Apart from having one of the most rock ’n’ roll names on the planet, Steve Grindrod is best known for his impressive curriculum vitae as an amp builder, with almost four decades spent in R&D at Marshall and Vox. In 2008, he was snapped up by the Wharfedale company, which launched Albion in 2009. Albion’s first amps were essentially tweaked Wharfedales, but Grindrod’s own designs began emerging not long thereafter.
The latest of these is the Gulfstream series, a Chinese-built line of 6V6-driven amps dressed in boutique-style livery and designed to deliver American/Brit channel-switching features at a value price. The Gulfstream comes in 15- and 30-watt versions and can be purchased as a head or combo. For this test I checked out the 2x12 GS30C combo.
It’s No Lightweight
The GS30 and GS15 are very similar, and
apart from wattage, the principal difference
is that the larger amp features two
additional power tubes and a 2-channel
setup. Channel A is actually quite simple—just a preamp volume, a tone knob,
and a voicing switch. Channel B features
an EQ section with bass, middle, and
treble controls, as well as gain and volume
knobs. There are also two toggle switches
for gain and voicing. Both channels share
a master volume control and onboard
tremolo and reverb.
Loaded with a pair of Albion 12" speakers, the cabinet is sturdily built and sports two handles—it ain’t a lightweight. The amp shipped with three 12AX7s for the preamp and four Tungsol 6V6GTs in the output section. A look inside the amp itself reveals all circuit-board construction, which appears solid and well mounted. One concern, though, is that the input and output jacks are plastic and mounted directly to the board. It’s a cost-driven decision that keeps the street price and manufacturing costs lower, but I’ve never felt this was a justified savings. Metal jacks connected to the board via wires is infinitely more reliable and, should the need arise, quickly repairable. A standby switch, which is an almost requisite feature for minimizing wear on tubes and filter caps on a tube amp at this power level, is noticeably absent.
On the back panel, you’ll find an effects loop and an input for the included footswitch, which controls channels switching, reverb, tremolo, and the effects loop. The thoughtfully designed footswitch layout is nice, the box is solid, and LEDs keep you from having to guess what’s on or off. The unit connects to the amp with what looks like a standard, 5-pin DIN/MIDI style cable, so you’ll never have to track down a proprietary one, should it fail.
Cross the Channel
Channel A is the most American or
Fender-y of the two, and the voicing switch
acts as a mid-cut—essentially serving the
function of a tweed/blackface selector. I
plugged in my Telecaster and dialed up a
relatively clean sound—relative because you
hear a little grit even at a fairly low volume.
The extra sizzle is nice, but you shouldn’t
expect the crystal-clean tones of a Fender
Twin Reverb.
With a little more volume, the Gulfstream starts to open up. The lightly driven sounds become fuller and the bottom end blooms significantly—imagine a low-wattage amp pushed to its limits and you’ll get the idea. From there, things get louder, but not much more distorted.
A switch to a Les Paul to thicken things up with humbuckers generated a nice, crunchy overdrive, once I got past the lower volume range. Barre chord-based riffs sounded great on the Les Paul when the volume was at 12 o’clock, but beyond that threshold I felt the tone lacked a little depth and sounded less dimensional than the complex, all-enveloping sound you associate with a vintage Fender.
Channel B is the more British-voiced of the two, and the real keys to channel B are the switches for gain and voicing. Those familiar with the top boost feature on AC30s will have a pretty good idea what the latter does. Simply put, it toggles between a round, full sound, and a more cutting, bright tone.
The gain switch, however, really sets the scene for exploring the potential of channel B and enables you to move between standard and high-gain modes. The interactive nature of the gain switch, gain control, and volume can take you from mild grit to a nice overdrive rhythm, and then into high-gain distortion. The high-gain voice is more in line with classic rock-style crunch than metal saturation. So while you probably won’t use a wall of Gulfstreams in your Slayer cover band, the highest-gain mode is very musical and gives notes from either single-coils or humbuckers a lovely singing quality. Leads are a joy to play and individual notes sustain beautifully. Yet even with the high-gain switch off, the Albion gives chords the kind of nice Marshall-flavored crunch you’d associate with AC/DC’s Malcolm Young or Sloan’s riff master Patrick Pentland.
With the voicing switch in the top-boost position, you don’t get trademark Vox chime, but making a clone probably wasn’t Grindrod’s goal. And in fact, if I had to wrap up this channel in a sentence, I’d say it occupies a nice middle ground between a JTM45 and Vox-like chime. I never got a super-clean sound out of channel B, but I much preferred channel B’s cleaner tones to channel A’s.
Ratings
Pros:
Channel B alone is probably worth the cost of the amp. Offers tonal versatility while keeping it classy.
Cons:
Concerns about build quality and road worthiness. Subpar reverb.
Tones:
Ease of Use:
Build/Design:
Value:
Street:
$1,199
Company
albionamps.com
The master output section is effective for keeping tones consistent and intact throughout the range, save for the very lowest volumes, which is typical of any master volume amp. And if you use this amp in a studio, practice space, small club, or large club, you won’t notice dramatic loss in tone moving between high- and medium-low volume settings—a great quality in an amp with a worth that can’t be overstated.
The effects are less useful, and the reverb in particular is subpar given how much effort was put into making the GS30 a classically inspired tube amp. Digital reverb has its place and can sound good, both as a spring replicator on a pedalboard and for mimicking halls, cathedrals, and chambers, which aren’t exactly portable. In this case, though, the reverb doesn’t fit the classic vibe of the amp, as it adds an artificial sheen with a pulse that’s more like a washed-out delay than a reverb. It’s not useless as an effect, if your taste leans toward more contemporary digital reverbs, but fans of traditional amp reverb are likely to be underwhelmed. The tremolo sounds much better and produces everything from a mellow throb to choppier modulations just short of intense helicopter effects. It isn’t the fastest tremolo, but speed is a matter of personal preference.
The Verdict
With vintage-inspired looks, transatlantic
tonal reference points, a company name
that highlights its ties to the Sceptered Isle,
and a model name that celebrates the Yank/Brit bond, the Gulfstream is targeted to the
guitarist looking for a boutique amp that
bridges the American/British tone divide,
but may not have the budget for one.
Albion should be applauded for their efforts
and it’s a niche we’d like to see develop.
Given the Albion’s price, most players won’t mind things like the mini-toggles and thinner, less road-worthy vinyl that help make the amp more affordable. If 15 watts is enough power for your needs, the GS15 (which is essentially channel B and the master section) makes an intriguing alternative to the GS30. Still, in the GS30, Albion has produced an amp that delivers timbral flexibility and great sounds without breaking the bank.
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For the first time in the band’s history, the Dawes lineup for Oh Brother consisted of just Griffin and Taylor Goldsmith (left and right).
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 Albumschart, 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 Brotheris 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 Doomscrollercracked 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.
