Prewired replacement electronics provide access to many popular wiring mods, minus the soldering.
Larry Santellan of Santellan Sounds, maker of the Elec-Trix tone modules, sent me some samples to check out. These pre-wired circuits offer quick access to some of the “greatest hits” of alternate wiring, with an emphasis on Strats and Teles. He has pop-in modules for 5-way Teles, Vari-Tones, passive overdrives, vintage/modern switching, and more.
I haven’t had the time to try everything Larry sent, but for a few months I’ve had his 4-Way Fat Tone Monster Deluxe Wiring Kit in my Tele-like G&L ASAT. It lets me dial in the three standard sounds, plus that humongous series-pickups BLAT! A push/pull pot bypasses the tone control. (I never hear meaningful differences between bypassed tone controls and wide-open ones, but this setup lets me toggle between a bright, wide-open tone a muted one.)
Installation was relatively easy, and the parts and workmanship are top-notch. If you’re interested in alternate pickup wiring options, but don’t have the skill, patience, or time to solder it yourself, well, check out the Elec-Trix catalog.
Solder-free configuration via clever ribbon connectors.
I’ve never owned a Burns guitar, and I have only one with Burns pickups: a funky mid-’60s Baldwin Virginian I scored for $100 some 20 years ago. It’s a cheap plywood piece of crap — but it’s my piece of crap, and I’m quite attached to it.
James O. Burns founded Burns London Ltd. in 1960 and had success underselling expensive American imports. Burns users included Hank Marvin, pre-Zep Jimmy Page, and most famously, Brian May, who used Burns’s Tri-Sonic pickups in his iconic homemade guitar.
Cincinnati’s Baldwin company bought Burns in 1965 and quality suffered — much like the same year’s CBS/Fender debacle, only on a smaller scale. But the Baldwin/Burns marriage produced some interesting oddballs, notably the Baldwin Burns Buzzaround (a quirky fuzz pedal favored by Robert Fripp), plus a lot of weirdo guitars. Like this one.
When I was playing with PJ Harvey, I used the Virginian to play the songs she’d written in “Gary Glitter tuning”: AAAAAA, as heard on “Rock and Roll Part 2,” and on this 1995 PJ Harvey clip from The White Room, a great British live music TV show of the era. (As on the UK’s long-running Later with Jools Holland show, bands would set up on multiple stages facing each other across a large room. Also performing the night we tracked this: Oasis, Paul Weller, and Bobby Womack.)
Here’s how the same guitar and guitarist sound 17 years later. Listen and weep: (more…)
Two indisputable facts about Leslie rotating speaker cabinets: They sound awesome, and they’re approximately the size and weight of Rhode Island. Since the ’60s manufacturers have attempted to mimic the spinning-speaker effect in a more modest package. And one of the best mimics is the second exhibit in our Museum of Lost Effects.
The Morley Rotating Sound Wah is less well known than an earlier pseudo-Leslie, the Univox Uni-Vibe,forever associated with Hendrix. Like the Uni-Vibe, it a) tried to duplicate the Leslie, b) failed, but c) wound up creating a cool tone of its own. But while the Uni-Vibe milks its modulation from a series of optical sensors, the Morley relies on a rotating disc inside a can of electrostatic fluid. The result is a cool and complex modulation sound unlike any other (and one I’ve never been terribly successful at mimicking digitally).
This technology is descended from the “oil can” delays produced in the ’60s by the Los Angeles-based Tel-Ray company.In fact, Morley was a Tel-Ray spinoff — company founders Ray and Marv Lubow chose the name Morley for their line of guitar pedals based on the boast that this relatively compact modulation effect offered “more-lie,” as opposed to “less-lie.” (Note that I said “relatively” compact, since this beast is far and away the heaviest stompbox I’ve ever owned.)
The Morley Rotating Sound Wah is ugly, clunky, and klugey. If you drop it on your foot, you’ll never walk again. But I think it sounds incredibly cool.
Well, I’m not sure it’s fair to call it a “museum” when there’s only one exhibit so far. But it’s a really, really good one…
I bought this Maestro Rhythm ’N Sound for Guitar for a pittance back in the ’90s. It’s a primitive multi-effect unit from 1968, with a cool octave-down bass tone, auto-wah, and two fixed filters. It’s got fuzztone (though mine has always been broken), and a weird, choppy tremolo reminiscent of the Vox Repeat Percussion effect. (Mine worked fine — until I broke it yesterday while trying and failing to fix the fuzz. Kill me now.)
But the marquee feature of this hand-soldered contraption is the option of triggering four wonderfully cheesy analog percussion sounds. Bongo? Cymbal? Tambourine? Clave? At your command!
Does it sound as weird as it sounds? No — weirder!
You can’t assign specific specific notes to specific sounds — any input triggers the percussion, so the clicks and clanks tend to work best shadowing every note in a phrase, adding a weird edge. (I used them like that on Oranj Symphonette’s “Charade,” Erica Garcia’s “Yo No Tengo La Culpa,” and PJ Harvey’s “Maniac.”)
But then it occurred to me you could more ambitious things with the percussion sounds via looping. Which is exactly what I do in this short, fuzz-free video.
Check it out — and then let’s talk about this Museum of Lost Effects thing! (more…)
This clip from the short-lived British sketch-com Snuff Box made me think about great guitar teachers — and not-so-great ones.
I was lucky — I had some truly memorable teachers, starting with my mom, who taught me her coffeehouse folk. When she decided I needed a more advanced instructor, she recruited Larry, a friend’s 16-year-old Who-fanatic son. (He grew up to become renowned classical guitarist Lawrence Ferrara.) Katherine Charleton (later Calkins) mutated me into an early music geek. And I got to take a few lessons from Ted Greene was I was 17 or so, though he wouldn’t take me as a weekly student. He’d listen to me play got a bit, then dispense pages and pages of chord progressions and melodic sequences, the material that wound up on his Solo Guitar Playing books. I paid Buckethead for a few lessons when he was 17, but it was mainly just to hang out and watch him do his amazing thing. My last great teacher was the sublime Martin Simpson — I finagled a couple of lessons from him when he lived 90 minutes from me in Santa Cruz.
How about you guys? Which teachers inspired you the most? What was the best advice you ever got from a teacher? The worst? Do you teach yourself? Does teaching affect the way you play? Like that.
Anyone here ever owned a synth guitar? Not a Keytar, but a guitar fitted with a hexaphonic pickup that transmits MIDI data to external devices? And if so, do you readily admit it?
The synth guitar has had one of the most checkered histories outside of, well, checkers. Since the ’70s, many brilliant minds have tried to bridge the gap between the plucked string and the external tone generator. But despite a few notable exceptions (mostly in the prog/fusion realm), guitarists have been reluctant to embrace the technology.
I’ve had a Yahama synth system (basically a clone of the Roland GK-2) for many years, though I rarely use it. Like a lot of players, I balk at the installation hassle and the ugly, cumbersome hardware. (Plus, I’ve played keys longer than I’ve played guitar, so I don’t really need a guitar to conjure synth sounds.) Also, those systems are expensive! Many players have been disappointed. Many businesses too — the Avatar guitar synth probably killed off the ARP company.
But I’ve been thinking about guitar synth again since last January’s NAMM show, where Fishman previewed their Triple Play system, a new take on MIDI guitar which I mentioned at the time here. (Here’s much more info from the company’s Summer NAMM press release.)
I finally got to play a late-stage prototype this weekend. But before I discuss the experience, I need to confide that a) Larry Fishman is a pal of mine, and b) I may be working with his company on the product’s documentation and marketing. (My words of praise are 100% sincere — but as always, consider the source.) (more…)
Does music groove more when all the effects are in sync?
What’s better: synchronizing your modulation and delay effects strictly to tempo? Or “freewheeling” it, and letting the effects wobble and drift a bit?
I eagerly embraced tap-tempo stompboxes when they appeared — how liberating to re-clock your effects without stooping over and fumbling with little knobs! But these days, I often forego strict timekeeping in favor of a sloshier, more organic feel.
Sometimes tempo-sync makes parts groove better. And sometime it makes everything sound cheesy, like the computer-clocked sound and lights of a loud and lousy Broadway show.
One thing that made me more reluctant to over-synchronize my sound was the illicit release of the various “Multitrack Master” audio files, in which classic rock recordings were distributed as individual solo tracks — an illegal yet awesome development I wrote about here. This example in particular blew my mind:
Okay, the analog delay effect on that iconic keyboard part is a bloody mess, the echoes flamming chaotically against the played notes. But would anyone dare suggest it’s not one of the grooviest parts ever committed to tape?
On the other hand, when I do go digital, I’m more likely to take it to extremes. Here’s a little example I threw together using a multi-effect plug-in created with Native Instruments’ Reaktor. (Reaktor itself isn’t an effector, a synth, or a sequencer, but a programming environment for creating all those things and more. This plug-in, called Freak Show, is free for Reaktor owners via the Reaktor User Library. The creator is Carsten Brück.) It’s a set of eight effects — but the active effect changes in time with the sequencer. (You might have reverb on beat 1, pitch-shift on beat 2, phasing on beat 3, etc.) Check it out: (more…)
I got out of the studio for a few days…WAY out. Welcome to Metropolis, Nevada, population zero.
Do you ever find it beneficial to put down the damn guitar and get out of the house?
Usually, my answer is “no” — I like hanging out in the studio, and am immensely grateful that I get to do something I love most days. But after a long stretch of over-work, I was hankering for a nice, long road trip, and decided to go on a photo safari of remote ghost town sites in Northern Nevada — something I’ve never done, and a serious change of venue for an effete urbanite like me.
The plan: explore by day and play with my mobile recording rig in the evening. Crank out a few posts on small audio interfaces and recording via GarageBand for iPad. So I tossed my Hello Kitty guitar into the back of my rented 4×4, figuring I could prop it in front of disintegrating shacks and abandoned mine shafts for maximum photo fun.
And then right before departure, I unpacked all the music stuff and left it behind in San Francisco.
I just had a last-minute hunch that it might be beneficial to not play music, or even think about it, for a few days. I didn’t even listen to the radio much — just a couple of audiobooks. (Holy cow, I forgot how amazing Heart of Darkness is — and I only just realized that title of that great Gang of Four song “We Live As We Dream, Alone” is pilfered from Joseph Conrad.)
Abandoned mining equipment, Hamilton, Nevada. No Hello Kitty guitars here!
So now I’m back home — and while I can’t claim I’m bursting with magical inspiration, the guitar necks feel fresh in my hands, and think I’m a little more mindful about choosing and shaping notes — or at least more relaxed about the process.
Anyone have similar experiences? Instances when temporarily fleeing your musicianship improves, or at least refreshes, it?
I’m not a huge fan of drummer jokes. I know plenty of smart drummers, and it seems to me that we should accord them every bit as much respect as if they played an actual musical instrument.
Still, I bridle at the notion that they are more verbally skilled than we are.
I’m talking about the drumming tradition of referring to stereotypical licks via funny, short phrases. Shouldn’t we guitarists and bassists have a similar shorthand for our clichés? It won’t necessarily make us play any better, but at least we can display a little verbal creativity, especially on those days when musical creativity calls in sick.
For those who have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, allow me to link to a few examples. Here’s a nice explanation of the ever-popular “Pat Boone, Debbie Boone” fill:
These funky homemade pedals represent all the leading octave-fuzz circuits.
I had no idea I had so many octave fuzz pedals! I had no idea they sounded so different! And after spending way too much time auditioning and recording them, I have no idea when I’m ever going to be able to stand listening to them again!
Naw, just kidding — I had lots of fun putting together this octa-fuzz fest. It features no name-brand pedals, just DIY clones based on old circuits. But hey, most of today’s octave fuzzes are also clones of old circuits.
In fact, imitation has always been the name of the game here. The Roger Mayer Octavia used by Jimi Hendrix was inspired by a circuit found in a British mixing console. The US-made Tycobrahe Octavia was a ripoff of Mayer’s circuit, though tone snobs tend to regard it as the superior unit. It’s certainly one of the rarest and most valuable stompboxes ever. The name “Octavia” has also been slapped on many other variations of the circuit, including some particularly dismal models. The Prescription Electronics Experience and Lovetone Ultimate Octave are based on the Foxx Tone Machine. The Dan Armstrong Green Ringer was based on the Ampeg Scrambler, and I used the Green Ringer circuit as a jumping-off point for some of my own designs. The sincerest form of flattery abounds here.
If you make it through this seven-circuit survey, you’ll encounter most of the major players, and if you hear something that particularly interests you, you can build it yourself using readily available schematics, or buy a nice kit or boutique clone.
Now, don’t confuse this effect with modern digital devices that actually transpose the notes you play. Octave fuzzes use an electronic trick to cancels out much of the fundamental of each note, making the octave overtone stand out more prominently. The process is called full-wave rectification, and ever-knowledgable reader mwseniff explains it far more capably than I in a comment following my previous post on this topic. It’s an odd, glitchy effect that tends to require specific playing techniques for the best results. And for better or worse, it’s an effect that has so far been difficult to mimic digitally. Sure, some of the modeling boxes out there have interesting-sounding octave-fuzz effects, but they tend to score low on the analog-realism scale.
Check out the video. The post-mortem comes after, as post-mortems usually do. (more…)
