Pedal enthusiasts’ preferences when it comes to stompbox controls range from simple and easy to use to complex and highly customizable, and manufacturers just can’t please ’em all.
Stompboxes have been a part of musicians’ musical journeys for over 50 years. They’ve been packaged up in all different shapes, sizes, and colors. They’ve also featured a large array of different effects types, and allowed us to manipulate them with various control parameters. It’s these control parameters that are the focus of this article. Recently, I’ve been thinking, “How many knobs are too many, and how few knobs are too few?”
That question is one that sits in my mind alongside player remarks such as, “If it’s got more than three knobs, I won’t play it,” and, “I won’t buy a delay without tap tempo.” It’s these conflicting needs that can often lend to my own confliction when designing a pedal. I can often find myself in debate with colleagues about this exact thing. If we make something with a single knob, it’s streamlined and easy to use, and the perfect fit for some players’ needs. However, it’s also bereft of features and turns other players off due to lack of controls. If we make something with 10 knobs and multiple expression-capable controls, it’s feature-laden and offers great value while exciting the knob tweaker. However, it can feel alienating, confusing, and overwhelming for a lot of players. “I don’t want to need to bring up the manual every time I want to use it,” is another thing I hear a lot from players. That’s often followed by, “I just wanna plug it in and go!”
These sentiments are far from obscure or unreasonable, and they’re surely not in short supply. There’s no “correct” approach, whether it’s from the perspective of the companies that are manufacturing products, or the consumers that are purchasing products. There are vast and contrasting needs, and they seem to be ever-expanding. These contrasting needs have directly created what has become our diversity. That’s a great thing and there’s something out there for everyone.
The 1-knob versus 10-knob example helps to illustrate this topic while pointing out the diversity of options available to players. Perhaps this example is too extreme, though. Surely there must be a middle ground? There is! Oh, good. I was getting worried there for a second. I feel like if most people were asked to draw up a quick sketch of a guitar pedal, they would conjure up a rectangle with a footswitch and three to six knobs. I’m inclined to wonder if this is an unconscious act based on what they think the average pedal does have, or a conscious act towards what they think the average pedal should have. If we go down this thought experiment path, and use either reason, we get to the same conclusion on knob amount.“There are vast and contrasting needs, and they seem to be ever-expanding. These contrasting needs have directly created what has become our diversity.”
Indulge me for a minute. Let’s go with three to six as the ideal number of control parameters for a pedal. I’m inclined to believe that this range offers the most control flexibility for the user while avoiding confusion or the feeling of being overwhelmed. This, along with proper control labels and intuitive layout, can lead to a great experience for the majority of players. It can also be appealing to the largest demographic of potential customers: Give the user the right amount of control parameters so they’re not left wanting more nor feeling like a control is wasteful.
I can’t help but think back to a conversation that I had with a friend who beta tests pedals for a lot of companies in the industry. We were on the topic of a tone control knob for a particular pedal that I was designing. I had mentioned that I wasn’t sure about a particular aspect of the tone network, and was thinking about implementing an internal toggle to let the player choose. My friend replied, “Pick whichever is best for that pedal and go with that. I love the feeling of when I can tell that a company dialed something in perfectly for the pedal.”
There will never be a correct answer when it comes to the ideal amount of features on a pedal. That’s fine; players will naturally find themselves in the camp that is correct for them. You can see this every time you look at someone’s board. Some boards have six to 10 pedals and no pedal contains more than six knobs. Other boards have 12 to 20 pedals and most of the pedals have six-plus knobs.
Here’s something fun for the pedal lovers out there: Go up to a friend of yours that is familiar with pedals but is not super knowledgeable about them. Say to them, “Draw for me what you think of when you hear the words ‘guitar pedal.’” I’m interested to see how many knobs their drawing has.
- State of the Stomp: More Sounds from Fewer Pedals ›
- State of the Stomp: In Defense of Version 2 ›
- State of the Stomp: Living in Synth ›
- Discover the Power of J. Rockett Archer Select: Review - Premier Guitar ›
- Dreadbox Treminator: Synth Pedal Review ›
The riffmeister details why he works best with musical partners and how that's been successful in both Alice in Chains and his solo career, including new album I Want Blood.
This passionate builder designed a custom Strat/Tele pair, both adorned with hand-painted replicas of The Starry Night.
Okay, I plead guilty to having owned over 150 electric guitars in the past 60 years. So, for kicks, with my experience by way of Fender, Gibson, Ricky, Gretsch, PRS, Guild, Teisco, and others, I decided to attempt to make my own axes from scratch. I found that this endeavor was synergistic—much like envisioning, composing, performing, and recording a song. With my long-time San Diego techie, Val Fabela, doing the assembly, I started carefully designing, engineering, and procuring all of the components.
Our winning guitar builder, Edward Sarkis Balian.
The Vincent van Gogh Stratocaster, aka “Vinnie,” was the initial project. Starting with a Canadian alder body, an artist in Italy (who wishes to remain anonymous) applied the Starry Night painting to the front, sides, and back. The heavily flamed, roasted maple neck has the typical 21 frets with a 25.5" scale, and sports yellow pearl-dot inlays. After careful consideration of my playing styles, I went with a configuration using Fender ’57/’62 Stratocaster pickups. I used an upgraded, noiseless, 5-position Switchcraft assembly for the switching circuit. Fender locking tuners, a custom-fitted bone nut, and a Kluson K2PTG 2-point whammy system and brass bridge complete the low-action setup. Overall gold hardware completes the look. Vinnie’s fighting weight is 7.1 pounds.
This is what stars look like from further in space, at least as far as this special build is concerned.
I was so happy with this Strat that I decided it needed a brother, so I started on a Tele. Logically, I named the Tele “Theo,” after Vincent van Gogh’s younger brother. Again, with a Starry Night body painted by the same artist, I coupled a Canadian alder body with a lightly roasted, flamed-maple Stratocaster neck. (Hey, if it was good enough for Jimi to experiment with a Strat neck on a Tele body, why not try it?) And, as expected, my techie Val did a brilliantjob of joining the neck to the body.
The Van Gogh Tele, aka “Theo,” built to similar specs as the Strat and also featuring a lightly roasted, flamed-maple Strat neck.
For pickups, I went with Fender’s vintage-correct ’64 Tele set. As for a harness, the super-quality Hoagland Custom 4-position switching is unique, in that it gives a 15 percent boost and a very killer tone in position 4! Fender locking tuners, a custom-cut bone nut, and a Gotoh GTC201 brass bridge completes its setup. Gold hardware complements the overall look. Strangely enough (or perhaps hereditary?), the Tele matches his Strat brother’s weight exactly, at 7.1 pounds.
It's not in a museum, the the Theo guitar is certainly a work of art.
But how do they sound? Magnificent!Throw in my trusty Keeley compressor, Fulltone OCD, and Fender or Mesa/Boogie tube amps, and the van Gogh boys both easily equal or surpass my White Penguin, White Falcon, PRS Custom 22, Lucille 345 stereo, 335, SG TV, Les Paul Standard, Esquire, or Joan Jett.
I’m hoping the real van Gogh brothers would have been proud of these two magical, musical namesakes.
Jeff "Skunk" Baxter expands his acclaimed first-ever solo album, Speed of Heat, with a brand new Storytellers Edition, featuring brand-new commentary tracks.
For over five decades, audiences worldwide have marveled at Baxter’s inimitable and instantly recognizable guitar playing and generational songcraft. His output spans classic records as a founding member of Steely Dan and member of the Doobie Brothers in addition to hundreds of recordings with the likes of Donna Summer, Cher, Joni Mitchell, Rod Stewart, Dolly Parton, and many more. During 2022, he initially unveiled Speed of Heat, showcasing yet another side of his creative identity and introducing himself as a solo artist.
On the Storytellers Edition, his fascinating commentary pulls the curtain back on both the process and the message of the music. This version traces the journey to Speed of Heat and its core inspirations as shared directly by Baxter in the form of detailed anecdotes, candid stories, and insightful commentary on every track.
The 12-songalbum, co-produced by Baxter and CJ Vanston, is a riveting and rewarding musical experience that features a host of brilliantly crafted originals co-written by the guitarist and Vanston, as well as inspired versions of some of the great classics. Along the way, Baxter is joined by guest vocalists and songwriters Michael McDonald, Clint Black, Jonny Lang and Rick Livingstone. Baxter notably handled lead vocals on his rendition of Steely Dan’s “My Old School.” Other standouts include "Bad Move" co-written by Baxter, Clint Black, and CJ Vanston, and “My Place In The Sun”, sung by Michael McDonald and co-authored by McDonald, Baxter and Vanston.
As one of the most recorded guitarists of his generation, Baxter’s creative and versatile playing has been heard on some of the most iconic songs in music history, including “9 to 5” by Dolly Parton and “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer.
The stunningly diverse collection of material on Speed of Heat presents a 360-degree view of the uniquely gifted musician.
STREAM / SHARE / PURCHASE HERE.
Beauty and sweet sonority elevate a simple-to-use, streamlined acoustic and vocal amplifier.
An EQ curve that trades accuracy for warmth. Easy-to-learn, simple-to-use controls. It’s pretty!
Still exhibits some classic acoustic-amplification problems, like brash, unforgiving midrange if you’re not careful.
$1,199
Taylor Circa 74
taylorguitars.com
Save for a few notable (usually expensive) exceptions, acoustic amplifiers are rarely beautiful in a way that matches the intrinsic loveliness of an acoustic flattop. I’ve certainly seen companies try—usually by using brown-colored vinyl to convey … earthiness? Don’t get me wrong, a lot of these amps sound great and even look okay. But the bar for aesthetics, in my admittedly snotty opinion, remains rather low. So, my hat’s off to Taylor for clearing that bar so decisively and with such style. The Circa 74 is, indeed, a pretty piece of work that’s forgiving to work with, ease to use, streamlined, and sharp.
Boxing Beyond Utility
Any discussion of trees or wood with Bob Taylor is a gas, and highly instructive. He loves the stuff and has dabbled before in amplifier designs that made wood an integral feature, rather than just trim. But the Circa 74 is more than just an aesthetic exercise. Because the Taylor gang started to think in a relatively unorthodox way about acoustic sound amplification—eschewing the notion that flat frequency response is the only path to attractive acoustic tone.
I completely get this. I kind of hate flat-response speakers. I hate nice monitors. We used to have a joke at a studio I frequented about a pair of monitors that often made us feel angry and agitated. Except that they really did. Flat sound can be flat-out exhausting and lame. What brings me happiness is listening to Lee “Scratch” Perry—loud—on a lazy Sunday on my secondhand ’70s Klipsch speakers. One kind of listening is like staring at a sun-dappled summer garden gone to riot with flowers. The other sometimes feels like a stale cheese sandwich delivered by robot.
The idea that live acoustic music—and all its best, earthy nuances—can be successfully communicated via a system that imparts its own color is naturally at odds with acoustic culture’s ethos of organic-ness, authenticity, and directness. But where does purity end and begin in an amplified acoustic signal? An undersaddle pickup isn’t made of wood. A PA with flat-response speakers didn’t grow in a forest. So why not build an amp with color—the kind of color that makes listening to music a pleasure and not a chore?
To some extent, that question became the design brief that drove the evolution of the Circa 74. Not coincidentally, the Circa 74 feels as effortless to use as a familiar old hi-fi. It has none of the little buttons for phase correction that make me anxious every time I see one. There’s two channels: one with an XLR/1/4" combo input, which serves as the vocal channel if you are a singer; another with a 1/4" input for your instrument. Each channel consists of just five controls—level, bass, middle, and treble EQ, and a reverb. An 11th chickenhead knob just beneath the jewel lamp governs the master output. That’s it, if you don’t include the Bluetooth pairing button and 1/8" jacks for auxiliary sound sources and headphones. Power, by the way, is rated at 150 watts. That pours forth through a 10" speaker.Pretty in Practice
I don’t want to get carried away with the experiential and aesthetic aspects of the Circa 74. It’s an amplifier with a job to do, after all. But I had fun setting it up—finding a visually harmonious place among a few old black-panel Fender amps and tweed cabinets, where it looked very much at home, and in many respects equally timeless.
Plugging in a vocal mic and getting a balance with my guitar happened in what felt like 60 seconds. Better still, the sound that came from the Circa 74, including an exceedingly croaky, flu-addled human voice, sounded natural and un-abrasive. The Circa 74 isn’t beyond needing an assist. Getting the most accurate picture of a J-45 with a dual-source pickup meant using both the treble and midrange in the lower third of their range. Anything brighter sounded brash. A darker, all-mahogany 00, however, preferred a scooped EQ profile with the treble well into the middle of its range. You still have to do the work of overcoming classic amplification problems like extra-present high mids and boxiness. But the fixes come fast, easily, and intuitively. The sound may not suggest listening to an audiophile copy of Abbey Road, as some discussions of the amp would lead you to expect. But there is a cohesiveness, particularly in the low midrange, that does give it the feel of something mixed, even produced, but still quite organic.
The Verdict
Taylor got one thing right: The aesthetic appeal of the Circa 74 has a way of compelling you to play and sing. Well, actually, they got a bunch of things right. The EQ is responsive and makes it easy to achieve a warm representation of your acoustic, no matter what its tone signature. It’s also genuinely attractive. It’s not perfectly accurate. Instead, it’s rich in low-mid resonance and responsive to treble-frequency tweaks—lending a glow not a million miles away from a soothing home stereo. I think that approach to acoustic amplification is as valid as the quest for transparency. I’m excited to see how that thinking evolves, and how Taylor responds to their discoveries.