PG’s German correspondent guides us through the storied town of Markneukirchen in the heart of Germany’s “Music Corner,” where centuries-old instrument-making traditions live on.
German lutherie has a 400-year history—and more connections to the United States than you might think. The best way to dive into this legacy is to visit Germany's “Music Corner" region. The three small main cities of Markneukirchen (aka “the music town"), Erlbach, and Klingenthal are known collectively as “Musicon Valley." This musical hub lies in a southern region of Saxony known as the Vogtland, nestled in the mountains at the Czech border, near Bavaria and Thuringia. It's a quiet, rural area, its stunning landscape dominated by lush forests and wide-open meadows full of cows.
For 40 years the region was part of the German Democratic Republic—the former East Germany. Decades of GDR policies have left their mark on downtown Markneukirchen, yet there are remnants of the town's former glory as one of Germany's richest cities. Breathtaking mansions display the sophisticated charm of the past. There's classic German architecture on every corner, and a town center with its mandatory beautiful church and placid cobbled streets. Nearly every building displays a sign indicating that musical instruments are built within. If you're a guitar nut or history nut (or both!), it's hard not to fall for this area's seductive charms.
My wife and I drove down to Markneukirchen for a two-week hiking holiday, which quickly morphed into a hike through the history of Germany's musical instrument industry. Here's what we found along the way.
The Golden Age
Farmers first settled the Markneukirchen area in the 11th century. In the 17th century, Protestants fleeing religious persecution in neighboring Bavaria settled here as well. These refugees included 12 violinmakers from the Graslica area. In 1677 they established a violinmakers' guild, which still survives as the world's oldest. Markneukirchen developed quickly, and by its golden age (1850-1880), 80 percent of the world's musical instruments were made in the region. The area was home to more than a thousand luthiers during the GDR era, and today approximately 130 companies make instruments and accessories here, including all orchestral instruments other than pianos.
When a group of violinmakers begins making instruments, it's only natural for other companies to build on that economy, settling down nearby to make strings, bows, chin rests, and the like. These companies required resources such as sheep gut for strings and lumber mills to cut wood. Eventually an entire marketing/export business emerged to handle the enormous output of instruments. By 1893 a U.S. consular office was established here to handle overseas exports.
Nearly every building in Markneukirchen's town center displays a sign announcing that musical instruments are built there. Many of these signs are historic. Photos by Dirk Wacker.
Significantly, the separation between building instruments and trading them started early, resulting in a highly effective economic structure. Trading agencies bought instruments in large quantities directly from builders and shipped them worldwide. Of course, traders made a lot of money—much more than the builders. Most of the superb mansions in Markneukirchen were built by trading agency owners. A prime example is the superb Villa Merz, a mansion near the Framus Museum that now houses a lutherie school, part of the University of Applied Science Zwickau. The mansion was built for Curt Merz, owner of a very successful trading agency.
Instrument makers usually worked independently in small workshops, often in their homes. Farmers would build instruments during the long, hard winters, when there was no work to do in the fields. Trading agencies would market these instruments under their own labels, with the actual builders remaining anonymous. Most of the instruments were exported to the United States, India, Brazil, Japan, and Australia. Example: the Andreas Morelli violins common in the United States. G.A. Pfretzschner, an important trading house founded in 1834, bought instruments from throughout the music-corner area and shipped them to his trading partner in the States. The U.S. partner thought an Italian name would boost sales, so they came up with the fantasy Morelli name. This was standard business practice, and instruments of all kinds are still made this way in Markneukirchen. Today you can see the original interior of the Pretzschner trading agency in Markneukirchen's Musical Instrument Museum. In its heyday, Markneukirchen numbered 21 millionaires among its 12,000 inhabitants, and hundreds of people worked in the instrument industry.
The GDR Era
But an 1890 economic crisis, two World Wars, the Great Depression, and the autarchy politics of the Third Reich caused a drastic decline in sales and employment. After WWII the music corner was dominated by communism and its ideals of abolishing personal property. Mass production played an important role as Markneukirchen businesses were reorganized into collectives. Small- and medium-sized companies were merged into craftsmen´s cooperatives and nationally owned companies.
Thankfully, the state didn't completely neglect the musical instrument industry—the East German regime appreciated the quality and value of these instruments. A government-run trading agency imposed annual production rates that instrument makers were required to meet. Compromising situations occurred when materials grew scarce and workers had to improvise. This knack for making something out of nothing is now known as “the Art of the East." Wood substitution is one example: If they ran out of rosewood or ebony, builders used locally sourced pear wood, staining it dark and using it for bridges and fretboards. It proved to be a fine substitute with rosewood-like qualities.
Finished instruments were given to the state agency in return for fixed wages, and then exported for hard currency, even to so-called “class enemy countries" like the United States and former West Germany. The profits bolstered East Germany's ramshackle national budget. Naturally, only the best instruments were chosen for export, leaving only lower quality instruments within the country. (Still, many excellently crafted instruments of that era found their way back to the eastern part of Germany, and some guitars have become quite collectible.)
At its peak, the Musima factory had as many as 1,200 employees who produced up to 360 guitars per day, as well as recorders, violins, zithers, and other instruments. Interestingly, many employees continued to work from their homes or small workshops, even though they were exclusively affiliated with nationally owned companies.
After the Wall
When the GDR was abolished in 1990, large companies were denationalized. Some, like Musima, did not survive. Some workers grabbed the bull by the horns, went into business for themselves, and continue to work as successful luthiers. Karl-Heinz Neudel is one such builder. Neudel is usually overbooked with repair and modification work for vintage German archtop guitars, and he also builds guitars under his own label.
Mass instrument production no longer exists in Markneukirchen—today the Far East dominates that field. But historic companies still handcraft fine instruments—the Gropp family, for example, who are world-renowned for their fine acoustic guitars.
Left: An old advertisement for Musima guitars. Right: A few examples of Musima acoustic models. Photos courtesy of Karl-Heinz Neudel
The Guitars
Despite all the guitars that have been made in Markneukirchen, it's not a town full of music shops or vintage stores—most guitars are purchased directly from the builders. Most current guitars are high-quality acoustic instruments, both classical and steel-string, such as those from Armin and Mario Gropp (www.gropp-gitarren.de), a typical father-and-son workshop in Breitenfeld. They build classical guitars and historical instruments of utmost craftsmanship in the spirit of Richard Jacob and his Weissgerber guitars.
In recent years the industrially made Musima and Sinfonia instruments of the GDR era have become collectible because of their history and charm. Not all of these are great instruments—many are from budget and student lines—but some are fantastic-sounding, great-looking guitars. (GDR-era Sinfonias and Musimas are among my best-sounding guitars.)
Sinfonia Acoustic Guitars
Sinfonia instruments were built from 1961 through 1984. Instruments from 1961 to 1972 sport “PGH Sinfonia" labels, while post-1972 instruments have “VEB Sinfonia Markneukirchen" labels. In 1984 Sinfonia became a part of Musima.
Sinfonia instruments were usually made by anonymous builders in their homes. While some models look simple, with unremarkable decoration, they often use tone woods that were unusual for their time. (I would never part with my 1962 Sinfonia classical, with its cherry back, sides, and neck, spruce top, and rosewood fretboard, all finished in spirit lacquer.)
The old Musima buildings still exist, but they aren't a pretty sight. After the factory closed in the early '90s, the city of Markneukirchen bought the ruins with the intention of demolishing them, but sold them to the Harmona company, who wanted to move their accordion production from Klingenthal to Markneukirchen. They haven't decided whether to restore the old buildings or tear them down to build a new factory, so the Musima buildings lie silent. You can only view them from the outside, but here are exclusive interior photographs of the abandoned factory.
Musima Guitars
Musima's most admired guitars are their archtops, which have a great reputation among players. Musima began building them in the mid 1950s, using original Roger parts out of Wenzel Rossmeisl's workshop. (Rossmeisl's property was seized after the GDR government jailed him for supposed trading crimes.) From there, they developed their own models: Record, Spezial, Solist, Primus, and the export models Ambassador and Atlas. Musima also made cheap archtops, though you can identify higher-quality models by their “German carve" solid tops, a typical Roger feature to which Rossmeisl held a patent. (A German carve top is flat near the edges where it meets sides, but slopes upward closer to its center.) These guitars were available with and without pickups (sometimes discretely embedded in the end of the fretboard), and in both fully hollow and semi-acoustic models. Well-known Musima builders include Armin Weller and Karl-Heinz Neudel, who made most of the high-end and custom instruments during the GDR era.
A real insider's tip is the Musima Nashville steel-string line, designed and built by Neudel. Some custom shop models were built by a single master luthier who used only the best available woods and added fancy embellishments.
Musima also built a Strat-style guitar called Lead Star. Nicknamed “the Strat of the East," it was a fairly faithful Fender copy, but with GDR-produced parts such as a brass inertia block. These are sought-after instruments because of their quality and retro look. Other Musima electric models include the Elektrina, Elgita, Elektra, Etherna, Deluxe, plus some radical metal guitar designs and several bass guitar models.
There were many other gifted luthiers during this era. For more info, visit the Musical Instrument Museum Markneukirchen's online forum. (It's in German, but English postings are common and welcome.)
Markneukirchen is a special place with a quaint and charming atmosphere. Guitar fans might squeeze a visit into their European holiday plans, right between the Black Forest and Oktoberfest. If you have the opportunity to visit the music corner, don't miss these must-see attractions!
Points of Interest:
Musical Instrument Museum Markneukirchen
The Musical Instrument Museum in Markneukirchen, Germany, houses more than 3,000 instruments, including many eccentric stringed instruments built in the region centuries ago.
Founded in 1883, the museum is now housed in a gorgeous 1784 building called Paulus Schlössel. Its collection boasts more than 3,100 musical instruments from all over the world. Curator Heidrun Eichler's role an authority on Markneukirchen instruments is reflected in the collection she's assembled.
The beautiful Musical Instrument Museum in Markneurkirchen is housed in this 1784 building.
It includes the world's largest tuba and accordion, as well as an historic trading station in its original state. Guitar and bass highlights include a 300-year-old double bass and early guitars from Stauffer, Antonio Torres, Richard Jacob (Weissgerber), Martin, and many gorgeous and eccentric Markneukirchen guitars.
www.museum-markneukirchen.de (English version available.)
Framus Instrument Museum Markneukirchen
Opened in 2007, the Framus museum is located near the lutherie school in a building called Villa Brehmer that was completely reconstructed after standing empty for a decade. Rainfall and vacancy damaged the building, but Hans-Peter Wilfer, founder and owner of the Warwick company, bought it and established the museum. Wilfer is the son of Fred Wilfer, founder and owner of the Framus, which produced guitars from 1946 through the company's 1970s bankruptcy. (Some models were reissued in 1995 under the Warwick umbrella.) Framus was Europe's biggest guitar company in the 1960s. The museum displays over 200 instruments from the Framus era, including guitars, basses, banjos, lap steels, pedal steels, amps, and accessories. Museum director Andreas Egelkraut is a walking encyclopedia for all things Framus.
www.framus-vintage.de (English version available.)
Warwick factory and custom shop
Hans-Peter Wilfer was just 24 in 1982 when he founded Warwick in former Western Germany. In 1995, after German reunification, he relocated the company's headquarters to Markneukirchen. The futuristic Warwick quarters are located in town's industrial zone, just a stone's throw from the former Musima building. Its lobby features a large showroom of Warwick and Framus guitars and basses. The facility relies on solar and wind power and is 100 percent carbon-neutral. The Big Kahunas of the factory tour are the custom shop wood supply, the ultra-modern, fully automatic fretting machine, and of course, the paint department.
I met Wilfer in his office to chat about his family's history and connections to Markneukirchen. Wilfer has fond childhood memories of the Framus factory and was 16 when it closed, but he happily started his own bass company. Wilfer chose Markneukirchen as his place of business because of its affordable living and industrial zone, but he also has family ties to the area. “My father was born and raised right across the Czech border in Schönbach [present-day Luby]," Wilfer shares. “I live directly in Markneukirchen with my family and I really like to live here. My kids were born here and they're real Markneukirchen natives—it's a good and joyful place to live and work."
www.warwick.de (English version available)
Luthiers of Interest:
Richard Jacob (Weissgerber)
Weissgerber founder Richard Jacob (1877-1960) is one of Markneukirchen's brightest lutherie stars. After learning to build zithers, he started making guitars in 1899, qualifying as a master luthier in 1905. In 1921 he officially trademarked the Weissgerber name and built approximately 3,700 guitars under this label, the last ones reportedly in the year of his death. After he passed away, his son Martin Jacob took over the workshop and built guitars under the Weissgerber label, many with parts his father had created but never finished. Martin Jacob's death in 1991 marked the end of the Weissgerber era. These guitars are highly collectible today, especially in the Japanese market. Weissgerber guitars were often experimental, using uncommon woods, double tops, and radical bracing patterns. Richard Jacobs' widow, left the original workshop to the University of Leipzig when she died in 1989. For more information, the recently released book Weissgerber by Christof Hanusch details this luthier's entire history (christofhanusch.com)
www.richardjacob-weissgerber.de (German language only.)
www.studia-instrumentorum.de/MUSEUM/weissgerber_inhalt.htm (German language only.)
Wenzel Rossmeisl (Roger Guitars)
Wenzel Rossmeisl, Roger Rossmeisl's father, opened a Markneukirchen workshop in 1948 as a branch supporting the company's Berlin headquarters. The shop produced everything in Markneukirchen, down to individual parts. Wenzel Rossmeisl employed five luthiers. One, master luthier Dieter Hense, is alive and well at 84, though he doesn't build guitars anymore. I had the pleasure to speaking with him about Roger Guitars, and his memory is stunning.
“Wenzel Rossmeisl was not often in the shop," recalls Hense. “He was usually on the road to bring the guitars to the Berlin headquarters, or trying to source and trade needed materials for the shop. I never saw him build a single guitar or part in all those years—this was all up to us. Some of us worked in the shop, while others worked from their homes, making the famous German carve tops or other parts."
In 1951, Wenzel Rossmeisl was arrested at the Leipzig Trade Fair and jailed four years for offenses against the foreign exchange law. His property was seized—all parts, pre-finished bodies, necks, tools, etc.—along with the possessions of two other dispossessed companies. These assets were appropriated for the Musima company, which opened one year later. Only 10 guitars and two small suitcases of Rossmeisl's personal belongings from were saved from the show booth. Because the seized parts were used for early Musima models, you can find complete Roger guitars, minus the brand's logo. Collectors refer to these instruments as “stolen Rogers."
https://schlaggitarren.de/archtop/roger-guitars (English version)
www.vintageguitar.com/1939/rossmeisl-guitars (English version)
https://jazzgitarren.k-server.org/roger.html (English version)
Christian Friedrich ("Frederick") Martin ("Martin Guitars")
After extensive research, Heidrun Eichler and historian Dr. Enrico Weller located the Markneukirchen site where C.F. Martin was born on January 31st, 1796. It was a difficult search, because most of Markneukirchen burned down in a disastrous 1840 fire, and many records were lost. The original house perished in 1840, and a modern house occupies its site near the town center. Markneukirchen plans to erect a plaque here, honoring the town's most famous native son.
C.F. Martin (1796-1873), founder of the Marin Guitar company, is Markneukirchen's most famous luthier. He was born in Markneukirchen on January, 31, 1796, and was building guitars by age 15, just like his father, Johann Georg Martin. At age 24 he went to Vienna to work for Johann Georg Stauffer, one of the most respected luthiers of the day. Talented young C.F worked his way up to a position as Stauffer's foreman. His married a Viennese girl and left Stauffer to work for his father-in-law, who was also building instruments. After a son was born in 1825, the family returned to Markneukirchen, where C.F. opened his own workshop—until emigrating to the U.S. in 1833 at age 37. He settled in New York City—and the rest, as they say, is history!
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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 Albums chart, 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 Brother is 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 Doomscroller cracked 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 the Warm 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, the WA76. 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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