It’s that time of year, when Premier Guitar readers wow us with the intricate details of their pedalboards. A few highlights for 2019 include a surf board station, a bright board with LED lighting, a Nashville guitarist who gigs on Lower Broadway, and a pedal setup with no frills … and literally no board at all. (All this player needs is beer and broken glass.) As an added bonus, a pro pedal builder shares his demo board and tells us why and how he started building pedals from scratch. Read on, play on, stomp on!
Versatile guitarist Nathaniel Murphy can be seen and heard on YouTube and Instagram, where he has over 450,000 followers, and demos for Chicago Music Exchange.
Guest Picker - Nathaniel Murphy
A: My signature pedal wouldn’t even really be my sound. It would have all of The Edge’s exact sounds and settings in one pedal as presets. No messing with switches or dialing in tones, just cycle through presets and it sounds exactly like “Pride (In the Name of Love),” “Mysterious Ways,” or “Where the Streets Have no Name.” It would be purely just for fun to jam at home. My own pedal would probably just be a reverb!
While recovering from a hand injury, Nathaniel Murphy “really got into picado technique and would watch Paco De Lucia and in particular Matteo Mancuso (above) vids and lessons.
Obsession: Well, I’ve just spent six weeks in a cast after a wrist fracture—very scary. During that time I couldn’t use my fretting hand so I worked on my picking hand. I really got into picado technique and would watch Paco De Lucia and in particular Matteo Mancuso vids and lessons. It’s been really refreshing and also fun working on a new technique for me, even though it’s incredibly tricky and progress is slow. But I love the challenge of it.
Reader of the Month - Steve Eisenberg
A: My signature pedal would be simple to use, have the capability of being shaped with iPhone-app based effects, and expand features as my guitar adventure grows in scope. I’m very much in the experimentation stage with my pedal work, and having direction and guidance available on an iPhone has helped me navigate in a way that ensures I’m meeting some of my guitar-adventure goals.
Obsession: Through the guidance of my instructor, I am exploring fingerstyle guitar, as it has motivated me away from just chord shapes and scale work. I was feeling a little stuck, and using the fingers of the right hand has allowed me to increase my dexterity and coordination, and motivated me to practice more often.
Gear Editor - Charles Saufley
Mr. Saufley, represented by a mallard.
A: The foundation of my signature pedal is the guts of a 1968 Vox Starstream guitar, which is made up of a Vox Distortion Booster fuzz, a Vox Repeat Percussion tremolo, and Vox Treble Booster. Sonically speaking, this is like donning a psych-punk freakbeat cape. Just before the Distortion Booster there is a Grampian 636 reverb preamp circuit to fatten up and color the works. After the freakbeat section, there will be a de- and re-constructed Roland RE-201 Space Echo. Most of the pedal enclosure will be made up of clear Lucite (illuminated by alternating-color lamps), so I can observe the tape swirling within. The RE-201’s spring reverb, meanwhile, will be suspended in its own flip-up Lucite case which will sit on dampers to insulate it from floor vibration. Hopefully, it will sound like Lee “Scratch” Perry producing Love’s “7 and 7 Is”.
Obsession: The first sounds and green and gold flashes of early spring—and the wakeful energy, ideas, and inspiration it brings.
Giving some love to Love!
Art Director - Naomi Rose
A: The enclosure would be hex color #00b4c1—branded as NAOMI blue—checkerboarded with alternating boxes of NAOMI blue glitter flock and matte NAOMI blue. The footswitch would be a bulbous orange rubber material so it’d feel squishy when stepping on it whilst playing barefoot. It would have a kick-out stand in the back like a picture frame, so when it's not in use, it could stand angled on a shelf to be admired. It would be called Ruckus because that's my middle name. What would it DO? That's a secret I will not be sharing at this time.
Our graphic designer’s dream pedal brought to life.
Obsession: Silence. I hardly listen to music or podcasts these days. When I don’t have outside noise, I tend to self-narrate in my head, which leads to making ridiculous little made-up songs throughout the day. These will oftentimes spark cool ideas and manifest into actual songs that I end up recording and producing. Even in the mundane, inspiration is everywhere. Sometimes getting rid of distractions helps you notice it more.
After eight years, New Orleans artist Benjamin Booker returns with a new album and a redefined relationship to the guitar.
That evening, Booker played a release celebration show at Euclid Records in New Orleans, which has become the musician’s adopted hometown. He spent a few years in Los Angeles, and then in Australia, where his partner gave birth to their child, but when he moved back to the U.S. in December 2023, it was the only place he could imagine coming back to. “I just like that the city has kind of a magic quality to it,” he says. “It just feels kind of like you’re walking around a movie set all the time.”
Witness was a ruminative, lonesome record, an interpretation of the writer James Baldwin’s concept of bearing witness to atrocity and injustice in the United States. Mavis Staples sang on the title track, which addressed the centuries-old crisis of police killings and brutality carried out against black Americans. It was a significant change from the twitchy, bluesy garage-rock of Booker’s self-titled 2014 debut, the sort of tunes that put him on the map as a scrappy guitar-slinging hero. But Booker never planned on heroism; he had no interest in becoming some neatly packaged industry archetype. After Witness, and years of touring, including supporting the likes of Jack White and Neil Young, Booker withdrew.
He was searching for a sound. “I was just trying to find the things that I liked,” he explains. L.A. was a good place for his hunt. He went cratedigging at Stellaremnant for electronic records, and at Artform Studio in Highland Park for obscure jazz releases. It took a long time to put together the music he was chasing. “For a while, I left guitar, and was just trying to figure out what I was going to do,” says Booker. “I just wasn’t interested in it anymore. I hadn’t heard really that much guitar stuff that had really spoke to me.”
“For a while, I left guitar, and was just trying to figure out what I was going to do. I just wasn’t interested in it anymore.”
LOWER is Booker’s most sensitive and challenging record yet.
Among the few exceptions were Tortoise’s Jeff Parker and Dave Harrington from Darkside, players who moved Booker to focus more on creating ambient and abstract textures instead of riffs. Other sources of inspiration came from Nicolas Jaar, Loveliescrushing, Kevin Shields, Sophie, and JPEGMAFIA. When it came to make LOWER (which released on Booker’s own Fire Next Time Records, another nod to Baldwin), he took the influences that he picked up and put them onto guitar—more atmosphere, less “noodly stuff”: “This album, I was working a lot more with images, trying to get images that could get to the emotion that I was trying to get to.”
The result is a scraping, aching, exploratory album that demonstrates that Booker’s creative analysis of the world is sharper and more potent than ever. Opener “Black Opps” is a throbbing, metallic, garage-electronic thrill, running back decades of state surveillance, murder, and sabotage against Black community organizing. “LWA in the Trailer Park” is brighter by a slim margin, but just as simultaneously discordant and groovy. The looped fingerpicking of “Pompeii Statues” sets a grounding for Booker to narrate scenes of the homelessness crisis in Los Angeles. Even the acoustic strums of “Heavy on the Mind” are warped and stretched into something deeply affecting; ditto the sunny, garbage-smeared ’60s pop of “Show and Tell.” But LOWER is also breathtakingly beautiful and moving. “Slow Dance in a Gay Bar” and “Hope for the Night Time” intermingle moments of joy and lightness amid desperation and loneliness.
Booker worked with L.A.-based hip-hop and electronic producer Kenny Segal, trading stems endlessly over email to build the record. While he was surrounded by vintage guitars and amps to create Witness, Booker didn’t use a single amplifier in the process of making LOWER: He recorded all his guitars direct through an interface to his DAW. “It’s just me plugging my old Epiphone Olympic into the computer and then using software plugins to manipulate the sounds,” says Booker. For him, working digitally and “in the box” is the new frontier of guitar music, no different than how Hendrix and Clapton used never-heard-before fuzz pedals to blow people’s minds. “When I look at guitar players who are my favorites, a lot of [their playing] is related to the technology at the time,” he adds.
“When I look at guitar players who are my favorites, a lot of [their playing] is related to the technology at the time.”
Benjamin Booker's Gear
Booker didn’t use any amps on LOWER. He recorded his old Epiphone Olympic direct into his DAW.
Photo by Trenity Thomas
Guitars
- 1960s Epiphone Olympic
Effects
- Soundtoys Little AlterBoy
- Soundtoys Decapitator
- Soundtoys Devil-Loc Deluxe
- Soundtoys Little Plate
“I guess I have a problem with anything being too sugary. I wanted a little bit of ugliness.”
Inspired by a black metal documentary in which an artist asks for the cheapest mic possible, Booker used only basic plugins by Soundtoys, like the Decapitator, Little AlterBoy, and Little Plate, but the Devil-Loc Deluxe was the key for he and Segal to unlock the distorted, “three-dimensional world” they were seeking. “Because I was listening to more electronic music where there’s more of a focus on mixing than I would say in rock music, I think that I felt more inspired to go in and be surgical about it,” says Booker.
Part of that precision meant capturing the chaos of our world in all its terror and splendor. When he was younger, Booker spent a lot of time going to the Library of Congress and listening to archival interviews. On LOWER, he carries out his own archival sound research. “I like the idea of being able to put things like that in the music, for people to just hear it,” says Booker. “Even if they don’t know what it is, they’re catching a glimpse of life that happened at that time.”
On “Slow Dance in a Gay Bar,” there are birds chirping that he captured while living in Australia. Closer “Hope for the Night Time” features sounds from Los Angeles’ Grand Central Market. “Same Kind of Lonely” features audio of Booker’s baby laughing just after a clip from a school shooting. “I guess I have a problem with anything being too sugary,” says Booker. “I wanted a little bit of ugliness. We all have our regular lives that are just kind of interrupted constantly by insane acts of violence.”
That dichotomy is often difficult to compute, but Booker has made peace with it. “You hear people talking about, ‘I don’t want to have kids because the world is falling apart,’” he says. “But I mean, I feel like it’s always falling apart and building itself back up. Nothing lasts forever, even bad times.”
YouTube It
To go along with the record, Booker produced a string of music videos influenced by the work of director Paul Schrader and his fascination with “a troubled character on the edge, reaching for transcendence.” That vision is present in the video for lead single “LWA in the Trailer Park.”
