombastic backdrop for Alison Mosshart’s sultry howls on this live take of the new Dead Weather single, “I Feel Love (Every Million Miles),” on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert.
Bassist Jack Lawrence boogies down while frontman Alison Mosshart has a blast. Photo by Lindsey Best
Jack Lawrence on His Quest for New Bass Tonalities
“When we were recording Dodge and Burn, I was trying to learn to work more with feedback in the studio,” explains Dead Weather bassist Jack Lawrence. “I was experimenting with using hollowbody basses and getting closer to the amps. Getting up there and pulling back, getting up there and pulling back—like, bobbing back and forth, trying to get the right spacing between the pickups and the speakers.”
Lawrence jokes that this approach “probably looked silly from the control booth”—but the results sound thorny and authoritative—all fuzz, fury, and, at times, even funk. The charter member of the Dead Weather and Raconteurs explains that he’s been on a quest for different tones over the past few years, and that’s reflected in the gut-punch of his performance on Dodge and Burn’s dozen tracks.
“I usually use flatwound strings,” he says. “I’m allergic to nickel, which means I can’t use nickel-plated roundwounds. With flatwounds you get a little dumpier sound. But I wanted a little more aggressive sound in general this time—a sound you could get with roundwounds. So in the studio I cranked the treble up and used smaller speakers and cabinets. The [ProCo] Rat pedal was also key for me getting that roundwound sound with flatwounds—like on ‘I Feel Love (Every Million Miles).’ The Jesus Lizard were my favorite band growing up, and I use a Rat because David William Sims used one in that band.”
Lawrence affirms Dead Weather guitarist Dean Fertita’s observation that their playing’s intertwined tonalities are a big component of the band’s sound—which is why they focus on each other onstage and in the studio with an intensity usually reserved for bassist-drummer relationships.
“When I use my Electro-Harmonix Bass MicroSynth pedal, Dean and I have to work together as a unit instead of the traditional drums locking in with the bass and the guitar playing melodies on top,” Lawrence explains. “That pedal has got a big sound with a sub-octave and square waves. If Dean and I aren’t locked in, those frequencies can eat up the guitar. But if it is balanced, it sounds really amazing.”
The MicroSynth provides the body of the howling Rottweiler tone on “I Feel Love,” as well as “Mile Markers,” but Lawrence also used good old-fashioned amp overdrive, turning an Ampeg combo and an original 1965 Fender Bassman wide open. “The Ampeg has reverb and tremolo,” he relates. “ I didn’t use the tremolo in the studio, but a hint of reverb was nice. And on ‘Cop and Go,’ that’s just using an old hollowbody bass and the Fender Bassman cranking. I didn’t use a fuzz pedal on the record—that’s all just speakers blowing up!”
Lawrence also used a pick more often on Dodge and Burn, and it’s especially prominent in the propulsive bottom of “I Feel Love (Every Million Miles).” “I don’t use a pick that much in the Dead Weather, because not many of our songs have called for it. I like the picky-ness of somebody like [session legend] Carol Kaye, but it’s hard to play in any kind of funk style that way. ‘Three Dollar Hat’ is a good example of me going for a funkier thing. But even if I use my fingers, the pick will be in my hand to switch off mid-song sometimes.
“The tone I get out of the bass amp is also going to guide me,” he adds. “If I turn on a pedal, I’m going to play a different riff than if I was just playing right into the amp. But whatever I do, it’s mostly decided on the spot when we record at Jack’s place. We’re all playing together in one room, and sometimes Alison is the only one not in the room with us—her vocals are usually recorded through an amp in a small booth—so everything bleeds together. There’s a lot of guitar in the drum mikes, so if we like a take we can’t really punch in too much. That’s why this record has a lot of feel to it and everything’s not perfect.”
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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.
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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.
A more affordable path to satisfying your 1176 lust.
An affordable alternative to Cali76 and 1176 comps that sounds brilliant. Effective, satisfying controls.
Big!
$269
Warm Audio Pedal76
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.