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 itās always the right choice.
Saying āyes!ā to everything early on has put me in a place now where I can say no to almost everything and still be okay. That wasnāt without its challenges. Iād like to share a story about a āyesā 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 youāre 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 foolās 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 wasnāt 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 Garrisonāthatās a whoās who of the instrument when I first moved to town, and I was very much a freshman with almost no experience. Almostā¦
Iād been lucky enough to play extensively with Kenwood Dennard (Jacoās drummer), and a little with Hiram Bullock (Jacoās guitarist) before moving to NYC which helped create a little momentum, but only a VERY little.
This is where the story begins:
Iād sent Mike Stern a demo back in late ā97. Heād not only taken the time to listen to it but had called my parentsā 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 ālook me up when you get to townā 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 glamorousālong hours, terrible pay, and sometimes, after travel expenses, they cost me money to play.
āWhenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroesāthe reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do.ā
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 thingāa four-night stint at Arturo Sandovalās 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:
āHey man, whatās your scene in April? Lincoln canāt make a trip to the West Coast. Itās just one gig. Trioā¦ with DENNIS CHAMBERS.ā
Mike didnāt shout Dennisā name, but thatās how I heard it. My all-time hero. Someone Iād been dreaming about playing with for over 15 years. And hereās the kicker: I had to say no.
Iād just committed to six weeks with Jojo Mayerās 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 amazingāthe 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 worldātruly 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 heroesāthe 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 continueāno matter what.
$149
Marshall 1959 Super Lead
The very definition of classic, vintage Marshall sound in a highly affordable package.
Thereās only one relevant question about Marshallās 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 itās a lot quieter than my 1972 Super Lead.
The Super Lead, which bore Marshallās 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 originalās 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, andārefreshinglyāthereās 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.
Itās tempting to think of this pedal as a joke. Donāt.
It all started a few years ago through a trade with a friend. I just wanted to help him outāhe really wanted to get a fuzz pedal but didnāt have enough cash, so he offered up the Korg Miku. I had no idea then, but it turned out to be the best trade Iāve ever made.
Hereās the truth: the Korg Miku is not your typical guitar pedal. It wonāt boost your mids, sculpt your gain, or serve up that warm, buttery overdrive youāve always worshipped. Nope. This little box does something entirely different: It sings! Yes, sings in a Japanese kawaii accent thatās based on the signature voice of virtual pop icon Hatsune Miku.
At first glance, itās tempting to dismiss this pedal as just a gimmickāa joke, a collectorās oddity, the kind of thing you buy for fun and then forget next to your Hello Kitty Strat. But hereās the twist: Some take it seriously and Iām one of those people.
I play in a punk band called Cakrux, and lately Iāve been working with a member of a Japanese idol-style girl groupāyeah, itās exactly the kind of wild mashup youād ever imagine. Somewhere in the middle of that chaos, the Miku found its way into my setup, and weirdly enough, it stuck. Itās quirky, beautiful, occasionally maddening, and somehow ā¦ just right. After plenty of time spent in rehearsals, studio takes, and more sonic experiments than I care to admit, Iāve come to appreciate this pedal in unexpected ways. So here are a few things you probably didnāt know about this delightfully strange little box.
Itās Not Organicāand Thatās OK
Most guitar pedals are chasing something real. Wah pedals mimic the human voiceāor even a trumpet. Tube Screamers? Theyāre 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 isnāt a personāsheās a vocaloid, a fully digital creation made of samples and synthesis. The Miku doesnāt 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, thereās something oddly poetic about that.
A World-Class Buffer
Hereās a fun fact: I once saw a big-name Indonesian session guitaristāyou know, the kind who plays in sold-out arenasāwith a Miku pedal on his board. I was like, āNo way this guyās busting out vocaloid lines mid-solo.ā Plot twist: He only uses it for the buffer. Yep, the man swears by it and says itās the best-sounding buffer heās ever plugged into. I laughed ā¦ until I tried it. And honestly? Heās 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?
āThe Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldnāt work for your music, but somehow, it just does.ā
Impossible to Tame
Most pedals are built to make your life easier. The Miku? Not so much. This thing demands patienceāand maybe a little spiritual surrender. First off, the tracking can be finicky, especially if youāre using low-output pickups. Latency becomes really noticeable and your picking dynamics suddenly matter a lot more. Then thereās the golden rule I learned the hard way. Neverāeverāput anything before the Miku. No fuzz, no wah, no compressor, not even a buffer! It gets confused instantly and says āWhat is going on here?ā And donāt even think about punching in while recording. The vocal results are so unpredictable, youāll never get the same sound twice. Mess up halfway? Youāre starting from scratch. Same setup, same take, same chaotic energy. Itās like trying to recreate a fever dream. Good luck with that.
Full Range = Full Power
Sure, itās 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. Itās 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 canāt help but smile. Itās unpredictable, a little wild, and it feels like youāre jamming in the middle of a bizarre Isekai anime scene. And honestly, thatās what makes it fun.
This thing used to go for less than $100. Now? Itās fetching many times that. Is it worth the price? Thatās up to you. But for me, the Korg Miku isnāt just another pedalāitās a strange, delightful journey Iām glad I didnāt 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.
PGās Chris Kies caught up with guitarist and vocalist James Guile at the Blue Room to find out how he builds the bandās bombastic guitar attack.
Brought to you by DāAddario.
Devilish Dunable
Guile has been known to use Telecasters and Gretsches in the past, but this time out heās sticking with this Dunable Cyclops DE, courtesy of Gwarsenio Hallāaka Jordan Olds of metal-themed comedy talk show Two Minutes to Late Night. Guile digs the Dunableās 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 Guileās Pedalboard
The Electro-Harmonix Micro POG and Hiwatt Filter Fuzz MkII run to the Orange, while everything elseāa DigiTech Whammy, Pro Co Lilā RAT, and Death by Audio Echo Dream 2āruns 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.
