Barcelona builders revive an obscure reverb preamp that adds sweet octane: The PG Aclam Windmiller review.
Beautiful, airy low- gain boost and overdrive tones. Cool interactions with other gain pedals. Super sturdy construction.
Expensive for a preamp pedal.
$310
Aclam Windmiller
aclamguitars.com
I studied Pete Townshend's '60 rigs religiously as a kid—watching The Kids Are Alright on repeat and ogling the photos in Richard Barnes' essential Maximum R&B book. But I don't think it was until I encountered the excellent thewho.net web site that I learned about the Grampian reverb preamp that Pete used to drive his mid-'60s amps to extra-aggro heights. So, I was psyched to hear that Barcelona's Aclam pedals (who already won me over with their fantastic Vox UL730-inspired pedal, the Dr. Robert, and clearly share my circa-'66 guitar production fixations) recreated the preamp section of the Grampian reverb in a pedal.
Just as with the Dr. Robert, Aclam delivers something special and carefully conceived in the Windmiller. They took care to match the critical low input impedance of the original Grampian unit and reproduced much of its topology. But they also added flexible EQ controls so it can be matched to guitar/amp combinations other than Townshend's tone recipes. The results are often much more complex than a basic boost or overdrive.
A Quick One
The Windmiller is super simple to use. There's a gain knob, a low-frequency cut knob, and a high-frequency cut knob. That's it. This simplicity is one of the charms and practical benefits of the unit.
Recorded with Rickenbacker 370-12 through black-panel Fender Tremolux (volume at 5, treble and bass at 6) to Universal Audio OX using black-panel-style 2x12 cabinet and UA-610B preamp simulation to Universal Apollo Twin to Universal Audio Luna.
For all segments the Aclam is set with the low cut knob at near-zero, and the high cut at 10 o'clock. This setting splits the high-cut difference between what Aclam calls the vintage Grampian preamp setting and their prescribed optimum single coil setting.
- :00 to :09 - Rickenbacker clean, no Aclam
- :10 to :50 - Gain at 8:30 o'clock
- :10 to :50 - Gain at 8:30 o'clock
- :50 to :50 - Gain at 1:30 o'clock
- 1:33 to end - Gain at maximum
I'm generally skeptical of claims about magic formulas in preamp and boost pedals. They're essentially simple—and often very similar—circuits. But playing the Windmiller alongside a bunch of overdrives, boosts, and preamp pedals reveals a unique responsiveness and palette of sounds.
Certainly, the Windmiller's low impedance input affects the way the pedal colors and responds to your guitar signal. What's remarkable is how that tone shift—scooped, substantial, and smooth—doesn't overpower your instrument. That doesn't mean the Aclam is "transparent": As you advance the gain, the Windmiller adds distinct compression that players accustomed to aggressive midrange bumps might find soft and squishy around the edges. But I love the way the Windmiller's harmonic profile excites a guitar's top end without making it brittle.
The Windmiller lets a guitar breathe in a lovely way too. A very nice Klon-style pedal sounded boxy and claustrophobic by comparison, and a favored germanium boost sounded a bit narrow and harmonically constrained in relation to the Windmiller's open, airy tones. I got the best approximation of the Windmiller's basic preamp tone from a relatively inexpensive Echoplex EP-3 preamp clone pedal. But the EP-3-style stomp still sounded thinner, sucked more tone from my guitar and amp, and lacked the Windmiller's EQ fine-tuning potential.
I love the way the Windmiller's harmonic profile excites a guitar's top end without making it brittle.
For many players, the Windmiller's open, airy qualities won't be an advantage. A lot of guitarists like their overdrive or boost pedals to have an intense midrange focus that makes a solo pop. Sometimes I'm one of these players. But in general, I'm happier when I can hear a wider range of overtones from an overdriven signal. The Windmiller excels at this task, making chords and leads that incorporate ringing open strings sound thrillingly alive.
The Verdict
The Windmiller is expensive for a preamp pedal at $310. For players that like the midrange-y profile of more conventional boosts or overdrives, that price might seem dear. But I struggled to find a boost, preamp, amp-in-a-box, or overdrive in my collection that sounded as lively, unconfined, and open-ended as the Windmiller. The EQ is super effective for adapting the pedal to humbuckers or more midrange-y amplifiers. It sounds fantastic as a transparent boost at the end of a signal chain and adds killer compressed textures when situated before fuzzes. It's also very substantial and well made.
The unique textures and responsiveness won't suit every style and rig. And if you can try one with your own rig before you buy, I'd recommend it. Even with my strong mid-'60s tone proclivities, I found the Windmiller an exceptionally utilitarian and adaptable way to add gain, body, and excitement to my signal in many musical settings.
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Loud, evil, searing hot, and unexpectedly versatile, the Fuzz War’s demented bass cousin has a bold and more-complex personality all its own that sounds radical with guitar, too.
Evil. Just plain evil. Unexpected and vast variation. Responds interestingly to bass volume and tone attenuation. Wet/dry mix control. Sounds amazing (and extra evil) with guitar.
None.
$195
Death By Audio Bass War
deathbyaudio.com
If you like your fuzz measured in megatonnage, the Death By AudioFuzz War is one of life’s great joys. And if you’re a bass player with similar predilections and accustomed to watching guitar players have all the fun, the new DBA Bass War will be sweet revenge.
The original Fuzz War is a creatively twisted derivative of the Colorsound Supa Tone Bender But while you can hear some family resemblance among the Tone Bender, the Fuzz War, and Bass War, the latter is a very different animal indeed. I’m pretty sure it’s louder than the Fuzz War (holy #@*!). The fuzz is also much brighter than a Fuzz War, which sounded positively muddy by comparison.
That means a bass player has lightyears of headroom and range within which to shape their tone. And for such a loud, hectic pedal, it can be really precise and surgical. The experience of reshaping fuzz sounds is made easier, more fun, and much more expressive for the oversized outboard tone and fuzz controls, which can be swept with your toe to achieve wild filter effects. Along with the cutting fuzz tonalities, that lends the Bass War an almost synth-like feel and functionality. The pedal also responds in interesting ways to bass volume and tone attenuation: Lower bass volume generates less compressed, more focused, but still very insane tones that can be boosted to superheated levels with the pedal’s volume knob. Add in the dry/wet mix knob, which lends exponentially more complexity and range to the Bass War’s voice, and you’re talking about an exceedingly varied and evil fuzz device. Oh ... it sounds freaking amazing with guitar, too—yielding psychotically piercing lead tones, vintage biker fuzz, and vicious punk and metal grind. Wow.
While this forgotten, oddball instrument was designed with multidextrous guitarists in mind, it never quite took off—making it a rare, vintage treasure.
At Fanny’s House of Music, you never know what strange or fascinating relics you might find. Guitorgan? Been there, sold that. A Hawaiian tremoloa fretless zither? We’ve had two.
Recently, the oddest of odd ducks strolled through Fanny’s front door. It looks like a Harmony Wedge lap steel that was thrown in the dryer to shrink a little bit. It has two flatwound bass strings, in reverse order from where you’d expect—the higher string is on the left side if you’re looking at the instrument’s face. Each string has its own fretting surface, bent at a 135-degree angle away from each other, and the frets are labeled with note names. A raised, thin strip of wood separates the strings from each other on the fretboard.
Oh, wait a moment. Did we say “fretboard?” We should have said “footboard.” Allow us to introduce you to the 1970s Mike Miller Foot Bass. That’s right—you play this adorable critter with your feet. The strings are tuned a fifth apart from each other. By setting the instrument on the ground and rocking your foot back and forth over the neck, you get a standard country root-fifth bass line—completely hands-free. Are you a guitar player? All you need is one of these puppies and a drum machine and, poof! You’re a whole band!
Along the “footboard” are markers for note names.
Thank goodness for the internet, which gave me access to the original promotional materials for the Foot Bass. Emblazoned with the all-caps header, “BE YOUR OWN BASS MAN,” its pamphlet extols the virtues of the Foot Bass. Describing it as “practically maintenance free,” it guarantees you’ll “amaze friends and audiences,” and “make extra MONEY.”
A brief meander through the United States Patent and Trademark website revealed the patent, whose filer was equally concerned with finances. “A currently popular form of entertainment is provided by an artist who both sings and accompanies himself on a guitar,” it reads, as if this hasn’t been a popular form of entertainment for a very long time. “The performance of such an artist may be enhanced by adding a bass accompaniment.... However, such an additional bass accompaniment ordinarily requires an extra artist for playing the bass and therefore represents an additional expense.” Sorry, bass players. Clearly, you all do nothing but cost us guitar players money.
“That’s right—you play this adorable critter with your feet.”
Be prepared to dig through your closet when you embark on your Foot Bass journey. If you start with your trusty Doc Martens, you’re in for a disappointing experience. Deep treads make for messy notes and poor contact with the strings. And while barefoot playing allows for more nimble, adventurous basslines, the lack of a rigid surface prevents the “simple and convenient” operation promised by the patent. What you need, as one Fanny’s employee described, are “church shoes”—something with a low profile and a flat sole.
This Mike Miller Foot Bass is from the 1970s, and has a patent for its design.
Even with the right footwear, playing the Foot Bass takes some getting used to. There’s a bit of foam under the pickup cover that mutes the strings when you’re not playing them, but you can still make a remarkable amount of clatter with this thing. It’s a subtle motion that works best, and it certainly takes practice to master it. Add in multiple chords or—be still, my heart—walking up from one chord to the next? Give yourself a couple weeks in the woodshed before you schedule your next show.
If you’re looking for something to watch tonight, there’s a documentary you can find on YouTube called Let Me Be Your Band. It covers the history of one-person bands, starting with blues pioneer Jesse “Lone Cat” Fuller and continuing up to the early 2000s with the careers of Hasil Adkins and Bob Log III, among others. It’s a touching portrayal of ingenuity and spunk, and an ode to owning your weirdness. Not a single person in Let Me Be Your Band had a Foot Bass, though. It’s high time the Foot Bass was celebrated for its cleverness and played by an enterprising solo act. It’s a bit like Cinderella’s glass slipper here at Fanny’s. We can’t wait to see who tries it on for a perfect fit.
Fuzz, octave, and odd intervals co-mingle and clash with bizarre, mangled, musical, pretty, and often shockingly unpredictable results.
Scores of tones that span the musical and the ridiculous. Fun and ferocious fuzz. Octave can be used independently. Often intuitive in spite of its complexity. Tracks pitch shifts without glitches
Easy to get lost in the weeds if you don’t do your homework.
$249
Keeley Octa Psi
robertkeeley.com
I’d venture that most guitarists instinctively regard fuzz as a brutish, brainless effect (which is funny given how much energy in our community is dedicated to dissecting the nuances and merits of different fuzz types). Keeley’s Octa Psi, however, transcends mere troglodyte status by combining a fundamentally nasty fuzz voice in three switchable variations, and a web of octave and interval tones that transform the Octa Psi into a synthesizer capable of textures ranging from soaring to demented to downright evil.
Crush of the Space Invader
It’s no mistake that the little figure adorning the face of the Octa Psi looks like a sinister cross between a Space Invader and a Cylon. The Octa Psi often evokes the 8-bit, synthy sounds of ’80s arcade games. But the fact that the Octa Psi’s sounds range to cartoonish extremes shouldn’t suggest to a potential user that the Octa Psi is anything less than musical. And the smart, if complex, control layout ensures you can span both extremes with ease.
The Octa Psi is effectively made up of an analog fuzz and a digital octave section. The knobs on the fuzz side are no-brainer stuff: fuzz, master level, and tone. The 3-position toggle, however, expands the potential of those three knobs exponentially. In each mode the fuzz has a cool, snorkel-y, almost filtered essence, with hints of cocked-wah snarl. The punch voice features a bass-heavy profile that’s cloaked in pea-soup fog at the extreme treble-cut/bass-boost ends of the tone control’s range, but crushes like a Tony Iommi-operated wrecking ball in the middle section. The psi mode is even thicker and doomier, though not just heavier in the bass. There’s also more midrange presence that lends extra definition and makes the fuzz feel more explosive under the fingers. The scoop setting, in very relative terms, sounds almost thin compared to the other two. But no voice is exactly short on power here, so perhaps it’s best to call it focused. Each of these modes, which already have heaps of tonal range thanks to the versatile tone knob, can be altered dramatically by the octave section.
Getting a feel for the octave options definitely takes practice. And though intuitive exploration of the possible combinations is rewarding, it’s essential that you do your homework if you want to maximize the pedal’s potential and avoid musical muddles. The Octa Psi’s complexity is largely down to the fact that it gives you much more than just a few octaves up or a few octaves down to work with. First, you can blend in the amount of octave signal. Then there are eight pitch modes available via the rotary switch. Each of these modes shifts in character, depending on whether you select the octave up, octave down, or dual octave setting with the toggle switch. But you can also reshape the tone by pressing and rotating the blend switch, which, depending on where you’ve set the other octave controls, will add octave intervals, like sharp ninths, stacked fourths, and major and minor voicings. Additionally, each of the preset modes will save your settings in dual mode—even after you unplug.
Controlled Chaos
There is another reason the video game correlation implicit in the Octa Psi logo is appropriate: At times, using it can feel like the sky above your moon base is raining laser bombs and you’re being menaced by alien aircraft from all sides. It can be really chaotic, particularly if you’re finding your way by ear rather than consulting the extensive pitch matrix in the manual. Chords are sometimes rendered into atonal glop, and, like any octave fuzz, it’s often easiest to stick with single-note lines.
But for all the mayhem Octa Psi can unleash, finding a clear musical path can be easy and feel like striking gold. Plus, the pedal is, in its way, quite forgiving. It tracks pitch changes well, and rarely collapses on itself—even when executing whole step bends colored by dissonant intervals. You can also use the octave without the fuzz, which yields conventional sounds like pretty faux-12-string, watery chorus tones, and subtle harmonies for clean leads.
The Verdict
The Octa Psi’s power and tonal vocabulary is impressive. You’ll have to be brave or have a very good memory to move between radically different settings on a dimly lit stage. And we didn’t even mention the wealth of “advanced” settings that include volume tilt, pitch ramping, effect order shifts, and more. But the bounty of smooth-to-sick sounds here means the Octa Psi could be a difference-maker in a studio or recording environment when you’re reaching for tone colors and moods that break norms. And though the Octa-Psi could, on the surface, seem nichey, it’s fun to think about the many musical styles and applications where its sounds could find a home—from doomy Sabbathoid chug, to film scores, to glitchy hip-hop hooks, to video-game sound design.
Ferocious fuzz forces, a +/- 2-octave range, and the capacity for odd intervals make this menacing machine almost as much synth as dirt device.