An extroverted and beautiful version of BilT’s most affordable model showcases the guitar’s core strengths and the company’s knack for creative onboard electronics.
Ultra playable. Great pickups. Superb build quality. Cool style. Collaborative design options.
Expensive as tested.
$3,200 street as tested, $1,799 for base model.
The folks at BilT guitars and I share a lot of design influences and affinities, so I might be a little prejudiced. But I can’t think of many small builders who bring more fun to the non-major manufacturer market than BilT. They are reverent about quality and customer collaboration, but often irreverent about mixing, matching, and deviating from the forms, shapes, colors, and details that inspired their core models. Take a quick look at the company’s gallery and you’ll see mutant variations on Fender, Ampeg, and Rickenbacker themes, sparkle paint, Fender Antigua-style finishes mixed up with Gibson Trini Lopez details, and pickup combinations of every conceivable stripe.
The new, short-scale Rele is, in its simplest guise, BilT’s most accessibly priced instrument—starting at just $1,799. In typically irreverent BilT style, however, they sent a review version with thousands of dollars in upgrades, from the deep burst finish to the built-in fuzz and filtering switches. But the fancy Rele reviewed here is representative of the creative potential that BilT offers the customer if you have the vision and means. There isn’t much they won’t do to build the guitar of your wildest, weirdest dreams. Our review Rele also reveals what solid, well-made guitars BilTs are at their core. Sure, you can run up quite a bill working with the mad scientists in their guitar-building lab. But you can also get a great USA-built custom guitar at a fair price if you exhibit a little restraint.
Short-Scale Roots Shall Skyward Shoot
The Rele clearly takes a great deal of inspiration from Fender’s Mustang. But the extra-offset waist and extended bass-side horn also hint a bit at Kurt Cobain’s Jag-Stang and the Ernie Ball Music Man StingRay. It’s a lovely, balanced twist on well-worn offset motifs that feels compact and comfortable in hand while making a statement and creating a blank slate for the many options that appear on our review instrument.
On a bare-bones Rele, you can choose between a series of solid colors, an unbound rosewood or maple neck, and Mustang- or Jaguar-style pickups. Clearly, our review guitar stacked a lot of options on top of that formula. The Fralin Hum Cancelling P-90s, Duesenberg Diamond Deluxe vibrato, fabulous dispade assassin supershift pearl finish, built-in fuzz, and filtering switches all ran the total for our guitar to $3,499. This is a highly individual, and perhaps one-of-a-kind, instrument. Yet BilT makes putting one together pretty effortless.
Shortscale guitars aren’t for every player. But if you’re inclined to dismiss them out of hand, it might be worth checking out BilT’s 24.62" scale. On our review instrument, the short scale is combined with a chunky C-style neck, which makes the guitar feel much more substantial. The guitar feels more playable still for the 9.5" radius and medium jumbo frets. Ordinarily, I’m a fan of vintage Fender-style specs (7.25" radius and smaller vintage frets), but I cannot argue how fast this guitar feels under the fingers. The thicker neck fights hand fatigue and makes chording easy. String bending is fluid and precise. And while the action is quite low, the guitar is free from fret buzz and never feels less than responsive. It’s not an exaggeration to say this Rele feels like it’s wired a little more directly with your body and brain. It’s just a joy to play. The natural ease of the instrument also makes more room to experiment with the lovely Duesenberg vibrato, which, with its ability to swing freely toward the bass strings, combines some of the best attributes of Jazzmaster, Stratocaster, and Bigsby units.
A Marauder Loose in Mission Control
Most BilT customers will probably not order a Rele with this many onboard tone-altering features. But as a vehicle for showcasing what BilT can do in cooperation with a player ready to dive in whole hog, this Rele could not be more fun. Visually and functionally, it owes a debt to Fender’s long-lost, mid-’60s Marauder, and the onboard effects recall Vox’s Starstream and Cheetah. Apart from the 3-way pickup toggle, it can be hard to discern exactly what the rocker switches do at times—at least if you aren’t a frequent Jaguar user. Even if you are, some of the differences between the filtered and dark sounds you can get with the switches and the tone wheel can feel subtle—at least until you turn on the BilT Fuzz, which makes these controls feel much more powerful and flexible.
BilT’s fuzz circuit, which is activated by the push-button volume knob and regulated by the slider on the treble horn, owes much, in a sonic sense, to the Jordan Bosstone, Mosrite Fuzzrite, and ZVEX Fuzz Factory. It’s perfect for Davey Allen- and raw, garage-psych-style buzz and malevolence, and works phenomenally well with the Fralin Hum Cancelling P-90s, which are savage or sonorous depending on the combination. But the BilT fuzz also features an oscillator (activated by the push-button tone control) that produces maniacal, pitch-shifting whistles that can be altered via the slider. All of these tones can be dramatically recast by the filter and tone controls. Together, they make this Rele an addictive platform for experimental psychedelic performance.
The Verdict
At its core, our review Rele, with its beautiful neck, impeccably smooth playability, and sweet Fralin P-90s, is reason enough to investigate the possibilities of a more basic and affordable variation on the theme. But it also highlights the possibilities that arise from working with a builder as free spirited, fun, and committed to high quality as BilT. Your own Rele may not be quite as extroverted and insane as this gem, but it is so cool to know you can get there—and many points in between—very easily when you put an instrument together with this creative builder.
A Short-Scale Offset with Onboard Fuzz?! The BilT Gutiars Rele Demo | First Look
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.
On Boleros Psicodélicos, Black Pumas cofounder, Adrian Quesada, explores traditional romantic Latin ballads from a personal, modern perspective.
You may know Grammy-winning guitarist and producer Adrian Quesada from his myriad and diverse projects like the nine-piece Latin funk ensemble Grupo Fantasma or Brownout—a gritty Fantasma side project that gained notoriety covering Black Sabbath (as Brown Sabbath) and Public Enemy (Fear of a Brown Planet)—and, more recently, Black Pumas, his critically acclaimed collaboration with vocalist and guitarist Eric Burton. But his most recent outing, Boleros Psicodélicos, an homage to the psychedelicized late-1960s take on the classic Cuban-cum-Mexican genre bolero, is one of his more interesting musical diversions.
The term bolero is loosely translated as “ballad,” although it refers to a specific type of song form derived from traditional folk poetry. As a genre, bolero is a dramatic, semi-theatrical musical style that got something of a facelift in the psychedelic era when groups like Los Angeles Negros and Los Pasteles Verdes reinterpreted them on more modern instruments like electric guitars—drenched in reverb, obviously—and combo organs, although without venturing too far from the music’s more traditional, romantic roots.
Adrian Quesada, iLe - Mentiras Con Cariño (Official Video)
On Boleros Psicodélicos, Quesada uses that classic bolero repertoire as a starting point, but the album is no revivalist tribute or throwback. He wrote most of the tracks, experimented with new timbres and technologies, and his approach is thoroughly modern. He’ll grab vintage gear—and run it through tape, too—if that’s what’s needed to get the sounds he’s after, but he’s not averse to digital effects and plug-ins, and the entire project, ultimately, was recorded inside the box.
“I do have a full analog setup, but I’m no purist with what the process is,” Quesada says. “That was true with this record, in particular, because Boleros Psicodélicos was pretty much recorded remotely. I started everything myself, sent it out to people, and they sent me files back. It was done during the pandemic, so nobody came into the studio.”
The digital process makes collaboration—not to mention editing—infinitely easier, although for Quesada it isn’t always the most productive route for finding the ideal tone.
“I would be dialing knobs for two hours and then I thought, ‘What if I just run it to tape?’ I ran it to tape—that takes 5 minutes—and I’m like, ‘That’s the sound I was hearing.’”
“Plug-ins and whatnot are really pretty amazing now, as is the modeling you can get digitally,” he says, “but man, there were times where I’d spend two hours pulling up all the modeling and plug-ins to get that tape-and-tubes sound. I would be dialing knobs for two hours and then I thought, ‘What if I just run it to tape?’ I ran it to tape—that takes 5 minutes—and I’m like, ‘That’s the sound I was hearing.’”
Boleros Psicodélicos is also dripping in rivers of tremolo. The effect wasn’t that prevalent on the classic psychedelic boleros, but Quesada couldn’t resist. “I love everything with tremolo,” he says. “I put tremolo on everything.” As a general approach, he goes for the best sound, regardless of the technology most aficionados insist is the only way to achieve it. For tremolo—and despite a studio full of classic amps loaded with an assortment of vintage warbles—he often found himself leaning on the completely digital Strymon Flint.
“If I had to keep one pedal on my pedalboard, that would be it,” he says about the device. “I do have a lot of different tremolos in the studio as well—and you can’t beat amp tremolo, a lot of those just sound so musical and a lot more natural—but on the record I used the Strymon Flint a lot. It’s so easy and practical, and has color.”
Adrian Quesada recorded Boleros Psicodélicos during the pandemic, collaborating remotely with Marc Ribot, Ileana Mercedes Cabra Joglar, Gaby Moreno, Money Mark, and many others.
On Boleros Psicodélicos, you can hear Quesada’s tremolo in action in the subtle orchestrated textures he employs on tracks like “Mentiras Con Cariño,” which features Grammy-winning vocalist Ileana Mercedes Cabra Joglar, otherwise known as iLe, as well as the lush—that’s “lush” in a very mid-’70s Holiday Inn-hotel-bar kind of way—“El León.” He uses other tones not usually associated with bolero as well, like a wah for the beautiful and catchy leads on “El Muchacho De Los Ojos Tristes” and an acoustic on “Tus Tormentas.”
Throughout his career, and regardless of genre, he’s always gravitated toward grittier, complex sounds. “With guitar, I’ve always liked a tiny bit of dirt on there,” Quesada says. “Whether it’s pushing an amp to get the sound… tubes crunching up is a very appealing sound to me, although I also like the sound of tape reacting. I like those artifacts that come with it. I don’t like the guitar to be too smooth. I prefer fuzz tones over overdrive. I like things that have a little more color to them. Even if they can be a little bit abrasive, that’s where I gravitate. I like things with character like that.”
“I don’t like the guitar to be too smooth. I prefer fuzz tones over overdrive. I like things that have a little more color to them—even if they can be a little bit abrasive, that’s where I gravitate. I like things with character like that.”
A good example of that on Boleros Psicodélicos—at least, just a touch—is Marc Ribot’s guest performance on “Hielo Seco,” which also features Money Mark of Beastie Boys fame.
“Marc was a big influence on me,” Quesada says. “When I was in college and really discovering this music, he had done a project called Los Cubanos Postizos, which means ‘the Prosthetic Cubans.’ He was doing Cuban music and it was almost traditional—the rhythms were correct—but he was playing electric guitar with a tremolo. You know, my use of the tremolo, honestly, especially in lead playing, a lot of that came from hearing him play. Everything was overdriven with a tremolo. It was just such a different approach to Latin music and his leads were so unique. You could tell he knew jazz, but he wasn’t quite playing like that. It was really outside the box.”
Adrian Quesada’s Gear
Adrian Quesada’s pedalboard currently has eight pedals, but the MVP is his Strymon Flint. “If I had to keep one pedal on my pedalboard, that would be it,” he says.
Guitars
- Fender Parallel Universe Jazz Strat
- Fender Custom Shop Telecaster with humbucker in neck position
- Gibson ES-446
- Gibson ES-125
Amps
- 1965 Fender Deluxe Reverb
- 1972 Fender Deluxe Reverb
- Fender Princeton Handwired Reissue
- Fender Tweed Champ
- Fender Twin
- Gibson GA-20
Effects
- Strymon Flint
- Electro-Harmonix Holy Grail Nano
- Dunlop Cry Baby Wah
- Line 6 ToneCore Echo Park
- Catalinbread Epoch Boost
- Catalinbread Echorec
- EarthQuaker Devices Park Fuzz Sound
- TC Electronic PolyTune 2
Strings & Picks
- D’Addario Super Light Plus (.095–.044) or .010 (.010–.046) sets
- Green Dunlop Tortex .88 mm
Coming full circle, it was a fortuitous glitch in the matrix that led to Ribot appearing on the record. “I hit a wall when I was recording ‘Hielo Seco,’” Quesada continues. “I was going to play guitar on it myself and I was getting tired. I was like, ‘What can I do to finish this song?’ I was working in my yard one day and the YouTube algorithm spit out one of those Marc Ribot Los Cubanos Postizos songs. I thought, ‘He would be perfect for the song,’ and luckily, he did it.”
Often in the studio, Quesada gets those distorted sounds plugging direct into the board and recording to tape, without bothering with an amp. He also prefers the sound of a tape reel that’s been used a few times, which he feels adds character.
“I like what it does after you reuse it a little bit,” he says. “You tame some of the high end and that’s favorable to me for some stuff like drums and guitars. I reuse a reel for just enough—to where I start hearing a little bit too much degradation—and then I get a new one. But I will recycle them for quite a few runs though. It’s like breaking in guitar strings—by the third or fourth show you realize they’re not as stiff anymore.”
Adrian Quesada fingerpicks a Gibson ES-125 archtop in this outtake from the music video for the lead single, “Mentiras Con Cariño,” from Boleros Psicodélicos.
Photo by César Berrios
One hallmark of Quesada’s approach to production, which stands out on Boleros Psicodélicos, is his exceptional sense of orchestration. He brings in subtle touches, often for just a single verse or repeated figure—like a fingerpicked part or a mild tremolo warble—that, although understated and hard to catch on first listen, transforms an arrangement.
He approaches each composition with a concept in his head and records the basic tracks with those ideas in mind—usually to give the vocalist guideposts to work with—and then revisits the entire arrangement once the vocals are complete.
“I was working in my yard one day and the YouTube algorithm spit out one of those Marc Ribot Los Cubanos Postizos songs. I thought, ‘He would be perfect for the song,’ and luckily, he did it.”
“I hear most of the arrangement already before a singer even does anything,” he says. “But I try not to overdo it. It’s a real fine balance you have to find. I want to put enough color in there for the singer to react to and to feel certain moments that I want accented, but, also, I don’t want to overpower. I want to leave room to hear what they do. It’s like two stages, and when I get the files back, I usually go in there and strip stuff away—I put some stuff back, too—and use their vocals to figure out where I can bring certain things out, but also not step on the vocals. It’s almost like cooking: I try and wait for the end to really add everything.”
That intricate production style—as amazing as it sounds on record—can be something of a disadvantage when trying to perform the music live. What gets left out? What is essential? Does the music suffer? That was a particular challenge for Boleros Psicodélicos, because the music was never intended to be played in front of an audience.
Casada at his Electric Deluxe Studios in South Austin, Texas.
Photo by Jackie Lee Young
“We did some radio promotion, and that was the first time these songs had been played live,” Quesada says. “We had to rehearse and commit to what parts we wanted to keep and what we wanted to scrap. It was a good challenge to get in there and decide what was really crucial. Obviously, there are going to be parts that are not going to be there—because I can’t have a 20-piece band—but honestly, when I’m making an album like that, I try to imagine somewhat what it would be like if we were together in a room. I try to make it seem somewhat natural or human. I don’t like to record 40 guitars just to do it.”
That’s similar to how the Black Pumas’ album was recorded as well. “With Black Pumas, it was almost like night and day. When we made that album, we hadn’t really played live, either. But once we started to play live, all the songs took on another life. It’s almost like completely different arrangements from the album.”
“It’s almost like cooking: I try and wait for the end to really add everything."
Pulling together those influences—which is drawn from years of experience and a well-defined aesthetic sense—is ultimately how Quesada puts the pieces together. It’s how he can take an older, beloved genre like bolero and coax out something that’s contemporary and relevant, and real.
“When I started the Boleros album, I had a playlist of inspiration songs I was using at first to get off the ground, but honestly, I didn’t want to get stuck making a covers album or any sort of carbon copy—you can just go back and hear the originals. I used the older music as a template, but then I ran with it. I tried to make it a little bit more varied and a little truer to myself than just covering it exactly. After a while, I stopped referencing the old stuff and was just off on my own. Obviously, it’s still in the ballpark referencing the older material, but I wasn’t trying to copy anything.”