Photo by Leo Cackett
Small acts of kindness can go a long way. Embrace them. Perform them.
This is a story about a small act of kindness. It occurred in 1995 at a club gig, but the tale is rooted a dozen years earlier, when I started to develop my guitar playing in earnest. My bookend idols then were Roy Buchanan and Gang of Four guitarist Andy Gill—a roots and blues icon and a conflagrant punk-rock innovator. It might seem they had nothing in common, but listening reveals a shared love of taking risks, unpredictable turns in their playing, and a determination to push the envelopes of angularity and tone. Roy played a Tele and Andy had a Stratocaster, and when I initially took to stages, I had one of each.
I’d first heard Andy when Gang of Four’s blistering, brilliant 1979 debut album, Entertainment!, came out. Absolutely nothing sounded like Andy, with his piercing tone and atonal bombs, and his intention to screw with the conventional architecture of rock. Then there were the songs: salty, wise, withering social commentary in three-and-a-half-minute bursts. I instantly loved Gang of Four!
So, in 1995, during the run of my alternative-rock band, Vision Thing, I got a call from a Boston-area promoter—who I’d been begging for a gig, since he booked all the best joints in town—offering an opening slot for Gang of Four at a club called Axis. I was thrilled, but I was also conflicted, because I wanted us to be our best in front of my heroes and their audience, but Vision Thing was imploding, and that rarely makes for good work.
Moments later, in walks Andy Gill and Jon King, Gang of Four’s singer.
Maybe anyone who’s been in a band that’s a democracy can relate? As usual in such situations, everyone had a voice, but one person—me—did 90 percent of the work, including most of the songwriting. For months there had been constant arguments over direction, arrangements, gigs, attire, producers, the record label, and the beat goes on. Some members were fond of frequently proclaiming how much better they were than most of us, including me. Holding the band together for the cycle of our just-released album was exhausting and depressing, and I thought that perhaps after this “dream gig” with Gang of Four, I should just quit performing. Who needs the BS?
As it turned out, we were great on that gig—colorful, rocking, raw, emotional, and even inspired. But as soon as we got offstage, the rhythm section and Vision Thing’s other guitar player abruptly split without conversation, leaving the rest of us in our dressing room, feeling happy but awkward.
Moments later, in walks Andy Gill and Jon King, Gang of Four’s singer. They introduced themselves, thanked us for opening, and started talking about how much they liked our performance. When Andy complimented my tone and approach, I could barely stammer a “thank you.” And then, after perhaps five minutes, they split to get ready to annihilate the house.
I felt as if I’d been anointed. If Andy thought I was onto something, well, dammit, I was! Just a few words restored my belief in myself as an artist and buoyed me through that band until it died some months later. His simple act of kindness encouraged me to keep writing songs and playing, and to navigate a path that would take me to places like the original Knitting Factory and Bonnaroo, France’s Cognac Blues Passions and Switzerland’s Blue Rules, and 20 more years of clubs, festivals, theaters, and studios. Heck, maybe even to this gig.
In early 2019, while interviewing Andy for PG, I got to thank him for his kindness, and let him know he’d inspired me to continue making music. He was gracious, of course, although I’m sure he didn’t recall that night. For all I knew, he said that to every guitarist who ever played in a band that opened a Gang of Four show.
But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he simply said it. And I try to carry that lesson with me today. If you like what another musician you see is doing, say it. And if you’re mezzo-mezzo, offer a compliment anyway—on gear, on a certain song, on a vocal inflection or a lick. Find something pleasant and encouraging to say, because you might be saving someone’s musical life. Also, this does not only apply to music. If somebody made you a great sandwich, compliment them. Hell, tell the bagger at your local grocery store that you appreciate them. It doesn’t cost anything, and can lift the spirits of that person.
When Andy died a year later, I was sad, but still grateful for his words, and grateful for a simple reminder that can be a buoy for yourself and others in the sometimes turbulent river of life: Be kind.
Life—and playing guitar—is really about the art of storytelling.
I became infatuated with Roy Buchanan’s incendiary playing when I was a relative youngster, after finding a copy of Guitar Player with Roy on the cover. He looked more like one of dad’s disheveled friends than a star, which intrigued me enough to pick up Roy Buchanan and Second Album—the first time I heard the war between angels and demons channeled through wood and steel.
A few years later, my friend Stuart Stack and I hopped in my dad’s battered ’67 Comet to see Roy play the Pinecrest in Shelton, Connecticut. The opening band was unmemorable, but then came the wait. One hour. Two hours. And no Roy.
Suddenly, the sold-out crowd began parting behind us, and I turned to see Roy coming through the human sea, with a Fender case dangling from his left hand. As he passed, saying hi and excuse me, the aroma of distillery accompanied him. Stu and I looked at each other. This was not going to be good.
We were right. It was amazing! Roy took the stage and quickly summoned every demon and angel at his call, sending overtone squeals to the sky, supercharging his chords on standards like “Green Onions” with one of the crunchiest “clean” Tele tones I’ve ever heard, and dancing up and down the fretboard like the Nicholas Brothers. (Look them up on YouTube. It’ll be worthwhile.) He even delivered “The Messiah Will Come Again,” with its heartbreaking melody, stoic monologue, and explosive finale. We became fans for life.
A few years after that, when Roy had signed with Alligator Records and cut a firestorm called When a Guitar Plays the Blues, I interviewed him after another casually brilliant—and sober—performance at a club called Jonathan Swift’s in Cambridge, Massachusetts. After the gig, Roy and I adjourned to the motor lodge where he was staying in Harvard Square. Roy wanted to do the interview in the lobby, where, luckily, the coffee table, two chairs, and hot pot of java that were its only appointments were available.
He was a delightful person: soft-spoken, articulate, his eyes bright with humor and life. And about half-way through, for obvious reasons, I asked him if he believed the guitar had the power to channel the spiritual world.
“Well,” he replied, “the ghost of Jim Hendrix appeared to me and saved my life.” I was instantly all in. Roy went on to explain that after a gig he’d played in D.C. one night, when he was so wasted by booze and other vices that he felt near death, some college students—seeing he was in a bad way—invited him back to their place. Once there, they offered a cure: LSD.
It was the first time he dropped acid, he said, and in addition to the colors and weird audio transformations, he started to see a kind of mist, and Jimi appeared. He warned Roy, reflecting on his own death, that if Roy kept on this path he would die, and that the time to quit and get sober was now—or he’d no longer be able to serve a higher calling with his guitar. Roy promised Jimi, who he’d never met before, that he’d find a street called straight.
I asked Roy if he believed Jimi really appeared, or if it was just the acid. Roy said he wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought it was real … or at least real enough.
I’ve told you that story because, well, that’s what I’ve done my entire life—told stories. One of the great joys of interviewing musicians and gear makers is finding interesting stories and passing them along, but only after you’ve relished them yourself for a while. And if you love chasing musical adventures like I do, then you also create a few stories of your own along the way.
Every page of PG—even regular features like Gear Radar and Tools for the Task—is a story. What’s new, what’s good, what’s useful? We want to tell you what we’ve found. And some of our best storytelling is in our reviews, which are really accounts of musical explorations, where our writers share the memories, references, and sonic triggers they experience and, when the gear is good, the very tangible joy they feel in playing.
We can all relate to that, because there might be nothing better than picking up a guitar and letting the stories—or the angels and demons—inside it talk. In that sense, we’re all deep storytellers … and if the ghost of Jimi Hendrix happens to appear, well, that’s a bonus!
PG’s Nashville correspondent shares his favorite moments behind the camera with some of the best guitar players in the world.
When PG started the Rig Rundown series in 2008, YouTube limited videos to a lean 10 minutes. Now running time is limitless and we've packed hundreds of hours of guitar geekery into more than 450 of these addictive videos, racking up millions of views while giving us all-access to what were formerly trade secrets.
For me, it's not so much about the gear as much as it is the stories behind it that makes these videos fascinating. So, in no particular order, here are my Top 10 Rig Rundowns.
Doyle Wolfgang von Frankenstein
Doyle was in full Misfits' makeup, shirtless, muscled up, and intimidatingly towered over me. This was my first interview ever, so I asked the basic questions about his rig and signed off. Then Doyle says in thick Jersey, "What? It's ov'r? I got all dressed up for this. Ask me more stuff." I realized this big scary monster was just a fun, 50-year-old kid who wants to make every day Halloween.
Mike Stern
In 2016, Stern tripped over construction debris left on the streets of New York, which resulted in two broken arms and nerve damage in his hands. It looked like Stern's reign as a jazz giant was over. A year later, Stern released Trip and was back touring and killing it. In this rundown, he revealed that he was having trouble holding onto a pick, so he started applying wig glue to his right hand. Stern's recovery is a testimony to the indomitable human spirit.
Joe Bonamassa
It's an unworldly experience standing next to arguably one of the greatest guitarists ever as he plays a '59 Les Paul through two Dumbles and two tweed Twins cranked so loud you can hear it from outer space. When Bonamassa said, "John, play this thing," I was both elated and terrified.
Tom Bukovac
Buk and I moved to Nashville around the same time. Although the attrition rate is fairly high for musicians here, 27 years later we're still standing. Buk is a great guitar player, but more importantly, he's one of the most musical people you'll ever meet. Just listen to his improv in the opening. He never runs out of ideas.
Steve Wariner
Chet Atkins assigned the honor of C.G.P., aka Certified Guitar Player, to his favorite pickers. There are three left in the world: PG has filmed Rundowns on two of them. Steve Wariner is a C.G.P., four-time Grammy winner. and mind-blowing talent. From his family band to his teenage years playing bass for Dottie West to playing in Atkins' band to becoming a huge country star, Steve's career odyssey feels like a movie. If the stories aren't enough, listen to Wariner rip on his signature Gretsch.
Tommy Emmanuel
Speaking of C.G.P., this Rundown is the most fun and informative 43 minutes you can spend online. Sitting next to Tommy as he plays is like watching Picasso paint. You see that it's just six strings and 10 fingers, but you hear an incredibly tight band. Not only is the playing amazing, Tommy is just plain fun and funny.
Peter Frampton
As we entered Frampton's massive studio, his iconic black Les Paul Custom was leaning on a stand, with a cable leading to a Klon, then an old Bassman with a talk-box running to a mic. Frampton, standing next to it, said, "Hi, I'm Peter. Here's my rig." He waited a few beats, then opened up a door to another room to reveal his real rig, featuring several boats of vintage guitars, two refrigerator-sized racks, two Bradshaw boards, stacks of amps, a trio of Marshall 4x12s, and more. Frampton's electric and acoustic performances during this rundown highlight his incredibly melodic playing. Somehow he makes his jazz leanings fit perfectly with classic rock 'n' roll.
Waddy Wachtel
When I was a kid, pre-MTV, you rarely saw live music on TV, but when you did, it seemed like Waddy Wachtel was always there. Any concert, be it Linda Ronstadt, James Taylor, Keith Richards, Stevie Nicks, etc.—at stage right was this guy rocking out with long, crazy hair, granny glasses, and bell-bottoms. He was the guy that made me think, "That's what I want to do: play with everybody." Waddy has great stories, like the time Stephen Stills sold him his 1960 Les Paul for $350, or giving his neighbor Leslie West his first Les Paul Jr.
Daniel Lanois
Lanois produced two of my top five albums: Chris Whitley's Living with the Law and Emmylou Harris' Wrecking Ball. Lanois was touring with his vintage Korg SDD-3000 that he's used since the '80s, on albums like U2's The Unforgettable Fire and The Joshua Tree.There were strips of whitetape across the top of the SDD-3000 covered with Sharpie'd tempo reminders from his tour with Emmylou when they performed the entire Wrecking Ball album live. As a pedal-steel player, it was amazing to hear him play his old Sho-Bud in some weird tuning I would've never imagined. His battered '53 Les Paul with a mini-humbucker from an old Gibson Firebird was the icing on the cake.
Larry Carlton
When Mr. 335 invited us to his Nashville home studio, I felt like I was meeting the Dalai Lama. Listen to Carlton's improv on the head and you'll understand why he's a legend.
[Updated 7/26/2021]