1964 Supro Tremo Verb
Editor Ted Drozdowski’s dream rig: Carr’s Vincent and Telstar amps, and 15 effects that can be swapped out at whim.
Sound familiar? I think many of us fall in love with an amp or amps, cherish and work those tones for years, and then as we evolve/devolve we start hearing a new palette of sounds beyond trusty Old Paint’s reach. Over the decades I’ve adored many setups. And I’ve had an on-and-off relationship with pedals that’s shuffled between some, none, a boatload, none, and my current two boatloads in search of the widest and wildest tones.
These birch-cabinet beauties hand-built from high-quality components always make my ears smile.
The sonic possibilities of pedals also led me to playing in stereo. And to look for a better and better core platform for those sounds. Now, for about the fifth or sixth time in my life, I’ve found my absolute killer, forever, all-time-best-and-favorite dream setup: a Carr Vincent and a Carr Telstar.
The Telstar’s simple control set.
These combos are built like little locomotives. The Vincent is the heaviest at about 44 pounds and the Telstar is roughly 39—Fender Deluxe weight class. While the Telstar is a new addition, I bought the Vincent used about five years ago at Carter Vintage here in Nashville, after spending months visiting and revisiting local shops in search of the perfect beast. Both have magnificent tones at all settings, simple controls that profoundly affect character, look retro-cool as hell, and are the loudest low-wattage circuits I’ve ever cranked. Both are power-selectable, which is handy for the wide variety of rooms and outdoor spaces I play. The Vincent flips between 7 and 33 watts, while the Telstar scales from 0 to 17.
The Vincent, which Steve Carr’s Pittsboro, North Carolina, shop has rechristened the Viceroy, blends a ’60s-style preamp circuit with a ’50s-inclined output section. It has three 12AX7s and one 12AT7 for the preamp and reverb, and two 6L6GC power tubes. The controls are (left to right) volume, treble, mid, bass, reverb, and drive. There’s much mojo in the mid and drive. The mid dial also engages a boost function that increases midrange and gain. This is where I live, because I love the depth, clarity, warmth, and growl available, with a lick of smooth compression. The boost partially bypasses the tone stack, so the EQ controls don’t do much when it’s activated. Honestly, they don’t need to. I tend to keep the other extra-sauce function, drive, up to about 4-to-5 o’clock. The drive is kinda like a clean boost and comes after the volume and tone-shaping sections. It pumps up response and punch, lending sparkle at low volumes and snarl at higher ones. All that voice comes out of a 12", 75-watt Eminence Red Coat Wizard.
The Vincent’s somewhat less simple controls.
As you’d guess from the name of my Vincent’s buddy, the Telstar has mojo straight out of the space age—plus a few innovations. The coolest is its tube array, which blends a 6L6 and an EL84 for remarkably detailed, complex, and fresh-sounding tones. It breathes. There’s a 12AX7 and 6SL7 octal for the preamp and a 12AT7 driving reverb. It has two other tricks in a pair of toggles. One shunts between “53” and “58” settings. The first sculpts the amp’s basic tone profile like an old tweed’s, while “58” summons up a classic JTM45 core. Toggle two jockeys between “lean” and “lush.” “Lean” is a low-cut and, with some adjusting of the tone dial, it allows Vox-like voices to emerge. “Lush” is exactly that—rich, full-range tone. I tend to live in the “58”/ “lush” zone and let the pedals do the tweaking onstage, but for cutting tight-sounding solos with hair, the “lean” setting helps maintain focus. The other knobs are volume and reverb, of course. And the speaker is an Eminence-made, 60-watt, 12" Carr Valiant. Among the boutique amps I’ve tried, I’ve not heard another that so simply and elegantly balances tradition and invention.
These birch-cabinet beauties hand-built from high-quality components always make my ears smile. Granted, it’s taken me ages to be able to afford a rig like this. But I love it with all my heart.
I’ve had some pretty terrific dream-amp setups in the past, too: a transition-era Twin, followed by that Twin run parallel with a 1972 Marshall Super Lead above a same-year Marshall 4x12, and then that Marshall and a Mesa/Boogie Dual Rectifier Trem-o-Verb atop a pair of 4x12s. About a decade ago, when I was performing hardscrabble blues, I had a humble rig of an Epiphone Valve Standard and a Peavey combo that I’d named Igor. That rig was so juke-thentic you can hear the tubes rattle in Robert Mugge’s documentary BIG SHOES: Walking and Talking the Blues, about my then-band, Scissormen. But this time … this time … I know my dream setup is forever and for real. For now!
Photo by Laurie Hoffma
I love amps, and what I especially love about this 1964 Supro Tremo-Verb is that it resides with me. It is one nasty, noisy, and entirely perfect machine with exceptional low-fi vintage tone—a sound it helped define. I toured with it for a few years, and then, wisely, retired it to the studio, where it absolutely shines when you want to sound like you’re playing inside a metal trash can—in a good way. Disciples of Ry Cooder and early Led Zeppelin know the joys of low-wattage Supros, so to have this near-mint condition Tremo-Verb drop into my lap was a genuine gift.
Of course, there’s a backstory. This amp was purchased brand new at Sears in Providence, Rhode Island, by my wife Laurie Hoffma’s aunt, Flo Levesque. Flo was a musical entrepreneur who played gigs, taught piano and dance, and led a state-champion drum corps, and the amp was bought with a Japan-made Ace Tone Electronic Organ. (Think ? and the Mysterians.) The ’64 Supro catalog lists $149.50 for this 5-watt wonder, but Flo’s receipt is long gone.
The reverb tank is genuine cardboard, with a thin slice of foam cushioning on the top and bottom.
Fast-forward 20 years, to the mid ’80s, when Laurie and I borrowed the organ and amp for our outdoor wedding, and then hung onto it to start a band. I coveted the Trem-Verb instantly. I was barely able to restrain myself from begging Laurie to not plug a keyboard into it. Sometimes, I would plug a Strat or a Tele in at home and just revel in the fat, ultra-tank-y reverb, its glorious sag, and growling, fast, junkyard dog breakup. We scored a Roland Cube so the Tremo-Verb would no longer be subjected to the tyranny of a keyboard.
Then, one day, my love affair with this amp was interrupted. Flo needed it back. In her early 80s, she’d scored a regular gig at a nursing home “playing for the old people,” and wanted to leave the amp and the Ace Tone onsite. She said that Laurie could have both when she died.
Photo by Laurie Hoffma
Sadly, a few years later Flo passed, and a few more years flew by until we worked up the nerve to ask her son if we could have the amp and keyboard. He immediately responded “yes,” provided we take more of the musical gear Flo had left behind, which now filled his garage. In the late ’90s, when I started a North Mississippi hill-country-influenced band called Scissormen, and wanted a juke-thentic sound, I used the Supro. Fired up, it reminded me of Hound Dog Taylor or Muddy Waters on early Chess records. Simply badass.
Here’s the lowdown: There’s just a slight patina on the control panel, where there’s an easy-to-access fuse, a red indicator light, an on-off switch (no standby), and a single dial for the fantastic dizziness-inducing tremolo. There’s also an input for a footswitch for the tremolo and another for the reverb, but I’ve never used them. The remaining controls are tone and volume dials, and there are three inputs marked regular, regular, and treble. The noticeably brighter treble is maybe where you’d plug in an accordion—another sacrilege.
Photo by Laurie Hoffma
Inside, it’s a clean layout that’s easy to access, since the back panel only covers the top half of the amp. There’s a 10-inch speaker of undetermined origin, four 12AX7 tubes for the preamp, reverb, and tremolo, a 5YTG3 rectifier tube, and a single 6V6GT power tube. There’s also a can capacitor. The reverb tank is genuine cardboard, with a thin slice of foam cushioning on the top and bottom. Before taking it to Carter Vintage here in Nashville, where amp tech Zack Allen did a pro fix, I’d probably glued and duct-taped that foam 15 times. Except for the tubes and power cord, which I had swapped to reduce noise, it’s all stock—including the replacement fuse in its original envelope, stapled inside. If you’ve never played a Valco-made amp like this, I suggest it. There’s nothing better for nasty old-school tone, and it’s impossible to get a bad sound that’s not good. They currently sell for about $1,000.
Next time, I’ll hit the opposite end of the vintage spectrum by getting the lowdown on a Dumble. Meanwhile, if you’ve got a beloved amp you think would be great for Love and Sockets, drop me a line at ted@premierguitar.com.