Invisible Sound Studios has collected so many rare and amazing amps—Marshalls, Fenders, Gibsons, Ampegs, Voxes, Hiwatts, and more—they decided to designate part of their studio as a museum. Here, East Amplification’s Jeff Bober gets their story.
With all the hype surrounding new technologies today—with digital this, sampled that, modeled tone signatures, and profiled sounds—it’s nice to find an establishment like Invisible Sound Studios in Baltimore, Maryland, a place where musicians thrive on getting sounds the old-school way—from a nice guitar and a great amp. After all, that’s how most of the classic recordings were made.
Invisible Sound was founded by Dave Nachodsky and Joe Rinaolo, two guys who happen to own an absolute treasure trove of cool old amps. So many that part of the building has come to be known as the North American Guitar Amp Museum. It’s a working museum for musicians who want to lay down tracks with a mindboggling collection of amps you just don’t see everyday—such as a mid-’60s Selmer, a 1966 Ampeg Portaflex SB-12, a 1960 Magnatone Troubadour, a JMI-built Domino/Vox AC4, and a ravaged KT88-driven Marshall Major.
With its vintage posters and CDs, checkerboard floor, ‘50s endtable, plush couch, and a tuck-and-roll Kustom cab with four speakers in a vertical array,
Invisible Sound’s lounge exudes a hip yet homey vibe perfect for chilling between takes in the equally vintage-vibed tracking rooms. Photo by Tina Nachodsky
Nachodsky and Rinaolo’s amp collection has grown considerably over the years. The heads, cabs, and combos now line the walls of at least two large studio rooms, and in most places they’re two rows deep, if not more. Most every piece is readily available to add tone, drive, and color to the recording experience. In addition to the necessary recording gear—including a remarkable collection of vintage microphones—the amp collection sits amongst piles of vintage drums, stompboxes, and processing gear, including a couple of very cool plate reverbs! We asked Jeff Bober—who co-founded Budda Amplification and now runs East Amplification, in addition to writing our monthly Ask Amp Man column—to sit down with Invisible Sound’s Nachodsky and Rinaolo to discuss the collection, explain how it got started, and describe some of their favorite amps.
The “Wailing Wall” at Invisible Sound/North American Guitar Amplifier Museum has just about every flavor of American and Brit grit (and grind)—from
blackface and silverface Fenders to specimens from Ampeg, Sunn, Traynor, Vox, WEM, Tone King, East Amplification, 65 Amps, Budda, Marshall, Selmer,
Hiwatt, Mesa/Boogie, JMI, and Orange. Photo by Tina Nachodsky
How did you guys get into the recording
and amp-collecting business in the
first place?
Dave Nachodsky: I started out playing
bass in bands way back in the ’70s and
early ’80s. I kind of fell into recording
accidentally—started recording our own
stuff, playing with Joe. Then we started
recording friends’ bands and other bands.
After a year or two had gone by and we
hadn’t recorded any of our own stuff, I
realized, “This is a recording studio,” and
it went from there.
Joe Rinaolo: The studio was actually in the basement of my house. Dave’s brother’s band wanted to record, and they offered us $15 an hour, so we started with that. From there, we started collecting amps. Brett Wilson and the True Tones came in, and they were using vintage amps, so I got the bug there. He got me my first tweed Fender Champ. Guitars were already hitting their market value and amps were just starting to creep up, so we ended up getting quite a few. The rest is history.
So when was this—when did you start
collecting amps?
Nachodsky: The ’80s. As a bass player, I
had an Ampeg SVT and a half SVT [4x10]
cabinet, another smaller Ampeg head, and
a Music Man head, and Joe had a [Fender]
Twin, a Marshall, and a couple of other
amps in the basement room where we put
the drum kit—and where we separated
the laundry! It was a small room, and we
had our amps along one of the walls. One
day someone said, “Nice collection,” and
it was, like, “Oh yeah, I guess so!” People
would see that and come to a second session,
and they would bring something and
say, “This was down in the basement or in
a closet.” The tweed Deluxe was that way.
There was no tweed on it and someone
had shellacked it—right, Joe?
Rinaolo: That was the Vibrolux. It was in his closet and he traded a drum machine for it.
Nachodsky: It hummed and had no tweed, and it probably had a bad speaker. He was, like, “Will you guys give us an hour of studio time for this amp?” So we said sure. At the time, it was 15 or 20 bucks an hour. We got that amp fixed and added it to the lineup along the wall in the little basement.
Rinaolo: We used to do our Saturday trips to Chuck Levin’s Washington Music Center shop, and at the time they had another store, what was that other guitar store?
Nachodsky: American Guitar Center.
Rinaolo: There were all these guitar stores within the same vicinity, so we’d go down and get some Chinese food and hit all these stores. Amps at the time were reasonably priced, so we would jump on quite a bit. I got an old Ampeg V4 with a cabinet for three and a half hours of studio time. At that time, I went to Precision Audio Tailoring to get my amps serviced.
Nachodsky: And you [Jeff] were fixing them all.
Rinaolo: Working out of your house—that’s where we met.
Pining for a plexi? Invisible Sound and the North
American Guitar Amplifier Museum have plenty
to jumper, including both 50- and 100-watt 1972
Marshall JMP Super Leads (above, sitting atop a
Marshall slant 4x12 with Celestion Greenbacks),
or a 1965 Marshall JTM 45 Mk II driving a 1970
Marshall 8x10 (below). If you’re looking for a different brand of British
brawn, they’ve also got 1976 and 1974 Hiwatt
DR-103 heads that you can pummel the mics
with via a 1975 Hiwatt SE 4123 4x12 cabinet, or
a 1965 Vox AC-50/4 Mk III driving a 1973 Orange
4x12 cabinet (above right). Need pulverizing
American metal tones? No prob—plug into the
Mesa/Boogie Dual Rectifier Solo head and route
it through the Marshall Bass Lead 1960 straight
4x12 with Greenbacks (above right). Photo by Tina Nachodsky
The “Wall o’ Heads” features a 1963 Gibson
GA-5 1x6 combo, a 1968 SOC head (a rebranded
silverface Fender Bassman), a 1966 Fender Bassman, a
1966 Fender Bassman “kickback” 2x12, a 1963 Fender
Bassman, 1968 Fender Bassman, 1972 Ampeg B-25,
1970 Sunn 1200S, 1973 Traynor Custom Special – YBA3, 1976 Ampeg SVT,1970 Ampeg SVT. Then begins
the Wailing Wall, with its 1968 WEM Control ER-15, Vox
AC15H1TV, 2006 Tone King Meteor 40 Series II, East
Studio 2 (serial no. 001), 1964 Fender Twin Reverb with
original JBL D120s, 2000 Budda Super Drive 45 series
II, 2000 Budda Super Drive 30, Budda 2x10/2x12 cab,
and 65 Amps London. Photo by Tina Nachodsky
Yeah, it seems that’s where everything
starts—in somebody’s house
or basement. So it sounds like the
studio and the amp collection started
simultaneously?
Nachodsky: Yes. And when we moved
here in ’90, this place was so much bigger
[than the old location]. We thought we
were going to take all our stuff and fill this
space, but it filled like that much [holds
hands close together]. Then it became like
every hoarder’s dream—“We have to fill
this space!” So we did. [Laughs.]
Rinaolo: It was a labor of love—“If you build it, they will come.” At the time—before eBay and before everyone knew everything about vintage stuff—these were just “used” amps. The guitar market had taken off, but the amps had not gone through the roof yet. We were finding them at little stores like Gordon Miller Music and Links Music in Pennsylvania. Anywhere you went, they had used amps—and they were pretty well priced, like $250 to $450.
Nachodsky: They were cheaper than that—at Petros you had to turn sideways!
Rinaolo: Petros was a whole other story.
Nachodsky: They were all tube amps, and they were like 50 bucks for a run-of-the-mill Fender Bandmaster. They’d have four or five of ’em. The Twins were $150 at one point.
Rinaolo: You could walk into someone’s house and they’d say, “My grandfather had an old amp,” and you could pick it up for a couple bucks. I mean, nobody knew what anything was at the time. But now with eBay, everything is “vintage.”
Nachodsky: A lot of guitar players went contemporary in the ’80s and ’90s and into the 2000s—a lot of guys were not playing tube amps, or if they were, not old tube amps. A lot of people had a rack processor with a stereo power amp so the chorus could go out to two stereo cabinets.
The east wall features bass and echo gear,
including ’60s Premier 90 and Danelectro 9100 reverb
boxes, a ’61 Watkins/Guild Copicat tape loop, a ’60s
Cordovox 1x10, ’60s and ’70s Echoplexes, a ’73 Roland
RE-201 Space Echo,’60s and ’70s Ampegs—a Gemini I
and II, V-4s, SVTs, Portaflex fliptops (B-18-N, B-15, and
SB-12), a Reverberocket, and a J-12 Jet—a ’69 Gretsch
Twin Reverb, a ’59 Magnatone 213 Troubadour, a ’70s
Kustom 100, a ’72 Plush P-1000S, ’70s Sunn Concert
Lead and Concert Bass heads, and ’70s Acoustics—a
450 head, a 301 1x18 cab, and a 134 combo. Photo by Tina Nachodsky
That was ubiquitous in the ’80s—the
refrigerator-sized rack and stereo cabinets.
Nachodsky: I remember when you could
buy a Marshall head for 200 bucks a piece,
every day of the week—as many as you wanted—because the older guys who had all that
stuff thought they had to do the new thing.
I think there was a bias against tube amps—they were not in vogue. At guitar shows back
then, sometimes a guy would bring an old
tube amp, a tweed or something small, and
set it under the table in case someone wanted
to hear a guitar. We’d go and say, “Want to
sell that amp?” and they’d say “I guess. What
will you give me for it?” They were focused
on the guitars. At the time, a 1950 Fender
Telecaster or Broadcaster guitar was worth
what, five grand? And even then, people were
asking “When will the insanity stop?” Yet the
amp that would have been part of the same
vintage rig wasn’t worth $200.
It was just an afterthought at that point.
Nachodsky: Yes. But the amps caught up pretty quickly over time.
Rinaolo: Back then nobody seemed to realize the amp was the other half of it.
How many amps do you have in your
collection now?
Rinaolo: About 175.
Nachodsky: The last official count was about 160, but we’ve added since then.
Rinaolo: We added the new East [Amplification] Studio 2—so we’re at 176! [Laughs.]
Whether you feel the need for
tweed or like your Fullerton tones
in brown-, black-, or silverface
varieties, Invisible Sound’s back
room is stocked with all the Fender
flavors you could ask for—from
Champs and Deluxes to Twins,
Tremoluxes, Bassmans, and Band
Masters. And then there’s the
cabs with everything from 12"
JBLs to 15" behemoths. If you’re
looking for something nastier,
there’s always the Sovtek, Sound
City, and Marshall plexi heads
and the straight- and angled-front
Celestion-loaded cabs. Photo by Tina Nachodsky
And they’re all available to use in your
studio. When you’re recording, does it
make your job easier having access to all
of those classic amps?
Nachodsky: That’s a double-edged question,
because it depends on the player—their experience, their guitars and equipment,
and what they’re used to working
with. I wouldn’t say it makes it easier, but
it always makes the result better. And the
other thing is, we’re not snobs. If a guy
comes in and says, “I usually use this cheap,
solid-state practice amp and I’ve built my
sound around it,” I say “Bring it in—we
don’t have that, and we could spend six
hours trying to make some other amp
sound like what you have.” I may have
my opinion on the sound and/or the gear
they’re using, but what matters is that we’re
ready to go and they’re comfortable.
Rinaolo: But for the right person—a player who’s a little bit more into his sound—it’s great having a crayon box of colors at your fingertips. Sometimes you play a song and you get out there to play the lead and it doesn’t fit with a Marshall plexi, but when you plug the same guitar into a Vox AC15 it just sits right in the mix. Having that palette to choose from really makes a difference—not to mention the different drums and microphones we have. That gives us the ability to go in a lot of different directions. We also do re-amping, so if you want to send in a clean track, we can re-amp to any one of the amps and send the new track back to you.
Vintage mics galore! Invisible Sound’s microphone collection includes several shelves full of old and new
models from Neumann, AKG, Shure, Sennheiser, Sony, Electro-Voice, and Oktava, as well as this shelf full of
enough chrome-grilled vintage RCAs to please Elvis, Harry Connick Jr., David Letterman, and Casey Kasem. Photo by Tina Nachodsky
Though outfitted with a modern hard-disk recording setup and a 64-input Amek console, Invisible Sound’s control room is outfitted with plenty of vintage
processors, including a Universal Audio 565 filter, a Roland SRE-555 Chorus Echo, MXR Pitch Transposers, Altec limiters and tube mixers/preamps, Spectra
Sonics Complimiters, and racks from Lexicon, Yamaha, Roland, dbx, Joemeek, and Avalon. Photo by Tina Nachodsky
Of all the amps, what are your personal
favorites?
Rinaolo: My ’62 offset Marshall is probably
my favorite. It’s a remake of the first hand-wired
JTM45 that Jim Marshall made.
Nachodsky: I like the specialty things, like the Gibson GA20. It’s sort of Gibson’s version of a Deluxe. I bought the second one because the first one was a ridiculous screamer—people don’t expect it to do what it does. We have two of those. The second one is just okay, though. For a long time, you couldn’t give Gibson amps away. Even now, they’re definitely not priced or valued like Fenders. Although the GA40 is a big one right now. I like the smaller stuff and the weird stuff, like the Magnatone Troubadour with the tremolo, or the Cordovox—which has a 10" guitar speaker and no horn, but it rotates. A Leslie has a horn and a 15" speaker, so it’s kind of the opposite of a guitar amp and it has its own sound. But you drive the Cordovox with another amp, and man, the brown Deluxe through that is ridiculous.
Rinaolo: It’s kind of hard to pick your favorite child. They all have a story about how we came by them—and that’s a whole other thing.
Nachodsky: There’s a particular one that I feel is possessed and I’m afraid to change the tubes in it—the 50-watt Super Lead JMP Marshall. There are certain models that are usually great to get, but then there are one or two of those that just excel.
Rinaolo: Then again, the player’s going to make the difference. And the song you’re recording makes a difference in what amp sounds the best or what drums sound the best. And when you have more than a hundred choices … we’ve had guitarists sit in the middle of the room and line guitar amps around them and play until they find what they want to put on the track.
Nachodsky: In a lot of contemporary rock guitar music, there’s not often one guitar track per guitar player—there are layers. So even if you have the best sound ever, if you’re layering different parts on top of each other they might not stack up in a good way. A lot of times guys will come in with their rig, which will be great, but when we get to the fourth guitar track we’ll say, “You have to use something else.” Not necessarily for the tone but for the difference in tone.
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The folk-rock outfit’s frontman Taylor Goldsmith wrote their debut at 23. Now, with the release of their ninth full-length, Oh Brother, he shares his many insights into how he’s grown as a songwriter, and what that says about him as an artist and an individual.
I’ve been following the songwriting of Taylor Goldsmith, the frontman of L.A.-based, folk-rock band Dawes, since early 2011. At the time, I was a sophomore in college, and had just discovered their debut, North Hills, a year-and-a-half late. (That was thanks in part to one of its tracks, “When My Time Comes,” pervading cable TV via its placement in a Chevy commercial over my winter break.) As I caught on, I became fully entranced.
Goldsmith’s lyrics spoke to me the loudest, with lines like “Well, you can judge the whole world on the sparkle that you think it lacks / Yes, you can stare into the abyss, but it’s starin’ right back” (a casual Nietzsche paraphrase); and “Oh, the snowfall this time of year / It’s not what Birmingham is used to / I get the feeling that I brought it here / And now I’m taking it away.” The way his words painted a portrait of the sincere, sentimental man behind them, along with his cozy, unassuming guitar work and the band’s four-part harmonies, had me hooked.
Nothing Is Wrong and Stories Don’t End came next, and I happily gobbled up more folksy fodder in tracks like “If I Wanted,” “Most People,” and “From a Window Seat.” But 2015’s All Your Favorite Bands, which debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard Folk Albumschart, didn’t land with me, and by the time 2016’s We’re All Gonna Die was released, it was clear that Goldsmith had shifted thematically in his writing. A friend drew a thoughtful Warren Zevon comparison to the single, “When the Tequila Runs Out”—a commentary on vapid, conceited, American-socialite party culture—but it still didn’t really do it for me. I fell off the Dawes train a bit, and became somewhat oblivious to their three full-lengths that followed.
Oh Brotheris Goldsmith’s latest addition to the Dawes songbook, and I’m grateful to say that it’s brought me back. After having done some catching up, I’d posit that it’s the second work in the third act, or fall season, of his songwriting—where 2022’s Misadventures of Doomscrollercracked open the door, Oh Brother swings it wide. And it doesn’t have much more than Dawes’ meat and potatoes, per se, in common with acts one or two. Some moodiness has stayed—as well as societal disgruntlement and the arrangement elements that first had me intoxicated. But then there’s the 7/4 section in the middle of “Front Row Seat”; the gently unwinding, quiet, intimate jazz-club feel of “Surprise!”; the experimentally percussive, soft-spoken “Enough Already”; and the unexpected, dare I say, Danny Elfman-esque harmonic twists and turns in the closing track, “Hilarity Ensues.”
The main engine behind Dawes, the Goldsmith brothers are both native “Angelinos,” having been born and raised in the L.A. area. Taylor is still proud to call the city his home.
Photo by Jon Chu
“I have this working hypothesis that who you are as a songwriter through the years is pretty close to who you are in a dinner conversation,” Goldsmith tells me in an interview, as I ask him about that thematic shift. “When I was 23, if I was invited to dinner with grownups [laughs], or just friends or whatever, and they say, ‘How you doin’, Taylor?’ I probably wouldn’t think twice to be like, ‘I’m not that good. There’s this girl, and … I don’t know where things are at—can I share this with you? Is that okay?’ I would just go in in a way that’s fairly indiscreet! And I’m grateful to that version of me, especially as a writer, because that’s what I wanted to hear, so that’s what I was making at the time.
“But then as I got older, it became, ‘Oh, maybe that’s not an appropriate way to answer the question of how I’m doing.’ Or, ‘Maybe I’ve spent enough years thinking about me! What does it feel like to turn the lens around?’” he continues, naming Elvis Costello and Paul Simon as inspirations along the way through that self-evolution. “Also, trying to be mindful of—I had strengths then that I don’t have now, but I have strengths now that I didn’t have then. And now it’s time to celebrate those. Even in just a physical way, like hearing Frank Zappa talking about how his agility as a guitar player was waning as he got older. It’s like, that just means that you showcase different aspects of your skills.
“I am a changing person. It would be weird if I was still writing the same way I was when I was 23. There would probably be some weird implications there as to who I’d be becoming as a human [laughs].”
Taylor Goldsmith considers Oh Brother, the ninth full-length in Dawes’ catalog, to be the beginning of a new phase of Dawes, containing some of his most unfiltered, unedited songwriting.
Since its inception, the engine behind Dawes has been the brothers Goldsmith, with Taylor on guitar and vocals and Griffin on drums and sometimes vocal harmonies. But they’ve always had consistent backup. For the first several years, that was Wylie Gelber on bass and Tay Strathairn on keyboards. On We’re All Gonna Die, Lee Pardini replaced Strathairn and has been with the band since. Oh Brother, however, marks the departure of Gelber and Pardini.
“We were like, ‘Wow, this is an intense time; this is a vulnerable time,’” remarks Goldsmith, who says that their parting was supportive and loving, but still rocked him and Griffin. “You get a glimpse of your vulnerability in a way that you haven’t felt in a long time when things are just up and running. For a second there, we’re like, ‘We’re getting a little rattled—how do we survive this?’”
They decided to pair up with producer Mike Viola, a close family friend, who has also worked with Mandy Moore—Taylor’s spouse—along with Panic! At the Disco, Andrew Bird, and Jenny Lewis. “[We knew that] he understands all of the parameters of that raw state. And, you know, I always show Mike my songs, so he was aware of what we had cookin’,” says Goldsmith.
Griffin stayed behind the kit, but Taylor took over on bass and keys, the latter of which he has more experience with than he’s displayed on past releases. “We’ve made records where it’s very tempting to appeal to your strengths, where it’s like, ‘Oh, I know how to do this, I’m just gonna nail it,’” he says. “Then there’s records that we make where we really push ourselves into territories where we aren’t comfortable. That contributed to [Misadventures of Doomscroller] feeling like a living, breathing thing—very reactive, very urgent, very aware. We were paying very close attention. And I would say the same goes for this.”
That new terrain, says Goldsmith, “forced us to react to each other and react to the music in new ways, and all of a sudden, we’re exploring new corners of what we do. I’m really excited in that sense, because it’s like this is the first album of a new phase.”
“That forced us to react to each other and react to the music in new ways, and all of a sudden, we’re exploring new corners of what we do.”
In proper folk (or even folk-rock) tradition, the music of Dawes isn’t exactly riddled with guitar solos, but that’s not to say that Goldsmith doesn’t show off his chops when the timing is right. Just listen to the languid, fluent lick on “Surprise!”, the shamelessly prog-inspired riff in the bridge of “Front Row Seat,” and the tactful, articulate line that threads through “Enough Already.” Goldsmith has a strong, individual sense of phrasing, where his improvised melodies can be just as biting as his catalog’s occasional lyrical jabs at presumably toxic ex-girlfriends, and just as melancholy as his self-reflective metaphors, all the while without drawing too much attention to himself over the song.
Of course, most of our conversation revolves around songwriting, as that’s the craft that’s the truest and closest to his identity. “There’s an openness, a goofiness—I even struggle to say it now, but—an earnestness that goes along with who I am, not only as a writer but as a person,” Goldsmith elaborates. “And I think it’s important that those two things reflect one another. ’Cause when you meet someone and they don’t, I get a little bit weirded out, like, ‘What have I been listening to? Are you lying to me?’” he says with a smile.
Taylor Goldsmith's Gear
Pictured here performing live in 2014, Taylor Goldsmith has been the primary songwriter for all of Dawes' records, beginning with 2009’s North Hills.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/Tinnitus Photography
Guitars
- Fender Telecaster
- Gibson ES-345
- Radocaster (made by Wylie Gelber)
Amps
- ’64 Fender Deluxe
- Matchless Laurel Canyon
Effects
- 29 Pedals EUNA
- Jackson Audio Bloom
- Ibanez Tube Screamer with Keeley mod
- Vintage Boss Chorus
- Vintage Boss VB-2 Vibrato
- Strymon Flint
- Strymon El Capistan
Strings
- Ernie Ball .010s
In Goldsmith’s songwriting process, he explains that he’s learned to lean away from the inclination towards perfectionism. Paraphrasing something he heard Father John Misty share about Leonard Cohen, he says, “People think you’re cultivating these songs, or, ‘I wouldn’t deign to write something that’s beneath me,’ but the reality is, ‘I’m a rat, and I’ll take whatever I can possibly get, and then I’ll just try to get the best of it.’
“Ever since Misadventures of Doomscroller,” he adds, “I’ve enjoyed this quality of, rather than try to be a minimalist, I want to be a maximalist. I want to see how much a song can handle.” For the songs on Oh Brother, that meant that he decided to continue adding “more observations within the universe” of “Surprise!”, ultimately writing six verses. A similar approach to “King of the Never-Wills,” a ballad about a character suffering from alcoholism, resulted in four verses.
“The economy of songwriting that we’re all taught would buck that,” says Goldsmith. “It would insist that I only keep the very best and shed something that isn’t as good. But I’m not going to think economically. I’m not going to think, ‘Is this self-indulgent?’
Goldsmith’s songwriting has shifted thematically over the years, from more personal, introspective expression to more social commentary and, at times, even satire, in songs like We’re All Gonna Die’s “When the Tequila Runs Out.”
Photo by Mike White
“I don’t abide that term being applied to music. Because if there’s a concern about self-indulgence, then you’d have to dismiss all of jazz. All of it. You’d have to dismiss so many of my most favorite songs. Because in a weird way, I feel like that’s the whole point—self-indulgence. And then obviously relating to someone else, to another human being.” (He elaborates that, if Bob Dylan had trimmed back any of the verses on “Desolation Row,” it would have deprived him of the unique experience it creates for him when he listens to it.)
One of the joys of speaking with Goldsmith is just listening to his thought processes. When I ask him a question, he seems compelled to share every backstory to every detail that’s going through his head, in an effort to both do his insights justice and to generously provide me with the most complete answer. That makes him a bit verbose, but not in a bad way, because he never rambles. There is an endpoint to his thoughts. When he’s done, however, it takes me a second to realize that it’s then my turn to speak.
To his point on artistic self-indulgence, I offer that there’s no need for artists to feel “icky” about self-promotion—that to promote your art is to celebrate it, and to create a shared experience with your audience.
“I hear what you’re saying loud and clear; I couldn’t agree more,” Goldsmith replies. “But I also try to be mindful of this when I’m writing, like if I’m going to drag you through the mud of, ‘She left today, she’s not coming back, I’m a piece of shit, what’s wrong with me, the end’.... That might be relatable, that might evoke a response, but I don’t know if that’s necessarily helpful … other than dragging someone else through the shit with me.
“In a weird way, I feel like that’s the whole point—self-indulgence. And then obviously relating to someone else, to another human being.”
“So, if I’m going to share, I want there to be something to offer, something that feels like: ‘Here’s a path that’s helped me through this, or here’s an observation that has changed how I see this particular experience.’ It’s so hard to delineate between the two, but I feel like there is a difference.”
Naming the opening track “Mister Los Angeles,” “King of the Never-Wills,” and even the title track to his 2015 chart-topper, “All Your Favorite Bands,” he remarks, “I wouldn’t call these songs ‘cool.’ Like, when I hear what cool music is, I wouldn’t put those songs next to them [laughs]. But maybe this record was my strongest dose of just letting me be me, and recognizing what that essence is rather than trying to force out certain aspects of who I am, and force in certain aspects of what I’m not. I think a big part of writing these songs was just self-acceptance,” he concludes, laughing, “and just a whole lot of fishing.”
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Led by Goldsmith, Dawes infuses more rock power into their folk sound live at the Los Angeles Ace Hotel in 2023.
A more affordable path to satisfying your 1176 lust.
An affordable alternative to Cali76 and 1176 comps that sounds brilliant. Effective, satisfying controls.
Big!
$269
Warm Audio Pedal76
warmaudio.com
Though compressors are often used to add excitement to flat tones, pedal compressors for guitar are often … boring. Not so theWarm Audio Pedal76. The FET-driven, CineMag transformer-equipped Pedal76 is fun to look at, fun to operate, and fun to experiment with. Well, maybe it’s not fun fitting it on a pedalboard—at a little less than 6.5” wide and about 3.25” tall, it’s big. But its potential to enliven your guitar sounds is also pretty huge.
Warm Audio already builds a very authentic and inexpensive clone of the Urei 1176, theWA76. But the font used for the model’s name, its control layout, and its dimensions all suggest a clone of Origin Effects’ much-admired first-generation Cali76, which makes this a sort of clone of an homage. Much of the 1176’s essence is retained in that evolution, however. The Pedal76 also approximates the 1176’s operational feel. The generous control spacing and the satisfying resistance in the knobs means fast, precise adjustments, which, in turn, invite fine-tuning and experimentation.
Well-worn 1176 formulas deliver very satisfying results from the Pedal76. The 10–2–4 recipe (the numbers correspond to compression ratio and “clock” positions on the ratio, attack, and release controls, respectively) illuminates lifeless tones—adding body without flab, and an effervescent, sparkly color that preserves dynamics and overtones. Less subtle compression tricks sound fantastic, too. Drive from aggressive input levels is growling and thick but retains brightness and nuance. Heavy-duty compression ratios combined with fast attack and slow release times lend otherworldly sustain to jangly parts. Impractically large? Maybe. But I’d happily consider bumping the rest of my gain devices for the Pedal76.