What was already a standout moment of this year's Wacken Open Air, the world's largest metal festival, turned into something even bigger when legendary guitarist Michael Schenker pulled a surprise no one saw coming. The architect of hard rock used the world's loudest stage to announce that a brand new Michael Schenker Group studio album, titled Don't Sell Your Soul, will be released on October 3 via earMUSIC.
To mark the occasion, Schenker and his band closed the show with a world-exclusive live premiere of the new album's title track — a powerful encore that took the Wacken crowd by surprise and was met with instant enthusiasm on the muddy festival fields. You can now listen to the new track HERE.
Don't Sell Your Soul is the second part of an album trilogy that began with 2024's My Years With UFO. This will be the first studio album for MSG since Universal in 2022.
The album was produced by Michael Schenker and Michael Voss, and recorded with Schenker's longtime allies: Bodo Schopf (drums), Barend Courbois (bass), and Steve Mann (guitar, keys). On vocals: the impeccable Erik Grönwall (Skid Row, H.E.A.T) – undoubtedly one of the finest rock voices of his generation. Guest appearances on vocals by Robin McAuley, Dimitri "Lia" Liapakis, and Michael Voss round out the cast.
The Michael Schenker Group was formed in 1979 and has released 12 studio albums with many different members over the years, with Schenker the only constant presence.
Michael Schenker played in the rock band UFO and leads the Michael Schenker Group (MSG). He was an early member of the hard rock band Scorpions, a band co-founded by his elder brother Rudolf Schenker.
Michael Schenker is regarded as one of the most influential guitarists of the 1970s, and is widely known as a legendary figure in the history of metal guitar.
Michael Schenker is an undisputed living legend and it is time to sell your soul with MSG. Let us know what you think! Michael IS doing a limited amount of interviews so let's talk and see what we can set up!
Our columnist’s favorite wah pedals—from left to right, an Ernie Ball, a Excetro Wau Wau Machine, an Ibanez Double Sound Fuzz Wah, and a Dunlop Cry Baby Mini—are a partial history of the device’s evolution.
If you ask me what my favorite pedal is after fuzz, the answer is definitely wah. Bands like Fu Manchu and Dinosaur Jr. are great examples of just how powerful wah, fuzz, and a wall of amps can sound together. Sorry, I’m not into SRV voodoo or those “whacka-whacka” kinds of wah sounds.
Let’s dig a little deeper. My very first wah pedal was actually a gift from my ex-girlfriend. She told me it sounded “sexy.” She knew absolutely nothing about guitars. Maybe the sound reminded her of some sleazy ’70s B-movie soundtrack. That pedal was a Dunlop GCB95 with a red Fasel inductor. I absolutely loved it … at first. I even took it out on tour. But I grew to hate it. It was heavy, hard to click on, had no on/off LED, and it sucked tone like crazy. But still, it was the pedal that made me fall in love with wah and start digging deep into its history.
Wah is one of the most iconic effects pedals—so iconic that even non-guitarists recognize it instantly by sound alone. Hence the name—wah. The effect was first developed around 1964 by the Thomas Organ Company, an American distributor of Vox products from the U.K. Their goal? Originally, it was intended for use with Vox organs, to mimic a trumpet-like tone. Bradley J. Plunkett, a junior engineer at Thomas, modified a midrange booster circuit and eventually decided to use a potentiometer as a frequency control. The result was essentially a variable band-pass filter, initially released as the Clyde McCoy Wah-Wah. McCoy was a trumpet player, and that product was intended to achieve a muted-trumpet effect with guitar. In 1967, to better appeal to guitarists, the name was changed to the Cry Baby, although in Italy Vox branded the device as the V846 Wah-Wah—and the rest is history.
As the music industry evolved, so did the wah pedal. Both the sound and the mechanism used to operate wah pedals went through significant changes. The original Vox V846 used a variable band-pass filter housed in an organ volume pedal enclosure, where the potentiometer was turned via a gear. This allowed players to control the frequency range with a rocking foot motion. This design is still used today by many manufacturers.
However, that system has its drawbacks. Over time, the gears wear out due to friction. Then, there’s the issue of limited sweep range: most rotary pots have about 270 degrees of rotation, but gear mechanisms often only utilize about a third of that, making them far from optimal. In 1977, Ernie Ball replaced the gear mechanism with a string-loop-and-spring design, allowing for a full and smooth sweep. Roland and Boss also introduced unique approaches, including automotive-like axle designs and pedal mechanisms inspired by bicycle cranks—equally effective and efficient. Morley, meanwhile, took a more futuristic approach by employing optical sensors to control the sweep, with no moving interior parts at all.
“Perhaps due to their legacy tones, many players enjoy the limitations of the original design.”
Despite these innovations, no single mechanism has rendered the others obsolete. In the end, it’s up to the musician—the user—to decide which design works best for their playing style and live performance needs. I find myself more comfortable with devices like the one from Ernie Ball, simply because they include an LED indicator. I also really love the Dunlop Bass Wah—essentially a manual envelope filter—which I think is genius.
That said, the classic gear-style wah pedals still have their loyal fans. Perhaps due to their legacy tones, many players enjoy the limitations of the original design. I still believe the lack of an on/off LED indicator is the biggest flaw in traditional wahs like the Cry Baby or Vox models.
Maybe I’m just one of those people with unorthodox tastes and needs. I don’t claim to be special or different, but wah pedals are tools for making music, and music-making is by nature a subjective process. And that’s totally okay, right?
In fact, I’m sure many of the innovations we’ve seen in wah pedal design come from the designers’ own subjectivity—trying to solve real problems they perceive in real contexts. As long as people are passionate about making music, new ideas will keep emerging. Weird, wonderful, and always evolving—that’s wah.
Re-live classic Rig Rundowns from Tool’s Justin Chancellor, Pantera’s Rex Brown, Tim Commerford (RATM/Prophets of Rage), MonoNeon (Prince), and other road-tested pros as they reveal the routing, wah/whammy tricks, delay math, and looping workflows that truly hold up onstage.
When California-based effects company Noise Engineering released their Desmodus Versio in 2020, it represented the first reverb effect in their product line, but they coined a new term for the DSP-based effect: a synthetic-tail generator. The name reflects the reality that it is, by definition, the Desmodus Versio doesn’t create literal reverberation, as in reflections in a room, but instead builds “tails” onto an audio signal. Taxonomy aside, it was a powerful, well-received, and positively jam-packed digital unit.
The Batverb, launched earlier this year, is an evolution of Noise’s tail-generating efforts. However, it uses brand-new code programmed for Electrosmith’s Daisy Seed DSP platform. A stereo effect box that spans delightful and demented flavors of delay and reverb, the Batverb is generously featured and full of unique takes on space-making effects.
Heads or Tails
The Batverb’s main panel includes six knobs, three 3-way switches, two footswitches, and one “bat” button, which you press and hold to access alternate parameters assigned to the knobs. On the crown are input jacks for either mono or stereo performance as well as MIDI in/out and expression pedal jacks. Up to 16 different presets can be saved and recalled via MIDI.
In normal operation, the knobs govern, from bottom left to bottom right, input volume, time, a suboctave chorus, an octave-up shimmer, “regen” or feedback, and a blend of dry and wet signals. When holding the bat button, those same knobs, in order, control output volume, MIDI channel selection, high-pass filter, low-pass filter, duck amount, and expression pedal parameter assignment. The focus switch changes the diffusion of the delay lines. In the left position it behaves more like a delay, while the other two settings sound and feel more like reverbs. Grit adds, in the middle and right positions, a discrete soft-clipping distortion, and duck determines the responsiveness of the feedback. In the switch’s center position, there’s no ducking. At left, feedback monetarily increases when input volume is received, then tapers off as the signal does. At right, the opposite happens, and feedback increases as the signal gets quieter.
Enter the Bat Cave
To my ears, the Batverb’s more reverb-y patches are in hall or room territory—albeit very cavernous halls or rooms. But reverb sounds created by the Batverb’s algorithms sound more authentic to me than many sought-after reverbs I’ve played. Rather than an indistinct wash of sound, the tails here give the convincing impression of your amp’s signal ricocheting around a high-ceilinged cathedral, at first coming back in clearer, sharper bursts, then melting into smeary ambience. And the handy hold feature can be engaged for infinite regeneration by tapping the footswitch, or for a specific window by pressing and holding. That double utility goes a long way toward determining whether the Batverb sounds organic or unhinged.
The sub- and up-octave content injected by the doom and shimmer knobs is more chaotic and spacious than garden-variety iterations of those effects you’ll find on many octave-based reverbs, and that’s a good thing. Like most effects generated by the Batverb it feels like the product of thoughtful, well-considered programming.
The delay algorithm, engaged with the focus toggle at left, is pleasant and plenty usable, and it’s nice to have alongside the less predictable reverb settings. But the Batverb’s deep tweakability means you can still dial in a broad range of both standard and more marginal delay sounds. The chunky transistor-ish dirt summoned by the grit switch widens the palette further. Add in the touch-sensitive ducking (and its customizable parameters), and you’ve got a ton of ground to play with.
The Verdict
Noise Engineering created an outstanding reverb and tail generator here. Considering its steep asking price, the Batverb will be out of the question for many players, but it’s obviously geared to adventurous players and discerning producers, especially those looking for authentic, parallel universe-conjuring ambience and noise in their studio or live rigs. For these musicians, the Batverb will be more than worth the bite it takes from the bank balance.
Filmmaker Jim Jarmusch—one of the creative avatars of downtown New York cool since the mid ’80s—was asked a while back what he thought were some of the key innovations of the 20th century. “My answer was the mapping of the human genome, the Hubble Space Telescope, the French bikini, and the electric guitar,” recalls the director of such arthouse wonders as Mystery Train, Dead Man, and Only Lovers Left Alive. “My favorite of those might be the electric guitar. I just love guitars and musical noise.”
YouTube
Jarmusch isn’t just a fan of music ranging from the Stooges and Crazy Horse to heavy drone bands like Earth and Nadja. He generates guitar noise himself, most notably with his band Sqürl and his frequent duo partner, the Dutch lutenist Jozef van Wissem. Jarmusch has been making records and performing live with both for years now; his output with a guitar in hand has even lately outpaced his productivity behind a camera. Last year, he and his prime Sqürl mate, Carter Logan (drums/electronics), released Music for Man Ray, an album of their scores to Surrealist short films made by the titular artist in the 1920s, the whorls of sound captured live at the Centre Pompidou in Paris. That disc followed a 2023 Sqürl studio album, Silver Haze, with guest stars guitarist Marc Ribot, actress/vocalist Charlotte Gainsbourg, and the singer-songwriter Anika. Jarmusch and van Wissem toured this summer to herald a new record, The Day the Angels Cried, their fifth non-soundtrack release. Jarmusch has also been working on some longform solo guitar music, asking the recording engineer to “edit out all the riffs” as he follows a dream-logic muse.
“You have to be listening and use your whole body along with your instrument, your amps, your effects. But what you’re going to produce isn’t certain, and there’s tension in that.”—Jim Jarmusch
Although he had played in bands during the early ’80s, mostly on keyboards, Jarmusch took up the guitar as a passion in the early 2000s. He had planned for his pensive noir The Limits of Control (2009) to feature preexisting music rather than a purpose-written score, including viscous art-metal by Boris, Sunn O))), and Earth, the tolling psychedelic rock of the Black Angels’ “You on the Run,” and a handful of flamenco pieces to suit the Spanish setting. But when he couldn’t find the right tracks to match some elemental sounds he heard in his head for a few remaining scenes, Jarmusch decided to make that music himself, alongside Logan and engineer-organist Shane Stoneback. Credited as Bad Rabbit on the soundtrack, the name morphed into Sqürl as Jarmusch and Logan released further recordings, such as the luminous, affecting Some Music for Robby Müller (a sonic tribute to the late, great cinematographer).
On his most recent tour with Van Wissem, Jarmusch has been using this P-90-loaded Guild I Starfire Jet 90. “It’s kind of a beast,” he says, “but I’m loving it, because it’s very good for controlled feedback.”
Photo by Joachim Adria Pujol
“I’m not a trained guitar player—never even had a real lesson,” explains Jarmusch, 72. “I play my own way. I don’t practice scales, but something I have practiced for many years is controlled feedback. If I can say anything, it’s that I’ve become pretty good at that kind of musical feedback on electric guitar, something I do a lot in the duo with Jozef. I have had some pointers in this area, particularly from Stephen O’Malley from Sunn O))) and Stewart Hurwood, one of Lou Reed’s guitar techs. But the thing about feedback is that you’re not always totally in control of it. You don’t know exactly how the guitar and pickups are going to react vis-à-vis what distance you are from the amplifiers and how their levels are set. So, you have to be listening and use your whole body along with your instrument, your amps, your effects. But what you’re going to produce isn’t certain, and there’s tension in that. I’m always interested in the challenge of being a little off-balance—it inspires me. I’m not so good at repeating a formula, as I’m not mathematical in that way. When playing more rock ’n’ roll guitar with Sqürl, I can even sort of frustrate Carter at times, because he’s a precise drummer and my approach is on the loose side.
Primal Sounds, Old Wood
When it comes to his ethos of guitar, clues come from the two documentaries Jarmusch has made: the exciting, insightful Stooges history Gimme Danger (2016) and the lo-fi road document Year of the Horse, which Neil Young called “a nature film” of his 1996 tour with Crazy Horse. “I’m definitely not into shredding, even if you can admire the technical mastery of someone like Eddie Van Halen,” Jarmusch says. “I’m a Ron Asheton guy—in the more primal camp. I really like Neil’s raw style. I’m drawn to players who approach the instrument from an odd slant.” He points to Ribot, Link Wray, Robert Quine, and Rowland S. Howard of the Birthday Party as other individualists he finds inspiring, along with Earth’s Dylan Carlson for “his beautiful sound and incredible control” at glacial tempos, and Pat Place of the Contortions and Bush Tetras, “who brought such a funky vibe to the post-punk and No Wave scene in New York.”
Jarmusch lights up at memories of witnessing Television live, calling the interplay of Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd “a beautiful revelation—this weaving of guitars that wasn’t necessarily blues-based. Their shows would just elevate me to the sky.” He also digs the live-wire, sui generis guitar weave of Ibrahim Ag Alhabib and his mates in the nomadic Saharan band Tinariwen, as well as the drone-metal pairing of O’Malley and Greg Anderson in Sunn O))) and the intrepid avant-rock of Sonic Youth’s Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo.
Jim Jarmusch’s Gear
Guitars
FenderStratocaster modified by Rick Kelly with Seymour Duncan Quarter Pound pickups, Callaham bridge, and leather pickguard by Cindy Guitars
Like some of his favorite players, Jarmusch’s go-to shop is Carmine Street Guitars in New York’s West Village, whose customers have also included Quine, Ribot, Lou Reed, Bill Frisell, Nels Cline, and Lenny Kaye. The proprietor, Rick Kelly, is a luthier whose specialty is creating guitars made out of rare, especially resonant 19th-century wood sourced from New York City buildings, including McSorley’s Ale House (established in 1854) and the roof of Jarmusch’s Bowery loft. He calls Kelly “my main guy—a real artisan and just fascinating to talk with about guitars, tonewoods, everything.” Kelly built Jarmusch a custom T-style (with a wide-range humbucker at the neck), along with modifying his longtime road guitar for Sqürl: a black Stratocaster, with Seymour Duncan Quarter Pound pickups and other touches. Jarmusch appreciates the store’s old-school, workshop vibe so much that he encouraged a documentarian friend of his, Ron Mann, to make a charmer of a film called Carmine Street Guitars, which features Jarmusch and many of the aforementioned players stopping in to talk about the shop’s instruments and try them out.
“Making a film is a complex process with a lot of equal talents all pulling together, yet I’m necessarily the captain of the ship, navigating an idea from my imagination onto the screen. But when I’m making music with other people, I’m in a conversation.”
Jarmusch’s other favored guitars include a Blueridge dreadnought and an Ed O’Brien signature model Stratocaster. “The Ed O’Brien Strat with that Fernandes Sustainer unit is an amazing guitar, kind of trippy,” he says. “Whenever I pull that thing out in my little studio, the instrument almost starts playing itself, like it just wants you to experiment with it.” For the squalling counterpoint he provides to van Wissem’s circular arpeggios, Jarmusch switches to a semi-hollow guitar. “I have a cool 335-style Epiphone from the 1990s that feeds back beautifully, sounding like a cello. I played it for almost all the past recordings where I used feedback a lot. But for my latest tour with Jozef, I have been using a Guild Starfire Jet that has three P-90 pickups. It’s kind of a beast, but I’m loving it, because it’s very good for controlled feedback.”
Analog Spirit, Drone Power
About Jarmusch’s romance with guitars, van Wissem says, “I guess it was sort of an accident that the guitar and music became a bigger and bigger focus for Jim, but I always had the idea that he really wanted to be a musician, in a way. He has definitely become a good guitarist now, having developed his own sound and approach over the years. He loves his pedals and playing wild electric stuff and feedback, but he likes playing acoustic, too. We can go from darkly beautiful, even elegant things to some pretty metal sounds, especially at the climax of these recent shows when I trade the amplified lute for a 12-string guitar, my Gretsch Electromatic.”
Jarmusch and van Wissem hit it off after meeting on the street in SoHo about 20 years ago. “We immediately discovered that we shared an enthusiasm for many of the same films and books, and music from Morton Feldman to Joy Division,” van Wissem recalls. “Jim is a cultural sponge—he takes everything in.” The two developed a synergistic association, performing around New York with their unique combination of instruments and making records often colored by van Wissem’s arcane, neo-gothic mythos. The lutenist, playing models made for him by Canadian luthier Michael Schreiner after Renaissance and Baroque examples, had already been recording his own minimalist, contemplative compositions solo, having eschewed a traditional route of playing the complex classical repertoire (despite a love for such Baroque lutenist-composers as Sylvius Leopold Weiss). The aim, van Wissem says, was to “dust off” the lute by putting its intimate tones in a new context, “to make it live in the now.” It was a path more in keeping with his punk-rock spirit, something the indie-minded Jarmusch could appreciate.
Jarmusch and Dutch lutenist Jozef van Wissem, who says, “I always had the idea that he really wanted to be a musician.”
Photo by Joachim Adria Pujol
About Jarmusch’s romance with guitars, van Wissem says, “I guess it was sort of an accident that the guitar and music became a bigger and bigger focus for Jim, but I always had the idea that he really wanted to be a musician, in a way. He has definitely become a good guitarist now, having developed his own sound and approach over the years. He loves his pedals and playing wild electric stuff and feedback, but he likes playing acoustic, too. We can go from darkly beautiful, even elegant things to some pretty metal sounds, especially at the climax of these recent shows when I trade the amplified lute for a 12-string guitar, my Gretsch Electromatic.”
“David Lynch said that movies are the closest thing that humans make to dreams, and it’s true. A film is like a dream that you’re pulled into. But music is more like a kind of magic, even just listening to it. You supply your own imagination, your own feelings and associations.”
Jarmusch and van Wissem hit it off after meeting on the street in SoHo about 20 years ago. “We immediately discovered that we shared an enthusiasm for many of the same films and books, and music from Morton Feldman to Joy Division,” van Wissem recalls. “Jim is a cultural sponge—he takes everything in.” The two developed a synergistic association, performing around New York with their unique combination of instruments and making records often colored by van Wissem’s arcane, neo-gothic mythos. The lutenist, playing models made for him by Canadian luthier Michael Schreiner after Renaissance and Baroque examples, had already been recording his own minimalist, contemplative compositions solo, having eschewed a traditional route of playing the complex classical repertoire (despite a love for such Baroque lutenist-composers as Sylvius Leopold Weiss). The aim, van Wissem says, was to “dust off” the lute by putting its intimate tones in a new context, “to make it live in the now.” It was a path more in keeping with his punk-rock spirit, something the indie-minded Jarmusch could appreciate.
The Day the Angels Cried, released on van Wissem’s Incunabulum label, is the duo’s fifth non-soundtrack record.
A milestone for the Jarmusch/van Wissem partnership came with the soundtrack for Only Lovers Left Alive(2013), the director’s most potent latter-day film. Although ostensibly a vampire movie, on a deeper level it’s about valuing the gifts of the past while also appreciating new possibilities ahead, despite the melancholy evanescence of this world. The score is a mosaic of Sqürl and van Wissem, with the lutenist composing the main themes—which earned him the soundtrack award at the Cannes Film Festival. It’s also the duo’s “hit,” the one crowds cheer from the first notes.
Reflecting on his various collaborations, Jarmusch says: “Making a film is a complex process with a lot of equal talents all pulling together, yet I’m necessarily the captain of the ship, navigating an idea from my imagination onto the screen. But when I’m making music with other people, I’m in a conversation. With Sqürl, I can lead things, or not. But in the duo with Jozef, he generally makes the decisions on structure, etc., which I’m then free to react to. I like that. Giving up control is good for me, and he has experience making his own records. He has always encouraged my musicality, and I trust him. Our interest in history and our sense of aesthetics align in many ways, even if our philosophies differ in some areas. I see Jozef as this Swedenborgian mystic in a way, whereas I’m a natural-phenomenological psychedelic atheist, I guess.”
Jarmusch and Van Wissem first met in SoHo about 20 years ago. “We immediately discovered that we shared an enthusiasm for many of the same films and books, and music from Morton Feldman to Joy Division,” says van Wissem.
Photo by Ekaterina Gorbacheva
Jarmusch and Van Wissem certainly share an appreciation for the timeless power of the drone. The pick of their albums, American Landscapes, comprises three droning tone poems created in 2022 to reflect the embattled state of the nation, like an alarm-cum-lament, with the lute tolling as the guitar growls at the moon. But all of the duo’s music-making taps into a hypnotic essence. “I’ll be playing one chord, arpeggiated, for a long time, circling around, and that repetition can put a listener into something like a trance,” Van Wissem explains. “On the lute, I’m playing Renaissance drones, essentially, alternating the bass line on two strings and improvising a melody on top, the drone staying the same with some variation in the melody. It’s basic, but that trance effect at a show means you go more inward. You let things go in the process, your daily disturbances, and when it’s over, you’re different somehow. I have the same experience when I go to a Sunn O))) concert.”
Due out this fall is Jarmusch’s first movie since 2019, Father, Mother, Sister, Brother, starring Charlotte Rampling, Cate Blanchett, Adam Driver, and Tom Waits. Jarmusch tells a story involving Waits that helps illustrate a difference for him between directing movies and making music: “Once, I was with Tom at his house, and he’s sitting at this old piano and writes a song as I’m sitting there. It just comes and then goes into the ether, like perfume. At the time, I had been working on a film for two fucking years, with longer to go, and he conjured up this wonderful piece of art in the moment. Making films doesn’t have that immediacy. David Lynch said that movies are the closest thing that humans make to dreams, and it’s true. A film is like a dream that you’re pulled into. But music is more like a kind of magic, even just listening to it. You supply your own imagination, your own feelings and associations. Filmmaking is something that I love to do and hope to keep doing. But music is in another realm. I think it’s the most beautiful thing that humans do.”
YouTube It
Here’s a flashback to Jarmusch and van Wissem earlier in their union, creating droning magic in Barcelona in 2013.
