A guitarist''s relationship with his idols.
“You’ve gotta serve somebody.” Despite our best intentions to show otherwise, we are all beholden to some master. As a young player I had many musical loves. I was taken by the power of Albert King’s “morning” tone, the beauty of Curtis Mayfield’s double stop rhythm playing, the pure sadness of Otis Rush’s vibrato, the elegance of Chet Atkins’ technique—but when I really got to know Jimi Hendrix’s music, it took me like no other. He seemed to encompass many of the best elements of my favorite players, and his soul burnt through everything he touched. I was completely enthralled by him and spent a number of years micro-analyzing his songs, videos, interviews, etc., to find any insight into his soul.
Eventually I had to wean myself off his music after my teenage fascination turned into a thinly veiled young adult addiction. Jimi burnt so intensely in my universe with a uniqueness and power, that was hard for me to digest into something that I could claim as my own. I was blinded by his magic, and in the bright light of his aura the best I could hope for was pale imitation.
I would not be the first to try to cling onto his ideas with the hope of being catapulted beyond my means. He has had many acolytes in the years since he first blossomed, and though many of the guitar players that have been heavily influenced by him are quite good, it’s hard to see them beyond ever smaller echoes of a once glorious sound. I have often been compared to people greater than myself, and though it provides a quick elevator upwards, the glass ceiling of possibilities is very real.
I hit that ceiling somewhere in my mid 20s. Stuck in an aerie that was beyond my natural reach, suddenly I could find little or no value in my own ideas. They sounded so unimportant juxtaposed against those of my mentors, that I had little faith in my own core voice. And as my inner compass disappeared, I was left rudderless. It was terrifying, and compliments fell empty as I started understanding the immensity of the journey ahead.
Destruction is a pretty natural part of creative growth and one that is a necessary component in ultimately trying to build a truly unique structure. I tried to throw out my ways of playing, the pentatonic scales, the vibrato and phrasings that probably defined my style to most people watching. I changed my surroundings, the music I listened to, left my home, and took to wandering the wilderness. It was surprising to see how offensive this was to some people. There is often a sense of “ours” and “theirs,” but when you are wandering it is always both, as provincial thought crumbles with exploration.
I tried alternate tunings, had flirtations with Hindustani music and Celtic music, went back through the great pop/rock bands trying to extract something unique in my playing. I fell in love with simplicity—a 12-string strumming a G chord, the ringing sound of a Tele through an AC30, a clarion chime that seems to speak to a deeper spirit than a simple pop song. I had musical flings with Television, the textural guitar of Johnny Marr and the Edge. I revisited the blues through the fractured lens of Captain Beefheart, as well as the more psychedelic takes that ignited many new bands in the Nuggets box set.
Of course, the further I explored, the more I saw bits of my home in new places. I remember a Miles Davis quote from his biography where he is asked about his music and his path. The interviewer was asking him if he would ever play bebop again. He talked about life, music, and the experience of playing music as being a time in place that could never truly be revisited. His statement made a lot of sense to me, and as I reflect a little on some of the things I have done, I understand it even better. I like to think my voice is clearer these days and hopefully more unique. I have shed some of my more obvious influences and integrated many more sounds into my palette—but these really are micro-changes that I am hyper aware of, and my essence is truly the same as when I started.
In the last few years I have fallen deep under the spell of Richard Thompson. It is funny to find myself slack–jawed after so many years of playing music, but something about the combination of technique, bitterness, joy and longing in his playing speaks deeply to me. He has helped to revalidate the guitar solo as an important songwriting tool to me, and for that I am grateful. He is distinctly British—and there is a gentlemanly undertone to his playing—but he slashes with a ferocity that rips like an angry Oscar Wilde quip. His solos are like walking a tightrope in a windstorm, always on the verge of falling apart, but ultimately landing on solid steps. The influence is less obvious than earlier ones, but I can hear it clearly in my playing these days. I don’t know that he would have me as a student, but I have taken him as a teacher.
I don’t feel that manic dash as I did in my youth to know everything. Maybe it’s becoming a man, or maybe realizing as Mike Stern said, “There is life outside of music and that is vital to the life inside the music.” My approach is less about linear practicing and more about abstract growth these days. I still try to sit with my instrument as much as I can, but the kind of player I want to be cannot be achieved by simply running scales—I need to take in life. Maybe it’s simply an excuse to drink a nice glass of wine, eat a great meal, and watch the wheels spin—but I think it is still in the service of music, and I humbly submit to the great magnet.
Ian Moore is an Austin, Texas-based guitarist who has had his hands in a bit of everything related to guitar, from an acclaimed solo career to building and modifying his own gear to being a sideman for pop star Jason Mraz. ianmoore.com
Day 9 of Stompboxtober is live! Win today's featured pedal from EBS Sweden. Enter now and return tomorrow for more!
EBS BassIQ Blue Label Triple Envelope Filter Pedal
The EBS BassIQ produces sounds ranging from classic auto-wah effects to spaced-out "Funkadelic" and synth-bass sounds. It is for everyone looking for a fun, fat-sounding, and responsive envelope filter that reacts to how you play in a musical way.
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.
Check out our demo of the Reverend Vernon Reid Totem Series Shaman Model! John Bohlinger walks you through the guitar's standout features, tones, and signature style.
Reverend Vernon Reid Totem Series Electric Guitar - Shaman
Vernon Reid Totem Series, ShamanWith three voices, tap tempo, and six presets, EQD’s newest echo is an affordable, approachable master of utility.
A highly desirable combination of features and quality at a very fair price. Nice distinctions among delay voices. Controls are clear, easy to use, and can be effectively manipulated on the fly.
Analog voices may lack complexity to some ears.
$149
EarthQuaker Silos
earthquakerdevices.com
There is something satisfying, even comforting, about encountering a product of any kind that is greater than the sum of its parts—things that embody a convergence of good design decisions, solid engineering, and empathy for users that considers their budgets and real-world needs. You feel some of that spirit inEarthQuaker’s new Silos digital delay. It’s easy to use, its tone variations are practical and can provoke very different creative reactions, and at $149 it’s very inexpensive, particularly when you consider its utility.
Silos features six presets, tap tempo, one full second of delay time, and three voices—two of which are styled after bucket-brigade and tape-delay sounds. In the $150 price category, it’s not unusual for a digital delay to leave some number of those functions out. And spending the same money on a true-analog alternative usually means warm, enveloping sounds but limited functionality and delay time. Silos, improbably perhaps, offers a very elegant solution to this can’t-have-it-all dilemma in a U.S.-made effect.
A More Complete Cobbling Together
Silos’ utility is bolstered by a very unintimidating control set, which is streamlined and approachable. Three of those controls are dedicated to the same mix, time, and repeats controls you see on any delay. But saving a preset to one of the six spots on the rotary preset dial is as easy as holding the green/red illuminated button just below the mix and preset knobs. And you certainly won’t get lost in the weeds if you move to the 3-position toggle, which switches between a clear “digital” voice, darker “analog” voice, and a “tape” voice which is darker still.
“The three voices offer discernibly different response to gain devices.”
One might suspect that a tone control for the repeats offers similar functionality as the voice toggle switch. But while it’s true that the most obvious audible differences between digital, BBD, and tape delays are apparent in the relative fidelity and darkness of their echoes, the Silos’ three voices behave differently in ways that are more complex than lighter or duskier tonality. For instance, the digital voice will never exhibit runaway oscillation, even at maximum mix and repeat settings. Instead, repeats fade out after about six seconds (at the fastest time settings) or create sleepy layers of slow-decaying repeats that enhance detail in complex, sprawling, loop-like melodic phrases. The analog voice and tape voice, on the other hand, will happily feed back to psychotic extremes. Both also offer satisfying sensitivity to real-time, on-the-fly adjustments. For example, I was tickled with how I could generate Apocalypse Now helicopter-chop effects and fade them in and out of prominence as if they were approaching or receding in proximity—an effect made easier still if you assign an expression pedal to the mix control. This kind of interactivity is what makes analog machines like the Echoplex, Space Echo, and Memory Man transcend mere delay status, and the sensitivity and just-right resistance make the process of manipulating repeats endlessly engaging.
Doesn't Flinch at Filth
EarthQuaker makes a point of highlighting the Silos’ affinity for dirty and distorted sounds. I did not notice that it behaved light-years better than other delays in this regard. But the three voices most definitely offer discernibly different responses to gain devices. The super-clear first repeat in the digital mode lends clarity and melodic focus, even to hectic, unpredictable, fractured fuzzes. The analog voice, which EQD says is inspired by the tone makeup of a 1980s-vintage, Japan-made KMD bucket brigade echo, handles fuzz forgivingly inasmuch as its repeats fade warmly and evenly, but the strong midrange also keeps many overtones present as the echoes fade. The tape voice, which uses aMaestro Echoplex as its sonic inspiration, is distinctly dirtier and creates more nebulous undercurrents in the repeats. If you want to retain clarity in more melodic settings, it will create a warm glow around repeats at conservative levels. Push it, and it will summon thick, sometimes droning haze that makes a great backdrop for slower, simpler, and hooky psychedelic riffs.
In clean applications, this decay and tone profile lend the tape setting a spooky, foggy aura that suggests the cold vastness of outer space. The analog voice often displays an authentic BBD clickiness in clean repeats that’s sweet for underscoring rhythmic patterns, while the digital voice’s pronounced regularity adds a clockwork quality that supports more up-tempo, driving, electronic rhythms.
The Verdict
Silos’ combination of features seems like a very obvious and appealing one. But bringing it all together at just less than 150 bucks represents a smart, adept threading of the cost/feature needle.