Ever watch a video of yourself playing guitar and wonder why you do “that thing” with your face?
When I was 16, my parents came to see me play in a bar. (Montana in the ’80s was pretty cavalier about the drinking age.) On a break, I sat with my parents, and my father said, “Boy, you really move your mouth a lot when you play. Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” I replied.
“Move your mouth when you play guitar.”
“I don’t.”
“You definitely are. It’s like you are trying to pronounce every note. Sometimes it looked like you were grinding your teeth.”
“Really? Tonight? Here?”
“Yes, you were literally just doing it pretty much on every solo. It’s a bit off-putting.”
My recent obsession with Corey Feldman guitar-solo videos reminded me of that conversation. I now feel a kinship with Corey. When the “Comeback King” and I play guitar, we both share that vacuous, dead-eyed stare into the distance, mouth chomping, teeth gnashing wildly. I bet, like me, Corey had no idea he was doing it until he watched a video of himself playing. Say what you will about Feldman, but when you watch his mouth, you know he is genuinely trying his best. He is in it, lost in the process of trying to make music.
Maybe you, dear reader, also suffer from guitar face. Most of our heroes do/did. Gary Moore, SRV, Hendrix, B.B. King, Joe Walsh, Steve Vai, Santana, Paul Gilbert—watch any of them play, and you will see some less-than-flattering involuntary facial expressions.
There are many types of guitar face:
Stank Face. Watch SRV cranking in “Cold Shot”—his face looks like he just walked into a porta potty on the third day of an Insane Clown Posse Festival. That’s stanky.
The Motor-Mouth. Corey Feldman and I are prime examples of motor-mouthing, but nearly everybody is guilty of it when working a wah pedal.
Angry Face.Joe Bonamassa is a philanthropist, great guy, and kind person, but when he’s playing, he hits those strings like they owe him money—the man looks pissed.
Surprised Face. Just imagine B.B. King with his eyes wide open, eyebrows raised in a lofting arch, and sometimes his mouth open in a perfect O.
I’m in Pain Face. Think John Mayer. The higher he sings, or the higher he plays, the more the notes hurt.Sometimes the grimaces are accompanied by loud groans, luckily usually drowned out by a loud band, but audible in acoustic settings. I saw famed classical guitarist Christopher Parkening in concert, and his guitar mic caught every loud groan and “aahh.” It was distracting. (Same with pianist Keith Jarrett. Listen to his Köln Concert and try not to be disturbed. Though that’s probably more a symptom of piano face, a related phenomenon.)I don’t think guitar face is one thing. Guitar face is probably at least partially an expression of emotions and the connection to the music. It’s also a reflection of the physical demands of playing guitar, like athletes grimacing as they sprint. It’s also one of those tics of concentration, like sticking your tongue out when you draw or paint.“Think John Mayer. The higher he sings, or the higher he plays, the more the notes hurt.”
I read a Quanta Magazinecolumn by R. Douglas Fields where he maintains that “hand and mouth movements are tightly coordinated. In fact, that interplay often improves performance. Martial artists scream short explosive utterances, called kiai in karate, as they execute thrusting movements; tennis players often shout as they smack the ball. And research shows that coupling hand movements with specific mouth movements, often with vocalization, shortens the reaction time needed to do both.”
To this day, I’m embarrassed when I see videos of my mouth moving. I’ve tried to control it, but have come to the conclusion that I can either try to connect with music or try to control my face. I cannot do both. I have found that smiling does mask it or make it less distracting. As an added bonus, smiling releases that happy hormone, dopamine. The smile trick works great on “Lay Down Sally,” but I wouldn’t try it on, say, “Tears in Heaven.”
I’ve been making an effort to be aware of where I’m holding tension when I play and making a conscious effort to relax my arms, shoulders, and butt, so maybe I can work my face into that.
I’ve made peace with this embarrassing quirk. Every now and then, I’ll see a video where it’s particularly bad, and I’ll feel that barb of shame nick me. But if it sounds okay, I’m okay with this degrading side effect.
Ultimately, connecting to an instrument is like mainlining deep emotions. Deep emotions get ugly, painful, pitiful, and ecstatic. In an age where half of America stares blankly at a screen, how lucky musicians are to dive deeply into something that puts them so firmly in the now that they lose control of their faces. Besides, if you play something genuinely moving, nobody will care how you look.
Nashville luthier and repair tech Dave Johnson from Scale Model Guitars leads you through a simple process to improve your guitar's playability by showing the steps to execute a neck adjustment, dial in your string action at the bridge, improve your nut slots, and lock down stable intonation.
Comprehending one of the studio's most important but mysterious tools—with metaphorical cocktails!
[Originally published 6/8/2020]
Welcome to Recording Dojo—PG’s new monthly column pertaining to recording and engineering, with guitarists in mind. Think of this column as your place to develop better audio-recording skills, experiment with new techniques and gear and, most importantly, mindsets. So bring your best self forward and your willingness to learn … the dojo is now open.
1. TKARR
Let’s begin our training with compression: a confusing topic for guitarists as players and as engineers wanting to make their recordings more professional. Compression has five core parameters: threshold, knee, attack, ratio, and release—or TKARR. I’m going to explain this metaphorically, as if you are at a major event, say, the Grammys, and you’ve just won. You’ve condensed a lifetime of “I’d like to thank” into 15 seconds, and you’ve been regally whisked offstage by an anonymous beauty in a ball gown.
2. Threshold
The next thing you’re instructed to do is leave backstage, go through the giant ballroom (where a band is playing and people are partying), and go to the press room for photo ops and post-win interviews. You walk down the long hallway towards the ballroom door, where a burly 6'8" doorman stands behind velvet ropes. The doorman is the threshold and the velvet ropes are the knee.
3. Knee
In order for you to get into the ballroom, the doorman has to let you in. As you arrive at the door, he takes his hands off the ropes (hard knee), crosses his arms, coldly stares at you, and says, “What are doing here? This is for Grammy winners only.” Ouch! He doesn’t recognize you. He only listens to Siberian reggae bands. High threshold. So high that you can’t pass though. Conversely, if, as you approach, he gently unfastens the ropes (soft knee), says “I’m a huge fan,” and moves aside without you having to break stride, you have crossed the threshold and are now inside the ballroom. This is a well-set threshold, only allowing in those who are authorized. Or perhaps, as you arrive at the ballroom entrance, you notice that the doorman has passed out, the ropes have long been knocked over (no knee), and anyone can enter. Low threshold.
4. Attack
As soon as you enter the ballroom, within a millisecond, a waiter comes up to you: “Champagne? The press room is on the other side of the ballroom.” That’s quick attack. You notice there’s a string quartet playing Haydn’s Op. 76, and the volume is comfortably loud (low ratio, somewhere between 1.5:1 to 4:1). Almost as soon as you enter the ballroom, you’ve got your libation and move directly to the press room—quick release. You arrive at the press room with your wits about you, ready to talk about your big win.
Or, upon entering the ballroom, you mill around in the crowded room looking for directions and you’re in the middle of the ballroom before a waiter comes up to you and shouts: “Drink? Press room is over there.” That’s medium attack. The band is an ’80s cover band and the volume is rather loud for the room (medium ratio, 5:1 to 9.5:1). You eventually find your way to the press room and arrive slightly stunned, but ready.
Another version: Upon entering the ballroom, you’re immediately lost in a sea of people, shouting for directions and hopelessly trying to be heard above the Mötorhead tribute band. Your ears are ringing. Time passes, and you somehow find the press room door and a waiter shoves a drink in your hand just before you leave the ballroom. Slow attack. You arrive, dazed and confused, in the press room (high ratio, 10:1 and above).
These simple scenarios should help you understand the parameters of compression. It’s very important you know that all of these scenarios are equally and musically valid, and by no means exhaustive. Want that “When the Levee Breaks” drum sound? Low threshold, high ratio, quick attack/release. Want your acoustic to sound natural and dynamic? High to medium threshold, medium attack/release, medium to low ratio. Remember, the focus of this article is to explain the five parameters of compression (TKARR). Based on their highly varied and different designs, not all compressors give you access to every parameter. So, this will be our subject next month!
