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.
Recording yourself could help unlock your best playing yet. Plus, it can help with that cabin fever.
When I signed my first songwriting deal with a publisher, I recklessly spent $2,250 (most of my advance) on a Roland VS-880 home recording rig. Today, the VS-880 can be found on eBay for under $100. And yet, in spite of the brutal depreciation, this dinosaur-turd of a recorder remains one of the best investments I’ve made. Until I began recording and looking at my music under a microscope, I had no idea that I was a terrible musician.
Okay, maybe not terrible, but I had problems with fundamentals that would have forever undermined my work. It’s the equivalent of building a house on sand. The chief problem was that I wasn’t good enough to recognize what was wrong: You can’t fix a problem you don’t know you have.
Music is supposed to be fun, and focusing on my deficiencies is not my idea of a good time. Ideally, when we’re jamming alone or with people, we stay in the moment, enjoying the process, not critically evaluating every note. Even if you’re focusing intently on every note, it’s impossible to get an accurate read on the quality of a performance when you’re in it. Maybe your mix is off, maybe you’re in a bad mood or too buzzed, or not paying attention, or can’t hear how your part works with what others are playing. Live, a crap guitar player can fool themselves and others into thinking they play well, but recordings don’t lie.
Until I bought my recorder, I’d played in a lot of bands where we raced to the finish, picking up steam on every chorus. Our goal was to squeeze as many notes as possible into every bar. Our collective timing was, well, timeless. The first time I built a track, it was apparent that the click track was holding me back, or at least trying to. Rushing and dragging with a band felt effortless; locking in with a relentless steady beat felt awkward. Every flam and clam became apparent during the painful playback. Recording made me more aware of the pocket, and that’s 80 percent of it.
The good news is, it’s never easier to record yourself, as we all carry a digital recorder and video camera at all times thanks to the ubiquitous cell phone. I usually prop my phone up onstage and video a few songs during gigs and listen back on the drive home. There have been some depressing surprises. There were nights when I thought I was killing it, yet the playback confirmed that I sounded like tennis shoes in the dryer, groovelessly banging away. Other times, it sounds surprisingly good.
We’re spending more time in our homes than ever, thanks to COVID-19. The next time you’re wondering how to ward off cabin fever, grab your guitar and a timekeeper. (You can download a metronome app for free, or go online to https://metronom.us/en/, or fire up the drum machine.) Play whatever comes to mind for 10 minutes. Once you’re in the groove, try filming yourself playing so you can hear if you’re locked. If you come up with something cool, post it on Instagram and share it with the world.
Ready to take it up a notch? Jump into the world of multitrack recording. There are literally dozens of affordable interfaces that allow you to record on the computer you probably already own. Or you can buy a stand-alone recorder, much more advanced than my old Roland VS-880, for as little as $150.
Multitracking a song by yourself is one of the best things you can do to improve your musicianship. For the most part, guitar players make poor bass players, because we have trouble keeping it simple. When you’re tracking a bass part, you learn that those complex bass riffs you played alone do not groove as hard as a simple part. You’ll also discover that simple guitar parts played well sound better than most intricate riffs. Recording from the ground up gives you carpenter-like skills to build a strong foundation to support vocals … because as much as we love guitar, for most popular music, it’s all about the vocals. Most importantly, recording alone taught me to serve the song.
Gaining that skill set earned me another pub deal, a couple song cuts, a few ill-fated record deals, and all my TV work, which allowed me to upgrade my studio. When I bought my first recorder, I had limited musician skills and no engineering skills, (I still engineer at a 7th-grade level), but through recording myself, I improved enough to make a living in music. You can, too. No matter where you are on your music journey, you should be recording. It just makes you better, and it’s fun, which ultimately is why we play.