Soundgarden’s legendary guitar slinger is honored with a versatile signature model that’s fit for paisley sounds as well as molten metal.
Happily spans Black Sabbath and Beatles tones. Cool phase switch. Fast playability.
Pickups could use just a bit more air and dimension.
$899
Guild Polara Kim Thayil
guildguitars.com
Though I’ve never owned one, I’ve always thought the Guild S-100 Polara was super cool. Its riff on the Gibson SG profile—a little offset at the waist with asymmetric horns—always seemed a bit cheeky and appealed to my ’60s Fender sensibilities. Plus, it had that slick, slanted Guild tailpiece (and sometimes an even cooler Guild/Hagstrom vibrato) and those beautiful Guild HB-1 pickups. These elements appealed greatly to a contrarian kid like me.
Used S-100s were a great deal for a long time and attracted other guitarists with less cash and unconventional leanings—among them Pavement’s Steve Malkmus and revered homebrew psychedelicist Bobb Trimble. But none are more famously associated with the S-100 than Soundgarden’s Kim Thayil. Soundgarden’s rise in the 1990s probably had more than a little to do with the model’s reintroduction in the same decade. And were it not for Guild changing hands a few times in recent years, a signature version honoring Thayil probably would have come much sooner. At last, though, the Polara Kim Thayil is here—in a very limited run of 30 (very expensive) USA-built instruments, and the more readily available $899 Indonesia-built version reviewed here. It’s a solid, versatile guitar that readily speaks in voices other than de-tuned heaviness.
Fast Motor Finger
I’ve heard a few folks, including my colleague Zach Wish (who filmed our First Look video for this model) describe this Polara’s mahogany neck as “chunky.” Admittedly, that term leaves room for interpretation, but I think of chunky in terms of early 1950s Telecasters and Les Pauls. And though it can feel a bit wide at the shoulder—the source of chunky perceptions, perhaps—the Thayil Polara’s neck (which Guild calls a “vintage soft U”) is actually quite slim. In fact, it bears an uncanny resemblance to Gibson’s Slim Taper neck, which is actually a little thicker and less squared at the shoulder around frets 1 through 3. The Guild neck shares the same satisfying sense of grip as the slim taper shape up around the 12th fret, though, and on the whole it feels fast and made for ripping. Like the SG, the Polara’s neck also practically begs the player to indulge in Townshend-ian, neck-bending vibrato moves, though there is inevitably a little penalty to pay in terms of tuning stability if you get too enthused. The fretboard radius is a slightly-flatter-than-Gibson 12.5”, and big bends feel effortless right up to the 22nd fret, which, by the way, feels very accessible in spite of what looks like a very sturdy and substantial heel joint. The rosewood fretboard is a lovely piece of lumber, with subtle, pretty, undulating grain that is a nice organic contrast to the pearloid block inlay and the ivory-colored ABS binding.
”The 3-position bias switch can completely recast the sound, feel, and response of a given modulation setting as well as change the interactive dynamics of the controls.“
I’m not a big fan of gold hardware (at least until the plating wears down and takes on a warm glow). But here, against the gloss black polyurethane finish sprayed over the solid mahogany body, it actually looks quite subtle. The Grover Rotomatic 14:1 ratio tuners are, as always, an attractive, substantial-feeling addition to the hardware and feel smooth and accurate. There aren’t too many tuning machines I like more. Signature model signifiers, incidentally, are also subdued and classy—just a few bits of Soundgarden symbology on the truss rod cover and the pickup controls backplate.
More Than Mass
Kim Thayil is rightly associated with de-tuned Sabbath/Melvins chord thuggery. And his namesake Polara dishes such tones pretty effortlessly. Hook it up to a Sovtek Big Muff and drop-D riffs take on an almost comic sense of swagger. But thick chord tones are not the whole ball of wax. The alnico 2 bridge pickup (rated at 7.10k ohms of resistance) exhibits excellent string-to-string volume balance that lends it punch, but also makes it a great vehicle for jangly sounds. At times you can hear hints of a Rickenbacker Hi-Gain’s tight, ringing voice and it can be brilliantly bright. The alnico 2 neck pickup (rated at 7k ohms) is smooth and thick but retains a bit of the bridge pickup’s jangly personality. The combined voice is often the most satisfying of the three. Together, the pickups sound bright with just enough bass ballast to let a very balanced, widescreen overtone picture shine through. And like the bridge pickup setting, the two combined humbuckers sometimes surprise with how readily they pull in the direction of the Beatles rather than Black Sabbath. Cooler still, you can use the small toggle just forward of the treble volume control to put the two pickups out of phase. Depending on your pick attack and musical context, you can coax tones ranging from filtered, Jerry Garcia-with-wah snap-and-quack to Telecaster sting. The out-of-phase setting rules with fuzz, too—transforming that same Sovtek Big Muff into its super-focused and punkier mid-’60s alter ego. There is one quirk to the out-of-phase setting: Volume attenuation on either pickup can quickly turn those snarling sounds to less massive versions of the in-phase settings. Still, the ability to so totally transform the instrument’s voice with the flick of a little toggle is an endlessly fun source of flexibility.
Though the pickups yield many lovely sounds, there is a little midrange emphasis and haze around the edges that can make them sound a touch boxy, less airy, and a little less explosive compared to pickups like the alnico 5 ’60s Burstbuckers in the Gibson SG I kept at hand for comparison. But for pickups in an $899 instrument, they are lively and have ample personality.
The Verdict
When you listen to the first few Soundgarden records, you hear a lot of punchy, midrange-y tones that remind you that Kim Thayil (who, among other things, had an interest in jangly Paisley Underground bands) is about more than thick, mega-massive, woofer-busting hugeness. Fittingly, his signature Polara similarly reminds you that there is more to the mahogany-solidbody-and-humbuckers formula than rock writ large. The Thayil Polara is just as happy playing the part of George Harrison’s or Peter Buck’s guitar as it is slinging slabs of leaden grunge. It’s a great value for that multifacetedness.
Guild Polara Kim Thayil Signature Demo | First Look
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On her eighth studio release, the electroacoustic art-rock guitarist and producer animates an extension of the strange and singular voice she’s been honing since her debut in 2007.
“Did you grow up Unitarian?” Annie Clark asks me. We’re sitting in a control room at Electric Lady Studios in New York’s West Village, and I’ve just explained my personal belief system to her, to see if Clark, aka St. Vincent, might relate and return the favor. After all, does she not possess a kind of sainthood worth inquiring about?
St. Vincent - Flea (Official Audio)
But the sincere curiosity I sense in her question is charming. It hasn’t been mentioned in our conversation yet that she was partly raised Unitarian Universalist (the other part, Catholic), and it’s as if she’s innocently excited that there might exist a friendly connection between her and I, the sunny, “nonchalant” journalist who’s doing my best to hide a fair level of enthusiastic fandom and admiration for her.
“I was raised Catholic, actually,” I reply.
“I love the saints,” says Clark. “Gimme a Caravaggio any day. And Mary as a figure; I’ve always….” she trails off, wistfully. “I’ll always love Mary.” (This adds up, as under her long black coat, she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt with an icon of the Virgin Mary on it, where the religious figure also happens to be depicted as a Black woman.)
Of course, St. Vincent—who took her stage moniker from a Nick Cave lyric—isn’t meeting me at Electric Lady to muse on spirituality. We’re there to talk about her latest release, All Born Screaming—her eighth studio full-length. It also happens to be her first entirely self-produced record, and with this new 10-track collection, Clark feels a sense of celebration about her growth as an artist over the course of her career.
All Born Screaming, which grew out of multiple hours-long solo jam sessions full of “bleeps and bloops,” is St. Vincent’s first entirely self-produced record.
“I’m very lucky to be in a position where more people care about what I do now than what I did on my first record,” she shares. “Like, thank god that I didn’t just have one that people liked, and then fell off the map. I got to grow as an artist and carve out whatever little lane I have in the world by getting to follow the muse and make music that lights me up, that I believe in.”
I would agree that All Born Screaming is a rather shiny jewel to be added to St. Vincent’s experimental, electroacoustic, art-rock crown. It’s ethereal and supernatural, which is to be expected from Clark, but this time, there’s something a little different in the air. The opening, “Hell Is Near,” conjures an illusion of billowing and enveloping fog, swallowing up the audience à la Stephen King. Her floating, sneakily adept vocal at times echoes that of her good friend Carrie Brownstein on Sleater-Kinney’s release from earlier this year, Little Rope, creaking and reaching with pangs of metaphysical desperation.
“Thank god that I didn’t just have one [album] that people liked, and then fell off the map. I got to grow as an artist and carve out whatever little lane I have in the world.”
The album’s first two singles, “Broken Man” and “Flea,” are framed by methodically chugging bass lines that nudge ominously at the edges of your shadowy mental recesses. (On “Flea,” Dave Grohl guested on drums.) “It was pouring, like a movie / Every stranger looked like they knew me,” she sings on “The Power’s Out,” calling David Bowie’s “Five Years,” the 6/8 opening track on Ziggy Stardust, to mind. Towards the close of the record, “Sweetest Fruit” and “So Many Planets” proudly, shamelessly, groove.
And guitar? It enters with an eerie George Harrison-esque jangle on the second verse of “Hell Is Near,” and, throughout the rest of the record, guides with punchy, distorted leads, accents, and welcome interjections. Clark, who was named the 26th greatest guitarist of all time by Rolling Stone in 2023, has rarely imprinted much of an athletic stamp on her music, in terms of shredding—which she’s shown she can do, but, almost as an aside to her more popular artistic definition. Instead, she moves the instrument in and out of her compositions in streaks of indigo, threading it like dendritic capillaries through a Junoesque, avant-psychedelic, gas-giant planet of sound.
Clark was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and moved to Dallas, Texas, with her family when she was 7. There, she developed a tight-knit group of friends with whom she’s still close with today.
Photo by Alex Da Corte
St. Vincent has an unshakeable confidence about her, in both her physical presence and creative exploits. She explains how, in her solo production pioneering for the making of All Born Screaming, she built out her home studio, got a Neve console, set up her modular synths and analog drum machines, and “finally figured out how to MIDI clock everything in time, which was its own hellscape.
“But then, [it was] playing with electricity,” Clark continues, “because electricity through analog circuitry.... I think it has a soul. Ultimately, you’re harnessing chaos. You’re like a god of lightning or something, you know?” she laughs.
“I would just jam for hours, making kind of post-industrial music, and then I would go back through and listen and go, ‘Ooh, well, this is a three-hour jam of bleeps and bloops. But, these four seconds are something so cool that I want to build a whole song around them,” she shares, then vocalizes some of the melodies in “Big Time Nothing,” “Broken Man,” and “Sweetest Fruit.”
Elaborating on her production approaches, she says, “Psychically, I’m obsessed with people like Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry or J Dilla, where all of the effects are tactile. What I find exciting is making big decisions and then printing things, or the sound of something. ’Cause then it’s like you’re building a house on rock rather than sand,” she shares, referring to recording effects with the raw audio signal, as opposed to applying them after the signal is tracked, or in post-production. After further reflection, she concludes, “I think producing the album myself was like managing various egos, but all of the egos were in my own brain.”
We’ve been chatting for about half an hour, and St. Vincent mentions that she brought some snacks, if I want any. (I politely decline, as I’d rather not hear chewing on the recording of the interview when I listen back.) When I presume that she must have a strong sense of self-actualization at this point in her career, she gently counters, “But, I think, you don’t get the confidence without walking through some fire of self-doubt. As I grow more proficient, have more expertise, or get better at my instrument in various ways, music as a whole is more mysterious, mystical, and otherworldly than ever,” she adds. “So, understanding that feels more like it’s receding in a beautiful way, or opening in a beautiful way, while … ‘Okay, great, I know how to compress this better.’”
“What album of yours, excluding All Born Screaming, do you feel the most proud of?”
“Because I’m putting a set list together [for the All Born Screaming tour], I went back and listened to Strange Mercy. There are moments on that, tracks like ‘Surgeon,’ that I’m like, ‘Fuck yeah! That rips! I had no idea!’” she exclaims. “And that’s not always the case. You go back to certain songs, and you’re like, ‘Uh, I’m not sure I executed the vision here, or if this was … a good vision to have.’ But yeah, because I was so broken and bereft at that particular period of life.... I think you can hear it.”
St. Vincent's Gear
This shot was taken a year before the release of St. Vincent’s 2015 self-titled album, where she wore a hairstyle similar to this one on the cover. It was also four years before her signature Ernie Ball Music Man guitar debuted.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/tinnitus photography
Guitars
- Ernie Ball St. Vincent signature models
Amps
- Marshall 1974X
- Roland JC-40
Strings & Picks
- Ernie Ball Regular Slinky (.010–.046)
- Ernie Ball Nylon Light
Effects
- Rig controlled by RJM Mastermind and Gizmo loop switchers
- Hologram Chroma Console
- Empress Echosystem
- Universal Audio Golden Reverberator
- Electro-Harmonix Small Clone
- Malekko Diabilik
- EarthQuaker Rainbow Machine
- Boss VB-2 Vibrato
- JHS Colour Box
- Fulltone Distortion Pro
- Ibanez Modulation Delay II
- Boss SY-200
- ZVEX Fat Fuzz Factory
- Chase Bliss Mood
- Chase Bliss Habit
“You told The Guardianrecently, ‘Artists and songwriters are in some way writing about the same thing over and over again: sex, death, love.’ Do you have any other thoughts on that?” I ask.
“Oh, did I say that? Sure!” she chimes, laughing. “Maybe I did!”
“My favorite art has always been stuff that channels the stream-of-consciousness mode of thinking. Do you know Mirror by Andrei Tarkovsky?”
“No, I haven’t … read it?”
“Oh, it’s a film.”
“Seen it!” she amends, smiling. “But, understanding that sort of time-scape dreamscape multiverse…. I feel you.”
“I think Yes’s Close to the Edge is something like that; it’s one of my top 10 favorite albums.”
“I love Yes. Close to the Edge is one of my favorite records as well,” she says, and sings the melody to “II. Total Mass Retain” from the 18-minute-long title track. “And Chris Squire’s bass tone is perfect. It’s perfection on that record.”
“Absolutely! But I admit, I’m really just into early-’70s Yes.”
“Oh, 100 percent. ‘Owner of a Lonely Heart’ just reminds me of … being at the Texas state fair and my friend giving a hand job on a Ferris wheel to a carnie.”
On tour for 2018’s MASSEDUCTION, Clark plays a model of her EBMM signature with a leopard-print pickguard.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/tinnitus photography
While Clark shares that at certain points in her life, she has delved into practices like transcendental meditation, she says that today, the non-musical habits that best cultivate her creativity come down to activities as simple as working out, “so I don’t feel crazy,” and doing chores. “Oh, that’s so depressing,” she laughs.
And, while she doesn’t subscribe to any kind of organized religion, St. Vincent is entranced with a kind of spirituality behind making music. “I find music to be incredibly mystical, and that songs become prophecies,” she reflects. “Artists have, in the best-case scenario, an antenna up that makes them a kind of psychic mirror to the society that they live in, right? Almost like a weathervane.
“There have been times that I have written something that in a way prepared me for, or, predicted something that I was about to go through, in very specific, very witchy ways,” she continues. “I’m not a person of like, faith faith, but I have known certain things in ways that are not rationally explicable.”
“I think producing the album myself was like managing various egos, but all of the egos were in my own brain.”
Musicians have a common language of creativity, in that for most, inspiration tends to emerge unpredictably, out of the ether, or perhaps as the result of neurons firing haphazardly. But they do seem to each have an individual way of keeping track of their ideas, whether that involves writing them down or committing them to memory; usually, it’s a balance between the two. “I’ve had the title ‘All Born Screaming’ since I was 22,” says Clark. “I knew that I was going to use it at some point, but I don’t think I was worthy of explaining the complexity or talking about it until this record.
“I don’t know how records get finished,” she elaborates. “But I trust the process enough to know that, if you just put in the hours and stick with it, eventually the big picture will reveal itself to you. I describe the process as making perfect little puzzle pieces—making sure every edge is perfect and ornately drawn, and I don’t know what the big picture is until I’ve finished every single puzzle piece. And that’s when I go, ‘Oh, this is what this is [laughs]. Nobody told me!’”
While Clark’s guitar playing got off to a typical start—the first couple parts she learned were the opening chords to Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and the iconic riff from Jethro Tull’s “Aqualung”—her evolution as a player has made her increasingly savvy at envelope-pushing. Even on her 2007 debut album Marry Me, a singer-songwriter project at its core, the songs “Now, Now” and “Your Lips Are Red” lean toward the progressive territory she’s mined deeper and deeper since. It would be fair to call her soloing and style of arranging daring and subversive; she bends sound and songform as she sees fit.
“Artists have, in the best-case scenario, an antenna up that makes them a kind of psychic mirror to the society that they live in.”
By 2011’s Strange Mercy, whose collection includes the distinctively electroacoustic-yet-guitar-enforced tunes “Cruel” and “Surgeon”—which, as previously asserted, “rips!”—Clark’s guitar is cloaked in fuzz and couched in ambience and synthesizers. And, in the 13 years since, it’s pretty much stayed loyal to that description. The oddest thing, however, is this duality: That shrouding somewhat precipitates her guitar’s erasure from the foreground of the listener’s earscape, while yet maintaining its stitching throughout the songs themselves. I’ve listened to plenty of her discography, all the while forgetting it right as it’s there. Perhaps, the synths are the furniture, and the guitar is but a centered lamp, unifying the room’s elements within the same bath of light? But, personally, I have not been able to answer the question “How?”
Regardless, St. Vincent couldn’t care less about her image or sound as a “guitarist.” If she has ever made any kind of effort to “prove” herself on the instrument, I haven’t come across a record of it. An educated ear will recognize her august aptitude in her avant-garde playing style, and she has left it at that. In my eyes, this makes her an actual hero in an industry saturated with overcompetition and machismo.
“Sound has incredible meaning,” she summarizes, and the end of our conversation. “It led me to songs, and when you trust that you just will follow the things that will light you up inside, then you’ll be okay.”
YouTube It
On Later… with Jools Holland, St. Vincent rocks her Ernie Ball Music Man signature guitar in “glam tuning,” where all strings are tuned to the same pitch, enabling her to create a synthesizer-like effect with the help of a slide.
The session ace’s signature model offers a wide range of tones at the flip of a switch … or five.
Hello and welcome back to Mod Garage. Not long ago, I came home late from a band rehearsal, still overly excited about the new songs we played. I got myself a coffee (I know, it's a crazy procedure to calm down) and turned on the TV. I ended up with an old Bonanza episode from the ’60s, the mother of all Western TV series. Hearing the theme after a long time instantly reminded me of the great Al Caiola, who is the prolific session guitarist who plays on the song. With him in mind, I looked up the ’60s Epiphone “Al Caiola” model and decided I want to talk about the Epiphone/Gibson Tone Expressor system that was used in this guitar.
The Epiphone Al Caiola model was built in the Gibson Kalamazoo factory and was similar to an Epiphone Sheraton, with a longer 25 1/2" scale. It was built from late 1963 until 1969 and was available with different pickups like Gibson mini-humbuckers and P-90s. The guitar would be renamed the Al Caiola Custom to make way for the Al Caiola Standard that was introduced in 1966, but both models had the Tone Expressor system.
The guitar has a Telecaster-like wiring configuration: two pickups, master volume and master tone, 2-way pickup-selector switch. Since the circuit only has a 2-way switch instead of a 3-way switch, you can’t play both the neck and bridge pickup at the same time. (Maybe Al Caiola didn’t like a middle-position sound; who knows?) There are also five additional mini-slider switches labeled 1—5 which make up the Tone Expressor system.
“With the individual slider switches of the Tone Expressor system, you can combine all five switching positions in any way you like, so you have countless possible combinations.”
Having a look under the hood reveals the Gibson Varitone system used on the ES models. My first thought was this was new wine in old bottles, but after having a deeper look, there are differences between the standard Gibson Varitone and the Tone Expressor system. The Gibson Varitone uses a 1.5 H inductor, while the Tone Expressor system has a 15 H inductor on board. The Varitone is a rotary switch, so you can only dial in one of the switching positions, no combinations. With the individual slider switches of the Tone Expressor system, you can combine all five switching positions in any way you like, so you have countless possible combinations. Electronically, the Tone Expressor is a switchable band-rejection filter; mids are attenuated and the result is a crisp, more twangy tone.
In this first of two parts about this very special circuit, I want to describe the switching positions of the Tone Expressor system. First, here are the individual parts:
• 500k audio master volume and master tone pot with a 0.02 μF tone cap. This configuration will work with mini-humbuckers as well as P-90 pickups.
• 2-way pickup-selector slider switch. Having the possibility to engage both pickups together (no matter if in parallel or in series) would enhance this wiring noticeably.
• 15 H inductor (choke). The inductor in this circuit creates a series of notch filters together with the caps of the individual switches, so the circuit doesn’t remove all signal above a certain frequency, but only a certain amount above and below that frequency. There is a lot of debate about using an inductor or not, and if so, what type.
Personally, I think adding an inductor is not the best choice. The design may have worked at the time, but today, most of us are looking for different sounds. While the Varitone has its fans, it was never very popular because it can suck tone, and a lot of people say that it doesn’t have a major effect anyway.
If you want to use an inductor and find a matching one, these have center-tapped primaries and secondaries. Use the entire primary or the entire secondary, and ignore center taps for the Varitone wiring. I had the chance to measure several original inductors (labeled TF-90-1C), and they all showed something between 12 H and 17 H; keeping their tolerances in mind, you can use any inductor in this ballpark.
• 10 M resistors. There is a 10 M resistor connected to the circuit in series to each of the five caps. These “pull-down” resistors prevent loud popping noises when using one of the switches—standard when switching capacitance like on the Varitone system.
• 100k resistor. Together with the caps on the switches, the single 100k series resistor creates a frequency selective voltage divider, which is essential to create a proper frequency notch. The value is well-chosen so there is no need to replace it.
On the Varitone rotary switch, position No. 1 is the bypass mode. The Al Caiola, with its slider switches, naturally doesn’t need an extra switch for this. When no switch is engaged, the Tone Expressor system is in bypass mode. In general, we can say that the bigger the cap, the thinner the tone, and vice versa. Or in other words: The bigger the cap, the more the humbucker tone is tidied up towards a more twangy and single-coil-like tone.
An up-close look at the controls for the Tone Expressor system.
Photo courtesy of Guitar Point (guitarpoint.de)
Here is what each switching position does:
• Switch No. 1 with 1000 pF cap corresponds to position two of the Varitone rotary switch and has a very subtle effect. It’s an unmistakably PAF-style humbucker tone, but with the bass frequencies tidied up a little. This setting can help cut through a mix and will prevent a boomy, woolly tone when playing full-tilt.
• Switch No. 2 with 3000 pF cap corresponds to position three of the Varitone rotary switch and is my favorite setting. Still a PAF-style humbucker tone, but tighter and with more transparency. This tone never gets too boomy and rides on the edge of the P-90 territory.
• Switch No. 3 with 0.01 μF cap corresponds to position four of the Varitone rotary switch. This reminds me of a typical P-90 tone with a tight bass and clarity in the high frequencies—very cool for some break-up blues playing.
• Switch No. 4 with 0.03 μF cap corresponds to position five of the Varitone rotary switch and is a very twangy and single-coil like setting that sounds like a Stratocaster—very useful and versatile.
• Switch No. 5 with 0.22 μF cap corresponds to position six of the Varitone rotary switch and is the most twangy setting. It reminds me a lot of a good Telecaster, especially with the bridge pickup.
Next month, we will look into different ways to set up and mod this circuit, so stay tuned!
Until then ... keep on modding!
The new Gibson ES Supreme offers AAA-grade figured maple tops, Super Split Block inlays, push/pull volume controls, and Burstbucker pickups.
The newest addition to the Gibson Supreme Collection, the ES Supreme, follows the release of the Les Paul and SG Supreme guitars earlier this year. This new ES model builds on the legendary versatility of the ES-335 and adds features that take it to new heights with its AAA-grade figured maple tops, Super Split Block mother-of-pearl neck inlays, push/pull volume controls for coil tapping, and more.
The Gibson Supreme Collection (L-R) Les Paul, ES, and SG.
Designed for smooth playability, the mahogany neck has a Rounded C profile and compound radius ebony fretboard, while the Burstbucker Rhythm Pro and Burstbucker Lead Pro pickups enhance sonic versatility. Available in two pickup models in three colors, as well as two exclusive finishes–including one equipped with three pickups–with their stunning looks and undeniable sonic appeal, these new ES models reign supreme. A hardshell guitar case is also included.
For more information, please visit gibson.com.
NEW Gibson ES Supreme – Full Demo & Overview – MOST Versatile Gibson ES-335 EVER?
Gibson ES Supreme Semi-hollowbody Electric Guitar - Seafoam Green
ES Supreme Seafoam GreenOn the Tuareg band’s Funeral for Justice, they light a fiery, mournful pyre of razor-sharp desert-blues riffs and political calls to arms.
Mdou Moctar, the performing moniker of Tuareg guitar icon Mahamadou “Mdou” Souleymane, has played some pretty big gigs. Alongside guitarist Ahmoudou Madassane, drummer Souleymane Ibrahim, and bassist Mikey Coltun, Moctar has led his band’s kinetic blend of rock, psych, and Tuareg cultural traditions like assouf and takamba to Newport Folk Festival, Pitchfork Music Festival, and, just this past April, to the luxe fields of Indio, California, for Coachella. Off-kilter indie-rock darlings Parquet Courts brought them across the United States in 2022, after which they hit Europe for a run of headline dates.
Mdou Moctar - "Oh, France" (Official Audio)
But the band’s most treasured performances to date weren’t any of these, the stuff of Western musicians’ dreams. They were free, impromptu generator shows around Agadez, a city in Niger’s Sahara desert. They were the type of gig any DIY punk musician knows well: no stage, no light show, no fancy PA or mixing—just some guitars and amps, a drum kit, some flood lights. At one of the first shows, the band set up their gear against the beige walls of a school, and soon a crowd of locals—most of them Tuareg, an Indigenous ethnic group that lives across the Sahara region—had kettled the band in, anxious to hear the music. Kids hung out a window of the school, cell phones alight as they documented the gig. The band tasked a couple local friends with recording the set.
It’s thanks to them we get a glimpse of the blistering, pure power of that night with the performance of “Imouhar” uploaded to YouTube. It’s the second track from Mdou Moctar’s sixth full-length record, Funeral for Justice, released on May 3. It starts at a mid-tempo clip, with Moctar’s lacerating, hammer-on- and pull-off-heavy shredding soaring above Ibrahim’s tight groove and Madassane’s driving rhythm chording. People dance and clap and grin as the song picks up speed, like a runaway train on a steep hill, free and wild and reckless.
On a video call from a New York apartment, Moctar, speaking in French through a translator, says the shows had “historical importance” for the band: “Being able to be in Agadez, and having our people around us, supporting us, and the youth being there was so special for us. Also, to inspire young people for the future. We had tried to do that since [our first album] Anar, right up to [2021’s] Afrique Victime, but we hadn’t managed to do it in that way before. This time, we really managed to. It made us very proud of our work, and the way we were able to work.”Decades of oppression, violence, and a constantly darkening political horizon for Tuareg people—and Africans in general—have led Moctar to declare a Funeral for Justice.
Coltun, who grew up in Washington, D.C., and is the band’s only non-Tuareg member, started following Mdou’s music while playing in Mali in 2011, and he connected with the guitarist via the Sahel Sounds label shortly after. Coltun was managing the band’s 2017 U.S. tour when Moctar invited him to join the group. Every time he goes with the band to Niger, Coltun says he sees kids mimicking Mdou’s style, a Saharan recasting and mashing-up of Eddie Van Halen’s volcanic tapping techniques. “It’s turned into his own style, and there’s kids around playing in that style,” says Coltun. Madassane’s rhythm playing, too, has left a mark. “Ahmoudou’s right hand, when he gets going, is so fast, and not a lot of people in Agadez can play that fast for that long and be relaxed. That’s really inspiring, to see all that stuff.”
“I’m an eternal student…. I never sit back and say, ‘Now I know how to play guitar.’” —Mdou Moctar
Funeral for Justice is, like everything the band does, rooted in an uncommonly keen sense of place, people, and responsibility. Sung almost entirely in Tamasheq, a Tuareg language, the record puts centuries of imperialism, colonialism, and oppression in its crosshairs. In the late 1800s, European powers endeavored to control Africa’s west coast, resulting in the French occupation and colonization of countries like Mali, Senegal, Côte d’Ivoire, and Niger. Funeral for Justice leaves no question as to the impact of France’s past and present subjugation of Africans on the continent. “Occupiers are carving up your lands while you watch / Gallantly marching all over your resources / Why is that?” Moctar, singing in Tamasheq, demands of Africa’s governments on the opening cut. Later, on “Oh France,” the Tamasheq vocals mourn, “Youth around the world is thriving, meanwhile my people’s fate remains uncertain / The world rises and falls, meanwhile my people remain immobile.”
Even simply singing in Tamasheq is an act against dominion. “The Tamasheq language is starting to disappear because our youth don’t speak it well,” says Madassane. Moctar concurs. “They’re interested in other languages, mostly French, which is a language that has dominated almost all the African languages,” he adds. “They think that if you speak [French], it means you’re civilized or modernized somehow.” Moctar references the sad case of Tifinagh, a Tuareg script that’s almost disappeared. “We really want to give hope to our youth with our music and make them understand that they need to take care of this language, that there’s nothing more valuable than this. We want to say to the world that this is what constitutes our tradition and origins, and there’s nothing more precious.”
Mdou Moctar's Gear
Moctar and his bandmates prefer Fender instruments, whose bite and immediate presence are a perfect match for the music’s politics.
Photo by Mike White
Guitars
- 2018 American Stratocaster (white) with Lollar Strat Special S and Sustainiac pickups
Amps
- Orange Rockerverb 100 (live)
- Orange 4x12 cabs (live)
- Soldano SLO-100 head (studio)
- Traynor vintage 4x12 cab (studio)
Effects
- TC Electronic PolyTune
- Union Tube and Transistor Shiny
- Analog Man Sun Face
- EarthQuaker Devices Acapulco Gold
- Champion Leccy Rocktar Fuzz
- Analog Man Mini Chorus
- Boss PH-3
- Boss DD-3
Strings and Picks
- D'Addario NYXL .010s
The musical roots from which Mdou Moctar (which is the guitarist’s nickname, but also the band’s name) have launched their furious, two-guitar attack can be traced back to the Sahara desert in northwestern African countries like Niger, Mali, Libya, and Algeria. When France began to occupy the region in the early 1900s, the nomadic Tuareg population was forced under their rule until the French retreated from the area in the ’50s and ’60s. The lands where the Tuareg traditionally lived were divided between nations with bigger populations and stronger political infrastructure, so the minority Tuaregs were once again on the back foot. They rebelled, trying to establish independence and liberation against new, French-installed governments. Malian governments crushed the uprisings brutally. Ibrahim Ag Alhabib, a young Tuareg man, fled Mali after his father was executed by government forces for participating in the rebellions. Years later, while playing music in militant Tuareg camps, Ag Alhabib formed the pioneering assouf-rock outfit Tinariwen.
“Ahmoudou’s right hand, when he gets going, is so fast, and not a lot of people in Agadez can play that fast for that long and be relaxed.” —Mikey Coltun
Like Moctar, Tinariwen injected rock and psychedelic sounds into the Tuareg struggle, electrifying their musical practices with Western pop and rock instrumentations. They branded their music “asuf,” a Tamasheq word that speaks to the loneliness, longing, and pain that seemed to characterize Tuareg life. Tinariwen’s bassist, Eyadou ag Leche, told an interviewer in 2011 that when they eventually heard the music of Jimi Hendrix, they recognized something common in his playing, a bond between American rock music and the Tuareg experience. “It was almost as if I had known that music from the day I was born,” he said in 2011. “I’m told that a lot of the Africans who went to North America came from West Africa, from our part of the world. So it’s all the same connection. I think that any people who have lived through something that is very hard feel this asuf, this pain, this longing.”
These are the musical and cultural contexts that shaped Moctar. He DIYed his first guitar from some wood and bike brake cables, and his first recordings were shared via Bluetooth on peer-to-peer cell-phone networks across northern Africa. Sahel Sounds, a Portland, Oregon, record label focusing on music from the Sahara, included one of Moctar’s tunes on a 2011 compilation release, then re-released his 2008 debut, along with two other full-length records and an original, Prince-inspired movie soundtrack. Third Man Records took notice and put out the band’s 2019 live record, M’dou Moctar: Blue Stage Session, then major independent Matador signed Moctar to release his 2021 American breakout LP, Afrique Victime.
Ahmoudou Madassane’s Gear
The music of Mdou Moctar spread regionally in Africa before being scooped by American label Sahel Sounds. After a live release on Third Man Records, the band signed with acclaimed indie Matador.
Photo by Ebru Yildiz
Guitars
- American Stratocaster (custom metallic green) with Lollar Strat Sixty-Four pickups
- 1980s Squier Stratocaster (red) with Lollar Strat Sixty-Four pickups
Amps
- Orange Rockerverb 50 (live)
- Orange 4x12 cab (live)
- Vintage Fender tweed Deluxe (studio)
- Vintage Fender Deluxe Reverb (studio)
- Vintage Fender Champ (studio)
Effects
- TC Electronic PolyTune
- Analog Man King of Tone
- EarthQuaker Devices Erupter
- Maxon PT-999
- Boss DD-7
Strings and Picks
- D'Addario NYXL .010s
The follow-up, Funeral for Justice, was recorded between an upstate New York rental house, Coltun’s apartment, and Agadez. It ups the outfit’s production value, and often, the pulse rate, too. A mid-boosted slam of chording opens the record’s title track, which drops into a crackling 6/8 swagger—a lot of the record plays out in a characteristic 3/4 or 6/8 groove—and introduces the band’s familiar call-and-response vocal style. The lo-fi, minor-key intro of “Imouhar,” which means something akin to “comrade” in Tamasheq, feels like a Tuareg analog to the slick flourishes and lead runs pioneered by original blues players of the American South. But soon enough, an electric note rises and howls, and the band crashes in like a thundering steam engine.
There’s plenty of noise and dynamic movement this time out. “Sousoume Tamasheq” starts with a screeching blast of rapid-picked notes that brings Hendrix’s “Machine Gun” to mind—though unlike Jimi’s distinct solo lines, Moctar’s leads are often incomprehensibly fast. The dark, simmering resentment of “Oh France” bursts open halfway through with a melody and timing change that thrashes upward in tempo until its climax. Then there’s the clap-and-percussion-driven desert-blues of “Imajighen,” as invigorating a modern blues song as you can find, or the acoustic noodling intro of closer “Modern Slaves,” which ducks and weaves between minor and major key over its slow, determined groove. The lyrics, meanwhile, articulate the absurd cruelty of modern inequity and inaction: “My people are crying while you laugh / All you do is watch.”
Throughout, one of the more stunning qualities is the duality of Moctar’s lead-guitar work. It’s difficult to figure out how he strings so many notes together in such frantic, precise phrases, like little strikes of lightning across the fretboard. But part of the magic of Mdou Moctar’s music is that these leads aren’t so much scene-stealers as one of a handful of bubbling, explosive elements, all ricocheting off one another. And while Moctar’s style seems by now distinct and singular to our ears, he insists he’s not content where he is. “I’m an eternal student,” says Moctar. “I’m always curious to try new things within my style. I never sit back and say, ‘Now I know how to play guitar.’”
Mikey Coltun's Gear
Moctar follows a Tuareg tradition of mixing rebellion and assouf guitar music, a lineage that originated in the 1970s with the Malian Tuareg rock outfit Tinariwen.
Photo by Nelson Espinal
Guitars
- 1966 Fender Mustang bass (white)
- 1971 Fender Mustang Bass (green)
Amps
- 1970s Ampeg SVT (live)
- Orange 8x10 cab (live)
- Fender 8x10 cab (live)
- 1970s Ampeg V4 (studio)
- Traynor 2x15 cab (studio)
- Ampeg B-15 (studio)
Effects
- TC Electronic PolyTune
- Boss OC-2
- EarthQuaker Devices Blumes
- Analog Man Sun Face
- Union Tube and Transistor Sub Buzz
- Aguilar Grape Phaser
Strings and Picks
- DR Strings Fat-Beams .045–.105
“We really want to give hope to our youth with our music and make them understand that they need to take care of this language, that there’s nothing more valuable than this.” —Mdou Moctar
The record’s grave title, however, does imply a finality. Funeral for Justice is not just a rhetorical phrase; Moctar and his bandmates really mean it. This record is frenetic and bright, but at its heart, it is a work of mourning. It’s a product of how the Tuaregs—and Africans in general—have been treated for centuries. “I don’t see justice on this earth,” says Moctar. “If you look at a European or an American citizen, they seem to have more value compared to an African citizen.
“The world is a really scary place for us today,” he continues. “War technology is progressing, and each country is just trying to become stronger than its neighbor, as if that was their priority. None of that makes sense to us. Why isn’t the world focusing on how to make life better for people instead of bombing them? Bombing innocents who don’t even make two dollars a day with bombs that are worth millions. Why are these resources not being used to make this world a better, more wonderful place?
“All these leaders know that doing all that would be possible, but instead they prefer to manipulate people into believing it’s not, and to continue to oppress the weak, and make the strong people in this world even stronger. That’s what makes us say that justice doesn’t exist.”
YouTube It
Flanked by comrades and youth, Mdou Moctar blast through a riotous performance of “Imouhar” at an outdoor generator show in Agadez, Niger.