For Marcus King, sharing about his music comes with a powerful openness about his mental health struggles and substance abuse.
Such war stories aren’t uncommon among musicians, especially rock ’n’ soul road warriors like King. But the good-natured 28-year-old isn’t smiling, or laughing, or inviting flattery. He isn’t reminiscing so much as taking inventory of past traumas. By the time he was 11, King shares, he’d started experiencing what he now recognizes as panic attacks; once, in an effort to soothe a nasty cough, he drank an entire bottle of Robitussin, which led to a hallucinatory episode that frightened him deeply, intensifying these bouts of anxiety. “I would just get worked up,” he says. “I’m still learning how to address those and recognize them.”
“I struggled with that. Bipolar disorder ran in the family,” he adds, “I’ve had abandonment issues and poor attachment styles—all the things that I research now [while trying] to become the best partner that I can be.”
This is, of course, the language of mental-health maintenance, of therapy sessions and self-help reading lists, and King speaks it with equilibrium, like a man for whom sharing or purging means healing. (How’s this for metaphor: King joined our interview from a sauna.) Today, he’s found love and remains committed to both his own wellness and his opportunities as an artist to advocate for mental-health awareness.
Marcus King - F*ck My Life Up Again (Lyric Video)
Yet, he is also keenly aware that the kind of transparency that he expresses himself with isn’t much of a Dixie tradition. “I grew up in a Southern household, and men just didn’t really share their emotions openly,” says King, who was raised by his father, Marvin, a blues guitarist and singer. “Only through music would they even get close.”
King’s new album, Mood Swings, produced by Rick Rubin, is a kind of “open diary,” the guitarist explains, “for everybody to be able to open it up and have a look, have a read.” It chronicles the nadir of those long-running struggles with mental illness and substance abuse, as well as the redemption that arrived in the form of Mrs. Briley King, whom Marcus married last year in Nashville.
Following the vintage boogie rock of 2022’s Young Blood, the new record sounds especially bold, even brazen. At times it features King—a last bastion of guitar-driven integrity amongst late-millennial smartphone culture—performing atop programmed or sampled beats and high-tuned snares, Philly-soul strings, and stirringly modern vocal backing. It summons up an ambiance of contemporary R&B, pop and folk, and the smartly grooving studio-centric vibe that descends from Prince, as well as the artier psychedelic soul of songwriters like Brittany Howard. Sampled dialogue, from the landmark 1959 documentary The Faces of Depression and from one of King’s own elated, drunken voicemails, crops up as candid experimental touches. Mood Swings also finds the guitar god streamlining his solos into concise melodic delights of varying textures, placing the song and the sentiment before the Allmans-styled flights with which he made his name. “If you stay in your wheelhouse and you do something just like you’ve done before, you don’t lose any fans, but you don’t gain any,” King says. “I wanted to do something new and venture my own path and take the guitar along with me.
“[So why not] try to pitch [my instrument] in a way that’s more digestible to a generation who didn’t grow up with guitar-prominent music?”
“I’ve had abandonment issues and poor attachment styles—all the things that I research now [while trying] to become the best partner that I can be.”
Those newer generations, currently facing down historic mental-health crises, should have plenty to connect with in King’s album-length act of catharsis: “Mood Swings,” “F*ck My Life Up Again,” “Soul It Screams,” “Save Me,” “This Far Gone,” “Bipolar Love.” Even “Cadillac,” its namesake an icon of goodtime American songwriting, is a haunting exploration of suicidal ideation. “Not a lot of metaphor in the song; it’s just kind of straight up,” King says. “It is what it is: Cadillac, garage—just kind of my exit strategy, as it were. And not in any way trying to condone, or trying to glorify or romanticize that in any way. Just trying to be truthful as to where I was at the time.”
The recording sessions for Mood Swings started at Shangri-La Studios in Malibu, then later moved to Rubin’s facility in Tuscany, where King would pull 14-hour days working on the record.
Where had King been? To hear him recount the musician’s life that culminated in his version of rock bottom, he was in a kind of fever dream, shuttling between tour dates and writing and recording sessions, as his torment expanded and his ability to take care of himself withered. “I’m a mental patient, technically,” King says. “I seek treatment for mental, chemical imbalances.” But the day-to-day of a touring blues rocker didn’t square with what a therapist might call doing your homework. “I was medicated and then would be improperly medicated, because you’re not really home enough to see someone consistently,” he explains. “If you’re eating at all, you’re eating really shitty food and you’re just drinking your dinner, so your gut health is terrible, [and your] mental health is struggling as a result of it.” On the road nearly 300 days a year, King’s life was largely unfolding inside a van, without “a lot of shit to see between Colorado and St. Louis,” he says. “So you’re just kind of driving, and there’s a lot of ways to numb that—not only the pain, but the mundane as well.”
A few years ago, King started writing in Los Angeles, trapped in a soured relationship he was documenting in real time as new songs, some of which would end up on Mood Swings. He wrote about the “codependent nature of our relationship,” King says, “and the substance abuse that came with it and the excess in everything, passion included.” Later, after his partner suddenly moved thousands of miles away, a debilitating sense of isolation set in. “I couldn’t write; I couldn’t handle it,” he says. Idle time meant indulgence and the wrong kind of company. When concert schedules started up again following the pandemic, King had designs on the most desperate kind of farewell tour. “I had unfortunately made up my mind to check out of here in my own way,” he says, “on my own timeline.”
“I grew up in a Southern household, and men just didn’t really share their emotions openly. Only through music would they even get close.”
In 2019, prior to those writing sessions, the guitarist began talking to Rick Rubin. The super-producer had seen King perform “Goodbye Carolina,” an affecting midtempo rocker off 2018’s Carolina Confessions, in his Grand Ole Opry debut, and decided to make a cold call. “We spoke for quite a while about mental health and about viewing it as a writing partner,” King says, “allowing it to help me speak my truth.” A studied music fan whose knowledge belies his age, King had “always revered Rick,” he says. He recalls how Rubin’s late-career recordings of Johnny Cash were some of the last music that King and his grandfather, a country fan and performer, absorbed together. As a tween, the guitarist started digging into hip-hop, eventually making his way to the pioneering LPs that Rubin helmed for Def Jam, by the likes of Public Enemy, Beastie Boys, and Run-D.M.C. He especially appreciated Rubin’s beaten-path-detour efforts to combine rap and rock. “I really liked the phrasing,” he says, “and the way [hip-hop MCs] would rhythmically say what they needed to say over breakbeats. And I loved James Brown, and everybody [in hip-hop] was sampling ‘Funky Drummer,’ so everything just kind of came full circle in those moments.”
Marcus King's Gear
The 28-year-old King grew up listening to Johnny Cash, then later, hip-hop artists like Public Enemy and the Beastie Boys.
Guitars
- “Big Red”: 1962 Gibson ES-345 originally purchased by King’s grandfather
- Gibson Custom Shop Marcus King 1962 ES-345 with Sideways Vibrola
- 1962 Fender Stratocaster
- Harmony Sovereign acoustic
- Gibson dreadnought owned by Rick Rubin (used on Mood Swings)
- Gibson ES-330 (Shangri-La studio backline, used on Mood Swings)
- 1939 Martin D-18
Amps
- Fender Super Reverb (studio)
- Fender Deluxe Reverb (studio)
- Orange MK Ultra Marcus King Signature 30-watt head (live)
- Orange slanted 8x10 cabs with Celestion speakers (live)
- 1968 Fender Bandmaster head/Bassman cab with two Celestion 15" speakers (live)
Effects
- Ibanez Tube Screamer
- Tru-Fi Colordriver
- Tru-Fi Two Face
- Tru-Fi Ultra Tremolo
- Dunlop EP103 Echoplex Delay
- Dunlop Rotovibe
- MXR Phase 100
- MXR M300 Reverb
- MXR Micro Chorus
Strings & Picks
- Elixir Nanoweb (.011–.049)
- Dunlop Jazz III
When the sessions for Mood Swings commenced at the Shangri-La studio in Malibu, King found himself jamming with one of the funkiest drummers alive, Chris Dave, at Rubin’s behest. Alongside King and Dave, whose credits include Robert Glasper, D’Angelo, Maxwell and Meshell Ndegeocello, was keyboardist Cory Henry, a jazz, R&B, and gospel ace who earned acclaim in the fusion collective Snarky Puppy. Rubin’s idea, King comments, was simply for the trio “to create. And I think one of the initial ideas to approach this album was to kind of sample ourselves.” For about a week and a half, in six-, seven- and eight-hour days, the trio jammed and explored using a handful of simple, folkish songs King brought in.
For his part, Rubin was nowhere to be found, though he was still overseeing the sessions. “I’ll tell you,” King begins, “Rick is such a truthful, and whimsical, fan of music. He loves music so much, and he’s such a sweet human. But some of the stories you hear about him, about his eccentric approach to producing, are true.” Like the “Producer of Oz,” Rubin had GoPro cameras and microphones set up around the band, to monitor progress from afar. “He was like, omnipresent,” King says. “His presence was there, but not physically. It was really kind of a trip.”
“I was in that situation, like, breaking bad habits,” King adds, “and trying to abandon the idea that the structure and the form needed to be there before we started experimenting.”
“If you stay in your wheelhouse and you do something just like you’ve done before, you don’t lose any fans, but you don’t gain any.”
About a year later, after the sessions had moved to Rubin’s facility in Tuscany, songcraft came further into focus. King pulled 14-hour days, and Rubin, in the flesh, offered his famously sage insight. “I was really pleased to find out that this is the most intimately Rick’s been involved in a project in some time. And we spent every day together,” King says. “We would just sit on adjacent couches and listen back to what I’d done the day before.”
King first connected with Rubin after Rubin made a cold call to the guitarist after having been impressed by his Grand Ole Opry debut performance.
Photo by Tim Bugbee
One of the more fascinating angles of Mood Swings is how it represents progress, not only for King, but for his producer as well. Part of the Rubin lore has been his unmatched ability to deliver great artists from periods of profound and often painful change, by having them tap into their quintessential sounds, as if harnessing their most vital contributions to rock history. Think of Metallica’s return-to-thrash-form on Death Magnetic, or John Frusciante embracing sobriety to rejoin Red Hot Chili Peppers for Californication.
With Mood Swings, Rubin helped King regain his footing in life by unsettling him creatively, urging him toward audacious work that is nonetheless streaked with King’s signature brilliance. “Delilah” evokes the kind of wistful, classic R&B ballad that the Greenville, South Carolina’s Marcus King Band delivered with period precision. On “Bipolar Love,” its chorus a hooky, soulful marvel, King plays a luminous solo of unerring taste on Big Red, the trusty Gibson ES-345 that belonged to his grandfather, through a Fender Deluxe Reverb. Elsewhere, the album renders Marcus King a consummate neo-soul rhythm player and a shrewd, sonically curious soloist. Rubin and King employed the 6-string “the way that we approach any of the instrumentation that we love. We would deconstruct everything to the point that it was foundationally sound,” King says, so that “the song could stand up on its own with just the vocal.” (This was judicious, as King can sound like an heir apparent to Solomon Burke, with bits of Joplin grit.)
“We spoke for quite a while about mental health and about viewing it as a writing partner, allowing it to help me speak my truth.”
Still, expect to find multiple Reddit threads offering both transcriptions and attempts to decode the masterfully dialed tones throughout Mood Swings. To start, King explained that his leads here “are a little more polished, just because I wanted them to be more like written solos, almost. They were improvised in the moment, but obviously I was stacking them or adding harmonies…. Then [the solo] kind of became a part, because you gotta play it the same way every time.”
King is a guitar obsessive, to be sure, but you’d never tag him a geek; he speaks about gear and technique with a meaningful, big-picture expertise that comes off as nonchalance. During the Mood Swings sessions, he didn’t have access to a massive arsenal of gear, but did smart work with some loyal axes, among them Big Red and his red Tele, his ’62 Strat, his Harmony Sovereign acoustic, and a Gibson J-45 or J-50 owned by Rubin. On “F*ck My Life Up Again,” he tracked the backwards solo on a Strat, “trying to go full Hendrix,” he says. Amp-wise there, he recalls a “Super Reverb in a big chambered hallway—get some natural ’verb, amp cranked,” along with what he believes was his Tru-Fi Colordriver for fuzz. (I’d like to rank this the second-finest Hendrixian backwards solo to go down on Rubin’s watch, following only Frusciante on “Give It Away.”) For “Hero,” a cowrite with the Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach, he tracked a Strat slide solo on top of an acoustic lead. The slide work on the sanctified “Me or Tennessee” is a triumvirate of Strat, Super Reverb, and Tube Screamer, and finds King invoking the sacred-steel tradition, as turbocharged by Roosevelt Collier and Robert Randolph. For some of his favorite tones on the record, King decided to go straight “David Gilmour and hook the fuzz pedal up and play straight through the console and just high-pass it.”
The core performer trio on Mood Swings was made up of King, drummer Chris Dave, and keyboardist Cory Henry.
Mood Swings is still a kick-ass guitar record, even if it’s not a willfully “kick-ass guitar record” like King’s previous effort, Young Blood, produced by Auerbach with bloozy panache and released on Rubin’s American label. When that homage to the early ’70s was captured, King was still in a bad place. “I was really mentally detached during the recording process,” he admits, even as he takes pride in its ZZ Top swagger. And although certain songs foreshadowed the confessional bent of Mood Swings, King says he “didn’t feel as personally connected to some of the material.” In a way, he explains, his primary instrument became a crutch. “I felt like I leaned more heavily on the guitar, which had always been a safety blanket for me from when I was a kid, from young traumas to teenage traumas.”
“His presence was there, but not physically. It was really kind of a trip.”
Back in 2021, in the summer before Young Blood was announced, King returned to the road following the pandemic, opening dates for Nathaniel Rateliff. “On that first show back, I realized my actions and everything I was up to extracurricular-ly affected me performing,” King says. “I was having a hard time getting through the show.” The following morning, his health necessitated a doctor’s consult. “He said, ‘Just don’t quit everything at once, and just start putting things down,’” King shares. “And then that’s kind of when I started that process.” That same day, King met his wife, Briley, who sweetens “Delilah” and “Cadillac” with vocals. “I met her, and she had her shit together and I did not,” he says. “And I just wanted to have my shit together for her…. And I wanted to have my shit together for myself, for the first time in a long time.”
King’s focus these days, he says, is doing the heavy lifting of improving his physical and mental health. “It’s like anything else, man. It’s a skill and it’s not innate,” he argues. “I kind of [liken] it to reading music. I used to read music, but if you put something in front of me now, I couldn’t do it.”
Already his efforts are paying off. “I was out in L.A. recently, doing some work, and I got to the hotel I was staying at … and it was the same room that I’d stayed at when I wrote ‘Bipolar Love,’” he recalls. “Just being back in that same room … ’cause they say a man never stands in the same river twice, it felt like I was back in that river, I’d returned. And I just was completely different and water had already flowed through. It felt really full-circle and validating, the whole process.”
YouTube It
Watch King perform “Goodbye Carolina” in his 2019 Grand Ole Opry debut—the performance that captured the interest of super-producer Rick Rubin.
"You never think that this inanimate object is going to have such a mental connection with you and get you through your darkest hours," Peterson shared in PG's Conversations in the Key of Life podcast ("Episode 3: Guitar as Therapy," June 2016).
"I can't tell you how many times—especially dealing with the post-traumatic-stress aspect of things, when the triggers come around—that I've just picked up the Mira, laid on my back, and plunked around on it. Nothing in particular … just me and the guitar. When you feel like your body can't move on to do anything else, it seems like the music—that connection—drives you just for that brief moment while you're contemplating that next string bend. You forget everything else."
But beyond the scores of untold private battles like Peterson's, where music becomes both shield and weapon against encroaching darkness, there are many other instances where guitar has played a more oblique role in therapy, whether through 6-string stars playing benefits for rehab centers, selling their instruments and donating the proceeds, or, in Eric Clapton's case, both. Anecdotes and superstars aside, the guitar has found a more institutional place in the healing process through the relatively new field of music therapy.
Roots and Branches
To get an overview and history of music therapy and understand the guitar's place in it, we chatted with health professionals who administer this treatment on a daily basis. One such person is Dr. Robert Krout, professor and director of music therapy in the Meadows School of the Arts at Southern Methodist University in Dallas, Texas. Krout also teaches guitar online and has taught at the National Guitar Workshop, as well as guitar workshops around the world.
"Music therapy as a profession started in 1950," explains Krout. "You use music-based experiences in the relationship with the therapist to help achieve desired health outcomes, whether they be physical goals, social rehabilitation, helping with developmental issues, and so on."
Krout notes that people are usually referred to a music therapist by a psychiatrist, nurse, social worker, or health insurance company. The therapist then conducts a comprehensive assessment to see if the referred individual might benefit from music therapy. "The patient doesn't necessarily have to be able to play or sing," says Krout, "but the therapist would assess whether music might be beneficial for them based on their needs, and also based on how they respond to music either actively or passively."
Potential music-therapy beneficiaries run the gamut from parents anticipating an addition to their family to individuals who've recently lost a loved one—and all sorts of related situations in between: Krout works with expectant mothers and couples in Lamaze training, using music to help with the timing of contractions. He also works with patients who are nearing the end of their lives or are in hospice care. Music therapy can also help bereaved siblings, spouses, children, grandchildren, and other survivors with grief healing. Meanwhile, music can often stimulate forgotten memories or buried emotions in patients with Alzheimer's or cognitive impairments. Music therapy can also be a great way to communicate with children on the autism spectrum, especially those who are nonverbal.
"I work with people with eating disorders, and often they have a series of verbal defenses that shield them from how they're feeling. When we do music-based experiences, many of those defenses fall away and they have an emotional reaction to the music—even when they try not to." —Dr. Robert Krout
The work that Dr. Krout and others are doing with music therapy is often effective where other forms of therapy have come up short—for instance, with clients who lack the verbal skills to benefit from talk-based therapy. Further, it can often make inroads with patients who have highly developed verbal skills that have, for one reason or another, proved an impediment to treatment.
"I work with people with eating disorders, and often they have a series of verbal defenses that shield them from how they're feeling," says Krout. "When we do music-based experiences, many of those defenses fall away and they have an emotional reaction to the music—even when they try not to. We can sometimes use that emotional reaction to take the discussion deeper into some of the issues they're facing."
Music therapy has been found to be very helpful in treating post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), particularly that suffered by troops returning from combat. Thanks to George Hauer—whose organization Operation: Music Aid supplies thousands of musical instruments to recovering military and armed forces personnel—we chatted with music therapist Bobbi Blake about her experience working with veterans at a VA medical center in Connecticut. She began by explaining that music therapy had its beginnings in the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs system after World War II.
"They found when they played music for the veterans it was very helpful in calming them down and soothing them," Blake says. "They started to investigate it more, and that began the music-therapy research in the '50s. There has been extensive research ever since. Now, they're doing neurological work on how music affects the brain. In working with veterans with PTSD, I'm trying to use music to help engage their coping skills and self-expression."
Like patients with eating disorders, PTSD patients often have a hard time expressing the multitude of profound, overwhelming feelings bubbling just beneath the surface. They can become socially isolated or be fearful of being around other people, crowds, and trying new things.
"Bringing them together to play music is a wonderful way to have them be with other people in a safe place and learn a skill that's going to help them with anxiety, mood swings, and relaxation," she adds.
Music therapy can play an important role in treating those with substance addictions. Paul Pellinger, one of the founders of Recovery Unplugged (a Florida-based rehab center), uses music to engage clients in different ways. For example, the center organizes live performances by famous musicians, who share stories and songs related to their own issues with drug addiction and alcoholism.
The program incorporates music as early as the pre-assessment process. Before being accepted, a prospective client is asked about his or her favorite genre of music. "If they say, 'classic rock,' I'll ask if there is a particular song that describes their life," says Pellinger. "When I pick them up [to bring them to the center], I have that song playing in the van. Right away, rapport is established and they feel heard versus being yelled at. When they get to our facility, we don't have to deal with a two-week adjustment to the new environment."
Like people with PTSD or eating disorders, many addicts have trouble accessing their emotions. But music can often be a gateway through those mental walls. "Identifying what you think or feel is an obstacle for most people in general, and it's especially difficult for addicts—but I guarantee you somebody has written a song about it," Pellinger says. "We often let song lyrics be the catalyst to verbalize what's going on. We're using music not only to engage the clients, but also to make recovery more of a payoff than using drugs. If you look at [a scan of] the brain after somebody takes a hit of crack cocaine, it lights up similar to how it does after hearing a simple chord change."
Guitar in Therapy
Dr. Robert Krout from Southern Methodist University (center) poses with a class that includes special-needs students at the Hope Town School on Elbow Cay island in the Bahamas.
When music therapy began in 1950, it traditionally employed piano as the accompanying instrument. But at the same time, electric and acoustic guitars were becoming mainstream instruments. Guitar gained more popularity and began to be used, in part, because it was portable. As a teacher of guitar, Krout has a unique view on the instrument's special place in music therapy.
"Clients of different ages and needs are very attracted to the guitar—the look of it and sound of it," he says. "I've worked with emotionally disturbed teenagers who normally would not have any reason to relate to me, but if I walk in with a Fender Stratocaster they relate to that. So the guitar can be used as the go-between. I do a lot of songwriting for music therapy, and the acoustic guitar is a musical instrument I can hold while sitting across from the client. They relate to the guitar, which creates a therapeutic space, and then we can safely do other things with singing, lyric discussion, or songwriting. With autism, it might be the way the guitar smells. A person with a psychiatric syndrome might have played guitar when they were younger, before the disease took over, and they connect to that."
To maximize effectiveness, Krout adapts his choices of instrument and songs to the background of the patient. For example, if a patient is a baby boomer, he may rely on the guitar-based music of the '60s. Meanwhile, if radio hits from the 1950s were the soundtrack of his nursing-home patients' youth, Krout might use Buddy Holly songs as an emotional connection.
The guitar also figures prominently in Blake's work with the Connecticut VA health system. Perhaps the country's best-known nonprofit working with veterans via the 6-string is Guitars for Vets, which provides a free guitar and lessons to veterans through local chapters set up all over the country from its base in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. In contrast, Blake's Six Strings for Soldiers program is much smaller and locally focused, with more of an emphasis on the music-therapy side than on the guitar-centric aspects.
"With an instructor, the primary concern is about instrumental skills, like teaching someone how to play chords, rhythms, or notes," she says. "I'm more concerned about how playing guitar is helping them with their coping skills and stress."
Blake says one of the most rewarding parts of working with Six Strings for Soldiers is that patients use what they've learned when they return home. If they start to get anxious, they pick up the guitar and it calms them. She also finds that even small improvements in learning the instrument quickly reward patients with increased self-esteem.
"Within four weeks it's possible to teach somebody how to play some I-IV-V chord songs," says Blake. "And to accomplish that is very exciting! Guitar is, of course, very complicated to play well—as any instrument is—but for a beginner it's very accessible. It can be particularly effective with isolation issues. It's empowering for socially isolated and fearful PTSD patients when they walk around with a guitar, because it's like walking a dog. People say, 'That's a nice dog' or 'What kind of dog is that?' Similarly, they say, 'You play guitar?' The patient may then say, 'Well, I'm learning,' and it encourages a conversation."
When they leave our facility, we don't just give them a certificate and coin and tell them not to drink, and to go to meetings." —Paul Pellinger
Meanwhile, Pellinger from Recovery Unplugged—which has centers in Austin, Texas, and Fort Lauderdale—has yet another perspective. As the center's name implies, acoustic guitar figures prominently in its treatments. Three or four guitarists work full-time with the program. One of the musicians on staff is Richie Supa, a songwriter who has worked with Gladys Knight & the Pips, Bon Jovi, and Aerosmith—and who performs acoustic sets of songs about addiction and recovery for Recovery Unplugged patients.
But Recovery Unplugged clients don't just consume music, they can also make it. The centers offer musical workshops where Supa and other staff members help interested patients learn to create songs or take their guitar playing to the next level. Recovery Unplugged even found a way for clients to take their musical experiences home after completing treatment by providing a recording studio where patients can create soundtracks of their stay. The soundtracks can be any combination of prerecorded songs they've chosen, performances they've witnessed, or tunes they've performed or written.
"When they leave our facility, we don't just give them a certificate and coin and tell them not to drink, and to go to meetings," Pellinger says. "We give them earbuds and an MP3 player. Music is used as a catalyst for recovery, whether to help them be grateful, call their sponsor, or remember the consequences of using. For instance, Richie Supa wrote a song called 'I Got This.' That's one of the things addicts say when someone asks for their car keys because they are in no shape to drive—'Go away, I got this.' The song was on the soundtrack of a client who graduated from our treatment center. He was on his way to use drugs instead of going to a meeting. He was thinking, 'I got this,' when the song reminded him he didn't have 'this' and should go to a meeting."
Of course, Recovery Unplugged isn't the only music-therapy center that celebrates the unique attributes of flattops. SMU's Krout finds that acoustic guitar can work especially well with certain patients because of the physical vibrations they feel through the back of the instrument.
"With an electric guitar, the sounds are coming out of a speaker across the room," he explains. "Sitting across from a person with an acoustic guitar, it is the vibrations that actually connect us in that moment and create the shared therapeutic space."
Despite that advantage, Krout often uses electric guitars as well. "I worked with Fender for a number of years to bring the electric guitar into music therapy," he says. "We were trying to introduce music therapists to more contemporary sounds by using electric guitar."
Even so, not everyone relates to guitar—acoustic or electric. Krout says the instrument's popularity has fallen off a bit with younger patients in recent years, as it has become less the currency of popular music—especially in the inner city, where rap and hip-hop are often the music of choice.
"With teens, often I will work from an iPad using GarageBand. I use loops with hip-hop, electro, and techno types of sounds," Krout explains. "But many times they want to be doing something active, and even if they hadn't [previously] thought about being a guitarist, if I've got a guitar and they see me playing along with a GarageBand track, it might be attractive to them. I'm working with a young man now from India who is into Bollywood movies and soundtracks. We're working on guitar with very simple chords in the context of a huge Bollywood arrangement. It may just be guitar chords, but it feels like Bollywood to him."
Get Involved
For guitarists wanting to explore career alternatives that involve music and guitar, music therapy is a path worth considering. Therapists must meet educational and clinical training requirements set up by the American Music Therapy Association (AMTA). Graduates must take and pass a comprehensive exam administered by the Certification Board for Music Therapists in order to become certified music therapists (MT-BC), which qualifies them to work as a member of treatment teams in schools, hospitals, or nursing homes.
"You don't have to be a doctor or go to medical school, though you will learn about some medical conditions in a music-therapy program," says Blake, who achieved certification in the aforementioned manner. "It's music training combined with psychology." She adds that, just as medical doctors often specialize in certain areas, music therapists can, too. "I work at a VA hospital with veterans. Other therapists work with the elderly, kids with autism, pain management, people who are developmentally disabled, and so on. Depending on what you choose as a specialty, you may need advanced training to be able to work with that population."
According to the AMTA, music therapists must have a bachelor's degree or higher in music therapy from one of AMTA's 72 approved colleges and universities. They must also complete 1,200 hours of clinical training. Some states also require a license for board-certified music therapists.
Premier Guitar readers know the big and small ways in which playing guitar and listening to music can be therapeutic. The admirable work of music-therapy practitioners like Krout, Blake, and Pellinger is but a small sample of how the instrument we love is helping countless others.
[Updated 11/12/21]