
A beautiful, blackface-inspired boutique combo.
A clever psychologist could devise a personality test based on the tastes of Fender amp fans: Do you prefer the loose, potentially anarchic character of ’50s-stye tweeds? Or the tight, focused intensity of a ’60s-style blackface? Do you dig the forced simplicity of a tweed’s minimal controls? Or do you demand the precision of a 3- or 4-band tone stack? Are you, in short, a Type T personality, or a Type B?
These days I’m probably more of a Type T, though I say that with less confidence after spending a day with the Andrews Spectraverb 40, a boutique combo that embodies almost everything awesome about Fender’s great blackface amps.
Take the Black Available in various tube and speaker configurations, Andrews’ Spectraverb line covers most of the blackface bases. Our review model features a single 12-inch, 75-watt Warehouse G12C/S speaker, 40 watts of power from two 6L6 tubes, and stunning spring reverb. The guts are hand-wired on turret board, and the cabinet is solid pine. The interior carpentry isn’t the most refined I’ve seen—there’s some minor splintering around the screw holes. Yet the amp feels reassuringly roadworthy. (Especially if you have a roadie, since it weighs in at a hefty 53.5 pounds). The price ($1,895 as reviewed) is more than fair for a boutique build of this quality, though it doesn’t include such Andrews options as an effect loop, footswitchable reverb, and a half-power pentode/triode switch.
The front panel follows the blackface playbook: volume, treble/middle/bass, a bright switch, and reverb level. There are high- and low-level inputs, but no master volume or tremolo. One Andrews innovation is a reverb limiter control that can reign in the tsunami of splash you get when assaulting the reverb tank at high gain. Another is a pair or rear-panel bias test points. The external speaker out is switchable between 4, 8, and 16 ohms.
Black Attack The Spectraverb 40 doesn’t break much new ground. But man, it covers the old ground more capably than almost any blackface I’ve encountered, prized vintage models included. It’s unbelievably present and articulate. Sizzling notes pop from the speaker like water droplets fleeing an overheated skillet. Like all blackfaces, it’s bright on top, tight on the bottom, and scooped in the middle. Yet it’s not harsh—I enjoyed lingering on the potentially strident bridge pickup of a pre-CBS Strat. Clean settings transmit maximum pick/finger attack—and these tones won’t get lost in the mix.
Maxing the volume generates almost fuzz-like tones. You definitely get that signature blackface splatter, but with more low-end focus and punchier attack than you might expect. The review model has a tube rectifier (like a blackface Deluxe, Princeton, or Tremolux,) yet tones have much of the punch and power of you’d get from a solid-state one (like you’d find in a blackface Bassman or Bandmaster.) Andrews also offers a solid-state rectifier option if you prefer that configuration.
With the volume set near its midpoint, the Spectraverb is spectacularly dynamic. It’s easy to find a sweet spot where you can pilot the gain by touch, or go from china shop to lava pit via guitar volume knob adjustments. Clean tones are particularly lovely, with just a just a bit of hair—peach fuzz, more like. The words “fat” and “crystalline” tend to be mutually exclusive, but not here. (One volume knob quirk: With the volume all the way off, a thin trickle of guitar signal seeps from the speaker. Silence would be preferable.)
Paul Maul Naturally, switching to an old Les Paul with vintage-style PAFs yielded very different sounds—and perhaps a bit more different than usual. The ultra-responsive Spectraverb seems to telegraph all upstream details: pickup type, string gauge and composition, and most important, playing nuances. Thanks to the amp’s focused lows, macho humbucker riffs emerge tighter and tougher than on most blackfaces. (Granted, it’s not the sort of taut chunk metal players seek, but it’s a step in that direction.) The amp’s bright switch is perfectly voiced to maximize snappy note attack with humbuckers.
Ratings
Pros:
Magnificent blackface tones. Gorgeous reverb. Solid workmanship. Fair price for a premium hand-wired amp.
Cons:
Minor potentiometer quirks.
Tones:
Playability/Ease of Use:
Build/Design:
Value:
Street:
$1,895
Andrews Spectraverb 40
andrewsamps.com
When an amp sounds this good played dry, you can pretty much assume it will work well with effects. Dialing in a relatively clean tone, I connected a favorite homemade fuzz pedal, anticipating the sort of—HOLY EFFIN’ CRAP! The sheer impact bowled me over. Sure, scuzzy fuzz through a cleanish Fender is a time-honored tone recipe. But the dish is seldom served so spicy-hot. Wow.
Tank You Very Much Speaking of “wow”: The Spectraverb reverb is one of the best I’ve heard, rivaling vintage Fender outboard units. It’s warm, deep and utterly immersive—a surf guitarist’s, um, wet dream.
The reverb limiter, accessible via a front-panel pot, is a cool addition. It restricts the amount of signal feeding the tank, nixing overly chaotic results when playing loud at high reverb settings. The added knob may solve a problem that doesn’t exist—don't most players want precisely such chaos when they crank the ’verb? Maybe, but now you have the option of getting very loud and very wet without drowning.
Again, there are a couple of quirks here: The reverb can oscillate at its highest setting. Also, the effect comes on strongly in the lowest part of the knob’s range. After fiddling with settings between numbers 1 and 2, I wished for a different pot taper that made it easier to pinpoint near-dry settings. But the reverb felt so good that I just got back in the pool and stopped worrying. (Amp creator Jeff Andrews tells us that he will slightly lower the reverb gain in future units, avoiding such oscillation and making it easier to work within the lower part of the control’s range.)
The Verdict If you like blackface-style Fenders, you’ll love the Spectraverb 40. Its focused and articulate tones rival or better the ’60s originals. Clean tones shimmer. Distorted tones clobber. In-between tones clobber as they shimmer, and vice-versa. The reverb is as warm and inviting as a scented hot tub occupied by someone you crave. The workmanship is solid. The price is fair. The Spectraverb 40 wins our Premier Gear Award in a walk.Columnist Janek Gwizdala with heroes Dennis Chambers (left) and Mike Stern (right).
Keeping your gigging commitments can be tough, especially when faced with a call from a hero. But it’s always the right choice.
Saying “yes!” to everything early on has put me in a place now where I can say no to almost everything and still be okay. That wasn’t without its challenges. I’d like to share a story about a “yes” that would haunt me for years.
As bass players, we can, if we choose, quite easily find ourselves in a wide variety of situations without having to change much about our sound or our playing. If your time is good and you’re able to help those around you feel good and sound better, the telephone will pretty much always ring.
Playing jazz as an electric-bass player living in New York City from 2000 to 2010 was somewhat of a fool’s errand in terms of getting work. No one wanted electric bass, and bandleaders would go to the bottom of a list of 100 upright players before they would even think about calling you. Not only that, but I wasn’t even at the top of the electric list when I first moved there. Not even close. Anthony Jackson, Richard Bona, Will Lee, Tim Lefebvre, James Genus, Lincoln Goines, Mike Pope, John Benitez, Matthew Garrison—that’s a who’s who of the instrument when I first moved to town, and I was very much a freshman with almost no experience. Almost…
I’d been lucky enough to play extensively with Kenwood Dennard (Jaco’s drummer), and a little with Hiram Bullock (Jaco’s guitarist) before moving to NYC which helped create a little momentum, but only a VERY little.
This is where the story begins:
I’d sent Mike Stern a demo back in late ’97. He’d not only taken the time to listen to it but had called my parents’ house right after I moved to the U.S. to tell me he loved it and wanted to hang. I missed the call but eventually met him at a clinic he gave at Berklee.
Of course, I was buzzing about all of this. It helped me stay laser-focused on practice and on moving to NYC as soon as possible. I got the typical “look me up when you get to town” invitation from Stern and basically counted the seconds through the three semesters I stayed at Berklee until I could split town.
I arrived with a ton of confidence but zero gigs. And nothing happened overnight. It really took saying yes to literally everything I was offered just to keep a roof over my head. Through that process, I felt like I was getting further away from playing with my jazz heroes.
The early gigs were far from glamorous—long hours, terrible pay, and sometimes, after travel expenses, they cost me money to play.
“Whenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroes—the reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do.”
When Stern finally called, a few years into living in NYC, things started to move pretty quickly. I began playing a lot of gigs at the 55 Bar with him, and short road trips became a thing—a four-night stint at Arturo Sandoval’s new club in Miami, gigs in Chicago, Cleveland, and upstate New York, and then some international work, including a tour of Mexico and a trip to Brazil, if I remember right.
But the hardest phone call of my career came from Mike not long into my time touring with him. It went something like this:
“Hey man, what’s your scene in April? Lincoln can’t make a trip to the West Coast. It’s just one gig. Trio… with DENNIS CHAMBERS.”
Mike didn’t shout Dennis’ name, but that’s how I heard it. My all-time hero. Someone I’d been dreaming about playing with for over 15 years. And here’s the kicker: I had to say no.
I’d just committed to six weeks with Jojo Mayer’s band Nerve in Asia and Europe, and there was no way I could bail on him. And there was no way I could afford to ditch six weeks of work for a single gig with Mike. To say that haunted me for years is an understatement. I was destroyed that I had to turn it down.
The tour with Jojo was amazing—the posters hang in my studio as a reminder of those times to this day. And thankfully, I was able to go on some years later and play dozens of shows with Mike and Dennis all over the world—truly some of the highlights of my career.
I still think about that phone call, though. Whenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroes—the reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do. I get emotional writing and thinking about it even now. But I've learned to never have regrets and understand you just have to believe in the process and maintain the willpower to continue—no matter what.
New RAT Sound Solution Offers a Refined Evolution of Distortion
ACT Entertainment ’s iconic RAT brand has unveiledthe Sterling Vermin, a boutique distortion guitar pedal that blends heritage tone with modernrefinement. With a new take on RAT’s unmistakable sound, Sterling Vermin delivers a new levelof precision and versatility.
“The Sterling Vermin was born from a desire for something different — something refined, withthe soul of a traditional RAT pedal, but with a voice all its own,” says Shawn Wells, MarketManager—Sound, ACT Entertainment, who designed the pedal along with his colleague MattGates. “Built in small batches and hand-soldered in ACT’s Jackson, Missouri headquarters, theSterling Vermin is a work of pure beauty that honors the brand legacy while taking a bold stepforward for creativity.”
The Sterling Vermin features the LM741 Op-Amp and a pair of selectable clipping diodes.Players can toggle between the traditional RAT silicon diode configuration for a punchy, mid-range bite, or the BAT41 option for a smoother, more balanced response. The result is a pedalthat’s equally at home delivering snarling distortion or articulate, low-gain overdrive, with a wide,usable tonal range throughout the entire gain spectrum.
The pedal also features CTS pots and oversized knobs for even, responsive control that affordsa satisfying smoothness to the rotation, with just the right amount of tension. Additionally, thepolished stainless-steel enclosure with laser-annealed graphics showcases the merging of thepedal’s vintage flavor and striking design.
“From low-gain tones reminiscent of a Klon or Bluesbreaker, to high-gain settings that flirt withBig Muff territory — yet stay tight and controlled — the Sterling Vermin is a masterclass indynamic distortion,” says Gates, an ACT Entertainment Sales Representative. “With premiumcomponents, deliberate design and a focus on feel, the Sterling Vermin is more than a pedal, it’sa new chapter for RAT.”
The RAT Sterling Vermin is available immediately and retails for $349 USD. For moreinformation about this solution, visit: actentertainment.com/rat-distortion .
The Miku was introduced about 10 years ago and is based on the vocal stylings of Hatsune Miku, a virtual pop icon. But it does much more than artificial vowels and high-pitched words.
It’s tempting to think of this pedal as a joke. Don’t.
It all started a few years ago through a trade with a friend. I just wanted to help him out—he really wanted to get a fuzz pedal but didn’t have enough cash, so he offered up the Korg Miku. I had no idea then, but it turned out to be the best trade I’ve ever made.
Here’s the truth: the Korg Miku is not your typical guitar pedal. It won’t boost your mids, sculpt your gain, or serve up that warm, buttery overdrive you’ve always worshipped. Nope. This little box does something entirely different: It sings! Yes, sings in a Japanese kawaii accent that’s based on the signature voice of virtual pop icon Hatsune Miku.
At first glance, it’s tempting to dismiss this pedal as just a gimmick—a joke, a collector’s oddity, the kind of thing you buy for fun and then forget next to your Hello Kitty Strat. But here’s the twist: Some take it seriously and I’m one of those people.
I play in a punk band called Cakrux, and lately I’ve been working with a member of a Japanese idol-style girl group—yeah, it’s exactly the kind of wild mashup you’d ever imagine. Somewhere in the middle of that chaos, the Miku found its way into my setup, and weirdly enough, it stuck. It’s quirky, beautiful, occasionally maddening, and somehow … just right. After plenty of time spent in rehearsals, studio takes, and more sonic experiments than I care to admit, I’ve come to appreciate this pedal in unexpected ways. So here are a few things you probably didn’t know about this delightfully strange little box.
It’s Not Organic—and That’s OK
Most guitar pedals are chasing something real. Wah pedals mimic the human voice—or even a trumpet. Tube Screamers? They’re built to recreate the warm push of an overdriven tube amp. Cab sims aim to replicate the tone of real-world speaker setups. But the Miku? It breaks the mold. Instead of emulating reality, it channels the voice of a fictional pop icon. Hatsune Miku isn’t a person—she’s a vocaloid, a fully digital creation made of samples and synthesis. The Miku doesn’t try to sound organic, it tries to sound like her. In that sense, it might be the only pedal trying to reproduce something that never existed in the physical world. And honestly, there’s something oddly poetic about that.
A World-Class Buffer
Here’s a fun fact: I once saw a big-name Indonesian session guitarist—you know, the kind who plays in sold-out arenas—with a Miku pedal on his board. I was like, “No way this guy’s busting out vocaloid lines mid-solo.” Plot twist: He only uses it for the buffer. Yep, the man swears by it and says it’s the best-sounding buffer he’s ever plugged into. I laughed … until I tried it. And honestly? He’s not wrong. Even if you never hear Miku sing a note, this pedal still deserves a spot on your board. Just for the tone mojo alone. Wild, right?
“The Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldn’t work for your music, but somehow, it just does.”
Impossible to Tame
Most pedals are built to make your life easier. The Miku? Not so much. This thing demands patience—and maybe a little spiritual surrender. First off, the tracking can be finicky, especially if you’re using low-output pickups. Latency becomes really noticeable and your picking dynamics suddenly matter a lot more. Then there’s the golden rule I learned the hard way. Never—ever—put anything before the Miku. No fuzz, no wah, no compressor, not even a buffer! It gets confused instantly and says “What is going on here?” And don’t even think about punching in while recording. The vocal results are so unpredictable, you’ll never get the same sound twice. Mess up halfway? You’re starting from scratch. Same setup, same take, same chaotic energy. It’s like trying to recreate a fever dream. Good luck with that.
Full Range = Full Power
Sure, it’s made for guitar, but the Miku really comes to life when you run it through a keyboard amp, bass cab, or even a full-range speaker. Why? Because her voice covers way more frequency range than a regular guitar speaker can handle. Plug it into a PA system or a bass rig, and everything sounds clearer, richer, way more expressive. It’s like letting Hatsune Miku out of her cage.
The Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldn't work for your music, but somehow, it just does. Is it the best pedal out there? Nah. Is it practical? Not by a long shot. But every time I plug it in, I can’t help but smile. It’s unpredictable, a little wild, and it feels like you’re jamming in the middle of a bizarre Isekai anime scene. And honestly, that’s what makes it fun.
This thing used to go for less than $100. Now? It’s fetching many times that. Is it worth the price? That’s up to you. But for me, the Korg Miku isn’t just another pedal—it’s a strange, delightful journey I’m glad I didn’t skip. No regrets here.
Two guitars, two amps, and two people is all it takes to bring the noise.
The day before they played the coveted Blue Room at Third Man Records in Nashville, the Washington, D.C.-based garage-punk duo Teen Mortgage released their debut record, Devil Ultrasonic Dream. Not a bad couple of days for a young band.
PG’s Chris Kies caught up with guitarist and vocalist James Guile at the Blue Room to find out how he builds the band’s bombastic guitar attack.
Brought to you by D’Addario.
Devilish Dunable
Guile has been known to use Telecasters and Gretsches in the past, but this time out he’s sticking with this Dunable Cyclops DE, courtesy of Gwarsenio Hall—aka Jordan Olds of metal-themed comedy talk show Two Minutes to Late Night. Guile digs the Dunable’s lightness on his shoulders, and its balance of high and low frequencies.
Storm Warning
What does Guile like about this Squier Cyclone? Simple: its color. This one is also nice and easy on the back, and Guile picked it up from Atomic Music in Beltsville, Maryland.
Crushing It
Guile also scooped this Music Man 410-HD from Atomic, which he got just for this tour for a pretty sweet deal. It runs alongside an Orange Crush Bass 100 to rumble out the low end.
James Guile’s Pedalboard
The Electro-Harmonix Micro POG and Hiwatt Filter Fuzz MkII run to the Orange, while everything else—a DigiTech Whammy, Pro Co Lil’ RAT, and Death by Audio Echo Dream 2—runs to the Music Man. A TC Helicon Mic Mechanic is on board for vocal assistance, and a TC Electronic PolyTune 3, Morley ABY, and Voodoo Labs Pedal Power 3 Plus keep the ship afloat.