It's been more than a quarter century since the Klon Centaur overdrive debuted. So why are we still talking about it?
The Klon became a cult item soon after it appeared, celebrated for its transparent overdrive. “Transparent" isn't exactly a scientific term, but it makes sense when comparing the Klon to the popular overdrives that preceded it—notably the Ibanez Tube Screamer, which to this day provides the template for a large percentage of overdrive pedals.
A Screamer trims highs and adds a prominent midrange bump at around 750 Hz. A Klon's core sound is less highly colored, with clearer highs and greater clean headroom. A Screamer's compression smoothes out note attack, while a Klon delivers faster, crisper transients. Screamer tone never cleans up completely, even with the gain knob at minimum. But a Klon with its gain knob fully counter-clockwise delivers a pure clean boost. (Though it might not sound clean, depending on how hard the Klon's output is slamming your amp's input.) To many ears, the Klon was a sonic upgrade over previous overdrive pedals. When the guitar magazine I worked for in the '90s covered the initial version, I bought the review model. I used that pedal (serial number 309) for reference while exploring our five klones.
Secrets of the Klon Kult
How does the Klon work its magic? Like most overdrives released since the 1970s, it owes its tones to an overdriven op amp, with extra color and compression from a pair of clipping diodes. Klon fanciers tend to focus on those two parts: the TL072, a low-noise, JFET-based op amp, and two NOS germanium 1N34A diodes.
Generally, germanium diode distortion is slightly softer and "spongier" relative to brighter, crisper-sounding silicon diodes and LEDs. But you only hear the diode's character at the circuit's highest gain settings—most of the distortion comes from the op amp. Meanwhile, the TL072 is a common and inexpensive part. But even if it weren't, any number of op amps would yield similar results.
My tests suggest that the Klon's character comes from its ingenious circuit topology, and not from "magic" parts. There's a charge pump that generates 18 volts from a standard 9-volt power supply, and you hear the difference—tones are sparklier and more dynamic, with more clean headroom. The gain architecture is even more innovative. Incoming audio is split into three paths, one of which passes through the distorting op amp and diodes. Another path sends undistorted lows to the output, anchoring the bottom end. Meanwhile, the third path is a relatively hi-fi clean boost. The pedal's gain knob simultaneously controls the levels of both the distorted and clean boost paths. Turning the pedal's gain knob clockwise emphasizes the distortion while lowering the clean signal, and vice versa.
Other factors include an especially nice-sounding input buffer that prevents guitar pickups from loading down the circuit, a handsomely voiced treble-cut tone control, and memorable cosmetics. Original Klons have expensive, custom-cast enclosures with that striking bronze-and-oxblood color scheme. And, of course, there's the sword-wielding centaur icon, usually referred to as "the horsie." (Horsie Klons have the highest resale value.)
Klon vs. Klone
Image 1 — Original Klons obscured their circuitry with black epoxy. That trick never works! The Klon schematic is readily available online.
Original Klons tried to maintain circuit secrecy with a coat of black epoxy (see Image 1).
It didn't work. The schematic is widely available. Copyright law doesn't protect circuits, so the schematic is free for the cloning. On the other hand, copyright law says you can't mimic a product's "trade dress"—the visual appearance that identifies it to consumers. But that hasn't prevented klones from paying "tribute" to the original's gold/bronze enclosure, dark red knobs, and centaur sketch.
The original Klon employed traditional through-hole parts. Our contender klones have modern surface-mount components, which facilitate automated production and keep list prices low. Two of them employ NOS through-hole germanium diodes, while the other three substitute modern silicon ones. All are scaled-down relative to the original, with enclosure sizes ranging from a standard B-sized box down to tiny AAs. There's also a dramatic price spread: from $69 to $199. All pedals run on standard 9V power supplies.
Testing Procedures
To keep things as objective as possible, I recorded the demo clips straight into my DAW with no processing, and then re-amped them through each of the klones. That way, you hear the identical performance through each pedal. Aside from switching klones, nothing in the signal chain changes. For the audio-only clips (see the page at the end of this article) I used a Fender Telecaster Deluxe with Lollar Regal wide-range humbuckers, a clean-toned Carr Telstar amp, and a Royer R-121 ribbon mic, recorded into Logic Pro via a Universal Audio Apollo interface. For the video I used a "parts" S-style guitar with Lollar Firebird pickups and Fender-style Carr Skylark.
In the audio-only clips you'll hear four audio comparisons arranged into four playlists. First, there's a 1:23-long passage with all pedal knobs set to noon. Next comes a gain test: You hear each pedal, first with the gain control at minimum (that is, in full clean-boost mode) and then at maximum. The third comparison displays the full range of the tone controls, first at minimum, then at maximum, and then back to the noon position. The final test compares the output controls. First, you hear the passage with a low output setting, with the knob around nine o'clock, and then at maximum. The low output setting is too quiet to overdrive the amp, isolating the distortion color produced by the pedal, as opposed to how that sound interacts with an overdriven amp.
Image 2 — A spectral comparison of a passage played through the original Klon and through the EHX Soul Food reveals that their EQ curves are nearly identical. Other comparisons yielded similar results.
In each case, you hear the original Klon first, followed by the five modern pedals in alphabetical order, from Electro-Harmonix Soul Food through Way Huge Conspiracy Theory.
Spoiler alert: These pedals sounds remarkably similar, and that's not just a subjective impression. Consider Image 2, which compares the spectrum (EQ curve) of a passage recorded through the original Klon and through the EHX Soul Food.
The orange portion depicts the Klon, the blue portion the EHX. Their EQ profiles are superimposed in the main window. The orange and blue lines track so closely that it's sometimes hard to discern two separate measurements. Comparisons between the Klon and the other contenders yield similar results. In other words, prepare to listen for very subtle distinctions.
Diodes to Die For?
Finally, a word about those germanium diodes: Judging by the online forums, this is the crucial feature separating the Klon from the klones. Even Klon founder Bill Finnegan cites particular germanium diodes (from his stash of NOS 1N34As) as the most important ingredient in the Klon casserole.
I think the audio suggests the opposite.
Klon vs. Klones by premierguitar
RatingsPros:Great price. Excellent overdrive sounds. Adapter included. Cons: Keen ears might miss low-end weight. Street: $86 Electro-Harmonix Soul Food ehx.com
| Tones:  Ease of Use:  Build/Design:  Value: |
Electro-Harmonix Soul Food
Priced at a modest $86, EHX's Soul Food is the second-least-expensive pedal among the five competitors. It lives in a standard B-sized enclosure large enough for a battery compartment. You can also use standard 9V power supplies. (Soul Food is the only pedal in this roundup that comes with an AC adapter.)
The Soul Food circuit board employs mostly small, surface-mount components, with the exception of several capacitors and the clipping diodes. The latter are silicon in lieu of the Klon's germanium. Still, as Image 2 above shows, the Soul Food's tone profile matches that of the original Klon almost exactly. At heavy settings, I think I hear slightly more compression and gain from the Soul Food, but I'm not always certain. We're quite close to Klon here.
Hear for yourself: As mentioned, most of the Klon's overdrive comes from the TL072 op amp. The clipping diodes are only a factor at high-gain settings. For the clearest comparison of diode color, listen to the second halves of the clips in the Gain Control playlist, where the gain knobs are at maximum. Even here, the two tones are quite similar. The Soul Food is a little brighter at the very top end, and the Klon has a wee bit more weight under 100 Hz. But these differences are far from dramatic.
Soul Food has a secret trick: a small internal switch to select between true bypass mode (the default) and buffer bypass mode. Again, the differences are extremely subtle, unless you're connecting a retro-style fuzz downstream from Soul Food. (A germanium Fuzz Face, for example, is likely to sound too thin and bright when placed after a buffered effect.)
RatingsPros:Exceedingly accurate Klon sound. Germanium diodes. Extraordinary build quality. Cons: Relatively costly. Street: $199 J. Rockett Archer rockettpedals.com
| Tones: Ease of Use: Build/Design: Value: |
J. Rockett Archer
The Archer, a klone from J. Rockett, stands out from the herd even before you plug it in. While all the pedals covered here sound convincingly Klon-like, the Archer clearly aspires to the original's build quality, too. Measuring 4" x 2.25" x 1.25", it is slightly smaller than a standard B-sized box. The top-mounted jacks will suit overpopulated pedalboards, but there's still enough room for a 9V battery. The enclosure isn't quite as deluxe as the original Klon's sculptural, custom-cast shell, but it has a similar heft. The Archer is this roundup's most reassuringly solid stompbox. And at $199, it's the most expensive.
The Archer's circuit board features a roughly 50/50 mix of through-hole and surface-mount parts. The op amp is a TL072, while the clipping diodes are NOS germanium. Clearly, the Archer aspires to be as Klon-like as possible, as if that weren't already clear from the round oxblood knobs and a weapon-wielding mascot with hooved hindquarters. Mission accomplished! While all five of these pedals get close to the Klon sound, Archer is one of the nearest dead-ringers. I wouldn't be able to differentiate the Klon and the Archer in a blind listening test.
RatingsPros:Absurdly low price. Dual buffer and gain modes. Good tones. Cons: Klon-like, but not quite as Klonic as some options. Inexpensively made. No battery compartment. Street: $69 NUX Effects Horseman nuxefx.com | Tones: Ease of Use: Build/Design:  Value: |
NUX Horseman
Original “horsie" Klons currently fetch $3,000 on Ebay. For that price, you can buy 43 1/2 NUX Horseman pedals. Yup—this klone sells for a mere $69. It's the only contestant to be built in China. (All the others are made in the U.S.)
The Horseman's stable is a tiny AA-sized enclosure, which means there's no battery compartment. That makes it about 1/6 the size of the original Klon. It's a bit surreal to see that legendary circuit crammed into a device requiring only a sliver of pedalboard space. Unsurprisingly, given its low cost, the parts and build quality don't quite match those of the pricier options. But you can't argue with the Horseman's excellent tones.
The electronics layout is interesting, with two circuit boards facing in toward each other. Silicon Schottky diodes replace the original's germanium parts. Compared to the Klon, the Horseman's tones are marginally less sparkly and a bit boomier below 200 Hz. Transients are slightly less crisp. But even if this pedal's sound is the easiest to differentiate from the vintage Klon, it's still awfully close. I'd have no qualms gigging with this bargain-priced burner.
The Horseman can do a few extra stunts. Like the EHX Soul Food, it offers a choice of true or buffered bypass, depending on whether you hold the bypass switch down during startup. Again, the sonic differences are usually negligible, though the setting can affect the tones of retro-style fuzzes placed after the Horseman in the signal chain. You can also press the footswitch for a few seconds to select between “gold" and “silver" modes. According to NUX, gold mimics the gain character of the original bronze Klon, while silver evokes later silver-colored models, which are a bit gainier. Yes, high-gain silver mode settings are slightly more distorted than the same settings in gold mode, though the distinctions remain subtle. A small secondary LED indicates the status.
RatingsPros:Highly accurate Klon tones. Excellent build. Ultra-compact. Cons: No battery compartment. Street: $149 Wampler Tumnus wamplerpedals.com
| Tones: Ease of Use: Build/Design: Value: |
Wampler Tumnus
Brian Wampler's pint-sized klone replaces the horsie with a goatie. The pedal is named for Mr. Tumnus, the friendly faun from C.S. Lewis's Narnia books. It occupies a tiny AA box like the NUX Horseman, but it's even a bit smaller. (Obviously, there's no battery compartment.) Tumnus's build quality is superior, as you'd expect for a pedal costing twice as much. It's also attractive, with its enclosure painted a deep gold color and bedecked with subtle figuration.
Tumnus nails the original Klon tone with great accuracy. This is interesting, given that it employs surface-mount silicon diodes in lieu of germanium. Clearly, you could argue that it's a further refutation of claims that rare diodes are essential for Klon-like tones. Again, I refer you to the second part of the relevant clips in the Gain Control playlist, where diode color is most evident. Even here, the two sounds are almost indistinguishable.
Wampler also loaned us their newer Tumnus Deluxe pedal. We don't have space for a standalone review, but we can summarize what it brings to the party: The control layout on the relatively large 125B-sized enclosure retains the usual treble-cut tone control (which functions just as it does on the original) but adds active bass and midrange controls. There's also a buffer bypass switch and a “hot" switch that boosts gain.
The Deluxe model can sound as Klon-like as the mini version, but it can also veer in different directions. The bass control can add thudding lows and low mids that you won't get from a straight klone. The midrange control also unlocks many new sounds. At extreme settings, this filter gets nasal and resonant, almost like a notched wah pedal. There's a demo clip in the Extras playlist called 1. Tumnus Deluxe (various settings), where I work the tone controls while the demo riff plays. On a Klon, it's hard to dial in a bad sound. The Tumnus Deluxe makes it easier—underscoring the balance and smart design behind the original control set. Of course, those “bad" sounds may be perfect in context and represent interesting possibilities. Notice how thrashy everything gets when I flick on the high gain switch at around 1:08. At $199, Tumnus Deluxe is perfect for a player who wants great straightforward Klon overdrive and many usable variants.
RatingsPros:Excellent overdrive sounds. Quality build. Germanium diodes. Cons: Ever-so-slight bump in low-mids might distract some original Klon purists. Street: $129 Way Huge Conspiracy Theory jimdunlop.com
| Tones: Ease of Use: Build/Design: Value: |
Way Huge Conspiracy Theory
Way Huge's Conspiracy Theory is yet another fine-sounding Klon klone. It uses modern surface-mount parts, except for a pair of NOS germanium diodes. The op amps are TL072s. Its folded-metal enclosure matches the scaled-down proportions of the J. Rockett Archer, but the material is light aluminum rather than heavy steel. (At $129, the Conspiracy Theory is $70 cheaper, too.) Red pointer knobs and a gold finish evoke the original Klon design. The scaled-down enclosure is still large enough to accommodate a battery.
The Conspiracy Theory's voice is ever so slightly warmer/darker than that of the original Klon, with just a hair more low-mid weight under 500 Hz or so. I still gave this pedal a maximum tone score, because the differences are extremely subtle, and some players will probably prefer the Conspiracy Theory's slightly warmer character—if they notice it at all.
The Verdict
All five of these effects get very close to the sound of a first-generation Klon Centaur. In other words, they sound terrific! Reviewing them taught me a lot about the original—most notably the fact that its character has little to do with specific clipping diodes, despite countless claims to the contrary. The J. Rockett Archer uses old-school germanium diodes, and it's nearly indistinguishable from the Klon. But then so is the Wampler Tumnus, which substitutes silicon surface mount diodes. As far as I'm concerned, the germanium clipping diode is a big, fat red herring.
The Electro-Harmonix Soul Food gets close to Klon despite using silicon clipping diodes. At $86, it's a steal. At high-gain settings it's ever so slightlybrighter than the original, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. It even comes with an adapter.
J. Rockett's Archer, with its germanium clipping diodes, is the Klon's sonic twin. It's easily the most rugged of the klones, with a reassuring heft that evokes the original. But quality isn't cheap—at $199, the Archer is the most expensive option. If cost is no object, it's my No. 1 pick.
Nux Effects' Horseman sells for a remarkably low $69. Of the five pedals, it's the easiest to distinguish from the original Klon, but that's not saying much. It still gets quite close, and some players may even prefer its slightly rougher sound. Its AA-sized enclosure is a panacea for overpopulated pedalboards. This is the no-brainer bargain pick.
Wampler's $149 Tumnus is pretty and petite in its tiny AA enclosure. It rivals the Archer for most authentic Klon sound, even though it employs silicon diodes. The construction is lovely. We also took a quick peek at the $199 Tumnus Deluxe, which adds a high-gain mode and 3-band tone stack that yield many variations on the famous formula.
Way Huge's Conspiracy Theory also gets extremely close to the Klon sound. It sometimes sounds a wee bit warmer/darker, but some players may prefer this profile, assuming they ever notice it. It's the least expensive option to include germanium diodes.
Admittedly, it sounds terminally wimpy to conclude with, “Gosh, they all sound great." But it just happens to be true. (Well, they are clones!) I'd use any of these onstage or in the studio without hesitation. Your choice may be more about price and pedal size than any minor tonal discrepancies.
Oh, one last fun detail: After recording all the re-amped examples into a single Logic Pro session, I thought it might be fun to hear the Klon and the five klones simultaneously. That's the last item in the Extra playlist (All at Once!.mp3). I panned the six tracks in stereo, but there's no additional processing. I expected a bloody mess. But it sounds pretty much like a Klon—just like everything else here.
Other Affordable Klone Options
Chellee Ponyboy, $119 street, chellee.comJoyo Tauren, $54, joyo.com
Keeley Oxblood, $199 street, robertkeeley.com
MXR Sugar Drive, $120 street, jimdunlop.com
[Updated 9/10/21]
- What Does It Even Mean When We Say a Pedal Is "Transparent"? - Premier Guitar ›
- Builder Profile: Klon's Bill Finnegan - Premier Guitar ›
- Killer Pedals Under $100 - Premier Guitar ›
- 76Owl Owldrive Review - Premier Guitar ›
- Interstellar Audio Machines Introduces the Octonaut Hyperdrive - Premier Guitar ›
- Mod Garage: How to Triple Shot Your Humbuckers - Premier Guitar ›
Keith Urban’s first instrument was a ukulele at age 4. When he started learning guitar two years later, he complained that it made his fingers hurt. Eventually, he came around. As did the world.
He’s in the Songwriters Hall of Fame. He’s won 13 Country Music Association Awards, nine CMT video awards, eight ARIA (Australian Recording Industry Association) Awards, four American Music Awards, and racked up BMI Country Awards for 25 different singles.
He’s been a judge on American Idol and The Voice. In conjunction with Yamaha, he has his own brand of affordably priced Urban guitars and amps, and he has posted beginner guitar lessons on YouTube. His 2014 Academy of Country Music Award-winning video for “Highways Don’t Care” featured Tim McGraw and Keith’s former opening act, Taylor Swift. Add his marriage to fellow Aussie, the actress Nicole Kidman, and he’s seen enough red carpet to cover a football field.
Significantly, his four Grammys were all for Country Male Vocal Performance. A constant refrain among newcomers is, “and he’s a really good guitar player,” as if by surprise or an afterthought. Especially onstage, his chops are in full force. There are country elements, to be sure, but rock, blues, and pop influences like Mark Knopfler are front and center.
Unafraid to push the envelope, 2020’s The Speed of Now Part 1 mixed drum machines, processed vocals, and a duet with Pink with his “ganjo”—an instrument constructed of a 6-string guitar neck on a banjo body—and even a didgeridoo. It, too, shot to No. 1 on the Billboard Country chart and climbed to No. 7 on the pop chart.
His new release, High, is more down-to-earth, but is not without a few wrinkles. He employs an EBow on “Messed Up As Me” and, on “Wildfire,” makes use of a sequencerreminiscent of ZZ Top’s “Legs.” Background vocals in “Straight Lines” imitate a horn section, and this time out he duets on “Go Home W U” with rising country star Lainey Wilson. The video for “Heart Like a Hometown” is full of home movies and family photos of a young Urban dwarfed by even a 3/4-size Suzuki nylon-string.
Born Keith Urbahn (his surname’s original spelling) in New Zealand, his family moved to Queensland, Australia, when he was 2. He took up guitar at 6, two years after receiving his beloved ukulele. He released his self-titled debut album in 1991 for the Australian-only market, and moved to Nashville two years later. It wasn’t until ’97 that he put out a group effort, fronting the Ranch, and another self-titled album marked his American debut as a leader, in ’99. It eventually went platinum—a pattern that’s become almost routine.
The 57-year-old’s celebrity and wealth were hard-earned and certainly a far cry from his humble beginnings. “Australia is a very working-class country, certainly when I was growing up, and I definitely come from working-class parents,” he details. “My dad loved all the American country artists, like Johnny Cash, Haggard, Waylon. He didn’t play professionally, but before he got married he played drums in a band, and my grandfather and uncles all played instruments.
One of Urban’s biggest influences as a young guitar player was Mark Knopfler, but he was also mesmerized by lesser-known session musicians such as Albert Lee, Ian Bairnson, Reggie Young, and Ray Flacke. Here, he’s playing a 1950 Broadcaster once owned by Waylon Jennings that was a gift from Nicole Kidman, his wife.
“For me, it was a mix of that and Top 40 radio, which at the time was much more diverse than it is now. You would just hear way more genres, and Australia itself had its own, what they call Aussie pub rock—very blue-collar, hard-driving music for the testosterone-fueled teenager. Grimy, sweaty, kind of raw themes.”
A memorable event happened when he was 7. “My dad got tickets for the whole family to see Johnny Cash. He even bought us little Western shirts and bolo ties. It was amazing.”
But the ukulele he was gifted a few years earlier, at the age of 4, became a constant companion. “I think to some degree it was my version of the stuffed animal, something that was mine, and I felt safe with it. My dad said I would strum it in time to all the songs on the radio, and he told my mom, ‘He’s got rhythm. I wonder what a good age is for him to learn chords.’ My mom and dad ran a little corner store, and a lady named Sue McCarthy asked if she could put an ad in the window offering guitar lessons. They said, ‘If you teach our kid for free, we’ll put your ad in the window.’”
Yet, guitar didn’t come without problems. “With the guitar, my fingers hurt like hell,” he laughs, “and I started conveniently leaving the house whenever the guitar teacher would show up. Typical kid. I don’t wanna learn, I just wanna be able to do it. It didn’t feel like any fun. My dad called me in and went, ‘What the hell? The teacher comes here for lessons. What’s the problem?’ I said I didn’t want to do it anymore. He just said, ‘Okay, then don’t do it.’ Kind of reverse psychology, right? So I just stayed with it and persevered. Once I learned a few chords, it was the same feeling when any of us learn how to be moving on a bike with two wheels and nobody holding us up. That’s what those first chords felt like in my hands.”
Keith Urban's Gear
Urban has 13 Country Music Association Awards, nine CMT video awards, eight ARIA Awards, and four Grammys to his name—the last of which are all for Best Country Male Vocal Performance.
Guitars
For touring:
- Maton Diesel Special
- Maton EBG808TE Tommy Emmanuel Signature
- 1957 Gibson Les Paul Junior, TV yellow
- 1959 Gibson ES-345 (with Varitone turned into a master volume)
- Fender 40th Anniversary Tele, “Clarence”
- Two first-generation Fender Eric Clapton Stratocasters (One is black with DiMarzio Area ’67 pickups, standard tuning. The other is pewter gray, loaded with Fralin “real ’54” pickups, tuned down a half-step.)
- John Bolin Telecaster (has a Babicz bridge with a single humbucker and a single volume control. Standard tuning.)
- PRS Paul’s Guitar (with two of their narrowfield humbuckers. Standard tuning.)
- Yamaha Keith Urban Acoustic Guitar (with EMG ACS soundhole pickups)
- Deering “ganjo”
Amps
- Mid-’60s black-panel Fender Showman (modified by Chris Miller, with oversized transformers to power 6550 tubes; 130 watts)
- 100-watt Dumble Overdrive Special (built with reverb included)
- Two Pacific Woodworks 1x12 ported cabinets (Both are loaded with EV BlackLabel Zakk Wylde signature speakers and can handle 300 watts each.)
Effects
- Two Boss SD-1W Waza Craft Super Overdrives with different settings
- Mr. Black SuperMoon Chrome
- FXengineering RAF Mirage Compressor
- Ibanez TS9 with Tamura Mod
- Boss BD-2 Blues Driver
- J. Rockett Audio .45 Caliber Overdrive
- Pro Co RAT 2
- Radial Engineering JX44 (for guitar distribution)
- Fractal Audio Axe-Fx XL+ (for acoustic guitars)
- Two Fractal Audio Axe-Fx III (one for electric guitar, one for bass)
- Bricasti Design Model 7 Stereo Reverb Processor
- RJM Effect Gizmo (for pedal loops)
(Note: All delays, reverb, chorus, etc. is done post amp. The signal is captured with microphones first then processed by Axe-Fx and other gear.)
- Shure Axient Digital Wireless Microphone System
Strings & Picks
- D’Addario NYXL (.011–.049; electric)
- D’Addario EJ16 (.012–.053; acoustics)
- D’Addario EJ16, for ganjo (.012–.053; much thicker than a typical banjo strings)
- D’Addario 1.0 mm signature picks
He vividly remembers the first song he was able to play after “corny songs like ‘Mama’s little baby loves shortnin’ bread.’” He recalls, “There was a song I loved by the Stylistics, ‘You Make Me Feel Brand New.’ My guitar teacher brought in the sheet music, so not only did I have the words, but above them were the chords. I strummed the first chord, and went, [sings E to Am] ‘My love,’ and then minor, ‘I'll never find the words, my,’ back to the original chord, ‘love.’ Even now, I get covered in chills thinking what it felt like to sing and put that chord sequence together.”
After the nylon-string Suzuki, he got his first electric at 9. “It was an Ibanez copy of a Telecaster Custom—the classic dark walnut with the mother-of-pearl pickguard. My first Fender was a Stratocaster. I wanted one so badly. I’d just discovered Mark Knopfler, and I only wanted a red Strat, because that’s what Knopfler had. And he had a red Strat because of Hank Marvin. All roads lead to Hank!”
He clarifies, “Remember a short-lived run of guitar that Fender did around 1980–’81, simply called ‘the Strat’? I got talked into buying one of those, and the thing weighed a ton. Ridiculously heavy. But I was just smitten when it arrived. ‘Sultans of Swing’ was the first thing I played on it. ‘Oh my god! I sound a bit like Mark.’”
“Messed Up As Me” has some licks reminiscent of Knopfler. “I think he influenced a huge amount of my fingerpicking and melodic choices. I devoured those records more than any other guitar player. ‘Tunnel of Love,’ ‘Love over Gold,’ ‘Telegraph Road,’ the first Dire Straits album, and Communique. I was spellbound by Mark’s touch, tone, and melodic choice every time.”
Other influences are more obscure. “There were lots of session guitar players whose solos I was loving, but had no clue who they were,” he explains. “A good example was Ian Bairnson in the Scottish band Pilot and the Alan Parsons Project. It was only in the last handful of years that I stumbled upon him and did a deep dive, and realized he played the solo on ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Kate Bush, ‘Eye in the Sky’ by Alan Parsons, ‘It’s Magic’ and ‘January’ by Pilot—all these songs that spoke to me growing up. I also feel like a lot of local-band guitar players are inspirations—they certainly were to me. They didn’t have a name, the band wasn’t famous, but when you’re 12 or 13, watching Barry Clough and guys in cover bands, it’s, ‘Man, I wish I could play like that.’”
On High, Urban keeps things song-oriented, playing short and economical solos.
In terms of country guitarists, he nods, “Again, a lot of session players whose names I didn’t know, like Reggie Young. The first names I think would be Albert Lee and Ray Flacke, whose chicken pickin’ stuff on the Ricky Skaggs records became a big influence. ‘How is he doing that?’”
Flacke played a role in a humorous juxtaposition. “I camped out to see Iron Maiden,” Urban recounts. “They’d just put out Number of the Beast, and I was a big fan. I was 15, so my hormones were raging. I’d been playing country since I was 6, 7, 8 years old. But this new heavy metal thing is totally speaking to me. So I joined a heavy metal band called Fractured Mirror, just as their guitar player. At the same time, I also discovered Ricky Skaggs and Highways and Heartaches. What is this chicken pickin’ thing? One night I was in the metal band, doing a Judas Priest song or Saxon. They threw me a solo, and through my red Strat, plugged into a Marshall stack that belonged to the lead singer, I shredded this high-distortion, chicken pickin’ solo. The lead singer looked at me like, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I got fired from the band.”
Although at 15 he “floated around different kinds of music and bands,” when he was 21 he saw John Mellencamp. “He’d just put out Lonesome Jubilee. I’d been in bands covering ‘Hurts So Good,' ‘Jack & Diane,’ and all the early shit. This record had fiddle and mandolin and acoustic guitars, wall of electrics, drums—the most amazing fusion of things. I saw that concert, and this epiphany happened so profoundly. I looked at the stage and thought, ‘Whoa! I get it. You take all your influences and make your own thing. That’s what John did. I’m not gonna think about genre; I’m gonna take all the things I love and find my way.’
“Of course, getting to Nashville with that recipe wasn’t going to fly in 1993,” he laughs. “Took me another seven-plus years to really start getting some traction in that town.”
Urban’s main amp today is a Dumble Overdrive Reverb, which used to belong to John Mayer. He also owns a bass amp that Alexander Dumble built for himself.
Photo by Jim Summaria
When it comes to “crossover” in country music, one thinks of Glen Campbell, Kenny Rogers, Garth Brooks, and Dolly Parton’s more commercial singles like “Two Doors Down.” Regarding the often polarizing subject and, indeed, what constitutes country music, it’s obvious that Urban has thought a lot—and probably been asked a lot—about the syndrome. The Speed of Now Part 1 blurs so many lines, it makes Shania Twain sound like Mother Maybelle Carter. Well, almost.
“I can’t speak for any other artists, but to me, it’s always organic,” he begins. “Anybody that’s ever seen me play live would notice that I cover a huge stylistic field of music, incorporating my influences, from country, Top 40, rock, pop, soft rock, bluegrass, real country. That’s how you get songs like ‘Kiss a Girl’—maybe more ’70s influence than anything else.”
“I think [Mark Knopfler] influenced a huge amount of my fingerpicking and melodic choices. I devoured those records more than any other guitar player.”
Citing ’50s producers Chet Atkins and Owen Bradley, who moved the genre from hillbilly to the more sophisticated countrypolitan, Keith argues, “In the history of country music, this is exactly the same as it has always been. Patsy Cline doing ‘Walking After Midnight’ or ‘Crazy’; it ain’t Bob Wills. It ain’t Hank Williams. It’s a new sound, drawing on pop elements. That’s the 1950s, and it has never changed. I’ve always seen country like a lung, that expands outwards because it embraces new sounds, new artists, new fusions, to find a bigger audience. Then it feels, ‘We’ve lost our way. Holy crap, I don’t even know who we are,’ and it shrinks back down again. Because a purist in the traditional sense comes along, whether it be Ricky Skaggs or Randy Travis. The only thing that I think has changed is there’s portals now for everything, which didn’t used to exist. There isn’t one central control area that would yell at everybody, ‘You’ve got to bring it back to the center.’ I don’t know that we have that center anymore.”
Stating his position regarding the current crop of talent, he reflects, “To someone who says, ‘That’s not country music,’ I always go, “‘It’s not your country music; it’s somebody else’s country music.’ I don’t believe anybody has a right to say something’s not anything. It’s been amazing watching this generation actually say, ‘Can we get back to a bit of purity? Can we get real guitars and real storytelling?’ So you’ve seen the explosion of Zach Bryan and Tyler Childers who are way purer than the previous generation of country music.”
Seen performing here in 2003, Urban is celebrated mostly for his songwriting, but is also an excellent guitarist.
Photo by Steve Trager/Frank White Photo Agency
As for the actual recording process, he notes, “This always shocks people, but ‘Chattahoochee’ by Alan Jackson is all drum machine. I write songs on acoustic guitar and drum machine, or drum machine and banjo. Of course, you go into the studio and replace that with a drummer. But my very first official single, in 1999, was ‘It’s a Love Thing,’ and it literally opens with a drum loop and an acoustic guitar riff. Then the drummer comes in. But the loop never goes away, and you hear it crystal clear. I haven’t changed much about that approach.”
On the road, Urban utilizes different electrics “almost always because of different pickups—single-coil, humbucker, P-90. And then one that’s tuned down a half-step for a few songs in half-keys. Tele, Strat, Les Paul, a couple of others for color. I’ve got a John Bolin guitar that I love—the feel of it. It’s a Tele design with just one PAF, one volume knob, no tone control. It’s very light, beautifully balanced—every string, every fret, all the way up the neck. It doesn’t have a lot of tonal character of its own, so it lets my fingers do the coloring. You can feel the fingerprints of Billy Gibbons on this guitar. It’s very Billy.”
“I looked at the stage and thought, ‘Whoa! I get it. You take all your influences and make your own thing. I’m gonna take all the things I love and find my way.’”
Addressing his role as the collector, “or acquirer,” as he says, some pieces have quite a history. “I haven’t gone out specifically thinking, ‘I’m missing this from the collection.’ I feel really lucky to have a couple of very special guitars. I got Waylon Jennings’ guitar in an auction. It was one he had all through the ’70s, wrapped in the leather and the whole thing. In the ’80s, he gave it to Reggie Young, who owned it for 25 years or so and eventually put it up for auction. My wife wanted to give it to me for my birthday. I was trying to bid on it, and she made sure that I couldn’t get registered! When it arrived, I discovered it’s a 1950 Broadcaster—which is insane. I had no idea. I just wanted it because I’m a massive Waylon fan, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that guitar disappearing overseas under somebody’s bed, when it should be played.
“I also have a 1951 Nocaster, which used to belong to Tom Keifer in Cinderella. It’s the best Telecaster I’ve ever played, hands down. It has the loudest, most ferocious pickup, and the wood is amazing.”
YouTube
Urban plays a Gibson SG here at the 2023 CMT Music Awards. Wait until the end to see him show off his shred abilities.
Other favorites include “a first-year Strat, ’54, that I love, and a ’58 goldtop. I also own a ’58 ’burst, but prefer the goldtop; it’s just a bit more spanky and lively. I feel abundantly blessed with the guitars I’ve been able to own and play. And I think every guitar should be played, literally. There’s no guitar that’s too precious to be played.”
Speaking of precious, there are also a few Dumble amps that elicit “oohs” and “aahs.” “Around 2008, John Mayer had a few of them, and he wanted to part with this particular Overdrive Special head. When he told me the price, I said, ‘That sounds ludicrous.’ He said, ‘How much is your most expensive guitar?’ It was three times the value of the amp. He said, ‘So that’s one guitar. What amp are you plugging all these expensive guitars into?’ I was like, ‘Sold. I guess when you look at it that way.’ It’s just glorious. It actually highlighted some limitations in some guitars I never noticed before.”
“It’s just glorious. It actually highlighted some limitations in some guitars I never noticed before.”
Keith also developed a relationship with the late Alexander Dumble. “We emailed back and forth, a lot of just life stuff and the beautifully eccentric stuff he was known for. His vocabulary was as interesting as his tubes and harmonic understanding. My one regret is that he invited me out to the ranch many times, and I was never able to go. Right now, my main amp is an Overdrive Reverb that also used to belong to John when he was doing the John Mayer Trio. I got it years later. And I have an Odyssey, which was Alexander’s personal bass amp that he built for himself. I sent all the details to him, and he said, ‘Yeah, that’s my amp.’”
The gearhead in Keith doesn’t even mind minutiae like picks and strings. “I’ve never held picks with the pointy bit hitting the string. I have custom picks that D’Addario makes for me. They have little grippy ridges like on Dunlops and Hercos, but I have that section just placed in one corner. I can use a little bit of it on the string, or I can flip it over. During the pandemic, I decided to go down a couple of string gauges. I was getting comfortable on .009s, and I thought, ‘Great. I’ve lightened up my playing.’ Then the very first gig, I was bending the crap out of them. So I went to .010s, except for a couple of guitars that are .011s.”
As with his best albums, High is song-oriented; thus, solos are short and economical. “Growing up, I listened to songs where the guitar was just in support of that song,” he reasons. “If the song needs a two-bar break, and then you want to hear the next vocal section, that’s what it needs. If it sounds like it needs a longer guitar section, then that’s what it needs. There’s even a track called ‘Love Is Hard’ that doesn’t have any solo. It’s the first thing I’ve ever recorded in my life where I literally don’t play one instrument. Eren Cannata co-wrote it [with Shane McAnally and Justin Tranter], and I really loved the demo with him playing all the instruments. I loved it so much I just went with his acoustic guitar. I’m that much in service of the song.”
Originally released in the 1980s, the Victory has long been a cult favorite among guitarists for its distinctive double cutaway design and excellent upper-fret access. These new models feature flexible electronics, enhanced body contours, improved weight and balance, and an Explorer headstock shape.
A Cult Classic Made Modern
The new Victory features refined body contours, improved weight and balance, and an updated headstock shape based on the popular Gibson Explorer.
Effortless Playing
With a fast-playing SlimTaper neck profile and ebony fretboard with a compound radius, the Victory delivers low action without fret buzz everywhere on the fretboard.
Flexible Electronics
The two 80s Tribute humbucker pickups are wired to push/pull master volume and tone controls for coil splitting and inner/outer coil selection when the coils are split.
For more information, please visit gibson.com.
Gibson Victory Figured Top Electric Guitar - Iguana Burst
Released in 1983, the Roland SDE-3000 rackmount delay was a staple for pro players of the era and remains revered for its rich analog/digital hybrid sound and distinctive modulation. BOSS reimagined this retro classic in 2023 with the acclaimed SDE-3000D and SDE-3000EVH, two wide-format pedals with stereo sound, advanced features, and expanded connectivity. The SDE-3 brings the authentic SDE-3000 vibe to a streamlined BOSS compact, enhanced with innovative creative tools for every musical style. The SDE-3 delivers evocative delay sounds that drip with warmth and musicality. The efficient panel provides the primary controls of its vintage benchmark—including delay time, feedback, and independent rate and depth knobs for the modulation—plus additional knobs for expanded sonic potential.
A wide range of tones are available, from basic mono delays and ’80s-style mod/delay combos to moody textures for ambient, chill, and lo-fi music. Along with reproducing the SDE-3000's original mono sound, the SDE-3 includes a powerful Offset knob to create interesting tones with two simultaneous delays. With one simple control, the user can instantly add a second delay to the primary delay. This provides a wealth of mono and stereo colors not available with other delay pedals, including unique doubled sounds and timed dual delays with tap tempo control. The versatile SDE-3 provides output configurations to suit any stage or studio scenario.
Two stereo modes include discrete left/right delays and a panning option for ultra-wide sounds that move across the stereo field. Dry and effect-only signals can be sent to two amps for wet/dry setups, and the direct sound can be muted for studio mixing and parallel effect rigs. The SDE-3 offers numerous control options to enhance live and studio performances. Tap tempo mode is available with a press and hold of the pedal switch, while the TRS MIDI input can be used to sync the delay time with clock signals from DAWs, pedals, and drum machines. Optional external footswitches provide on-demand access to tap tempo and a hold function for on-the-fly looping. Alternately, an expression pedal can be used to control the Level, Feedback, and Time knobs for delay mix adjustment, wild pitch effects, and dramatic self-oscillation.
The new BOSS SDE-3 Dual Delay Pedal will be available for purchase at authorized U.S. BOSS retailers in October for $219.99. To learn more, visit www.boss.info.
English singer-songwriter Robyn Hitchcock is as recognizable by tone, lyrics, and his vibrantly hued clothing choices as the sound of Miles Davis’ horn.
Itchycoo Park
“I like my songs, but I don’t necessarily think I’m the best singer of them,” he effaces to me over Zoom, as it’s approaching midnight where he’s staying in London. “I just wanted to be a singer-songwriter because that’s what Bob Dylan did. And I like to create; I’m happiest when I’m producing something. But my records are blueprints, really. They just show you what the song could be, but they’re not necessarily the best performance of them. Whereas if you listen to … oh, I don’t know, the great records of ’67, they actually sound like the best performances you could get.”
He mentions that particular year not offhandedly, but because that’s the theme of the conversation: He’s just released an album, 1967: Vacations in the Past, which is a collection of covers of songs released in 1967, and one original song—the title track. Boasting his takes on Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” the Beatles’ “A Day in the Life,” Pink Floyd’s “See Emily Play,” and Small Faces’ “Itchycoo Park,” among eight other tracks, it serves as a sort of soundtrack or musical accompaniment to his new memoir, 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left.
Hitchcock, who was 14 years old and attending boarding school in England in 1967, describes how who he is today is encased in that period of his life, much like a mosquito in amber. But why share that with the world now?
In the mid ’70s, before he launched his solo career, Hitchcock was the leader of the psychedelic group the Soft Boys.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/tinnitus photography
“I’m 71; I’ve been alive quite a long time,” he shares. “If I want to leave a record of anything apart from all the songs I’ve written, now is a good time to do it. By writing about 1966 to ’67, I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
Hopefully, I say, the publication of these works won’t ring as some sort of death knell for him.
“Well, it’s a relative death knell,” he replies. “But everyone’s on the conveyor belt. We all go over the edge. And none of our legacies are permanent. Even the plastic chairs and Coke bottles and stuff like that that we’re leaving behind.... In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth. But I suppose you do probably get to an age where you want to try and explain yourself, maybe to yourself. Maybe it’s me that needs to read the book, you know?”
“I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
To counter his description of his songs above, I would say that Hitchcock’s performances on 1967: Vacations in the Past carve out their own deserved little planet in the vintage-rock Milky Way. I was excited in particular by some of his selections: the endorsement of foundational prog in the Procol Harum cover; the otherwise forgotten Traffic tune, “No Face, No Name and No Number,” off of Mr. Fantasy, the Mamas & the Papas’ nostalgic “San Francisco,” and of course, the aforementioned Floyd single. There’s also the lesser known “My White Bicycle” by Tomorrow and “I Can Hear the Grass Grow” by the Move, and the Hendrix B-side, “Burning of the Midnight Lamp.”
Through these recordings, Hitchcock pays homage to “that lovely time when people were inventing new strands of music, and they couldn’t define them,” he replies. “People didn’t really know what to call Pink Floyd. Was it jazz, or was it pop, or psychedelia, or freeform, or systems music?”
His renditions call to mind a cooking reduction, defined by Wikipedia as “the process of thickening and intensifying the flavor of a liquid mixture, such as a soup, sauce, wine, or juice, by simmering or boiling.” Hitchcock’s distinctive, classic folk-singer voice and steel-string-guided arrangements do just that to this iconic roster. There are some gentle twists and turns—Eastern-instrumental touches; subtly applied, ethereal delay and reverb, and the like—but nothing that should cloud the revived conduit to the listener’s memory of the originals.
And yet, here’s his review of his music, in general: “I hear [my songs] back and I think, ‘God, my voice is horrible! This is just … ugh! Why do I sing through my nose like that?’ And the answer is because Bob Dylan sang through his nose, you know. I was just singing through Bob Dylan’s nose, really.”
1967: Vacations in the Pastfeatures 11 covers of songs that were released in 1967, and one original song—the title track.
❦
“I wait for songs to come to me: They’re independent like cats, rather than like dogs who will faithfully trail you everywhere,” Hitchcock explains, sharing about his songwriting process. “All I can do is leave a plate of food out for the songs—in the form of my open mind—and hope they will appear in there, hungry for my neural pathways.”
Once he’s domesticated the wild idea, he says, “It’s important to remain as unselfconscious as possible in the [writing] process. If I start worrying about composing the next line, the embryonic song slips away from me. Often I’m left with a verse-and-a-half and an unresolved melody because my creation has lost its innocence and fled from my brain.
“[Then] there are times when creativity itself is simply not what’s called for: You just have to do some more living until the songs appear again. That’s as close as I can get to describing the process, which still, thankfully, remains mysterious to me after all this time.”
“In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth.”
In the prose of 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left, Hitchcock expresses himself similarly to how he does so distinctively in his lyrics and speech. Amidst his tales of roughing his first experiences in the infamously ruthless environs of English boarding school, he shares an abundance of insight about his parents and upbringing, as well as a self-diagnosis of having Asperger’s syndrome—whose name is now gradually becoming adapted in modern lexicon to “low-support-needs” autism spectrum disorder. When I touch on the subject, he reaffirms the observation, and elaborates, “I think I probably am also OCD, whatever that means. I’ve always been obsessed with trying to get things in the right order.”
He relates an anecdote about his school days: “So, if I got out of lunch—‘Yippee! I’ve got three hours to dress like a hippie before they put me back in my school clothes. Oh damn, I’ve put the purple pants on, but actually, I should put the red ones on. No! I put the red ones on; it’s not good—I’ll put my jeans on.’
Robyn Hitchcock's Gear
Hitchcock in 1998, after embarking on the tour behind one of his earlier acoustic albums, Moss Elixir.
Guitars
- Two Fylde Olivia acoustics equipped with Sennheiser II lavalier mics (for touring)
- Larrivée acoustic
- Fender Telecaster
- Fender Stratocaster
Strings & Picks
- Elixir .011–.052 (acoustic)
- Ernie Ball Skinny Top Heavy Bottom .010–.054 (electric)
- Dunlop 1.0 mm
“I’d just get into a real state. And then the only thing that would do would be listening to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart. There was something about Trout Mask that was so liberating that I thought, ‘Oh, I don’t care what trousers I’m wearing. This is just, whoa! This music is it.’”
With him having chosen to cover “See Emily Play,” a Syd Barrett composition, the conversation soon turns to the topic of the late, troubled songwriter. I comment, “It’s hard to listen to Syd’s solo records.... It’s weird that people enabled that. You can hear him losing his mind.”
“You can, but at the same time, the fact they enabled it means that these things did come out,” Robyn counters. “And he obviously had nothing else to give after that. So, at least, David Gilmour and the old Floyd guys.... It meant they gave the world those songs, which, although the performances are quite … rickety, quite fragile, they’re incredibly beautiful songs. There’s nothing forced about Barrett. He can only be himself.”
“There was something about Trout Mask Replica that was so liberating that I thought, ‘Oh, I don’t care what trousers I’m wearing. This is just, whoa!’”
I briefly compare Barrett to singer-songwriter Daniel Johnston, and we agree there are some similarities. And then with a segue, ask, “When did you first fall in love with the guitar? Was it when you came home from boarding school and found the guitar your parents gifted you on your bed?”
Robyn pauses thoughtfully.“Ah, I think I liked the idea of the guitar probably around that time,” he shares. “I always used to draw men with guns. I’m not really macho, but I had a very kind of post-World War II upbringing where men were always carrying guns. And I thought, ‘Well, if he’s a man, he’s got to carry a gun.’ Then, around the age of 13, I swapped the gun for the guitar. And then every man I drew was carrying a guitar instead.”
Elaborating on getting his first 6-string, he says, “I had lessons from a man who had three fingers bent back from an industrial accident. He was a nice old man with whiskers, and he showed me how to get the guitar in tune and what the basic notes were. And then I got hold of a Bob Dylan songbook, and—‘Oh my gosh, I can play “Mr. Tambourine Man!”’ It was really fast—about 10 minutes between not being able to play anything, and suddenly being able to play songs by my heroes.”
❦
Hitchcock does me the kindness, during our atypically deep conversation—at least, for a press interview—of sharing more acute perceptions of his parents, and their own neurodivergence. Ultimately, he feels that his mother didn’t necessarily like him, but loved the idea of him—and that later in life, he came to better understand his lonely, depressive father. “My mother was protective but in an oddly cold way. People are like that,” he shares. “We just contain so many things that don’t make sense with each other: colors that you would not mix as a painter; themes you would not intermingle as a writer; characters you would not create.... We defy any sense of balance or harmony.
“Although the performances are quite rickety, quite fragile, they’re incredibly beautiful songs. There’s nothing forced about Barrett. He can only be himself.”
“The idea of normality.... ‘Normal’ is tautological,” he continues. “Nothing is normal. A belief in normality is an aberration. It’s a form of insanity, I think.
“It’s just hard for us to accept ourselves because we’re brought up with the myth of normality, and the myth of what people are supposed to be like gender-wise, sex-wise, and psychologically what we’re supposed to want. And in a way, some of that’s beginning to melt, now. But that probably just causes more confusion. It’s no wonder people like me want to live in 1967.”
YouTube It
In this excerpt from the Jonathan Demme-directed concert film of Robyn Hitchcock, Storefront Hitchcock, the songwriter performs an absurdist “upbeat” song about a man who dies of cancer.