After two decades of making funk-metal with his buds, 311's guitarist is excited about the band's first release on 311 Records.
Tim Mahoney is a cheerful dude. You can’t blame him—he’s coming up on some enjoyable milestones. For starters, he just welcomed his first son, Tim Jr., in late 2013. And he’s been playing guitar in the ska-funk-metal band 311 with the same homeboys from Omaha, Nebraska, for more than 20 years. For the group’s 11th studio album, Stereolithic, 311 reunited with producer Scott Ralston for the first time since Transistor and Soundsystem in the late ’90s.
“We’re the happiest, most content we’ve been as a unit in a long time, and I think that, combined with reconnecting with Scott [Ralston] as our producer, made this last album cycle a really fruitful, fun time,” says Mahoney. “We’ve always been a close band, but we have our own families, friends, and lives outside of the band and sometimes that takes precedent—as it should. But right now we’re all in a good place and it’s hopefully felt in our music and live shows.”
The band released Stereolithic on March 11, or 3/11—a date that has become an annual holiday for the band, celebrated with special extended performances in a different city each year. Surprisingly, this is the first time 311 has released an album on March 11, and it also marks the first release on the band’s new label, 311 Records. Mahoney recorded his parts at the home studio of SA Martinez (vocals, turntables).
“We all kind of recorded in our most comfortable environments this time. I love the Hive, our studio in L.A., but it was nice for me to record at SA’s house because we live in the same area so traffic and the commute wasn’t bumming me out when I was going in to record [laughs],” says Mahoney. “It’s funny, back when we started we fought, clawed, and grinded to get a major label deal, and now two decades later we’re liberated to go full circle where we’re still making music we’re proud of and releasing it ourselves to get to the fans a lot easier, quicker, and smoother.”
As a guitarist in 311, Mahoney combines interpretations of reggae and metal—his two favorite kinds of music—sometimes in the same song. Take, for instance, 311’s “Sweet,” Transistor’s “No Control,” and Evolver’s “Beyond The Gray Sky.” The new music continues the tradition of mixing a Marley-esque Kaya vibe, sonically moving from tranquil beachside jam to ’80s metal with harmonized solos and pick squeals.
“My favorite guitarists are probably Bob Marley or Jerry Garcia, and Dimebag Darrell of Pantera,” says Mahoney. “So for me to be able to incorporate both my musical loves into our band has pretty much been a dream come true.”
Lucky for him, his band of brothers enables his pedal addiction. Constantly.
“Pedals can be inspirational,” Mahoney testifies. “The main riff of Stereolithic’s “Revelation of the Year” came when I stumbled upon a combination of phaser, vibe, and chorus that breathed new life into an old riff I’ve been sitting on for years. I’m just lucky I’m in the band that not only understands my pedal love, but encourages it [laughs].”
In between dad duties and rehearsals, the perpetually upbeat Mahoney spoke about his mahogany-bodied guitar preference, the ins and outs of his complex pedalboard setup, and what acid and Jerry Garcia have to do with his favorite stompbox.
Last time we talked you were using a Diamond Spitfire II for your dirty tones. Is that still the case on Stereolithic?
All the high-gain sounds on this album are a ’90s Bogner Uberschall and a Diamond Spitfire II. Recently I got my hands on a PRS Custom amp and I couldn’t believe how great the overdrive sounded, so we used that quite a bit, too.
Are you still using a ’63 AC30 for your clean tones?
Nope, this time I paired one of my Spitfire II heads with a Lexicon PCM-42 in its effects loop and an early ’68 Fender Twin—it has the silverface front panel but the components and guts are of the AB763 circuit.
Why the switch from the AC30?
I’ve always had Fender amps in my personal stash, but I got hip to a great vintage AC30 when we worked with Bob Rock on Uplifter and Universal Pulse. I loved blending in tones with that combo. I tracked at S.A.’s house about 90 minutes north of our rehearsal space in L.A., which is where my Vox was. So I just used my Twin that I had out of necessity and it turned out to be some of the best tones I’ve recorded to date.
Tim Mahoney runs three signal paths through his pedalboard, and often uses multiple brands of the same effects for different flavors through different amps. Still, he says he uses everything on his board.
Why are you a big user of the two-amp (or more) setup for recording clean and then two more for dirty?
I really enjoy the complement meshing and a fatter, wider spread the two amps give a recorded guitar track. Each head is routed through its own 4x12 and our producer Scott Ralston mics each cabinet with two mics—and all four mics are different—so when we’re mixing we have an entire collection of choices that we can queue up, dial back, isolate, and mix to best suit the overall song.
Are the similar output tubes a concern? Both amps use EL34s.
I’ve found that even if you have two of the same exact amps, they produce a distinct tone all their own. So with the Spitfire and Uberschall having the same tube layout, they still produce unique sounds because the brand of tubes is different, and the wiring, transformers, and capacitors are all different, too.
What about your live rig?
We pretty much used my live rig to record my parts. The only thing we indulged on was adding amps to thicken the sound and provide more options in post. I used my live pedalboard and my go-to guitars that I still take on the road. For amps, I’ll just be using a Spitfire II for clean and probably the Uberschall for dirty, which will be her first time on the road so I’ll have to extra nice to her [laughs].
Did you track predominantly with “Ol Blue”—your early ’90s PRS Standard 24?
Oh yeah, Blue was the main dog again [laughs]. I got the Paul Reed Smith Signature Limited last year and it has these pickups (the bridge is oversized and the neck is a tad undersized) that make it sound monstrous like a Les Paul so I used that a bit on the heavier parts. For the clean parts, I primarily used my Fender David Gilmour Stratocaster.
Last time we talked you were using modern humbuckers, but looking to dive into the world of PAF-style ’buckers. Has that happened yet?
I tried out and really liked Seymour Duncan’s Antiquity humbuckers designed after the Seth Lover pickups from the ’50s. I actually put PRS 57/08s in all of my main PRS guitars and I love them. Everything I try to go after when it comes to guitars and pickups is based on what I love in my ’76 Gibson Explorer that has its original PAF pickups. Another guitar I use as a benchmark for tone is my early ’70s Fender Telecaster Deluxe with the Lover-designed Wide Range humbuckers.
You seem to prefer using older, mahogany-based guitars with lower-output pickups. Why is that?
Typically, guys might think they want high-output pickups through a high-gain amp for the best, most aggressive sound, but I need to balance between very, crystal-clean chill parts and heavy-rocking jams. The lower-output pickups have clarity and leave an open, dynamic range—especially with the high-gain stuff—that you lose if you push everything to the max. I think it gives you more room to use overdrives and boosts because if you’re using active or high-output humbuckers, you’re eating up a lot of frequency space just from their power. It takes the tone out of the wood, amp, and effects.
What are you using on the solo of “First Dimension” to get that nasally, pitch-shifting, phased-out quality?
There were no time constraints like when you rent studio time so we procrastinated and the solo on “First Dimension” was the spontaneous last take I did after about 100 other solos. I didn’t realize until I listened back that the delay time on the PCM-42 was cranked so it starts to wash out a bit, which is something I didn’t intend to do at all, but it was a happy accident. The pitch shifting you’re hearing is my Boss OC-2 pedal running through the dirty Uberschall/Spitfire II setup.
YouTube It
Watch 311’s entire set from the 2011 KROQ Almost Acoustic Christmas show to fully appreciate Mahoney’s chameleonic range, from ska to funk to metal.
“Friday Afternoon” starts out real tranquil and ends up like a raging ’80s rocker from the strip. How did that song come to be?
That is a song Nick wrote before rehearsals and it’s funny because he’s a very relaxed, centered dude. So for him to exhibit this hard side—which I love because I’m a metalhead from Omaha—was interesting and funny because he’s not really into that scene as a music fan. It gave me a chance to work out some scales and brush up on my pinch-harmonic squeals [laughs].
Another song with heavier vibes is “The Great Divide”—you really flex your metal muscle.
I love pinch harmonics and I try to incorporate them in the live setting, but this album I was able to put some in that felt timely and appropriate with the overall song. Whether it’s spacey interludes or more aggressive tones, we’re a bit more reserved when we record and push things to the extreme live. But “The Great Divide” was a riff I’ve had worked up for years and we implemented an old, unused drumbeat from Chad [Sexton] to salvage our two separate, incoherent ideas into a complete song. It was a fun challenge working that into shape with the basis of a cool riff and fresh beat.
How do you feel collaborating with Scott Ralston again shaped Stereolithic?
It was a comfort thing. He’s been around us the longest and he’s been our live sound guy forever, so he knew how to craft things and push us in a new direction or further in a familiar area to deliver an album that is polished but represents our dynamic range showcased when we perform live.
One thing I’ve noticed on this album that hasn’t been felt since the ’90s is the power of the songs. I can envision them energizing crowds to get down. Was that a specific goal with the heavier tracks on Stereolithic?
I hope so—we really try to keep the liveliness of certain songs in mind when we write, record, and come up with setlists because we want our fans to get off their feet to jump, dance, and have a good time—that’s our main goal as a band. [Laughs] It’s not as easy to go there anymore now that we’re older dudes, but I think this new batch of songs should really capture and excite our fans like the early stuff.
Mahoney recorded his guitar parts in the home studio of bandmate SA Martinez. The members of 311 transplanted from Omaha, Nebraska, to Van Nuys, California, in the early ’90s.
Tim Mahoney's Gear
Guitars
Early ’93 PRS Standard 24 (“Ol Blue”)
2012 PRS Signature Limited
1976 Gibson Explorer
Fender David Gilmour Stratocaster
1975 Fender Telecaster Deluxe
Amps
Two Diamond Spitfire IIs (one set to clean, one to dirty)
’90s Bogner Uberschall
1968 Fender Twin
Two Diamond 4x12 cabinets with Celestion Vintage 30s
Effects
DigiTech Whammy
CAE Wah MC404
Boss TU-2
Boss FV-100 Volume Pedal
Boss OC-2
Mu-Tron III
KR Musical Products Mega Vibe
MXR Phase 90
Ibanez CS-9
XTS Pegasus Boost
Maxon AD-9
MXR Envelope Filter
EHX Small Stone Phaser
XTS Precision Overdrive
TC Electronic ND-1 Nova Delay
Strymon Timeline
Jacques Meistersinger
DigiTech Synth Wah Envelope Filter
Boss DSD-2 Digital Sampler/Delay
TC Electronic Repeater
Mr. Black SuperMoon
TC Electronic Ditto Looper
Two Lexicon PCM-42s (rackmount)
Lexicon PCM-60 (rackmount)
L.A. Sound Design Loop Strips
Strings and Picks
Ernie Ball Slinkys .010–.046
Dunlop Tortex 1.14 mm
Dunlop Big Stubby 2.0 mm
What is going on during the opening of “Sand Dollar” that gives the song such a video-game buoyancy vibe?
That’s my Mu-Tron III paired with a PCM-42 dialed in with a fairly long delay time. The Mu-Tron III is great by itself, but in that instance the PCM-42 gives those repeated notes such life instead of sounding sterile or repeated.
The Mu-Tron is a special beast that not many people mess with. How’d you fall in love with it?
I love Jerry Garcia so being a deadhead opened the door to the Mu-Tron. I remember tripping on acid and hearing songs like "Delta Dawn," "Estimated Prophet," and “Run for the Roses,” and being just blown away [laughs]. I started playing music on a trombone and the envelope filter can dial in some horn-like tones and sounds. I just totally dig the expressiveness you can get with it depending on your picking style or attack. You can get it to quack or mellow and fade into the mix. When I realized Jerry used the Mu-Tron III I knew it was my holy grail.
Are you using a different envelope filter on “Boom Shanka?”
I’m using a vintage MXR Envelope Filter on that song. I track with that as my go-to dirty envelope filter effect since it’s really warm and almost lends itself to being overdriven. The Mu-Tron works fine through a dirty amp, but I prefer to leave that one pristine because it’s that classic sound. I set the MXR so the effect is more exaggerated, but the length of each pulse isn’t nearly as long as the Mu-Tron.
Is that why you have so many duplicates of pedal types on your board?
Yeah, I pretty much run three different signal paths on my pedalboard. One goes through my clean amp. The second goes through my dirty amp. And the third goes through my “party board”—which can go through either head—that has fun effects like ambient ’verbs, long delays, and a looper. Thanks to Dave Phillips at L.A. Sound Design who rigged this up for me so I could go from a tone with my clean amp, the Mu-Tron III and a long delay like my Maxon AD-9 to a sound with my dirty amp, Boss OC-2, and TC Electronic Nova Delay—on a short delay time—by hitting one button … otherwise I’d need a lot more feet onstage.
I prefer to set and use pedals so they can sound the best for what I feel they can do. Like, with my phasers, I think the MXR Phase 90 is great for either clean or dirty so I start it on the dirty side set to a quicker setting, and the EHX Small Stone is at its best through a clean amp so I use that for a watery, almost-Leslie-ish vibe and for a reggae tone. But some pedals sound killer and they can go to both amps like the XTS Pegasus Boost—good for a level boost and giving me more clarity depending on the room—and my MXR Phase 90, but it’s currently only going into the dirty amp so I can have a subtle or luscious phase effect.
Both heads have Lexicon PCM-42 delays in their effects loops so I can have the purest sound when I just want an amp and delay. Plus, putting those digital rackmounts after the preamp gives you the cleanest, straightest-sounding delay. It’s more important for the dirty amp because I’m using it on solos so I’m delaying the preamp signal and it thickens it up a bit, too. I’ve heard you’re supposed to jumper the effects loop if you’re not using it to engage the preamp tube that governs the master volume for a bigger, fuller sound.
What are you using during the swirling, creeping riff that blooms before the first verse of “Revelation of the Year?”
We put that song together on the demo and when we tried recreating it in the studio, I couldn’t remember what I was using when I came up with the riff originally, jamming by myself. So I ended up playing that part through the Small Stone, Mega Vibe, and the Ibanez CS-7 chorus. And then for some of it, I squish it with the TS9.
Does that happen a lot?
Many times, I’ll take a picture of my pedalboard with the pedals lit up so I know what I’m using when I record something into my phone or my computer and I queue it up a few months later. And then when we record, I’ll take detailed notes along with photos so I can dial in my rig before the tour or rehearsals. It’s like a crazy science experiment [laughs].
Honestly, do you have too much stuff?
I don’t see it like that at all … probably not enough. Currently, everything I bring on the road gets used at every show—all the effects, guitars, and amps. I’m streamlined!
I don’t think I could trust anyone else to do it. I enjoy being able to screw with things on the fly, even if it’s just bending down or using my foot to max out a delay so it starts oscillating [makes spaceship landing noise] and sounds like its powering down.
Day 12 of Stompboxtober means a chance to win today’s pedal from LR Baggs! Enter now and check back tomorrow for more!
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Ever watch a video of yourself playing guitar and wonder why you do “that thing” with your face?
When I was 16, my parents came to see me play in a bar. (Montana in the ’80s was pretty cavalier about the drinking age.) On a break, I sat with my parents, and my father said, “Boy, you really move your mouth a lot when you play. Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” I replied.
“Move your mouth when you play guitar.”
“I don’t.”
“You definitely are. It’s like you are trying to pronounce every note. Sometimes it looked like you were grinding your teeth.”
“Really? Tonight? Here?”
“Yes, you were literally just doing it pretty much on every solo. It’s a bit off-putting.”
My recent obsession with Corey Feldman guitar-solo videos reminded me of that conversation. I now feel a kinship with Corey. When the “Comeback King” and I play guitar, we both share that vacuous, dead-eyed stare into the distance, mouth chomping, teeth gnashing wildly. I bet, like me, Corey had no idea he was doing it until he watched a video of himself playing. Say what you will about Feldman, but when you watch his mouth, you know he is genuinely trying his best. He is in it, lost in the process of trying to make music.
Maybe you, dear reader, also suffer from guitar face. Most of our heroes do/did. Gary Moore, SRV, Hendrix, B.B. King, Joe Walsh, Steve Vai, Santana, Paul Gilbert—watch any of them play, and you will see some less-than-flattering involuntary facial expressions.
There are many types of guitar face:
Stank Face. Watch SRV cranking in “Cold Shot”—his face looks like he just walked into a porta potty on the third day of an Insane Clown Posse Festival. That’s stanky.
The Motor-Mouth. Corey Feldman and I are prime examples of motor-mouthing, but nearly everybody is guilty of it when working a wah pedal.
Angry Face.Joe Bonamassa is a philanthropist, great guy, and kind person, but when he’s playing, he hits those strings like they owe him money—the man looks pissed.
Surprised Face. Just imagine B.B. King with his eyes wide open, eyebrows raised in a lofting arch, and sometimes his mouth open in a perfect O.
I’m in Pain Face. Think John Mayer. The higher he sings, or the higher he plays, the more the notes hurt.Sometimes the grimaces are accompanied by loud groans, luckily usually drowned out by a loud band, but audible in acoustic settings. I saw famed classical guitarist Christopher Parkening in concert, and his guitar mic caught every loud groan and “aahh.” It was distracting. (Same with pianist Keith Jarrett. Listen to his Köln Concert and try not to be disturbed. Though that’s probably more a symptom of piano face, a related phenomenon.)I don’t think guitar face is one thing. Guitar face is probably at least partially an expression of emotions and the connection to the music. It’s also a reflection of the physical demands of playing guitar, like athletes grimacing as they sprint. It’s also one of those tics of concentration, like sticking your tongue out when you draw or paint.“Think John Mayer. The higher he sings, or the higher he plays, the more the notes hurt.”
I read a Quanta Magazinecolumn by R. Douglas Fields where he maintains that “hand and mouth movements are tightly coordinated. In fact, that interplay often improves performance. Martial artists scream short explosive utterances, called kiai in karate, as they execute thrusting movements; tennis players often shout as they smack the ball. And research shows that coupling hand movements with specific mouth movements, often with vocalization, shortens the reaction time needed to do both.”
To this day, I’m embarrassed when I see videos of my mouth moving. I’ve tried to control it, but have come to the conclusion that I can either try to connect with music or try to control my face. I cannot do both. I have found that smiling does mask it or make it less distracting. As an added bonus, smiling releases that happy hormone, dopamine. The smile trick works great on “Lay Down Sally,” but I wouldn’t try it on, say, “Tears in Heaven.”
I’ve been making an effort to be aware of where I’m holding tension when I play and making a conscious effort to relax my arms, shoulders, and butt, so maybe I can work my face into that.
I’ve made peace with this embarrassing quirk. Every now and then, I’ll see a video where it’s particularly bad, and I’ll feel that barb of shame nick me. But if it sounds okay, I’m okay with this degrading side effect.
Ultimately, connecting to an instrument is like mainlining deep emotions. Deep emotions get ugly, painful, pitiful, and ecstatic. In an age where half of America stares blankly at a screen, how lucky musicians are to dive deeply into something that puts them so firmly in the now that they lose control of their faces. Besides, if you play something genuinely moving, nobody will care how you look.
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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.