Duane Betts enjoys a control set modification that was preferred by his father, the late, legendary Dickey Betts.
Guest Picker - Duane Betts
Betts’ 1961 ES-335 has its toggle and volume-dial positions switched.
A: My favorite mod is the one on my 1961 Gibson ES-335. The toggle switch and neck volume knob positions have been switched so the volume knob is more accessible for volume swells using your pinky finger. This is something my dad had done when he obtained the guitar in the ’90s as he loved using the volume swell effect.
A pedal primed for vintage fuzz sounds.
Obsession: My current obsession is this DanDrive Secret Machine fuzz that JD Simo gave me a few years ago. I don’t use fuzz often but I’ve loved it as a way to change things up and give the listener something fresh. My normal tone is very natural with the amp turned up. This is just a great fuzz tone that gives me a new angle that I really enjoy pursuing both live and in the studio.
Reader of the Month - Steve Nowicki
A: A push/pull knob for humbucker coil split. It’s a sneaky little mod I throw on my tone pots. You won’t get amazing Strat tone, but the ability to instantly swap between Les Paul chunk and Fender twang during a jam opens a ton of possibilities tonally. Plus, no extra switches or routing needed—even though it’s fun to hack guitars apart.
Obsession: The EVH 5150 Iconic EL34 amp. Owning an 80-watt half-stack in a Brooklyn apartment might be overkill, but damn this amp is awesome. It delivers insane amounts of gain and distortion, yet every little nuance of your playing comes through crystal clear. I pair it with a Bugera Power Soak so I can crank the head and get that warm “Brown Sound” tone at lower volumes.
John Bohlinger - Nashville Correspondent
John Bohlinger and his Lukather-ized Strat.
A: I’ve hacked up a bunch of guitars over the years, but my favorite mod remains the highly intrusive, expensive, and quixotic B-bender install. It is the equivalent of open heart surgery, and there’s no going back—but the first time you play the Clarence White “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” intro right, it’s totally worth it.
John at work. When it comes to mods, he know the drill!
Obsession: I recently filmed a PG video where we swapped pickups in my ’90s Strat with an EMG Lukather set. I never thought I’d go active, but what gets me is how smoothly the volume and tone work. I’m rethinking all my gear biases. Like maybe there’s been some progress since 1957.
Jon Levy - Publisher
Let it bleed: Jon dials back the treble on his Tele.
A: Installing a treble bleed on my volume pots has changed how I play electric guitar. Previously, I never dialed back my volume knob because it dulled my sound. Now I can fine-tune loudness and gain while retaining tone—it’s a game changer. I still swap pickups and hardware, but one mod always comes first: the humble treble bleed.
Did you know both John Paul Jones and Jimmy Page played on Shirley Bassey’s iconic recording of “Goldfinger?”
Obsession: John Paul Jones. I’ve always loved his bass (and other instrumental contributions) with Led Zeppelin. But after seeing the Zep documentary [Becoming Led Zeppelin] I searched his session work from 1964–1968, which includes Shirley Bassey, Lulu, Donovan and more. What an amazingly versatile and talented artist he is!
Billy Ward of Man/Woman/Chainsaw
A: I think the most rewarding aspect of music is the rush and chaos of playing live shows with my friends. I really love the tension—not knowing what’ll go wrong each night and what’ll come together nicely.
Billy’s recent fascination has been with The Last Waltz, both film and accompanying album.
Obsession: This summer I discovered the Band’s The Last Waltz concert film and album and fell into a mini obsession with it. Seeing some of the most stellar songwriters of their era share a stage is really special, not to mention how comfortable as a unit the Band is and how high the standard of musicianship is—Levon Helm singing his heart out while playing the drums is particularly wicked. Joni Mitchell’s performance of “Coyote” and Van Morrison’s rendition of “Caravan” are both particularly special, as I grew up listening to those artists. It’s a great insight to be able to learn these songs exactly how they played them.
Eddie Carter - Reader of the Month
A: The most rewarding aspect of playing for me is when I connect with the audience. The main purpose of playing music live, in my opinion, has always been to take the audience away from everyday life for a while. Life smacks a person down a lot, whether it’s a bad day at work or school, bills you can’t keep up with, bad news, etc. When a person goes to hear live music, they want to forget that and have some fun and unwind. When I see the audience smile, sing along, or dance, I know I’ve managed to help with that. That’s why I enjoy doing cover songs and just mix in an original here or there. It’s also why I try to do a variety of music from several decades.
A recent go-to for Eddie has been Duane Betts’ Wild & Precious Life.
Obsession: I guess my current obsession is looping. I don’t plan to get into looping as deep as Phil Keaggy, or use drums and keyboards. I do enjoy stacking parts on guitar and even playing mandolin over a guitar loop, though. It helps with making a song sound more like the recorded version. I also use a looper, a Boss RC-500, to store and make backing tracks for a few songs.
Jon Levy - Publisher
For Jon, Pretenders’ self-titled never gets old.
A: Playing music has enriched my life in so many ways, it’s hard to pick the most important one. Is it the headrush from writing and recording? The thrill of live gigs? The champagne-soaked limousine rides with supermodels and celebrity fans? (Just kidding about that last one.) To be honest, it’s the deep friendship and goofy camaraderie with my bandmates. My entire social life is based on music, and it makes the backaches, hangovers, and tinnitus totally worth it.
Nashville-based singer-songwriter Stephen Wilson Jr. is in Jon’s current rotation.
Obsession: Not looking at my hands when I’m playing. It forces me to concentrate on what I’m hearing and feeling—stuff that’s actually musical, rather than visual. I still ogle the fretboard a bunch, but I’m consciously trying to rely on my other senses as much as possible.
Brett Petrusek - Director of Advertising
Brett’s a big fan of Iron Maiden’s Killers, but also loves Miles Davis’ timeless Kind of Blue.
A: All of it. There are so many seasons and the change of the seasons is what makes it so great. Hitting the perfect riff to inspire a new song. Recording: layering guitars and vocals, hearing the tracks build up and turn into a mix (I really love this part). Creating a body of work. Being on stage with your band and feeling the roar of your guitar through the PA. Connecting with an audience, or better yet, knowing a single person connected with your music in a meaningful way. Watching my team develop and get better at the game. I feel fortunate just to be able to do it and to be able to share the experience with my group, Fuzzrd. The single most important thing? It’s unconditionally always there for me—and it alway starts with a guitar.
Irish hard-rocker Gary Moore’s Victims of the Future is a favorite of Brett’s.
Obsession: Taking a page from the legendary Gary Moore’s playbook: “So try and leave some big moments of silence in your solos—at least twice as long as what comes to you instinctively. After a while, you get in the habit of hearing those spaces, and the waiting comes naturally. And if you’ve got a good tone, you’ll create this anticipation where the audience can’t wait for the next note.”
Dickey Betts plays one of his many Les Pauls. This model, and the SG, were the Gibsons that were the cornerstone of his distinctive tone.
Magic happened when Dickey Betts and Duane Allman played together. Their sinuous, twined, harmonized guitar lines—inspired in part by Western swing and Miles Davis—were like nothing else in rock when the Allman Brothers Band’s debut album was released in 1969. And their Les Paul and SG partnership led the way in creating the Band’s reputation as the finest rock ensemble players of their day. Although that partnership was short-lived, due to Duane’s fatal motorcycle accident in 1971, that transcendent dual-guitar sound, best captured in the heroic performances on the live At Fillmore East double-album, continued throughout the band’s career and became a hallmark of Southern rock, largely thanks to Betts. And it will endure as one of the most recognizable dialects of electrified guitar-based music.
Betts soldiered on with the Allman Brothers Band until 2000, living in the shadow of Duane, whose early death cemented his legendary status. But Betts’ playing was equally commanding—the yin to Duane’s fat-toned, slide-driven yang. As a composer, he minted melodies and riffs that endure. “Jessica,” “Blue Sky,” “Ramblin’ Man,” and “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” are Betts’ work. As a player, he was unerringly melodic, with a Gibson and Marshall tone that blended clarity and heft with the tang of distortion. He played loud. Really loud. But that volume fueled his expressive dynamic touch and his supremely articulate 6-string language was always worth hearing.
“The band was so good we thought we’d never make it. It was so amazing I don’t even know how to put it into words—even now.”
Dickey Betts died on April 18, reportedly from cancer and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. He’d been sidelined since 2018, when he had a mild stroke which was followed by an accident at his home, which necessitated surgery to relieve swelling of the brain. He was 80 years old.
Like the Allman Brothers over the decades, Betts’ own career had its hills and valleys, but his musical character and abilities remained intact until recent years. When I spoke with him a decade ago at Nashville’s Hutton Hotel, the then-70-year-old observed, “I’m amazed that at my age I’m still effective. I have a formidable band together and I write new songs, although mainly we just do renditions of things like ‘Jessica’ and other hits.
Those are fun to play and people enjoy those songs. I’ve got a full catalog of instrumentals that I could play all night if I wanted to. A rock ’n’ roll career is supposed to last about as long as a professional football player’s—five years and you’re done. But I’m still out there swinging, filling theaters, and playing festivals.”
Passing the torch: Betts onstage with his son, Duane Betts, who leads his own band today. Here, they recreate the dual-guitar sound first cast in bronze by Betts and Duane Allman in 1969.
Photo by Jordi Vidal
Betts was in Music City on that occasion to celebrate the launch of the Gibson Custom Shop’s Southern Rock Tribute 1959 Les Paul, based on an instrument he owned, and was about to embark on one of his annual summer tours with his band Great Southern, which he’d been leading in various configurations since 1977. He also had his Dickey Betts Band, which he started in 1988 and included Warren Haynes, whom Betts drafted into the Allmans when the Brothers reformed in 1990 after a near-decade hiatus. I’d been warned by Betts’ handlers that he could be difficult, and Allman Brothers Band lore contains enough stories of his wicked temper and edge-of-violence outbursts to serve as warning. He was arrested for assaulting a police officer in 1993, and reportedly held a knife behind his back during a band argument shortly before he was dismissed from the Allmans. But, sipping a glass of wine while wearing a sleeveless white tee shirt, a straw cowboy hat, and a necklace of alligator’s teeth, he was cordial, funny, and thoughtful.
He reflected on his role in bringing jazz influences to the early Allman Brothers, which tapered well with Duane and Gregg Allman’s blues sensibilities. “I got that, initially, from Western swing,” he recalled. “My dad did play fiddle, but we didn’t call it bluegrass. It was called string music and he also played Irish reels and things. So, I think I got my sense of melody from Western swing and my dad.
“I also got my sense of tone from my dad. I saw how my dad would pay attention to his fiddle sound. He knew how to tune a fiddle by putting a tone post in, to push the top of the fiddle up. He would move that post around until he had just the right tone. So, I think that search for tone is just in my disposition. I always wanted my guitar to have a little edge on it, but with a clear sound. I experimented with different speaker combinations until I found it. Part of your tone is in your hand, too.”
After playing in a series of bands from his native Florida into the Midwest, including an outfit called the Jokers that Rick Derringer name-checked in his hit “Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo,” Betts was recruited for the Allmans by Duane in 1969. “We didn’t do it consciously,” Betts said of their conflagrant dual-guitar sound. “We knew that when we started improvising, things fit, and we didn’t analyze it. Duane was more real militaristic into urban blues. And then I had a Western swing lilt to my rock playing, and it fit together beautifully. A lot of older folks said they thought we sounded like Benny Goodman, and it made sense to me later on when I listened to Goodman. He was pretty hip for his day, and would interweave his instruments together, too. We also listened to Miles Davis, who we thought was one of the greatest composers and bandleaders.
“Right from the beginning, we knew what we had,” Betts continued. “The band was so good we thought we’d never make it. It was so amazing I don’t even know how to put it into words—even now. With Duane, Berry Oakley, Greg and me as the songwriters, with everybody’s musicianship … it developed like a Polaroid picture. Nobody knew what it was going to be. They tried it at first as a trio, with Duane, Berry [Oakley, bass] and Jaimoe [Johnson, drums], and they cut some demos that were okay but they knew it wasn’t the Cream or Jimi Hendrix. And Berry told Duane the magic was happening when Betts was around, jamming, and from there we just grew into a six-piece naturally.
“We were elated with our sound, but every record company in the country turned us down. ‘All the songs sound the same.’ ‘They don’t have a frontman’… all this corny junk. So, we just started to travel around the country playing for free. In Boston, I remember we moved into a condemned building and ran an extension cord from the next building. We played in the park there. We’d get some hippies together and build a stage.”
While ’69’s The Allman Brothers Band sold poorly at first, it received critical acclaim, and the band’s grassroots mentality and love for playing—often relayed live via extended versions of their songs with plenty of improvisation—took hold in the potent American youth culture. The follow-up, Idlewild South, fared a bit better commercially, but At Fillmore East became their breakthrough. Sadly, Duane died just three months after its release.
“When we started getting killed off, well, there was nothing we could do about that,” Betts reflected. “It was tough times after we lost Duane and then we lost Berry. But then we had our biggest record [Eat a Peach, from 1972]. We figured. ‘Why quit when you’re losing?,’ and it worked out.
“And then, of course, the whole thing came apart,” Betts said of his 2000 ouster from the band. He was removed by the other charter members for the transgressions he was notorious for: drug and alcohol abuse, aggressive behavior. “But the Allman Brothers weren’t like the Rolling Stones, where we toured every five years. We were a working band. Thirty years is a long haul—especially when you’re doing something where your emotions are on your shirtsleeve all the time. The social dynamics just blew apart.”
Regarding the Southern rock mantle, Betts said, “We didn’t like it at first. It was kind of a reckless business label put on us by record companies. We thought of ourselves as progressive rock. We wanted to be more sophisticated than Southern rock sounds. We also didn’t think Southern bands sound that much alike, so why categorize them that way? As I get older I understand it was about record company marketing, but the difference between Marshall Tucker and the Allman Brothers Band is vast. They were more Western and we had a lot more jazz and blues, and improvising. My favorite was Molly Hatchet.”
Until his stroke and other illnesses waylaid him, Betts settled into his own music, seemingly content to be out of the heavy cycle of touring and recording required by a major band, settled into his life on Florida’s Gulf Coast. “I like fishing,” he said. “We live on the water and I’ve got a boat. I’m an archer. I can shoot stuff out of the air. We hunt wild hogs on the islands. It’s good to have something to do when you go home besides take dope [laughs]. I’d always get in trouble. On the road you’re busy; you go home and you don’t know what to do. Now I have some other good ways to apply myself.” Betts is survived by his wife, Donna, and four children: Kimberly, Christy, Jessica, and Duane, a skillful guitarist and bandleader in his own right.
