Step inside Premier Guitar’s magical, miraculous time machine and revisit the gear that stood head and shoulders above the rest as Premier Gear Award winners in 2018.
Todd Sharp JOAT 20
This 20-watt, dual EL84 amp delivers on the promise of its name—an acronym for “Jack of All Tone.” Instead of conventional tone controls, the JOAT offers an ingenious array of biasing, phasing, and feedback tricks to conjure a broad palette of sounds. The 1x12 combo won’t suit all budgets or playing styles, but nuanced players are unlikely to find an amp with greater sonic detail and explosive touch response.
$2,995 street (as reviewed with custom alnico speaker)
toddsharpamps.com
On Halloween, the pride of New Jersey rock ’n’ roll shook a Montreal arena with a show that lifted the veil between here and the everafter.
It might not seem like it, but Bruce Springsteen is going to die.
I know; it’s a weird thought. The guy is 75 years old, and still puts on three-hour-plus-long shows, without pauses or intermissions. His stamina and spirit put the millennial work-from-home class, whose backs hurt because we “slept weird” or “forgot to use our ergonomic keyboard,” to absolute shame. He leaps and bolts and howls and throws his Telecasters high in the air. No doubt it helps to have access to the best healthcare money can buy, but still, there’s no denying that he’s a specimen of human physical excellence. And yet, Bruce, like the rest of us, will pass from this plane.
Maybe these aren’t the first thoughts you’d expect to have after a rock ’n’ roll show, but rock ’n’ roll is getting old, and one of its most prolific stars has been telling us for the past few years that he’s getting his affairs in order. His current tour, which continues his 2023 world tour celebrated in the recent documentary Road Diary: Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, follows his latest LP of original music, 2020’s Letter To You. That record was explicitly and thematically an exploration of the Boss’ mortality, and this year’s jubilant roadshow continues that chapter with shows across the U.S. and Canada.
“The older you get, the more you realize that, unless you’re über-wealthy, you probably have a lot in common with the characters in Springsteen songs.”
I was at the Montreal show on Halloween night, where Bruce, the E Street Band—Steven Van Zandt, Nils Lofgren, Garry Tallent, Max Weinberg, and Roy Bittan, along with Soozie Tyrell, Charles Giordano, and Jake Clemons—and a brilliant backing ensemble of singers and musicians performed for roughly three hours straight. The show rewired my brain. For days after, I was in a feverish state, hatching delusional schemes to get to his other Canadian shows, unconsciously singing the melody of “Dancing in the Dark” on a loop until my partner asked me to stop, listening to every Springsteen album front to back.
“The stakes implicit in most of these stories are that our time is always running out.”
Photo by Rob DeMartin
I had seen Bruce and the E Street Band in 2012, but something about this time was different, more urgent and powerful. Maybe it’s that the older you get, the more you realize that, unless you’re über-wealthy, you probably have a lot in common with the characters in Springsteen songs. When you’re young, they’re just great songs with abstract stories. Maybe some time around your late 20s, you realize that you aren’t one of the lucky ones anointed to escape the pressures of wage work and monthly rent, and suddenly the plight of the narrator of “Racing in the Street” isn’t so alien. The song’s wistful organ melody takes on a different weight, and the now-signature extended coda that the band played in Montreal, led by that organ, Bittan’s piano, and Weinberg’s tense snare rim snaps, washed across the arena over and again, like years slipping away.
The stakes implicit in most of these stories are that our time is always running out. The decades that we spend just keeping our heads above water foreclose a lot of possibility, the kind promised in the brash harmonica whine and piano strokes that open “Thunder Road” like an outstretched hand, or in the wild, determined sprint of “Born to Run.” If we could live forever, there’d be no urgency to our toils. But we don’t.
Springsteen has long has the ability to turn a sold-out arena into a space as intimate as a small rock club.
Photo by Rob DeMartin
Bruce has never shied away from these realities. Take “Atlantic City,” with its unambiguous chorus: “Everything dies, baby, that’s a fact.” (Then, of course, an inkling of hope: “Maybe everything that dies someday comes back.”) Springsteen used those phrases on Nebraska to tell the story of a working person twisted and cornered into despair and desperation, but on All Hallows Eve, as the band rocked through their electrified arrangement of the track, it was hard not to hear them outside of their context, too, as some of the plainest yet most potent words in rock ’n’ roll.
In Montreal, like on the rest of this tour, Bruce guided us through a lifecycle of music and emotion, framed around signposts that underlined our impermanence. In “Letter to You,” he gestured forcefully, his face tight and rippled with passion, an old man recapping the past 50 years of his creative life and his relationship to listeners in one song. “Nightshift,” the well-placed Commodores tune featured on his 2022 covers record, and “Last Man Standing,” were opportunities to mourn Clarence Clemons and Danny Federici, his E Street comrades who went before him, but also his bandmates in his first group, the Castiles. It all came to a head in the night’s elegiac closer, “I’ll See You in My Dreams,” performed solo by Bruce with his acoustic guitar: “Go, and I’ll see you in my dreams,” he calls
I’m still trying to put my finger on exactly why the show felt so important. I’ve circled around it here, but I’m sure I haven’t quite hit on the heart of the matter. Perhaps it’s that, as we’re battered by worsening crises and cornered by impossible costs of living, songs about people trying desperately to feel alive and get free sound especially loud and helpful. Or it could be that having one of our favorite artists acknowledge his mortality, and ours, is like having a weight lifted: Now that it’s out in the open, we can live properly and honestly.
None of us know for sure what’s up around the bend, just out of sight. It could be something amazing; it could be nothing at all. Whatever it is, we’re in it together, and we’ll all get there in our time. Until then, no matter how bad things get, we’ll always have rock ’n’ roll.
When they serendiptiously crossed paths onstage with Phil Lesh & Friends, JD Simo and Luther Dickinson's musical souls spoke to each other. They started jamming together leading them to cut Do The Romp at JD's home studio, combining their appreciation of hill country blues, spirituals, swamp rock, and Afrobeat in a modern grease and grime.
Dickinson has the North Mississippi Allstars and toured with the Black Crowes and John Hiatt, while JD Simo earned his stripes in the Don Kelley Band at Robert's Western World before forging an impressive solo career and working studio magic for Dave Cobb, Jack White, Beyoncé, Chris Isaak, and Baz Luhrmann's Elvis movie.
Individually, JD Simo and Luther Dickinson are building their own legacies as solo artists, sidemen, songwriters, and guitar heroes. Together, they're a creative force to be reckoned with, making their own version of amplified American roots music. On the pair's first collaborative album, Do The Rump, the musicians trade blistering guitar solos, take turns at the microphone, and turn their classic influences — including hill country blues, spirituals, swamp rock, and Afrobeat — into something contemporary, reinterpreting a number of their old-school favorites into eclectic, electrifying anthems.
The partnership began onstage, where Simo and Dickinson first shared the spotlight as touring members of Phil Lesh and Friends. Dickinson had already established himself as co-founder of the Grammy-winning duo North Mississippi Allstars, as well as a celebrated guitarist for acts like Black Crowes and John Hiatt. Similarly, JD Simo had built an audience not only with his solo project, but also as a session musician for Jack White, Beyoncé, Chris Isaak, and Baz Luhrmann's Elvis movie.
You might not be aware of all the precision that goes into building a fine 6-string’s neck, but you can certainly feel it.
I do not consider my first “real” guitar the one where I only made the body. In my mind, an electric guitar maker makes necks with a body attached—not the other way around. (In the acoustic world, the body is a physics converter from hand motion to sound, but that’s a different article for a different month.) To me, the neck is deeply important because it’s the first thing you feel on a guitar to know if you even want to plug it in. As we say at PRS, the neck should feel like “home,” or like an old shirt that’s broken in and is so comfortable you can barely tell it’s on.
A couple articles ago, I talked about things on a guitar you can’t see, but are of the utmost importance to the quality of the instrument. I’d now like to go deeper into some of those unseen details in guitar neck making that make a difference. This list is a small percentage of what’s really going on, so please take each one as an example of the craft.
Gluing in the frets. In my old repair shop, there were several instruments that kept returning after gigs because the frets had again become unlevel. If I took a very flat file and started to level the frets, the volume of the squeaking of the frets as I filed was really loud. I realized that these guitars had never had their frets glued in. It seemed clear that the fretshad to be glued into the slots, so when someone sweats into the instrument at a gig, the frets do not change height. I learned, after interviewing Ted McCarty, that the Gibson factory in Kalamazoo in the ’50s glued the frets in with fish glue. I tried it once. It stunk, and I never used it again. But gluing frets in has been important to me since day one. The glue makes a mold around the teeth of the fretwire to hold the frets in place. Another reason to glue the frets in is that on some ’60s Martins, for example, the frets would lift up on the treble side and the high-E string would get caught underneath the fret. So, glue the frets in or you’re going to have a long-term problem. By the way, using a water-based glue is like adding all the water back to the fretboard that you spent months drying out. I like super glue because it doesn’t have any water in it.
“Terry Kath, the great guitar player from Chicago, once told me, ‘Most guitars won’t play in tune down near the nut, and I search and search for guitars that will.’”
Fret positions. When I was young, there was an article in Guitar Player that described how to calculate fret positions by using the 12th root of two. The number is 1.0594631. And the reason I remember the number is because calculators didn’t have memory at the time, and I had to keep entering the number over and over again. One day, someone came into my shop and said, “I can’t play in tune with the keyboard player when I am playing lines near the nut.” I said, “That’s hard for me to believe, but I’ll check it.” Sure enough, the first few frets were out of tune with the open nut even though I had calculated the 1st frets’ positions perfectly. Turns out the nut needed to be moved so that it would play in tune down there (in the same way you have to adjust the intonation at the bridge end). Terry Kath, the great guitar player from Chicago, once told me, “Most guitars won’t play in tune down near the nut, and I search and search for guitars that will.” Getting the frets, the nut, and the bridge in the right positions is incredibly important. You’d be surprised that this is not always a given.
Neck shape. I was once at Dave’s Guitar Shop in La Crosse, Wisconsin, in his upstairs guitar museum, and got to compare early ’50s Tele, old Les Paul, and early Strat neck shapes. What was so surprising was how close the neck shapes were, including the thumb round-over (where the side dots are). I was later able to scan a lot of these necks and compare them with a computer, and, damn, they were really close. What was different was the radius of the fretboards. Some of them were more curved than others, and the old Gibsons’ radii were not what the internet says they should be. So, it’s pretty hard to understand from the specs alone how a neck is going to feel in your hands. In my mind, there’s a common shape that your hand feels comfortable with, and then all the extensions that make 7-string guitars, 12-strings, acoustic instruments, and modern Ibanez/flat-radius type instruments are other artforms altogether.
At PRS, we often think of guitars in terms of looks, feel, and sound. If it looks good, you’ll probably pick it up. If it feels good in your hands and rings for a long time when you strum it acoustically, you’ll probably plug it in. If it sounds good plugged in, there’s a good chance you’re hooked.
The Americana singer-songwriter, known for supporting her vocals with intricate fingerpicking, found herself simplifying her process for her latest full-length, which, in turn, has led to more personal and artistic growth.
Folk singer-songwriter Amythyst Kiah is a formidable fingerstylist. When asked about her creative process, she explains how she’s come up playing a lot of solo shows—something that’s inspired her to bring out the orchestral range of the guitar for her own vocal accompaniment. Over the years, she’s taken her high school classical training and college old-time-string-band experience to evolve her fingerpicking skills, developing three-finger technique and other multi-dimensional patterns influenced by players like Mike Dawes. And for her latest full-length, Still + Bright, she’s only continued to grow in her musicianship, but by stepping back to square one: rhythm.
Amythyst Kiah - "God's Under the Mountain"
“I’ve stayed away from writing songs where I’m just strumming for a really long time,” she prefaces, “because I was worried that it was going to be too boring to not do fingerstyle. But then I realized, there’s so many [strummed] songs that are super powerful, and you can still make it interesting rhythmically.
“I started to listen to more rhythm guitar players, like Cory Wong, and reconfigured how I was viewing rhythm guitar,” she continues. “It was a matter of finding a way to do it that was exciting and interesting to me. Now, it’s really expanded the songs that I can write.”
All of the demos for Still + Brightbegan with strumming, says Kiah. When working on ideas, she would “play rhythmically as much as I could,” then open GarageBand, choose a tempo she felt comfortable playing to, and add programmed drums—often going with a modern R&B pattern. But when she brought her songs to the studio, she discovered that she was struggling to replicate the guitar parts she’d recorded at home.For Kiah, who’s always had a very strong sense of self and vision for her sound, that was a bit discomforting.In the making of Still + Bright, Kiah’s fifth full-length album, the songwriter strengthened her skills as both a rhythm guitarist and a vocalist.
“I had a moment of, ‘I can either spend way too long trying to replay this part that I’ve been playing from muscle memory at this point,’” she shares, or hand it off to her session player, Nashville guitarist (and, coincidentally, Premier Guitarcolumnist) Ellen Angelico, and focus on her lyrics and vocal delivery instead. “I used to be very much like, ‘I have to be playing guitar on everything.’ But there’s a team of people here that can help, and make things go along more smoothly. My ego shouldn’t be getting in the way.”
She did, ultimately, play guitar—acoustic or electric, or both—on five out of 12 tracks, and banjo on two. Angelico performed on each track, alternating between mandolin, dobro, pedal steel, and acoustic, electric, and baritone guitar. (You’ll also hear Billy Strings, with his unmistakable, rapid-fire bluegrass licks, on “I Will Not Go Down.”)
The finished album exudes a spirit of triumph. It rings as one extended anthem, beginning with “Play God and Destroy the World,” a reflection on a childhood rejection of religious hypocrisy, and ending on “People’s Prayer,” an avowal of humanistic compassion. “S P A C E,” one of the more pensive songs in the collection, features Kiah playing clawhammer banjo. “God’s Under the Mountain” builds and undulates with a communion of syncopated vocal melody, fiddle, pedal steel, dobro, and background vocals by producer Butch Walker and Avi Kaplan. Then, the waltzing “Dead Stars” unwinds with simpler, judicious instrumentation supporting a mournful theme, before swelling with Morricone-like eloquence as it closes. “This is the first album where I really had a concept about everything, from the logo to the color palette, and everything else,” says Kiah, “and I had an incredible team who was able to really bring to life what I was envisioning.”
Amythyst Kiah’s Gear
Some of Kiah’s building blocks for her fingerpicking abilities came from classical training in high school and old-time studies at East Tennessee State University.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/tinnitus photography
Effects
- L.R. Baggs Para Acoustic DI
- TC Electronic Polytune
Strings, Picks & Accessories
- Acoustic: D’Addario light
- Electric: Ernie Ball medium
- Dunlop .73 mm picks
- Paige capo
Throughout the record, Kiah’s propulsive singing voice is the glowing flame to the hearth, acting as a centerpiece to the already luminous, Americana-fueled full-band arrangements. Like rhythm guitar, voice was another essential element that she cultivated while creating Still + Bright.
“I kind of diminished that power of having a voice,” she admits, explaining how she’s always been preoccupied with measuring up on guitar, and has long held multi-instrumentalists such as Prince in high esteem. But something shifted when a sentiment expressed by her manager, Dolph Ramseur, years ago, finally sunk in. “He said, ‘Amythyst, you know, you could just stand in a room and sing a cappella, and people would sit there and listen, and they wouldn’t get up and leave, and they would not be bored.’ And then it really dawned on me—it’s a powerful thing, people that can just sing; there’s a power and strength there, too. It’s just understanding where the power lies, and then embracing it, as opposed to feeling inadequate.
“It’s just understanding where the power lies, and then embracing it, as opposed to feeling inadequate.”
“I have this ongoing obsession in the back of my mind that I’m never doing enough,” she continues. “So, anytime I remove something from the equation, I worry. That stems from social anxiety, and being overly concerned with, like, ‘Am I making the right decision?’ But it doesn’t matter how long I agonize or rethink or redo something; at the end of the day, the decision I make is still going to be spontaneous. Because there’s only ever ‘now.’” She adds, laughing, “I’m a big Alan Watts fan.”
Now, she’s started doing vocal warmups before shows, “and through that, I’ve expanded my range and I’ve also been able to gain even more control over my voice. It also means that I can write more challenging songs. Those two things—expanding [rhythm] guitar and expanding voice—have let me open a whole new side to my sound.”
Spiritual themes appear frequently on Still + Bright, in both Kiah’s song titles and lyrics. The opening lines of “Empire of Love” include, “My religion is none at all / I build my own cathedrals and let ’em fall.” On “Let’s See Ourselves Out,” she sings, “So many matrices we create to escape / Sometimes I wonder if we’re just a mistake.” And, on more than one song, there’s mention of how “we’re all made from stars from above,” alluding to the scientific evidence that the elements of the human body were created by stars that went supernova.
Kiah was raised in a predominantly white, Christian suburb in Chattanooga, Tennessee, as part of a Black family who didn’t attend church. She identified as an “alternative” kid, vacillating between agnosticism and atheism, shopping at Hot Topic, and drawing inspiration from The Matrix’s theme of breaking free from societal constraints. (She remarks on her younger self’s “cognitive dissonance” of buying “‘alternative clothes’ at the mall.”) As a self-proclaimed introvert, she dealt with social anxiety, and spent a lot of her time at home alone on the computer. But when she began learning guitar at 13, and later started attending a creative arts high school, she finally felt like she fit in: “’cause everybody there was misfits and weirdos.”
Spirituality is a common theme in Kiah’s music. Her current beliefs draw mainly on principles of Zen Buddhism and Taoism.
Photo by Kevin & King
Though still adamantly individualistic, her spiritual views evolved when she took courses in both Western humanities and Eastern religion in college: “I realized that people have created narratives about how to live our lives for thousands of years. So, this idea that only one group of people got it right and everyone else is wrong; that threw all of that out the window.” Today, she says that Zen Buddhism probably best captures her personal belief system, but, “I hesitate to call myself a Zen Buddhist because I feel like I still have more to learn,” she says. She also rereads the Tao Te Ching by Laozi “pretty regularly,” lauding the principles of Taoism as another strong influence on her philosophies.
At the beginning of our 1 p.m. Zoom call, Kiah shares that she typically spends her mornings alone and in silence, meditating, writing, and reading, and lightheartedly apologizes for enthusiastically “going on”—saying she’s had a lot of time to think before speaking to another person. When I ask her about what modern artists she’s listening to lately, she has more to say about what she’s been reading. One of the books in her current rotation is The Lost Art of Silence by Sarah Anderson.
Growing up, Kiah identified as an “alternative” kid, and was something of an “anime mall goth” who often shopped at Hot Topic.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/tinnitus photography
“It goes along really well with meditation and learning to live in the present,” Kiah says. “It’s been interesting to explore those different perspectives on silence, and make more of an effort to find time in my life to be quiet. I find that I’m getting more and more comfortable with myself and my thoughts, and I feel less like I always have to block out anxious thoughts. Or, if I have anxiety about something, I can come up with an idea of, ‘Okay, well, how can I alleviate this? Can I do anything about it?’, and solve the problem as opposed to starting the spiral.
“Impostor syndrome was the big driver for my social anxiety, and now, I feel like I’m on the other side of being an impostor,” she reflects. “I’m doing what I’ve been wanting to do for the past 12 years, making a living doing this. There’s stressful things that happen, but you have to decide, what are you willing to be stressed out about? To try to seek a perfect, happy life where nothing ever upsets you—that’s called emotional repression and it’s really unhealthy. It’s just about accepting the fact that, hey, some days, some weeks are gonna be shit, and to find ways to take care of yourself that are as least self-destructive as humanly possible.”
“It doesn’t matter how long I agonize or rethink or redo something; at the end of the day, the decision I make is still going to be spontaneous. Because there’s only ever ‘now.’”
And while she’s outgrown a lot of her social anxiety, she says it’s been a challenge adapting to the stress that comes with the unpredictability of touring. “When I would be at home, I would establish this really tight routine, and then I got completely knocked on my feet when I would leave,” she explains. “I had to get to this point where I would just be focusing more on the present and less on trying to micromanage how my day’s going to be, because it’s not gonna always go the way that I want things to go.
“That’s been also helpful in my creative process, because then I’m not as anxious and worried about all these other things that I don’t have control over, and I’m able to just … enjoy the process of living.”
Ellen Angelico's Gear
Guitars
- Dismal Ax Barnstormer
- Cervantes Telecaster
- GFI Expo S-10
- 1980s Kentucky KM-250S mandolin
Amp
- 3rd Power Dream 50 Plexi
Effects
- Peterson StroboStomp HD tuner
- Line 6 HX Stomp
- 1981 DRV
- MXR Timmy Overdrive Mini
- Electro-Harmonix Deluxe Memory Boy
- Strymon Flint
Strings & Picks
- D’Addario NYXL
- Wegen picks
YouTube It
On WDVX’s Blue Plate Special, recorded in Knoxville, Tennessee, Kiah performs an evocative, stripped-down version of “Empire of Love” from Still + Bright.