Many recording enthusiasts know Warm Audio for their well-regarded and affordable takes on otherwise unattainable classic studio microphones, preamps, and processors. Most of these imitate the handsome aesthetics of those units along with their functionality, which adds to the allure. Warm Audio ventured into pedal building a few years back with lovingly rendered versions of the Roland Jet Phaser and Foxx Tone Machine. This time out, though, they’ve taken on two less obscure pedals, the Lovepedal/Hermida Zendrive and Klon Centaur, in the form of the Warmdrive and Centavo, respectively.
Some of the language Warm Audio uses to describe the Warmdrive and Centavo pedals—like “accurate recreation” and “true reproduction”—is bound to raise eyebrows among circuit snobs. Yet both pedals are ruggedly built. Plenty of attention is paid to the cosmetic details. Both circuits are put together using sturdy through-hole boards and populated with reputable components. And there’s a general air of quality about them, both inside and out, that promises real road reliability which should squash a lot of the chagrin from naysayers.
In some ways, the company’s decision to build clones of two pedals that have been copied many times over is a curious one. But Warm Audio’s attention to aesthetic details will no doubt entice cost-conscious enthusiasts chasing both the sound and visual cachet attached to these historically important effects.
Warmdrive
The original Zendrive was created by Alfonso Hermida in the mid ’00s as an attempt to re-create Robben Ford’s hallowed Dumble-driven lead tones in an overdrive pedal. That remains a lofty goal. But many players agree that Hermida succeeded just about as well as one could. The results were good enough for Ford himself, who frequently uses a Zendrive with non-Dumble amps (often a Fender Twin Reverb).
The Warmdrive control layout is identical to that of the Zendrive, and includes gain, volume, tone, and voice knobs. The latter is a versatile control that moves the pedal’s overall character between dark and bright tones in a more expansive way than you experience using a typical high- or low-pass-filter-based tone knob. Signal-sweetening gubbins include 1N34A germanium diodes, 2N7000 MOSFETs, and an NE5532 op-amp. The steel enclosure and true-bypass switch feel more than solid enough to survive repeated stomping. The cosmetics, in typical Warm Audio fashion, imitate the original.
Dum Dum Drive
With a Gibson Les Paul, Fender Telecaster, ’66 Fender Princeton combo, and 65amps London head and 2x12 cab, the Warmdrive was a fast track to the kind of Dumble-y, creamy saturation that’s kept players drooling through the decades. I suspect even cynics will be smiling when they slide into sustain-driven fusion improvs.
The Warmdrive is a thick, chewy overdrive at heart, but moves easily from smooth and warm to crisp and crackling, depending on where you set the voice knob. And there’s lots of room to fine-tune further using the tone control. There’s also plenty of range in the gain and level controls, which makes the pedal capable of much more than full-on lead tones. It’s a surprisingly good low-gain drive as a result. Even so, the real treats are in the near pedal-to-the-metal settings. Setting the gain around 2 o’clock, the volume around 11 o’clock, and tone and voice pretty close to noon makes a sound I could truly get lost in. I didn’t think about its Dumble-imitating origins, or how it sounded compared to a Dumble, or for that matter a Zendrive. I just knew it sounded great. If you want to feel like Robben Ford for a few minutes, this is an easy way to get there.
Centavo
Cloning a pedal that’s unavailable in its original form (and prohibitively costly when you find one) is generally a service to the guitar community. In the case of the Klon, however, there are enough klones, and hype around them, that the addition of yet another will probably induce a few eye rolls. That said, the ongoing, often raging, debate over which klone clones the Klon best, indicates there’s still room for anyone that wants to take a shot at building a better, more accurate one.
To date, only one klone I know of comes in an accurate die-cast enclosure like the box that houses the Centavo: the well-regarded Centura from Ceriatone Amplification of Malaysia. So, Warm Audio’s insistence on vintage accuracy will be a boon for players seeking the original’s handsome look at a fair price. The 6.75" x 5" x 2.25" dimensions, though, mean itmight be less appealing to those eager to conserve real-estate on crowded boards.
Elsewhere, Warm Audio chased authenticity pretty relentlessly. Like the original, the Centavo uses buffered bypass, TL072 op-amps, and a charge-pump voltage regulator. The oxblood pointer knobs for gain, treble, and output are another nice vintage touch that looks great. Warm Audio did take one very practical liberty with original design in the form of a MOD switch, which is situated between the input and output on the pedal’s crown and extends the circuit’s low-end response.
Chasing Mythical Beasts
Tested via the same guitars and amps used for the Warmdrive evaluation, the Centavo provides many reminders of why the original Klon became so beloved in the first place. For me, at least, the tastiest function, just as on the original, is when it’s used as a near-clean or just slightly dirty boost. Even at unity gain it sounds excellent, which is apparent just as soon as you turn it off. If the Centavo had a photo filter equivalent, it would be one that illuminates everything with golden-hour light. Everything you hear is essentially the same—just somehow more magical.
When you wind up the gain for a more lead/overdrive setting, the Centavo doesn’t disappoint. It can sound a touch furry and woofy at times and is occasionally a little ragged around the edges. Yet it still adds loads of character to lead lines. Though purists might be bummed by its inclusion, I found the low-end lift from the MOD switch useful—particularly at lower gain settings, where it fills out the bottom end especially well. In general, though, the MOD switch’s effect on the output is subtle and doesn’t overpower the Centavo’s basic voice. If there are any noteworthy audible differences between the Centavo and an original Klon, it might be the Centavo’s lack of midrange glimmer, a quality that, for me, distinguishes the Klon Centaur. Maybe that’s why originals are $5,000 these days. But, man, that’s a lot of money for a little extra midrange!
The Verdict
Both of these new pedals from Warm Audio are well-built and carefully executed renditions of their inspirations and deliver very close approximations of the target sounds. If they aren’t dead on, and few clones ever are, they certainly get very close for extremely reasonable money, both yielding dynamic overdrive regardless of price. That they do so much to deliver the visual appeal of the originals only sweetens the deal.
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Originally released in the 1980s, the Victory has long been a cult favorite among guitarists for its distinctive double cutaway design and excellent upper-fret access. These new models feature flexible electronics, enhanced body contours, improved weight and balance, and an Explorer headstock shape.
A Cult Classic Made Modern
The new Victory features refined body contours, improved weight and balance, and an updated headstock shape based on the popular Gibson Explorer.
Effortless Playing
With a fast-playing SlimTaper neck profile and ebony fretboard with a compound radius, the Victory delivers low action without fret buzz everywhere on the fretboard.
Flexible Electronics
The two 80s Tribute humbucker pickups are wired to push/pull master volume and tone controls for coil splitting and inner/outer coil selection when the coils are split.
For more information, please visit gibson.com.
Gibson Victory Figured Top Electric Guitar - Iguana Burst
English singer-songwriter Robyn Hitchcock is as recognizable by tone, lyrics, and his vibrantly hued clothing choices as the sound of Miles Davis’ horn.
Itchycoo Park
“I like my songs, but I don’t necessarily think I’m the best singer of them,” he effaces to me over Zoom, as it’s approaching midnight where he’s staying in London. “I just wanted to be a singer-songwriter because that’s what Bob Dylan did. And I like to create; I’m happiest when I’m producing something. But my records are blueprints, really. They just show you what the song could be, but they’re not necessarily the best performance of them. Whereas if you listen to … oh, I don’t know, the great records of ’67, they actually sound like the best performances you could get.”
He mentions that particular year not offhandedly, but because that’s the theme of the conversation: He’s just released an album, 1967: Vacations in the Past, which is a collection of covers of songs released in 1967, and one original song—the title track. Boasting his takes on Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” the Beatles’ “A Day in the Life,” Pink Floyd’s “See Emily Play,” and Small Faces’ “Itchycoo Park,” among eight other tracks, it serves as a sort of soundtrack or musical accompaniment to his new memoir, 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left.
Hitchcock, who was 14 years old and attending boarding school in England in 1967, describes how who he is today is encased in that period of his life, much like a mosquito in amber. But why share that with the world now?
In the mid ’70s, before he launched his solo career, Hitchcock was the leader of the psychedelic group the Soft Boys.
Photo by Tim Bugbee/tinnitus photography
“I’m 71; I’ve been alive quite a long time,” he shares. “If I want to leave a record of anything apart from all the songs I’ve written, now is a good time to do it. By writing about 1966 to ’67, I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
Hopefully, I say, the publication of these works won’t ring as some sort of death knell for him.
“Well, it’s a relative death knell,” he replies. “But everyone’s on the conveyor belt. We all go over the edge. And none of our legacies are permanent. Even the plastic chairs and Coke bottles and stuff like that that we’re leaving behind.... In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth. But I suppose you do probably get to an age where you want to try and explain yourself, maybe to yourself. Maybe it’s me that needs to read the book, you know?”
“I’m basically giving the context for Robyn Hitchcock, as Robyn Hitchcock then lived the rest of his life.”
To counter his description of his songs above, I would say that Hitchcock’s performances on 1967: Vacations in the Past carve out their own deserved little planet in the vintage-rock Milky Way. I was excited in particular by some of his selections: the endorsement of foundational prog in the Procol Harum cover; the otherwise forgotten Traffic tune, “No Face, No Name and No Number,” off of Mr. Fantasy, the Mamas & the Papas’ nostalgic “San Francisco,” and of course, the aforementioned Floyd single. There’s also the lesser known “My White Bicycle” by Tomorrow and “I Can Hear the Grass Grow” by the Move, and the Hendrix B-side, “Burning of the Midnight Lamp.”
Through these recordings, Hitchcock pays homage to “that lovely time when people were inventing new strands of music, and they couldn’t define them,” he replies. “People didn’t really know what to call Pink Floyd. Was it jazz, or was it pop, or psychedelia, or freeform, or systems music?”
His renditions call to mind a cooking reduction, defined by Wikipedia as “the process of thickening and intensifying the flavor of a liquid mixture, such as a soup, sauce, wine, or juice, by simmering or boiling.” Hitchcock’s distinctive, classic folk-singer voice and steel-string-guided arrangements do just that to this iconic roster. There are some gentle twists and turns—Eastern-instrumental touches; subtly applied, ethereal delay and reverb, and the like—but nothing that should cloud the revived conduit to the listener’s memory of the originals.
And yet, here’s his review of his music, in general: “I hear [my songs] back and I think, ‘God, my voice is horrible! This is just … ugh! Why do I sing through my nose like that?’ And the answer is because Bob Dylan sang through his nose, you know. I was just singing through Bob Dylan’s nose, really.”
1967: Vacations in the Pastfeatures 11 covers of songs that were released in 1967, and one original song—the title track.
❦
“I wait for songs to come to me: They’re independent like cats, rather than like dogs who will faithfully trail you everywhere,” Hitchcock explains, sharing about his songwriting process. “All I can do is leave a plate of food out for the songs—in the form of my open mind—and hope they will appear in there, hungry for my neural pathways.”
Once he’s domesticated the wild idea, he says, “It’s important to remain as unselfconscious as possible in the [writing] process. If I start worrying about composing the next line, the embryonic song slips away from me. Often I’m left with a verse-and-a-half and an unresolved melody because my creation has lost its innocence and fled from my brain.
“[Then] there are times when creativity itself is simply not what’s called for: You just have to do some more living until the songs appear again. That’s as close as I can get to describing the process, which still, thankfully, remains mysterious to me after all this time.”
“In 10- or 20-thousand-years’ time, we’ll probably just be some weird, scummy layer on the great fruitcake of the Earth.”
In the prose of 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left, Hitchcock expresses himself similarly to how he does so distinctively in his lyrics and speech. Amidst his tales of roughing his first experiences in the infamously ruthless environs of English boarding school, he shares an abundance of insight about his parents and upbringing, as well as a self-diagnosis of having Asperger’s syndrome—whose name is now gradually becoming adapted in modern lexicon to “low-support-needs” autism spectrum disorder. When I touch on the subject, he reaffirms the observation, and elaborates, “I think I probably am also OCD, whatever that means. I’ve always been obsessed with trying to get things in the right order.”
He relates an anecdote about his school days: “So, if I got out of lunch—‘Yippee! I’ve got three hours to dress like a hippie before they put me back in my school clothes. Oh damn, I’ve put the purple pants on, but actually, I should put the red ones on. No! I put the red ones on; it’s not good—I’ll put my jeans on.’
Robyn Hitchcock's Gear
Hitchcock in 1998, after embarking on the tour behind one of his earlier acoustic albums, Moss Elixir.
Guitars
- Two Fylde Olivia acoustics equipped with Sennheiser II lavalier mics (for touring)
- Larrivée acoustic
- Fender Telecaster
- Fender Stratocaster
Strings & Picks
- Elixir .011–.052 (acoustic)
- Ernie Ball Skinny Top Heavy Bottom .010–.054 (electric)
- Dunlop 1.0 mm
“I’d just get into a real state. And then the only thing that would do would be listening to Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart. There was something about Trout Mask that was so liberating that I thought, ‘Oh, I don’t care what trousers I’m wearing. This is just, whoa! This music is it.’”
With him having chosen to cover “See Emily Play,” a Syd Barrett composition, the conversation soon turns to the topic of the late, troubled songwriter. I comment, “It’s hard to listen to Syd’s solo records.... It’s weird that people enabled that. You can hear him losing his mind.”
“You can, but at the same time, the fact they enabled it means that these things did come out,” Robyn counters. “And he obviously had nothing else to give after that. So, at least, David Gilmour and the old Floyd guys.... It meant they gave the world those songs, which, although the performances are quite … rickety, quite fragile, they’re incredibly beautiful songs. There’s nothing forced about Barrett. He can only be himself.”
“There was something about Trout Mask Replica that was so liberating that I thought, ‘Oh, I don’t care what trousers I’m wearing. This is just, whoa!’”
I briefly compare Barrett to singer-songwriter Daniel Johnston, and we agree there are some similarities. And then with a segue, ask, “When did you first fall in love with the guitar? Was it when you came home from boarding school and found the guitar your parents gifted you on your bed?”
Robyn pauses thoughtfully.“Ah, I think I liked the idea of the guitar probably around that time,” he shares. “I always used to draw men with guns. I’m not really macho, but I had a very kind of post-World War II upbringing where men were always carrying guns. And I thought, ‘Well, if he’s a man, he’s got to carry a gun.’ Then, around the age of 13, I swapped the gun for the guitar. And then every man I drew was carrying a guitar instead.”
Elaborating on getting his first 6-string, he says, “I had lessons from a man who had three fingers bent back from an industrial accident. He was a nice old man with whiskers, and he showed me how to get the guitar in tune and what the basic notes were. And then I got hold of a Bob Dylan songbook, and—‘Oh my gosh, I can play “Mr. Tambourine Man!”’ It was really fast—about 10 minutes between not being able to play anything, and suddenly being able to play songs by my heroes.”
❦
Hitchcock does me the kindness, during our atypically deep conversation—at least, for a press interview—of sharing more acute perceptions of his parents, and their own neurodivergence. Ultimately, he feels that his mother didn’t necessarily like him, but loved the idea of him—and that later in life, he came to better understand his lonely, depressive father. “My mother was protective but in an oddly cold way. People are like that,” he shares. “We just contain so many things that don’t make sense with each other: colors that you would not mix as a painter; themes you would not intermingle as a writer; characters you would not create.... We defy any sense of balance or harmony.
“Although the performances are quite rickety, quite fragile, they’re incredibly beautiful songs. There’s nothing forced about Barrett. He can only be himself.”
“The idea of normality.... ‘Normal’ is tautological,” he continues. “Nothing is normal. A belief in normality is an aberration. It’s a form of insanity, I think.
“It’s just hard for us to accept ourselves because we’re brought up with the myth of normality, and the myth of what people are supposed to be like gender-wise, sex-wise, and psychologically what we’re supposed to want. And in a way, some of that’s beginning to melt, now. But that probably just causes more confusion. It’s no wonder people like me want to live in 1967.”
YouTube It
In this excerpt from the Jonathan Demme-directed concert film of Robyn Hitchcock, Storefront Hitchcock, the songwriter performs an absurdist “upbeat” song about a man who dies of cancer.
"This bass is a reflection of everything I love about playing," said Blu DeTiger. "I wanted an instrument that could handle the diversity of sounds I create, from deep, funky grooves to melodic lines that cut through the mix. Fender and I worked closely together to make sure this bass not only looks amazing but sounds incredible in any setting."
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