Sometimes a rhythm box and, say, an envelope-controlled modulated filter can sound like … love!
Whether it's 6-strings or drum machines—or any instrument—finding a perfect pedal partner can create a signature sound all your own.
Electric guitars are pack animals. They need a partner to do their thing—unless a very, very quiet acoustic guitar is what you really want. I like this kind of symbiotic approach to thinking about instruments. The guitar and the amp have been best friends for decades, practically inseparable, and it's useful to apply that same thinking to other things, in other contexts. Like the perfect pedal to complement your drum machine. It's not only helpful in a practical, sound-sculpting way. It also lends a nice conceptual structure: finding that one thing that gets along with another and brings the best out of it—and keeping them together, like one extended instrument.
What that actually looks like can take many different forms. I'm using a drum machine as an example today because I find them the most consistently surprising pedal partners. They often bring out a completely different side of a pedal than a guitar would, which can create insights for later reapplying that pedal to guitar.
But, for now, let's go back to the example of the amp and guitar. It's all about texture—about the EQ, about which overtones you get when you drive it. The amp isn't warping your instrument. It's giving it a voice. That's also a helpful type of partnership to explore with pedals. Maybe a pedal to smooth, sharpen, or otherwise mold the voice of your instrument? Overdrives, filters, and compressors all fall into this category. The effect can be almost invisible. It's only there to help your guitar become a heightened version of itself. Filters are a good one to zoom in on. They allow you to focus on a specific frequency range, to have it pop out. (This can also be great for percussion—really making the impact felt where you want it.)
There's something really rewarding about finding that counterpart—that pedal that makes another instrument feel more complete or allows it to be something else for a while.
One level up from this is adding some form of modulation. The Roland Juno-60 synth is an excellent example. It's so iconic, but half of that sound comes from its built-in chorus. Again, they're inseparable. It's not the Juno without it. Modulation is a great way to lend more liveliness and dimension to your instrument. I find phasers, flangers, and chorus interesting and fairly easy to work with. A more experimental idea for a drum machine might be a square-wave tremolo, adding a second layer of rhythm to cut its beats in and out, as it does for guitar. If you're not used to playing guitar with this type of tremolo, it can compel you to approach your strumming and single-note lines in a new way. Maybe it's the same for drums? Anyway, modulation is a good bridge between the subtle and overt. It can still be a minimal enhancement, but we're starting to get to a point where you can use a pedal to turn your instrument into something new.
Take a pitch shifter for example. With this device, you can turn a fundamentally monophonic instrument into something polyphonic, with each drum hit becoming akin to a chord. This kind of approach takes you past the edge of physical possibility, synthesizing a new instrument altogether. The same is true for messing with time effects—especially things like granular delay, which allows you to explode your instrument into a thousand little pieces. This kind of thing can offend purists, but there are practical reasons to do it—like, maybe you're comfortable playing a guitar but you need a sound closer to a synth. Finding the right pedal partner makes that more than possible.
There's something really rewarding about finding that counterpart—that pedal that makes another instrument feel more complete or allows it to be something else for a while. It lets you set and expand your instrument's limits and redefine its flaws. (Do you love the workflow of your drum machine, but feel it's a bit mild? Find it a friend!) Settling down with that one perfect counterpart provides just enough creative constraint, and perhaps a signature sound all your own.
Try it maybe.
This Poly Effects Digit multi-effects processor is a good example of a "hard mode" pedal. Exploring difficult-to-master boxes equals learning, which equals discovery. Stick with it!
Plug-and-play pedals are fun, but mastering a complex effects box can open the door to brave new worlds of sound. Try it!
How long should it take to get comfortable with a new pedal?
This is something I’ve been asking myself a lot recently, as I dream up ideas and concepts. How intuitive does a pedal have to be? Can it be hard?
Effects have a really unique role in music. They go in between other things. They don’t make the sounds, nor do they amplify or record them. They are the most optional part of music and, as a consequence, they generally receive the least attention. Learning to play the guitar takes time, and that’s fine because everybody knows this and expects it. Same goes for working a mixing board. But the same patience is not usually extended to pedals, and I wonder if this is a missed opportunity?
The versatility of pedals has greatly expanded over the years, but our expectations haven’t quite caught up. Pedals aren’t just variations on a common theme, like they were in the ’60s and ’70s. Some now have entirely distinct workflows and controls. They defy classification. Look at the 856 by Montreal Assembly. It’s ostensibly a looper, sampler, and sequencer, but essentially it’s a system. It offers something entirely new, and you don’t get something entirely new without investing some time.
I think it’s okay for pedals to have a “hard mode.” It’s okay for pedals to demand time and patience and force you to learn something new. This is the path to discovery, reward through challenge.
Something special can happen when you have to struggle with a device. You form a bond, and you discover techniques and applications on the path to comfort. You make it your own. My favorite experience with this was the Octatrack by Elektron—a sampler that allows you to entirely reinvent the sound you’ve sampled. It kicked my ass for months, and then suddenly it was my favorite thing. I felt connected to it.
There’s something powerful about applying this idea to pedals. Suddenly, this passive element between your guitar and amp can become something more than just a change in texture—an active tool … a second pseudo-instrument for you to engage with and manipulate.
But I’m debating with myself even as I write this. Is it unrealistic to expect that level of commitment? Is it inaccessible? One piece of the puzzle is that the level of difficulty is seldom discussed when it comes to pedals. If you’re taking up the trumpet, you already know damn well you’re going to have a time. It will be hard, and then it will be great. You’re prepared.
The purpose of pedals is increasingly open-ended. It’s best to think of them as a format rather than any specific thing. Electro-Harmonix has been building drums, sequencers, and samplers inside pedals for years, and this is becoming more common. A pedal is just a convenient, portable home for a musical idea. And you can kick it to make it go. That’s it. Where things get hazy is how focused and self-contained that idea has to be. Does too much flexibility spoil the fun? My gut says that it does, and the key is to find that line.
The important thing is that there’s room for both, and I believe we’ll be seeing a lot more “hard mode” pedals as time goes on. Sometimes you just want a chorus that sounds like a chorus, and you don’t want to fight to get there. That’s good. But there’s also room for pedals that bewilder and challenge. Pedals can be fast, efficient, and simple, but they can also be deep, versatile, and interactive, and unfold over time. Both are extremely useful.
Consider exploring the deep end and trying your hand at hard mode. You might find something in the struggle.