
Reader: Jonathan C. Berndt
Hometown: New Kent County, Virginia
Guitar: Old Yeller
A 6-string hound that’s still barking nearly 40 years after it's birth.
I am named after my mother’s father, Jonathan Schairer, who was a luthier/repairman in the Boston area in the late 1800s. He passed away when my mother was a little girl, but somehow, I inherited his skills. I would take the violin he built out of its case as a little kid and just marvel at it. I was always asking Mom how and when he made it, and too many other questions she couldn’t answer.
In 1984, when I was 23, I borrowed Jeff Tyrell’s ’76 Stratocaster. Jeff was a local fixture around the Attleboro, Massachusetts, and Providence music scene from the 1970s through the 2000s. I took his guitar apart (without his permission, mind you), measured everything with calipers, drew plans, made templates, and started my own. A local shop provided a poplar blank glued up from nine laminations! I bought a plain maple board and carved a 1-piece neck from it. I had intended it to be a replica of a ’50s-era Strat, but at that point, I only knew what they looked like from photos. The neck was my interpretation of what I thought a V-profile neck felt like, and the body, of course, had the weak contours of Jeff’s CBS-era Strat. It was built on a Stanley Workmate. My tools: clamps, chisels, a router, a violin knife, my dad’s machinist square. I had access to a drill press and a three-wheeled bandsaw, on which I broke three blades while cutting out the body!
“I was always asking Mom how and when he made it, and too many other questions she couldn’t answer.”
Along the way, the guts of a DOD overdrive made it inside this S-style.
Another local legend, Glen Markel, who repaired guitars for touring acts passing through, applied the nitro for me. I would hang with Glen in his shop and ply him with a thousand questions, take notes, return home, and then apply what I absorbed. I can’t thank him enough. I also read everything I could find on guitar repair and construction as a young man.
Since then, I’ve modified the guitar countless times. I swapped the original Fender trem out for a Kahler, then a Floyd Rose; the DiMarzio pickups for EMGs, then finally Texas Specials. I even took the innards from a DOD overdrive and installed them under the pickguard. The ’80s were not kind.
The JSB Strat in action.
We now live in Virginia and, at 62 years of age, I have made more than 20 guitars. Just prior to moving here, I dropped in to say so long to Jeff in New England. He had sold the very Strat that I took apart to build mine, despite my repeatedly asking him to call me if he decided to sell it. Ironically, a week later I saw it at the local Guitar Center on the wall and bought it on the spot. Jeff passed away about two years later, and I have since foolishly sold his Strat that started this crazy journey. But whenever I pull mine from its case, it feels like coming home.
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This hollowbody has been with Jack since the '90s purring and howling onstage for hundreds of shows.
Greg Koch performing live.
The Gristle King himself, Greg Koch, joins reader Bret Boyer to discuss the one album that should be in everyone’s ears.
Question: What albums should every guitarist listen to and why?
Greg Koch - Guest Picker
Recorded in 1964, this album has been essential listening for generations of guitarists.
A: Going from the gut, I would say B.B. King’s Live at the Regal would be something every guitar player should listen to as it is the well from where every other electric blues guitar player drank from—whether they know it or not. Blues Is King is another one, but Live at the Regal is really the essence of what electric blues is all about.
Another worthy choice is this live album from 1966 which features an incredible take on Willie Nelson’s “Night Life.”
Obsession: I would say playing slide in open tunings. I have been playing mostly standard tuning for the simple convenience of it, but nothing is quite as filthy as playing slide in open G or open E. I’ve been bringing out two guitars specifically for those two tunings and it’s been a lot of fun.
Bret Boyer - Reader of the Month
Photo by Jamie Hicks
Recorded in a single take in 1971, Spence’s vocal style complemented his folky, angular guitar approach.
A: If you’ve never listened to the Bahamian guitarist Joseph Spence, you are in for a treat. Joseph is such a unique guitar player and singer, and his music is the purest expression of joy I’ve heard on an album. Start with Good Morning Mr. Walker; it’s a great reminder to have fun and be yourself.
Obsession: Hub Hildenbrand’s music is very personal and unlike anything I’ve heard on guitar. Check out the album When the Night Lost Its Stars. He even bows his 1953 Gibson archtop on two tracks. Hub draws deeply from non-Western music, with a strong influence from the oud tradition in his playing. His music is quiet, deeply reflective, and searching.
Nick Millevoi - Senior Editor
A: Steve Reich’s “Electric Counterpoint,” the original version performed by Pat Metheny. It shows that since the guitar is capable of anything, you might as well use it to do exactly what you want to do and have some fun. And for experimentalists, it’s a great reminder that there’s so much you can do using nice, tonal chords.
Obsession: The EHX Attack Decay has been delivering loads of inspiration lately. After buying one earlier this year, it hasn’t left my board. The premise is simple—create swells with controls for attack and decay speeds—which leaves so much to be discovered.
Ted Drozdowski - Editorial Director
A: Son House’s Father of the Delta Blues, because it’s a reminder that music is something elemental. It comes from the soil and is more deeply embedded in us than our own DNA. House’s performances are Heaven and Hell, doubt and surety, love and death. It’s that raw, true, and beautifully imperfect—poetry that breathes.
Obsession: Prog rock, thanks to recently experiencing the BEAT Tour and David Gilmour live in the same week. That reminded me of how sublime prog can be when it functions on an empathetic level first. My bedrock for prog remains In the Court of the Crimson King.
Kevin Gordon and his beloved ES-125, in earlier days.
Looking for new fuel for your sound and songs? Nashville’s Kevin Gordon found both in exploring traditional blues tunings and their variations.
I first heard open guitar tunings while in college, from older players who’d become friends or mentors, and from various artists playing at the Delta Blues Festival in the early mid-’80s, which was held in a fallow field in Freedom Village, Mississippi—whose topographical limits likely did not extend beyond said field.
I remember Jessie Mae Hemphill wearing a full-length leopard-print coat and black cowboy hat in the September heat, walking through the crowd selling 45s, and James “Son” Thomas singing his bawdy version of “Catfish Blues.” Also, an assembly of older gentlemen passing a pint bottle, all wearing vests with the name of their fraternal society sewn on the back: Dead Peckers Club.
I played in master minimalist Bo Ramsey’s band from 1988 to ’90. Living in Iowa City, attending grad school for poetry, weekend gigs with Bo were another equally important kind of education. He was the first guy I played in a band with who used open tunings. Nothing exotic: open G or open E, early Muddy Waters and Elmore James. Music I had loved since growing up in Louisiana. This was our bond, the music we both considered bedrock. Some of my first songs, written for that band, featured Bo on slide guitar.
I moved to Nashville in 1992, a city already populated with a few friends—some from Iowa, some from Louisiana. Buddy Flett was from Shreveport; I’d loved his playing since seeing him in the band A-Train in the early ’80s. We’d go eat catfish at Wendell Smith’s, and inevitably talk about songs. He’d achieved some success as a writer, working with fellow north Louisianan David Egan, employing his own kind of sleight-of-hand mystery in both G and D tunings.
In 1993, I found a guitar that would change my life and my songwriting: a scrappy Gibson ES-125 from 1956, standing in a corner of a friend’s apartment in Nashville, covered in dust. I asked if I could borrow it, for no particular reason other than to get it out of there so that it would be played. I wrote a song on it, in double drop-D tuning [D–A–D–G–B–D]. Not a great song, but it got me thinking about open strings and tunings again. I was looking for a way to play solo shows that reflected where I came from, and where the songs came from that I was writing.“The droning aspect of open tunings always appealed to me, and in the context of solo gigs, the big sound of octaves ringing out helped this insecure guitar player sound a little taller, wider . . . something.”
So, I put the guitar in open D [D–A–D–F#–A–D], put flatwounds on it, and started figuring out chord shapes (other than barring flat across) that I could use to play my songs, all of which at that point had been written and performed in standard tuning. I’d bought a ’64 Fender Princeton amp years before, when I was 19, but had never found a use for it until now: The 125 through the Princeton on about four was the sound. The droning aspect of open tunings always appealed to me, and in the context of solo gigs, the big sound of octaves ringing out helped this insecure guitar player sound a little taller, wider . . . something. The fingerings I came up with all seemed to mask the third of the scale—so you’d have a big sound which was neither major nor minor. And for my songs, it just felt right. By the time I recorded my second album for Shanachie, Down to the Well, in 1999, I was writing songs in open D (“Pueblo Dog”). For the next two albums, released in 2005 and 2012, the majority of the songs were written and performed live in open D, employing a capo when necessary.
As usual, the methods and habits developed while touring fed back into the writing and recording processes. For my latest release, The In Between, though, most of the songs were written and recorded in standard—“Simple Things,” “Tammy Cecile,” “Coming Up”—with some exceptions, including “Keeping My Brother Down,” “You Can’t Hurt Me No More,” and the title track, on which I play a ’50s Gibson electric tenor archtop in a peculiar tuning: C–G–C–G. Though I can’t say that open tunings make for better songs, they do help me hear chords differently, at times suggesting progressions that I wouldn’t normally think of. One song currently in-progress has these verse changes: VIm / I / VIm / I / VIm / I / II / II. In standard tuning, that VI would sound (to my ear) too bright. But because I’m writing it in open D, how I fret the VI sounds low and dark, appropriate for the lyric and melody, creating the right setting for the lines and story to unfold.
Ethnomusicologist Frances Densmore records the song of Mountain Chief, head of the Blackfeet Tribe, on a phonograph for the Bureau of American Ethnology in 1916.
Once used as a way to preserve American indigenous culture, field recording isn’t just for seasoned pros. Here, our columnist breaks down a few methods for you to try it yourself.
The picture associated with this month’s Dojo is one of my all-time favorites. Taken in 1916, it marks the collision of two diverging cultural epochs. Mountain Chief, the head of the Piegan Blackfeet Tribe, sings into a phonograph powered solely by spring-loaded tension outside the Smithsonian. Across from him sits whom I consider the patron saint of American ethnomusicologists—the great Frances Densmore.
You can feel the scope and weight of theancient culture of the indigenous American West, and the presence of the then-ongoing women’s suffrage movement, which was three years from succeeding at getting the 19th Amendment passed by Congress. That would later happen on June 4, 1919—the initiative towards granting all women of this country the right to vote. (All American citizens, including Black women, were not granted suffrage until 1965.)
Densmore traversed the entire breadth of the country, hauling her gramophone wax cylinder recorders into remote tribal lands, capturing songs by the Seminole in southern Florida, the Yuma in California, the Chippewa in Wisconsin, Quinailet songs in Northern Washington, and, of course, Mountain Chief outside the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C. Author of more than 20 books and 200 articles, she carefully preserved the rich cultural diversity of Native Americans with over 2,500 field recordings.
Why am I writing about this? Firstly, to pay homage! Secondly, because it serves as a great reminder to seek and cultivate sound outside the studio as well. We live in a time of great technological power and convenience. Every week a new sample pack, plugin, pedal, or software instrument hits the market. For all the joy that these offerings bring, they deprive us of the joy of creating our own instruments from scratch.
This month, I’m advocating for you to make some field recordings of your own—nature, urban, indoor, outdoor, specific locations, animals, or anything that piques your interest! Bring the material back to the studio and make music with it! I’ll show you how to make your own sample libraries to use in your music. Tighten up your belts, a multipart Dojo is now open.
What do you need to get started? Quite simply, you just need any device that is capable of recording. This can range from your cell phone to a dedicated field recorder. The real question is: Do you want to use mics housed in handheld units or have more robust mic pres with the ability to power larger live/studio microphones using XLR connectors found with the larger units? Let’s look at three scenarios.
The Cellular Approach
The absolute easiest way to get started is with your cell phone. Take advantage of a voice-memo recording app, or use an app that records multitrack audio like GarageBand on iOS. Phone recordings tend to sound very compressed and slightly lo-fi—which might be exactly what you want. However, the method can also introduce unwanted noise artifacts like low-end rumble (from handling the phone) and phasing (moving the mic while recording). I recommend using a tripod to hold your phone still while recording. You might also want to consider using an external mic and some software to edit your sample recordings on the phone. I like using a Koala Sampler ($4.99) on iOS devices.
Upgrade Me
The next step up is to use a portable recorder. These have much better mic pres, and offer true stereo recording with pivoting mic heads. This can give you the added benefit of controlling the width of your stereo image when recording or helping isolate two sound sources that are apart from each other. You sacrifice the ability to easily edit your recordings. You simply import them into your computer and edit the recording(s) from there.
Pro-Level Quality
I would recommend this scenario if you want to record multiple sources at once. These devices also have SMPTE time code, 60+ dB of gain, phantom power (+48 volts), advanced routing, and a 32-bit/192 kHz sampling rate, so you’ll never have a distorted recording even when the meter gets unexpectedly pegged into the red from a loud sound source. I recommend the Zoom F8n Pro ($1099). Now you can use your microphones!
Best Practices
Try to safely record as close to the sound source as you can to minimize ambient noise and really scrub through your recordings to find little snippets and sound “nuggets” that can make great material for creating your own instrument and sample library—which we’ll explore next month! Namaste.