Whether you’ve got a barebones analog box or a feature-packed digital model, your delay can do a lot more than add ambience to your sound. Here we walk you through everything from basics like signal-chain placement and dialing in traditional sounds to looping and precise tempo matching.
Delay pedals are among the most popular effects around, and the reason is simple: A delay pedal not only gives your sound a professional sheen and adds a three-dimensional quality—even when set for a discreet, atmospheric effect—but it can also produce a wide variety of not-so-subtle sounds and textures, ranging from ear-twisting rhythmic repeats (à la Eddie Van Halen's “Cathedral") to faux twin-guitar harmonies and live looping.
This how-to guide will cover the aforementioned effects, as well as fundamentals like the function of typical delay controls, and where to place your unit in an effects chain. Although there are countless delays on the market—many of which have mind-boggling features—we're going to use a basic delay pedal setup similar to what you'll find on a Boss DD-7 as our reference point. We've also provided some sample settings so you can get the most out of your delay pedal right away.
Delay Pedal Controls
Three controls are common to virtually all delay units: Time, Feedback (sometimes labeled "Repeat" or "Regeneration"), and Level (or "Mix").
Time controls the length of time between any two repetitions of your signal. It is most often measured in milliseconds (ms). Most delay pedals don't have a delay-time readout that would enable you to determine exact delay times in milliseconds, so you typically just adjust the Time knob to get an approximate time based on the unit's available range. For instance, the Boss DD-7 (street $179) has a Mode knob that selects between four time ranges—up to 50 ms, 51–200 ms, 201–800 ms, and 801–3200 ms—and the Time knob then adjusts the setting within the selected range.
Feedback determines the amount of repetitions. At its minimum setting, Feedback outputs a single repetition of the original signal. From that point on, as you turn up Feedback you get more repeats. Some delay units allow infinite repeats when this control is maxed.
Level controls the volume of the repeats. When Level is at its minimum setting, you won't hear any repeats. When it's all the way up, the repeats should be as loud as the original signal.
Signal-Chain Placement
If you plan to use your delay in conjunction with other stompboxes, it's important to consider where to place these effects in the chain—especially if you're using an overdrive, distortion, or fuzz pedal. The most common setup is to place dirt before delay. This is important because it means you'll be delaying the distorted signal as opposed to distorting a delayed signal, which will sound mushy and indistinct. Because a distortion pedal has the strongest impact on your fundamental tone, it's typically placed early in the chain, whereas delay is usually placed toward the end of the chain so it can produce repeats of all of the effects added to your guitar sound. Of course, you should experiment for yourself to see what you prefer.
If you're taking the dirt-before-delay with the distortion from your amp, then you'll want to insert your delay into your amp's effects loop (if it has one) so that it comes in the chain after the preamp gain. For recording, it's less of an issue because you can just record the amp without any effects and then add delay during post-production.
Doubling and Modulation
The term "doubling" refers to the process of using a subtle delay to thicken your sound. To get a doubling effect, set Time between 50 and 100 ms, Feedback for minimal repeats (one or two), and Level all the way up. Because the repeat happens so quickly, it creates the illusion of another guitar playing in unison with the original signal rather than sounding like an echo. If you use a lower delay time (20 to 50 ms), you can also get pseudo chorusing and flanging sounds.
Doubling and Modulation Example
Slapback Echo
Slapback is a single short repeat similar to a tape slap (the time delay between the record and play heads in an analog tape recorder), and it is most often heard in rockabilly and country. To achieve a slapback effect, keep the Time short (between 80–140 ms), Feedback at 0 (so you only get one repeat), and Level at about 50 percent.
Slapback Example
Faux Reverb
A reverb-type effect can be achieved by modifying some of the settings used for slapback. Set the Time between 100 and 200 ms, Feedback for about 5 repeats, and Level at about 50 percent.
Faux Reverb Example
Tempo Matching
Most delay pedals do not have precise delay time readings on their knob panels. This isn't a crucial issue when you're using shorter delay times or when precise timing of the repeats is not integral to the performance. However, if you're playing to a fixed beat source (say, a band or rhythm track) with a delay time of more than 200 ms and a fairly high Level setting that gives the repeats a distinct note, it will sound best if you dial in a precise delay time that matches the tempo of the band or rhythm track. Otherwise, the repeats will be out of time against the underlying beat. If your music is delay based, delay pedals such as the Providence DLY-4 Chrono Delay (street $449), TC Electronic ND-1 Nova Delay (street $259), and Strymon Timeline (street $449)—all of which feature LED readouts of the delay time—are worth considering.
Newer digital delays such as the Providence DLy-4 Chrono Delay, TC Electronic ND-1 Nova Delay, and Strymon Timeline feature exact millisecond readouts for players who need very precise delays for tempo-matching purposes.
Many delay pedals from the last decade or so offer a happy middle ground with tap-tempo functionality (some designs require using an aftermarket external footswitch to access this). If you're familiar with the term but aren't quite sure exactly how it works, here's the scoop: Though many players don't know the exact tempo they need in terms of beats per minute (bpm), most have an innate sense of the tempo they wish to play at, so tapping it out on a delay pedal's tap-tempo footswitch is an easy way to get the sort of tempo matching we've been talking about. If your delay doesn't have tap-tempo functionality, or if you want a formulaic approach to calculating the delay time, see the "Calculating MSfrom BPM" sidebar.
Dotted-Eighth Rhythmic Repeats
Guitarists like Eddie Van Halen, the Edge, and David Gilmour took delays to new heights by making them an integral part of compositions like Van Halen's "Cathedral," U2's "Where the Streets have No Name," and Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall, Part 1." They popularized a trick using dotted-eighth-note delay repeats to create the illusion that they were playing more notes—and faster—than they really were.
Dotted-Eighth Rhythmic Repeat Example
To do this, set your delay to repeat everything you play a dotted-eighth-note (three 16ths) after you play the original note, and then pluck continuous eighth-notes. After the delay's initial entrance on the last 16th of the first beat, it will fill in the second and fourth 16th-note of every successive beat—as long as you continue to play eighth-notes (newly picked notes will cover the first and third 16th of every beat). To make this sound as natural as possible, set your delay pedal's Level knob all the way up so it matches the volume of the original signal, and try to keep the notes as precise and short as you can to avoid having a picked note overlap with a delayed note.
Delays such as the Line 6 Echo Park feature dotted-eighthnote modes that make it a cinch to create rhythmic parts in the style of U2's the Edge or Pink Floyd's David Gilmour.
Some delays, such as the Line 6 Echo Park, have rhythmic subdivision modes built in, so dotted-eighth repeats won't be a problem to set up. However, if your delay doesn't offer subdivisions, you'll have to do some math to get the Time setting right. Here, again, the "Calculating MS fromBPM" sidebar will be a big help.
Delay as Harmonizer
Some delays, such as the Line 6 Echo Park, have rhythmic subdivision modes built in, so dotted-eighth repeats won't be a problem to set up. However, if your delay doesn't offer subdivisions, you'll have to do some math to get the Time setting right. Here, again, the "Calculating MS fromBPM" sidebar will be a big help.
One caveat with using a delay to perform harmonized lines is that you won't be able to easily start both parts simultaneously. You might try using a volume pedal to mute the opening line and bring the volume up when the harmony begins, but the more common approach is to just start a line and opt for a staggered entrance of the harmony line. In fact, some songs were written with staggered harmony parts. For instance, the intro to Iron Maiden's "The Trooper" has a built-in layered entrance of a harmonized line and can be pulled off by a single guitarist using a delay pedal.
Delay as Harmonizer Example
If you're new to harmonizing, here's a quick overview on creating harmony parts. Typically, the intervals of a harmony part are fixed (i.e., the part uses the same interval, shifting between its major or minor form to accommodate diatonic notes) throughout the duration of the line, with thirds and sixths being the most common choices (although fourths, fifths, and octaves are also frequently employed). Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, and different intervals can be used throughout a line. For a more in-depth exploration of harmonized lines, consult a book such as A Player's Guide to Chords and Harmony: Music Theory for Real-World Musicians by Jim Aikin or David Baker's Arranging and Composing for the Small Ensemble: Jazz, R&B, Jazz Rock, an advanced workbook with a forward by Quincy Jones.
Looping
Guitar legends such as Bill Frisell and David Torn have made looping an integral part of their live shows. At its most extreme, looping is almost like real-time multi-tracking: You can continually add layers of sound, starting with a bass figure, then a layer of chords, followed by a muted, single-note rhythm part, and then a solo on top. Pedals like the Line 6 DL4 Delay Modeler (street $236), Boss DD-7, and Eventide TimeFactor (street $399) have built-in looping functionality and are good options for getting started with looping.
Many newer digital delays—including the Eventide TimeFactor (above), Boss DD-7, and Line 6 DL4 Delay Modeler (bottom) —also feature built-in looping functionality.
One tricky thing with looping is that the start and end points of the loop have to be rhythmically precise: When you first record the loop, you have to start the loop on the first beat of the phrase, beat occurs again—thus cutting off the note's sustain to avoid overlap. In every loop, the last note will immediately flow into the repetition of the first note. Sometimes there might be a very slight lag before the effect is actually activated after you step on the pedal. We're talking milliseconds here, but you might feel it and may have to adjust the timing of your stomps accordingly.
If the maximum looping time available on your delay device is too short for some of your more ambitious looping applications, there are still good uses for it. For example, if you only had enough delay time to have one harmony or drone note sound, you could leave it on for infinite feedback and practice playing and hearing scales or patterns against the fixed tonal center. You could also use it to loop a note that you could tune the rest of your strings to if you don't have a tuner (at least you'd be in tune with yourself!). These may not be performance-critical uses, but they could certainly be helpful in your development as a musician.
Adventure Awaits … Awaits … Awaits
Although we've explored its most common uses, there are still many more sounds and textures that can be created with a delay pedal—in fact, the possibilities are nearly endless. And whether you arm yourself with a basic echo box or one of the newer units with a bunch of bells and whistles, learning to see and use the effect in a fresh new way— just as the Edge and Eddie Van Halen did—could make you the next sonic innovator whose sonic weapon is the delectable delay.
Calculating MS from BPM
A song's tempo is usually expressed in terms of beats per minute (bpm). But figuring out a song's tempo by counting beats for 60 seconds isn't especially practical. A more efficient way is to find a smaller multiple of 60 and use that as the basis for your calculations. For example, you can count how many beats go by in 15 seconds and multiply that by 4 (15 x 4 = 60 seconds or one minute) or you can count how many beats go by in 10 seconds then multiply that by 6. It can be hard to get a really accurate reading with this approach, but it will get you in the ballpark, if you're in a pinch.
However, while most musicians think of tempo in terms of bpm, most delay units represent delay time as milliseconds (ms). Studio guitarists used to carry conversion charts in their gigbags to make sure they could always lock in with tempos at a session, and we're including one for you below. If you ever find yourself in need of a beat-matched delay but don't have this chart handy, you can use some basic formulas to convert the desired bpm into ms and set your delay accordingly. The basis for the formulas is the number 60,000—the number of milliseconds in a minute. To convert bpm to ms, the formula is:
60,000/bpm = quarter-note ms
For example, 60,000/100 bpm = 600 ms. If you're playing to a track that is 100 bpm, you'll need to set your delay at 600 ms to get quarter-note repeats.
To get smaller subdivisions of the quarter note, there are two approaches. You can divide the quarter-note ms reading proportionately, as needed. For repeats in eighth-notes, divide the quarter-note ms by 2, and for repeats in 16ths, divide the quarter-note ms by 4. At a tempo of 100 bpm, quarter-note repeats are 600 ms, eighth-note repeats are 300 ms, and 16th-note repeats are 150 ms.
Or you can use these formulas:
30,000/bpm = eighth-note ms
15,000/bpm = 16th-note ms
For triplet-based music, the formula is:
40,000/bpm = quarter-note-triplet ms
For example, 40,000 divided by 100 bpm = 400 ms. You can divide the quarter-note-triplet ms reading to get values for eighth- and 16th-note triplets. To get eighth-note-triplet repeats, divide the quarter-note-triplet ms by 2, and to get 16th-note-triplet repeats, divide the quarter-note-triplet ms by 4. At a tempo of 100 bpm, quarter-note-triplet repeats are 400 ms, eighth-note-triplet repeats are 200 ms, and 16thnote- triplet repeats are 100 ms.
Or you can use these formulas:
20,000/bpm = eighth-note-triplet ms
10,000/bpm = 16th-note-triplet ms
To calculate ms for dotted-eighth-note rhythmic repeats,
the formula is:
45,000/bpm = dotted-eighth-note ms
For example at 100 bpm, you will need a delay time of 450 ms to get repeats in dotted-eighth-notes.
[Updated 8/30/21]
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With the release of his latest solo EP, Vertiginous Canyons, the former Police guitarist shares in-depth on his personal journey from Romani caravan to becoming a peer of Eric Clapton’s to shaping a modern dialect of jazz-rock innovation.
This past June, onstage at a handsomely restored vaudeville theater in Washington, D.C., the guitarist and composer Andy Summers made a small but spirited crowd laugh. Hard.
Summers, who rose to fame in the late 1970s as one third of the new-wave phenomenon the Police, told many stories and landed many punchlines. There was the episode in which he and John Belushi partook of psychedelics in Bali, and the time he got kind of hustled by a striking, guitar-playing Long Neck Karen villager in Thailand. He recounted a gut-busting tale of taking a few too many sleeping pills on a trip to South America. With perfectly British dryness and timing, he improvised an aside about living near Arnold Schwarzenegger in Los Angeles, and how he just had to kick the Terminator’s ass.
Out of the Shadows
“I think it’s turning into a standup routine, basically,” Summers said recently over Zoom. He was being self-effacing. Mostly, this one-man multimedia show, entitled “The Cracked Lens + A Missing String,” allows Summers to reflect on enduring passions with sincerity, by “integrating these two media I’ve been working on for so long”: music, of course, and art photography, where his work combines painterly composition with street-level intimacy and the global-citizen mission of Nat Geo.
Behind projections of his photos, and between the storytelling and odd video clip, he gave a two-hour recital of solo guitar music. Summers played a new yellow Powers Electric A-Type guitar, and began his show by telling his audience how thrilled he was with it. (Summers has accrued around 200 guitars, many of them given to him, and maintains that he’s “definitely a player,” not a collector.)
Summers spent a significant part of his 20s studying classical music, originally inspired by Julian Bream. Now, onstage in his one-man show, it's clearly time to reflect on his past.
Summers began touring “The Cracked Lens” before the pandemic—the final show prior to shutdown took place at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, in 2019—and picked it up last year. It’s evolved, he says, through improvisation and trial and error, following a process much like one he’d put into motion for any band or project.
In D.C., the setlist was both surprising and deeply satisfying. Newer solo music like “Metal Dog” came off as delightfully arch and abstract, a reminder that Summers hit the Billboard albums chart with Robert Fripp, with 1982’s I Advance Masked. A sterling chord-melody arrangement of Thelonious Monk’s “’Round Midnight” spoke to the lifelong impact American jazz has had on the guitarist. A winsome mini-set of bossa nova, including “Manhã de Carnaval,” Luiz Bonfá’s theme to the film Black Orpheus, illustrated Summers’ devotion to both the cinema and the music of Brazil.
And yes, there was Police material, too, which Summers reharmonized and rearranged and used as vessels for longform improvisation. Atop programmed backing tracks, he treated songs like “Tea in the Sahara,” “Roxanne,” “Spirits in the Material World,” and “Message in a Bottle” as if they were his beloved jazz standards, drawing agile lines in and around the harmony, using pop hits as a launch pad for wending single-note narratives. In a small theater, it felt as if you were eavesdropping on Summers, whiling away an afternoon in his home studio. An excitable woman behind me couldn’t help but try and banter with him as he stalked the stage; the guy to my right played air drums. This was thrilling—especially if you were a Police fan whose context for these songs was sold-out arenas.
A New Installment
To combine music and imagery was also the impetus for Vertiginous Canyons, Summers’ recent solo EP. Commissioned as an accent to the guitarist’s fifth photo book, A Series of Glances, the project features eight spontaneously composed instrumental pieces of pop-song length. Its sparkling, layered, and looped soundscapes serve as Zen-like mood music for viewing the photographs. By design, Summers improvised Vertiginous Canyons in a single afternoon without too much fuss, using mostly his early ’60s Strat. “This was drone-like, ambient, atmosphere stuff that I thought was enough,” Summers explains. “Because I suppose you could get into a place, let’s say, where the photography and the music are fighting each other.
“One of the cardinal rules of scoring films, which I’ve done many,” he adds, “is don’t get in the way of the movie.”
On Vertiginous Canyons, listeners will hear influences from Eno to Hendrix to Bill Frisell.
As with Summers’ solo show, the music can stand alone. In many ways, Vertiginous Canyons also comes off like Eno or classical minimalism or the edgiest strain of what can be called “new age”—an engaging yet accessible entryway to experimental music. And as with any effective musical abstraction, what you’ve heard in your life is what you’ll hear in Vertiginous Canyons. The twinkling, fluttering phrases of “Blossom” bring to mind Bill Frisell. “Translucent” and “Village” summon up Glenn Branca’s guitar armies in their quietest moments, ramping up toward euphoria. “Blur” is a far-out exercise in Hendrix-style backwards soloing; “Into the Blue” is Pink Floyd meets Popol Vuh.
Greatly moved by Julian Bream as a young man, Summers spent a sizable chunk of his 20s immersed in classical guitar in California, as hard rock and the singer-songwriters ascended. When I ask him if those studies informed Vertiginous Canyons, his response is rapid-fire. “Definitely. I mean, I spent years doing nothing but classical music, classical guitar,” he says. “It’s very important information that I took in … and it stayed with me the rest of my life.
“So my ears are wide open.... I’m a sophisticated harmonic player, and it’s also informed by classical music. I’m sort of all-’round educated in the ways you can do music.”
Summer Reflections
To let an artist’s age guide your judgment of them is unfair. But in Summers’ case, it’s essential to understanding how and why he became such a fascinating guitarist, one whose whip-smart, cross-cultural approach overhauled the prevailing notion of what rock-guitar heroics could be in the late 1970s and early ’80s.
He was born on the last day of 1942, “a kid from the English countryside,” he says. His father was in the Royal Air Force; his mother supported the war effort working in a bomb factory. Alongside Django Reinhardt, he’s on the short list of guitar idols who spent their earliest days in a Romani caravan, which his father bought in the face of a housing shortage. In terms of rock generations, think about it: Jimi Hendrix was born in November of ’42, Keith Richards in ’43, Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page in ’44, Pete Townshend and Eric Clapton in ’45. Summers debuted the cinematic, reggae-soaked sound that made him famous on the Police’s Outlandos d’Amour, in 1978, as the punk explosion gave way to post-punk and new wave. But his contemporaries are the British bluesmen who were architects of the psychedelic era and won over the baby boomers.
Andy Summers' Gear
When Summers, pictured here performing with the Police in 1982, began developing his blues chops, he blended in complex chords and jazz phrasing.
Photo by Frank White
Guitars
For touring:
- Fender Custom Shop Stratocaster
- Powers Electric A-Type
Amps
- Fender Twin with Fender Special Design Speakers
- Fractal Axe-Fx III
- Bob Bradshaw 100-watt head
- Roland JC-120
- Various Mesa/Boogie heads, cabinets and power amps
Effects
Current Pedaltrain pedalboard includes these effects, among many others:
- TC Electronic SCF Gold
- Electro-Harmonix Micro POG
- DigiTech Whammy
- Klon Centaur
- TC Electronic Brainwaves
- MXR Carbon Copy
- Electro-Harmonix Freeze
- Paul Trombetta Design Rotobone
- TC Electronic Dark Matter
- Mad Professor Golden Cello
Picks & Strings
- Dunlop Andy Summers Custom 2.0 mm Picks
- D’Addario Strings, mostly .010–.046
The electric-blues revivalism that his peers favored was a scene with which Summers engaged mostly by circumstance. In some capacity he was immersed in it, gigging and recording with hot R&B acts of Swinging Sixties London. But as a developing guitarist, he also transcended its stylistic boundaries, and he ultimately missed out on the wildly lucrative parts of it, after it’d evolved from nightclub entertainment to chart-topping, festival-headlining pop.
“[We’re talking about] real modern electric-guitar history,” Summers says, “because I was really pretty close with Clapton. We all knew each other. There were about five or six of us, and we all played at one club [the Flamingo, in London].
“I watched Eric develop, and he had this mission to play the blues … and he ripped off some great blues solos,” Summers adds, with a mischievous chuckle. “I had grown up with different kinds of music in those formative [teenage] years, when you’re taking it all in and trying to be able to do it.”
So much has been written about how the ’60s British-guitar titans tapped into early rock ’n’ roll influences and Chicago blues, rescuing the latter from obscurity in its country of origin. But it’s important to remember the profound impact that midcentury modern jazz had on culturally curious young Brits; in fact, the moniker “mods”—that clothes-obsessed cult that gave us the Who—began as “modernists,” as in devotees of modern jazz, R&B, soul, and ska.
Before meeting Sting (left) and forming the Police, Andy Summers (right) was close friends with Eric Clapton and once jammed with Jimi Hendrix.
Photo by Ebet Roberts
Summers was hooked. Guitarists Wes Montgomery, Jimmy Raney, Kenny Burrell and Grant Green ranked among his favorites, alongside Sonny Rollins. Rather than sticking to 12-bar patterns, Summers shedded on complex chord sequences and jazz phrasing, logging “thousands of hours of listening, trying to get it. But that’s where the feel of the time comes from, which is the most important element.”
“Eric and I talked about it,” he continues, “and I was in a different place. I don’t think we really had arguments about it, but he was absolutely a disciple of the blues, where I was more into other things.” Summers loved the fleet, chromatic lines of bop, and classical guitar, and African and Indian music. He recalls transcribing Ravi Shankar.
“So I felt like I very much had my own path, and it wasn’t the Eric Clapton path. I was aware of all that, but Eric was deeply into B.B. King — gave me his B.B. King record, actually—Live at the Regal, told me to check it out. So I did listen to it, and yeah, okay, I get it. But my head was elsewhere.” (During that period, Summers also sold Clapton a ’58 Les Paul, after Slowhand’s 1960 model was stolen. “It was guitar craziness,” Summers says. “I really anguished over selling my Les Paul, but I just wasn’t into it. I think there was something wrong with the pickup—at least I thought there was, in my sort of naivety at that time.”)
Nor was Summers’ path the Hendrix path. Because of his friendship with the Jimi Hendrix Experience’s drummer Mitch Mitchell, Summers once jammed in the late ’60s with Jimi. “A quiet guy with a very loud guitar. And he could play the shit out of the guitar,” Summers laughs. “He was definitely sort of a force of nature. You’d feel it.” At an L.A. studio where the Jimi Hendrix Experience was in session, Summers began playing with Mitchell on a break. But “Jimi just couldn’t stay away from the music,” Summers recalls. So Hendrix picked up a bass to anchor Summers’ guitar, until Jimi asked to trade.
“I think of it almost as a sort of a comic moment,” Summers reflects today. “Jimi had come into the scene and … didn’t really play like anyone else. I mean, he played Jimi Hendrix … incredible, but I didn’t really want to play like that. I’ve got to find my own thing. It was very imperative to me not to be yet another Hendrix copier. And I think it’s what he would have appreciated, too.”
Although the first album by the Police was released in late 1978, Summers already had an extensive catalog of recordings with Eric Burdon, Kevin Ayers, Kevin Coyne, Zoot Money’s Big Roll Band, and Joan Armatrading before “Roxanne” alerted the world that a new kind of pop group was arriving.
To hear Summers on pre-Police recordings is intriguing; even on straightforward forms, his good taste and sense of harmony present a shrewd, knowing alternative to his peers. Seek out the 1965 LP It Should’ve Been Me, by Zoot Money’s Big Roll Band: On a take of Jimmy Reed’s “Bright Lights, Big City,” Summers applies the single-note harmonic finesse of Grant Green to barroom British R&B. (It was Green’s Gibson ES-330, a surprising instrument for a jazz picker at the time, that inspired Summers to pick up an ES-335 after his ES-175 was stolen.) A few years later, as part of Eric Burdon’s New Animals, Summers covered Traffic’s “Coloured Rain,” going long on a fuzztone solo that fits the psychedelic bill while also telling a story with precision and patience.
Summers’ ship came in nearly a decade later, after he’d returned to England from California and met drummer Stewart Copeland and a singer and bass player, Gordon Sumner, who went by “Sting.” They were bright, dexterous, and culturally well-versed, with backgrounds in prog and jazz. “I think we had a credo,” Summers says, “and it was spoken out loud: We don’t want to sound like anybody else.
“I found I could talk to Sting and say, ‘I want to play this kind of altered chord here. What do you think?’ He could sing right through anything. He had the ears to be able to sing it like a jazz singer. Not that we were trying to lay ‘We’re really jazzers’ on the public. We were trying to present ourselves as a rock band with songs. But the information that we were putting into those rock-song arrangements was different.”
Summers in a late ’80s promo photo, near the start of his solo-recording career.
For Summers, that meant matching the musicianship he’d started earning as a teenager on jazz bandstands with the au courant sounds of post-punk and reggae, filtered through emergent sonic technology. With his heavily modded 1961 Tele and custom Pete Cornish pedalboard, he offered chord sequences and lines that have challenged and educated generations of practicing guitarists brought up on blues-rock technique. Alongside his deft use of open space, he was that rarest rock guitarist who paid serious mind to chord voicings. “My job was to turn the chords into something more unusual,” Summers says, “to have more unusual guitar parts. For instance, something like ‘Walking on the Moon,’ I put in a Dm11 chord, with reverb and a beautiful chorus sound. So it’s got the 11th on top, and immediately it grasps your ear. It’s like the signature of the song was that chord.”
“So my ears are wide open.... I’m a sophisticated harmonic player, and it’s also informed by classical music. I’m sort of all-’round educated in the ways you can do music.”
Of course, no other Summers guitar part or Police song made bigger waves than 1983’s “Every Breath You Take.” Influenced by Bartók’s “44 Duos for Two Violins,” Summers crafted a repeating figure that underlined Sting’s standard pop-song structure while avoiding conventional triadic harmony. (Losing the third from tired rock chords was Summers’ not-so-secret weapon.) “It gave it that haunting quality that made the whole track come to life,” Summers says, “because otherwise, I think we would have dumped the song. It wasn’t one of our favorites at all.”
The Police last performed on their historic reunion tour of 2007 to ’08, and their relationship today is mostly business. “We’re not hanging out with each other,” Summers says. “We’re all in touch through headquarters.” One thing they’ve had to agree on this year is a Super Deluxe reissue, toasting the 40th anniversary of the Synchronicity album, which provides new context that might safely be called revelatory. Among the new box set’s many previously unreleased goodies is Sting’s original demo for “Every Breath You Take,” weighed down with synth keyboards that pile on the sentimentality and pin the track squarely to the 1980s. (Unlike so much ’80s pop-rock, the Police’s music has aged well.) “You can see the transformation,” says Summers.
“Every Breath You Take” became a global smash that ranks among pop’s most successful songs, a feather in the cap of the band that owned the late ’70s and ’80s. Consider this: At a time when his psych-era peers were considered middle-aged Flower Power relics, Summers was leaping around onstage like a bleached-blond atom and representing pop rock’s bleeding edge on MTV. Now, at 81, he’s found a way to forge ahead and, in some fashion, improve on the past.
Call The Police (Andy Summers / João Barone / Rodrigo Santos) - Synchronicity II (ensaio/rehearsal)
With bandmates João Barone and Rodrigo Santos, of Police tribute band Call the Police, Summers displays the adept riffage that brought him to the big stages and helped solidify his rock legacy.
Leveling Up
When we connect on a followup call in mid July, Summers is in Brazil, about to embark on a South American tour with his trio, Call the Police. This tribute project of a sort features two celebrated Brazilian rockers, bassist-vocalist Rodrigo Santos and drummer João Barone, and plays hits-filled live sets to packed houses. “It’s sort of enhanced, because it gets looser. It’s a bit uptight with those other guys I play with,” says Summers.
With regard to those other guys, that uptightness had much to do with the punk and new-wave era that bore the Police. The relationship between punk and the band was complicated. Somehow, they managed to use the movement’s greatest lessons—in energy, creative bravery, and concise songcraft—without pandering to its musical primitivism. Summers’ reputation amongst guitarists rested in the minimalist intelligence of his decision-making; you kind of understood he could play anything, but he was mature enough not to. “I didn’t feel the need to crush everybody with every guitar part,” he says.
“It was more like a guitar solo is supposed to be a mark of the old guard. You weren’t supposed to be able to play; it was really that dumb.”
Nevertheless, he believes that punk’s principle of non-musicianship kept him from exploring the songs to their fullest. “I think I should have played more solos than I was given the space to do,” he says. “It pisses me off actually, because this came more from Stewart. When we started the band in the thick of the hardcore-punk scene, it was more like a guitar solo is supposed to be a mark of the old guard. You weren’t supposed to be able to play; it was really that dumb.”
“I was a virtuoso player,” he adds, “so it was very frustrating for me. Later, when we did sort of open it up, it really got more exciting. The fact that I could play as well as I did, I found it was a bit threatening. Because the highlight in a performance of a song … would be the guitar solo.”
As in “The Cracked Lens + A Missing String,” Summers can stretch out in Call the Police to his heart’s content. At long last. “It’s very improvised,” he says, “and they’re up to the level where they can do that. They go with me. It’s how it should always have been.”
Dark, enveloping, and mysterious tape-echo-style repeats on the cheap in an enclosure that fits in the smallest spaces.
Dark, enveloping repeats that rival more expensive tape-echo emulations and offer an alternative to click-prone BBD echoes. Cool chorus and flanger effects at fastest repeat times.
Small knobs make it tough to take advantage of real-time tweaking.
$137
Electro-Harmonix Pico Rerun
ehx.com
My most treasured effect is an old Echoplex. Nothing feels like it, and though I’ve tried many top-flight digital emulations, most of which sounded fantastic, nothing sounds quite like it either. If the best digital “tape” delays do one thing well, it’s approximating the darkness and unpredictable variations in tape-echo repeats.
Electro-Harmonix’s Pico Rerun plays the character of tape echo very convincingly in this respect. It hangs with more expensive digital tape echoes at a $137 price tag that’s easy to stomach. Better still, this Pico version is petite and offers unexpected surprises and flexibility.
Beyond the Pico Rerun’s essential enveloping voice, the pedal enables a lot of fairly authentic tape-echo functionality. Manipulating the feedback, blend, and echo rate controls together (which is tricky given their small size) yields flying-saucer liftoff and “Dazed and Confused” time/space-mangling textures in copious measure. These tweaks betray some digital artifacts—mainly trebly peaks that don’t have the benefit of real tape-compression softening, but they hardly get in the way of the fun. Saturation lends welcome drive and haze. And the flutter button adds faux tape wobble in three degrees of intensity. At the most intense setting, long repeats take on a woozy sense of drift. At the fastest rates, however, the flutter function will generate chorus and flange effects that neither my Echoplex, nor my best tape echo simulators, can manufacture.
The three bassists—whose collective work spans Vulfpeck, D’Angelo, Rage Against the Machine, and much more—cast a wide musical net with their StingRay basses.
The story of the Ernie Ball Music Man StingRay is a deep journey through the history of the electric guitar business, going way back to connections made in Leo Fender’s early days. When the StingRay was introduced in 1976, it changed the electric-bass game, and it’s still the instrument of choice for some of the most cutting-edge bass players around. Here’s what a few of them have to say about their StingRays:
Joe Dart (Vulfpeck)
“My first glimpse of a StingRay was watching early videos of Flea, who had a black StingRay that he played in an early instructional video, as well as on the Funky Monks tape, showing the making of Blood Sugar Sex Magik. After that, I discovered Bernard Edwards and his playing with Chic, where he developed such an iconic funk and disco sound. From there, I discovered Pino Palladino’s brilliant fretless StingRay playing. Luckily, one day in the studio, someone handed me an old StingRay, and I used it on a couple of Vulfpeck recordings. I love the punchy, growly, bright tone. The StingRay cuts through the mix. It’s the perfect funk and disco bass.
Pino Palladino
“I played guitar in bands until 1976, when I decided to start playing bass, and that coincided with the StingRay coming out. I actually tried one in a store in Cardiff in Wales, where I come from. I remember plugging it in, and I didn’t really know much about preamps. I don’t think anybody knew much about preamps back then, because it wasn’t even a thing in a bass guitar. So, I turned everything up and it was too trebly for me. I didn’t know you could tweak the controls. I didn’t gravitate towards the instrument at first, to be honest.
Fast forward a few years and I was in my early twenties on my first trip to America with Jools Holland in 1981. I stumbled into Sam Ash Music on 48th Street in New York one day, and I saw a fretless Music Man StingRay on the wall. It sounded amazing straight away. I hadn’t played much fretless bass up until that point, but for some reason I could just play that instrument in tune. I was playing it and thinking, ‘Wow, this is not so hard.’ I backed off the treble a little bit and found a nice, little happy position where it felt really good. And it just had such a great punchy sound. I played it with Jools Holland on the first night I bought it, and I pretty much never put it down for 10 or 15 years after that.”
Tim Commerford (Rage Against the Machine)
“I got a blonde StingRay when I was about 19 years old, and that was the bass that I played for the first Rage record. At that time in my life, as a musician, I was kind of clueless to the nuances of the sound of an instrument. If it worked, it worked; if it didn’t work for me, it didn’t. I was just a knucklehead. I can’t even remember the reason why I went away from it. I think it’s because I wanted to get a real edgy sound, and I didn’t really know how to shape things in the way that I do now through experimenting. I’ve been very lucky, and I’ve had a lot of opportunities to experiment, so I’ve learned a lot over the years. And the StingRay could have done it all. I really could have done it all with the StingRay. Long story short, the preamp is arguably the best one, still. It took me a minute to realize just how powerful that preamp is—it’s a banger. Listening back, sometimes I hear [Rage Against the Machine] songs on the radio, and I’m just like, ‘Wow.’ It’s such a clean, pristine sound that comes from a StingRay.”
Our columnist breaks down why Leo’s original designs are still the benchmark for pristine guitar sounds.
It’s time to discuss a favorite topic of mine: the Fender clean tone. I’m a big fan of pristine guitar tones, and I think it might be the reason why I got into Fender amps in the first place. So, in this column, I’ll break down and explain what creates the beautiful, crystalline tone in vintage Fender amps, and share which amps are best for capturing these huge, squeaky-clean sounds.
Among my music friends, I am known for advocating these tones. Sometimes my bandmates want more distortion and growl from my guitar, but I proudly resist and argue that the music we create profits from a clearer guitar tone. It’s not about volume and distortion; it’s about melody, rhythm, and dynamics. Personally, I find it more interesting to hear guitarists with clarity, where I can identify single notes and what they are doing. It’s much harder to play clean, and the transparency forces us guitarists to consider more carefully what we play.
Tone and music are definitely matters of personal taste. What someone finds naked and thin, others will find clear and articulate. Let me therefore explain my definition of “clean tone.” A good, clean tone means clarity and little distortion. Clarity is achieved when there is a certain balance between the frequencies. There must be enough sparkle and brightness together with a firm low end. In my definition, you can also have some distortion as long as you have enough clarity to hear single strings in a chord, which some define as a “bell-like” tone. Muddy or overwhelming mid and bass frequencies will spoil this clarity. I like punchy guitar sounds, and for that we need muscle and power from large power-amp sections and larger speaker cabinets. But again, there must be enough sparkle and treble attack to balance that big low end.
The black- and silver-panel Fender amps excel in this area. Fender designed these amps specifically to support the music style of the 1950s and ’60s: Whether it was folk, country, rock, or surf, the guitars were supposed to be bright and clean. The amps therefore had to produce a sound that was both clean and loud, often without PA systems.
There are several reasons why these Fender amps sound the way they do. Let’s dive into the most important factors. Firstly, the tone stack and EQ section play a significant role in creating a scooped tone with few mids. Most AB763 Fender amps have 250 pF, 0.1 μF, and 0.022 μF caps (treble, mid, and bass, respectively), controlled by 250k bass and treble pots and a 10k mid pot (or a fixed 6.8k resistor in amps without the mid pot). If you alter the value of the mid resistor or insert a larger coupling cap after the preamp section, you will get more, and earlier, breakup. If we look at the preamp sections of the AB763 amps, there is no tube gain stage, whose purpose is to introduce distortion. There are only the necessary tube gain stages to mix and lead the signal to the power amp section.
“Fender designed these amps specifically to support the music style of the 1950 and ’60s: The guitars were supposed to be bright and clean.”
The power amp section is equally important. The AB763-style amps have dual power tubes in a Class AB push-pull configuration which has significant clean headroom—more than single-end Class A amps. The fixed-bias design provides more headroom than cathode bias, which creates sag and less headroom. The efficient long-tail phase inverter and the negative feedback loop are also used to minimize clipping. Finally, using American-style speakers in the open-back cabinet design of the black- and silver-panel combo amps will enhance bright frequencies and tame the mids and low end. All these details point to one conclusion: Fender designed the AB763 amps to achieve the cleanest possible tone.
For me, the cleans of a Super Reverb are especially fantastic. The four, lightly driven 10″ speakers produce a scooped sound with great dynamics and touch sensitivity. The full set of EQ controls, robust power amp, and large transformers work together to give you both sparkle and a firm low end, even at high volumes. The Pro Reverb and Princeton Reverb, however, will struggle to stay clean when pushed. The relatively small-output transformers are a bottleneck in these amps, and they both lack the important mid control to tame the bass and mids. The Pro Reverb’s boomy 2x12 cabinet gives a flabby bass response, and the Princeton Reverb has a cheaper and inefficient phase inverter. This means that these amps can play clean only at lower volumes. If you read my previous articles on these amps, you will find easy instructions for how to improve the clean headroom, if that’s what you want.
If it’s natural distortion you’re after, the best black- or silver-panel Fender amp is the AB165 Bassman. But that’s a different story we’ll come back to later.