The leader of Danish band the Black Tornado distills a range of influences from B.B. King to JJ Cale into a modern take on a classic genre.
The blues has been fiercely guarded by purists for the sake of authenticity, and also co-opted and twisted as a key ingredient of emerging genres. So the style’s evolution will always be as contested as it is inevitable. And a basic 12-bar will remain a first step on the path for many budding guitarists everywhere. Even Scandinavia.
For Danish singer-songwriter and guitarist Thorbjørn Risager, the blues is a lifelong calling that he’s treated with deep respect, but it’s also a form that he—backed by a six-piece band named the Black Tornado—has worked hard to infuse with a dose of modernity and a big boost of power.
Risager is relatively unknown to North American blues fans, but he and his group have been at it for more than 17 years and are a well-established live powerhouse in Europe that plays around 100 shows annually and has 11 albums to their credit. The latest is Come on In, and it finds the gruff and soulful singer’s commanding voice taking center stage. The album is a focused and beautifully recorded document of this outfit’s uniquely refined and potent take on blues, with 10 tunes that proudly display the lessons Risager’s gleaned from studying B.B. King’s bombast, Billy Gibbons’ relentless Texas boogie, and Ray Charles’ gospel fire, which he juxtaposes against cinematic textures and decorates with subtle effects. Come on In is an album that’s undeniably contemporary, but also quite timeless.
While Risager identifies as a singer first—and his husky voice is, indeed, very special—the man’s guitar skills are formidable and provide a perfect extension of his vocalese. Much in the way King’s guitar would take the reins from his voice to communicate where words failed, Risager, often armed with a red Varitone-equipped Greco ES-345 replica, is always good for a moving, emotionally-charged solo.
For the higher-octane rock playing on Come on In and for live appearances, Risager calls upon the talents of his guitar foil in the Black Tornado, Joachim Svensmark, who joined the group in early 2019 (replacing Peter Skjerning). Svensmark has an athletic playing style that brilliantly complements his boss’ fiery simplicity. The pair represent the duality of blues guitar, its past and its future, and some real magic happens when they dance together within Risager’s songs.
As Come on In, with its JJ Cale-influenced title track, begins to make the kind of noise that may well finally deliver Risager and company across the Atlantic, back to the cradle of the blues, PG spoke with the sharp-dressed Dane about creating the new album, how the blues took such a deep foothold in Scandinavia, and what it was like sharing the stage with Buddy Guy at a massive blues festival in India, of all places.
There’s still a narrative in blues where a lot of people want to keep it as “authentic” as possible for the sake of “keeping the blues alive.” You’re obviously a true student of the form, and I’m curious where and how you draw the line in trying to modernize it?
That’s a good question! I really try to avoid writing straight 12-bar blues tunes, and there’s only one basic 12-bar blues on the record, “I'll Be Gone.” A lot of it has to do with the sounds you use. For instance, our guitar player, Joachim, uses a lot of modern sounds and tones—sounds like you’d get from keyboards and sequencers and stuff like that. So, one way to go about it is just modernizing the tones in the colors you play with. Our bass player, Søren [Bøjgaard], is really the wizard behind our production and has always done a great job getting us sounds that are modern without going too far overboard.
When I write the songs, I’m not thinking about whether I want to do something that’s modern or not. It’s coming from my soul. Some of it also comes from what I’m listening to when I’m writing. On this record, I was listening to a lot of Bonnie Raitt, a lot of Ray Charles, a lot of Robert Cray … and all of these people mixed genres a bit, like I do. While it’s not something I think about when I’m writing the songs, we arrange them as a band and some of the guys in the band do think about how we can give the songs a more modern sound.
Can you tell me about the guitars you used on the new album?
I mostly used my Les Paul Standard. I don’t know much about it, because I’m a bit unusual as a guitarist as I’m not so interested in the equipment. I’ve always considered myself more of a singer, and the guitar equipment always came secondary for me. So I don’t know what year it is, but it’s a fairly new one. I chose to play a Les Paul this time and switched from using my Greco ES-345 copy. B.B. King is my favorite bluesman, and I thought I must play the same guitar as B.B., so I started playing the ES-345.
The record we made in 2014, Too Many Roads, has a song that sounded a little like ZZ Top, and I really love ZZ Top. When we recorded it, I asked the engineer if he could help the guitar sound be a little bit more like Billy Gibbons, and he said “Well, you really have to have a Les Paul for that.” So he gave me a Les Paul to use and I played that on the album and it took me a year or so to actually buy a Les Paul of my own, but now I have it and I really like it. I appreciate Billy Gibbons’ playing as much as B.B. King’s, though B.B. is really who I look up to as a singer.
TIDBIT: Danish bluesman Thorbjørn Risager’s 11th album, Come on In, has elements of B.B. King, ZZ Top boogie, and Ray Charles’ gospel juxtaposed with modern takes on the blues genre.
B.B., Freddie, and Albert King’s influence all come through in your playing. What is it about B.B.’s guitar work that speaks to you?
Well, definitely the simplicity of it. And his feel, of course. B.B. could bend just the root note of a progression and you’d know it was him playing the second you heard it, just from all the feeling that he could put behind a note. I saw him perform just two years before he passed away, and what really struck me was there was still so much power and soul in his singing at that age. That was really unbelievable.
And what impact has Billy Gibbons had on you?
As a band leader, I really appreciate how tightly ZZ Top plays together. There’s an extreme tightness in that band that I really dig, and it’s so well arranged. Also, something I’ve learned from listening to ZZ Top is how to make the blues sound more modern without losing its soul. As much as I really love playing an old-style 12-bar blues, you have to try to take the blues into the present somehow, and that’s what ZZ Top’s been really good at. ZZ Top’s music is definitely still blues music and has always been, but it’s also something more than that and became its own thing. They’ve really taken the blues in a direction of their own and even when they do play a 12-bar, it’s got a different style. And again, I really love Billy Gibbons’ and Dusty Hill’s singing, which is really important to me.
You’ve had essentially the same band for 17 years, and it’s a big band at seven members including yourself. I find the blues is at its most potent when it’s sparse, and your music manages to retain a lot of that despite having so much going on sonically. How do you approach arranging these songs with a big band in mind?
That’s really the challenge. When I first set out to form the band, it was on the basis of listening to B.B. King. On a lot of his recordings, he had pretty much the same lineup, with two horns and two guitars, a piano player, bass, and drums. I really, really loved B.B.’s The Best of the Kent Singles, so this band is based on that lineup. It’s constant work to keep everyone from playing at the same time and to arrange things in a way that lets the music breathe. It’s something we’re really aware that we have to try to avoid. Sometimes someone might think that someone else should take a break other than them, and everybody obviously wants to play, so that’s a constant fight—to try to have air and negative space in the music. But it’s so incredibly important. I still think that we have more work to do on that and I still think there’s space for more air in our music.
The album has a lot of very cinematic, almost Spaghetti Western-sounding guitar, like the tremolo-and-reverb-drenched stabs on the title track or the bridge of “Two Lovers.” How does that come into your writing?
That stuff is all Joachim! I actually play mostly acoustic guitar on the album. I don’t use a lot of effects in my electric guitar playing, either, but Joachim is very good at using them. I’m really glad to have him in the band, because he understands where I’m coming from musically, but can add those things in an interesting way that doesn’t overtake a song.
Thorbjørn Risager and Joachim Svensmark switch off playing lead and rhythm guitar. “He was a child prodigy and when we first met—a 13-year-old playing in our local blues club,” Risager says of Svensmark. “He sounded exactly like Stevie Ray Vaughan, which was unbelievable.” Photo by John Hurd
Which acoustic guitars did you use on the album?
I have a Lowden, which is made in Ireland. Unfortunately, I don’t know which model, but it’s a great guitar and I used that one a lot on the album. They also have some great acoustic guitars in the studio we worked in, including a vintage big-bodied Gibson that had old strings on it and had a more dirty, bluesy sound.
One of my favorite tracks is “Love so Fine.” Could you tell about writing that tune?
That’s definitely one where you can hear the ZZ Top in my music. We try to have a real blues-rock boogie song with that kind of feel on every album, and, for me, ZZ Top perfected the blues-rock thing. Honestly, that song could use a little more air in how it was mixed and produced, but it certainly gets that sound down and it’s a fun one to play live.
How do you and Joachim complement each other on guitar?
We like to switch off between playing lead and rhythm guitar. While he plays more solos than I do, we share our duties. One thing he does really well is play really long solos without boring anyone or really repeating himself. My solos are much more simple.
One funny thing we’ve found is that if I’ve written a song and there’s a particular riff that’s carrying the song, it always works better if I’m the one playing the riff. It rarely works if somebody else has to play it. It might be something in my sense of rhythm. If we want to impress the audience, Joachim’s there to put the flash in things. He was a child prodigy and when we first met—a 13-year-old playing in our local blues club. He sounded exactly like Stevie Ray Vaughan, which was unbelievable as a 13-year-old kid … a true wonder boy. Now he’s developed his own unique style, but his main influences are SRV and Jimi Hendrix. So we’re coming from different places as guitarists, but we’re both rooted in the blues. When it comes time for him to play a solo or write a part, I let him do his thing. I might coach a bit on him having another take in him, but I give him space to work.
I think a lot of our readers would be surprised to find there’s such a deep blues tradition and reverence for the music in Denmark and Scandinavia. Could you tell us about the scene and how you got involved in it?
I’m not sure I can explain why entirely, but Danish people do have a love affair with American blues. I live in Copenhagen, which has been known as a big jazz city for a very long time. A lot of American jazz musicians came over and lived here, like Ben Webster and Dexter Gordon. The same goes for some of the famous blues guys. For example, there’s a great Big Bill Broonzy live album recorded at a club in Copenhagen, which I love. I think part of it is that they were really acknowledged and treated nicely, not to mention paid well, over here. Most of them made much better money in Denmark in their time than they did in the States. And we still find that as musicians today, the places that treat us the best are Scandinavia and Germany. Everywhere else tends to be just a little more shitty when it comes to how the conditions are.
It also has something to do with blues being a little exotic and interesting, as it’s foreign to us, of course. It’s difficult to say why people so far away from the United States fall so deeply in love with music that is essentially American folk music. Blues, jazz, soul, funk—all of these are African-American art forms and, to my ears, the greatest music in the world. It’s one of those things that doesn’t really need to be analyzed too much, because it’s somehow universal.
I found the blues at my childhood neighbor’s house. My parents listened to mostly classical music, but my neighbors listened to blues. It’s still a big wonder to me why I fell in love with this music, because I was 10 years old, but I just had to get ahold of the music that I had heard at their house—especially Fats Domino and Muddy Waters. I had to get my hands on it somehow and bring it home and dissect it. Most people my age at that time were listening to things like Duran Duran, so it remains a mystery why it spoke to me so deeply. Later in life, I went to music school and that’s when I started playing guitar and got into Stevie Ray Vaughan, who was very important to me in the beginning of my education.
Guitars
Late 2000s Gibson Les Paul Standard
Vintage Greco SA-800 Vintage ES-345 Replica
Lowden acoustic
Amps
Fender Hot Rod Deluxe
Effects
Woodsound Wood Boost
Barber LTD overdrive
Boss TU-3 Tuner
Strings and Picks
John Pearse (.011–.050)
Could you tell us about some of the musicians in the Danish blues scene that have influenced you?
Actually, this guy originated in the United States, but he’s been living in Copenhagen since he was about 10 years old: Paul Banks. His first albums, which are the ones I really love, you sadly can’t get ahold of anymore. There’s one called Desperados in Disguise,and he’s a really incredible guitar player! I can’t recommend his records enough.
I really dig the guitar tones you get in your live videos. What amp do you use on the road?
I’ve played through a tweed-covered Fender Hot Rod Deluxe live for around 12 years, and that’s definitely my favorite amp. I’ve played hundreds and hundreds of gigs with that amp and it still works great! Incredibly strong amp.
I set my amp for a clean sound. I have a pedalboard, but it’s very simple. I use a tuner and a pedal called a Wood Boost, which is made at my local guitar store, Wood Sound, and increases the volume a little bit and gives it a little more crunch. And I also use a little overdrive pedal that adds some gain to the sound that I leave on all the time. I can’t recall the name of it.
As far as strings go, I prefer to use John Pearse brand .011s. I tried .010s once, and I really didn’t like the way they sounded. I’d read that Billy Gibbons uses extremely light strings, and I thought maybe I should try a lighter gauge and see if I like it, but it changed the sound much more than I expected. The guitar lost a lot of its bottom end.
Tell us about performing with Buddy Guy at the Mahindra Blues Festival in Mumbai, India. That sounds like such a wild experience.
That was a really great surprise! We didn’t know what to expect going into that show, or whether the audience would dig our music or even understand what we were saying onstage. Usually, we like to have a lot of interaction with the audience during our shows and it’s a big part of what we do. So we were very excited to see how they would react, and they were a really great crowd. They really dug the music and it was like playing for any European audience. It was just great!
I can’t exactly remember how the jam with Buddy Guy was set up, but we played at around 6 p.m., and Buddy wasn’t going on until 10 p.m. So, I had to wait for three hours after our set, and no one would say anything about when they were going to call me onstage or what songs we were going to play, so I was a bit of a nervous wreck. I was also nervous because at the time I was playing my Greco ES-345 copy, and that guitar is wired with a Varitone like a proper 345, so it needs a specific cable to work and sound right because it won’t give you a normal pickup selection from the input jack without it. I was really nervous about the technicians putting my gear up correctly with that special cable, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how awful it would be to get up onstage with Buddy Guy and not have my guitar work properly. In the end, everything worked out great and I had my sound right away and we played “Sweet Home Chicago” and another tune. There’s absolutely nothing quite like being onstage with a legend like that. It was an incredible moment, beyond words!
This full-length concert video from the long-running, prestigious German Rockpalast TV concert series captures Thorbjørn Risager and Peter Skjerning trading licks and leads as Thorbjørn Risager & the Black Tornado play Bonn’s 2016 Crossroads Festival.
Throughout his over-30-year career, Keith Urban has been known more as a songwriter than a guitarist. Here, he shares about his new release, High, and sheds light on all that went into the path that led him to becoming one of today’s most celebrated country artists.
There are superstars of country and rock, chart-toppers, and guitar heroes. Then there’s Keith Urban. His two dozen No. 1 singles and boatloads of awards may not eclipse George Strait or Garth Brooks, but he’s steadily transcending the notion of what it means to be a country star.
He’s in the Songwriters Hall of Fame. He’s won 13 Country Music Association Awards, nine CMT video awards, eight ARIA (Australian Recording Industry Association) Awards, four American Music Awards, and racked up BMI Country Awards for 25 different singles.
He’s been a judge on American Idol and The Voice. In conjunction with Yamaha, he has his own brand of affordably priced Urban guitars and amps, and he has posted beginner guitar lessons on YouTube. His 2014 Academy of Country Music Award-winning video for “Highways Don’t Care” featured Tim McGraw and Keith’s former opening act, Taylor Swift. Add his marriage to fellow Aussie, the actress Nicole Kidman, and he’s seen enough red carpet to cover a football field.
Significantly, his four Grammys were all for Country Male Vocal Performance. A constant refrain among newcomers is, “and he’s a really good guitar player,” as if by surprise or an afterthought. Especially onstage, his chops are in full force. There are country elements, to be sure, but rock, blues, and pop influences like Mark Knopfler are front and center.
Unafraid to push the envelope, 2020’s The Speed of Now Part 1 mixed drum machines, processed vocals, and a duet with Pink with his “ganjo”—an instrument constructed of a 6-string guitar neck on a banjo body—and even a didgeridoo. It, too, shot to No. 1 on the Billboard Country chart and climbed to No. 7 on the Pop chart.
His new release, High, is more down-to-earth, but is not without a few wrinkles. He employs an EBow on “Messed Up As Me” and, on “Wildfire,” makes use of a sequencerreminiscent of ZZ Top’s “Legs.” Background vocals in “Straight Lines” imitate a horn section, and this time out he duets on “Go Home W U” with rising country star Lainey Wilson. The video for “Heart Like a Hometown” is full of home movies and family photos of a young Urban dwarfed by even a 3/4-size Suzuki nylon-string.
Born Keith Urbahn (his surname’s original spelling) in New Zealand, his family moved to Queensland, Australia, when he was 2. He took up guitar at 6, two years after receiving his beloved ukulele. He released his self-titled debut album in 1991 for the Australian-only market, and moved to Nashville two years later. It wasn’t until ’97 that he put out a group effort, fronting the Ranch, and another self-titled album marked his American debut as a leader, in ’99. It eventually went platinum—a pattern that’s become almost routine.
The 57-year-old’s celebrity and wealth were hard-earned and certainly a far cry from his humble beginnings. “Australia is a very working-class country, certainly when I was growing up, and I definitely come from working-class parents,” he details. “My dad loved all the American country artists, like Johnny Cash, Haggard, Waylon. He didn’t play professionally, but before he got married he played drums in a band, and my grandfather and uncles all played instruments.
One of Urban’s biggest influences as a young guitar player was Mark Knopfler, but he was also mesmerized by lesser-known session musicians such as Albert Lee, Ian Bairnson, Reggie Young, and Ray Flacke. Here, he’s playing a 1950 Broadcaster once owned by Waylon Jennings that was a gift from Nicole Kidman, his wife.
“For me, it was a mix of that and Top 40 radio, which at the time was much more diverse than it is now. You would just hear way more genres, and Australia itself had its own, what they call Aussie pub rock—very blue-collar, hard-driving music for the testosterone-fueled teenager. Grimy, sweaty, kind of raw themes.”
A memorable event happened when he was 7. “My dad got tickets for the whole family to see Johnny Cash. He even bought us little Western shirts and bolo ties. It was amazing.”
But the ukulele he was gifted a few years earlier, at the age of 4, became a constant companion. “I think to some degree it was my version of the stuffed animal, something that was mine, and I felt safe with it. My dad said I would strum it in time to all the songs on the radio, and he told my mom, ‘He’s got rhythm. I wonder what a good age is for him to learn chords.’ My mom and dad ran a little corner store, and a lady named Sue McCarthy asked if she could put an ad in the window offering guitar lessons. They said, ‘If you teach our kid for free, we’ll put your ad in the window.’”
Yet, guitar didn’t come without problems. “With the guitar, my fingers hurt like hell,” he laughs, “and I started conveniently leaving the house whenever the guitar teacher would show up. Typical kid. I don’t wanna learn, I just wanna be able to do it. It didn’t feel like any fun. My dad called me in and went, ‘What the hell? The teacher comes here for lessons. What’s the problem?’ I said I didn’t want to do it anymore. He just said, ‘Okay, then don’t do it.’ Kind of reverse psychology, right? So I just stayed with it and persevered. Once I learned a few chords, it was the same feeling when any of us learn how to be moving on a bike with two wheels and nobody holding us up. That’s what those first chords felt like in my hands.”
Keith Urban's Gear
Urban has 13 Country Music Association Awards, nine CMT video awards, eight ARIA Awards, and four Grammys to his name—the last of which are all for Best Country Male Vocal Performance.
Guitars
For touring:
- Maton Diesel Special
- Maton EBG808TE Tommy Emmanuel Signature
- 1957 Gibson Les Paul Junior, TV yellow
- 1959 Gibson ES-345 (with Varitone turned into a master volume)
- Fender 40th Anniversary Tele, “Clarence”
- Two first-generation Fender Eric Clapton Stratocasters (One is black with DiMarzio Area ’67 pickups, standard tuning. The other is pewter gray, loaded with Fralin “real ’54” pickups, tuned down a half-step.)
- John Bolin Telecaster (has a Babicz bridge with a single humbucker and a single volume control. Standard tuning.)
- PRS Paul’s Guitar (with two of their narrowfield humbuckers. Standard tuning.)
- Yamaha Keith Urban Acoustic Guitar (with EMG ACS soundhole pickups)
- Deering “ganjo”
Amps
- Mid-’60s black-panel Fender Showman (modified by Chris Miller, with oversized transformers to power 6550 tubes; 130 watts)
- 100-watt Dumble Overdrive Special (built with reverb included)
- Two Pacific Woodworks 1x12 ported cabinets (Both are loaded with EV BlackLabel Zakk Wylde signature speakers and can handle 300 watts each.)
Effects
- Two Boss SD-1W Waza Craft Super Overdrives with different settings
- Mr. Black SuperMoon Chrome
- FXengineering RAF Mirage Compressor
- Ibanez TS9 with Tamura Mod
- Boss BD-2 Blues Driver
- J. Rockett Audio .45 Caliber Overdrive
- Pro Co RAT 2
- Radial Engineering JX44 (for guitar distribution)
- Fractal Audio Axe-Fx XL+ (for acoustic guitars)
- Two Fractal Audio Axe-Fx III (one for electric guitar, one for bass)
- Bricasti Design Model 7 Stereo Reverb Processor
- RJM Effect Gizmo (for pedal loops)
(Note: All delays, reverb, chorus, etc. is done post amp. The signal is captured with microphones first then processed by Axe-Fx and other gear.)
- Shure Axient Digital Wireless Microphone System
Strings & Picks
- D’Addario NYXL (.011–.049; electric)
- D’Addario EJ16 (.012–.053; acoustics)
- D’Addario EJ16, for ganjo (.012–.053; much thicker than a typical banjo strings)
- D’Addario 1.0 mm signature picks
He vividly remembers the first song he was able to play after “corny songs like ‘Mama’s little baby loves shortnin’ bread.’” He recalls, “There was a song I loved by the Stylistics, ‘You Make Me Feel Brand New.’ My guitar teacher brought in the sheet music, so not only did I have the words, but above them were the chords. I strummed the first chord, and went, [sings E to Am] ‘My love,’ and then minor, ‘I'll never find the words, my,’ back to the original chord, ‘love.’ Even now, I get covered in chills thinking what it felt like to sing and put that chord sequence together.”
After the nylon-string Suzuki, he got his first electric at 9. “It was an Ibanez copy of a Telecaster Custom—the classic dark walnut with the mother-of-pearl pickguard. My first Fender was a Stratocaster. I wanted one so badly. I’d just discovered Mark Knopfler, and I only wanted a red Strat, because that’s what Knopfler had. And he had a red Strat because of Hank Marvin. All roads lead to Hank!”
He clarifies, “Remember a short-lived run of guitar that Fender did around 1980–’81, simply called ‘the Strat’? I got talked into buying one of those, and the thing weighed a ton. Ridiculously heavy. But I was just smitten when it arrived. ‘Sultans of Swing’ was the first thing I played on it. ‘Oh my god! I sound a bit like Mark.’”
“Messed Up As Me” has some licks reminiscent of Knopfler. “I think he influenced a huge amount of my fingerpicking and melodic choices. I devoured those records more than any other guitar player. ‘Tunnel of Love,’ ‘Love over Gold,’ ‘Telegraph Road,’ the first Dire Straits album, and Communique. I was spellbound by Mark’s touch, tone, and melodic choice every time.”
Other influences are more obscure. “There were lots of session guitar players whose solos I was loving, but had no clue who they were,” he explains. “A good example was Ian Bairnson in the Scottish band Pilot and the Alan Parsons Project. It was only in the last handful of years that I stumbled upon him and did a deep dive, and realized he played the solo on ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Kate Bush, ‘Eye in the Sky’ by Alan Parsons, ‘It’s Magic’ and ‘January’ by Pilot’—all these songs that spoke to me growing up. I also feel like a lot of local-band guitar players are inspirations—they certainly were to me. They didn’t have a name, the band wasn’t famous, but when you’re 12 or 13, watching Barry Clough and guys in cover bands, it’s, ‘Man, I wish I could play like that.’”
On High, Urban keeps things song-oriented, playing short and economical solos.
In terms of country guitarists, he nods, “Again, a lot of session players whose names I didn’t know, like Reggie Young. The first names I think would be Albert Lee and Ray Flacke, whose chicken pickin’ stuff on the Ricky Skaggs records became a big influence. ‘How is he doing that?’”
Flacke played a role in a humorous juxtaposition. “I camped out to see Iron Maiden,” Urban recounts. “They’d just put out Number of the Beast, and I was a big fan. I was 15, so my hormones were raging. I’d been playing country since I was 6, 7, 8 years old. But this new heavy-metal thing is totally speaking to me. So I joined a heavy metal band called Fractured Mirror, just as their guitar player. At the same time, I also discovered Ricky Skaggs and Highways and Heartaches. What is this chicken pickin’ thing? One night I was in the metal band, doing a Judas Priest song or Saxon. They threw me a solo, and through my red Strat, plugged into a Marshall stack that belonged to the lead singer, I shredded this high-distortion, chicken pickin’ solo. The lead singer looked at me like, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I got fired from the band.”
Although at 15 he “floated around different kinds of music and bands,” when he was 21 he saw John Mellencamp. “He’d just put out Lonesome Jubilee. I’d been in bands covering ‘Hurts So Good,' ‘Jack & Diane,’ and all the early shit. This record had fiddle and mandolin and acoustic guitars, wall of electrics, drums—the most amazing fusion of things. I saw that concert, and this epiphany happened so profoundly. I looked at the stage and thought, ‘Whoa! I get it. You take all your influences and make your own thing. That’s what John did. I’m not gonna think about genre; I’m gonna take all the things I love and find my way.’
“Of course, getting to Nashville with that recipe wasn’t going to fly in 1993,” he laughs. “Took me another seven-plus years to really start getting some traction in that town.”
Urban’s main amp today is a Dumble Overdrive Reverb, which used to belong to John Mayer. He also owns a bass amp that Alexander Dumble built for himself.
Photo by Jim Summaria
When it comes to “crossover” in country music, one thinks of Glen Campbell, Kenny Rogers, Garth Brooks, and Dolly Parton’s more commercial singles like “Two Doors Down.” Regarding the often polarizing subject and, indeed, what constitutes country music, it’s obvious that Urban has thought a lot—and probably been asked a lot—about the syndrome. The Speed of Now Part 1 blurs so many lines, it makes Shania Twain sound like Mother Maybelle Carter. Well, almost.
“I can’t speak for any other artists, but to me, it’s always organic,” he begins. “Anybody that’s ever seen me play live would notice that I cover a huge stylistic field of music, incorporating my influences, from country, Top 40, rock, pop, soft rock, bluegrass, real country. That’s how you get songs like ‘Kiss a Girl’—maybe more ’70s influence than anything else.”
“I think [Mark Knopfler] influenced a huge amount of my fingerpicking and melodic choices. I devoured those records more than any other guitar player.”
Citing ’50s producers Chet Atkins and Owen Bradley, who moved the genre from hillbilly to the more sophisticated countrypolitan, Keith argues, “In the history of country music, this is exactly the same as it has always been. Patsy Cline doing ‘Walking After Midnight’ or ‘Crazy’; it ain’t Bob Wills. It ain’t Hank Williams. It’s a new sound, drawing on pop elements. That’s the 1950s, and it has never changed. I’ve always seen country like a lung, that expands outwards because it embraces new sounds, new artists, new fusions, to find a bigger audience. Then it feels, ‘We’ve lost our way. Holy crap, I don’t even know who we are,’ and it shrinks back down again. Because a purist in the traditional sense comes along, whether it be Ricky Skaggs or Randy Travis. The only thing that I think has changed is there’s portals now for everything, which didn’t used to exist. There isn’t one central control area that would yell at everybody, ‘You’ve got to bring it back to the center.’ I don’t know that we have that center anymore.”
Stating his position regarding the current crop of talent, he reflects, “To someone who says, ‘That’s not country music,’ I always go, “‘It’s not your country music; it’s somebody else’s country music.’ I don’t believe anybody has a right to say something’s not anything. It’s been amazing watching this generation actually say, ‘Can we get back to a bit of purity? Can we get real guitars and real storytelling?’ So you’ve seen the explosion of Zach Bryan and Tyler Childers who are way purer than the previous generation of country music.”
Seen performing here in 2003, Urban is celebrated mostly for his songwriting, but is also an excellent guitarist.
Photo by Steve Trager/Frank White Photo Agency
As for the actual recording process, he notes, “This always shocks people, but ‘Chattahoochee’ by Alan Jackson is all drum machine. I write songs on acoustic guitar and drum machine, or drum machine and banjo. Of course, you go into the studio and replace that with a drummer. But my very first official single, in 1999, was ‘It’s a Love Thing,’ and it literally opens with a drum loop and an acoustic guitar riff. Then the drummer comes in. But the loop never goes away, and you hear it crystal clear. I haven’t changed much about that approach.”
On the road, Urban utilizes different electrics “almost always because of different pickups—single-coil, humbucker, P-90. And then one that’s tuned down a half-step for a few songs in half-keys. Tele, Strat, Les Paul, a couple of others for color. I’ve got a John Bolin guitar that I love—the feel of it. It’s a Tele design with just one PAF, one volume knob, no tone control. It’s very light, beautifully balanced—every string, every fret, all the way up the neck. It doesn’t have a lot of tonal character of its own, so it lets my fingers do the coloring. You can feel the fingerprints of Billy Gibbons on this guitar. It’s very Billy.”
“I looked at the stage and thought, ‘Whoa! I get it. You take all your influences and make your own thing. I’m gonna take all the things I love and find my way.’”
Addressing his role as the collector, “or acquirer,” as he says, some pieces have quite a history. “I haven’t gone out specifically thinking, ‘I’m missing this from the collection.’ I feel really lucky to have a couple of very special guitars. I got Waylon Jennings’ guitar in an auction. It was one he had all through the ’70s, wrapped in the leather and the whole thing. In the ’80s, he gave it to Reggie Young, who owned it for 25 years or so and eventually put it up for auction. My wife wanted to give it to me for my birthday. I was trying to bid on it, and she made sure that I couldn’t get registered! When it arrived, I discovered it’s a 1950 Broadcaster—which is insane. I had no idea. I just wanted it because I’m a massive Waylon fan, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that guitar disappearing overseas under somebody’s bed, when it should be played.
“I also have a 1951 Nocaster, which used to belong to Tom Keifer in Cinderella. It’s the best Telecaster I’ve ever played, hands down. It has the loudest, most ferocious pickup, and the wood is amazing.”
YouTube
Urban plays a Gibson SG here at the 2023 CMT Music Awards. Wait until the end to see him show off his shred abilities.
Other favorites include “a first-year Strat, ’54, that I love, and a ’58 goldtop. I also own a ’58 ’burst, but prefer the goldtop; it’s just a bit more spanky and lively. I feel abundantly blessed with the guitars I’ve been able to own and play. And I think every guitar should be played, literally. There’s no guitar that’s too precious to be played.”
Speaking of precious, there are also a few Dumble amps that elicit “oohs” and “aahs.” “Around 2008, John Mayer had a few of them, and he wanted to part with this particular Overdrive Special head. When he told me the price, I said, ‘That sounds ludicrous.’ He said, ‘How much is your most expensive guitar?’ It was three times the value of the amp. He said, ‘So that’s one guitar. What amp are you plugging all these expensive guitars into?’ I was like, ‘Sold. I guess when you look at it that way.’ It’s just glorious. It actually highlighted some limitations in some guitars I never noticed before.”
“It’s just glorious. It actually highlighted some limitations in some guitars I never noticed before.”
Keith also developed a relationship with the late Alexander Dumble. “We emailed back and forth, a lot of just life stuff and the beautifully eccentric stuff he was known for. His vocabulary was as interesting as his tubes and harmonic understanding. My one regret is that he invited me out to the ranch many times, and I was never able to go. Right now, my main amp is an Overdrive Reverb that also used to belong to John when he was doing the John Mayer Trio. I got it years later. And I have an Odyssey, which was Alexander’s personal bass amp that he built for himself. I sent all the details to him, and he said, ‘Yeah, that’s my amp.’”
The gearhead in Keith doesn’t even mind minutiae like picks and strings. “I’ve never held picks with the pointy bit hitting the string. I have custom picks that D’Addario makes for me. They have little grippy ridges like on Dunlops and Hercos, but I have that section just placed in one corner. I can use a little bit of it on the string, or I can flip it over. During the pandemic, I decided to go down a couple of string gauges. I was getting comfortable on .009s, and I thought, ‘Great. I’ve lightened up my playing.’ Then the very first gig, I was bending the crap out of them. So I went to .010s, except for a couple of guitars that are .011s.”
As with his best albums, High is song-oriented; thus, solos are short and economical. “Growing up, I listened to songs where the guitar was just in support of that song,” he reasons. “If the song needs a two-bar break, and then you want to hear the next vocal section, that’s what it needs. If it sounds like it needs a longer guitar section, then that’s what it needs. There’s even a track called ‘Love Is Hard’ that doesn’t have any solo. It’s the first thing I’ve ever recorded in my life where I literally don’t play one instrument. Eren Cannata co-wrote it [with Shane McAnally and Justin Tranter], and I really loved the demo with him playing all the instruments. I loved it so much I just went with his acoustic guitar. I’m that much in service of the song.”
Some of us love drum machines and synths and others don’t, but we all love Billy.
Billy Gibbons is an undisputable guitar force whose feel, tone, and all-around vibe make him the highest level of hero. But that’s not to say he hasn’t made some odd choices in his career, like when ZZ Top re-recorded parts of their classic albums for CD release. And fans will argue which era of the band’s career is best. Some of us love drum machines and synths and others don’t, but we all love Billy.
This episode is sponsored by Magnatone
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The English guitarist expands his extensive discography with 1967: Vacations in the Past, an album paired with a separate book release, both dedicated to the year 1967 and the 14-year-old version of himself that still lives in him today.
English singer-songwriter Robyn Hitchcock is one of those people who, in his art as well as in his every expression, presents himself fully, without scrim. I don’t know if that’s because he intends to, exactly, or if it’s just that he doesn’t know how to be anyone but himself. And it’s that genuine quality that privileges you or I, as the listener, to recognize him in tone or lyrics alone, the same way one knows the sound of Miles Davis’ horn within an instant of hearing it—or the same way one could tell Hitchcock apart in a crowd by his vibrantly hued, often loudly patterned fashion choices.
Itchycoo Park
“I like my songs, but I don’t necessarily think I’m the best singer of them,” he effaces to me over Zoom, as it’s approaching midnight where he’s staying in London. “I just wanted to be a singer-songwriter because that’s what Bob Dylan did. And I like to create; I’m happiest when I’m producing something. But my records are blueprints, really. They just show you what the song could be, but they’re not necessarily the best performance of them. Whereas if you listen to … oh, I don’t know, the great records of ’67, they actually sound like the best performances you could get.”
He mentions that particular year not offhandedly, but because that’s the theme of the conversation: He’s just released an album, 1967: Vacations in the Past, which is a collection of covers of songs released in 1967, and one original song—the title track. Boasting his takes on Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” the Beatles’ “A Day in the Life,” Pink Floyd’s “See Emily Play,” and Small Faces’ “Itchycoo Park,” among eight other tracks, it serves as a sort of soundtrack or musical accompaniment to his new memoir, 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left.
Hitchcock, who was 14 years old and attending boarding school in England in 1967, describes how who he is today is encased in that period of his life, much like a mosquito in amber. But why share that with the world now?
In the mid ’70s, before he launched his solo career, Hitchcock was the leader of the psychedelic group the Soft Boys.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/tinnitus photography
“I’m 71; I’ve been alive quite a long time,” he shares. “If I want to leave a record of anything apart from all the songs I’ve written, now is a good time to do it. By writing about 1966 to ’67, I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
Hopefully, I say, the publication of these works won’t ring as some sort of death knell for him.
“Well, it’s a relative death knell,” he replies. “But everyone’s on the conveyor belt. We all go over the edge. And none of our legacies are permanent. Even the plastic chairs and Coke bottles and stuff like that that we’re leaving behind.... In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth. But I suppose you do probably get to an age where you want to try and explain yourself, maybe to yourself. Maybe it’s me that needs to read the book, you know?”
“I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
To counter his description of his songs above, I would say that Hitchcock’s performances on 1967: Vacations in the Past carve out their own deserved little planet in the vintage-rock Milky Way. I was excited in particular by some of his selections: the endorsement of foundational prog in the Procol Harum cover; the otherwise forgotten Traffic tune, “No Face, No Name and No Number,” off of Mr. Fantasy, the Mamas & the Papas’ nostalgic “San Francisco,” and of course, the aforementioned Floyd single. There’s also the lesser known “My White Bicycle” by Tomorrow and “I Can Hear the Grass Grow” by the Move, and the Hendrix B-side, “Burning of the Midnight Lamp.”
Through these recordings, Hitchcock pays homage to “that lovely time when people were inventing new strands of music, and they couldn’t define them,” he replies. “People didn’t really know what to call Pink Floyd. Was it jazz, or was it pop, or psychedelia, or freeform, or systems music?”
His renditions call to mind a cooking reduction, defined by Wikipedia as “the process of thickening and intensifying the flavor of a liquid mixture, such as a soup, sauce, wine, or juice, by simmering or boiling.” Hitchcock’s distinctive, classic folk-singer voice and steel-string-guided arrangements do just that to this iconic roster. There are some gentle twists and turns—Eastern-instrumental touches; subtly applied, ethereal delay and reverb, and the like—but nothing that should cloud the revived conduit to the listener’s memory of the originals.
And yet, here’s his review of his music, in general: “I hear [my songs] back and I think, ‘God, my voice is horrible! This is just … ugh! Why do I sing through my nose like that?’ And the answer is because Bob Dylan sang through his nose, you know. I was just singing through Bob Dylan’s nose, really.”
1967: Vacations in the Pastfeatures 11 covers of songs that were released in 1967, and one original song—the title track.
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“I wait for songs to come to me: They’re independent like cats, rather than like dogs who will faithfully trail you everywhere,” Hitchcock explains, sharing about his songwriting process. “All I can do is leave a plate of food out for the songs—in the form of my open mind—and hope they will appear in there, hungry for my neural pathways.”
Once he’s domesticated the wild idea, he says, “It’s important to remain as unselfconscious as possible in the [writing] process. If I start worrying about composing the next line, the embryonic song slips away from me. Often I’m left with a verse-and-a-half and an unresolved melody because my creation has lost its innocence and fled from my brain.
“[Then] there are times when creativity itself is simply not what’s called for: You just have to do some more living until the songs appear again. That’s as close as I can get to describing the process, which still, thankfully, remains mysterious to me after all this time.”
“In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth.”
In the prose of 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left, Hitchcock expresses himself similarly to how he does so distinctively in his lyrics and speech. Amidst his tales of roughing his first experiences in the infamously ruthless environs of English boarding school, he shares an abundance of insight about his parents and upbringing, as well as a self-diagnosis of having Asperger’s syndrome—whose name is now gradually becoming adapted in modern lexicon to “low-support-needs” autism spectrum disorder. When I touch on the subject, he reaffirms the observation, and elaborates, “I think I probably am also OCD, whatever that means. I’ve always been obsessed with trying to get things in the right order.”
He relates an anecdote about his school days: “So, if I got out of lunch—‘Yippee! I’ve got three hours to dress like a hippie before they put me back in my school clothes. Oh damn, I’ve put the purple pants on, but actually, I should put the red ones on. No! I put the red ones on; it’s not good—I’ll put my jeans on.’
Robyn Hitchcock's Gear
Hitchcock in 1998, after embarking on the tour behind one of his earlier acoustic albums, Moss Elixir.
Guitars
- Two Fylde Olivia acoustics equipped with Sennheiser II lavalier mics (for touring)
- Larrivée acoustic
- Fender Telecaster
- Fender Stratocaster
Strings & Picks
- Elixir .011–.052 (acoustic)
- Ernie Ball Skinny Top Heavy Bottom .010–.054 (electric)
- Dunlop 1.0 mm
“I’d just get into a real state. And then the only thing that would do would be listening to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart. There was something about Trout Mask that was so liberating that I thought, ‘Oh, I don’t care what trousers I’m wearing. This is just, whoa! This music is it.’”
With him having chosen to cover “See Emily Play,” a Syd Barrett composition, the conversation soon turns to the topic of the late, troubled songwriter. I comment, “It’s hard to listen to Syd’s solo records.... It’s weird that people enabled that. You can hear him losing his mind.”
“You can, but at the same time, the fact they enabled it means that these things did come out,” Robyn counters. “And he obviously had nothing else to give after that. So, at least, David Gilmour and the old Floyd guys.... It meant they gave the world those songs, which, although the performances are quite … rickety, quite fragile, they’re incredibly beautiful songs. There’s nothing forced about Barrett. He can only be himself.”
“There was something about Trout Mask Replica that was so liberating that I thought, ‘Oh, I don’t care what trousers I’m wearing. This is just, whoa!’”
I briefly compare Barrett to singer-songwriter Daniel Johnston, and we agree there are some similarities. And then with a segue, ask, “When did you first fall in love with the guitar? Was it when you came home from boarding school and found the guitar your parents gifted you on your bed?”
Robyn pauses thoughtfully.“Ah, I think I liked the idea of the guitar probably around that time,” he shares. “I always used to draw men with guns. I’m not really macho, but I had a very kind of post-World War II upbringing where men were always carrying guns. And I thought, ‘Well, if he’s a man, he’s got to carry a gun.’ Then, around the age of 13, I swapped the gun for the guitar. And then every man I drew was carrying a guitar instead.”
Elaborating on getting his first 6-string, he says, “I had lessons from a man who had three fingers bent back from an industrial accident. He was a nice old man with whiskers, and he showed me how to get the guitar in tune and what the basic notes were. And then I got hold of a Bob Dylan songbook, and—‘Oh my gosh, I can play “Mr. Tambourine Man!”’ It was really fast—about 10 minutes between not being able to play anything, and suddenly being able to play songs by my heroes.”
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Hitchcock does me the kindness, during our atypically deep conversation—at least, for a press interview—of sharing more acute perceptions of his parents, and their own neurodivergence. Ultimately, he feels that his mother didn’t necessarily like him, but loved the idea of him—and that later in life, he came to better understand his lonely, depressive father. “My mother was protective but in an oddly cold way. People are like that,” he shares. “We just contain so many things that don’t make sense with each other: colors that you would not mix as a painter; themes you would not intermingle as a writer; characters you would not create.... We defy any sense of balance or harmony.
“Although the performances are quite rickety, quite fragile, they’re incredibly beautiful songs. There’s nothing forced about Barrett. He can only be himself.”
“The idea of normality.... ‘Normal’ is tautological,” he continues. “Nothing is normal. A belief in normality is an aberration. It’s a form of insanity, I think.
“It’s just hard for us to accept ourselves because we’re brought up with the myth of normality, and the myth of what people are supposed to be like gender-wise, sex-wise, and psychologically what we’re supposed to want. And in a way, some of that’s beginning to melt, now. But that probably just causes more confusion. It’s no wonder people like me want to live in 1967.”
YouTube It
In this excerpt from the Jonathan Demme-directed concert film of Robyn Hitchcock, Storefront Hitchcock, the songwriter performs an absurdist “upbeat” song about a man who dies of cancer.