There’s much more to this analog phaser than outlaw country swirl.
An inexpensive, rangy phaser with fun, interactive, and easy-to-use controls
Some whistle-like overtones in treble-heavy peaks
$129
Fender Waylon Jennings Phaser, $129 street
When I was a kid, my mom got a cassette of Waylon Jennings’ Greatest Hits, which went into heavy rotation in her Cutlass Supreme’s tape deck. Much was striking about that introduction to Waylon Jennings—not least that voice and the frank, plain-spoken narration. Just as arresting, though, were the swirling guitar sounds that popped up on “Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way” and “Luckenbach, Texas (Back to the Basics of Love).” They didn’t sound like the Buck Owens or Patti Page I would hear on oldies stations, or, for that matter, George Harrison’s version of Don Rich’s “Act Naturally” lead. In fact, as a Beatles obsessive, “Luckenbach, Texas” struck me as bearing a certain resemblance to the arpeggios in “Dear Prudence.” Those phaser sounds helped make me a Waylon fan for life. So, I’m tickled to see Fender honor the effect that opened up one very strange corner of my musical mind with the release of the Waylon Jennings Phaser.
Hazy, Phasey Origins
Fender built a 4-stage phaser in the 1970s. As far as we know, Waylon never used the Fender Phaser, opting instead for a Maestro PS-1A, various MXRs, and Boss phasers over the course of his career. Without the need to replicate a ’70s artifact that Waylon didn’t use anyway, Fender’s designers were free to create an analog tribute that covers the breadth of Waylon’s phaser tones—from his 2-stage Phase 45, to his 4-stage Phase 90, to his 6-stage PS-1A. That doesn’t mean Fender didn’t aim for a definitive Waylon sound: A “sweet” switch defaults to a voice that’s a little more confined to tasteful modulations. But to Fender’s credit, the Waylon Jennings Phaser is not constrained by strictly Waylon-like textures. Indeed, it’s just as happy to get weird.
Weird Waves on the High Plains
Though complex relative to a 1-knob MXR or Small Stone, the Waylon Phaser’s controls are easy to sort. They work in cool, interactive ways which take some practice to master, but are ultimately easy to wrangle. The interrelationship between the range control (which controls the portion of the frequency spectrum that’s phase shifted), and the feedback control, which governs intensity, is the one that’s most fun to explore. It’s also key to unlocking the pedal’s freakiest tones.
The user guide features a few helpful templates for exploring the pedal’s range. Fender’s recommended PS-1A-style sound, for instance (6-stage setting, rate at 5, range at 4, and feedback at 6), is a bit more rubbery than you might expect, with cool vowelly peaks in the midrange. But just a couple clockwise notches on the range and feedback controls and a slower rate transforms Fender’s version of Waylon’s PS-1A to a lysergic, ultra-elastic wavescape. The user guide’s recommended Phase 45-style, 2-stage setting creates a mellow, tasty pocket for arpeggios and lightly strummed parts, but at advanced feedback and rate settings the 2-stage setting percolates charmingly, lending bubbling animation to psychedelic chord melodies and a demented attitude to funky soul riffs.
The 4-stage mode, which, incidentally, bears the greatest audible resemblance to the sweet mode in most respects, is plenty sweet itself. Here, you can play with fairly intense feedback and rate settings while maintaining a softness in the peaks that doesn’t overpower melodic or rhythmic textures. And just as with the other three modes, you can very easily move from restrained Dreaming My Dreams phase adornments to much weirder fare with a few small adjustments to the other controls.
The Verdict
While 1-knob phasers are easy and often voiced just right, it’s fun to have the extra, but not overwhelming, control the Waylon Jennings phaser provides. There are plenty of weird, wobbling, bubble gum-chewy textures here that have nothing to do with classic outlaw country, that psychedelicists will relish. But the mellower fare that made Waylon’s tunes move is here in tasty plentitude and can be tuned to your own needs with a flexible, interactive control set that’s full of surprises.
Fender Waylon Jennings Phaser Demo | First Look
Our resident Fender amp guru, Jens Mosbergvik, usually sings the praises of Fullerton’s classic offerings, but this time he switches sides to unpack his biggest gripes with the manufacturer’s legendary noisemakers.
Vintage Fender amps have a strong reputation among players in many genres. The brand is instantly associated with an endless list of great bands which created music that has stood the test of time. In terms of general tone, Fender’s original amplification strategy—which favors articulate, bright, transparent, and clean sounds—was a winning combination that myriad players still gravitate toward.
Through my previous columns in this magazine, I’ve shared the tips and tricks I’ve learned after playing, trading, and servicing old models from the California manufacturer. But today, it’s time for critical thinking. I’m switching sides to share the 10 most annoying things about vintage Fender amps. As usual, I will mostly refer to the black- and silver-panel amps.
“It breaks my heart that the original Deluxe Reverbs came with a weak and farty Oxford speaker, when it sounds so much better with a more punchy, clear-sounding C12N.”
Many of the critiques that I offer here ultimately advocate for simplification. All amp techs know that simple is good. Simple amps are lighter, smaller, cheaper, and have less things that can go wrong in the long run.
So, here is my list:
Two Jack Inputs
I’ve never met anyone who uses the second input. Back in the day, Fender thought we were going to swap guitars between songs without having to adjust the volume knob to compensate for the different pickups’ varied outputs. Wrong assumption.
Two Channels
I always use the reverb channel, even when using high distortion, at which point I simply turn the reverb down. Except for the Bassman, the normal channel is not needed at all. If all of the dual-channel amps were instead single-channel, like the Princeton Reverb, a lot of tubes and circuit components could be spared, leading to significant cost reduction and simplification of the production line. Even with the black- and silver-panel Bassman, I would prefer a single channel, as long as both the deep and bright switches were available. The only advantage with having a second preamp channel is the possibility to isolate the power amp section and the two preamp sections in diagnosis. But that still doesn’t make it worth it.
The Non-Reverb Amps
If I was Leo Fender, and I was looking to reduce costs, I would have trimmed my portfolio by eliminating the non-reverb Deluxe, Princeton, Vibrolux, and Pro amps. The rarer versions of these amps are no-frills, cool, and great value for the money. But there are reverb-equipped models that can do everything they do just as well and better. They’re not in as high demand, and they’re less profitable due to lower production numbers. Instead, I would have continued the Vibroverb after 1964, which would do the job as the only 1x15 combo amp in the portfolio. Just admit it: Everyone wants a Vibroverb.
Rectifiers
As another cost-cutting measure during my imaginary tenure as the founder of Fender, I would consider using a diode rectifier instead of a tube rectifier in all the bigger dual 6L6GC Fender amps. I like sag in tube amps, but I think very few players can really hear the difference between diode and tube rectifiers. Smaller amps intended for earlier breakup may have tube rectifiers, but they’re not essential there, either.
Glued and Stapled Baffles in Silver-Panel Amps
I wish Fender had continued the floating baffle in the early ’70s instead of the tightly glued and stapled-in baffles that are found in silver-panel amps post-1971. The screwed-in boards are much easier to repair and replace.
MDF Baffles
Medium-density fibreboard, or MDF, baffles are consistently the weakest point in Fender’s wooden cabinet construction, and eventually tear apart. I would much prefer a more dependable plywood pine baffle.
Small Output Transformers
These are found in both the Bandmaster head and the 1x15 Vibroverb—amps that deserve a firmer low end, and which should have the Super Reverb-class output transformer.
Lack of a Bright Switch
In my opinion, this is an essential EQ function that’s left off of Fender’s smaller amps, like the Princeton Reverb and Deluxe Reverb. Without it, these amps leave me no chance to enhance the details of fingerpicking on a clean tone setting.
Lack of Mid Control
This applies to many Fender amps. The bassy and flabby Pro Reverb would particularly benefit from a better mid EQ, with a much wider tone spectrum.
No Jensen C12N Speaker in Deluxe Reverbs
We all know how awesome the Jensens sound in the early black-panel amps, like the C10N in Princetons and Vibroluxes, the C10R in Supers, or the C12N in the Pros and Twins. It breaks my heart that the original Deluxe Reverbs came with a weak and farty Oxford speaker, when it sounds so much better with a more punchy, clear-sounding C12N.
So, there you have it: my list of 10 grievances with Fender. If you have more to add, please share your thoughts in our social media channels.
The music of the folk-rock icon, who passed away on January 18 after battling a long illness, was an integral part of an echo that can still be heard in the work of today’s artists.
Singer-songwriter and guitarist David Crosby, known as a piloting force behind the folk-rock movement of the 1960s and ’70s, has died at the age of 81. Details on the cause of his death, which occurred on Wednesday, January 18, have not been disclosed to the media, but his wife Jan Dance has stated that he had been battling a “long illness.” He’s survived by Dance, their son Django, and his children of previous relationships: son James Raymond, and daughters Erika and Donovan Crosby. (He was also the biological father of Melissa Etheridge and Julie Cypher’s two children, Beckett Cypher, who passed in 2020, and Bailey Jean Cypher.)
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young - Almost Cut My Hair
Crosby, a founding member of the Byrds and supergroup Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, was defined by his unmistakable, timeless—and preternaturally physically enduring—voice, which, combined with his songwriting, shone through the throngs of his talented contemporaries to make him an icon. Often pictured with a coy, impish smile, he was characterized by his incorrigibility, perseverance, and brazen outspokenness on politics as well as his personal opinions. Inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame twice—as a member of the Byrds and Crosby, Stills & Nash (the group’s original iteration)—he helped mold his era’s musical zeitgeist into something that demanded longevity, and in doing so contributed to forging the grammar that continues to be spoken by today’s folk artists.
As a child, Crosby had a reputation for being a bit of a rebellious loner with a distrust of authority. At 16, his older brother Ethan gave him his first guitar. Ethan also shared with him a love for ’50s jazz, and Crosby became enraptured by artists like Chet Baker, Dave Brubeck, and Erroll Garner. Indifferent to the ubiquitous strains of Elvis and nascent rock ’n’ roll, he was drawn instead to the music of the Everly Brothers, whose “All I Have to Do Is Dream” was one of the first pop tunes to leave a lasting impression on him. Later in his youth, after dropping out of his drama studies at Santa Barbara City College, he moved to New York City’s Greenwich Village—the beating heart of the early-’60s folk scene—where he soon became connected to Jim McGuinn (who later changed his name to Roger).
The Byrds formed in 1964, with a sound driven by McGuinn’s jangly 12-string guitar and Crosby’s harmonies and rhythm playing. They released their seminal cover of Bob Dylan’s “Mr. Tambourine Man” on their debut album of the same name in ’65. By the following year, their cover of Pete Seeger’s “Turn! Turn! Turn!” was among the three biggest singles on the charts (the others were the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” and the Beatles’ “Yesterday”). On their third album, Fifth Dimension, Crosby's writing contributions—including his personal composition, “What’s Happening?!?!,” and co-writing credits on songs such as “Eight Miles High”—pointed the group in a psychedelic direction (along with the McGuinn-penned title track).
The acoustic guitarist was inimitable in his songwriting, which blended innately with the voices of Stephen Stills, Graham Nash, and Neil Young.
Photo by Frank White
But as Crosby comments in the 2019 documentary, David Crosby: Remember My Name, “It’s not always a positive thing when you win early and win young.” Tension between McGuinn and Crosby had been intensifying over the years, and by the time of their performance at the inaugural Monterey Pop Festival in ’67, McGuinn had grown to see Crosby as insufferable. “[I was] not easy. Big ego. No brains,” Crosby admits. His vocal endorsement of political conspiracies on stage during their performance only fanned the flames between the two men, and later that year McGuinn and bassist Chris Hillman fired Crosby from the band.
That year still proved to be a busy one for Crosby. He helped Joni Mitchell get signed to a record label and produced her first record. He also joined Buffalo Springfield for a brief stint before they broke up in ’68. Crosby and Buffalo Springfield’s Stephen Stills suddenly both found themselves unemployed and began jamming together. They were joined shortly thereafter by Graham Nash of English pop group the Hollies.
“Whatever sound Crosby, Stills & Nash has was born in 40 seconds,” Nash said in 2013. Their self-titled debut was released in 1969, and featured Crosby’s “Guinnevere,” as well as the first song he wrote with Stills, “Wooden Ships.” Its introduction of the three singer-songwriter-guitarists’ converging talents, gilded by their gently interwoven harmonies and Crosby’s alternate tunings, emblazoned a new face onto the already flourishing folk landscape. On Crosby’s invitation, Neil Young—another former member of Buffalo Springfield, who had two solo records to his name—was soon after added to the trio, and CSN became CSNY. Their second-ever performance was at Woodstock later that year, where a candid Stills told the audience, “We’re scared shitless.”
[Crosby, Stills & Nash’s] introduction of the three singer-songwriter-guitarists’ converging talents, gilded by their gently interwoven harmonies and Crosby’s alternate tunings, emblazoned a new face onto the already flourishing folk landscape.
Their first album as a quartet, Déjà Vu, shot to the top of the charts (to date, it has sold over 7 million copies). It’s rounded out by two of Crosby’s compositions, the counterculture anthem “Almost Cut My Hair” and the jazz-imbued title track.
I have memories of where I’ve been when listening to many of the albums that have left as indelible an imprint on me as Déjà Vu, but unlike almost any other one I can think of, I remember exactly when and where I was when I first heard it. (I then quickly set “Carry On” to be my morning alarm, and was thusly woken up to the lyrics, “One morning, I woke up.…” for at least a year.) As a former music teacher, I’ve also had the privilege of witnessing the awe on young students’ faces when I’ve shared with them “Almost Cut My Hair,” where Crosby leads with a restrained yet angry rawness to his voice, sans harmonies.
But in late 1969, the death of Crosby’s longtime girlfriend Christine Hinton sent him spiraling into cocaine and heroin addiction, the former of which had been developing throughout his career. A little over a year later, Crosby released his debut solo album, If I Could Only Remember My Name, to mixed reviews, Meanwhile, CSNY didn’t record another studio album together until 1977. Then, in the early ’80s, he was convicted of bringing cocaine and a loaded pistol into a Dallas nightclub. He ran from the law for two years before serving five months in prison—four of them in solitary confinement.
His time spent in prison, which sobered him up from hard drugs, renewed Crosby’s resolve as a songwriter. He released two more solo records, 1989’s Oh Yes I Can and 1993’s Thousand Roads, and in the ’90s, was united with his son, pianist James Raymond—who had been given up for adoption 30 years prior—and guitarist Jeff Pevar to form the tongue-in-cheek-named CPR. CSNY became CSN again for a few more releases, then reformed as a quartet with 1999’s Looking Forward. They continued to perform until their disbandment in 2015, but, by then, their relationships had become fraught, and the split felt long overdue.
Early on his career, Crosby developed a reputation not just for his vocal harmonies, but for his adventurous alternate tunings.
Photo by Steve Kalinsky
In 2014, Crosby returned for what became the most prolific period of his solo career with Croz, which, as his first work in this vein in 21 years, made the Top 40. He put out four more albums over the next seven years. 2018’s Here If You Listen was recorded with Michael League, Becca Stevens, and Michelle Willis, and his final release, 2021’s For Free, was named after his cover of Mitchell’s song, ”Real Good for Free.“
I have memories of where I’ve been when listening to many of the albums that have left as indelible an imprint on me as Déjà Vu, but unlike almost any other one I can think of, I remember exactly when and where I was when I first heard it.
Following the announcement of Crosby’s death, Nash posted a statement on social media, saying “[Crosby’s] harmonic sensibilities were nothing short of genius. The glue that held us together as our vocals soared, like Icarus, towards the sun. I am deeply saddened at his passing and shall miss him beyond measure.”
Young, from whom Crosby had become estranged in 2014, commented, “Crosby was a very supportive friend in my early life, as we bit off big pieces of our experience together. David was the catalyst of many things.… I remember the best times!”
When asked by producer Cameron Crowe in Remember My Name if, given the choice, he would take the gift of a (more) fulfilling family life but have to sacrifice his music, Crosby at first paused. He then answered, “That’s no world for me. It’s the only thing I can contribute, the only place I can help.” That, hopefully, is how he will be remembered.