Rigs of Dad proprietor Ross Hurt welcomes PG into his tone zone to demo Dunable and Fender riff machines, stereo-amp setup, and overflowing pedalboards.
Facing a mandatory shelter-in-place ordinance to limit the spread of COVID-19, PG enacted a hybrid approach to filming and producing Rig Rundowns. This is the 45th video in that format.
Do you love guitars, comedy, and peruse Instagram? Then take a break from PG to make sure you follow Rigs of Dad. (You can thank us in the comment section.) While you might think Ross Hurt, the man behind the spit-take spoofery hosted on Rigs of Dad, is the Weird Al of guitardom, rest assured, the axe is mightier than the sword (or in his case, keyboard).
The multi-dimensional Burial Waves is a D.C./Baltimore quintet created by longtime friends and touring mates. Singer Kyle Durfey (Pianos Become the Teeth), guitarists Ross Hurt (Black Clouds) and Matthew Dowling (Deleted Scenes, The Effects), bassist Kevin Hilliard (Flavor Waster, Caverns), and drummer Jimmy Rhodes (Black Clouds) blend their pedigrees to create a washy, spacy rock that ventures into realms of helium-grade post-rock and thunderous, amp-worshiping metal.
Just before putting out another new Burial Waves song, the Rigs-of-Dad guitar hero virtually welcomed PG’s Chris Kies into his D.C.-based art venue and practice space.
In this episode, Burial Waves sound architect Ross Hurt walks us through two solid guitar setups and a monstrous bass rig created by his personal collection of gear. He introduces us to a pair of custom Dunables and a couple revamped sig Jazzmasters, he explains the use (and signal flow) for a complex solid-state stereo rig, and we witness how a pedal problem proves beneficial when build post-rock boards.
Here’s Hurt’s main squeeze—a TV yellow Dunable Cyclops that is constructed with a mahogany body, maple neck, and ebony fretboard. The custom pickup configuration features a Dunable Grizzly (bridge) and an under-wound Banana Slug (neck). Both pickups come with coil-splitting options. It’s topped with Grover locking tuners and all the hardware is aged nickel.
Above is Ross’ second-favorite Dunable—a “pearl” shell pink Cyclops. Like the previous one, this one has a mahogany body, maple neck, and ebony fretboard. However, the pickups are different, with a Lollar Imperial (bridge) and Lollar low-wind Imperial (neck). Both his Dunable 6-strings are typically tuned down a whole step and take GHS Boomers (.012–.052).
The third axe in Hurt’s guitarsenal is a Squier J Mascis Signature Jazzmaster that has been overhauled with “jazzercised” Dunable Grizzlies (humbucker crammed into the JM-style, single-coil covers), Staytrem Jazzmaster vibrato arm paired with a Mastery vibrato and bridge. For post-rock, drone-note layers, he keeps this one tuned to C–G–C–G–C–G.
The third axe in Hurt’s guitarsenal is a Squier J Mascis Signature Jazzmaster that has been overhauled with “jazzercised” Dunable Grizzlies (humbucker crammed into the JM-style, single-coil covers), Staytrem Jazzmaster vibrato arm paired with a Mastery vibrato and bridge. For post-rock, drone-note layers, he keeps this one tuned to C–G–C–G–C–G.
Hurt’s pedal playground has a bit of everything—a little weird, a little wonky, a little wooly, and little whoa!
Below is his signal flow for Burial Waves.
Korg Pitchblack > ZCat Big Reverb TI > DigiTech Drop > DigiTech FreqOut > DigiTech Dirty Robot > Boss ES-8 Effects Switching System controller:
- Loop 1: Electro-Harmonix Mel9
- Loop 2: Antisleep Audio KWB Plus
- Loop 3: 1981 Inventions DRV
- Loop 4: Last Gasp Art Labs Gomorrah subharmonic fuzz
- Loop 5: Lehle P-Split (to send/return to dry amp)
- Loop 6: OBNE Rêver
- Loop 7: (introduces stereo) Wampler Terraform > Meris Polymoon
- Loop 8: Strymon TimeLine > Strymon BigSky—stereo outs into a TC Electronic Ditto X2 Looper.
This is Ross Hurt’s (that Matthew Dowling uses in Burial Waves) Fender Troy Van Leeuwen Jazzmaster that’s been modded with Curtis Novak P-90s and a mastery bridge/vibrato. Hurt loves this because of the utilitarian 2-way toggle that goes between the lead and rhythm circuits (something Hurt sees as invaluable for his playing style). The offset takes GHS Boomers (.012–.052).
Unlike Hurt, Matthew Dowling goes digital-heavy by simply using an Ernie Ball VPJr Volume Pedal into an EarthQuaker Devices Palisades, and it hits the Line 6 HX Effects unit that does the bulk of tone shaping. The RJM MasterMind MIDI Foot Control handles the moody stage lighting. Everything rests on a board from Custom District Pedalboards.
For Burial Waves, bassist Kevin Hilliard borrows Hurt’s Dunable R2 finished in matte black. The swamp-ash 4-string has a 34" scale, a wenge neck, and rosewood fretboard. It has a standard P-bass pickup (neck) and Dunable Bigfoot (bridge). Hilliard rocks GHS Boomers (.045–.105).
Kevin Hilliard’s bass board flows this way: Ernie Ball VPJr volume pedal > Fuzzrocious "Bob" Demon (with blend knob and gated boost) > custom Fuzzrocious TS-808 circuit built with blend knob (Phantasm art) > Sanford and Sonny Bluebeard Fuzz > Akai Headrush delay/looper > kill switch. Everything rests on a board from Custom District Pedalboards.
The drive to be a “good guitarist” is making us boring af.
Last time I invaded this dumpster-fire space to spew unasked-for opinions, I went off about how social media's grody underbelly is squishing the life out of our recordings. It felt so good, I figured this month I might as well scream my hard-won wisdom at you kids some more.
WARNING: Some might feel today's topic beats last month's dead horse. But trust me—A) that horse ain't even close to dead (just click around your favorite music hole, you'll see), and B) even if it were dead, this is an entirely different horse … although it may be a close cousin.
Rattle your cage (or mine) if this rings true: Whether you prefer skulking about on YouTube or Instagram, both are packed with sharp-lookin' folks playing the shit outta their guitars. It's like some flippin' badass video game action—diddly-diddly-diddly …PEW-PEW-PEW!!! Nary a note is askew and the tone is so perfect George Lucas wishes he could've somehow turned it into CGI for the remastered edition of The Phantom Menace. Oh—and the antics! The commentary! Hoooooo-boy! It is as witty as the Netflix-relaunched boat anchor called Mystery Science Theater 3000.
But back to the guitar playing—or should I say guitar slaying? I mean, if a turbo-charged Xerox machine could play the 6-, 7-, or 8-string! Amiright or amiright? How much crisper could the copied licks and riffs be? None more crisp.
And talk. About. Speed. I haven't heard such virtuosity since Alvin, Simon, and Theodore figured out their shtick—only this sick-ass/dope radness is accomplished without the aid of outboard gear. (Except when it is.)
INTERMISSION: Okay, I'm laying on the acid-tongued sarcasm pretty heavily here, so let me take a breather for a sec before getting back to the point slightly more levelheadedly.
ACT II: I'm not saying there isn't a lot of genuinely cool guitar playing online. But let's be real: There is a lot of clinical bullshit. Sterile, boring, practiced-to-death copycat fluff played with Red Bull-fueled swagger masking a deep-seated fear of playing something that hasn't already been audience-tested by a famous player who didn't give a you-know-what what guitar dweebs in the crowd think. It's palpable, the sheer terror these 6-string-wielding jukeboxes feel over playing something that isn't so “perfect" it humbles guitarists with low self-esteem.
Too many of us are tempted to follow the pied-piper “influencers" off the Cliffs of Conformity. Drowning in a sea of self-delusion, we've convinced ourselves we must be Olympic swimmers training to set a new world record when in actuality we're paddling straight into the bloody Bermuda Triangle. Beat about the head by ceaseless waves of videos showcasing technical proficiency masquerading as art, we look inward and subvert the uniqueness, the weird beauty lurking in our hearts and heads, whispering to ourselves that if only we were as banal as the energy-drink swillers we'd somehow stop sinking.
Listen to the immortal words of Iggy Pop, friends. Whatever style you play, whatever gear you prefer, gimme danger!
“Good" guitar playing doesn't mean crap if it's a knee-jerk reaction born of innumerable hours practicing someone else's riffs (or slight permutations that might as well be). Drop the charade … scrub off the rote sheen of rottenness … look inside and see what you can share with us that's more you. It might sound a little rough. The timing or phrasing might be a little weird, especially by mainstream zombie standards. In fact, I hope it is. We're in desperate need of distraction from the sea of sameness. The world eagerly awaits the mischief you're capable of.
I say it again—gimme danger, friends. Give us danger.
A wake-up call for guitarists as we use quarantine time to develop our studio chops.
With so many of us getting more into recording since quarantine, it's recently struck me harder than ever how deeply social-media mentality has seeped into our psyches as musicians. We've all been hearing for years how Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc. can adversely affect self-esteem, perceived quality of life, and overall happiness. And we've all heard how Instagram photo filters have so warped the self-image of pre-teens, teens, young adults, and even old-ass adults the world over that there are plastic surgeons buying effing yachts off money they made mangling some formerly beautiful person's perfectly normal face to look like a half-space-jackal anime character.
Yet so many of us are blind to how this same manner of thinking affects us in other ways—including how we present our music. Even many who resist the unspoken social-media mandate to post pics that paint “everyday life" as pristine, flawless, and oh so woke, still somehow end up thinking their music shouldn't see the light of day unless it's been edited, compressed, noise-gated, and EQ'd to be the sonic equivalent of a nipped, tucked, Botoxed, and Photoshopped “influencer." We see through the bullshit of YouTube and IG's soulless shillmeisters, and yet unwittingly embrace their fake, manufactured aesthetic as the ideal. Without even realizing it, we've let ourselves be conditioned to think good music in the 21st century equates to robotically unwavering tempos, metronome-perfect timing, and either “flawless" execution or jaw-dropping virtuosity—and there sure as hell better not be any fret or amp noise!
What's so ironic is that, while expecting these things of ourselves, in the very next breath we'll turn around and kneel at the metaphorical alter of artists from yore who did none of this. We'll oooh and aaah and fawn over songs that literally changed the fucking world with their soulfulness, fire, and humanity.
We'll adulate bands, players, and singers whose studio recordings moved and breathed as unpredictably as a living organism, varying together in bpm and instrumental and emotional nuance in ways that would give modern MP3 compression algorithms a panic attack. We're either oblivious about or completely forget the fact that some of the greatest guitarists of all time laid down legendary performances precisely because they knew vibe beats mechanical precision, hands-down, every time.
Jimmy Page—perhaps the most potent riffer/composer/studio wizard in all of rock guitardom—didn't let a little flub here and there hold back mind-blowing tunes like “Heartbreaker" and “I Can't Quit You Babe" (where he stumbles a little in the solos) and ““Since I've Been Loving You" (where you can hear John Bonham's kick-pedal squeak throughout the entire song). Said Page of instances like these in a 1977 interview: “There are mistakes … but it doesn't make any difference. You've got to be reasonably honest about it." Meanwhile, Eddie Van Halen freely admitted to botching a bit of the tapping in “Eruption"—y'know, that little 1978 ditty that single-handedly obliterated the world's guitar paradigm?
In a bit of a silver lining, COVID has forced us to reckon with this outlook somewhat. Lockdown has sucked the big one for everyone, especially touring artists, but it's also found us watching more homegrown guerilla performances from bands and artists we've always loved but who've had to figure out ways to get their craft out to the world without the aid of their usual backing band, sound person, lighting crew, etc. And admit it—it's been refreshing to see artists put themselves out there for the world despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, knowing full well the usual recording-studio sheen and/or video-editing magic won't be making them come across like immortals from another galaxy. Their hair isn't perfect, they might have a zit or two, their house/apartment/garage looks as shabby as ours, their amps buzz and their guitars don't always stay in tune or even necessarily sound that great. And it's important that we realize it's been refreshing precisely because of these things, not despite them. The trick is going to be holding onto these realizations once we finally get back to some semblance of normality. But, in my opinion, allowing this humanity in our tunes is as important today as it was in rock's golden age.