New York City’s bass-amp innovator talks about his never-ending quest for impeccable tone and how he broke into the scene by tirelessly schlepping his designs to jazz clubs and getting local legends to plug in.
Epifani Amplification founder Nick Epifani with jazz/fusion bassist
Brian Bromberg at Winter NAMM 2011 last January.
Call it fate or call it destiny, some things were just meant to happen. When Nick Epifani started his journey from Torino, Italy, to New York City, he had no idea that one day his ideas and innovations would shape the way bass gear is manufactured, designed, and heard. And this from a drummer-turned-guitarist who started a company in his garage and played mad scientist with bass-cabinet designs. As a chronic tinkerer, Epifani had been modding guitar amps and cabinets from day one. Never quite satisfied with tones, he set out to either make a better cabinet or alter the amp to his liking. The result was a cab that not only shook foundations (literally and figuratively), but broke new ground for the bass world. His bass cabinets and amps have steadily risen in popularity over the years, and they can now be found onstage with many of the most capable bassists on the planet.
But while Epifani may not have foreseen how his design would change the bass universe, his success was no accident. His first cabs were labors of love produced one at a time at home. For 10 years, he worked there by day, and every night he’d set out to jazz clubs to introduce his wares to players around the city. After a fateful meeting with representatives from Fodera Guitars, his business really caught afire as players such as Matt Garrison (Pat Metheny, John McLaughlin, Herbie Hancock), Lincoln Goines (Mike Stern, Carly Simon, Robert Palmer), and Darryl Jones (Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, Madonna) began using his cabinets and amps onstage and in the studio.
We recently spoke with Epifani about his innovations—from the first cabinet he built in Italy for his brother to his latest digital amps and cabinets—his perseverance, and his steadfast determination to blaze a path all his own.
How did you first get involved with music?
I was 13 years old and started as a drummer in Italy, then formed a band with my cousin and my brother. There was always a guitar in the house, so I knew a few things on guitar, as well. We grew up listening to Hendrix and Grand Funk Railroad, so that was the inspiration for the music. LPs were hard to come by, so when we got our hands on one it was like a sacred bible to us. When I was 18, the band booked a two-month gig in Holland, and our guitar player backed out at the last minute so I moved to guitar.
The PS series of heads is based on the now-legendary UL series but offers a warmer sound in a more compact package. Maintaining a solid 500-watt output (1000 watts bridged), the PS 1000 is packed with features.
What brought you to New York?
After bouncing around various gigs, I started a business delivering vegetables in Italy. The work was from 6 a.m. until 1 p.m., so that freed up my afternoons, where I worked in a very big music store. One day, a customer came in and asked about finding guitar players to work on a cruise ship. This was in the late ’70s, and the idea intrigued me. One of the selling points was that the ship would sail from New York City to the Bahamas, passing through the Bermuda Triangle. So the whole situation sounded like one big adventure. I played disco up and down the East Coast, and when my time was up, I made New York my home. I continued playing in wedding bands in NYC for a few years while working a day job.
When did you start building gear?
The first thing I ever built was a 2x12 bass cabinet for my brother when I was 17 or 18. I scrounged up whatever I could find for materials, but I had no idea what I was doing.
Do you still have it?
I wish! I was still playing my gig, so I would change out components—this speaker or that component—and one day I thought “Why can’t we make something that sounds good right off the bat? Why do we have to customize things?” So I started making guitar amps and cabs for myself, finding the best materials I could. Pretty soon, people started asking about my gear. Fearing the lack of name-brand status, I would tell them a friend made them for me. I started building in my garage. I did all the cutting, gluing, assembling, etc., and then I would sell them with no name on them.
When did the bass cabinets come into play?
That was a whole new thing. I got laid off for eight months from my day job. I started reading about bass cabinets. On the surface, guitar cabinets are relatively simple—open back, closed back, number of speakers ... there’s not much to them. There are factors that affect the sound, such as wood and grilles, but with a bass cabinet so much more goes into it—so many little nuances such as the paper, the cone, even the pulp of the paper used in the speaker make different sounds. Different speaker suspensions create different sounds, as well, so I spent a lot of time working on that.
How were your initial bass cabs different from others on the market at the time?
You have calculations for tuning the bass cabs, and the engineers know this and sort of leave it there. I took it steps further with bracing and some other things I don’t want to share, but let’s say that I found flaws in the designs and set out to change them. I realized soon after that I could make something that sounded good without following the procedures from published books of that time.
A PS 400 head and a PS 210 cab stand guard outside the Epifani production facilities in Brooklyn.
How did you get your products into players’ hands?
I showed my new bass cabs to some friends, and they were like “Well, nice . . . . ” If you tell someone your car is better than a Mercedes, they will be interested—but ultimately they will buy the Mercedes because that’s what they’re familiar with. So it was tough. I found out that the Fodera bass shop was nearby, and I literally just cold-called them one day and asked if I could bring some cabinets by. We set up the appointment, and as they played their basses through my cabs, they started looking at each other. I thought they hated it, but the looks were actually those of amazement. I had built my cabinets using the best components I could find at the time, so bringing my A game must have worked. Soon after, Fodera introduced me to some of their artists, which led to the first Epifani production bass cabs.
So when did you move out of the garage?
In 1994, I moved into a one-room shop that was in the same space as a furniture factory. I did everything in that little room—from the coverings to assembly. The good thing about the space was that I could use all of the woodcutting tools from the furniture business, so that helped me out tremendously. As I started making cabinets, I opened a dialogue with Eminence to push the speaker manufacturer into some new designs. One change I wanted to make was in the suspension. Up until that point, speakers used an accordion- type suspension, which was problematic. This led to creasing in the speakers from the voice coil pushing forward and the suspension stopping the speaker, but the center would still be moving outward. We developed the M-roll suspension to combat this, and it has now become the industry standard.
Who were some of the artists that shaped your early designs?
I made a 2x12 cabinet for Matt Garrison. I remembered using a Music Man 2x12 cabinet back in the ’70s, but no one was making that configuration anymore. Because I liked the sound and saw the potential in a 2x12, I went with that design. With two 12" speakers, naturally you have more area than with an 18", and that means you can move more air. But, more importantly, it was tuned at a frequency that was better suited for the time. Sadly, the tuning of bass cabs remained unchanged for a number of years, so I adjusted the tuning frequency to get out of that 70-80 Hz range that was standard back then.
One night, I took a cabinet down to the Blue Note, where Lincoln Goines was playing. I dropped off the gear, parked the car, and walked back to the club. In the time that took, Lincoln had already played through it, and he said “I want it.” Lincoln said he knew in the first two notes. He was my first client. The speakers were very fast, very accurate—perfect for that Jaco sort of playing. I think that was one of the best designs, acoustically and technically, but I couldn’t keep it because of the dimensions. It wasn’t made for a line of speakers. When you’re asked to make a line of cabinets, you sort of become restricted in what you can do—because stacking and keeping things uniform aren’t the best formulas for all cabinets.
Can you talk about your relationship with the great Anthony Jackson?
Anthony Jackson was a monster player that everybody respected. In the beginning, I thought he was full of . . . well, you know—because he is literally a genius, and I thought “Nobody is this smart.” I used to mess with him—not in a bad way, but to see if he was full of shit or not: While he was playing, I would turn a knob, like, an eighth of an inch, and he would turn around and say “You touched 450 Hz! I told you I don’t like that!” I had never met someone like that before. He would always be pushing the envelope of knowledge—not just on the surface, but literally seeking knowledge worldwide, requesting special components like imported speakers and silver speaker wire. His cabinets weighed a ton because he wanted 1" wood instead of 3/4". Things like that kept me pushing forward and experimenting.
A close-up view of the new Piccolo 600 head, which has Active/Passive, Mid-Cut,
Mute, and Vintage pushbuttons, as well as Gain, Mid-Cut, Bass, Mid, and Treble knobs.
He was the inventor of the 6-string bass. Did you see a future in this instrument, and how did it change your thinking?
At the time, any 2x10 had a hard time keeping up with a low B. With my cabinets, you can slap the low B without it farting out. Again, it goes back to tuning. Other manufacturers weren’t tuning cabs for that. Because of this, a lot of players were trained not to play the low B string so hard. Now you can play with continuity because of the developments we changed early on. If you have ever seen Anthony play, then you know how hard he can play. Right away, I knew I would have to change the suspension, make a bigger voice coil, etc. When you work with players, perfecting according to styles and needs, you learn so much about your craft, while pushing new innovation.
I am constantly talking with working musicians about development and needs. It’s the guys who are the weekend players that I listen to. Honestly, professionals don’t spend much money on gear—it’s the working players who do. For example, at the time, nobody was really making a 1x10 or 1x12 cab. People needed a cabinet to take on the subway and taxis, and that’s where the idea for the UL (Ultra Light) lines was born.
NYC obviously influenced your product development. Could you have done this in another town?
Chicago comes to mind, but I design my cabs and amps around the players. So being in touch with them throughout the years has helped, and New York has a lot of great players in a relatively small space. In visiting all the underground clubs over the years, I would bring a cabinet or two by the club and get input from the best players anywhere, while spreading my name throughout the community of musicians. The biggest stars would frequent the tiny clubs to pick touring musicians, and it would end up being this crazy jam session of historic proportions. It was good to be a part of that.
When did you start feeling less like a boutique company and more mainstream?
When we started selling more gear [laughs]! Seriously, we had the NYC line of cabinets, which was the 115, 215, 112, 110, 210, 310, 410, and 610. Working with Eminence yet again, over the course of two years we developed an efficient neodymium speaker. This put the speaker weight down to 4.6 pounds each, and we used Italian poplar rather than plywood, which cut cabinet weight in half. The UL series was the result, with the UL 410 cab weighing 56 pounds. This was the next big step in our company’s growth. Once the UL was reviewed in a national publication, it took on a new meaning for our company. Our innovations— bracing, 80-ounce magnets, and speaker designs—were being noticed by the big boys, and they started having to redesign and play catch-up. At NAMM, the other builders would visit and talk about my innovations—which was a big compliment. As we have grown through the years, I have noticed more and more backline companies coming to me with requests for gear. That is a huge step forward as the word spreads around the globe.
Speaking of innovation, you have a new development in your D.I.S.T. cabinets.
Yes! The Dual Impedance Speaker Technology is something we are very proud of. Every speaker in the world has a single voice coil. We are the first to develop a dual voice coil, with a user-selectable 8Ω or 4Ω impedance, which allows single or multiple cabinet use. We can put them in series or in parallel. Nobody else has been able to perfect this feature.
Romano Ferretti, who teamed with Epifani to create a line of rock-focused bass amps,
shows off the new Epifunky 300 (left) and Piccolo 600—both of which weigh just 4.5 pounds.
Let’s talk amps.
I had three tube preamps early on that never made it to production. The cabinets were selling well, and we were quite busy with those. And, honestly, lack of manpower and capital kept amps out of our lines—but not off our radar. This was in 1999. We had a design for a digital amplifier at the time, years before bass amps started shrinking. We could have made very small, powerful amps, but listened to the suits who advised against such a move. We pushed ahead at a later date, and the PS 400 and PS 1000 were born. Our flagship amp, the UL 902C, utilizes an amplifier about the size of two packs of cigarettes to produce 1800 watts. We chose to put it in a 19" rack, but easily could have made it fit in the palm of your hand.
What sets your amps apart from others?
Well, first of all, when we started all other amps used to have some type of sound—the manufacturers decided what sort of sound you would get. You know when you hear this brand or that brand. We decided early on to give the tools back to the player to achieve whatever sound they want without limitation. We let you make your own sound. We constructed the preamps to be as flat as possible, with the opportunity to create any type of sound you have in mind. Also, we have fewer components in our amps. When you run the signal through too many components, the sound is washed out. So we try to keep circuitry down and keep the signal as straight as possible. This allows a cleaner, more powerful tone.
Also, our amp circuitry isn’t dependent on the components. You can use the best components possible, but if the amp doesn’t work, then it doesn’t matter. We wanted it all to work. The UL 502 and 902C are true 2-channel amps. If you plug in one bass, you can use a footswitch to jump between them, or you can plug into each channel and control two instruments—such as an electric and an upright, or a fretted and fretless—with simple, independent EQs.
That design seems inspired by the jazz world. Do you feel you cater more to jazz players?
It is where we started, but the interaction also led to many innovations—because jazz players are more demanding in their sound. Last year, we started catering to the rock world. The new rock line we have planned is going to be a new era in bass. I have noticed a lot of builders with “rock lines,” but they are just repackaged copies of old products. Where is the innovation in that? We have a new designer and rock player named Romano Ferretti, and we’re designing a new look and new features in the Epifani line.
Which leads us to the future of Epifani. What’s next?
The UL 501 is a single-channel version of the 502, but this amp has another innovation built in. We use a class-AB power amplifier, and instead of using bulk transformers, we designed a switching power supply made specifically for audio. It comes in at 7 pounds, with 850 watts of continuous power. It rivals any power amp that claims 1200 or 1500 watts. We have also been working on the new Piccolo amp for the past three years. In the rush to make smaller amps, I didn’t want to get something out just for the sake of being small. It had to sound like I wanted it to sound. It comes in at 4.5 pounds and 600 watts, and it has a big, round, tone. We are very proud of this achievement. We are also reintroducing our combo amps, which will probably be based around the Piccolo.
What are bass players asking for now, as opposed to 20 years ago?
Styles have changed, and it seems we are hearing frequencies in bass that we didn’t hear 20 years ago. It seems that everyone wants the new technology of smaller and lighter cabinets and amps, but they want the same thing—good sound. At the gig, at the end of the night, you want to know that you rattled the back of the room. You want to know that you came with power, clarity, and a big, fat tone.
What would you like to tell bassists who have never played your amps or cabs?
Plug in, listen, and trust your ears!
The new, single-channel UL 501 rocks 800 watts at 4Ω (1400 at 2 Ω) and weighs only 8 pounds.
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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.
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