
Photo 1
Ready to tweak your 6-string for maximum musical versatility?
For decades, blues and rock guitarists have been laying glass or metal cylinders across their strings to add expressive riffs to their music. Unlike a Dobro or lap steel, which is played horizontally with a bar and has its strings jacked up way off the fretboard, a standard 6-string guitar can be set up for both fretting and slide work—if you know what you're doing.
Let's explore how to finesse a guitar so its strings sit high enough to keep a slide from crashing into the frets, yet remain close enough to the fretboard that you can play chords and riffs with your fingertips. Yes, you can have it all, as Duane Allman, Johnny Winter, Sonny Landreth, Ry Cooder, Derek Trucks, and many other greats have proven over the years.
It's not too hard to set up an electric guitar for dual duties, so that's what we'll focus on. It's more of a challenge with an acoustic, but with a little ingenuity, you can also adapt the following techniques to a flattop, so read on.
Project overview.
To illustrate the steps, I'll use a 2003 Gibson Les Paul Studio (Photo 1) a client brought in to have converted into a ripping slide guitar. He wanted to stick with his moderately light .010–.049 strings so he could comp and solo as usual, but he also wanted to augment his standard riffage with slide licks when the spirit moved him.
To make this happen, I suggested he use a lightweight, straight-wall glass slide—similar to Allman and Trucks—as opposed to the heavier brass or bottleneck slides that are often favored by acoustic resonator guitarists. Why? Using a lightweight slide, such as a Dunlop Derek Trucks Signature medicine bottle or the aluminum BigHeart Firecracker, makes it possible to use slinkier strings and keep the action reasonably low. Heavier slides can sound great, but they demand stouter strings and stiffer action. A light slide allows you to find that sweet spot in your setup where you can use the same guitar for two very different techniques.
Preliminary measurements.
Photo 2
The first step is to measure three things: action at the 12th fret, neck relief, and string height at the 1st fret. These measurements will provide a baseline to work from.
Here's the process: To measure the action, first tune to pitch (this is crucial) and then place a capo on top of the 1st fret. Next use a precision metal ruler to measure the string height at the 12th fret. I use a String Action Gauge—a handy tool from Stewart MacDonald—(Photo 2) for this. You want to determine the distance between the top of the 12th fret and the bottom of both the 6th and 1st strings.
Photo 3
On this Les Paul, the gap was 3/64" for the 1st string and 4/64" for the 6th. This action is comfortable for my client, but too low for slide.
Now to measure the amount of relief. With the capo still on the 1st fret, hold down the 6th string at the last fret and measure the greatest distance between the bottom of the string and the top of the frets (Photo 3).
On my client's guitar, the relief was .012"—perfect for his current playing style and also fine for supporting a lightweight slide. If your guitar has less relief, you may need to loosen the truss rod very slightly to introduce a tad more forward bow. (Read "Time for a Neck Adjustment?" to learn more about working with a truss rod.) But before you take that route, first complete the setup I'm about to describe. It's quite possible these steps will be all you'll need to enter the slide zone.
Photo 4
Next, remove the capo (it wouldn't hurt to confirm your strings are still at pitch) and measure the height of the 1st and 6th strings at the 1st fret (Photo 4).
In this case, the height was 1/64" and 2/64" for the 1st and 6th strings, respectively. While this is ideal for fretting chords and lines, it's too low for playing slide.
From these preliminary measurements, I was able to determine what would be required to give this Les Paul its new dual identity:
- Raise the action at the bridge and then adjust individual saddles.
- Raise the action at the nut by either shimming the stock nut or carving a new one.
- Adjust the pickups to balance string-to-string volume.
- Adjust the intonation.
Adjust the bridge.
To raise the action on a Les Paul's Tune-o-matic bridge, turn the thumbwheels counter-clockwise (Photo 5). Do this in small increments, perhaps a quarter of a rotation for each thumbwheel. Retune the guitar, put a capo on the 1st fret, and then measure the action at the 12th fret again.
For starters, I suggest adjusting the action to 4/64" on both the 1st and 6th strings. Remember, you can always come back and raise the treble or bass strings a bit more if you find your slide is hitting the frets.
Adjust the saddles.
Now here's our first tricky part. Most lightweight slides (such as a glass or chrome tube, or the medicine bottle favored by Allman and Trucks) contact the strings in a straight line. However, on a guitar set up for fretting—including my client's LP—the strings follow the fretboard radius or curvature. In other words, strings 1 through 6 are subtly arched at the bridge so they sit at a consistent height above the frets.
Slide licks often incorporate two or three strings at a time. When your slide has a straight playing surface, yet the strings are arched, you'll wind up pressing some strings down more than others as you move across the fretboard. This can create subtle intonation problems within a chord or interval.
Yes, you can have it all, as Duane Allman, Johnny Winter, Sonny Landreth, Ry Cooder, Derek Trucks, and many other greats have proven over the years.
The solution is to flatten the string radius at the bridge so the strings sit in a straight line that corresponds to the slide's playing surface. On a guitar with individually adjustable saddles, like a Strat, it's easy to raise or lower each string to achieve the target 4/64" gap between the bottom of all the strings and the top of the 12th fret.
However, on a guitar with a fixed-radius bridge—such as a Les Paul with a Tune-o-matic—some saddle slots will need to be deepened slightly to create a flat line between strings 1 and 6. Typically it's the middle saddles that need attention, but your current bridge radius and string gauges will determine which slots require recutting and by how much.
Gauged nut slotting files, which are available from Allparts, Stewart-MacDonald, and other luthier suppliers, work great for this task because you can precisely size the slot to match the string. For example, knowing that my client plays a .010–.046 set, I'll use a .036 gauge nut file to deepen the notch for the .036 A string.
The process is pretty straightforward: After you've set the bridge so the 1st and 6th strings are 4/64" above the 12th fret, measure the 2nd string. If it's also 4/64" at the 12th fret, move onto the 3rd string. But if it's higher, carefully deepen the slot to bring the 2nd string down to 4/64".
Photo 6
When re-cutting a notch, always follow the angle of the string as it emerges from the tailpiece up to the saddle (Photo 6). Go slowly, retuning and then measuring the action every few file strokes. Gently clean off any burrs on the front or back of the saddle using the nut file. This will prevent the string from getting caught up on the saddle and creating tuning issues.
Repeat the process on each inside string until you've achieved a uniformly level playing surface across all six strings. It's painstaking work, but the payoff in tone and feel will be worth the effort. Once you've flattened the radius and are satisfied with the overall action, you'll be ready to move over to the nut.
Raise the nut.
From experience, I knew that having the 1st string sit 1/64" above the 1st fret is too low for slide, so I'd need to raise the nut on this Les Paul. The trick, of course, is to get the nut high enough to accommodate slide technique, yet not make the guitar unplayable when fretting. Based on the owner's playing style, string gauges, and light glass slide, I decided on a uniform height of 2/64" for all six strings on his guitar.
There are only two ways to correctly and permanently raise the nut: You can shim it or carve a new one. The owner wanted to keep the stock Gibson nut, which was in excellent condition, so we elected to shim it.
Here's how that works: First remove the nut by gently tapping it on the fretboard side with a flathead screwdriver and small hammer (Photo 7). Next, clean up the nut slot by removing the excess glue with a small chisel or razor knife, and then scrape any glue off the nut.
Photo 8
Now super-glue the nut onto a thin piece of mahogany (Photo 8). For this kind of shim, I use a .020" thick piece of wood.
Trim off the excess wood around the string nut with a razor knife (Photo 9). Install the string nut and secure it with one drop of super glue on the face of the nut between the 4th and 3rd strings.
Adjust the pickups.
After you change the action on a guitar—especially to this degree—it's a good idea to adjust the pickups to make sure the treble-to-bass and string-to-string balance is how you want it.
First start with overall pickup height. Hold the 1st and 6th strings down at the last fret and measure the distance from the bottom of the strings to the top of the pickup. The distances in this table provide a good starting point for humbuckers.
Photo 10
The next step is to adjust the individual pole pieces using a small flathead screwdriver (Photo 10). The goal here is to create an even and consistent string-to-string balance.
Begin with the 5th string pole piece and adjust it to match the volume of the 6th string. Raising the pole piece will make a string louder and vice versa. Then move to the 4th string and compare it to strings 6 and 5. Continue working across the strings, checking them relative to each other and making small tweaks as necessary. Typically, the 3rd string is the loudest, so don't be surprised if you wind up lowering it below the pickup cover to keep it in balance with the other strings.
It's a wrap.
The final step to complete the project is install a new set of strings, tune to pitch, and adjust the intonation. If you need instructions for checking and adjusting the intonation, read "How to Install a New Tune-o-matic Bridge."
With the string height and pickups adjusted for playing slide, our project Les Paul is ready to return to its owner. But before he carts it off, I'll listen to him play and see if the bridge height and pickup pole pieces are dialed in to his satisfaction. If you set up your own guitar for double duty, you may find yourself making small adjustments after playing it for a few days. That's the beauty of being your own tech, right? That said, if you're not confident you can safely work with glue, files, and other tools around your guitar, take it to your local pro.
[Updated 11/18/21]
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Stevie Van Zandt with “Number One,” the ’80s reissue Stratocaster—with custom paisley pickguard from luthier Dave Petillo—that he’s been playing for the last quarter century or so.
With the E Street Band, he’s served as musical consigliere to Bruce Springsteen for most of his musical life. And although he stands next to the Boss onstage, guitar in hand, he’s remained mostly quiet about his work as a player—until now.
I’m stuck in Stevie Van Zandt’s elevator, and the New York City Fire Department has been summoned. It’s early March, and I am trapped on the top floor of a six-story office building in Greenwich Village. On the other side of this intransigent door is Van Zandt’s recording studio, his guitars, amps, and other instruments, his Wicked Cool Records offices, and his man cave. The latter is filled with so much day-glo baby boomer memorabilia that it’s like being dropped into a Milton Glaser-themed fantasy land—a bright, candy-colored chandelier swings into the room from the skylight.
There’s a life-size cameo of a go-go dancer in banana yellow; she’s frozen in mid hip shimmy. One wall displays rock posters and B-movie key art, anchored by a 3D rendering of Cream’s Disraeli Gearsalbum cover that swishes and undulates as you walk past it. Van Zandt’s shelves are stuffed with countless DVDs, from Louis Prima to the J. Geils Band performing on the German TV concert seriesRockpalast. There are three copies ofIggy and the Stooges: Live in Detroit. Videos of the great ’60s-music TV showcases, from Hullabaloo to Dean Martin’s The Hollywood Palace, sit here. Hundreds of books about rock ’n’ roll, from Greil Marcus’s entire output to Nicholas Schaffner’s seminal tome, The Beatles Forever, form a library in the next room.
But I haven’t seen this yet because the elevator is dead, and I am in it. Our trap is tiny, about 5' by 5'. A dolly filled with television production equipment is beside me. There’s a production assistant whom I’ve never met until this morning and another person who’s brand new to me, too, Geoff Sanoff. It turns out that he’s Van Zandt’s engineer—the guy who runs this studio. And as I’ll discover shortly, he’s also one of the several sentinels who watch over Stevie Van Zandt’s guitars.
There’s nothing to do now but wait for the NYFD, so Sanoff and I get acquainted. We discover we’re both from D.C. and know some of the same people in Washington’s music scene. We talk about gear. We talk about this television project. I’m here today assisting an old pal, director Erik Nelson, best known for producing Werner Herzog’s most popular documentaries, like Grizzly Man and Cave of Forgotten Dreams. Van Zandt has agreed to participate in a television pilot about the British Invasion. After about half an hour, the elevator doors suddenly slide open, and we’re rescued, standing face-to-face with three New York City firefighters.
As our camera team sets up the gear, Sanoff beckons me to a closet off the studio’s control room. I get the sense I am about to get a consolation prize for standing trapped in an elevator for the last 30 minutes. He pulls a guitar case off the shelf—it’s stenciled in paint with the words “Little Steven” on its top—snaps open the latches, and instantly I am face to face with Van Zandt’s well-worn 1957 Stratocaster. Sanoff hands it to me, and I’m suddenly holding what may as well be the thunderbolt of Zeus for an E Street Band fan. My jaw drops when he lets me plug it in so he can get some levels on his board, and the clean, snappy quack of the nearly 70-year-old pickups fills the studio. For decades, Springsteen nuts have enjoyed a legendary 1978 filmed performance of “Rosalita” from Phoenix, Arizona, that now lives on YouTube. This is the Stratocaster Van Zandt had slung over his shoulder that night. It’s the same guitar he wields in the famous No Nukes concert film shot at Madison Square Garden a year later, in 1979. My mind races. The British Invasion is all well and essential. But now I’m thinking about Van Zandt’s relationship with his guitars.
Stevie Van Zandt's Gear
Van Zandt’s guitar concierge Andy Babiuk helped him plunge deeper down the Rickenbacker rabbit hole. Currently, Van Zandt has six Rickenbackers backstage: two 6-strings and four 12-strings.
Guitars
- 1957 Fender Stratocaster (studio only)
- ’80s Fender ’57 Stratocaster reissue “Number One”
- Gretsch Tennessean
- 1955 Gibson Les Paul Custom “Black Beauty” (studio only)
- Rickenbacker Fab Gear 2024 Limited Edition ’60s Style 360 Model (candy apple green)
- Rickenbacker Fab Gear 2023 Limited Edition ’60s Style 360 Model (snowglo)
- Rickenbacker 2018 Limited Edition ’60s Style 360 Fab Gear (jetglo)
- Two Rickenbacker 1993Plus 12-strings (candy apple purple and SVZ blue)
- Rickenbacker 360/12C63 12-string (fireglo)
- Vox Teardrop (owned by Andy Babiuk)
Amps
- Two Vox AC30s
- Two Vox 2x12 cabinets
Effects
- Boss Space Echo
- Boss Tremolo
- Boss Rotary Ensemble
- Durham Electronics Sex Drive
- Durham Electronics Mucho Busto
- Durham Electronics Zia Drive
- Electro-Harmonix Satisfaction
- Ibanez Tube Screamer
- Voodoo Labs Ground Control Pro switcher
Strings and Picks
- D’Addario (.095–.44)
- D’Andrea Heavy
Van Zandt has reached a stage of reflection in his career. Besides the Grammy-nominated HBO film, Stevie Van Zandt: Disciple, which came out in 2024, he recently wrote and published his autobiography, Unrequited Infatuations (2021), a rollicking read in which he pulls no punches and makes clear he still strives to do meaningful things in music and life.
His laurels would weigh him down if they were actually wrapped around his neck. In the E Street Band, Van Zandt has participated in arguably the most incredible live group in rock ’n’ roll history. And don’t forget Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes or Little Steven and the Disciples of Soul. He created both the Underground Garage and Outlaw Country radio channels on Sirius/XM. He started a music curriculum program called TeachRock that provides no-cost resources and other programs to schools across the country. Then there’s the politics. Via his 1985 record, Sun City, Van Zandt is credited with blasting many of the load-bearing bricks that brought the walls of South African apartheid tumbling into dust. He also acted in arguably the greatest television drama in American history, with his turn as Silvio Dante in The Sopranos.
Puzzlingly, Van Zandt’s autobiography lacks any detail on his relationship with the electric guitar. And Sanoff warns me that Van Zandt is “not a gearhead.” Instead he has an organization in place to keep his guitar life spinning like plates on the end of pointed sticks. Besides Sanoff, there are three others: Ben Newberry has been Van Zandt’s guitar tech since the beginning of 1982. Andy Babiuk, owner of Rochester, New York, guitar shop Fab Gear and author of essential collector reference books Beatles Gear and Rolling Stones Gear (the latter co-authored by Greg Prevost) functions as Van Zandt’s guitar concierge. Lastly, luthier Dave Petillo, based in Asbury Park, New Jersey, oversees all the maintenance and customization on Van Zandt’s axes.
“I took one lesson, and they start to teach you the notes. I don’t care about the notes.” —Stevie Van Zandt
I crawl onto Zoom with Van Zandt for a marathon session and come away from our 90 minutes with the sense that he is a man of dichotomies. Sure, he’s a guitar slinger, but he considers his biggest strengths to be as an arranger, producer, and songwriter. “I don’t feel that being a guitar player is my identity,” he tells me. “For 40 years, ever since I made my first solo record, I just have not felt that I express myself as a guitar player. I still enjoy it when I do it; I’m not ambivalent. When I play a solo, I am in all the way, and I play a solo like I would like to hear if I were in the audience. But the guitar part is really part of the song’s arrangement. And a great solo is a composed solo. Great solos are ones you can sing, like Jimi Hendrix’s solo in ‘All Along the Watchtower.’”
In his autobiography, Van Zandt mentions that his first guitar was an acoustic belonging to his grandfather. “I took one lesson, and they start to teach you the notes. I don’t care about the notes,” Van Zandt tells me. “The teacher said I had natural ability. I’m thinking, if I got natural ability, then what the fuck do I need you for? So I never went back. After that, I got my first electric, an Epiphone. It was about slowing down the records to figure out with my ear what they were doing. It was seeing live bands and standing in front of that guitar player and watching what they were doing. It was praying when a band went on TV that the cameraman would occasionally go to the right place and show what the guitar player was doing instead of putting the camera on the lead singer all the time. And I’m sure it was the same for everybody. There was no concept of rock ’n’ roll lessons. School of Rock wouldn’t exist for another 30 years. So, you had to go to school yourself.”
By the end of the 1960s, Van Zandt tells me he had made a conscious decision about what kind of player he wanted to be. “I realized that I really wasn’t that interested in becoming a virtuoso guitar player, per se. I was more interested in making sure I could play the guitar solo that would complement the song. I got more into the songs than the nature of musicianship.”
After the Beatles and the Stones broke the British Invasion wide open, bands like Cream and the Yardbirds most influenced him. “George Harrison would have that perfect 22-second guitar solo,” Van Zandt remembers. “Keith Richards. Dave Davies. Then, the harder stuff started coming. Jeff Beck in the Yardbirds. Eric Clapton with things like ‘White Room.’ But the songs stayed in a pop configuration, three minutes each or so. You’d have this cool guitar-based song with a 15-second, really amazing Jeff Beck solo in it. That’s what I liked. Later, the jam bands came, but I was not into that. My attention deficit disorder was not working for the longer solos,” he jokes. Watch a YouTube video of any recent E Street Band performance where Van Zandt solos, and the punch and impact of his approach and attack are apparent. At Nationals Park in Washington, D.C., last year, his solo on “Rosalita” was 13 powerful seconds.
Van Zandt and Bruce Springsteen’s relationship goes back to their earliest days on the Jersey shore. “Everybody had a different guitar; your guitar was your identity,” recalls Van Zandt. “At some point, a couple of years later, I remember Bruce calling me and asking me for my permission to switch to Telecaster. At that point, I was ready to switch to Stratocaster.”
Photo by Pamela Springsteen
Van Zandt left his Epiphone behind for his first Fender. “I started to notice that the guitar superstars at the time were playing Telecasters. Mike Bloomfield. Jeff Beck. Even Eric Clapton played one for a while,” he tells me. “I went down to Jack’s Music Shop in Red Bank, New Jersey, because he had the first Telecaster in our area and couldn’t sell it; it was just sitting there. I bought it for 90 bucks.”
In those days, and around those parts, players only had one guitar. Van Zandt recalls, “Everybody had a different guitar; your guitar was your identity. At some point, a couple of years later, I remember Bruce calling me and asking me for my permission to switch to Telecaster. At that point, I was ready to switch to Stratocaster, because Jimi Hendrix had come in and Jeff Beck had switched to a Strat. They all kind of went from Telecaster to Les Pauls. And then some of them went on to the Stratocaster. For me, the Les Paul was just too out of reach. It was too expensive, and it was just too heavy. So I said, I’m going to switch to a Stratocaster. It felt a little bit more versatile.”
Van Zandt still employs Stratocasters, and besides the 1957 I strummed, he was seen with several throughout the ’80s and ’90s. But for the last 20 or 25 years, Van Zandt has mainly wielded a black Fender ’57 Strat reissue from the ’80s with a maple fretboard and a gray pearloid pickguard. He still uses that Strat—dubbed “Number One”—but the pickguard has been switched to one sporting a purple paisley pattern that was custom-made by Dave Petillo.
Petillo comes from New Jersey luthier royalty and followed in the footsteps of his late father, Phil Petillo. At a young age, the elder Petillo became an apprentice to legendary New York builder John D’Angelico. Later, he sold Bruce Springsteen the iconic Fender Esquire that’s seen on the Born to Run album cover and maintained and modified that guitar and all of Bruce’s other axes until he passed away in 2010. Phil worked out of a studio in the basement of their home, not far from Asbury Park. Artists dropped in, and Petillo has childhood memories of playing pick-up basketball games in his backyard with members of the E Street Band. (He also recalls showing his Lincoln Logs to Johnny Cash and once mistaking Jerry Garcia for Santa Claus.)
“I was more interested in making sure I could play the guitar solo that would complement the song. I got more into the songs than the nature of musicianship.” —Stevie Van Zandt
“I’ve known Stevie Van Zandt my whole life,” says Petillo. “My dad used to work on his 1957 Strat. That guitar today has updated tuners, a bone nut, new string trees, and a refret that was done by Dad long ago. I think one volume pot may have been changed. But it still has the original pickups.” Petillo is responsible for a lot of the aesthetic flair seen on Van Zandt’s instruments. He continues, “Stevie is so much fun to work with. I love incorporating colors into things, and Stevie gets that. When you talk to a traditional Telecaster or Strat player, and you say, ‘I want to do a tulip paisley pickguard in neon blue-green,’ they’re like, ‘Holy cow, that’s too much!’ But for Stevie, it’s just natural. So I always text him with pickguard designs, asking him, ‘Which one do you like?’ And he calls me a wild man; he says, ‘I don’t have that many Strats to put them on!’ But I’ll go to Ben Newberry and say, ‘Ben, I made these pickguards; let’s get them on the guitar. And I’ll go backstage, and we’ll put them on. I just love that relationship; Stevie is down for it.”
Petillo takes care of the electronics on Van Zandt’s guitars. Almost all of the Strats are modified with an internal Alembic Stratoblaster preamp circuit, which Van Zandt can physically toggle on and off using a switch housed just above the input jack. Van Zandt tells me, “That came because I got annoyed with the whole pedal thing. I’m a performer onstage, and I’m integrated with the audience and I like the freedom to move. And if I’m across the stage and all of a sudden Bruce nods to me to take a solo, or there’s a bit in the song that requires a little bit of distortion, it’s just easier to have that; sometimes, I’ll need that extra little boost for a part I’m throwing in, and it’s convenient.”
In recent times, Van Zandt has branched out from the Stratocaster, which has a lot to do with Andy Babiuk's influence. The two met 20 years ago, and Babiuk’s band, the Chesterfield Kings, is on Van Zandt’s Wicked Cool Records. “He’d call me up and ask me things like, ‘What’s Brian Jones using on this song?’” explains Babiuk. “When I’d ask him why, he’d tell me, ‘Because I want to have that guitar.’ It’s a common thing for me to get calls and texts from him like that. And there’s something many people overlook that Stevie doesn’t advertise: He’s a ripping guitar player. People think of him as playing chords and singing backup for Bruce, but the guy rips. And not just on guitar, on multiple instruments.”
Van Zandt tells me he wanted to bring more 12-string to the E Street Band this tour, “just to kind of differentiate the tone.” He explains, “Nils is doing his thing, and Bruce is doing his thing, and I wanted to do more 12-string.” He laughs, “I went full Paul Kantner!” Babiuk helped Van Zandt plunge deeper down the Rickenbacker rabbit hole. Currently, Van Zandt has six Rickenbackers backstage: two 6-strings and four 12-strings. Each 12-string has a modified nut made by Petillo from ancient woolly mammoth tusk, and the D, A, and low E strings are inverted with their octave.
Van Zandt explains this to me: “I find that the strings ring better when the high ones are on top. I’m not sure if that’s how Roger McGuinn did it, but it works for me. I’m also playing a wider neck.”
Babiuk tells me about a unique Rick in Van Zandt’s rack of axes: “I know the guys at Rickenbacker well, and they did a run of 30 basses in candy apple purple for my shop. I showed one to Stevie, and purple is his color; he loves it. He asked me to get him a 12-string in the same color, and I told him, ‘They don’t do one-offs; they don’t have a custom shop,’ but it’s hard to say no to the guy! So I called Rickenbacker and talked them into it. I explained, ‘He’ll play it a lot on this upcoming tour.’ They made him a beautiful one with his OM logo.”
The purple one-off is a 1993Plus model and sports a 1 3/4" wide neck—1/8" wider than a normal Rickenbacker. Van Zandt loved it so much that he had Babiuk wrestle with Rickenbacker again to build another one in baby blue. Petillo has since outfitted them with paisley-festooned custom pickguards. When guitar tech Newberry shows me these unique axes backstage, I can see the input jack on the purple guitar is labeled with serial number 01001.“Some of my drive is based on gratitude,” says Van Zandt, “feeling like we are the luckiest guys in the luckiest generation ever.”
Photo by Rob DeMartin
Van Zandt also currently plays a white Vox Teardrop. That guitar is a prototype owned by Babiuk. “Stevie wanted a Teardrop,” Babiuk tells me, “but I explained that the vintage ones are hit and miss—the ones made in the U.K. were often better than the ones manufactured in Italy. Korg now owns Vox, and I have a new Teardrop prototype from them in my personal collection. When I showed it to him, he loved it and asked me to get him one. I had to tell him, ‘I can’t; it’s a prototype, there’s only one,’ and he asked me to sell him mine,” he chuckles. “I told him, ‘It’s my fucking personal guitar, it’s not for sale!’ So I ended up lending it to him for this tour, and I told him, ‘Remember, this is my guitar; don’t get too happy with it, okay?’
“He asked me why that particular guitar sounds and feels so good. Besides being a prototype built by only one guy, the single-coil pickups’ output is abnormally hot, and the neck feels like a nice ’60s Fender neck. Stevie’s obviously a dear friend of mine, and he can hold onto it for as long as he wants. I’m glad it’s getting played. It was just hanging in my office.”
Van Zandt tells me how Babiuk’s Vox Teardrop sums up everything he wants from his tone, and says, “It’s got a wonderfully clean, powerful sound. Like Brian Jones got on ‘The Last Time.’ That’s my whole thing; that’s the trick—trying to get the power without too much distortion. Bruce and Nils get plenty of distortion; I am trying to be the clean rhythm guitar all the time.”
If Van Zandt has a consigliere like Tony Soprano had Silvio Dante, that’s Newberry. Newberry has tech’d nearly every gig with Van Zandt since 1982. “Bruce shows move fast,” he tells me. “So when there’s a guitar change for Stevie, and there are many of them, I’m at the top of the stairs, and we switch quickly. There’s maybe one or two seconds, and if he needs to tell me something, I hear it. He’s Bruce’s musical director, so he may say something like, ‘Remind me tomorrow to go over the background vocals on “Ghosts,”’ or something like that. And I take notes during the show.”
“Everybody had a different guitar; your guitar was your identity. At some point, a couple of years later, I remember Bruce calling me and asking me for my permission to switch to a Telecaster.” —Stevie Van Zandt
When I ask Newberry how he defines Van Zandt’s relationship to the guitar, he doesn’t hesitate, snapping back, “It’s all in his head. His playing is encyclopedic, whether it’s Bruce or anything else. He may show up at soundcheck and start playing the Byrds, but it’s not ‘Tambourine Man,’ it’s something obscure like ‘Bells of Rhymney.’ People may not get it, but I’ve known him long enough to know what’s happening. He’s got everything already under his fingers. Everything.”
As such, Van Zandt says he never practices. “The only time I touch a guitar between tours is if I’m writing something or maybe arranging backing vocal harmonies on a production,” he tells me.
Before we say goodbye, I tell Van Zandt about my time stuck in his elevator, and his broad grin signals that I may not be the only one to have suffered that particular purgatory. When I ask him about the 1957 Stratocaster I got to play upon my release, he recalls: “Bruce Springsteen gave me that guitar. I’ve only ever had one guitar stolen in my life, and it was in the very early days of my joining the E Street Band. I only joined temporarily for what I thought would be about seven gigs, and in those two weeks or so, my Stratocaster was stolen. It was a 1957 or 1958. Bruce felt bad about that and replaced that lost guitar with this one. So I’ve had it a long, long time. Once that first one was stolen, I decided I would resist having a personal relationship with any one guitar. But that one being a gift from Bruce makes it special. I will never take it back on the road.”
After 50 years of rock ’n’ roll, if there is one word to sum up Stevie Van Zandt, it may be “restless”—an adjective you sense from reading his autobiography. He gets serious and tells me, “I’m always trying to catch up. The beginning of accomplishing something came quite late to me. I feel like I haven’t done nearly enough. What are we on this planet trying to do?” he asks rhetorically. “We’re trying to realize our potential and maybe leave this place one percent better for the next guy. And some of my drive is based on gratitude, feeling like we are the luckiest guys in the luckiest generation ever. That’s what I’m doing: I want to give something back. I feel an obligation.”
YouTube It
“Rosalita” is a perennial E Street Band showstopper. Here’s a close-up video from Philadelphia’s Citizens Bank Park last summer. Van Zandt’s brief but commanding guitar spotlight shines just past the 4:30 mark.
Megan and Rebecca Lovell don’t use many effects pedals. They didn’t even use amps until they were 16.
The sisterly Southern-rock duo learned to be more vulnerable with one another, and it’s led to a new album—and their biggest success yet.
Larkin Poe, the fiery roots-rock band fronted by sisters Rebecca and Megan Lovell, have managed to achieve something that so many touring bands never do: They feel content with their level of success. In their case, that includes a Grammy for Best Contemporary Blues Album, for 2022’s Blood Harmony; packed-out headlining shows at many of the best-sounding clubs and theaters in the country; and delicious, nutritious prepared foods.
“We don’t necessarily need to sell out Madison Square Garden to be like, ‘Oh, we’ve made it, we’re a success, mom,’” Rebecca chuckles. “We’re a lot more comfortable at this point in our lives and our career with truly defining what success means to us. Being able to have houses, roofs over our heads. We’ve got the cash that, if on tour we want to stop and pay for the Whole Foods hot bar, we can do that. That’s luxury enough for me, at a certain point.”
“I was sort of playing catch-up for many, many years. I still feel like I’m playing catch-up.”—Rebecca Lovell
That sense of modesty and self-awareness is admirable, though when it comes to making new music, Larkin Poe continue to swing for the fences. Their latest album, Bloom, which the sisters co-produced with Rebecca’s spouse, guitar slinger and vocalist Tyler Bryant, represents both a continuation and striking progress. Throughout these 11 tracks, Larkin Poe deliver the driving, stomping grooves and post-Allmans interplay that have made them buzzworthy torchbearers for electric blues and blues-rock. With Megan on electric lap steel and Rebecca on a Strat, their guitar-frontline dynamic has become as intuitive and instinctive as their harmony singing. “We’re constantly ‘foiling’ for one another [on guitar] … acting as a foil,” says Rebecca. “So if I’m going low then she’s going to automatically go high, and vice versa.” Rebecca, who also handles lead vocals, describes her sister’s keen ear with awe. “I can sing something at Megan onstage and she can immediately play it back to me,” she says. “She’s so comfortable with her instrument.”
On Bloom, sisters Megan and Rebecca Lovell continue their mastery of southern music, from bluegrass to Allmans-style boogie to blues rock.
“I was sort of playing catch-up for many, many years,” Rebecca adds. “I still feel like I’m playing catch-up.”
Where Bloom really ups the ante is in its songcraft, in terms of both the depth of expression and sheer number of earworm hooks. In “Mockingbird,” “Little Bit,” “If God Is a Woman” and other standouts, bits inspired by ’70s singer-songwriters and rootsy Music Row pop elevate the sisters’ rock ’n’ soul. To say it another way, with these songs Larkin Poe could open a tour leg for Taylor Swift and absolutely kill, preaching their gospel of blues-soaked guitar heroism all the while. Many, many online orders for entry-level lap steels would ensue.
On Bloom, Rebecca explains, “I do think the songwriting was the center of the creative process, which it always is. But I think that we were especially meticulous in writing for this record.” The songs were built from the ground up, in a spirit of absolute collaboration shared among the Lovells and Bryant. What’s more, the sisters, both now in their 30s, became comfortable enough to dig deep and reflect on their lives with candor. “Somebody will come up with an idea,” Megan says, “and it’s really neat this time around being able to set aside some of the … I don’t know what was stopping us before—sibling rivalry? Who knows what it is?Rebecca Lovell's Gear
Guitars
- ’60s-style Fender HSS Custom Shop Stratocaster
- 1963 Gibson SG
Amps
- Fender Princeton
- Fender Champ
- Square Amps Radio Amp
Effects
- Vintage Roland Space Echo
- MXR Phase 90
Strings & Picks
- Dunlop .60 mm pick
- Ernie Ball Coated .011s
“I think you have to be especially vulnerable when opening yourself up to write a song with people, and Rebecca and I have always struggled with that a bit over the years. But it was like some sort of a veil fell away and we were able to come together in a way we hadn’t really before.”
“I think you have to be especially vulnerable when opening yourself up to write a song with people, and Rebecca and I have always struggled with that a bit over the years.”—Megan Lovell
If you’ve followed the rise of Larkin Poe, it might be hard to believe that Rebecca and Megan could get any closer. Born in Tennessee and raised in Georgia, they entered music through classical training but made their names as two of the three Lovell Sisters, an acoustic unit grounded in bluegrass. As Megan explains, “Bluegrass is the foundation of the way we put riffs together and the way we approach our musicality.” To this day, she calls square-neck resonator hero Jerry Douglas her foremost inspiration as a player, and she believes bluegrass set a standard of musical excellence that the sisters have retained in Larkin Poe. “My expectation of what I should be able to do is quite high,” she says.
Growing up, the sisters absorbed a broad range of music at home: During our chat, the name-checks include Ozzy Osbourne, Alison Krauss, Béla Fleck, and the Allman Brothers, whose albums Rebecca pretty much used as a guitar method. Her more recent 6-string influences include her husband and other Strat masters like Stevie Ray and Jimmie Vaughan. “I can hear how much of a Bryant flavor I do have,” she says with a laugh. “Which is kind of cute, maybe kind of sad. I don’t know. The internet will decide.”
Megan Lovell's Gear
For Larkin Poe, success sometimes looks like the hot food bar at Whole Foods while on tour.
Photo by Zach Whitford
Guitars and Basses
- Beard Electro-Liege
- Amps
- Tyler Amp Works Dumble clone
Effects
- Electro-Harmonix POG
- Universal Audio Starlight Echo Station
Strings & Picks
- Dunlop Zookies thumbpick
- ProPik fingerpicks
- Scheerhorn stainless steel tonebar
- D’Addario .013–.014s
Almost 15 years ago, Rebecca and Megan came together officially as Larkin Poe, refocusing on Southern blues-rock and, over the years, fostering their love of profound country-blues like Skip James and Son House. “We didn’t stand in front of amplifiers until we were 16, 17 years old,” Rebecca says. “For many years, it was so startling to stand in front of any amount of wattage. That was something that has definitely taken some time to really get used to.”
“We’ve had just enough taste of what the top feels like to know that happiness lies wherever it is that you put it.”—Rebecca Lovell
Perhaps because of their background reveling in acoustic tones, the Lovells’ amplified sound is bliss for anyone who adores the undiluted sonics of excellent guitars plugged into well-crafted, overdriven tube amps. In our age of mile-long pedalboards and amp modelers, the Lovells remain closer to the ideal that Leo Fender and Jim Marshall had perfected by the mid-’60s. “Megan and I are pretty militant about never doubling or stacking guitars,” Rebecca says, “and we are trying to create big, fat sounds between just the two of us.”
Bloom was captured at Tyler and Rebecca’s no-frills Nashville studio, the Lily Pad, with a small but mighty arsenal of no-nonsense axes and amps. The goal, as ever, was to bottle the energy and ambiance of the live show. Rebecca tracked using low-wattage tube combos and her trusty HSS Fender Custom Shop Strat. Megan, who plays primarily in open G (G–B–D–G–B–D), relied on the Electro-Liege she developed with Beard Guitars and a Dumble clone by Tyler Amp Works. “It was the best tone on the record,” Megan says, “and I could never get away from it.” The holy grail sound for her, she explains, is David Lindley’s “Running on Empty” solo. “Having come from the acoustic background,” Rebecca adds, “we’ve always been very sparse in terms of effects pedals.”
It’s a humble, self-aware approach to gear that savors the fundamentals. What else would you expect? More than anything, the Lovells’ greatest gift might be their ability to understand what’s actually important. “We’ve been doing this now since we were young teenagers,” Rebecca says, “and we’re on a slow-burn path, buddy. We have played shows to just the bar staff. And we’ve had just enough taste of what the top feels like to know that happiness lies wherever it is that you put it.”
Late last year, Larkin Poe cut a live performance for the German television show Rockpalast. Enjoy the full, blistering 80-minute set.
The finish on this 2019 PRS Custom 24-08 is called “Angry Larry,” but stare long enough and you’ll realize it’s not so angry, and has much more of a deep, mesmerizing kind of vibe. (And Larry? He’s not so angry either.)
This 2019 PRS Custom 24-08 has a 10-top, making it one of the company’s most elite models, and it longs to be played.
I recently borrowed a guitar from a friend and accidentally got his whammy bar mixed up with the one from my PRS. Midway through my apology and explanation, I realized my friend was staring at me. “I just didn't think you’d have a PRS,” he said, baffled.
I am one hundred years old, so I remember when PRS guitars began creeping into the pages of my guitar magazines in the mid ’90s. While legends like Al Di Meola had long been on board with PRS, he played jazz. As an aspiring shred-hero-demon-master, I had little patience for jazz. It was seeing Dave Navarro and Mark Tremonti with PRS guitars in the pages of guitar magazines that made me sit up and take notice. Those guys were on VH1, and I planned to be cool like them.
Somewhere along the line, PRS began to become associated with a very different type of guitar player. They became “dentist guitars,” as coined by the denizens of Reddit: expensive yet mainstream instruments with a flashy look, a status symbol of the elite and untalented. Certainly not a tool for a real musician.
Why do certain guitars get these scarlet letters? And why are we so quick to buy into the notion of, “Oh, that guitar’s not for me,” because of a vibe we got from Instagram?
That tiny 10 tells us that this guitar features a 10-top, a designation reserved for the company’s finest figured-maple models.
It’s not easy to divorce ourselves from the reality curated by internet influencers. But at Fanny’s House of Music, we occasionally find the strength to peek behind the digital curtain. We are delighted to report there are some great guitars back here! Take, for instance, this 2019 PRS Custom 24-08. It has a special-ordered “10-top,” a designation reserved for only the finest figured maple tops PRS produces. The desirable and collectible nature of PRS 10-tops has very little to do with how playable the guitar is. Their rarity drives up their price, fueling the anti-dentist hordes on the internet.
“It’s not a red guitar that screams, ‘I’M A RED GUITAR’—it’s more subtle and refined.”
If you take the horde wisdom as gospel, what you may not discover beneath the almost three-dimensional flame is an instrument with soul. There’s something special about this guitar. It’s hardly been played, but it’s begging to be. The edges of the fretboard are perfectly rolled and the pattern-thin neck shape—which feels, to this author, like a slightly thinner ’60s Gibson slim-taper neck shape, although your mileage may vary—is invitingly shaped like the palm of your hand. The PRS 85/15 pickups pack plenty of oomph, but not so much oomph that even the clean channel on your amp sounds distorted. There’s warmth to them, but also clarity. It’s a musical sound that kept me contentedly noodling in the electric guitar room at Fanny’s for an almost uncomfortable amount of time. (Thanks, as always, to the nonjudgemental and endlessly patient employees of Fanny’s.)
This instrument features PRS’s pattern-thin neck shape, which measures 1 11/16" at the nut.
Perhaps there’s a lesson in anti-anti-snobbishness to be learned from the handsome deep-red finish of this guitar, curiously called “Angry Larry.” It’s a dark red, with an almost purple hue in some light. It’s not a red guitar that screams, “I’M A RED GUITAR”—it’s more subtle and refined. According to PRS forum lore, while trying out new finishes, PRS Sales and Marketing Manager Larry Urie took a shine to the dark red. Coincidentally, his white skin would occasionally, under certain circumstances, acquire a strikingly similar color. The folks at PRS decided to name it “Angry Larry” in his honor, although it has been occasionally reported that he’s not an especially angry guy. Someone trying to perfectly orchestrate their internet persona might take umbrage to the association, but not Urie. He has taken it in stride and can be seen posing with the guitar on the social media of Chuck Levin’s Washington Music Center, making a humorously scrunched-up angry face.
Maybe fancy flame tops aren’t your thing. That’s fine! But if you don’t have a strong opinion on fancy flame tops, this PRS Custom 24-08 kindly requests that you avoid allowing a pitchfork-wielding crowd to shape it. Whatever your “thing” is, you can discover it by getting a lot of guitars in your hands. Do you like the way it sounds, plays, and looks? Then it’s a great guitar for you. The next time you visit Fanny’s or any great guitar store, pack an open mind. You may find you have more in common with dentists than you thought.
Sources: prsguitars.com web site and forums
At home in the shop at Gibson USA, where DeCola is R&D manager and master luthier.
The respected builder and R&D manager has worked for the stars—Eddie Van Halen, Paul McCartney, and others—while keeping his feet on the ground, blending invention, innovation, and common-sense design.
As a teenager, DeCola fell in love with surfing, but growing up in Indiana … no ocean. So, skateboarding became his passion. When a surf park called Big Surf—replete with rideable waves—opened up near his sister, who he was visiting during spring break at Arizona State University, she treated him to a day at the man-made sea.
Jim DeCola paid for his first guitar with his nose.
“When the first wave came, it scooped us all up, and I was tumbling under and something hit me bad,” he recounts. “So, I’m in a daze, and my sister runs up to me and says, ‘Oh my god, you have a bloody nose!’” When DeCola looked in the bathroom mirror, his nose was broken and the skin was split. The surf park’s medic sent him to a hospital. “Whatever the bill is, give it to us and we’ll double it,” DeCola recalls being told. “Just please don’t sue.” When a check for $880 arrived, his mother suggested he use it to buy the electric guitar he was pining for. “I ended up with a Gibson SG, because George Harrison had one, but they didn’t have a cherry red one, so mine was ebony.” He also got a Roland Cube practice amp because it had a master volume. “I still have both, and it’s still a great little amp and a great guitar. And that,” he says, “set me on my course.”
It’s been an epic journey in guitar creation: from his apprenticeship at a Lansing, Illinois, shop—which led to a dramatic and well-chronicled bridge fix for Randy Rhoads—to his years with Peavey, Fender, and now Gibson, where he is R&D manager and master luthier. DeCola blanches a bit at the master luthier title, observing that he’d prefer, simply, “guitar guy,” but that’s like calling a tiger a cat. DeCola is an apex builder. Instruments he designed are world-renowned and he’s collaborated with an enviable list of greats that includes Eddie Van Halen, Paul McCartney, Slash, Adrian Vandenberg, Rudy Sarzo, Neil Schon, and Randy Jackson.
Jim DeCola at the Gibson USA offices in Nashville. He spearheaded the company’s current two-pronged product orientation, with original and modern instrument lines.
Photo by Ted Drozdowski
In the Beginning…
DeCola’s family was musical. His dad played many instruments but trumpet was his main squeeze, and his older brother and sister exposed Jim to the Beatles, Stones, Hendrix, Cream, and other deities of the ’60s guitar-rock canon. Thus fueled, at 15, in his second year of wood shop, he decided to build a guitar. Inspired by a photo of Scorpions’ Matthias Jabs, he settled on an Explorer body shape. A friend who already played guitar detailed where the bridge needed to go and what parts were required, and DeCola reverse engineered from there. He even cut the pickguard from a sheet of gray smoke Mirrorplex. But despite two years of electronics classes, he opted to bring his creation to the Music Lab, that guitar shop in Lansing, where he was taking lessons, for the wiring.
“The guy who did repairs wired it up for me, and when it was ready he called and said, ‘Hey, I want to talk with you when you come in,’ ” DeCola recounts. “He asked me to apprentice with him. It was learn while you earn, and while I did learn some stuff from him, really, I was wet sanding guitars and doing that kind of grunt work.” DeCola was at Music Lab part-time for 18 months, and graduated from high school just as the tech left. The owners of the store asked Jim to take over, and, as Suetonius told Caesar, the die was cast.
In January ’82, a caller made DeCola think he was being pranked—until he became convinced it really was Randy Rhoads and Rudy Sarzo’s tech Pete Morton. They explained that Bruce Bolen, then at Chicago Musical Instruments, had suggested him to fix Rhoads guitar in time for the night’s Ozzy Osbourne performance. DeCola grabbed his tools and drove through the snow for 50 miles to the Rosemont Horizon arena, where Rhoads was having trouble keeping the vibrato bridge on his polka-dot Sandoval custom V in tune. After a quick round of introductions, DeCola took apart the vibrato bridge and used a technique inspired by G&L guitars, deleting two of its bridge’s four screws and cutting a pivot with a V-file to countersink the bridge plate. Next, he was treated to a soundcheck of “Mr. Crowley” by Rhoads, Sarzo, and drummer Tommy Aldridge. As the opening act played, Rhoads asked DeCola to make the vibrato “a little slinkier,” and he completed the mod just before Ozzy’s downbeat. DeCola—still in his teens—was standing just off to the side when the iconic photo of Ozzy carrying Rhoads that appeared on the cover of the 1987-released Tributealbum was taken.
Six years later, DeCola received offers from Kahler and Peavey, and he opted to relocate to Meridian, Mississippi, to work with Hartley Peavey as his R&D tech. “I learned a lot,” he reflects. “Hartley was a great mentor. At any time, I’d have a stack of books and magazines, or just single pages ripped from magazines, a foot high on my desk, and he’d expect me to read and give him a report on everything,” says DeCola. “Sometimes it was related to guitars, amps, and effects; sometimes it might be antique radios.” After a few years, DeCola was promoted to supervisor of guitar engineering and began designing instruments. DeCola minted some of Peavey’s most lauded guitars, including the Tele-like Generation, with dual humbuckers, a mahogany body and neck, and a 5-way switch. That guitar gave the company a toehold in the country music market, but was also embraced by Steve Cropper and Dave Edmunds.
“We looked at each other and said, ‘The decade of the “superstrat” is over.’”
Every Best Les Paul Sound
Another pivotal experience during his years at Peavey happened at a summer NAMM show in Chicago’s McCormick Place, when a celestial Les Paul tone suddenly emerged from the exhibition hall’s PA system. “It was ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ by Guns N’ Roses,” says DeCola, “and we’re looking up thinking, ‘Who the hell is this?’ It was every best Les Paul sound wrapped up into one. We looked at each other and said, ‘The decade of the “superstrat” is over.’ And it really was.”
That inspired DeCola to create the Les Paul-Tele-style hybrid Peavey Odyssey. He also worked with Adrian Vandenberg on set-neck and neck-through versions of the Dutch guitarist’s signature models, and a host of other artists—including Eddie Van Halen. Peavey’s artist relations head heard that Van Halen had a falling out with Ernie Ball Music Man and sensed opportunity. DeCola quickly made a prototype inspired by Eddie’s EBMM signature model and took it to a gig in Florida, where the band was kicking off the Balance tour. “Eddie rehearsed with it and said, ‘Okay, now I know you can do it; let’s come up with a design.’”
During the development process, DeCola learned that Eddie’s son Wolfgang had a birthday coming. So, as a gift for Wolfie, he decided to make a 3/4-size example of his signature concept for Eddie. Mid-build, Eddie made a surprise visit to Meridian. DeCola invited EVH into his office and showed him Wolfie’s guitar.
“I thought this would be the direction we’d use for your new model,” DeCola explained. “He said, ‘Yeah, I love it! Just make it full size, then.’ And for the headstock, Eddie had done some napkin drawings in the hotel that were like Flying V’s, but smaller.” That wouldn’t work, thanks to the U.S. Patent Office. More ideas were exchanged. DeCola was coincidentally working on a new build for himself at the time, with a three-to-a-side headstock. He painted that headstock black, and then sanded a scoop in its tip. And that was it. Eddie was happy. DeCola wanted to get a prototype into Van Halen’s hands as quickly as possible, so when he found out the virtuoso was leaving Meridian the next day after lunch, he worked through the night.
“When he showed up the next morning at 11 a.m., I was just tuning it up,” DeCola recalls. “It was raw wood, but he played it and said, ‘That’s it.’” Thus, the Peavey EVH Wolfgang was born. “After that, the engineering took longer than making the guitar, because I had to do the blueprints and totally spec out everything,” DeCola adds.
Another important encounter he had in Meridian was with the blues historian and record collector Gayle Dean Wardlow, noted for, among other things, finding the death certificate of Robert Johnson. After they met, DeCola started going to Wardlow’s home weekly to talk about the roots of the genre he’d begun studying as a young player, listen to rare old 78s, and absorb the techniques preserved in their shellac. That study paid off. Hearing DeCola play metal-bodied resonator guitar is a high-order experience, although he also sounds terrific rocking the hell out on a Les Paul. DeCola is humble about his playing, but, really, he doesn’t need to be. “It’s a great release, and great therapy,” he says.
DeCola’s tenure at Peavey ran its course. “I was making P-90 and 12-string versions of existing guitars, a 12-string baritone … and they were turning my operation into a custom shop, which I didn’t want to do, because that’s just low-volume manufacturing. I wanted to stick with designing new stuff,” he says. “I wanted a change. It was five years with a lot of pressure. I wasn’t getting credit for designing and building Eddie Van Halen’s guitars. So, I went to Fender in Nashville, who had what they called the Custom Shop East at the time.”
“Musicians and skaters have the same kind of soul, the same mindset,” DeCola says. “It is something you can do by yourself, as a form of expression, but when you’ve got your crew and you’re skating, it’s like being with your band.”
Photo courtesy of Jim DeCola
“I came up with the idea of teaching people how to use things that every guitar player is going to have around the house for tools—coins or picks—and MacGyver their instruments.”
On to Gibson
There, he worked with Bruce Bolen and pickup guru Tim Shaw. But after Bolen retired in 2011 and Fender decided to close that Nashville location, DeCola found out about openings at Gibson and applied. In June, he was hired as master luthier.
“Gibson’s been a great ride,” DeCola attests. Although it hasn’t always been easy. When DeCola came onboard, the notoriously controlling, sometimes-volatile Henry Juszkiewicz was CEO. “It was fine for me, because Henry respected me, but it was an environment where I felt I had to be measured in my responses,” he says. There were also notorious design gaffes, like “robot tuners” and the dreadful Firebird X—both pet projects of Juszkiewicz that almost literally no one else, especially customers, desired.
“I got blamed for some of that stuff, but I was just the messenger,” DeCola says. But as James Curleigh and, now, Cesar Gueikian took over Gibson’s leadership, DeCola had an opportunity to proactively get his thoughts on the direction for the company’s products before more receptive CEOs.
“I made a bullet list and at one point had maybe 40 things on there, like going back to a thin binding on certain models and changing features,” he relates. “But my main message was, ‘Give the people what they want; we’re not here to dictate what people want.’” Many of DeCola’s ideas were manifested in the roster of guitars at the Gibson display at NAMM 2019—instruments that honored and built upon the company’s legacy. DeCola also had the idea of splitting Gibson’s model line into original and modern categories. “My concept was, we have the original models, which we’re determined to improve, and the modern line where we could have locking tuners, push-pull pots, and blueberry burst finishes—features that aren’t rooted in the golden years of the ’50s.”
Gueikian embraced that practice for Gibson USA and the Custom Shop, and expanded it to the acoustic Custom Shop in Bozeman, Montana, and to the Mesa/Boogie amp line. But DeCola was already on the case with amplification. Before Curleigh stepped down, he’d asked DeCola to look at Gibson’s amp line, and, again, DeCola looked back andforward at once. Inspired by his personal collection of vintage Gibson amps, he mapped out a new product line for 10-, 20-, and 40-watters. “I based my thinking off the greatest hits of those classic amps, and focused on the Falcon, because I have a ’62 Falcon, and when I looked into its history, the revelation was that it was the first amp with both reverb and tremolo,” he says. “So, I thought that would be a cool amp to make.” Then Gibson bought Mesa/Boogie under Gueikian’s stewardship, and the project went to that company’s Randall Smith, who created a stellar original design. Gibson unveiled the power-switching Falcon 5 (which won PG’s coveted Premier Gear Award) and Falcon 20 in January 2024.
DeCola is skilled in every aspect of guitar building, including working in the spray shop, where he is seen here training the gun on a model year 2024 blueberry burst Les Paul Studio.
Photo courtesy of Gibson
Mr. Fix-It
While the profile of most people in the guitar industry went down during the pandemic, DeCola’s went up thanks to a series of how-to videos he made for Gibson’s YouTube channel. They cover such topics as how to adjust action and pickup height, and how to do a proper setup. “I wanted to do something for the guitar community when things were shut down, so I came up with the idea of teaching people how to use things that every guitar player is going to have around the house for tools—coins or picks—and MacGyver their instruments,” he says. These videos have hundreds of thousands of views, and have given him a kind of celebrity status that’s rare among luthiers.
When asked what makes a great guitar, including the signature models he’s worked on at Gibson for Paul McCartney, Slash, and others, DeCola talks about achieving a commonsense, holistic balance of design, materials, and craftsmanship. He adds that there is no shortage of fine instruments now available, and that, moving ahead, he sees the kind of balance between tradition and invention that he has promoted at Gibson remaining its norm. “There are a lot of boutique builders and trends like 7- and 8-string guitars, fanned frets, and different scale lengths today,” he notes. “Some of it can be cyclical. There was a period in the ’80s and ’90s, for example, when a lot of people were adopting 7-strings, and now I see a lot of them again.
“Gibson was built on innovation,” he continues. “Orville Gibson, our founder, got his first patent creating a mandolin built completely different than other mandolins. Prior to that, they were typically gourd instruments, but he applied the carved back and top method from the violin and cello. And with the jazz-box electric guitars, there were so many Gibson innovations, like the adjustable neck and bridge, the humbucking pickup…. But because we’re a legacy company, we have to tread a bit lighter on some of the innovation, which our previous leadership was too forward on, with features the market wasn’t ready for. But in defense of that, I’ll go back to our heritage instruments. The Flying V and Explorer were all designed out of the space race, but initially commercial flops—too ahead of their time. So that’s why I wanted to split the model line—so we have the latitude to come up with some new things, but can still honor what’s expected of Gibson. Right now, we’re looking at some innovation in electronics and other features we will be bringing to the market.”
Now in his early 60s, DeCola is also still working on his skateboard moves. He tries to get to Nashville’s municipal Two Rivers Skatepark and Rocketown once a week. There, he’s found a coterie of fellow veteran skaters—many of whom are also in the music business, as players, producers, and engineers. “I’d say musicians and skaters have the same kind of soul, the same mindset,” he says. “It is something you can do by yourself, as a form of expression, but when you’ve got your crew and you’re skating, it’s like being with your band. It’s even more fun, and it inspires you. It can make you better.”DeCola performs a neck adjustment on an ES-335.
Photo courtesy of Gibson