
This crash course in country guitar will inject your rock and blues playing with a brand-spankin’ new spark.
The key that unlocks the door to country guitar is hybrid picking—simultaneously or alternately playing notes with both pick and fingers. If you have any experience playing fingerstyle guitar, it’s sure to come in handy here. If not, no worries! Here’s your chance to start. Now, some of the musical examples below can surely be played with a pick only, but the magic is in the snap you get when you pluck the strings with your fingers.
SRV & EVH Bridge the Gap
Let’s ease into hybrid picking with a couple of related examples from the blues and rock world to demonstrate how country techniques can spice up your playing. Inspired by blues legend Albert King, who exclusively played fingerstyle, Stevie Ray Vaughn would unleash stinging notes from his high E string by plucking with his middle finger. First, try playing Ex. 1 with a pick. Then, while holding your pick normally, use the tip of your middle finger to reach under the first string, pulling it away from you, then quickly releasing. This will cause the string to slap against the fret, resulting in a satisfying, biting attack. The final note is picked, but you can try plucking here as well.
Let’s see how it’s done by the man himself, as he sits in with his idol in the following video. Notice how he plucks the first two notes country-style, lending them a sharpness that contrasts so well with the picked notes which follow.
In the music video for Van Halen’s “Finish What Ya Started,” a quasi-country song from 1988’s OU812, Eddie Van Halen dons his cowboy hat (quite literally, as you’ll see in a moment) and masterfully cranks out a classic country-style lick often heard in R&B, blues and rock. It’s one which is dominated by major and minor sixths played on non-adjacent strings. Ex. 2 is along the same lines, and you’ll need to alternately play picked notes on the 3rd string and SRV-style plucked notes on the 1st.
Sure, that sounds okay, but now let’s really countrify it. In Ex. 3, we present the same basic lick, but notice how all of the notes on the 3rd string (except the very first) are now deadened. To achieve this, lightly rest your fret-hand finger on the string at roughly the same locations as in Ex. 2, creating a pitchless, percussive sound, a technique integral to country playing. And be sure to play the 1st-string notes staccato (short) as indicated by the dots above the noteheads. Now you’re beginning to sound like a bona fide country player!
Truck Stops and Double-Stops
Let’s take a gander at country and jazz guitar legend Danny Gatton (once known as “the world’s greatest unknown guitarist”) playing a catchy, hybrid-picked chordal riff.
Ex. 4 takes a similar tack and will have you alternating picked notes and dyads (two-note chords), plucked with your middle and ring fingers. In bars 2 and 4, check out how hybrid picking allows you to continue the groove while simultaneously adding some snappy fills on top.
Let’s continue with that same technique, but with a twist. First, check out British country master Albert Lee playing the main riff to “Bullish Boogie” from his 1986 album Speechless.
Ex. 5 will have you playing a similar type of phrase. After plucking each of the dyads, pull off to the open 3rd string for an added rhythmic bounce—which leads us smack dab into what just might be the most fun you’ll have all day.
Open-String Magic
We’ve just had a small taste of what open strings have to offer. But they’re even more powerful, allowing you to zip up and down the fretboard in dramatic fashion. Brad Paisley is a guru of open strings, as you’ll see here:
Ex. 6 would fit right into Paisley’s wheelhouse. Here, it’s imperative to play the accented notes a little louder. For country pickers, this means to pluck harder with your middle finger, so as to get an even sharper snap. It’s a bit shocking how simply using the open 3rd string as a pivot allows you to shift positions at the speed of light.
Ex. 7 is a similar idea, but this time we’re moving down the fretboard, palm-muting the 5th string to create even more of a contrast between the picked and plucked notes, which are again accented.
Whew! Let’s take a quick break to catch Jerry Donahue of the Hellecasters tearing up the Jerry Reed classic “The Claw.”
Stealing from the Steel-ers
Country pickers love to, shall we say “borrow,” some of pedal steel players’ favorite moves. You likely have already played a host of rock-centric oblique bends—a two-string affair where one note is allowed to ring while the other is bent—allowing you to come close to approximating the sound of a pedal steel. But if you’re new to country guitar, chances are you haven’t encountered anything quite like Ex. 8.
To pull this one off, you’ll need to execute tricky 3rd-string bends with your index finger by pulling the string down towards the floor. Plus you’ll need to do it while fretting the 4th and 5th strings with your pinky and ring finger, respectively. Take a deep breath and go for it.
This last one’s just for extra credit, and it involves countrifying oblique bends with another signature pedal steel move: harp harmonics. First, let’s check out Ex. 9.
To execute these harp harmonics, fret the indicated note as usual. Then you’ll see another number in parentheses located 12 frets above. Next, lightly touch the string with your pick-hand index finger directly over the fret, while holding your pick between your thumb and middle finger. (You can also set down the pick and pluck with your thumb instead.) Finally, strike the string with your pick on the bridge side of your index finger. The result is a shimmering harmonic one octave above the fretted note.
Well, that’s a wrap. If you give yourself some time to experiment with hybrid picking and the fun ideas we covered in this lesson, you’ll invariably hit on some new ones of your own, sure to perk up your rock and blues playing. Finally, Greg Koch, grand master of chicken pickin’ (and pretty much everything else guitar) will fittingly play us out with his unique brand of gristled, country-fried rock.
Columnist Janek Gwizdala with heroes Dennis Chambers (left) and Mike Stern (right).
Keeping your gigging commitments can be tough, especially when faced with a call from a hero. But it’s always the right choice.
Saying “yes!” to everything early on has put me in a place now where I can say no to almost everything and still be okay. That wasn’t without its challenges. I’d like to share a story about a “yes” that would haunt me for years.
As bass players, we can, if we choose, quite easily find ourselves in a wide variety of situations without having to change much about our sound or our playing. If your time is good and you’re able to help those around you feel good and sound better, the telephone will pretty much always ring.
Playing jazz as an electric-bass player living in New York City from 2000 to 2010 was somewhat of a fool’s errand in terms of getting work. No one wanted electric bass, and bandleaders would go to the bottom of a list of 100 upright players before they would even think about calling you. Not only that, but I wasn’t even at the top of the electric list when I first moved there. Not even close. Anthony Jackson, Richard Bona, Will Lee, Tim Lefebvre, James Genus, Lincoln Goines, Mike Pope, John Benitez, Matthew Garrison—that’s a who’s who of the instrument when I first moved to town, and I was very much a freshman with almost no experience. Almost…
I’d been lucky enough to play extensively with Kenwood Dennard (Jaco’s drummer), and a little with Hiram Bullock (Jaco’s guitarist) before moving to NYC which helped create a little momentum, but only a VERY little.
This is where the story begins:
I’d sent Mike Stern a demo back in late ’97. He’d not only taken the time to listen to it but had called my parents’ house right after I moved to the U.S. to tell me he loved it and wanted to hang. I missed the call but eventually met him at a clinic he gave at Berklee.
Of course, I was buzzing about all of this. It helped me stay laser-focused on practice and on moving to NYC as soon as possible. I got the typical “look me up when you get to town” invitation from Stern and basically counted the seconds through the three semesters I stayed at Berklee until I could split town.
I arrived with a ton of confidence but zero gigs. And nothing happened overnight. It really took saying yes to literally everything I was offered just to keep a roof over my head. Through that process, I felt like I was getting further away from playing with my jazz heroes.
The early gigs were far from glamorous—long hours, terrible pay, and sometimes, after travel expenses, they cost me money to play.
“Whenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroes—the reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do.”
When Stern finally called, a few years into living in NYC, things started to move pretty quickly. I began playing a lot of gigs at the 55 Bar with him, and short road trips became a thing—a four-night stint at Arturo Sandoval’s new club in Miami, gigs in Chicago, Cleveland, and upstate New York, and then some international work, including a tour of Mexico and a trip to Brazil, if I remember right.
But the hardest phone call of my career came from Mike not long into my time touring with him. It went something like this:
“Hey man, what’s your scene in April? Lincoln can’t make a trip to the West Coast. It’s just one gig. Trio… with DENNIS CHAMBERS.”
Mike didn’t shout Dennis’ name, but that’s how I heard it. My all-time hero. Someone I’d been dreaming about playing with for over 15 years. And here’s the kicker: I had to say no.
I’d just committed to six weeks with Jojo Mayer’s band Nerve in Asia and Europe, and there was no way I could bail on him. And there was no way I could afford to ditch six weeks of work for a single gig with Mike. To say that haunted me for years is an understatement. I was destroyed that I had to turn it down.
The tour with Jojo was amazing—the posters hang in my studio as a reminder of those times to this day. And thankfully, I was able to go on some years later and play dozens of shows with Mike and Dennis all over the world—truly some of the highlights of my career.
I still think about that phone call, though. Whenever I have a single moment of doubt, I think about the time I had to say no to my heroes—the reasons I moved to America, the reason I do what I do. I get emotional writing and thinking about it even now. But I've learned to never have regrets and understand you just have to believe in the process and maintain the willpower to continue—no matter what.
$149
Marshall 1959 Super Lead
The very definition of classic, vintage Marshall sound in a highly affordable package.
There’s only one relevant question about Marshall’s new 1959 Super Lead overdrive/distortion pedal: Does it sound like an actual vintage Super Lead head? The answer is, simply and surprisingly, yes. The significant difference I heard within the voice of this stomp, which I ran through a Carr Vincent and a StewMac Valve Factory 18 kit amp for contrast, is that it’s a lot quieter than my 1972 Super Lead.
The Super Lead, which bore Marshall’s 1959 model number, debuted in 1965 and was the amp that defined the plexi sound. That sound is here in spades, clubs, diamonds, and hearts. Like the Super Lead, the pedal is easy to use. The original’s 3-band EQ is replaced by a single, rangeful tone control. The normal dial and the volume, which together mimic the character created by jumping the first and second channels of a plexi head, offer smooth, rich, buttery op-amp driven gain and loudness. And the high-treble dial functions much like the presence control on the original amp.
The pedal is sturdy and handsome, too. A heavy-duty metal enclosure evokes the classic black-with-gold-plate plexi look and a vintage-grille-cloth motif. Switches and knobs (the latter with rubber sides for slip-free turning) are ultra solid, and—refreshingly—there’s a 9V battery option in addition to a barrel-pin connection. Whether with single-coils or humbuckers, getting beefy, sustained, historic tones took moments. I especially delighted in approximating my favorite Super Lead head setting by flooring the high treble, normal, and tone dials, and turning back the tone pots on my Flying V, evoking Disraeli Gears-era Clapton tone. That alone, to me, makes the 1959 Super Lead stomp a bargain at $149.The Miku was introduced about 10 years ago and is based on the vocal stylings of Hatsune Miku, a virtual pop icon. But it does much more than artificial vowels and high-pitched words.
It’s tempting to think of this pedal as a joke. Don’t.
It all started a few years ago through a trade with a friend. I just wanted to help him out—he really wanted to get a fuzz pedal but didn’t have enough cash, so he offered up the Korg Miku. I had no idea then, but it turned out to be the best trade I’ve ever made.
Here’s the truth: the Korg Miku is not your typical guitar pedal. It won’t boost your mids, sculpt your gain, or serve up that warm, buttery overdrive you’ve always worshipped. Nope. This little box does something entirely different: It sings! Yes, sings in a Japanese kawaii accent that’s based on the signature voice of virtual pop icon Hatsune Miku.
At first glance, it’s tempting to dismiss this pedal as just a gimmick—a joke, a collector’s oddity, the kind of thing you buy for fun and then forget next to your Hello Kitty Strat. But here’s the twist: Some take it seriously and I’m one of those people.
I play in a punk band called Cakrux, and lately I’ve been working with a member of a Japanese idol-style girl group—yeah, it’s exactly the kind of wild mashup you’d ever imagine. Somewhere in the middle of that chaos, the Miku found its way into my setup, and weirdly enough, it stuck. It’s quirky, beautiful, occasionally maddening, and somehow … just right. After plenty of time spent in rehearsals, studio takes, and more sonic experiments than I care to admit, I’ve come to appreciate this pedal in unexpected ways. So here are a few things you probably didn’t know about this delightfully strange little box.
It’s Not Organic—and That’s OK
Most guitar pedals are chasing something real. Wah pedals mimic the human voice—or even a trumpet. Tube Screamers? They’re built to recreate the warm push of an overdriven tube amp. Cab sims aim to replicate the tone of real-world speaker setups. But the Miku? It breaks the mold. Instead of emulating reality, it channels the voice of a fictional pop icon. Hatsune Miku isn’t a person—she’s a vocaloid, a fully digital creation made of samples and synthesis. The Miku doesn’t try to sound organic, it tries to sound like her. In that sense, it might be the only pedal trying to reproduce something that never existed in the physical world. And honestly, there’s something oddly poetic about that.
A World-Class Buffer
Here’s a fun fact: I once saw a big-name Indonesian session guitarist—you know, the kind who plays in sold-out arenas—with a Miku pedal on his board. I was like, “No way this guy’s busting out vocaloid lines mid-solo.” Plot twist: He only uses it for the buffer. Yep, the man swears by it and says it’s the best-sounding buffer he’s ever plugged into. I laughed … until I tried it. And honestly? He’s not wrong. Even if you never hear Miku sing a note, this pedal still deserves a spot on your board. Just for the tone mojo alone. Wild, right?
“The Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldn’t work for your music, but somehow, it just does.”
Impossible to Tame
Most pedals are built to make your life easier. The Miku? Not so much. This thing demands patience—and maybe a little spiritual surrender. First off, the tracking can be finicky, especially if you’re using low-output pickups. Latency becomes really noticeable and your picking dynamics suddenly matter a lot more. Then there’s the golden rule I learned the hard way. Never—ever—put anything before the Miku. No fuzz, no wah, no compressor, not even a buffer! It gets confused instantly and says “What is going on here?” And don’t even think about punching in while recording. The vocal results are so unpredictable, you’ll never get the same sound twice. Mess up halfway? You’re starting from scratch. Same setup, same take, same chaotic energy. It’s like trying to recreate a fever dream. Good luck with that.
Full Range = Full Power
Sure, it’s made for guitar, but the Miku really comes to life when you run it through a keyboard amp, bass cab, or even a full-range speaker. Why? Because her voice covers way more frequency range than a regular guitar speaker can handle. Plug it into a PA system or a bass rig, and everything sounds clearer, richer, way more expressive. It’s like letting Hatsune Miku out of her cage.
The Miku is one of those pedals that really shouldn't work for your music, but somehow, it just does. Is it the best pedal out there? Nah. Is it practical? Not by a long shot. But every time I plug it in, I can’t help but smile. It’s unpredictable, a little wild, and it feels like you’re jamming in the middle of a bizarre Isekai anime scene. And honestly, that’s what makes it fun.
This thing used to go for less than $100. Now? It’s fetching many times that. Is it worth the price? That’s up to you. But for me, the Korg Miku isn’t just another pedal—it’s a strange, delightful journey I’m glad I didn’t skip. No regrets here.
Two guitars, two amps, and two people is all it takes to bring the noise.
The day before they played the coveted Blue Room at Third Man Records in Nashville, the Washington, D.C.-based garage-punk duo Teen Mortgage released their debut record, Devil Ultrasonic Dream. Not a bad couple of days for a young band.
PG’s Chris Kies caught up with guitarist and vocalist James Guile at the Blue Room to find out how he builds the band’s bombastic guitar attack.
Brought to you by D’Addario.
Devilish Dunable
Guile has been known to use Telecasters and Gretsches in the past, but this time out he’s sticking with this Dunable Cyclops DE, courtesy of Gwarsenio Hall—aka Jordan Olds of metal-themed comedy talk show Two Minutes to Late Night. Guile digs the Dunable’s lightness on his shoulders, and its balance of high and low frequencies.
Storm Warning
What does Guile like about this Squier Cyclone? Simple: its color. This one is also nice and easy on the back, and Guile picked it up from Atomic Music in Beltsville, Maryland.
Crushing It
Guile also scooped this Music Man 410-HD from Atomic, which he got just for this tour for a pretty sweet deal. It runs alongside an Orange Crush Bass 100 to rumble out the low end.
James Guile’s Pedalboard
The Electro-Harmonix Micro POG and Hiwatt Filter Fuzz MkII run to the Orange, while everything else—a DigiTech Whammy, Pro Co Lil’ RAT, and Death by Audio Echo Dream 2—runs to the Music Man. A TC Helicon Mic Mechanic is on board for vocal assistance, and a TC Electronic PolyTune 3, Morley ABY, and Voodoo Labs Pedal Power 3 Plus keep the ship afloat.