This guitar-driven duo channels Iron Maiden, Coltrane, and ’70s German techno to make a different kind of heavy.
Southern California guitar-and-drum duo, the Mattson 2, is not another White Stripes/Black Keys knockoff. Not even close. Their music is modal, spacious, hypnotic, instrumental, and oozes the laid-back, endless summer vibe of those beach towns south of L.A. The Mattson 2 creates music to get lost in, and the group’s new album, Agar, is a potpourri of sonic colors and trance-inducing grooves.
And what’s more, the Mattson 2’s music exudes the duo’s telepathic, otherworldly, connection. Jared (guitar) and Jonathan (drums) Mattson are identical twins. That inexplicable-mind-reading-twin-thing is essential to their sound. The mysterious bond informs their sense of groove and phrasing, and allows them to express their intrinsic, yet subtle, idiosyncrasies.
Jared started playing guitar in the 7th grade. “We had a guitar in our house from our uncle. Our mom didn’t want us home with our skate-rat friends getting into trouble, so she signed us up for guitar lessons after school.” It blossomed from there. “The music I was listening to at the time was super guitar heavy—bands like Iron Maiden and Metallica—so I just started loving the guitar.” His brother didn’t click with the guitar in the same way, but he did with the drums. “When Jonathan started playing the drums it was insane,” says Jared. “He had real natural ability.”
The lack of a permanent bass player forced the twins to incorporate live loops into their music early on. Jared looped bass lines and rhythm guitar parts, and those loops created a need for more sonic options—and hence more effects—and ultimately more (and more) gear.
The Mattson twins earned bachelor’s degrees in music from the University of California at San Diego, and then went to UC Irvine for master’s degrees in Integrated Composition, Improvisation, and Technology (ICIT). The latter experience was transformative. “The improvisation focus of UC Irvine helped us in our compositional method,” says Jared. “We realized that there is a really interesting thing you can do musically by mixing unfamiliar sounds with familiar sounds. I think our studies brought us to that realization.”
Agar, the Mattson 2’s fourth album, does just that. Combining natural guitar tones with loops, luscious soundscapes, pedal-steel drones (played by friend and collaborator Farmer Dave Scher), the album features unorthodox song forms and countless sonic surprises. We caught up with Jared Mattson on the heels of a massive tour the twins had just finished to support Agar, and asked him to describe his guitars, loops, outrageous effects, and innovative approach to recording.
Photo by Yuichi Yoshida.
You do a lot of looping and improvising. Do you find live looping constraining—does it feel like you’re playing to a click track?
That’s an interesting word—constraint—because I think in all good music there is constraint. Constraint breathes the most interesting music. Our initial constraint was that every bass player we had when we were around 17 or 18 kept leaving the band. Not because they didn’t like the music, I hope, but mainly because they pursued other opportunities and moved away from the area. When that happened we had to figure out a way to create a full sound with only two people. I didn’t want to sacrifice my melodic sense or my soloistic approach with having to play chords and solos at the same time. So when I saw my friend [skate legend and guitarist] Ray Barbee play with a looper pedal, I thought, “Wow, that’s what I need to do.”
But we use loops in a different way than most people do. I create all my loops live with no click track and we work with our own natural, internal rhythm. When you play with the loop there are a lot of imperfections rhythmically, because it’s never going to be in perfect rhythm. As humans, we’re not in perfect rhythm. But I think what really makes that work for us is our twin connection. Being identical twins allows us to play with those imperfections and respond to those imperfections in a natural way.
I also like to loop a lot of overdubs, and I make sure each overdub is not a repeated sound. For example, if I start the loop with a bass line, maybe I’ll support that bass line with a rhythm guitar playing that same line with a phaser on, or something subtle so it adds texture to the bass groove. After that I’ll add some sustaining chords with a tremolo pedal, or I’ll find one note from the chord and let it ring out, or I’ll do a volume swell with the fuzz pedal. So every sound has its own distinct identity, and that comes from my desire to turn the guitar into an orchestra.
When you play the same song night after night, do you lay down those loops fresh every time? You don’t have banks of pre-programmed loops?
Most of it is fresh. But I don’t see any harm in using prerecorded stuff either. I actually really enjoy it. While I was at UC Irvine, one of my professors, Michael Dessen, offered something really interesting. He said, “What if you create a loop and it doesn’t sound good?” I thought, “Well, that happens, right?” But he suggested contrasting view. The excitement of creating a live loop is cool, but what happens if you spend three days creating a very perfect, honed, beautiful loop that’s meant to be there as support for the live performance? So I go both ways. I’ll spend a lot of time orchestrating and perfecting a prerecorded loop for live performance, and I also see the value in spontaneously recording something in real time and playing it back in real time.
What looper pedal do you use?
My favorite one is the Boss RC-20XL Loop Station. I also pair it with the Boss RC-30, which I’m not a huge fan of, but it does the trick.
Mattson’s main guitars are a candy apple red 50th Anniversary Fender Jaguar and a Gretsch White Falcon. Both instruments are stock, but Mattson loves the “juicy” pickups on the Jaguar.
Isn’t that just an updated version of the 20?
Yeah. But I love the 20 because there is a seamless transition between the banks. If you start on the first bank and then go to the second bank, there’ll be a perfect bleed from one to the other. But with the Roland 30, if you go from bank 1 to bank 2, there’ll be like a 10 millisecond separation between the two, which is not good for a live performance. But that brings us back to the concept of constraints—you learn how to work with these limitations in a creative way.
You also use Tonebutcher effects. What can you tell us about them?
Tonebutcher is a small operation out of Costa Mesa, California. Todd Rogers and Richard Lingenberg create boutique, one-of-a-kind pedals. They like their pedals to do very surprising, uncanny—sometimes uncontrollable—things. I have one of their fuzz pedals [the Pocketpus], and you can never control exactly what sound you’re going to get from it.
Meaning you can’t get the same sound twice?
Exactly. And these pedals are smaller than the palm of your hand. Tonebutcher pedals have blank knobs—you don’t know what each knob does—so as the artist, you have to experiment with the sounds yourself, which is pretty rad. They just give you the pedal with two knobs on it and you have to discover what they’re for [laughs].
What if you really love a sound and you want to duplicate it night after night?
I try to. Once you plug the pedal in, it becomes almost like its own instrument. You can recognize certain sounds that you’re able to get from it. I make little marks on the knobs where I like the sound of that combination of knobs. You can do that and it will be right on—sometimes. It’s also good as an improvisation tool to just do a freakout session on.
Jared Mattson's Gear
Guitars
Fender 50th Anniversary Jaguar
Fender Jaguar Special
Telestar guitar/bass doubleneck
Gretsch White Falcon
Gibson ES-335
Amps
Fender Deluxe Reverb
1953 Gibson Tremolo
Acoustic 1x15 combo
Fender Bassman combo
Effects
Boss TU-2 Tuner
Boss DD-3 Digital Delay
Boss RC-20XL Loop Station
Boss RC-30 Loop Station
MXR Phase 90
Behringer Ultra Chorus
Electro-Harmonix Micro POG
Ibanez TS9 Tube Screamer
Tonebutcher Pocketpus
Tonebutcher Adverb
Strings and Picks
Ernie Ball or D’Addario .011 set
Dunlop Tortex .73 mm picks
But the Tonebutcher pedal I like the most is called the Adverb. It’s more than just a reverb pedal. It has 24 different kinds of reverb on it, it has weird phasers on it, it has a chorus, and it has some automatic delays. You can’t control the delay feedback—it just has these presets, and they’re really interesting delays, too.
And all that fits in your palm?
Oh yeah. If I didn’t need to use the loop pedal, probably all I would need is that pedal. A fuzz pedal and then the Adverb.
You use fuzz very subtly—it doesn’t sound like there’s much of it on Agar.
I love the saturation that [jazz guitarist] Grant Green got on his recordings. He had more of that tube-driven gain, just more of a natural graininess to it, like a tape-saturation type of thing. That’s what my approach is, like a really subtle amount of Ibanez Tube Screamer. I turn the gain totally off and I turn the saturation up quite a bit.
Do you practice pedals the same way you’d practice scales or chords?
Not right now, because I have my sounds styled, but there was a time when I was at UC Irvine where every day for several years I’d experiment with different pedal sounds. It took about two years to get where I’m at now, effects-wise, so I think I can take a break from practicing pedals a little bit.
Do you approach pedals the way you would approach another instrument?
Totally. I think that comes from my love of the band the Cocteau Twins. Robin Guthrie is one of my favorites. He classified himself less as a guitar player and more as a guy who uses the guitar as a means to channel effects. I’m not so much that way, but I do like that approach where you focus on the huge sound using effects, as opposed to just the natural sound of the guitar.
And you incorporate them into your compositional process as well?
Totally. If you listen closely to all the songs on Agar, it sounds like there are less effects happening than on Feeling Hands [Mattson 2’s previous album], where there are a lot of effects.
But we recorded everything live for Agar. Imagine 10 different tracks, with 10 different effects, but they’re all coming through one amplifier and it’s being recorded by one microphone. I got that approach from Brian Eno—his more ’70s stuff. He would have all this information looping on his tape machine, maybe 20 different tracks at once, but he would record that with just one mic. So I like that sound, too. Using the studio as a means to get sounds you could never get live.
Jared Mattson is no stranger to the rabbit hole of guitar sounds. “It took about two years to get where I’m at now, effects-wise, so I think I can take a break from practicing pedals a little bit.”
So you don’t record the different loops on different channels in order to mix them later. Everything is coming out of one speaker and what you hear is what you get.
Exactly—it’s the same approach that Les Paul used. Whatever he did in that take was married to the tape and could not be mixed afterwards. Our approach wasn’t as severe as that, but we recorded everything live with one mic and there’s no separation between the different guitar tracks and different effects. That was the first time we tried that, and I really like the sound of it. It’s more true to what we are as Mattson 2. You can hear the telepathic connection we have sonically.
Someone called it twin-chorionicity.
Yeah, twin-chorionicity, that is what the engineer [John X Volaitis] called it. I like that, too [laughs].
Did you do more live loop overdubbing on this album than on your previous ones?
Yeah. I’m really happy with our other albums, but the reason I like Agar is because everything was live. It was documenting us as a band at this current state in our career. The other albums were really cool, but the same kind of magic doesn’t happen when you’re separately tracking in different rooms in a studio. The other albums were more that way. In hindsight, looking back at it, that wasn’t really a kind of twin-connection way to approach recording. We recorded the underlying rhythm tracks with drums and then Jonathan just sat out for two days while I did all the overdubs. Tracking live was way more collective and way more based on our twin connection.
Who were some of your influences growing up?
The two records that got us into jazz are really the same records that got everyone else into jazz, [Miles Davis’] Kind of Blue and [John Coltrane’s] Giant Steps. They’re hallmark albums, but they really do have an effect on people. And at a young age—in high school—they were a huge deal for us. Before that, Jonathan and I were super into Metallica and Iron Maiden. That really helped us develop a sensitivity toward heavy, guitar-focused music. I think that’s why we write the music we write. That’s why we like to be melodic, too. There’s a lot of heaviness but there’s also a lot of melody, which I’m super into.
Were you into Coltrane’s modal period as well?
Yeah, Coltrane’s “India” was a big influence on Agar. I love the freedom of just playing on one note, one chord, and one bass line because it frees you up melodically. It’s hard to get in a trance listening to Charlie Parker—it’s very pleasurable and it’s lovely to listen to—but it’s hard to get in a trance. It’s easier to get in a trance with something that’s very constant and repetitive. I’m more into zoning-out, in-the-moment types of music, so I think a drone and the modal stuff helps with that.
YouTube It
Jared Mattson plays his 1967 Telestar doubleneck on “Pleasure Point” from Mattson 2’s 2011 album, Feeling Hands.
In this superb live performance, the duo’s jazz influences ring out loud and clear, and we see how Jared layers multiple loops to create a guitar orchestra onstage.
Techno has a similar trance-inducing energy. Do you listen to any of that?
Actually I don’t really listen to techno—I don’t hate it or anything—I’ve just never gotten around to it. I do like early German techno from the ’70s. There’s a composer named Manuel Göttsching, who I’m super into. His music was way less from a club standpoint and more from a composer standpoint. He came to his record label with the idea of creating a 30-minute piece of music with only two chords. He came from that minimalist music, like Steve Reich.
Thank you. I totally agree [laughs]. I like surf music but I’ve never, ever tried to play it, and we never tried to sound like it. We appreciate that people have their own way of identifying with our music, but we’ve never consciously tried to make surf music. I think there are a lot of formulaic things in surf music that we’re associated with, like the strong melody and the grooving drums, but I don’t know ... maybe it’s because surf music is a form of instrumental music that’s really relatable to a lot of people. And I think that we make music that resonates with a lot of people. We don’t try to alienate our audience with highly experimental stuff. We like to make catchy melodies.
Jared’s Pedalboard
Jared’s Juicy Jaguar
Mattson’s main guitars are a candy apple red 50th anniversary Fender Jaguar and a Gretsch White Falcon. Both instruments are stock, and Mattson is thrilled with the sound of his Jaguar. “I just love the pickups on that,” he says. “They really respond well to effects. Someone at one of our shows described it best, ‘It just sounds like it’s sizzling.’ It’s pretty juicy. I can get it to sound like clean glass once in a while, too, if I add some reverb and chorus on it. It just has a lot of different characteristics.” He also likes the Jaguar’s tremolo arm. “I call it my paint brush,” he says. “And I don’t have any trouble staying in tune with that guitar.”
Mattson’s amps include a 1953 Gibson Tremolo and his main squeeze—a 13-year-old Fender Deluxe Reverb. “That’s just the best amp in the world,” he says. “It can do anything.” He splits his signal and sends his loops to a solid-state Acoustic bass amp with a 15" speaker. “I used to send all that stuff—all the loops and bass lines—through my Fender Bassman, which is a rad amp, but the speakers started blowing a lot. They had trouble holding all the information.”
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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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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.