The body design of this Japan-made, copy-era guitar nods directly to its Mosrite inspirations. Like Semie Moseley's creations, it has a wide tonal palette.
This 1971 Univox model was one of the Nirvana frontman's favorite pawnshop guitars.
Don't even ask me how I found out about this, but on a recent night while stumbling around the internet in a whiskey haze, I discovered an auction for some of Kurt Cobain's hair. Yes, six glorious strands of bleached hair were neatly encased in plastic and accompanied with all sorts of provenance to assure any bidder that this was the real deal. Of course, I immediately set to thinking about the economic ramifications of placing a bid (starting at $2,500), and after a few drinks I was set to put in a last second snipe. Alas, I fell asleep and quickly forgot about it. When I checked back a few days later I saw the final price was … $13,800!
Heck, I saw Nirvana live several times back in the day and I sure wasn't thinking about Kurt's hair. But I was always impressed by how such a small guy could have such a powerful presence. I also marveled at his choice of gear, which always seemed sort of random. I mean, Kurt would switch out all manner of Fender guitars, but then there were always these oddballs that he would use. Among his early favorites were Univox Hi-Fliers, which I really liked, because one of my early favorites was also a Hi-Flier.
There are all sorts of great players who've swung these around on stage, including Lee Renaldo and Dexter X, but it was Kurt and his Hi-Flier that really resonated with my young self.
Back in the late 1980s, I saw Nirvana for the first time in Hoboken, New Jersey. The night was mostly fuzzy, but Kurt playing a Hi-Flier really blew me away. Like, here I was … some goofball kid who was obsessed with cheap, weird guitars, and then there's this little powerhouse of a guy playing really heavy riffs on a pawnshop guitar. It was a life-changing moment. I felt validated by seeing another guitar player with one of my bargain-shelf favorites.
In 1968, the Westbury, New York–based Unicord Corporation was importing some very interesting Japanese gear, which was rather amazing and affordable. My original, longtime setup consisted of a Hi-Flier and a Univox Super-Fuzz, both going through an old Harmony 420 bass amp. Each component in that chain was more than I probably deserved as a player (I was always more of a noisemaker), 'cause all the Univox guitars from the late '60s and early '70s were consistent, sounded fine, and could pretty much hold tuning.
Simple but effective, this 1971 Univox has just one control each for tone and volume, hot single-coil pickups, and a Jazzmaster-like vibrato bridge that holds tune far better than most budget imports of its day.
Univox guitars were built in the Matsumoku facility in Matsumoto City, Japan, in a former Singer Sewing Machine factory which was repurposed in the mid-1960s to make some of the country's better electric guitars for about 20 years. Univox-branded guitars were really common on the secondhand market of the 1980s and could be had for a song. Heck, even the list price on a Hi-Flier was only around $90 in the early '70s. (Today, old Hi-Fliers tilt up to a grand!) That was really the dawn of the copy era, so, to outdo the American competition, Univox products were priced much lower and had much cooler names. Les Paul copies were called the Gimme and the Mother, their 335 knock-off was the Coily, and the Dan Armstrong plexiglas copy was dubbed Lucy. I really need to write a book on weird guitar names, and I really need to honor the hype-writer of the day who described the Hi-Flier 6-string and bass as:
Lets ya feel free … with curves where ya want 'em. Loose … Flat … Light. A guitar to fly with, slide with, bend with, and a bass that gets funky!
Yo, dig that! Throughout the 1970s, the Hi-Flier went through a few changes, such as a switch to humbuckers, but the general layout and feel stayed true to its Mosrite roots and it was quite the player—with one volume and one tone control, and a 3-way pickup switch. And yes, the pickups on my '71 are single-coils, but they're way overwound and read hot, at about 9k. These P-90 look-alikes just scream and are always on the edge of exploding when some fuzz or distortion is added. The neck profile on Matsumoku-made guitars tends to be a bit flat in the shoulder, à la early Epiphone/Gibson electrics, but these Hi-Fliers are thinner across the nut. As for the vibrato, it has a really tight, Jazzmaster feel. Japanese twang-bar bridges are not usually that great, but this unit was one of the first good ones.
I don't think you could go wrong with any Hi-Flier version, although there are people who swear by one model or another. There are all sorts of great players who've swung these around on stage, including Lee Renaldo and Dexter X (Man or Astroman?), but it was Kurt and his Hi-Flier that really resonated with my young self. Oh, and if any of you have any of Kurt's hair, give me a call, dig?
Univox Hi Flier Phase II Guitar Demo
Mike Dugan demos a 1971 Univox Hi-Flier, showing that it can chime, turn dirty, and produce surf-style vibrato tones with the best of Japan's '60s and '70s pawn shop prizes. And yeah, there's congas and "Jingo!"
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There’s no disputing the influence B.B. King has had on the history of electric guitar music. We’re talking about his sound, his best records, his guitars, his showmanship, and his collabs, from an all-star jam at the 2010 Crossroads festival to, yes, even his 1988 U2 collab, “When Love Comes to Town.”
There’s no disputing the influence B.B. King has had on the history of electric guitar music.
With Lucille in hand—as well as other guitars—he carved out his sound by developing a signature one-of-a-kind vibrato and pick attack. His note choice, phrasing, and feel have basically become the fundamental vocabulary of electric blues. Even more than any other of his blues peers, his playing shaped blues and rock guitar. And that’s not to mention his singing.
So, on this episode of 100 Guitarists, we’re celebrating the King. We’re talking about his sound, his best records, his guitars, his showmanship, and his collabs, from an all-star jam at the 2010 Crossroads festival to, yes, even his 1988 U2 collab, “When Love Comes to Town.”
In our current listening segment, we’re talking about Brian John McBrearty’s recent meditation-jazz release Remembering Repeating and Julian Lage’s latest, Apple Music Nashville Sessions.
This episode is sponsored by Gibson.
Tighten up your rhythm playing by focusing on how to get a great sound, balancing your wrist and elbow, and understanding how to subdivide rhythms.
Nile Rodgers brings the rhythm at Bonnaroo 2018.
How the rhythm-playing hitmaker behind Chic—and our columnist—learned to love pop music, and why maybe you should, too.
When Nile Rodgers speaks, we should listen. His seminal work with his own band, Chic, as well as Sister Sledge, Michael Jackson, Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton, Peter Gabriel, Madonna, David Bowie, and Daft Punk, has made him a legend. He also filmed an entertaining Rig Rundown with PG just last year.
I recently listened to his 2017 South by Southwest address, where he told a story about a formative moment in his life. Nile was complaining to his guitar teacher, Ted Dunbar, about having to sing the Archies’ “Sugar, Sugar”at an upcoming cover band gig. Dunbar replied, “Let me tell you something. Any song that sells and gets to the Top 40 ... is a great composition.” Rodgers was skeptical. Then Dunbar added, “Especially ‘Sugar, Sugar.’ That has been No. 1 for four or five weeks.” Next, Dunbar said something that changed Rodger’s life. “‘Sugar, Sugar’ was successful,” he said, “because it speaks to the souls of a million strangers.” Rodgers noted: “Two weeks later, I wrote a song called ‘Everybody Dance.’” Released in 1977, it was a Top 40 single on Chic's first album.
In a BBC This Cultural Life interview, Rodgers said that Dunbar “described an artist to me. I wasn’t an artist until he defined that. I wanted to speak to the souls of a million strangers, but I thought what I wanted to do was speak to some real cool people hanging out in jazz clubs.”
“Everybody Dance” and “Sugar, Sugar”both have hypnotizingly simple lyrics you inevitably replay in your head. Humans like chants, cheers, slogans, and catchy choruses. Rodgers' success came, at least in part, from opening himself up to simplicity that appeals to the masses instead of the complexity that appeals to jazzers. That’s the irony. Jazz, which ostensibly is all about freedom, is often restrictive. Like the old joke goes, jazzers play millions of chords for four people. Pop, rock, and country artists play four chords for millions of people.
Rodgers said, “That's what my teacher taught me, that anti-snobbery. Be open. Love all the music you are around, or at least try and appreciate what that artist is trying to say. Try and have, what we call in the music business, big ears.”
My friends and I have all, at times, been music snobs. I went through a blues binge in my youth where I was prejudiced against shredders. This was not uncommon at the time. After Nirvana hit with Nevermind in 1991, suddenly musicians were openly mocked for playing complex, difficult parts. It was almost like if you cared enough to really learn to play guitar, you were uncool. That was a big relief for me, as I could play neither complex nor difficult parts at the time.
“Taylor Swift is the Beatles of my daughter’s generation.”
Later, when I moved to Nashville, I was all about clean Telecasters and thought ill of music with lots of dirt or effects. Younger me would have plenty of condescending quips about my current love of overdriven humbuckers and delay. Most of my snobbery was driven by my deep insecurities, but part of it was tribalism. The heart wants what it wants; when you find your musical tribe, most of the young zealots trade all others for their one true religion. It might be the only way to get good at something.
On the other hand, my friends and I listen to a variety of music, but the common factor is it usually involves good guitar playing. We love what we love because it speaks to our souls. But most guitar players are drawn to those who are doing what we wish we could do. My uncle Fred used to say, “There’s nothing wrong with being a snob. It just means that you have good taste.”
Between club dates, sessions, and the occasional TV gig, I play with tons of people. I have no say in the set list, so “Sugar, Sugar” moments are unavoidable. I used to feel deep shame playing those types of songs, like it reflects poorly on my personal taste or abilities. In short, I was prejudiced until I saw all of the true pros who could find something beautiful, challenging in the seemingly mundane. It’s like the old actor’s adage: There are no small parts, just small players.
According to Forbes, Taylor Swift was “The Biggest Artist in the World in 2023.” That being the case, her songs inevitably come up on cover gigs. When this happens, some musicians might groan, like it makes them cool to hate on pop culture. But that’s probably because they don't really know her work. Taylor Swift is my 8-year-old daughter’s Alexa go-to, so I know Taylor’s catalog really well. Turns out, it’s amazing, full of truly catchy, engaging, touching songs. Taylor Swift is the Beatles of my daughter’s generation. Snobs will think that statement is heresy, but snobs often don’t know what they are talking about, and they never have as much fun as the people who are dancing violently to “Shake It Off,” or singing with eyes closed to “All Too Well.”