
The reclusive pedal builder discusses the origins of his famed Centaur overdrive, the more affordable new KTR design, and how one pedal can inspire so much adoration and disdain.
If you've spent any amount of time on guitar-gear forums, you know they can often devolve into pretty abrasive battles of opinion. Even when a thread starts out with the best of intentions, it's not uncommon for it to morph into the online equivalent of a mythical Hydra. Forum administrators attempt to clean things up and lock out the more abusive commenters, but once they cut off one of the creature's heads, two more appear.
Of all the forum topics that can inspire such heated debate, few inspire more passion, awe, and vitriol than a guitar pedal named after a different sort of mythological creature. Launched in 1994 at the front end of the modern-day boutique-pedal boom, the Klon Centaur overdrive was immediately met with critical acclaim. So much so that it's ironic how much the pedal named after the half-human, half-horse creatures from Greek legend has since developed such a complex mythology of its own. And the fact that this seemingly mundane, 3-knob stompbox is used by such high-profile players as Jeff Beck, John Mayer, Joe Perry, Nels Cline, and Matt Schofield only compounds matters. Never mind the fact that the majority of the circuit comes encased in epoxy.
We recently spoke to Klon's Bill Finnegan about the origins of the Centaur, his new KTR design—which made a (naturally) limited debut in October of 2012—and how an overdrive pedal can fetch more than $1,000 on the used market and inspire such emotionally charged reactions.
Birth of a Centaur
In the 1980s, Bill Finnegan played in a band where he plugged his Telecaster straight into a Twin Reverb turned up as loud as the soundman would permit. In bigger Boston-area clubs, the Twin's volume would be at 6 or sometimes even 7, but in smaller places Finnegan could usually turn it up to only 3 1/2 or 4. The latter still sounded good, but not as harmonically rich as when the amp was working harder. Although it didn't occur to him at the time, a pedal that would give him the sound of a cranked amp is exactly what he needed.
Finnegan recalls that, in 1990, guitarists began chasing after out-of-production Ibanez Tube Screamers in droves. He'd heard about a guy who was selling two TS9s, and—hoping one of the little green pedals would help make his Twin sound like it was at 6 when it was only at 4—he went to check them out. It immediately became clear that Tube Screamers were not for him.
Finnegan built Centaurs—around 8,000 in total—by hand, on a cheap folding card table in a succession of small apartments for 15 years.
“[The TS9] compressed the transient response of the original signal a lot, had a midrange character I didn't like, and subtracted a noticeable amount of bass response from the signal as well," he explains. The same seller also had a TS808 that he wasn't selling. And, though Finnegan thought it sounded a little better than the TS9s, he still felt it had the aforementioned shortcomings. What he really wanted was a big, open sound, with a hint of tube clipping—a sound that would make you unaware a pedal was involved.
That's when Finnegan starting looking into creating a new design that would meet those criteria. He recruited a friend who'd just graduated from MIT with an electrical engineering degree. Though both had day jobs, for the next couple of years they got together once a week and tried to push the ball down the field. Within the first year, they'd developed prototypes that were much closer to what Finnegan wanted than a Tube Screamer, and various guitarists in the Boston area encouraged them to go into production so they could buy their own. But Finnegan felt the circuit could still be improved, so he and his partner kept working.
Eventually, the MIT friend bought a house in the suburbs and the distance made it harder to work together. Finnegan later partnered with the late Fred Fenning (who tragically passed away in a plane crash in the mid '90s)—another MIT grad whom Finnegan says was brilliant and very determined. Although Fenning had never designed an audio circuit and had no real interest in music, he was exceptionally good at finding ways to give the circuit what Finnegan thought it needed at any given time. Finnegan says Fenning deserves a lot of credit for the circuit in both the Centaur and its successor, the KTR.
Photo by Sarah Pollman
The entire design process took four and a half years, and when the pedal debuted at the end of '94 Finnegan was soon very busy trying to keep up with the demand—building, testing, and shipping the pedals as a single-man outfit.
Evolution of the Legend
From that point on, demand for Centaur pedals grew. Finnegan says he typically worked 55–60 hours per week in effort to keep turnaround times as short as possible, though he was hindered by the fact that the circuit was very labor intensive and time consuming. He also says it was more expensive to build than most other pedals due to the fact that everything from its cast enclosure to its knobs, pots, and sheet-metal bottom were custom crafted. Finnegan estimates the aggregate cost of a Centaur as seven to eight times that of a pedal built with off-the-shelf parts.
“For the last seven years or so of Centaur production, the retail price was $329," says Finnegan, “and to be honest, my profit margin was not very sensible—no real business person would have considered, for more than a moment, doing what I was doing for the return I was receiving. Also, given that I live in Boston, it was impossible for me to hire people and expand: Real estate here is in short supply and very expensive, so there was no possibility of my renting commercial space to set up an actual shop."
Finnegan built Centaurs—around 8,000 in total—by hand, on a cheap folding card table in a succession of small apartments for 15 years. In addition to the modest returns from his efforts, Finnegan says he felt immense stress as he tried to oblige those who wanted a Centaur but didn't want to pay the inflated price used specimens were fetching because of the 12- to 14-week turnaround time for a new one. It gradually became clear to Finnegan that the situation was unsustainable.
“These two photos show my testing jig for Centaur boards, with one of my experimental boards on it," Bill Finnegan shares. “The experimental boards have sockets for every component in the circuit, which enables me to listen to any particular component and then swap it out for a substitute while keep everything else the same. This experimental board is the one I used for developing the KTR. Unlike the Centaur which had through-hole components with leads, I wanted to use surface-mount components for the KTR, which meant that my assistant, John Perotti, and I had to spend an enormous amount of time soldering through-hole leads onto hundreds of very small surface-mount components so that we could evaluate them and choose the ones that would make the KTR sound the same as the Centaur did."
Photo by Nolan Yee.
“I was going to have to kill it before it could kill me," Finnegan recalls. In 2008, he began working on a ground-up redesign that had to meet the following criteria: It had to be straightforward to build, so that any good contract manufacturing firm would be able to do the job easily and well. It had to be rugged and reliable. It had to be a design with no hookup wires whatsoever, and with a modular footswitch assembly so that faulty footswitches could be replaced in a few minutes. It had to be considerably smaller than the Centaur. Except for the all-important clipping diodes, it had to have surface-mount components, which take up less space on a board than traditional through-hole components. Finnegan also wanted to prove—to himself and to those who said it couldn't be done—that, with careful component selection and smart board layout, he could design a successor that would sound exactly the same as the Centaur.
“This turned out to be quite a challenge," Finnegan says. “My assistant, John Perotti, and I spent almost two years listening to different surface-mount capacitors in various places in the circuit before I felt this had been achieved." Lastly, he wanted the new unit to be visually unique—a tall order, given that the unit would be housed in a standard enclosure.
I don't have any overall preference for single-coil guitars or humbucker guitars myself. I like pretty much everything under the sun in the way of electric guitars, and over the years I've owned a bunch of very different ones.
The one new feature Finnegan wanted to incorporate was a switch that enabled the player to choose the buffered output of the original Centaur or a true-bypass output. “Without the buffer there is a very noticeable degradation of the signal due to the capacitance inherent in guitar cables," says Finnegan, “but some people prefer it, so I wanted to provide that option in the new unit." He quickly adds, “My good friend Paul Cochrane—of Tim and Timmy [pedals] fame—was the guy who designed the switching circuitry, so a tip of the hat to Paul."
It took a long, long time to finish the KTR. And though Finnegan says it was much more difficult than he expected, he feels it has achieved all of his design objectives. “It sounds the same as the Centaur, takes up considerably less space on a pedalboard, is less expensive, and it's distinctive aesthetically—it's got the Klon thing going on." He laughs, “Whatever the Klon thing is."
You obviously have high expectations from your designs, though you're also perplexed by the reactions it inspires. What do you want people to see in Klon?
What I want people to expect from me and from Klon are designs that are exceptional in the literal sense of the term—designs that are conceptually sound and well executed. Designs that are unique and not to be expected from any other designer, no matter how talented.
When you were designing the Centaur, did you begin with any assumptions about players who'd be interested in it?
I was working from the assumption that there were a lot of guitar players with really good guitars and really good amps who were looking for an overdrive pedal that—whether it was adding dirt or not itself—wouldn't mess up what they already had and liked. Given the popularity of the Centaur and now the KTR, I would say that this has been borne out.
In your opinion, do the pedals work better with single-coils or humbuckers?
Neither. I don't have any overall preference for single-coil guitars or humbucker guitars myself. I like pretty much everything under the sun in the way of electric guitars, and over the years I've owned a bunch of very different ones. Each of them has its own particular thing going on, and when I was working on the design of the circuit I was always thinking about how it could be more effective in preserving and accentuating the essence of whatever instrument it was receiving the signal of.
What can you tell us about Centaur units that occasionally turn up on eBay with the claim that they are “new, with full warranty"—are they fakes?
I have a very close friend who is a single mom and whose job doesn't pay all that well. Every now and then she needs a little help, financially. I'm aware of what the used units are selling for, so at some point after I discontinued the Centaur it occurred to me that—if and when she needed me to—I could build a Centaur and give it to her to sell on eBay and use the proceeds to keep going. This has worked really nicely, and I'll continue to do it for as long as my old Centaur parts last. Since I discontinued the Centaur, a lot of people have asked me whether I'd consider building one for them—sometimes offering me pretty substantial amounts of money—but I'm not going to do that. The only Centaurs I build anymore are the ones I build for her, and I don't make or collect a single cent from them.
Klon builder Bill Finnegan wanted to include this text—which refers to the dialogue surrounding his famed Centaur design—on the casing of his new KTR pedal. “It's a wry observation that I can't be held responsible for the overheated emotions that have been introduced into various Klon debates since the earliest days of the Centaur," he says. “I knew that in using that text I'd be stirring things up some, but I thought it would be interesting and fun to see how, in reacting to it, people would self-select into either the 'love it' or the 'hate it' group."
Photo by Nolan Yee.
Do you think Centaurs will retain their high value now that the KTR is available?
Yes, in general I think they will. They're collectible and—with the one small exception I just mentioned—no more will be built, unless I'm very mistaken. For almost everyone, the KTR is a much more sensible option now: It sounds the same, it's much smaller, it's way the hell less expensive—$269 retail—and you don't have to worry about losing something that's worth $1,000 or $1,500 or $2,000 if it's stolen. On the other hand, the Centaur has something of its own that people really like and are willing to pay serious money for. The design has achieved a certain status—I would use the analogy of old, custom-colored Marshalls. I have two small-box, 50-watt Marshall Lead heads—model 1987s: One is a black-Tolex, aluminum-panel head from 1970, and the other is a red-Tolex, plexi-panel head from 1969. They have the same circuitry and sound almost identical, but of course the red one is worth way more than the black one. I like cool, distinctive things as much as the next guy, so I'm not in a position to criticize someone for being willing to pay more than I myself would, or more than most people would, if they want it that much.
What are the demographics of the typical Klon user?
It seems to be more or less everyone. Baby-boomer guys who are still only interested in the music they grew up with, but also a lot of younger, indie-rock people, and also a number of musicians whose work is more experimental and can't be easily categorized.
What can you tell us about the germanium diode you like so much in your circuits?
In 1993 and '94, when it was clear that Fred and I were getting close to producing what I thought was the full measure of what our circuit was capable of, I started buying quantities of every diode I thought might be at all suitable for the head-to-toe pair that clips the signal, except for when the circuit is in clean-boost mode. This was pre-internet, so I was going to the public library, looking up distributors in the Thomas Register, and then calling those distributors to find out what they had—email was still in the future then! I started out ordering both germanium and silicon diodes, but pretty quickly I began concentrating on the germaniums. Usually, though not always, they sounded more natural to me than the silicon ones did. After months and months of listening, I felt a particular new-old-stock germanium diode sounded best in the circuit, so I thought I should buy as many of those as I could afford. Eventually, I found a distributor that had a significant quantity of them. They were stocking them for a huge OEM, who—without any warning, I gather—stopped using that part. I bought them all at a good price. The distributor was thrilled to be able to sell them and not have to eat them.
Does the KTR have the same diodes?
Yes, the KTR has the exact same NOS diodes as all Centaurs did.
Since I discontinued the Centaur, a lot of people have asked me whether I'd consider building one for them—sometimes offering me pretty substantial amounts of money—but I'm not going to do that.
What is it you like about the sound of that diode when it clips?
It's a little more complicated than that, because the diode clipping happens on top of some op-amp clipping in the main gain stage. So it's op-amp clipping, then diode clipping. But to answer your question, this particular diode in the head-to-toe pair in the circuit just produces a very natural-sounding distortion in terms of the harmonic response. It's not harsh, but it also doesn't round off the highs excessively. It doesn't compress the signal as much as many germanium diodes seem to, but on the other hand it provides a little bit of what—to me—is exactly the right kind of compression.
Which other pedal makers are using this particular diode?
To the best of my knowledge, no one. It's a part that's been out of production for decades now, so even if someone else could identify it, I seriously doubt they'd be able to find any—I've tried a number of times myself.
So what are you working on now?
Lately, I've been focused almost entirely on putting together a good long-term arrangement for production of the KTR. This kind of thing has always been more of a challenge for me than it seems to be for anyone else, but I admit that I do have requirements—particular things I insist on—that few, if any of those other people have, so I guess that the increased difficulty is to be expected. I'm not saying that my stuff is necessarily higher quality than anyone else's, but rather that my criteria are somewhat different and that therefore the process is necessarily also somewhat different.
What is the current availability of the KTR?
The unit should be widely available—through dealers both here in the U.S. and in various other countries—by the time this interview is published. Hopefully by then I will have found time to get some kind of updated Klon website going, which of course will have contact info for the current dealers.
The top of the KTR features some text that's apparently causing controversy with some buyers: “Kindly remember: The ridiculous hype that offends so many is not of my making."
Lots of people got the point that I was trying to make and really enjoy the text, while other people find it off-putting or even insulting. It's a wry observation that I can't be held responsible for the overheated emotions that have been introduced into various Klon debates since the earliest days of the Centaur. I knew that in using that text I'd be stirring things up some, but I thought it would be interesting and fun to see how, in reacting to it, people would self-select into either the “love it" or the “hate it" group.
Photo by West Warren.
What does the future hold for Klon?
I've been thinking about this quite a bit lately. Part of me wants to work on design ideas I have—finish those designs to my satisfaction—and then make the resulting products available. The other side of me wants to either refrain from working on those ideas or work on them, finish them to my satisfaction, and then not put the resulting products out. As you may or may not know, many unscrupulous people have expropriated my hard work on the Centaur and KTR circuits and are selling pedals that incorporate my circuit—and in at least some cases, they're making a lot of money. And apparently there is nothing I can do about this from a legal standpoint.
Quite aside from the money they're making from my work, there's the question of what those pedals sound like. My understanding is that a number of those people are claiming their versions sound “identical" to mine, which—for reasons not only pertaining to the clipping diodes you asked me about—I think is very unlikely. Whatever expertise those various people may have, I'm going to go out on a limb and state my belief that it's not likely to be a good or sufficient substitute for the experience I have with the circuit: I co-designed it, I've hand-built and listened to about 8,000 Centaur units, I spent two years working hard to make sure the KTR would sound the same as the Centaur, and I've put almost 25 years of my life into it. If those other guys' pedals don't sound right, then of course Klon's reputation—and my reputation as someone who cares deeply about the quality of what goes out under the Klon name—will inevitably take a hit.
So my feeling is this: If any new product I come out with will be ripped off immediately after its release, and if unscrupulous people will again be making money off of my work, and if on top of that Klon's reputation and my own personal reputation will be at risk every time someone decides to put out his own version of one of my designs, then where is my incentive to release anything new at all? Over the past few years, I've talked with a number of other pedal designers about this stuff—good people who design their own circuits, and whose circuits have also been ripped off—and we all agree there is now an enormous disincentive for any of us to create and release new products.
From what I understand, a lot of the people posting on various online forums seem to feel that it's a wonderful thing for the pedal consumer to have more choices—how could that be bad? Here's how it could be bad: Maybe talented pedal designers—originators—will simply stop designing pedals and take their talents elsewhere to apply them to the design of other classes of products that can't be ripped off quite so easily.
Top 5 Klon Myths
Gear forums are regularly aglow with all sorts of comments about Klon. Here are the most common misconceptions.
- The Centaur is a slightly tweaked [insert name of extant pedal here] circuit. According to Klon's Bill Finnegan, “it's a much more complex circuit than the typical overdrive/boost circuit. These claims stopped almost immediately after it was reverse-engineered in 2007 and a schematic was posted online."
- Certain Centaurs sound better than others. Finnegan says he's heard this claim about earlier units, later ones, gold ones, and silver ones. “The fact is, under the hood they're all basically the same. In 1995 I made three small changes: I added a resistor to give the circuit some protection against a static charge delivered to its input—a change that has no sonic effect. I also had the circuit board redesigned with a ground plane for better grounding—again, no sonic effect except the potential for a little less hum. And I added a resistor to give the circuit a very small amount of additional low-mid response—I wanted it to have a little more roundness when used with, say, a Strat into a Super Reverb. I made no other changes."
- The KTR doesn't/can't sound as good as the Centaur. Finnegan says this claim arises because the KTR uses surface-mount parts while the Centaur (and most other pedals) use through-hole parts. “For two years my assistant, John Perotti, and I listened to hundreds of different surface-mount parts throughout the circuit," Finnegan explains. “While it wasn't an easy or pleasant process, we both feel—and now a lot of other people feel, as well—that I achieved my design goal: With careful component selection, the KTR sounds the same as the Centaur."
- You have to play really loud for the Centaur or KTR to sound good. “You need to have the output knob high enough that the signal hits the front end of your amp harder than your bypassed signal would," says Finnegan. “In other words, you need to use the unit as an overdrive in the literal sense of the term." The assumption here is that users are pairing the Centaur or KTR with an all-tube amp. “It's always a good thing if your amp is turned up enough to get the harmonic response and distortion that are engendered by tubes clipping and output transformers saturating. This is true whether you're playing through a 4-watt or a 100-watt amp."
- Certain clones sound “exactly the same" as a Klon. Finnegan's contention is that, given several factors—especially the rarity of the Centaur's germanium clipping diodes—it would be extremely difficult to create an identical-sounding overdrive/boost.
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Drew Berlin, left, and Alexander Dumble, right, first met in the early ’70s through luthier Jim Foote. “Within an hour or so, I went and got one of my amps from home, and he modded it for me. And that started the relationship,” remembers Berlin.
Drew Berlin talks about what it takes to preserve the legacy of Dumble—and how that might involve building a few new amps.
For guitarists, the name Dumble conjures awe, wonder, critique, devotion, myth, and plenty of conjecture—all of it understandable. The late Howard “Alexander” Dumble’s namesake amps are akin to the vaults of Fort Knox: We know they exist, we’ve heard tales of their unimaginable treasure, but few have, or ever will, experience them firsthand.
The mystery stems from how Mr. Dumble kept a tight-knit circle of friends he trusted with his amplifiers. That’s why, when he passed in 2022, many wondered what would become of his builds, designs, and company. Fortunately, Dumble had a plan and entrusted the keys to his kingdom to two of his closest friends: Drew Berlin and Matt Swanson.
Judging by Berlin’s résumé, the brand is in good hands. An early adopter of the amplifiers as a professional guitarist, he even helped Dumble voice many of them. But beyond the Dumble sphere, he is a titan of the vintage guitar gear community. As one half of the famed “Burst Brothers,” he was key in shaping Guitar Center’s early vintage program and still deals in some of history’s most priceless, sought-after, and collectible guitars and amps.
Berlin’s connection to Dumble was far more personal. From the day they first met until Dumble’s passing, their friendship centered on caring for each other, whether that meant amp modifications or healthcare. Berlin was a constant presence.
“I even had a deal with my wife where, if I wasn’t home by midnight, she’d call Mr. Dumble,” he said with a chuckle. “He was so charming. He’d sweet-talk her: ‘Oh yes, Diana. Drew’s here, and we’re getting a lot done. He’s really helping, so I’ll need him a bit longer.’ And she’d say, ‘Okay.’ [laughs] That went on for 20 years.”Here’s “Woody,” a Dumble Special that was often used to “audition” potential customers. It’s a single-channel design that has beautiful, smooth compression. And like many of Dumble’s amp designs, there’s nowhere to hide.
At 74, Berlin’s love and devotion to Dumble and his amps remain unwavering. While many are lucky to glimpse one in person, he owns several, still gigging them regularly. More crucially, he and Swanson own the brand’s name and trademark, a job he takes very seriously setting up the Dumble Preservation Society to safeguard everything, service existing Dumble amplifiers, and, though he didn’t know it at the time, build new ones.
But before anyone questions his motives, it’s vital to understand where Berlin is coming from. His passion for the amps and profound devotion to his friend and the legacy he left was even visible over our video call from his California recording studio. Every decision he makes balances protecting the legacy with navigating the future, and is always guided by the question, “What would Mr. Dumble have wanted?”
Thankfully, if anyone can answer that, it’s Berlin. And he was generous enough to share why that is with us.
How did you and Mr. Dumble first meet?
I knew about Dumble and the tone in the early ’70s, and I started becoming more and more familiar with it, of course, through Jackson Browne, David Lindley, and Stevie Ray Vaughan. Because of that, and being that I was “the vintage guy,” a mutual friend, Jim Foote, thought that it would be interesting for Mr. Dumble to meet me.
He set up an appointment, and Dumble came in with a small Special called “Woody,” which we actually just displayed at NAMM. I plugged into the amp and started playing, and we started talking. Within an hour or so, I went and got one of my amps from home, and he modded it for me. And that started the relationship.
It began with gear, but it seems your friendship grew into something much deeper.
You know, it absolutely did. He was brilliant, and we had a lot in common beyond music. So, I started trying to be there for him as much as possible, sometimes like eight or 10 hours at a time, day after day after day.
Pretty soon, it was hard for him to get around, so I found a vehicle for him and was able to help him out. I felt really honored to be able to do that, because I was getting such great advice from him, and he was really intelligent on so many levels. My family even did a lot of outings together where we included him as part of the family. He loved my children, so they grew up knowing him as Uncle Alexander.
Given your close connection to both the man and his amplifiers, what would you say defines the “magic” of his amplifiers?
He liked to say that the frequencies were enhanced, and there were more highs, more lows, more mids. It was a blossoming of frequencies. Most of his amps were touch-sensitive, so if you dug in harder, it would change the tone. You could express more, and notes would do different things.
But as far as for me, it's more than just something that you hear. When you're playing it, the expression that you're able to create, it's something you feel in your chest, in your heart. And I like that they never hurt. Some amp tones are irritating and hurt your ears, especially if it's too loud. Dumbles never did. The louder, the better.
At first glance, this would appear to be a Special, but in 1989 Dumble modified it to be a 150-watt Steel String Singer for Stevie Ray Vaughan while his SSS was in for repairs.
Players often point to the Steel String Singer’s cleans and the Overdrive Special’s distortion. Did Dumble approach those as separate designs, or did he see a unifying thread in his creations?
It was very important for him to be really happy with the way the amp sounded in the clean, lush mode before you kick in the overdrive.
The way he explained it, it starts in the power section of an amplifier. It needs to be clean, powerful, and warm. Then you get a really warm, clean, lush sound and add the overdrive section to that. Getting that right is more challenging than the overdrive section. The overdrive was a balance of how much crunch you wanted and how much sustain. So that was secondary.
There are rumors of the incredible time he took building each amp and how particular he was about every detail. Are they true?
Yes. And he liked to do everything himself. He never let anyone even touch a build that he was working on. I understand now more than I did, as far as how difficult and how time-consuming that was.
He would change out 20, 30, 40, or 50 parts on an amp. It would take forever. And then after he finally came up with the right combination, the artists would come over and play it. If it wasn’t quite what they wanted, he’d go back to the drawing board. And it took several tries, in some cases, to get the amp exactly where the artist and Mr. Dumble both agreed was the right sound.
Then he’d have to make sure that it was roadworthy before he would send it out on the road.
“Some amp tones are irritating and hurt your ears, especially if it's too loud. Dumbles never did. The louder, the better.”
How did he sustain that level of commitment and detail throughout his career?
Well, the amps were so complex, there were so many stages, and there’s so many different variances that it did become overwhelming towards the end of his life. He stopped making Steel String Singers and Overdrive Reverbs a long time ago because they were too much work. There were 11 Steel String Singers, and I think 12 Overdrive Reverbs were made. But he stuck with the Overdrive Specials. He had some health issues on and off through the years, so he did the best he could.
Did you and Dumble ever discuss your role in the future of his brand?
Well, we talked about it. My partner, Matt Swanson, and I were left to protect Dumble, his legacy, and his intellectual property. And a lot of people showed interest in wanting to take the Dumble name. The trademark was expiring and we had to act.
That’s when we started the Dumble Preservation Society. We offer amp service with the right schematics and parts. We have two techs. One was a close friend of Dumble’s that he personally approved, and the other is incredibly passionate and skilled. Since Dumble passed, we’ve serviced over 50 of his amps.
Matt Swanson (left) and Drew Berlin set up the Dumble Preservation Society to safeguard the brand, service existing Dumble amplifiers, and, though they didn’t know it at the time, build new ones.
Was your initial focus just to maintain the amps he’d already built?
That, and honoring his legacy. There’s so much he created that you hear all the time on records, in movies, on the radio. His sound is everywhere. It’s important for people to understand what he did. The Preservation Society stems from that: keeping awareness of his tone and his genius, servicing amps, and secondarily, building them.
What led you to start building new Dumble amps?About six to eight months into his passing, we found out that in order to keep the trademark, we had to actually manufacture and sell something. That’s when I made the decision. It wasn’t about profit. It was either do it ourselves or let someone else take it. He left us in charge for a reason, and he trusted our judgment.
Who’s building the new amps?
There are two guys, who don't want recognition. They don’t think it’s important, and I respect that. One is someone I’ve known and trusted for 35 years. He’s an incredible technician who was very close to Dumble. He told me he had promised Dumble he wouldn’t use any of the knowledge Dumble had shared with him to build amps. I said, “I understand that, but would you rather have people who didn’t know Dumble, weren’t connected to him, and aren’t trying to preserve his legacy do this? Or would you rather help us do what’s necessary?” He agreed.
Another is a friend who I’ve known for at least 20 to 25 years. He’s an amp repair tech who’s incredibly knowledgeable and passionate about Dumble amps. When things needed to be done and Dumble couldn’t do them himself, this was one of the only guys he ever trusted with anything.
You’ve mentioned several close associates deeply connected to and influenced by Dumble. It’s like he was building his company the whole time.
You’re right. He kind of was. I don’t think it was chance that he put us together.
I had been taking care of him for years, and he and Matt became great friends. One day, Dumble pulled him and me aside and said, “Drew, I really appreciate everything you’ve done, but I think moving forward, you’re going to need Matt’s help.”
I think he understood that we would need to work together to keep his legacy alive. I’m really grateful because I couldn’t have accomplished a lot without Matt. Together, we’ve kept the Dumble name alive and treasured, and that’s what we wanted to do.
One of Dumble’s biggest supporters was Carlos Santana, who owned several Dumble amps over the years.
With the new amps now emerging, what can players anticipate from this next chapter?
I wish I could answer that, but I’m not sure where we’re going in the future or how we’re doing it. I can tell you, the few that we’ve made were very time consuming, as if Mr. Dumble did it himself: hand-cutting the boards, everything done by hand, the parts being as close as possible to what Mr. Dumble was using. We’re trying to get the sound as close as possible, to where you don’t just hear it, you feel it.
Right now, it’s just a handful of players, the Dumble family, in a way. I helped screen people for Mr. Dumble that I thought were great players and great people, people worthy of his amps. It’s still got to be like that. So, right now, we’re working with a few of Mr. Dumble’s favorite players, giving them some amplifiers and trying to tweak them the way he would have.
Are you adhering closely to Dumble’s original designs with these new builds?
We’re not trying to reinvent the wheel right now. We’re happy if we can get our amps sounding really close to what Mr. Dumble did. We're not trying to enhance or come up with new ideas for them, at least not at this point.
For those who’ve played the new amps, what’s been their reaction so far?
Well, the first one we did has already been on a couple of sessions. It went to a really talented pro player, and we’ve heard nothing but good things. And, a couple of weeks ago, I had a session where I brought one of the amps we had at NAMM. I have several Dumbles I use, and I kind of forgot that it wasn’t one of mine.
It’s exciting to have people playing them, wanting them, and wanting to take them on the road and record with them. Seeing guys I really respect, players, producers, and people making records really like it gives me confidence. The magic that Mr. Dumble had, his ears, his musical talent, his experience in electronics, I don’t see anyone else having that combination.
You stayed out of the design and building process during his lifetime. How do you think that shapes your perspective for what you’re doing now?
Now that we’ve done this, I feel like maybe it would have been better for him if I had pushed a little harder to let people help him when he was alive. He just wanted to do everything himself. I really appreciate that about him, but I never pushed him to say, “Let me help you.” I helped him in other ways, but I never got involved in building amps or letting others help him.
As both a fan and a friend, where do you hope to see the Dumble brand head in the future?
I wish I could give you an exact response, but I don’t know fully right now. This is still new for me, and I’m not sure where it’s going or how I’m going to feel about it.
I do know that as long as the brand is respected, I’ll be okay with it. If people could understand that Dumble did this from his heart. He had the magic to give people something to create with, and that’s what he lived for. He wanted to give artists a tool to help them become better musicians. As long as I can help carry that forward, I feel like I’m doing something useful.
Just like guitarists, audiophiles are chasing sound. It may be a never-ending quest.
“What you got back home, little sister, to play your fuzzy warbles on? I bet you got, say, pitiful, portable picnic players. Come with uncle and hear all proper. Hear angel trumpets and devil trombones.”—Alexander DeLarge (Malcolm McDowell) in the film A Clockwork Orange.
We listen to recorded music for enjoyment and inspiration, but few of us expect recordings to rival the experience of live music. Most guitarists know that the average home sound system, let alone Bluetooth boomboxes, cannot reproduce the weight and depth equal to standing in a room with a full-blown concert guitar rig. Also, classical music lovers recognize that a home system won’t reproduce the visceral envelope of a live orchestra. Still, much like guitarists, audiophiles spend huge amounts of time and money chasing the ultimate “realistic” audio experience. I wonder if sometimes that’s misguided.
My exposure to the audio hobby came early, from my father’s influence. My dad grew up in the revolution of home electronics, and being an amateur musician, he wanted good reproduction of the recordings he cherished. This led him to stock our home with tube components and DIY electrostatic hybrid speakers that rivaled the size and output of vintage Fender 2x12s. I thought this was normal.
Later, I discovered a small shop in my hometown that specialized in “high end” audiophile gear. They had a policy: No sale is final until you are completely satisfied. I became an almost weekly visitor (and paying customer) and was allowed to take equipment home to audition, which was dangerous for a young man on a low budget. It was through this program I started to understand the ins and outs of building a cohesive system that met my taste. I began to pay much more attention to the nuances of audio reproduction. Some gear revealed a whole new level of accuracy when it came to acoustic or vocal performance, while lacking the kick-ass punch I desired of my rock albums. I was seeking reproduction that would gently caress the sounds on folk, classical, and jazz recordings, but could also slay when the going got heavy. This made me a bit of an odd bird to the guys at the audio shop, but they wanted to please. With their guidance I assembled some decent systems over time, but through the decades, I lost interest in the chase.
Recently, I’ve begun perusing online audiophile boards and they seem oddly familiar, with tube versus solid-state discussions that might feel at home to guitarists—except the prices are now beyond what I’d imagined. For the most part, they mirror the exchanges we see on guitar boards minus the potty-mouth language. Enthusiasts exchange information and opinions (mostly) on what gear presents the widest soundstage or most detailed high-frequency delivery, all in flowery language usually reserved for fine wines.
Speaking of whining, you’ll rethink your idea of expensive cables when you hear folks comparing 18", $1,700 interconnects for their DACs. Some of the systems I’ve seen are more costly than an entire guitar, amplifier, and studio gear collection by a serious margin. Mostly, the banter is cordial and avoids the humble-bragging that might go along with the purchase of a $10,000 set of PAF humbuckers. Still, I have a lack of insight into what exactly most are trying to accomplish.
If you’ve ever worked in a big-time studio, you know that the soundscape blasting out of huge monitors is not what most of us have in our homes. My experience rewiring pro-studio patchbays is that less emphasis is placed on oxygen-free, silver-plated, directional cables than the room treatment. I’ve found myself wondering if the people on those audio boards—who have spent many tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars on their home systems—have ever been in a studio control room listening to music as loud as a 28,000 horsepower traffic jam of NASCAR racers. That might be an eye-opener.
One of my takeaways is that even though music recording began as an attempt to reproduce what actually happens in a room, it hasn’t been just that for a long time. With all our effects and sonic wizardry on display, recording is like playing an instrument itself, and much more complex. This is not a new revelation to Beatles fans.
What amazes me is that both audiophiles and guitar fanatics pursue the sounds we hear on recordings for differing reasons and with subjective results. It’s a feedback-loop game, where we chase sounds mostly exclusive to the studio. So, how do we determine if our playback is accurate? Will we ever be satisfied enough to call the sale final?
I’m not convinced, but just the same, I’ll continue my own search for the holy grail of affordable, kick-ass sound that still loves a folk guitar
The series features three distinct models—The Bell,The Dread, and The Parlor—each built to deliver rich, resonant acoustic sound with effortless amplification.
Constructed with solid Sitka spruce tops and solid mahogany back & sides, the Festival Series offers warm, balanced tone with incredible sustain. A Fishman pickup system, paired with hidden volume and tone control knobs inside the sound hole, ensures seamless stage and studio performance.
Grover 16:1 ratio tuners provide superior tuning stability, while D’Addario strings enhance clarity and playability. Each guitar comes with a heavy-padded gig bag, making it a perfect choice for gigging musicians and traveling artists.
Key Features of the Festival Series Guitars:
- Solid Sitka Spruce Top – Provides bright, articulate tone with impressive projection
- Solid Mahogany Back & Sides – Adds warmth and depth for a well-balanced sound
- Fishman Pickup System – Delivers natural, high-fidelity amplified tone
- Hidden Volume & Tone Control Knobs – Discreetly placed inside the sound hole for clean aesthetics
- Grover Tuners (16:1 Ratio) – Ensures precise tuning stability
- D’Addario Strings – Premium strings for enhanced sustain and playability
- Heavy-Padded Gig Bag Included – Provides protection and convenience for musicians on the go
With Is, My Morning Jacket turned to an outside producer, Brendan O’Brien, who has worked with Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots, and many others.
Evolutionary, rocking, anthemic, psychedelic, and free—the band’s guitarists share the story of the making of MMJ’s visceral, widescreen new album.
“Time is such a fun thing to think about, how elastic it is and how strange it is,” muses My Morning Jacket singer and guitarist Jim James. For a band that’s weathered more than a quarter-century together, that elasticity and strangeness feel particularly poignant. After a period of uncertainty and creative fatigue that left fans, and the members themselves, questioning the group’s future, My Morning Jacket has over the past several years emerged reinvigorated.
Their latest album, Is, represents not just a continuation of the rebirth that began with 2021’s self-titled effort, but a profound evolution in their creative process: Currently, MMJ—which also includes guitarist Carl Broemel, bassist Tom Blankenship, keyboardist Bo Koster, and drummer Patrick Hallahan—find themselves in the midst of what Broemel characterizes as a “special and interesting era,” one marked by newfound inner peace, a willingness to relinquish control, and, as James simply puts it, “the freedom to do whatever the fuck we want,” that has resulted in some of their most focused and dynamic work to date.
Is emerges as the product of this revitalized My Morning Jacket, distilled from a wealth of material that James had accumulated, throwing “every single idea into the pot,” he says, rather than reserving some for solo projects as he’d done in the past. The result is both concentrated and adventurous, a tightly focused 10-song collection that still, in characteristic MMJ fashion, roams freely across stylistic boundaries. From the soaring leadoff track “Out in the Open,” a sort of rootsy take on U2’s widescreen anthem rock, to the evocative and soulful first single “Time Waited,” the heavy-riffing “Squid Ink” to the hypnotic psych-folk workout “Beginning From the Ending,” the lilting, harmony-laden pop nugget “I Can Hear Your Love” to the ominous minor-key prowl “River Road,” the album covers vast musical territory. “Jim has a giant archive of song ideas and it’s always growing,” Broemel says, and then laughs. “I think it’s the good and the bad thing about having a digital recording device in your hand at all times—you can capture every idea. So we had so much to work through.”
SoundStream
But Is also marks something of a letting go for James, who, for the first time in years, welcomed an outside producer into the fold. And not just any producer, but capital-P producer Brendan O’Brien, whose extensive resume spans music’s biggest names, from Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilots, and Rage Against the Machine to Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young, and AC/DC. For James, who had long acted as the band’s producer in an effort to “play all the positions myself,” this surrender of control was unusual. As for why they went with O’Brien, James says, “The thing that really struck me about Brendan was once I started playing him demos, he immediately had ideas and opinions that were really constructive without making it about his ego. He’s really great about telling you, ‘Ah, I don’t think this song’s as good as the rest.’ Or, ‘I don’t really like this chorus, what if we replaced it with something else?’ He was just always about the song.”
Adds Broemel, “He managed to pull us out of us, if that makes sense.”
“I think it’s the good and the bad thing about having a digital recording device in your hand at all times—you can capture every idea.” - Carl Broemel
To be sure, many of these songs both took shape and transformed in the studio. “I Can Hear Your Love” and “Beginning From the Ending,” for example, evolved from solo recordings with drum programming and sound effects into fuller band arrangements. But perhaps the most dramatic metamorphosis was “Out in the Open.” The song originated during the pandemic as a ukulele riff that James found so complex he “couldn’t even play it,” and that he eventually arranged into what he calls “kind of a ballad.” It sat for a couple years before he brought it to the band during these sessions. “When we listened to it, everybody had the same feeling as I did: ‘We like the riff, but where does it go? What does it do?’” James recalls. O’Brien provided the breakthrough. “He said, ‘What if we turn this into a rock song? Bring in the electric guitar, amp it up, and keep it getting bigger?’” The final version blends James’ original ukulele recording with a full-band, big-rock arrangement—what he describes as “a really cool merging of the unknown inspired by Brendan.”
Jim James' Gear
In addition to his Flying V, Jim James’ Gibson arsenal includes three ES-335s, an ES-355 prototype, a vintage Gibson Barney Kessel, a modded 1962 Reissue Les Paul Custom (pre-SG), and a Hummingbird.
Photo by Nick Langlois
Guitars
- Gibson ES-335 (black)
- Gibson ES-335 (sunburst)
- Epiphone Jim James ES-335
- Gibson ES-355 prototype
- Fender Custom Shop Tele
- Fender Custom Shop Strat
- Reuben Cox Custom Plywood T-Style
- Gibson Barney Kessel (vintage)
- Gretsch Country Gentleman (vintage)
- Modified Gibson 1962 Reissue Les Paul Custom (pre-SG)
- Gibson Flying V
- Gibson Hummingbird
- Gibson J-45
Amps
- 3 Monkeys Orangutan
- 3 Monkeys cab
- Rivera Silent Sister isolation cabinet with Mesa/Boogie Celestion speaker
Effects
- Devi Ever US Fuzz Monster
- MXR MC406 CAE Buffer
- ISP Deci-Mate G Decimator
- Boss BD-2W Waza Craft Blues Driver
- Boss OC-2
- Electro-Harmonix MEL9
- Malekko Spring Chicken
- EarthQuaker Devices Ghost Echo
- EarthQuaker Devices Spatial Delivery V2
- Universal Audio Golden Reverberator
- Universal Audio Astra Modulation Machine
- Universal Audio Starlight Echo Station
- Spaceman Orion
- SoloDallas The Schaffer Boost
- Radial SGI-44
- Strymon blueSky
- Boss DD-7 Digital Delay
- Strymon Zuma
- Strymon Ojai
- D’Addario CT-20 Tuner
Strings & Picks
- D’Addario Pure Nickel (.009–.045)
- D’Addario Phosphor Bronze Acoustic Extra Light (.010–.047)
- Dunlop Tortex .73 mm
This anything-goes mindset extended to the band’s approach to guitars and amplification. While James and Broemel brought their recent arsenal—including James’ Fender Princeton amp, his Gibson ES-335 signature model, a Gibson ES-355 prototype “that Gibson made me when we were first figuring out my guitar that I use a lot in the studio,” and his custom Reuben Cox plywood T-style guitar, alongside Broemel’s treasured 1988 Bigsby-equipped Les Paul Standard and Duesenberg Starplayer TV—O’Brien’s studio offered what Broemel describes as “a disgusting amount of amazing guitars.” The amp selection was equally impressive, running the gamut of Fender classics (“the brown amps, the black amps, the silver amps,” as Broemel puts it) along with discoveries like a Port City head that became a frequent go-to. Rather than being fussy about gear choices, the band found themselves drawn to whatever served the song best. “Half the time I wound up with one of Brendan’s SGs in my hand through one of Brendan’s amps,” James recalls. “I used to be more precious about it, but now I really just don’t give a shit at all, as long as it sounds right with the song.” This approach yielded particularly dramatic results on “Die For It,” where Broemel created a massive guitar solo by positioning two amps—“a Super Reverb and something else,” he says—in the middle of the room, capturing what he calls a “giant stereo thing that’s so wide and washed-out and crazy, kind of like what it feels like at our shows.”
“Half the time I wound up with one of Brendan’s SGs in my hand through one of Brendan’s amps.” - Jim James
It’s this sort of liberation from old habits that has helped recharge the band after almost three decades together. Although, James admits, “It ebbs and flows. There’s been periods where it’s been very easy and periods where it’s been very difficult.” Is reflects this hard-won wisdom; its title speaks to the fact that the music “just is what it is,” James says. “The record always makes itself. You really have to let go.”
Carl Broemel's Gear
Carl Broemel’s favorite 6-string is his 1988 Bigsby-equipped Les Paul Standard, which he puts to the test here during a Savannah, Georgia, concert.
Photo by Chris Mollere
Guitars
- 1988 Gibson Les Paul Standard with Bigsby
- Duesenberg Starplayer TV
- Duesenberg Caribou
- Creston Custom
Amps
- Carr Slant 6V head
- Emperor 4x12 cab with Warehouse speakers
- Rivera Silent Sister isolation cabinet with Warehouse speaker
Effects
- Hologram Electronics Chroma Console
- Electro-Harmonix POG
- Kingsley Harlot V3 Tube Overdrive
- JAM Pedals Delay Llama Xtreme
- Origin Effects SlideRIG Compact Deluxe MkII Compressor
- Eventide H9
- Boss TU-2
- Strymon Zuma
- GigRig G3 Switching System
Strings & Picks
- D’Addario EXL140 (.010–.052)
- Dunlop Tortex .73 mm
It’s a perspective that has enabled My Morning Jacket to find a path forward. As Broemel notes, “In some ways, all we want to be is like a brand-new band again, but that’s impossible. So we’ve just gotta keep going.” One thing that never changes, he adds, “is that the feeling of playing a good show never gets old. It’s like catching a huge fish. That’s evergreen for me.”
James agrees, noting that the band has never sounded better. “Music’s infinite,” he says. “We’ll never exhaust all the possibilities. As long as you’re trying something new, that’s what keeps it fun and fresh, hopefully for us and for the listener.”
YouTube It
Broemel, with his Creston Custom, and James, with a Fender Strat (and purple heart-shaped sunglasses), lead My Morning Jacket through the heavy riffs, deep grooves, and big unison bends of “Squid Ink” on Jimmy Kimmel Live!