David Gilmour, making sounds barely contained by the walls of Madison Square Garden.
The voice of the guitar can make the unfamiliar familiar, expand the mind, and fill the heart with inspiration. Don’t be afraid to reach for sounds that elevate. A host of great players, and listening experiences, are available to inspire you.
In late fall, I had the good fortune of hearing David Gilmour and Adrian Belew live, within the same week. Although it’s been nearly two months now, I’m still buzzing. Why? Because I’m hooked on tone, and Gilmour and Belew craft some of the finest, most exciting guitar tones I’ve ever heard.
They’re wildly different players. Gilmour, essentially, takes blues-based guitar “outside”; Belew takes “outside” playing inside pop- and rock-song structures. Both are brilliant at mating the familiar and unfamiliar, which also makes the unfamiliar more acceptable to mainstream ears—thereby expanding what might be considered the “acceptable” vocabulary of guitar.
Belew was performing as part of the BEAT Tour, conjuring up the music of the highly influential King Crimson albums of the ’80s, and was playing with another powerful tone creator, Steve Vai, who had the unenviable role of tackling the parts of Crimson founder Robert Fripp, who is a truly inimitable guitarist. But Vai did a wonderful job, and his tones were, of course, superb.
To me, great tone is alive, breathing, and so huge and powerful it becomes an inspiring language. Its scope can barely be contained by a venue or an analog or digital medium. At Madison Square Garden, as Gilmour sustained some of his most majestic tones—those where his guitar sound is clean, growling, foreign, and comforting all at once—it felt as if what was emanating from his instrument and amps was permeating every centimeter of the building, like an incredibly powerful and gargantuan, but gentle, beast.
“The guitar becomes a kind of tuning fork that resonates with the sound of being alive.”
It certainly filled me in a way that was akin to a spiritual experience. I felt elevated, joyful, relieved of burdens—then, and now, as I recall the effect of those sounds. That is the magic of great tone: It transports us, soothes us, and maybe even enlightens us to new possibilities. And that effect doesn’t just happen live. Listen to Sonny Sharrock’s recording of “Promises Kept,” or Anthony Pirog soloing on the Messthetics’ Anthropocosmic Nest, or Jimi Hendrix’s “Freedom.” (Or, for that matter, any of the Hendrix studio recordings remixed and remastered under the sensibilities of John McDermott.) Then, there’s Jeff Beck’s Blow by Blow, and so many other recordings where the guitar becomes a kind of tuning fork that resonates with the sound of being alive. The psychoacoustic effects of great tones are undeniable and strong, and if we really love music, and remain open to all of its possibilities, we can feel them as tangibly as we feel the earth or the rays of the sun.
Sure, that might all sound very new age, but great tones are built from wood and wires and science and all the stuff that goes into a guitar. And into a signal chain. As you’ve noticed, this is our annual “Pro Pedalboards” issue, and I urge you to consider—or better yet, listen to—all the sounds the 21 guitarists in our keystone story create as you examine the pedals they use to help make them. Pathways to your own new sounds may present themselves, or at least a better understanding of how a carefully curated pedalboard can help create great tones, make the unfamiliar familiar, and maybe even be mind-expanding.
After all these years, some players still complain that pedals have no role other than to ruin a guitar’s natural tone. They are wrong. The tones of guitarists like Gilmour, Belew, Vai, Hendrix, Pirog, and many more prove that. The real truth about great tones, and pedals and other gear used with forethought and virtuosity, is that they are not really about guitar at all. They are about accessing and freeing imagination, about crafting sounds not previously or rarely heard in service of making the world a bigger, better, more joyful place. As Timothy Leary never said, when it comes to pedalboards and other tools of musical creativity, it’s time to turn on, tune up, and stretch out!
Barry Little’s onstage rig.
How you want to sound and what makes you happy are both highly subjective. When it comes to packing and playing gear for shows, let those considerations be your guide.
I was recently corresponding with Barry Little, aPG reader from Indiana, Pennsylvania, about “the One”—that special guitar that lets us play, and even feel, better when it’s in our hands. We got talking about the gear we bring to gigs, and Barry sent me the photo that appears with this column.
“I’m mostly old school and take quite the amp rig, and usually two or three Strats or ‘super strats,’ plus some Teles,” he wrote. “Some are in different tunings.” Barry also has a rack, built with famed guitar-rig designer Bob Bradshaw’s help, that he says holds a Bad Cat preamp bearing serial number one. For his ’70s/’80s rock outfit and his country band, this covers the waterfront.
I love Barry’s rig; it looks awesome! So … why do I feel guilty about the substantial amount of gear I take to gigs where my five-piece band will be playing a concert-length set? Onstage, my setup looks fantastic—at least to me. It’s the gear I’ve always wanted. But packed inside cases and ready to load into the Honda Odyssey with a rooftop carrier that all five of us and our instruments travel in for away dates … it seems excessive. Currently, I take three guitars: my customized reissue Fender Esquire “Dollycaster,” my Zuzu one-off Green Monster, and a Supro Conquistador, plus a 1-string electric diddley bow made from a crawfish-boiling pot. They start every show in open G octave (D–G–D–G–D–G), open D, standard tuning, and A, respectively. There’s also a Sony GLXD6+ wireless, and a pedalboard with 13 effects stomps, a tuner, and two power boxes, along with a Brown Box. That board is the launchpad for the stereo signal that runs into two Carr 1x12 combos: a Vincent and a Telstar. In addition, there’s a big black bag with spare cables, fuses, capos, strings, extension cords, microphones, straps, duct tape, and just about anything else you might need. After all that, miraculously, there is also room for my bandmates–another guitarist, bass, drums, and theremin—and their gear, plus light luggage.
I admit that’s a lot, but it used to be more—at least by the pound. In the late ’90s and early 2000s, I often played through two Marshall 4x12s with a Mesa/Boogie Duel Rectifier Trem-O-Verb on one and a ’72 Marshall Super Lead atop the other. And before that, it was the Marshall with a 4x12 plus a ’66 Fender Twin Reverb. I kept a waist back-support belt in the van, but spent a decent chunk of that era living with regular back pain.
“I admit that’s a lot, but it used to be more—at least by the pound.”
Where am I going with this? Besides a desire for you to absolve me of my guilt, I feel like all of this gear is … um … necessary? It’s the recipe for the sound I want to hear, for the versatility of the material, and for me to play from my happiest place—onstage in the middle of a glorious stereo field of my own making. It’s not really about gear and it’s not about somebody else’s definition of practicality. It’s about joy. Ideally, you should be able to bring whatever gives you joy to a gig. Period.
Sure, naysayers will yap that after a guitar, a cable, and an amp, nothing else is necessary. And on a certain misguided, intolerant level, they are right. We can all play a show with just the basics, but I, for one, don’t want to—unless maybe it’s a solo gig. Neither did Jimi Hendrix. There is a universe of tones out there waiting to be discovered and explored. There are improvisational paths that only a pedalboard can suggest. (Of course, if you’re playing a small stage, traveling in too tight quarters, or claiming turf that impinges on bandmates, those considerations apply. “Be kind” is a good rule of thumb for life, including band life.)
Remember, the naysayers are not in your bones, and onlyyour bones know what you need and want. Don’t let the voices—even in your own head—nag you. (I, too, must take this advice to heart.) Bring whatever you want to bring to gigs, as long as you can get it there. Do it guiltlessly. Have fun. And listen to your bones.Ted’s parachute
If you want to escape from the pressures of modern life, go pick up your guitar. Now. You’ll be glad you did.
As I write this, we’re a few weeks away from the election, and I’m feeling as nervous as a cat in a dog park. No matter how you’re voting, there’s a good chance you feel the same way. These are complex times.
But we have a source of respite that many do not: We play guitar. Lately, I’ve made it a point to carve out an hour or so nightly to play through some of my band’s current repertoire to keep the dust off between shows and to explore some fresh sonic options to work into songs. The practice is paying off musically, but that’s not the biggest benefit. I’ve noticed, after I shut down my amps and pedalboard, and put my guitars back on their stands, that I feel better. About everything. For that hour or so, I am simply lost in the joys and mysteries of playing guitar. Things start to reveal themselves, new ideas tumble out of my fingers, and suddenly I’m in a place where anxiety can’t get to me and my mind is largely clear. It’s a safe zone where I’m not judging myself or others, and I’m relaxed and present. It’s a place where polling numbers and attack ads, family members with difficulties, and other concerns don’t even exist. And while it may be temporary, it is also beautiful.
I’m certain many of us have the same experience when we’re playing at home or onstage. And if you’re reading this while voices in your head are nattering with worry, I suggest you immediately go plug a guitar—the one that plays like melted butter—into your favorite amp and play a little melody, or your favorite set of chord changes, or even a nice campfire chord. I’d be surprised if you don’t soon feel the sensation of tension trickling out of your spine.
This is the great gift of guitar playing and music in general: Its ability to transport us to another place—that zone of safety and delight. Under the weight of the world, it is often possible to temporarily forget guitar playing’s curative power, or be distracted from it, and that is why I am reminding you.
"This is the great gift of guitar playing and music in general: Its ability to transport us to another place—that zone of safety and delight."
For me, and I’m sure this is not just my experience, music has always been a refuge—a special thing that makes my heart fill with peace, joy, and wonder. I recall watching Johnny Cash on TV as a child, listening to his spoken stories and the tales in his songs, and feeling like I was being swept through time and space, to places and eras full of exciting people and things. It stretched my imagination and worldview, and made it seem that life’s possibilities were endless. I still cherish that feeling, and listening to, for a couple examples, Tom Waits, Pink Floyd, Merle Haggard, Lucinda Williams, Son House, Kevin Gordon, Coltrane, and the Messthetics, still delivers it. And the next step, playing music and writing songs, makes me feel like an occupant of a small corner of their universe, and that’s a place I cherish.
I’ll mention safety again, and pardon me if this gets too personal. Many of us, after surviving the pandemic and the last decade of turmoil, do not feel safe. Having grown up in a household with a physically and verbally abusive father, where a blow could come at any time without reason or warning, that’s long been an issue for me. And when the news of the latest mass shooting, for example, is fresh in my brain, I tend to map out places to hide or flee when I’m at a concert or a mall or a large public gathering. Maybe that’s just my problem, but my gut—and what I hear from others—tells me it’s not.
Oddly, one of the places I can feel safest and happiest is onstage, whether performing solo or with my band, when everything is flowing and the music is in my veins. And that’s the magic of guitar and music again. It’s given me a place to be in the world that I love and that makes me feel complete. If you get that feeling from playing and listening to music, don’t let anything get in its way. Sometimes, in these times, that can be challenging, but the first step to your personal oasis is simple: just pick up that special guitar and plug in.