This time, we’ll focus mostly on the controls of the standard Jaguar, instead of focusing on the numerous switches and additional pots as I covered before. I’m always happy about receiving requests to write something about such guitars, as I really like these outlaw buddies and I don’t think they get the attention they should. So here we go.
Today we’ll dissect the Johnny Marr Jaguar wiring found in the Fender Johnny Marr signature Jaguar model. My PG colleague Charles Saufley recently did a great interview with Johnny Marr, so definitely read it if you want to find out more about him.
The U.K.-born Marr is best known as the guitarist and songwriter behind the Smiths, who redefined and ruled British pop in the 1980s. He’s also known for playing with The The, Modest Mouse, the Cribs, and, of course, his solo work as well as playing on countless sessions. Rolling Stone listed Marr at No. 51 of the 100 Greatest Guitarists and No. 67 on the 100 Greatest Songwriters of All Time. What else can one say?
Sound familiar? It is! The 4-way pickup switch is the 4-way switch from the series Telecaster wiring and the bright switch is the good old mid-tone cut switch (aka “strangle switch”) from the original Jaguar wiring but in a doubled version.
Marr started playing a Fender Jaguar around 2005 and used it during his stay with Modest Mouse, resulting in his signature model, released in 2012. The guitar and its wiring underwent several changes since then, and today we’ll talk about the actual version built by Fender (model #0116400705).
Regarding the electronics, you can spot the differences at first glance: Instead of the typical three switches on the lower-horn chrome plate, the Johnny Marr Jaguar sports a custom chrome plate with a Fender-style 4-position pickup selector switch. On the upper-horn chrome plate, the two additional pots were replaced with a second slide switch in a custom chrome plate, which sports two slide switches. In addition, the guitar has several hardware upgrades, custom-wound pickups, and the original master volume/master tone configuration.
Let’s look under the hood as to what these elements are doing on the Jaguar, here, in Fender’s own words:
Four-Way Pickup Switch:Rather than traditional slide switches, Marr’s signature Jaguar has a special four-way blade pickup switch on the lower horn, delivering the bridge pickup alone, the bridge and neck pickups in parallel, the neck pickup alone, and the neck and bridge pickups in series.
Two “Bright” Slide Switches:In an extra-special design element, the upper horn of the Johnny Marr Jaguar features two slide switches—a “universal” bright switch that kicks everything up a notch or two, and a separate bright switch that only affects the “series” pickup switch position.
Sound familiar? It is! The 4-way pickup switch is the 4-way switch from the series Telecaster wiring and the bright switch is the good old mid-tone cut switch (aka “strangle switch”) from the original Jaguar wiring, but in a doubled version.
In addition to this switching matrix, we find the typical vintage Jaguar master volume/master tone controls under the hood: two 1M audio pots with a 0.01 µF tone cap and a single 56k resistor on the tone pot.
Fig. 1
Before we dissect the wiring in Fig. 1, please note that it’s in an optical simplified version for a much better overview. The two switches are the typical Jaguar on/off switches—the ground of the bridge pickup is connected to common ground and not to the pickup-selector switch, same as for the Telecaster 4-way wiring.
Replacing the pickup switches with a standard pickup-selector switch not only makes operating the guitar a lot easier, but it enables an additional tone a standard Jaguar doesn’t have—both pickups together in series for a very fat and loud lead sound. It’s the same 4-way switch that you all know from the Electroswitch company (formerly Oak Grigsby) that’s used for the Telecaster. The downside of this mod is that you need a new custom chrome plate for the switch, but this type is available from several companies for a decent price. Fitting the switch can be a problem regarding the depth of the routing in the body. I’ve done this modification to several Jaguars, and in all cases I had to reroute the body to make it fit. It’s not a big deal with a good handheld router tool, but you should know about this problem. If you order a new Jaguar body, you should mention that you need a deeper routing at this location, so it’s a trouble-free operation.
Replacing the two additional pots with two switches on the upper horn also means that you need another new custom chrome plate, but this one is also available without any problems. The adaption of two individual strangle switches looks confusing, but, for whatever reason, Marr wants a general one influencing the whole wiring plus a special one only for the pickup position with both pickups in series. I can think of several applications for this wiring but it’s a matter of personal choice and preferences. If you have the playing chops of Marr, you’ll sound excellent with every guitar and every wiring inside. Us mere mortal pickers need some support from the wiring, so it’s no crime to mod it, but more about this later. In general, the bright or strangle switch uses a 3000 pF cap forming a fixed high-pass filter. In other words, it cuts bass, so the sound gets much brighter.
Using two 1M audio controls for master volume and master tone follows in the heritage of the Jaguar, same as for the single 56k resistor on the tone control together with the 0.01 µF tone cap. Nothing new here.
The combination of all this works, at least for Mr. Marr. But let’s break it down in sections.
The 4-way switch we all know from the Telecaster 4-way mod works perfectly and is a great addition to any guitar with two pickups, not only for a Jaguar. The switching order is the same as on the Telecaster (bridge only / bridge+neck in parallel / neck only / bridge+neck in series), so it feels like home. I don’t think there’s a useful variation for this mod: It’s perfect the way it is.
It’s up to you if you need a strangle switch, or if you need two of them. I think you should give it a try and play it for some time to see if you like it. Personally, I don’t need or like this feature, and in my own Jaguar I would use the two switches to add a kill-switch and phasing like we did with the Duo Sonic guitar in 2021. The series feature is already present in the Marr wiring, so the second switch would be my kill switch in this wiring. You can also tinker with the value of the bright caps on the two switches. Reasonable values would be from 1000 pF up to 6800 pF and everything in between. I think Marr’s concept behind the two switches was that he wanted to play a fat rhythm part without the bright switch, but when switching to solo mode (both pickups together in series) the sound gets very loud and fat and the dedicated bright switch helps to cut through the mix in this situation. So, it’s a kind of preset sound you can dial in—a concept that has tradition at the Fender company.
I really like 4700 pF on a Jaguar to dial in some fine nuances of warmth.
Regarding the two pots using 1M audio pots, this strictly follows the Jaguar vintage route and is boon and bane at the same time. The benefit is that with the pots fully opened, they’re close to a no-load pot with full high end. The downside is that in the Jaguar’s pure passive system the useable range of the pots is close to zero, acting like an on/off switch rather than a useful control with an effect over the whole rotation of the pot. Personally, I would change out both pots for two 250k audio pots or a 250k volume and 500k tone pot if you want a tad more high-end. The useable range is much better compared to the 1M pots, but this is also a matter of personal choice. Marr seems to like it, so it’s worth a try.
The standard volume control is perfect the way it is. I would add a treble-bleed network to keep some treble alive when rolling back the volume. For more info about this please have a look at “Mod Garage: Deep Diving into Treble-Bleed Networks.”
And last, the tone control. Choosing a 0.01 µF tone cap clearly shows the Jaguar was not designed for dark jazzy tones and that the tone should still have some good portion of treble when using the tone control. A 0.01 µF cap is a good choice, but if you need darker tones, go up to 0.015 or 0.022 µF and beyond. If 0.01 µF is still too dark for you, go down to 6800 pF and beyond. I really like 4700 pF on a Jaguar to dial in some fine nuances of warmth.
The 56k resistor on the tone control is a wired construction and there has been countless debates about it for decades. The physics behind it are very complex and I think Fender wanted to offer something new and versatile, but, as it often goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Meaning, it works on the drawing board but not so good in reality. In very simplified words, it’s a mixture of limited tone control and a little bit of Gibson ’50s wiring. With the tone control fully opened, everything is normal and as you know it from other guitars like a Strat or Tele. When you start to close the tone pot, the 56k resistor is slowly pushed into the signal path, forming a low pass together with the 0.01 µF cap, resulting in attenuating the tone and the resonance peak. With the tone pot fully closed, it acts like a ’50s wiring and there is no resonance shift.
It’s not a bad design per se—some like it while others don’t. An interesting detail is that when you start to close the tone pot, the pickup’s inductance will be decoupled from the cable capacitance, resulting in a glassy and ice-picking tone, and I think this was exactly what the Fender designers had in mind. In reality, this effect is completely offset because of the following high-end roll-off caused by the guitar electronics. Maybe Fender wanted to try something new, putting as many tonal features as possible into the Jaguar. It shall remain a secret and a mystery.
I would remove the resistor and rewire volume and tone as in a standard Telecaster for a traditional control. Give it a try and see if you like the Jaguar method better. Who knows? You can also experiment with the 56k resistor; reasonable values are from 22k up to 100k.
That’s it for now! Next month we’ll cover something you’ve asked for a lot: a mod for both electric and acoustic guitars to enhance tuning stability.
Until then ... keep on modding!
“If you get caught up too much in divine intervention, you’ll wander around forever waiting for some melody that no one’s ever heard before.”
But the most lasting influence of the girl groups on Marr is probably the musical playground that Ronnie once made her own: the wall of sound. In the decades since Phil Spector concocted the wall of sound from an orchestra of guitars, strings, drums, pianos, chimes, castanets, and whatever else was gathering dust in the closets of Gold Star Studios, scores of musicians—from Brian Wilson to the Beatles to Bruce Springsteen—have chased its elusive, ineffable magic.
Johnny Marr - Spirit Power and Soul (Live)
Johnny Marr’s versions of the wall of sound, however, are highly original and distinctive. They are marked by deep resourcefulness and a gift for achieving wall-of-sound grandeur and scale through the humble medium of multitracked guitar. And from the Smiths’ first LPs to his latest release, Fever Dreams Pts 1-4, Marr achieved this wizardry by mining a seemingly endless vein of riffs and through his penchant for guitar arrangement—talents cultivated through intuition, passionate listening, and a boundless, post-modern knack for tastefully blending influences.
As formidable as Marr’s arranging abilities, melodic instincts, and sense of musical recall are, they all find realization in hands driven by Swiss-watch timing, economy, and percussive potency. And though he’ll be the first to tell you he’s not a musical technician, he is, in many ways, as complete a musician as you could ever know.
Johnny Marr with his closest comrade, the Fender Jaguar, at L.A.’s Teragram Ballroom.
Photo by Debi Del Grande
I was really struck by the bigness of Fever Dreams Pts 1-4. I pictured you making this record, amid lockdown, making music for the clubs we hoped to return to again. Even the picture of you on the cover—you next to the Fender Showman—seemed like a totemic suggestion of longing for big sounds.
I think that was subconscious. I say subconscious because I started writing it before Covid and had this idea that I wanted to do a double LP, and because it was going to be a double, I thought it could be expansive. I just had this idea that (the double LP format) would give me a lot of space. But, of course, with the way things turned out, I ended up—and I must confess, illegally—going alone into my studio space, which is the top floor of an old factory, staring out at my Mini, which was the only car in this vast parking lot, and working like that for weeks.
So, I ended up very aware of all this idea of space, which is even why the sky is so blue on the cover. I took all the equipment in the space out for that shoot to signify the way I was feeling about all that. There were also these nocturnal themes that emerged. I think a lot of people were lying awake wondering if they still had a job and worrying about their businesses. So, a lot of the songs reference those feelings—like “Lightning People:” “I can’t sleep/static sheets/cries that put me on my knees”—that idea of a storm coming.
I made the assumption that the part of my audience that listens most closely and that I’ve built up over the last 40 years or whatever, that they are living similar lives to what I was talking about. So, I didn’t have a concept, but I did have a sort of nagging agenda—that the album would be expansive and that I would tackle feelings about the psychology and predicaments of being a modern person.
“You know that concept of work/life balance? I don’t really have that concept. I hear good things about it and maybe I should try it out.”
The rhythmic drive and dance feel of many of the tunes also struck me as nocturnal. Was that a conscious thing?
Well, it’s funny how some things turn out. I started writing the album and just a few weeks into it, got the call to work on the Bond film [No Time to Die]. There’s a lot of downtime in that kind of situation, so I started working on the song “Receiver.” And as you said, it sounded to me like the atmosphere of being in a nightclub—like those I used to go to in [London neighborhood] Euston at the end of the ’80s—finding myself, you know, still there at 5:40 in the morning. So that song is about transmitting and receiving erotic signals.
That’s the beauty of songwriting. Sometimes you mix and match images or sometimes a concept comes first. The same thing happened with “Lightning People.” I had that title, which to me sounded like a Staple Singers song or something, so it ended up with a sort of choir/gospel feel. Musically, you can still tell that it’s coming from an indie rocker from Manchester, but the whole idea started from just that title. Lots of stuff still comes via the way people probably expect I write songs, too, which is to just sit down with a guitar. The last song, “Human,” is like that.
All the way back to the Smiths, you’ve always evoked feelings vividly through purely instrumental means—particularly those feelings that that cross sadness and positivity. But you really went after it lyrically here.
Well, in working with lyricists and paying attention to the ones I haven’t worked with, I’ve noticed that as a lyricist you have to be very self-aware and ask yourself, “Well, what am I really saying?” And in the case of this album, I was asking myself how I was going to top an album that was really well-liked among my fans. I know what that feeling is like. I don’t like to call that “pressure,” but that’s what it is.
Johnny Marr’s Gear
Marr never tires of the guitar. “If for some reason I was going to move to Bali and retire,” he says, “it would be to play for eight or nine hours a day and really expand my vocabulary.”
Photo by Debi Del Grande
Guitars
- Signature Fender Jaguar
- 1973 Les Paul Custom
- Gibson EDS-1275 doubleneck
- Yamaha SG-1000
- Yamaha SG-700
- 1963 Fender Jazzmaster
- Martin D12-28
- Auden acoustics, 6-string and 12-string
- 1984 or ’85 Gibson Les Paul with Bigsby
- Gretsch 6120
Strings & Picks
- Ernie Ball Power Slinky strings (.011–.048)
- D’Addario acoustic strings (.012–.053)
- Ernie Ball Medium picks
Amps
- 1969 Marshall plexi
- HH Electronics transistor combo
- Roland JC-120
- 1965 Deluxe Reverb
- Fender Twin Reverb (black panel)
- Kemper Profiler
- Fender Bassman
Effects
- MXR Flanger
- Carl Martin AC-Tone
- Carl Martin Plexitone
- Carl Martin HeadRoom Reverb
- Carl Martin Delayla
- Carl Martin Chorus XII
- Boss RT-20 Rotary Ensemble
You’ve experienced that pressure before: Trying to top Meat Is Murder with The Queen Is Dead.
Before The Queen Is Dead, I remember a moment where I was walking through my kitchen and stopped in my tracks, just literally frozen, realizing what it was going to take to do that. And when I was doing Dusk with The The, I remember the feeling when Matt Johnson and I realized the record was going to completely dominate our lives for two years. And with this record, in particular, I probably was feeling the pressure of following Call the Comet, because I was literally writing 48 hours after the last show to support that record.
Was the decision to background guitars in some cases on this album also a response to that record?
Deciding where guitars should sit in more electronic music is a balancing act. It’s very easy to get it wrong. One way I’ve done it wrong in the past is by not putting enough guitar on. Like with Electronic’s second album, I was trying to make my guitar sound like a synth. But at the time, that was part of my agenda—taking guitars out, seeing what filters did, things like that.
But honestly, I don’t really like a lot of music that blends electronic music and guitars. So, when I do it, it has to be appropriate and really capture a feeling. I think I know enough to do that well now. A song like “Ariel”—a lot of people hear that as very ’80s, and the riff is built on a sequencer. But I made the riff really loud and it’s a very ’80s, Roland Jazz Chorus riff. So, there I really doubled down on the contrast between the electronic and guitar elements. On “Spirit Power and Soul,” if you take the guitar out, it’s a totally different kind of track, and the guitar is backgrounded. So, I think I know how to find the right blend better these days.
Given that newfound freedom, did you write a lot more of these tracks from rhythmic underpinnings? It seems like working alone may have forced your hand in that respect.
Yeah. I don’t mean to take any credit away from my amazing band, which has been with me for more than 10 years now. But the entire record was demo’d and programmed with me playing everything on it. Then the band came in to make it sound more like “us” as a band. But things like “Spirit Power and Soul,” I was hearing that sequencer pattern in my head long before I wrote the song, and I knew I wanted very much for it to sound like Giorgio Moroder, Kraftwerk, or Cabaret Voltaire but with guitars on it.
For Fever Dreams Pts 1-4, Johnny Marr worked alone in his studio, on the top floor of an old factory.
When I was in my teens, I had a tape player that I could overdub on—this was before I had a Portastudio—and I’d get into obsessively layering. This album is really the grown-up version of that. It’s that same guy, but he’s now been in The The, Modest Mouse, and all that stuff. And again, because I knew it was going to be a double album, I allowed myself to do whatever the hell I wanted. So, something like “Lightning People” and that gospel vibe—I never would’ve done that on The Messenger or Playland because on those records I had these very specific and deliberate parameters I was trying to work within. Which can be a very good thing.
When you’re a writer, and particularly when you’re very young, things often become very much about what you’re not. But in this day and age, when you have a universe of plug-ins, instruments, and directions at your fingertips—not only can you get option fatigue, but your music can become a stylistic hodgepodge. So usually, with the band I impose some restrictions that limit that. On this LP, though, I just stripped them away.
What did that feel like to embrace that freedom?
Honestly, I didn’t even know I was doing it until much later. Because of the lockdown I was usually alone in the studio, so I thought, “Well, let’s see what all these virtual keyboards and synths and machines that I’ve been buying for the past five years do.” First, I had to spend a week getting really frustrated doing all the updates to the point where I don’t even really want to make music. But then I’d wake up after three hours of sleep with a song in my head and be ready to go.
You’re a writer that famously goes on hot streaks and creative runs. Do you still experience that zombie-like sense of creative possession? And how readily are you able to tap into it? What tools do you use when you can’t tap into it?
This thing you’re talking about—finding inspiration and hopefully, some otherworldly place—finding that place is something that has driven me since I was a kid. But you know that concept of work/life balance? I don’t really have that concept. I hear good things about it and maybe I should try it out.
But without mythologizing things too much, when I make records, I tend to lock myself out of the house, or forget where I’ve left the car. I develop very odd sleeping patterns if I sleep at all. I decided many years ago that drugs, particularly cocaine, don’t do any good, and alcohol isn’t really good for my creative process—maybe when you’re younger.
So, it gets back to that quote of Picasso’s: “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” In my own process, that means I’ll work on a song—and for it to snag me, the initial feeling has to be something like, “This is the greatest thing that no one has ever heard.” That’s entirely subjective, but that energy will keep you locked in for a couple hours and if you’re really lucky you’ll get on a real roll and you’ll end up with something inspired. Sometimes you do something for a couple hours and you realize, “Ah, this isn’t so great,” and you have to drop it. Emotionally, that can take you down. Especially when you work with a band and spend a few weeks on something and decide, “Nope, this isn’t cutting it.” But things don’t always have to start out as esoteric to become esoteric. And as my friend Nick Cave says, “Just do the fucking work.”
“You still have to get in and do the work. This idea that a songwriter is walking in a supermarket one day, and someone in the next aisle says something and it instantly turns into a whole song…well, yeah, well that might work if you’re Smokey Robinson!”
And alchemy can come from any stage of the creative process—writing, mixing….
Yeah. One of the positive things that comes of being around and doing this for so long is you can look back and say, “Oh, okay, that’s a song people still really like that I’m still playing in my set.” And I’ll realize that it came about from fucking about on a bass line for 20 minutes. But then there are songs like “The Headmaster Ritual” where I carried around a bit of it for a couple years, and then one day we needed a song, and I sped the fucking thing up and I heard it in a totally different way.
Neil Finn, who is a masterful songwriter, nailed it when he said: “There is no formula for writing a song. It’s a mystery. Embrace the mystery.” But you still have to get in and do the work. This idea that a songwriter is walking in a supermarket one day, and someone in the next aisle says something and it instantly turns into a whole song … well, yeah, that might work if you’re Smokey Robinson!
But in my case, and certainly in the case of something like “Spirit Power and Soul,” I really had to craft that one over weeks and weeks. So that one is an example of tenacity and staying true to a vision. If you get caught up too much in divine intervention, you’ll wander around forever waiting for some melody that no one’s ever heard before. It’s in doing the work that you get there. Loads of great artists just write and write. I mentioned Nick Cave, he does it. Thom Yorke, he does it. Isaac Brock from Modest Mouse—he would write an amazing string of lyrics and then just rinse it and start again.
We’ve talked a lot about how your songs have been part hard work, and part unexpected sources of inspiration. Do you find you have to sometimes pull away from the guitar to reignite your relationship with the instrument? Do you ever get alienated from the guitar?
No. If anything, if for some reason I was going to move to Bali and retire, it would be to play for eight or nine hours a day and really expand my vocabulary. Generally, I’ll put a guitar [on a record] wherever I can. Because y’know, when I was a kid, if you bought a Thin Lizzy record, when you dropped the needle on that record, you expected to hear guitar. But because I’m also a producer, I have to find where that guitar fits appropriately. I learned guitar at the same time that I was learning about production. I also learned how to play guitar by playing along with 45s. I never had a lesson and never bought books. So I think of myself as someone who makes records, and the way I make records is to write songs. But I love guitar records. So while I’ll try other things, I’ve also been known to turn to my band while we’re working on something and say, “This needs a new intro, because we’re a guitar band.”
The Smiths - Live The Tube Studio 1984 HD (Full Show)
At the height of their creative and performa- tive powers, Johnny Marr and the Smiths could effortlessly span mutated folk-rock jangle and deep indie-dance funk, as Marr does here with his legendary 1959 ES-355—a gift from Sire Records boss Seymour Stein.
Do you think the idiosyncrasies and individuality in your playing comes from being self-taught? What about your natural proclivities as an arranger?
As a boy, a few of my pals were into playing guitar. They were really focused on “Voodoo Chile” or on what Steve Howe was doing. But I would listen to, say, the Patti Smith Group’s Radio Ethiopia, something like “Ask the Angels,” a song that’s really simple and straightforward—just an A minor and an F—and I’d think: “That’s a really cool song, it starts with power chords, okay, that’s a little like the Who. Cool I get that.” But all of the sudden I’d notice there’s a piano playing eighth-notes that sounds like the Velvet Underground or the Stooges, so I’d end up trying to play the whole record—the guitar sand the piano—rather than just the guitar part.
I was also very into Sparks, which isn’t guitar music per se, but the way the guitar is integrated is very, “Okay, now were going to use a fucking guitar!” I was just really into the sound of records as a whole. So I thought a lot about layering and when I got a machine I could overdub on, I started layering 18 guitars. By the time I got the Smiths together I had it down to 15 while trying to make it sound like just eight.
Part of that ability to layer and not create a complete mess seems related to your acute sense of rhythm and timing. That’s especially apparent in some of the Smiths’ licks—in a single part I can sometimes hear not only Keith Richards, but Keith Richards and Brian Jones, with some Steve Cropper sixths on top and Leo Nocentelli’s right hand in the same song. Was that skill cultivated from the intellectual process of breaking down how a record works?
I found around 14 that the Rolling Stones records from the ’60s, in particular, really blew my mind. Back then, that was unusual. Because my friends were jumping around to the British pop groups—things like the English Beat. But I’d hear records like “The Last Time,” and even though I knew it was old, I just thought, “Wow, this sounds better than anything around now.” So I really studied that—really getting into those singles, how they were put together, and the sound of them. I realized that Keith and Brian were doing this meshing thing. “The Last Time” is a good example; so is “It’s All Over Now.” I really picked up the soul stuff from those guys. But a lot of the rhythmic drive you’re talking about is just my personality and plain exuberance—hyperactivity really. There’s a song on The Messenger, “Generate, Generate.” I mean, that’s really a tribute to my hyperactivity (laughs). I was quite into being hyper!
You’ve always valued art and seem to have derived a lot of your energy from the notion of a bohemian life. I was always moved by your relationship and loyalty to Manchester and what that place meant as sort of a creative organism and catalyst to your development.
If you’ve got an artistic temperament, you can find inspiration in almost any place. But yeah, Manchester being so urban and musically orientated—there was a lot to rally around. When my kids were teens, me and their mother brainwashed them into having weekend jobs in Manchester, so they knew what it was to finish their shift in the city on a summer’s night, just before the clubs were opening, when all the shop workers are starting to go to the bars and exchange ideas, and all the fashionistas are lurking around. It’s really magical. Urban life is changing and subterranean life is changing. But young eyes—they don’t know different. They don’t know that a place isn’t Cleveland in the ’70s or New York in the ’60s. They’ll make the best of it. There are always great bands coming out. Right now, as we speak, there’s some band of girls and boys getting together in Williamsburg, finding their voice—and it will be great.
The Deep Cuts: Johnny Marr’s Gear in His Own Words
Anyone that’s followed Johnny Marr’s career knows the man is a certifiable guitar addict, with a Fort Knox worth of killer vintage instruments to utilize at the turn of a whim. Marr rather religiously used his signature Fender Jaguar over the last several years, but he reached deeper into his collection for the many less quintessentially Marr sounds on Fever Dreams Pts 1-4. Marr explains what he used in great detail below.
“A lot of my gear for this record was really deliberately selected, and I really honed in on a few things. I’ve got two 1973 Les Paul Customs I used for some of the darker sounds. You hear that on ‘Receiver.’ I ran those through my old MXR Flanger and either my Marshall Plexi or my HH transistor combo. Those things were part of the stylistic structure I wanted to maintain.
I played my signature Jaguar quite a lot. But since I got more into the movie soundtrack work, I’ve used a lot more 12-string, and for that I’ve been playing a Gibson EDS-1275 doubleneck because it’s the best 12-string sound. With all that mass, and the humbuckers—and if you can get it together right—all the extra resonance from the 6-string pickups, you get all kinds of overtones. There’s a couple Yamaha SG-1000s and an SG-700 on the record, which all have the Spinex pickups but sound pretty different. I used my ’63 Jazzmaster, too.
For acoustics, I played a few guitars by Auden, a company here in the UK—a 12- and 6-string—as well as the Martin D12-28 I’ve used since the Smiths. I also used the guitar that I’ve probably played more than any guitar in my life—the red 1984 or ’85 Les Paul with a Bigsby that I played a lot with the Smiths. I got that around the Meat Is Murder album. It’s great for clean stuff. A lot of stuff that folks think is a Rickenbacker is the Les Paul tracked with my Jaguar or tracked with itself in coil (split) mode. If I want to get a little natural chorus, that guitar is perfect because I’ll put a part down with both pickups on one side of the stereo image then put a split-coil track on the other side. The effect of the same guitar with these slightly different tones helps create that sound. For whammy-stuff and dive bombs, I’ll often use a Gretsch 6120 from the Smiths days. Another big part of this album, and the movie stuff, is one of my signature Jags with a Fernandes sustainer pickup in it.
Amp-wise, apart from the HH, I used a lot of the same amps I’ve had since the Smiths: my Roland JC-120, a ’65 Deluxe Reverb, a black-panel Fender Twin Reverb that I use with the Gretsch. Occasionally I’ll use the Kemper for overdubs or a Bassman or the ’69 Marshall Plexi and Super Reverb amps I used with Modest Mouse. Effects-wise, I use a lot of Carl Martin stuff: The AC-Tone, Plexitone, HeadRoom Reverb, Delayla, and Chorus XII are all great. And I’ll use the Boss RT-20 Rotary Sound a lot, too.
I’ve gone down the weird road before. But if I can’t use all this stuff and my fingers to squeeze out the right sound, I’m either not trying hard enough, or what I’m looking for is wrong. Someday I’d like to find something that will replicate the weirdness of Johnny Thunders’ 2-string bends. But I’m always looking for something that will walk the line between musical and radical.” —Johnny Marr
It’s way too soon to refer to the five 20-something lads of Fontaines D.C. as rock saviors (they’d scoff at the prospect anyway), but Skinty Fia, the band’s third slab since their 2019 Mercury Prize-nominated debut, Dogrel, has rapidly turned up the critical heat, going straight to No. 1 on the U.K. Albums Chart upon release. The leadoff single “Jackie Down the Line,” a righteously gloomy but beat-driven rocker, sets the tone for the album, with frontman Grian Chatten transforming himself into the song’s dark narrator (“I will stone you, I’ll alone you”) as guitarists Conor Curley and Carlos O’Connell mesh together in a jangly, echo-laced interplay of crafty three-note chords, 12-string acoustic filigrees, and tremolo-washed sheets of sound. Add the locked rhythm section of Conor “Deego” Deegan (bass) and Tom Coll (drums) behind them, and the band’s tightness, augmented by their dogged desire to keep experimenting, instantly permeates every song.
Fontaines D.C. - Jackie Down The Line (Official video)
“I think when we first met, we were mainly just songwriters,” observes Curley, reminiscing on their early moments together. “I mean, obviously I’m a guitar player, but I saw myself more as a songwriter, and I think the other lads did as well. So the first album was the culmination of trying to be aware of our abilities, and keep things raw and exciting. We were playing 100-cap venues in Dublin, so there was no point in trying to overextend ourselves.
“After that, we felt we had more strings to our bow, in terms of the songs that we knew we could do. We went down more of an introspective path, and definitely got into more psychedelic music with the second album [A Hero’s Death]. And now it’s just a combination of all that. I think something that defines us as a band is that we never want to sit still in a sound. We’re always trying to be inspired by different things.”
Fontaines D.C.’s three albums were all produced by Dan Carey. The band’s first two albums were recorded at Carey’s London home studio, but for the third, Fontaines decided on a change of scenery, opting to record Skinty Fia at Angelic Studio in the English countryside.
The band also stuck with producer Dan Carey (Black Midi, Geese, Wet Leg, and plenty more), graduating from Carey’s home studio in London, where they recorded their first two albums, to the larger Angelic Studio complex in the idyllic English countryside, near Oxfordshire. But before they even took up residence, each band member made the most of the prolonged pandemic lockdown to flesh out detailed demos, either working in Logic or with handheld recorded snippets of vocals and guitar. Armed with well-prepped songs and the prospect of working with Carey in entirely new surroundings, as O’Connell describes it, opened up possibilities that led to a bigger, more multi-layered sound.
“What I love about Dan is his process is in two stages,” O’Connell says. “We were in a bigger studio this time, so he wanted to take advantage of that. There’s the live guts of the recording [from the floor], and that’s just getting the sound right at the start. We spent a couple of days gaining up all the inputs, so when it hits the desk, it’s pretty much a very balanced mix. Then it’s just about playing well and having the songs arranged properly so they work.
“The first album was very much in a fighting mode, with the two guitars EQ’ed the same and just smashing off each other. On the second one, we learned to play together a little better.” —Conor Curley
“And then at the second stage, we do overdubs. We rarely add new parts, but we’ll redo the parts we have, either with a different instrument or treated differently.”
Both Curley and O’Connell also brought some of their earliest influences to bear, including the slashing surf guitar leads of the Birthday Party’s Rowland S. Howard, along with the snakebitten Fender Mustang kick of Kurt Cobain. “We also played a bit more with a blend,” O’Connell says, “like what happened with rock and roll and electronic music in the ’90s, you know? Primal Scream, Death in Vegas, even U2 went through that phase, but they all used actual synthesizers and drum machines. Our idea was to make it sound like that with our own instruments.”
Carlos O’Connell’s Gear
Carlos O’Connell bought his ’67 Fender Mustang online without knowing it was a 3/4-scale smaller model, but it’s become one of his main road warriors.
Photo by Simon Reed
Guitars
- 2019 Johnny Marr Jaguar
- ’67 Fender Mustang 3/4 scale
- 50th Anniversary Fender Jazzmaster [prototype]
- Martin J12-15 with L.R. Baggs M80 active humbucker
- Seagull Artist Studio 12 Burst with L.R. Baggs Lyric acoustic microphone system
Amps
- Fender ’68 Custom Twin Reverb
- Fender ’68 Custom Deluxe Reverb
- 1975 Fender Deluxe Reverb (used only at Angelic Studio)
- THD Electronics Hot Plate
Effects
- MXR M133 Micro Amp
- Electro-Harmonix Soul Food
- Strymon Lex Rotary
- Moogerfooger MF Flange
- Moose Electronics Cosmic Tremorlo
- Moose Electronics Reverb
- Boss TR-2 Tremolo
- Electro-Harmonix Op Amp Big Muff Pi
- Electro-Harmonix POG
- Boss GE-7 Graphic Equalizer
- Dunlop Volume (X)
- EarthQuaker Devices Life Pedal
- Vein-Tap Murder One Killswitch
Strings & Picks
- Ernie Ball Burly Slinkys
- Dunlop Tortex .60 mm
The album’s title track “Skinty Fia” (roughly translated, “the damnation of the deer”) delivers on the idea. Wielding his trusty ’67 Mustang through Carey’s own ’75 Fender Deluxe Reverb, O’Connell avails himself of a chaotic wash of tremolo (aided by a reverb pedal from Dublin-based Moose Electronics, which he unconventionally places first in the effects chain, ahead of his overdrives) to propel the song’s relentless, hypnotic churn. Meanwhile, in the left channel—throughout the album, each guitarist occupies his own side of the stereo image—Curley knifes into the mix with an echo-drenched melody on his Johnny Marr Jaguar, routed into a Fender Twin Reverb, to accentuate Chatten’s menacing vocal, while Deego and Coll hammer out a beat that recalls Nine Inch Nails with a thick, dub-style low end.
“I think we’re trying to be more patient, and more conscious of the texture,” Curley says, describing how he and O’Connell have worked together to refine their sound. Like most bands with a two-guitar attack (the well-known Irish precedent of Thin Lizzy comes to mind), the symbiosis comes with time, practice, and subtle lines of communication. “The first album was very much in a fighting mode,” he continues, “with the two guitars EQ’d the same and just smashing off each other. On the second one, we learned to play together a little better. We’re still working on it, and sometimes we still try to become as one almost, when the song needs it, but I think now we’ve learned to fit in with how we’re EQing everything. It feels really good.”
Fontaines D.C. - Full Performance (Live on KEXP)
The confidence shines through on Skinty Fia, especially when the two axe-slingers choose to embrace a little sonic chaos. On the dark drum-and-bass-influenced opening track “In ár gCroíthe go deo” (“In Our Hearts Forever”), O’Connell tees up another locked tremolo effect, eventually morphing into an otherworldly chorus effect, mirrored by Curley, of what sounds like distant dogs howling. “It’s only at the end where my guitar comes in,” Curley clarifies. “I’m just following the bass with the chords, at a very high frequency, and with delays at the end of every phrase. I hit my [Industrialectric] Echo Degrader, and that’s what really sends it into a spin.”
On the Curley-penned “Nabokov,” the layers of noise lean heavily on classic shoegaze and dub, with Curley again availing himself of the Echo Degrader. “That pedal is so unpredictable, it’s almost like it doesn’t sound the same every time you use it. I’ve been using that and an RV-7 [by Digitech Hardwire] for gated and reverse reverb. There were definitely a lot more shoegazey elements that we were trying to get to, and, obviously, if you start talking about Kevin Shields or even Robin Guthrie from Cocteau Twins, the stuff they did, to me, is almost unreachable, but if you try, you might end up with something new anyway.”
Conor Curley’s Gear
Conor Curley often toggles between this ’66 Fender Coronado II and a Johnny Marr Jaguar.
Photo by Debi Del Grande
Guitars
- 2019 Fender Johnny Marr Jaguar
- ’66 Fender Coronado II
- Fylde 12-string (loan from Richard Hawley)
Amps
- Fender ’68 Custom Twin Reverb
- Lazy J (used only at Angelic Studio)
- THD Electronics Hot Plate
Strings & Picks
- Ernie Ball Burly Slinkys
- Dunlop Tortex .60 mm
Effects
- Industrialectric Echo Degrader
- DigiTech Hardwire RV-7 Stereo Reverb
- Moose Electronics Reverb
- Moose Electronics Delay
- Strymon Sunset
- Strymon Deco
- ThorpyFX Chain Home
- Electro-Harmonix Nano POG
- Dunlop Volume (X)
By contrast, both guitarists reached for a 12-string acoustic on a pair of songs: Curley on the aforementioned “Jackie Down the Line,” and O’Connell on the smoldering groover “Roman Holiday.” Oddly enough, the Fontaines acquired the guitar, a beautifully finished Fylde custom 12-string, from British crooner and troubadour Richard Hawley, who met the band on a recent jaunt in Sheffield. “We were struggling to find a really nice sound on a 12-string,” O’Connell says, “so it was like, let me just text him. He was really excited about being a part of it and lending us the guitar, and it was magic. Just a beautiful guitar. Someday I’ll get one, but you can never play it live because it’s just too precious.”
And on tour, Fontaines comes across as anything but precious. Chatten often prowls the stage like a wounded animal between verses, wielding the mic stand like a cudgel and seeming to goad the band into wilder forays of sonic exploration. At a recent packed house in Brooklyn, Curley and O’Connell whipped “Too Real,” one of their earliest singles from Dogrel, into a feedback-laden, psych-rock deluge, while an encore of “Nabokov” made the most of the dueling washes of noise that each guitarist can deliver, with precision, from either side of the stage. As a unit, they’re brash, tough, and confident—typically young, and typically Irish.
Carlos O’Connell utilizes his prototype 50th Anniversary Fender Jazzmaster when he’s going for a deep, low-end guitar tone.
Photo by Tim Bugbee
“We’ve found refuge within each other, and within our identity,” O’Connell observes when asked about the band’s recent, and inevitable, move to London. Chatten in particular, as frontman and lyricist, has been outspoken in interviews about some of the prejudices he’s encountered, a sentiment that inspired the song “In ár gCroíthe go deo,” which pays tribute to an Irish woman in Coventry who was initially denied permission to bury her late mother with the Irish inscription on her gravestone.
“We also found that accumulated frustration with a very ignorant misunderstanding of Ireland from Britain’s point of view, which started to piss us off quite a bit,” O’Connell reveals. “But then we wrote this album, and ever since, it’s starting to open up a lot. It’s given me the dream of what I thought I would find in London: a place where we’re more anonymous and where there’s less expected from us, you know?”
“We were struggling to find a really nice sound on a 12-string, so it was like, let me just text him [Richard Hawley].” —Carlos O’Connell
Surely those expectations will grow in urgency as time goes on, but for now Fontaines D.C. seems content to ride the lightning. “There’s been a lot of self-discovery along the way,” Curley says. “There’s always inspiration to be found in Irish art and culture, and we’re also massively into Irish traditional music. Me and Tom got really into Paul Brady and Andy Irvine and Planxty, and we wrote a good few Irish ballads. At one point, we actually thought of doing Skinty Fia as a double album, which I guess might’ve seemed a little gratuitous. Hopefully those songs will see the light of day in a different context.
“But now that we’re back on tour, whatever happens, I think we’re definitely not gonna take any of it for granted. We’re just trying to enjoy all the things we see, and trying to put on really good shows.”
YouTube It
In this pandemic-era livestream, Fontaines D.C. plays a half dozen songs from their Grammy-nominated sophomore album, A Hero’s Death [2020].