
Photo 1
A really quick, really dirty intro to equalization.
This month’s topic is EQ. I’d say we’re opening a can of worms, except it’s more like opening a shipping container stuffed with 10,000 worm cans.
It’s tough to talk about—let alone teach—EQ techniques, because almost nothing is true 100 percent of the time. Take the common sentiment that the less EQ you use, the better: Yeah, that’s good advice in most cases—adding overstated EQ tends to make tracks sound artificial and/or harsh. But what if “artificial” and “harsh” are the best expressive choice?
What about all those great ’60s guitars mixed with blistering high-end EQ? (Beatles and Byrds spring to mind.) Or parts engineered to sound as small and claustrophobic as possible? (Think Pink Floyd or PJ Harvey.) Or the eerie, not-found-in-nature equalization used by Nine Inch Nails and other noisemakers? There are countless exceptions to the so-called rules.
So instead of dealing in rules, we’ll talk options. We’ll cover some common EQ techniques, and then venture into more radical scenarios. But first, here’s the quickest and dirtiest intro to EQ principles ever. (If you know this stuff already, you might want to bail now and tune in next month, when we get into some interesting case studies.)
Good news for old guitarists with bad ears: You can have severe hearing loss and still perceive the entire frequency range of an electric guitar.
Basic EQ lingo.
To gain a thorough understanding of EQ, Google “equalization” (or “equalisation” if you’re a Brit), the word from which the letters “EQ” are plucked. To gain a superficial understanding that can get you through most situations, read on!
- Equalization means adjusting specific frequencies within a sound—adding or subtracting treble or bass, or emphasizing/deemphasizing specific frequencies in the middle.
- We measure musical frequency—how high-pitched or low-pitched a sound is—in Hertz (Hz). The hearing range of a healthy young person is approximately 20 Hz to 20,000 Hz (20 kHz). If you’re middle-aged, a Motörhead roadie, or both, your upper limit is probably much lower.
- Most musical sounds contain many individual frequencies. The lowest-pitched frequency is called the fundamental. The fundamental of a standard-tuned low E string, for example, is approximately 82 Hz, but there are other frequencies—overtones—that ring out far above the fundamental. If you filter that 82 Hz fundamental from a recording of that low E, the sound gets thin and tinny, but doesn’t vanish.
- If you transpose a note up an octave, the frequency of its fundamental doubles. Drop it an octave, and the frequency is halved. Example: The 440 Hz tone we tune to is the same pitch as the A at the 5th fret of your 1st string. The A at the second fret of the G string is 220 Hz. The open A string is 110 Hz. And a bassist’s open A is 55 Hz, below the guitar’s range. The fundamental of your high E string at the 17th fret is 880 Hz.
- Good news for old guitarists with bad ears: The frequency range of an amplified electric guitar extends from somewhere around 80 (depending on how you tune your low string) to somewhere around 4.5 kHz—typical guitar speakers simply don’t transmit higher frequencies. You can have severe hearing loss and still perceive the entire frequency range of an electric guitar. The range of an acoustic guitar extends much higher, however.
- Loudness (or amplitude, to use the more science-y term) is measured in decibels (dB). Gently rustling leaves might measure 20 dB, while a jet takeoff can reach 150 dB. The threshold of pain is approximately 130 dB. The loudest rock concerts on record exceed it. In mixing, most EQ adjustments are of only several dB, though they sometimes reach ±20 dB or more.
- Bandwidth refers to the breadth or narrowness of the affected frequency range. Most guitar and amp tone controls have relatively wide bandwidths. Narrow bandwidths are sometimes called notches. Bandwidth is also called “Q.”
- Filtering is the process of removing particular frequencies. A low-pass filter (LPF) cuts highs, letting lows pass through for a darker sound. A high-pass filter (HPF) does the opposite, cutting lows. A band-pass filter affects a particular “slice” of frequencies. The width of the slice varies according to the filter’s—wait for it—bandwidth.
- An EQ tool that lets you select the target frequency and its bandwidth is said to be parametric. If you can select the frequency, but not the bandwidth (as on many active bass guitar tone controls), we call it quasi-parametric.
Take the EQuiz!
After reading the above, do real-life EQ utterances like these make sense?
“My guitar sounds a little dark—can you give me +2 dB at 2.5k?”
“Yow! I get howling feedback when I step near the monitor. Can you notch out a little 1k?”
“The bass player just went into anaphylactic shock! If I drop my low E to A, and you pump up that 50 Hz, maybe no one will notice.”
Cool. Now you can talk EQ like a pro.
EQ in your tone chain.
Where do the EQ stages in your guitar’s tone chain fit into the picture? Standard guitar tone controls are low-pass filters. Same with most distortion pedals that have a single tone control. The nature of amp tone controls varies from model to model, but a high-pass bass control, a low-pass treble control, and a band-pass mid control is a typical arrangement. Many electric basses employ quasi-parametric midrange controls, with separate boost/cut and frequency-select controls.
In other words, the EQ controls on guitars, effects, and amps are wide-bandwidth filters that produce broad effects. In the recording/mixing realm, the tools tend to be more subtle and complex. If your guitar’s tone knobs are butcher knives, studio EQ tools are scalpels.
Let’s sharpen our scalpels.
A typical EQ plug-in.
The recording guitarist can choose from a vast array of hardware and software equalizers. But for all their variation, most provide the same basic functionality. I use the EQ plug-in from Apple’s Logic Pro as my example here (Photo 1), but you’ll find similar features on many equalizers.
This particular plug-in is an 8-band EQ, which means it offers eight independently adjustable filters, though you seldom need that many. Note the three rows of numbers below each color-coded band. The top one is the active frequency in Hz. The middle is the amount of boost or cut in dB. And the lowest number represents bandwidth.
Let’s check out the effect they have on the sound of a distorted guitar track. Ex. 1 has no EQ — it’s the sound from the amp as heard by the mic.
In Ex. 2, I’ve activated the leftmost band, a high-pass filter that chops everything below a specific frequency.
Photo 2
Here, set to 150 Hz (Photo 2), it thins out the sound in a big way.
Photo 3
The rightmost band is a low-pass filter that works the opposite way. Set to cut everything above 1.1 kHz (Photo 3), it makes the guitar sound dark and dull.
Recording Guitarist: ABCs of EQ -- Audio 3 by premierguitar
Listen to Recording Guitarist: ABCs of EQ -- Audio 3 by premierguitar #np on #SoundCloudBands 2 and 7 are shelving filters. They too affect everything above or below a particular frequency, but they can boost levels as well as cut them.
Photo 4
Cranking the lows as in Photo 4 creates a rumbling, bottom-heavy sound.
Photo 5
A high-shelving filter (Photo 5) is often used to broadly brighten a guitar track.
Photo 6
The middle four bands are the most powerful. These fully parametric EQ bands can cut or boost any audible frequency at any bandwidth. Set to a narrow bandwidth (Photo 6), they can add a honking, wah-like resonance.
Photo 7
Set to a wider bandwidth (Photo 7), it brightens a much larger swath of sound.
Photo 8
Finally, I’ve combined multiple EQ bands for a fairly typical crunch-guitar EQ adjustment (Photo 8).
Recording Guitarist: ABCs of EQ -- Audio 8 by premierguitar
Listen to Recording Guitarist: ABCs of EQ -- Audio 8 by premierguitar #np on #SoundCloudWhich sounds best?
Heard in isolation, probably the first example, with no EQ. But guitar tracks seldom exist in isolation. The “right” setting always depends on the context. And that’s where we’ll pick up the thread next month, when we look at real-life EQ adjustments in real-life studio contexts.
[Updated 1/11/22]
- The Most Powerful Pedal? - Premier Guitar ›
- Bass EQ Basics - Premier Guitar ›
- Increase Your IQ on EQ - Premier Guitar ›
Columnist Janek Gwizdala with heroes Dennis Chambers (left) and Mike Stern (right).
Keeping your gigging commitments can be tough, especially when faced with a call from a hero. But it’s always the right choice.
Saying “yes!” to everything early on has put me in a place now where I can say no to almost everything and still be okay. That wasn’t without its challenges. I’d like to share a story about a “yes” that would haunt me for years.
As bass players, we can, if we choose, quite easily find ourselves in a wide variety of situations without having to change much about our sound or our playing. If your time is good and you’re able to help those around you feel good and sound better, the telephone will pretty much always ring.
Playing jazz as an electric-bass player living in New York City from 2000 to 2010 was somewhat of a fool’s errand in terms of getting work. No one wanted electric bass, and bandleaders would go to the bottom of a list of 100 upright players before they would even think about calling you. Not only that, but I wasn’t even at the top of the electric list when I first moved there. Not even close. Anthony Jackson, Richard Bona, Will Lee, Tim Lefebvre, James Genus, Lincoln Goines, Mike Pope, John Benitez, Matthew Garrison—that’s a who’s who of the instrument when I first moved to town, and I was very much a freshman with almost no experience. Almost…
I’d been lucky enough to play extensively with Kenwood Dennard (Jaco’s drummer), and a little with Hiram Bullock (Jaco’s guitarist) before moving to NYC which helped create a little momentum, but only a VERY little.
This is where the story begins:
I’d sent Mike Stern a demo back in late ’97. He’d not only taken the time to listen to it but had called my parents’ house right after I moved to the U.S. to tell me he loved it and wanted to hang. I missed the call but eventually met him at a clinic he gave at Berklee.
Of course, I was buzzing about all of this. It helped me stay laser-focused on practice and on moving to NYC as soon as possible. I got the typical “look me up when you get to town” invitation from Stern and basically counted the seconds through the three semesters I stayed at Berklee until I could split town.
I arrived with a ton of confidence but zero gigs. And nothing happened overnight. It really took saying yes to literally everything I was offered just to keep a roof over my head. Through that process, I felt like I was getting further away from playing with my jazz heroes.
The early gigs were far from glamorous—long hours, terrible pay, and sometimes, after travel expenses, they cost me money to play.
“Whenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroes—the reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do.”
When Stern finally called, a few years into living in NYC, things started to move pretty quickly. I began playing a lot of gigs at the 55 Bar with him, and short road trips became a thing—a four-night stint at Arturo Sandoval’s new club in Miami, gigs in Chicago, Cleveland, and upstate New York, and then some international work, including a tour of Mexico and a trip to Brazil, if I remember right.
But the hardest phone call of my career came from Mike not long into my time touring with him. It went something like this:
“Hey man, what’s your scene in April? Lincoln can’t make a trip to the West Coast. It’s just one gig. Trio… with DENNIS CHAMBERS.”
Mike didn’t shout Dennis’ name, but that’s how I heard it. My all-time hero. Someone I’d been dreaming about playing with for over 15 years. And here’s the kicker: I had to say no.
I’d just committed to six weeks with Jojo Mayer’s band Nerve in Asia and Europe, and there was no way I could bail on him. And there was no way I could afford to ditch six weeks of work for a single gig with Mike. To say that haunted me for years is an understatement. I was destroyed that I had to turn it down.
The tour with Jojo was amazing—the posters hang in my studio as a reminder of those times to this day. And thankfully, I was able to go on some years later and play dozens of shows with Mike and Dennis all over the world—truly some of the highlights of my career.
I still think about that phone call, though. Whenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroes—the reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do. I get emotional writing and thinking about it even now. But I've learned to never have regrets and understand you just have to believe in the process and maintain the willpower to continue—no matter what.
$149
Marshall 1959 Super Lead
The very definition of classic, vintage Marshall sound in a highly affordable package.
There’s only one relevant question about Marshall’s new 1959 Super Lead overdrive/distortion pedal: Does it sound like an actual vintage Super Lead head? The answer is, simply and surprisingly, yes. The significant difference I heard within the voice of this stomp, which I ran through a Carr Vincent and a StewMac Valve Factory 18 kit amp for contrast, is that it’s a lot quieter than my 1972 Super Lead.
The Super Lead, which bore Marshall’s 1959 model number, debuted in 1965 and was the amp that defined the plexi sound. That sound is here in spades, clubs, diamonds, and hearts. Like the Super Lead, the pedal is easy to use. The original’s 3-band EQ is replaced by a single, rangeful tone control. The normal dial and the volume, which together mimic the character created by jumping the first and second channels of a plexi head, offer smooth, rich, buttery op-amp driven gain and loudness. And the high-treble dial functions much like the presence control on the original amp.
The pedal is sturdy and handsome, too. A heavy-duty metal enclosure evokes the classic black-with-gold-plate plexi look and a vintage-grille-cloth motif. Switches and knobs (the latter with rubber sides for slip-free turning) are ultra solid, and—refreshingly—there’s a 9V battery option in addition to a barrel-pin connection. Whether with single-coils or humbuckers, getting beefy, sustained, historic tones took moments. I especially delighted in approximating my favorite Super Lead head setting by flooring the high treble, normal, and tone dials, and turning back the tone pots on my Flying V, evoking Disraeli Gears-era Clapton tone. That alone, to me, makes the 1959 Super Lead stomp a bargain at $149.The Miku was introduced about 10 years ago and is based on the vocal stylings of Hatsune Miku, a virtual pop icon. But it does much more than artificial vowels and high-pitched words.
It’s tempting to think of this pedal as a joke. Don’t.
It all started a few years ago through a trade with a friend. I just wanted to help him out—he really wanted to get a fuzz pedal but didn’t have enough cash, so he offered up the Korg Miku. I had no idea then, but it turned out to be the best trade I’ve ever made.
Here’s the truth: the Korg Miku is not your typical guitar pedal. It won’t boost your mids, sculpt your gain, or serve up that warm, buttery overdrive you’ve always worshipped. Nope. This little box does something entirely different: It sings! Yes, sings in a Japanese kawaii accent that’s based on the signature voice of virtual pop icon Hatsune Miku.
At first glance, it’s tempting to dismiss this pedal as just a gimmick—a joke, a collector’s oddity, the kind of thing you buy for fun and then forget next to your Hello Kitty Strat. But here’s the twist: Some take it seriously and I’m one of those people.
I play in a punk band called Cakrux, and lately I’ve been working with a member of a Japanese idol-style girl group—yeah, it’s exactly the kind of wild mashup you’d ever imagine. Somewhere in the middle of that chaos, the Miku found its way into my setup, and weirdly enough, it stuck. It’s quirky, beautiful, occasionally maddening, and somehow … just right. After plenty of time spent in rehearsals, studio takes, and more sonic experiments than I care to admit, I’ve come to appreciate this pedal in unexpected ways. So here are a few things you probably didn’t know about this delightfully strange little box.
It’s Not Organic—and That’s OK
Most guitar pedals are chasing something real. Wah pedals mimic the human voice—or even a trumpet. Tube Screamers? They’re built to recreate the warm push of an overdriven tube amp. Cab sims aim to replicate the tone of real-world speaker setups. But the Miku? It breaks the mold. Instead of emulating reality, it channels the voice of a fictional pop icon. Hatsune Miku isn’t a person—she’s a vocaloid, a fully digital creation made of samples and synthesis. The Miku doesn’t try to sound organic, it tries to sound like her. In that sense, it might be the only pedal trying to reproduce something that never existed in the physical world. And honestly, there’s something oddly poetic about that.
A World-Class Buffer
Here’s a fun fact: I once saw a big-name Indonesian session guitarist—you know, the kind who plays in sold-out arenas—with a Miku pedal on his board. I was like, “No way this guy’s busting out vocaloid lines mid-solo.” Plot twist: He only uses it for the buffer. Yep, the man swears by it and says it’s the best-sounding buffer he’s ever plugged into. I laughed … until I tried it. And honestly? He’s not wrong. Even if you never hear Miku sing a note, this pedal still deserves a spot on your board. Just for the tone mojo alone. Wild, right?
“The Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldn’t work for your music, but somehow, it just does.”
Impossible to Tame
Most pedals are built to make your life easier. The Miku? Not so much. This thing demands patience—and maybe a little spiritual surrender. First off, the tracking can be finicky, especially if you’re using low-output pickups. Latency becomes really noticeable and your picking dynamics suddenly matter a lot more. Then there’s the golden rule I learned the hard way. Never—ever—put anything before the Miku. No fuzz, no wah, no compressor, not even a buffer! It gets confused instantly and says “What is going on here?” And don’t even think about punching in while recording. The vocal results are so unpredictable, you’ll never get the same sound twice. Mess up halfway? You’re starting from scratch. Same setup, same take, same chaotic energy. It’s like trying to recreate a fever dream. Good luck with that.
Full Range = Full Power
Sure, it’s made for guitar, but the Miku really comes to life when you run it through a keyboard amp, bass cab, or even a full-range speaker. Why? Because her voice covers way more frequency range than a regular guitar speaker can handle. Plug it into a PA system or a bass rig, and everything sounds clearer, richer, way more expressive. It’s like letting Hatsune Miku out of her cage.
The Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldn't work for your music, but somehow, it just does. Is it the best pedal out there? Nah. Is it practical? Not by a long shot. But every time I plug it in, I can’t help but smile. It’s unpredictable, a little wild, and it feels like you’re jamming in the middle of a bizarre Isekai anime scene. And honestly, that’s what makes it fun.
This thing used to go for less than $100. Now? It’s fetching many times that. Is it worth the price? That’s up to you. But for me, the Korg Miku isn’t just another pedal—it’s a strange, delightful journey I’m glad I didn’t skip. No regrets here.
Two guitars, two amps, and two people is all it takes to bring the noise.
The day before they played the coveted Blue Room at Third Man Records in Nashville, the Washington, D.C.-based garage-punk duo Teen Mortgage released their debut record, Devil Ultrasonic Dream. Not a bad couple of days for a young band.
PG’s Chris Kies caught up with guitarist and vocalist James Guile at the Blue Room to find out how he builds the band’s bombastic guitar attack.
Brought to you by D’Addario.
Devilish Dunable
Guile has been known to use Telecasters and Gretsches in the past, but this time out he’s sticking with this Dunable Cyclops DE, courtesy of Gwarsenio Hall—aka Jordan Olds of metal-themed comedy talk show Two Minutes to Late Night. Guile digs the Dunable’s lightness on his shoulders, and its balance of high and low frequencies.
Storm Warning
What does Guile like about this Squier Cyclone? Simple: its color. This one is also nice and easy on the back, and Guile picked it up from Atomic Music in Beltsville, Maryland.
Crushing It
Guile also scooped this Music Man 410-HD from Atomic, which he got just for this tour for a pretty sweet deal. It runs alongside an Orange Crush Bass 100 to rumble out the low end.
James Guile’s Pedalboard
The Electro-Harmonix Micro POG and Hiwatt Filter Fuzz MkII run to the Orange, while everything else—a DigiTech Whammy, Pro Co Lil’ RAT, and Death by Audio Echo Dream 2—runs to the Music Man. A TC Helicon Mic Mechanic is on board for vocal assistance, and a TC Electronic PolyTune 3, Morley ABY, and Voodoo Labs Pedal Power 3 Plus keep the ship afloat.