Photo 1 Two versions of an extremely simple so-called bass-extender.
Dear Jol Dantzig,
Your recent PG articles, "The Doors of Perception" and the follow-up "The String-Tension Follies Experiment, Continued," are an interesting read about string tension, a topic of which your friend Collin Olson of D'Addario said: "There's definitely a lot of confusion out there." He's right, and you're definitely not alone with your doubts, thoughts, and struggles.
Recently a bass builder came up with the idea of how to make a 30" short-scale feel and sound like a 34" long-scale bass. He intended to use a string-through bridge and attach the tailpiece at a place where Floyd-Rose-equipped guitars have those spring-claws to elongate string length. He was about to spend a lot of money on a patent, which he now hopefully saves for something else.
I've discussed this topic in a few earlier columns, but sometimes we might be skeptical about a certain idea and need a different explanation and view angle before we know what's wrong. And since this is even discussed among experienced luthiers, I wanted to shed some light on it.
You mentioned four questions you've been thinking about, and I allow myself to start with my short answers:
1. Does overall string length affect tension?
No.
2. Does string tension really affect tone?
No and yes.
3. Is sustain hampered by pickup magnets?
Yes.
4. Can Eric Johnson tell when my battery is alkaline?
Surely not, but he's free to believe whatever he wants.
With questions #3 and #4 being a very different topic, let's focus on questions #1 and #2.
The issue of string tension has a mathematical answer. This is the formula for a string's tension (T):
Uw= specific weight per length unit of core and winding, L= scale length, f= frequency.
I'm sure you've seen this, but let's put it in words: For a given speaking length of a specific string, tension equals frequency, or the root thereof.
And, less mathematical, if I said that length behind the bridge would add tension, you'd need to tune down to a lesser tension to get back to pitch "f." A classic circulus vitiosus.
Tension (if one-dimensional) is an axial force between two points and is in equilibrium across the whole length of the string between both anchor points, wherever these are. But pitch only depends on its speaking length.
I've discussed this topic in a few earlier columns, but sometimes we might be skeptical about a certain idea and need a different explanation and view angle before we know what's wrong.
Question #2 is a bit more complicated because I think the question should be: Does overall string length affect tone? While tension doesn't affect tone, overall string length can. It's often said that additional string length adds especially to the low end, which once led to the idea of so-called bass-extenders (see "The B-String Extender Myth" [March 2013]).
Two of these "bass-extender" constructions are shown in Photo 1, which to me is not only simple, but debunking at the same time. In physics, it's often helpful to look at the extremes. Assuming adding length worked:
A.) It would be almost impossible to build a good-sounding headless bass, as these sport an extremely short overall string-length.
B.) Using an extra, extra-long string, wound all across the room, would allow one to forever dominate the bass world.
Both outcomes not only sound very unlikely but have been disproven. It's no surprise that you mention two specific instruments that led to the idea of outer string length affecting tension: the upright bass and an archtop guitar or bass.
Photo 2 - This German Fasan archtop bass (built in 1965) has a shallow break angle and long string-length on the left side of the bridge.
Photo courtesy of german-vintage-guitar.com
Both of these are known for their extended string length behind the bridge, sport a separate bridge and tailpiece, and, more importantly, are half or fully acoustic instruments. On an acoustic instrument, you'll want to remove as much weight and stress from the soundboard. The first eases movement of the top, while the latter allows for an even thinner soundboard, moving even more air.
This construction with a very distant bridge and tailpiece is exactly the one where perception chimes in, although I'd prefer to use the term elasticity. Whenever we pluck or bend a string, we apply a force (F) to a given string with an elasticity (E) and diameter (A). According to Hooke's law for a material's elastic behavior:
E and A are constant and so would be the force that needs to be applied for bending a string by ∂l. For a given instrument, l0 is constant—close to the scale length for a headless, and scale length plus the additional length outside the scale, if the string can slip over the bridge once we bend it. When l0 getting bigger, the force needed for the same bend gets smaller and this results in the perception of a softer, more elastic string. Of course, the break angle at both ends of the scale length needs to be rather shallow with low friction to allow for the string's slippage (Photo 2). It's discussed in my PG column "The Break Dance Behind the Bridge" [February 2021].
A final answer to your question about its effect on tone is pretty complex and one I'm also still struggling with. A few of my thoughts on the subject went into the article "Bridge vs. Tone" [March 2021].
Maybe these can give you some ideas to chew on?
Sincerely,
Heiko PG
On That’s the Price of Loving Me, “We’re Not Finished Yet” is a love letter to Wareham’s 1968 Gibson ES-335.
The singer-songwriter, 61, has crafted many such moments—most famously during the late ’80s and early ’90s, helping cement the dream-pop genre with cult-favorites Galaxie 500. Take the tenor saxophone, by Ralph Carney, that elevates the back half of “Decomposing Trees” from 1989’s On Fire, or the Mellotron-like atmosphere that bubbles up during “Spook” on This Is Our Music from 1990—both of which, notably, were recorded with journeyman producer Kramer, who’s part of Wareham’s rich sonic universe once again with the songwriter’s new solo album, That’s the Price of Loving Me.
Following This Is Our Music, the final Galaxie 500 album, Wareham and Kramer went their separate ways. The former founded the long-running indie-rock band Luna, formed the duo Dean & Britta with now-wife Britta Phillips, worked on film scores, and released a handful of solo projects. Kramer, meanwhile, grew into a hero of experimental music, playing with and producing everyone from John Zorn to Daniel Johnston. They stayed in touch, even as they drifted apart geographically, and always talked about working together again—but it took the weight of mortality to make it happen.
“[Kramer has] been saying for years, ‘It’s crazy we haven’t made a record together,’” says Wareham over Zoom, his shimmering silver hair flanked in the frame by a wall-hung cherry red Gibson SG and a poster of Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s 1975 drama Faustrecht der Freiheit. “He was living in Florida, and I was living elsewhere and doing other things. But I did lose a couple of friends over the pandemic, and it did occur to me, you can’t just say, ‘I’ll get to it’ forever. Not to be morbid, but we’re not gonna be here forever. We’re not getting any younger, are we?”
Dean Wareham's Gear
Wareham was a member of the early indie dream-pop trio Galaxie 500. After their split, he formed indie rock stalwarts Luna as well as Dean & Britta, with wife and Luna bandmate Britta Phillips.
Photo by Laura Moreau
Guitars
Amps
- Lazy J 20
- Mesa/Boogie California Tweed
Effects
- EAE Hypersleep reverb
- EAE Sending analog delay
- Dr Scientist Frazz Dazzler fuzz
- Danelectro Back Talk
- Joe Parker Raydeen overdrive
Strings, Picks, and Accessories
- Curtis Mangan nickel wounds (.010–.046)
- Dunlop Nylon .88 mm picks
- Truetone 1 Spot Pro CS12
In 2020, Dean & Britta recorded a covers album, Quarantine Tapes—the perfect opportunity, amid the agony of lockdown, to finally get Kramer involved. The producer mixed their hazy version of the Seekers’ “The Carnival Is Over,” which planted the seeds for a bigger collaboration on That’s the Price of Loving Me. At first, though, Wareham didn’t have any songs, so he gave himself a hard deadline by booking some time at L.A. studio Lucy’s Meat Market.
“What is it in a song that makes people cry? What is it that moves you? It’s something unexpected.”
“I don’t write songs every day—sometimes I don’t write songs for a whole year or something,” he says with a laugh. “The only thing that gets me to do it is booking studio time. Then I have to write some songs because it’ll be embarrassing if I show up with nothing.”
The space itself—decked out with a jaw-dropping amount of vintage guitars and amplifiers and keyboards—helped animate his sleepy-eyed and gently psychedelic songs. “I thought I had a few nice instruments,” Wareham says, “but I showed up, like, ‘Oh, your Les Paul’s from 1955? I think I’ll play this one. Your Martin is from the ’40s?’” Speed and spontaneity were essential: They worked six full days, with Kramer guiding him to capture every performance without overthinking it.
Wareham’s latest was produced by Kramer, a former member of Shockabilly, Bongwater, and the Butthole Surfers who owns the legendary underground label Shimmy-Disc. He produced all three Galaxie 500 LPs.
“[That’s] how I worked with Kramer back in the day too,” he recalls. “Maybe it kinda spoiled me—he was always like, ‘Yep, that’s it. Next!’ I got lazy about going back and redoing things. We’d make the decision and move on: keep that drum track and bass track. Maybe Britta [bass, backing vocals] would change a few things. Sometimes you’re with people who think every single thing should be replaced and made perfect, and you don’t actually have to do that. When it came time for me to overdub a guitar solo or something, Kramer would just allow me two takes generally: ‘Do it again a little differently. That’s it. That’s good.’”
“I thought I had a few nice instruments, but I showed up, like, ‘Oh, your Les Paul’s from 1955? I think I’ll play this one.’”
The material itself allowed for such malleability, with ringing chord progressions and gentle melodies often influenced by the musicians who happened to be gathered around him that day. “You Were the Ones I Had to Betray” has the baroque-pop sweetness of late-’60s Beatles, partly due to the sawing cellos of L.A. session player Gabe Noel, who also added some boomy bass harmonica to the climax. “It’s an instrument you’d mostly associate with the Beach Boys, I guess,” Wareham says. “It kinda sounds like a saxophone or something.”
Wareham, his 335, and Mesa/Boogie California Tweed at a recent Luna show, with bassist Britta Phillips in the background.
Photo by Mario Heller
It’s easy to get wrapped up in the warm hug of these arrangements, but it’s also worth highlighting Wareham’s lyrics—whether it’s the clever but subtle acrostic poetry of “The Mystery Guest” (“I’d never done that before, and it’s not that hard to do actually. Sometimes it’s just to give yourself a strange assignment to get yourself thinking in a different way”) or the hilarity of “We’re Not Finished Yet,” which scans as carnal but is actually a love letter to his semi-recently acquired 1968 Gibson ES-335.
“Sometimes it’s just to give yourself a strange assignment to get yourself thinking in a different way.”
“I read this poem about a guy polishing an antique wooden cabinet or something,” Wareham explains. “I thought, ‘That’s funny—it’s vaguely sexual, how he’s like rubbing this thing.’ I thought it would be funny if I wrote a song not about a piece of furniture but about the guitar—the experience of buying this. The lyrics in there: ‘I waxed you; I rubbed you; I reamed you.’ It all sounds like a dirty song, but it’s like, ‘No, I had to get the peg holes reamed!’ It works kind of as a love song, but that’s what it’s really about.”
Which brings us back to that idea of the unexpected. The most beautiful touches on Loving Me, crafted with his ol’ producer pal, are the ones that appear out of nowhere—like the blossoming guitar overdubs of “New World Julie” and “Dear Pretty Baby.” Kramer, he says, liked to “run two or three guitar tracks at once, where it becomes a symphony of guitars.”
These surprises, indeed, are the moments that stick with you.
YouTube It
Luna’s four-song performance on KEXP showcases Dean Wareham’s sparse, low-key indie rock vibe as well as his simple and sweet guitar embellishments.
