Tag: features

For Americans, the legend of the Beatles has a very specific starting moment: 8 p.m., February 9, 1964. That Sunday evening 50 years ago, the group appeared for the first time in the U.S. on “The Ed Sullivan Show,” and spurred a phenomenon. The broadcast was watched by the largest television audience tallied up to that point – 73 million babyboom teenagers, baffled parents, the randomly curious – or 60 percent of the TV sets in use that night. Their second appearance, on February 16, was just as successful, and newly minted Beatlemania spread from the U.K. to the U.S. as the entire nation seemingly went mad over the Fab Four.

Fifty years on, the impact of that moment still reverberates, especially among musicians. Nearly any guitarist who watched that show will tell you that playing guitar in a band suddenly seemed like the only thing in the world that mattered. The exact “Why?” has been speculated endlessly; it has been suggested that for an America saddened by the Kennedy assassination a few months prior, the embrace of the Beatles signalled the end of a period of national mourning. Whether true or not, it led to an era of cultural change that remains ongoing.

Many critics slammed the group’s TV debut; the next week’s issue of Newsweek reported, “Visually, they are a nightmare.. Musically… a near-disaster. Their lyrics (punctuated by nutty shouts of ‘yeah, yeah, yeah!’) are a catastrophe, a preposterous farrago of Valentine-card sentiments… Odds are they will fade away, as most adults confidently predict.”

To most younger Americans, this was just the “squares” talking. The rock-and-roll music of the ’50s had created a teen culture centered on music, and the Beatles instantly established the new paradigm for young Americans in the ’60s to create a cultural voice for the next generation. If the camera-eye sight of the band itself was not enough, the shots of screaming teenage girls in the audience was further incentive to any teenage boy – “Get a guitar, now!”

Guitar had, for years, been on the rise as the popular instrument for young players, but this created demand that would never be matched. While any guitar associated with the group has attained “Beatles guitar” collector status, the three used on the Sullivan show occupy the peak of this elite family, and stand as the Beatles instruments even non-musicians associate with the group. The guitars – seen only in TV black-and-white – are John Lennon’s 1958 Rickenbacker Model 325, George Harrison’s ’63 Gretsch Chet Atkins Country Gentleman, and Paul McCartney’s ’63 Höfner 500/1 (forever after the “Beatle Bass”). Each instrument has is its own history apart from, and linked to, the Beatles phenomenon, but all three are forever wedded to this broadcast moment. In each case, the actual instrument used by a Beatle for that performance has specific features that have, ever since, proved frustratingly hard to replicate for fans and collectors. Manufacturers have long been known to change specifications without warning, but with these, minute differences mean a huge increase in a particular instrument’s collectible mojo.

Rickenbacker debuted the 325 in early ’58 as part of its new Capri line, and Lennon’s was one of the first made. Bearing serial number V81, it was unusual in that had no sound hole and (at first) only two knobs. Rickenbacker displayed it at a mid-’58 trade show, re-wired it with a four-knob layout, then shipped it to Framus Werke, in Germany, that October. It found its way to a Hamburg music store to be purchased by Lennon in fall, 1960, during the group’s first stint there. Rickenbackers were at the time unobtainable in the UK; Lennon’s interest had been piqued by Toots Thielmans with George Shearing’s group, and finding one in Germany must have seemed like kismet! Interviewed in ’63, Lennon raved about the guitar’s playability, which was understandable given his previous instruments!

With the heavy strings common at the time, the slim short-scale neck was perfect for Lennon’s chord-bashing style. His chiming triplet rhythm on “All My Loving” (the opening song of their first Sullivan appearance) is a perfect example of how the little Rick worked for him. “Just feel the action… get a load of that sound,” and “It’s the most beautiful guitar… the action is really ridiculously low,” he enthused to Beat Instrumental.

The 325’s shorter scale was designed for ease of play before the advent of light strings, an idea kicked around by several manufacturers in the ’50s. It proved unpopular in practice (feeling cramped to most players) and limited the guitar’s long-term appeal (the other major 325 user in the ’60s was John Fogerty). Lennon’s 325 was extremely rare to begin with, and was soon unique, as he tinkered with it from the beginning. By the time of the Sullivan show, it had been extensively modified; were it not his, it would be “ruined” as a collector’s piece today! By February of ’64, it had been refinished to black, re-wired more than once, fitted with a Bigsby vibrato, seen several sets of knobs, and been bashed around by more than three years of non-stop gigging. The Sullivan show and ensuing Carnagie Hall and Washington gigs were its last stand, and by the group’s mid-February Miami shows (which were also broadcast on Sullivan), Lennon had received a replacement 325 from Rickenbacker (also black but with a white pickguard) that became his signature guitar for 1964-’65. Oddly enough, Lennon claimed in ’64 that he, “Didn’t like it half as much as the first one.” Still, Rickenbacker’s U.K. distributor, Rose-Morris, was quick to exploit the connection.

Lennon’s use of the 325, even modified, was an incalculable boost to Rickenbacker’s fortunes. At the time, the company was still low-profile enough that many fans assumed John’s guitar was of German or English manufacture, not sunny California. The ’64 Model 325 listed at $399.50, but despite the Beatles endorsement seems to have not sold well. Still, with the prototype 360/12 soon played by George Harrison, Rickenbacker became forever identified with the Beatles. The 325 has maintained its iconic “Beatles” status, but the other full-scale thin hollowbody guitars of the 300 series, especially the 12-strings, have been the practical choice of most players, then and now. A 325 identical to Lennon’s “Sullivan” guitar would be the ultimate Beatles collectible, but no such instrument exists unless it has been similarly modified. Few original ’58s come to market, but Rickenbacker has made excellent reissues in its original and Sullivan-show livery.

Unlike Lennon’s veteran, the guitar Harrison brought to New York was a recent acquisition – a ’63 Gretsch PX-6122 Chet Atkins Country Gentleman. By ’63, the “Gent” had been in production for six years, but recently modified (not to Chet’s liking) with a new double-cutaway body and adjustable string mutes. Atkins originally wanted a semi-solid guitar, like Gibson’s ES-335, but the 6122 had a closed thin body with heavy “trestle” bracing, but no center block. “The handsome showpiece of the fabulous Gretsch Chet Atkins line… with the styling and tone that have made it the most desired electric guitar in the world” was Gretsch’s blurb before Harrison appeared with the model! Listing at $595 in November ’of 63, the “Gent” topping the Atkins line was very expensive by any standard. Harrison had really stepped up with this instrument, replacing his veteran ’57 Gretsch Duo-Jet.

The “Sullivan” guitar was actually the second Country Gentleman he acquired in ’63; an earlier one made that same year had already seen heavy use and was replaced, possibly after damage to the mute system.

The Gretsch line was distributed in the U.K. by Arbiter, which listed the Gent at a whopping £330. Harrison got his at Arbiter’s Sound City shop in central London; an earlier version had the more-cumbersome dial-up mute, while a second, with the lighter “flip-up” mute, became Harrison’s favorite by ’64. It also had a very dark walnut-stain finish; on black-and-white TV it appeared nearly black. While a 1963-’64 Country Gentleman is not an exceptionally rare guitar, an exact Harrison-spec Gent has been a sought-after item virtually since ’64, and difficult to find, as Gretsch almost immediately (and inexplicably) began to alter the instrument’s features. By mid ’64, the company equipped the Gent with the then-new bar-polepiece Super’Tron pickup in the neck position. This was Atkins’ preference, but thousands of would-be buyers wanted a guitar like Harrison’s, irrespective of the namesake endorser’s wishes! Other changes included the pickguard markings, serial number on the headstock nameplate, and the deco-style buttons on the Grover Imperial tuners – all different by the end of ’65. It’s ironic that as Gretsch was desperately ramping up production of all guitars – especially the Country Gentleman featured on the ’65 catalog cover – they were altering the image that had sold it in the first place. Harrison’s original is sadly long lost, destroyed in a motorway accident in late ’65, but the bass played right alongside it is still very much in service.

Another recent arrival in early ’64 was Paul McCartney’s replacement for his long-serving Höfner 500/1, acquired in Hamburg in 1961. His first bass had been used non-stop, getting battered in the process; photos from late ’63 show the neck pickup taped in place. “I ordered another… it was the only left-handed bass available and I thought I’d better have a spare,” he said at the time. This spare almost immediately became his stage bass, used almost exclusively through ’66. The new left-handed 500/1 was acquired in October of ’63 through Selmer, which served as Höfner’s U.K. distributor. Selmer had held the Höfner franchise for years, but the violin-body bass was not offered until McCartney created a market. “Probably the best known instrument in the pop world today is Paul McCartney’s ‘Violin Bass guitar.’ It’s distinctive shape plus the fact that it is played the ‘Wrong way round’ by the Beatles quick-silver front man Paul has made it one of the most in-demand guitars in the country today,” said Beat Instrumental. Oddly, though Selmer began importing the 500/1 in ’63, it was not shown in their catalogs for some time. Eventually, McCartney’s smiling face was put on a tag reading “Wishing you every success” and the group’s management secured a royalty. Even so, it was not called the “Beatle Bass” – and was still relatively inexpensive at all of 58 guineas.

By ’64, the Violin Bass was widely available in the U.K., but Höfner, like Rickenbacker and Gretsch, routinely changed construction and fitting details, so earlier and later examples have small differences that now drive collectors crazy! McCartney’s mid-’63 500/1 has specific features – most unusually a two-piece maple laminated neck instead of the much more common three-piece construction. It was fitted with strip tuners instead of the individual units most often encountered – likely quirks of supply instead of design. In ’64, Höfner added white-celluloid binding to 500/1 fingerboards, and the pickup configuration – four-pole/four-screw with side-mount small, black plastic rings on Paul’s bass – differs year by year. McCartney’s was, of course, factory left-handed, but the headstock is still the regular right-handed configuration – a feature shared with his Rickenbacker! Compared with most electric instruments, it was easy to build a left-handed 500/1; its symmetrical design meant only the control rout and fittings like the pickguard needed to be altered.

By ’65, the entire Höfner line was distributed in the U.S. by Sorkin Music, based in New York. Far less expensive than the other Beatles instruments at $335, these sold well to many teenage bands. This makes ’65 and later 500/1 basses fairly common, but with their top-mount pickup rings, bound necks, and other later features, they are not “Sullivan Show” spec – though likely few users at the time noticed or cared! Now, however, original 1962-’63 models are much more desirable, and Höfner has offered very accurate reissues.

McCartney still uses his ’63 bass on just about every gig; it must be by this point the single most-filmed (and one of the most-heard) basses in history. Many other musicians have used a Beatle Bass (especially in the ’60s), but only ’70s reggae supersessioner Robbie Shakespeare made it his main squeeze. The quirks of the Höfner also make it alien to bassists accustomed to a Fender-style instrument; by comparison, the 500/1 is light and feels somewhat insubstantial. While the instrument’s Beatles legacy has ensured its survival, many players have also enjoyed its unique feel and sound. Lennon once commented that the many fans, players, and songwriters who have obsessively studied the Beatles’ sound over the years miss the point entirely; it was the band’s originality and seemingly endless creativity that ensured its legacy.

As testament to that continuing influence, each instrument of that February ’64 Sunday evening has been re-created with near-obsessive fidelity for modern fans and players to experience anew. Still, the thrill of playing an exact original version of the group’s chosen instruments remains one of those bucket list moments for guitar fans of a certain age. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!

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This article originally appeared in VG March 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

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Emerging as grunge began casting a metaphorical pall over the pop music landscape of the early 1990s, the Georgia-based Black Crowes offered something decidedly different in its reverential mix of rock and roll that delivered an update on the promises made by the likes of the Rolling Stones, CSN, Jeff Beck, AC/DC, the Faces, and even R.E.M.

And it hit big right out of the chute, as its 1990 debut album, Shake Your Moneymaker, went platinum while simultaneously putting the band squarely atop not only the charts and MTV playlists, but firmly in the consciousness of music fans of the day.

The band, formed by brothers Chris and Rich Robinson, employed an always edgy live show with an ever-changing setlist that delivered a mix of raucous rock songs, extended jams, and some of the era’s best ballads. Fans who feasted on the band’s musical amalgamation – and connection with its audience – dubbed the Crowes’ musical style “freak and roll.”

The band saw continued critical and commercial success with its 1992 followup, Southern Harmony and Musical Companion, which, while it marked a progression in the band’s style and ability, staunchly maintained an independence and creative freedom that became the band’s trademark. Subsequent albums saw the band continue to evolve while remaining amazingly consistent in regard to the quality of its output; the band sold more than 19 million albums worldwide and along the way shared the stage with Jimmy Page, Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, AC/DC, The Who, Neil Young, The Grateful Dead, and other legends.

But the path hasn’t been without pitfalls. Like any band that displays a degree of staying power, personnel have changed. For instance, guitarist Jeff Cease was dismissed after the band’s first album, replaced by Marc Ford, whose tenure was on-again/off-again, and shifted to off-again just two days before the band toured in the fall of 2006. Still, the outing proved successful, and the months following saw the Robinsons writing songs for a new CD and DVD, titled Brothers of a Feather, set for release later this year.

Rich Robinson has always been a fan of true vintage guitars and amps. Some of his first chords were strummed on his father’s 1953 Martin, and after wading through a few beginner instruments, 400 of his first hard-earned dollars were spent on a used Fender Telecaster Deluxe. And while he makes no claims about being a “great” guitarist, he knows full well how classic equipment and good tone can inspire a musician.

Do you remember when and why you first started paying attention to music?
Chris and I grew up listening to everything – Joe Cocker, Sly and the Family Stone, Bob Dylan, the Chieftans, to Aretha Franklin and everything in-between.

This was stuff on your parents’ record player?
Yeah. My dad was a musician, so he would play a lot of traditional folk and country songs. And mom was from Nashville, so she grew up listening to all that stuff. Dad was in a folk band trying to get on with CBS Paramount back in the day.

When you were young, did you pay much attention to his guitars?
Not really, but as we got older, he let us play them. He had this really cool one made by the Gauer brothers, in Tennessee. It’s a dreadnought-style, but a little thinner, with a really interesting sound and an Egyptian-style mandolin headstock with tons of mother-of-pearl inlay. It’s a really cool guitar.

Do you still have it?
I still have it, yeah. I also have his ’53 Martin D-28, which is beautiful. We used it for songs like “She Talks to Angels,” on the first record.

What first got you interested in playing guitar?
AC/DC. I loved Angus and Malcolm Young, and the way they played together. As a teenager, that was the first music that I got way into. I also loved Parliament Funkadelic and Prince at the time, and obviously Crosby, Stills, and Nash was a huge influence back in the day.

As I got older, Dad would let me play his guitars. I’d try to pick out things; the first song I learned to play was “Oxford Town,” the Dylan song from The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan. Then I started getting into learning R.E.M. songs and things like that, because R.E.M. was huge in the South when I was 14 years old. I picked up the guitar for the first time when I was 15, and taught myself.

Were you a quick study?
I was a quick study in learning chords and writing songs. I was never the guitar player who sat in his room and learned scales. I was way – and still am to this day – more interested in songs than people. I love and respect people who can play well, but I think songs are truly a gift, you know? I think people who can write great songs… there’s just nothing better in the world, to me. So I immediately started writing songs that we started playing in clubs.

At first, we were a punk band. But there was this paisley underground scene going on in pop music at the time, and we used to love what bands like the Rain Parade, Dream Syndicate, and the Street Club were doing. And we sort of outgrew our little punk phase and started delving into different kinds of music like that.

How did AC/DC fit into the list?
I was nine or 10 years old when I started listening to them, and their music made me want to play the guitar. I remember If You Want Blood… You Got It, their live record. I loved “Riff Raff” – that was an amazing song to me at the time. I never tried to play AC/DC songs, I just so appreciated them. Being a kid, it was exciting, powerful rock and roll music. Everyone calls them a heavy metal band, but they’re just a f***in’ rock and roll band, all day.

And as I got older, got into more things, and started delving more into music, I started getting back into Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Sly Stone, The Byrds, The Beatles… all those bands.

Do you count Peter Buck, the guitarist in R.E.M., as an influence?
He’s not really a guitar influence, but R.E.M. songs of the day – Murmur had some great songs, Reckoning and Fables of the Reconstruction – those three records were the ones for me, as far as songwriting goes. I know these are really weird, sort of all-over-the-place influences.

Do you think any them have affected the way your guitars, amps, or playing style sound?
I don’t think so. I think tone is 90 percent about the way a person plays, not which instruments they play.

It’s in the hands…
Yeah. I play different amps and guitars, and it always sounds like me, though sometimes in a weird way.

Even back when you were playing your dad’s guitars, you had your hands on good stuff.
When we were kids, I had a new Tele; it might have been a Squire. The very first guitar I called my own was one my parents bought me… a crappy Lotus copy.

But what was the first guitar you bought for yourself?
I had a bunch of weird guitars when we first went out, because we couldn’t afford good guitars back then. The first decent guitar I bought was a new Rickenbacker in sunburst finish. Then I bought a Robin.

Made by Dave Wintz, in Houston.
Yeah, that was pretty cool. Then I had this weird Tele… I would always just buy these guitars, play them for six months, and then trade ’em for something else. I never had a multitude of guitars. I once had this huge hollowbody Gibson. I can’t remember what it was but, it fed back a lot, so I had to get rid of it.

The first really good Fender I bought was a black Custom Tele from the ’70s. And then I bought a ’68 blond Tele and that’s been my main guitar ever since. I paid 400 bucks for it.

It’s still out on the road with you?
Yeah, I still use it, and this weird goldtop Les Paul that I’ve had forever, that some dude tried to shave down – there’s an area where there’s no gold anymore. It used to have a Bigsby on it, but I took it off while we were recording Shake Your Money Maker. I’ve had those three guitars since I was a kid.

Is that the goldtop you take on the road?
Yeah. I don’t know what the hell it is – a ’50s reissue, maybe? Whoever had it before me had an ’80s Dimarzio heavy-metal pickup in the bridge, and in the neck position it had a P-90. Instead of just trying to fill in the P-90, I routed it out, because the whole thing was so f***ed up anyway. The headstock was cracked at some point, but we had it fixed.

When was the first time you bought a guitar that was collectible the instant you bought it?
In the middle of the tour for Shake Your Money Maker, I bought a ’58 sunburst Les Paul Junior in immaculate condition. I’ve since sold it, but I’ve had well over 100 guitars since then. Some I sell, some I keep.

So how many do you have right now?
I don’t know, really. I take, like, 36 guitars on tour, and I have another 20 or 30 in storage.

What sort of stuff is in storage?
I have a Charlie Christian from the ’40s, original, with a lap steel and a matching amp. And I have the Gauer in storage, another few Teles, this weird old Gretsch that has two f holes and one really cool old pickup. A bunch of basses – a cool Tele bass, a Jazz Bass, and a P-Bass. My dad’s Martin is there, and another D-18, it’s either a ’58 or ’61, along with a couple of Taylors and a couple more Trussarts. And there’s more.

Do you buy certain guitars because you want to try certain sounds, or are you buying them to have a collection?
I definitely buy things to get certain sounds. I don’t really care about collecting. It’s nice to have great guitars, you know? But to me it’s more about what sounds good. That’s always what it’s been. I have new guitars; I bought this Duesenberg, which is great, and I have the Trussarts. The new Zemaitises are really good. There’s this guy in Tokyo who makes these Freedom guitars that are great, really well-made. I have a couple of Fender Custom Shop Teles that sound f***in’ great.

There’s a lot of new stuff out there that’s really good. So it’s not about collectibles, it’s about what sounds good to me.

Have you ever had any ’50s Teles?
I have a ’54 Esquire – its either a ’54 or ’55, I can’t remember. I originally had a ’61 and it was stolen in either Chicago or Grand Rapids. So there was a guitar shop in Hoboken – and it might have been Hoboken Guitars – but they had this ’55. After I got mine stolen, I found this one and it was just f***in’ great, has a baseball bat for a neck, and sounds amazing.

And you’ve used many different amps through the years, right?
Yes. I’m into just trying different things, you know? When I started, I used Marshall Silver Jubilees. That was before there were any independent companies, really. You didn’t have the boutique amps; you had Fender, you had Marshall, you had Vox, you had Laney; it was pretty limited.

On our first tour, I used an old blackface Showman and the Marshall Jubilees, and my rig sounded really good. As we went to make Amorica, I started getting into vintage amps because I could finally afford them. I bought a bunch of tweed Fender Vibroluxes, I bought a really cool brownface blond Tremolux that sounded great, a ’71 50-watt Marshall that sounded really good – just random amps – a Gretsch, a couple of Supros, things like that.

By the time we recorded Amorica, our engineer had gotten to know Mark Sampson, when he was still building amps one by one, and I bought five or six from him… maybe more. We each bought two Clubman amps, and he made us each a Chieftan. They were really, really well-made, great-sounding amps, and we got into the different tones. I used them to record all of Three Snakes and One Charm, and Amorica. Then I got into the Harry Joyce stuff after someone told me Harry was making amps again. He made all of Pete Townshend and David Gilmour’s amps, and I always loved their tones. So I called HiWatt to check it out, and they sent me an amp, and it just sounded great. So I stuck with that for awhile.

But now, there’s all these really cool boutique-amp companies making great amps. Wayne Jones at Headstrong amps is really good. I use one of his 30-watt amps. And 65 Amps made me this cool 55-watt amp with one channel. It sounds really good. I use all of them to get my sound. It’s not always simple, but it needs to sound basic.

How many amps do you have at home, and how many do you take on tour?
Well, on tour I have the Headstrong, the 65, and my Marshall Silver Jubilee. At home, I have three different-sized Supros, some Wizard amps; one is a hybrid with two transformers and sounds like two amps in one. One of them sounds more like a Showman, and one sounds more like the Silver Jubilee. They’re great-sounding amps. Then I have some Orange amps, a new Fender tweed Twin that sounds really good, three tweed Tremoluxes, a couple of original tweed Bassmans, the Matchless stuff, that ’71 Marshall… there’s tons of stuff.

Two of my Matchless combos just got stolen, which really pisses me off.

Where were they when they disappeared?
In my storage space. Someone walked in and took them out of the cases and put the cases back. They’re custom-made, covered in tweed, and they sounded great.

There was other stuff there they could have stolen, but didn’t?
Yeah, it doesn’t make any sense. It was like someone knew what they were. Maybe they thought we wouldn’t miss them for awhile… I don’t know.

From day one, the Crowes have been compared to the Rolling Stones. But what are some other influences on the band’s sound?
Mick Jagger is a huge one; I love the way he plays guitar and writes songs. Sly and the Family Stone is another huge influence, and always has been. Then there’s The Faces, Crosby, Stills, and Nash… all the bands we grew up listening to – Parliament, Joe Cocker, The Jeff Beck Group, the Byrds, the Beatles… Gram Parsons, all of that is in there.

And then you’ve got the whole Led Zeppelin thing…
The minute we played with Jimmy [Page, to record 2000’s Live at the Greek, a mix of Led Zeppelin covers and other blues songs], people started comparing us to them. All of a sudden it was “They’ve always ripped off Zeppelin!”

Are there any comparisons you’ve heard through the years that didn’t make sense, in your opinion?
Well, I was 19 or 20 when we recorded Shake Your Money Maker, and I’d been playing guitar for only four or five years. When you’re young and don’t have a lot of experience, you wear your influences on your sleeve. So there we were, making our first album, and we wanted it to be our Beggar’s Banquet or Exile On Main Street! But with Southern Harmony, our sound became our own. After that, when people started comparing Amorica to the Stones, or even Three Snakes, the comparisons just started getting really silly. It’s like the dips***s had never really listened to these records; Amorica and Three Snakes had nothing to do with the Rolling Stones. If you listen to those albums, they’re completely different. Lions has nothing to do with the Stones; I mean, By Your Side was more of a straight-ahead rock and roll album.

If you look at our career, because our first two records were so successful, that’s what everyone reverts to. But we really took a left turn with our songs, and really pushed ourselves and tried to do different things. But because of the laziness or ignorance of some journalists, so many of our other the influences were never discussed. As we got away from the Stones thing, we really got away from it.

The big news these days is that you’re getting set to make a new album. Are you planning on playing all the guitars yourself?
Well, Paul (Stacy, the band’s producer and touring co-guitarist) is going to be there, so we’ll see what happens. It just depends on everyone’s schedule and what they want to do. Everything is up in the air right now.

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Rich’s (main) Axes
Three guitars (LEFT) have been Rich Robinson’s go-to axes since the earliest days of the Black Crowes. His ’70s Fender Custom Telecaster was the first serious guitar he bought, followed by his longtime primary guitar, a ’68 Telecaster with a humbucker that had already been installed when he acquired it. He removed its Bigsby vibrato while the Crowes were recording their first album. The Les Paul was also “altered” by the time Robinson bought it.

Stay up to date with Rich at http://richrobinson.net

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The latest album from guitarist Mark Elf shot to the top of the jazz charts, but the route to success for Mark Elf Returns 2014 wasn’t so easy.

“I was supposed to record in December of 2012, but Superstorm Sandy hit; my house and many others were flooded. I lost everything on the first floor and spent eight or nine months fixing it.”

Post-clean-up, Elf turned to Kickstarter to raise money for the album. “I’ve done most of my dates like that; I don’t want to entrust my recordings or give my masters to anyone. They’re too valuable. I keep my publishing, my masters – everything.”

Elf spent the first 10 years of his life in New York, seven in California, then moved back. He got the guitar bug as a teen; for his 13th birthday, he was given a Kay.

“I put a pickup on it and turned my dad’s Grundig short-wave radio into an amplifier, which he did not appreciate,” he said.

After playing in rock bands, he started working in a music store, which led to lessons with jazz stalwarts Chuck Wayne and Barry Galbraith. At 17, he knew he wanted to make his living as a jazz guitarist.

“I started going to a club where Billy Mitchell, the tenor-sax player in Basie’s band, had a Thursday-night gig. I sat in, and was getting exposed to all these good players coming through. That’s where it really started. Billy would take me to other gigs. It was the best ‘school’ I could go to.”

Frustration with airlines led Elf to the guitars he now plays. “When I was touring, it got almost impossible to take my D’Aquisto with me because the airlines started cracking down. I remember times I actually had to buy a separate ticket for my guitar.” A chance meeting with luthier James DeCava solved his problem. “I told him I was looking to find someone to build an instrument I’d endorse and could take on the road. He built one that became my road guitar, and recently built another for me. They’re basically knock-offs of my D’Aquisto; I didn’t want to reinvent the wheel or feel like I was playing a different instrument. He calls it the Mark Elf Custom Classic.”

Elf’s favorite amp is a Polytone Mini-Brute II he bought as a replacement for another he accidentally left on a street corner. “I realized I had left it sitting there, and by the time I drove around the block, it was gone!” In studio, he also uses a Fender Concert, citing its clean sound.

Guitar education is important to Elf, and serves as the primary purpose for his website. “I spent five years shooting and editing more than 650 tutorial videos, and I have chats with students from all over the world. It’s for jazz guitarists at all levels, and a nice way to help spread the music that was so generously shared with me when I was younger.”

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This article originally appeared in VG‘s March 2015 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

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Jazz guitarist Johnny Smith died at his home June 11, 2013, two weeks shy of his 91st birthday. Arguably the most respected and revered guitarist of the modern era (1950 to present), Smith was sincerely humble and reserved about his extraordinary talent.

In 1999, his peers and friends celebrated his career with a gala at Hunter College where virtually every big-name jazz guitarist honored him, and he graciously endured the tribute’s speeches, performances, and testimonials. Typical of his sincere modesty, Smith’s reaction to the affair was, “I wish there had been a big rock onstage so I could have crawled under it.”

One endorsement of his artistic gravitas was the bestowal of the Smithsonian Institution’s James Smithson Bicentennial Award, “…in grateful recognition for your contributions to American music.”

Smith was born in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1922. The Great Depression forced his family to Portland, Maine, and, by age 13 he had struck a deal with a local pawnshop whereby he kept the store’s guitars in tune as he used them to teach himself to play. Soon, he was giving lessons and playing hillbilly music with Uncle Lem and the Mountain Boys, a group that traveled the state and paid the youngster $4 per night. He heard his first Django Reinhardt record as a pre-teen and saved his nickels so he could buy every Django 78-rpm recording that was released. His folks had a Victrola which afforded only three or four plays before it wore out a disc. Still, that was enough for the talented youngster to memorize Django’s licks.

“I drove my folks crazy because I liked to listen to big-band music on the radio,” he said. “That was my best teacher – learning to coordinate harmonies with the big bands. And I got to where I could out-guess their modulations.”

Soon, he was in the Army Air Corps in hopes of realizing his dream of becoming a pilot. But because of a vision flaw in his left eye, he was given the choice of becoming a flight mechanic or joining the marching band. He opted for the band and was given a cornet and an instruction book. His intrinsic talent and dedication (hours of practice in the latrine) saw him conquer the horn and the Arban method in a couple of weeks.

Smith also used his time in the service to develop his guitar skills.

“From having to read on the trumpet, I learned what the notes were and was able to transfer them to the guitar,” he said. “I’d read everything from Kreutzer violin books, second and third trumpet books, and whatever I could find.

“Before the war, I met Charlie Christian when he came to Portland, and later I heard that great record he made with Benny [Goodman], “Airmail Special.” It was such an inspiration.

“Years later, after I’d gotten established, I remember when Django came to New York and was appearing at Café Society. Les Paul was at the Paramount. So I’d pick up Django, who was staying at the Great Northern Hotel, and take him to the Paramount. Then I’d take him back to Café Society, where he’d go to work. I’m so privileged that I got to meet him.”

Big-Time In The Big Apple
“After the war, I was back in Portland, working three gigs – at WCSH doing a daily show, playing trumpet in a pit band, and playing nights at a nightclub. The director at the affiliate, Arthur Owens, took a couple of air-checks to NBC in New York, and that’s how I got the call to become a staff member.”

But he still had to sweat out a Local 802 union card. “I’d work at NBC on a freelance basis because I didn’t have to have a card. I survived on baloney and stale bread for six months, but still, I was at the apex of live music in New York – not just 52nd Street, but everything. The three networks, NBC, ABC, and CBS, each had over 100 musicians on full-time staff. Everything was live music, right down to the commercials, and it was wonderful. And, of course, 52nd Street was door-to-door-to-door jazz. Then there was Birdland. I feel fortunate and grateful to have been there.”

Moonlight In Vermont
Along with Les Paul and Mary Ford, Smith’s 1952 hit, “Moonlight in Vermont” (with Stan Getz on sax), was a harbinger for the burgeoning popularity of guitar recordings. “I met Stan at a party and he mentioned wanting to get off the road,” said Smith. “I got him an appointment at NBC; at that time, there was one show with a big orchestra. The conductor, Roy Shields, asked if I could write an arrangement and form a combo for a once-a-week spot. The piano player, Sanford Gold, was a good friend of Teddy Reig, who owned Roulette Records. He took an air-check to Teddy, who said, ‘I’ll take a chance.’ So we recorded ‘Moonlight in Vermont’ and ‘Tabu.’

“Then, because I hadn’t had any time off since 1946, I headed to Florida for a few weeks. When I returned, ‘Moonlight in Vermont’ started happening – no promotion, no nothing, but disc jockeys were using it as background.”

Most of Smith’s albums were on the Royal Roost label, which in 1958 was absorbed by Roulette, which was owned by the notorious Morris Levy. “I don’t know who bought my records – jazz fans, guitar players, or perhaps sophisticated New York types – but most of them were panned by the ‘experts’ like Leonard Feather,” Smith said. “Of course, a lot of them, I hoped, would remain buried (laughs)! I did two albums with big string sections for Roost. Arranging and writing for strings was my biggest thrill – my great love. After that, I made three albums for Verve.

“The best recording group I ever had was George Roumanis on bass, Mousey Alexander on drums, and the extraordinary Bob Pancoast on piano, who had a completely different style and approach. On one of my albums, I featured Bob on Duke Ellington’s ‘Prelude to a Kiss.’ It’s one of the greatest things I’ve ever heard.”

Smith was known for not being happy with his recordings. “The truth is, the minute you record something, you look back and realize you could have done it better,” he said. “Regardless of the many gracious compliments I’ve received, mostly from guitar players, I’m truthful and honest with myself, and sometimes feel like they could have put me and my guitar in the men’s room.”

The vast majority of jazz guitarists disagree vehemently with Smith’s assessment of his playing.

“Johnny was simply pristine in his melodic attack,” said Sheryl Bailey. “He could play three-octave arpeggios with joyous ease and create the most gorgeous closed-position chord voicings that even the best of us develop a sweat over. But he played with a warmth and ease that was spellbinding to musicians of all instruments and styles. He transcended the guitar, and his pure and beautiful lines and harmonies were stunning. His influence will live on because it was honest and from the heart in its precision and perfection.”

“Johnny was so very important,” added Larry Coryell. “His playing was melodic, romantic, and economical, and his chord concept was unique. He played chords that were like piano voicings, with such close intervals. And his career as a studio musician in New York City is legendary. He loved classical music and incorporated it into his overall attitude. When I visited him once in Colorado Springs, he taught me a section of Ravel’s ‘Mother Goose Suite’ that was a real finger-stretcher. I mean a real stretcher – and painful! But I loved him. He was a gentleman and an enlightened soul. Plus, his version of ‘What’s New’ – those chords again – is unsurpassed.”

Smith said many times he never considered himself a jazz guitarist. “Let’s start with a category like Segovia,” he said. “Segovia was a dedicated classical guitarist. That was his whole life. The great jazz musicians I know have jazz as their only life. So that lets me out because I was involved with and loved so many different kinds of music that I couldn’t stay focused on one.”

Asked if he considered himself a commercial artist, he responded with, “No, I didn’t think in [those] terms. I could be commercial with the rest to a point, but I couldn’t go and play bad just for the sake of making a few dollars.”

All of the players queried concede Smith was a comprehensive player capable of delivering whatever a session needed, and was indeed a jazz guitarist of the first magnitude.

Hank Garland, the great Nashville session guitarist, played the lick on Elvis’ “Little Sister”– hardly a jazz song – though he also recorded the landmark Jazz Winds From a New Direction. It inspired a young George Benson, another noted player among many, such as Lee Ritenour and Earl Klugh, who can play superb jazz but produce music consumers desire. In fact, most any jazz-oriented session players, from Howard Roberts to Dennis Budimir to Bucky Pizzarelli, have recorded everything from klezmer to doo-wop. Carlos Barbosa-Lima, one of the world’s most-revered classical guitarists, said, “I admire Johnny immensely. He could play very difficult classical pieces with a pick, which was seemingly impossible. I think he could play anything on the guitar. His innate facility and plectrum technique was like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Guitars, Amps, Strings – and Attitude
For someone so identified with archtop guitars, Smith had a checkered, often unfortunate, history with his instruments. When he got the letter in Portland to report to NBC, his Gibson L-5 had been stolen from a check room. So he arrived in New York with no guitar. He met Harry Volpe, a guitarist on staff at Radio City Music Hall who also owned a music store.

“Volpe had Gretsch make me a guitar, but within a couple weeks, the neck was a roller coaster,” recalled Smith. “Then, Volpe went to Epiphone and they made me a guitar. After that, I went from unconscious ignorance to conscious ignorance (laughs) when I heard about John D’Angelico. He made me a guitar that was absolutely beautiful. But the house I was renting on Long Island burned down and, unfortunately, took my guitar and my dog.”

The predicament led to a series of Smith-designed instruments – all indicative of the guitarist’s rigid standards. “Johnny created a genre of guitars,” said studio guitarist and guitar historian Mitch Holder. “I’ve read his correspondence with Gibson’s Ted McCarty, and Johnny accepted the contract but refused the JS prototype because it had 22 frets. Just like with his D’Angelicos, he wanted only 20 frets so it would facilitate his playing style, which employed long stretches and created a mellower sound.” (Ed. Note: See sidebar for Smith biographer Lin Flanagan’s overview of his impact on guitar design.)

“John Collins had a D’Angelico that he let me use while (D’Angelico) was building me another guitar,” Smith added. “It had a neck like a plow handle, but I fell in love with it. So I had D’Angelico build him another guitar.”

By this time, Smith was a recognized guitar figure. When Gibson approached him to design and endorse a guitar, he sought advice from John D’Angelico. “He said, ‘I think you should, because I can only make so many guitars in a year.’ So I did, and Gibson released the Smith model. But I became disenchanted because they weren’t doing it right.”

Heritage, a group of builders who took over the former Gibson plant in Kalamazoo, Michigan, had Smith design a guitar. “It was fine, but they lost some of their key people and the guitars just weren’t right,” Smith said. “Then, around that time, Bill Schultz, the head guy for Fender, which had acquired the Guild Company said, ‘We’ve got this Artist Award. If you’re not happy with Heritage, would you consider endorsing this guitar?’ I said, ‘Yeah, if it’s made right.’ There was dead silence until he told me that Bob Benedetto was taking over the product and moving his operation to California. So, my thanks to Bob Benedetto, whom I consider the greatest guitar builder on the planet today. He took the reins, and the guitar is really, really lovely.”

Smith was just as candid about amplifiers and what he required. He worked with Everett Hull to design Ampeg’s Fountain of Sound amp, which was subsequently used by virtually every studio (and studio guitarist) in New York, including Art Ryerson, Bucky Pizzarelli, Don Arnone, Tony Mottola, George Barnes, and Joe Cinderella. Its speakers were aimed upward, inspired by Dizzy Gillespie’s horn, with its bent bell. “It kept the sound out of people’s ears, because in those days, people complained when things were too loud,” recalled Smith. “Today’s amps look like coke machines. So I had the speakers pointing straight up.”

Smith’s model was the JS-35, available as a 20- or 30-watt amp with a 15″ JBL speaker that sat on short legs. Smith was ahead of his time, as many guitarists today use PA or piano/accordion amps because they provide a broader palette without the heavy midrange sound of guitar amps. And many players employ amp stands that aim speakers upward. “I wrote something for a guitar magazine and they wouldn’t publish it… I said the amplifier I had made, with the Bass control full on, had less bass than a Fender amp with the Bass control full off. That’s the difference.”

Smith’s strings were unique, as well. The Gibson Sonomatic JS set came with a flatwound low E because he so often used a drop-D tuning.

“A round-wound string that heavy would chew up guitar picks something terrible.” Surprisingly, he later used Black Diamond strings. “They had this hand-burnished set – the 100s… [they were] wonderful. They stopped making them, so I sent correspondence to about every music store in the U.S. and bought every set I could find. I’ve never seen a U-Haul behind a hearse, but if there ever is such a thing, it’ll be me and my Black Diamonds (laughs)! In the old days, flatwounds were terrible; I’d prop a pencil under the strings by the nut to raise them, then take a water glass, because in those days they were so susceptible to squeaks, and just take the edge off. It got me by, but you still had to play like you were walking on eggshells.”

Chet, The Ventures, and an accident in Colorado
In addition to “Moonlight in Vermont,” Smith’s other big hit was composed while he was trying to find a counterpoint melody for the jazz standard “Softly, As In a Morning Sunrise.” This time, his hit was an original, and the manifestation of his counterpoint search was “Walk, Don’t Run,” which reached the Top 10 on Billboard twice in the early ’60s. The story behind the tune has its moments.

“Chet had an arrangement of ‘Walk, Don’t Run.’ He came to me at Birdland one night and asked if he could record it. I said, ‘Sure.’ He said, ‘No, I’m not gonna do it unless I can show you how I’m going to do it in my style.’

“So, we went back to a little dressing room at Birdland, and he played his version. I thought it was terrific. So he recorded it, and the Ventures heard his, and that’s how they came to record it. It become a big hit just when I’d had an accident in an airplane and lost the tip of my ring finger, which put me out of commission for about a year. We had a music store, but we were still building inventory and it wasn’t making any money. Without the Ventures’ recording, I don’t know if I could have survived.”

But there’s more! Jim Stafford, who charted a couple of pop hits in the ’70s, was a close friend of Atkins, and he told Stafford that while playing his version of “Walk, Don’t Run” at the Birdland that night, Smith corrected him on a few notes.

“When Chet shared that story, he had a hint of rancor in his voice because he wasn’t used to being corrected, even by the great Johnny Smith,” recalled Stafford.

Today, Stafford, a superb guitar soloist who appeared onstage with both Atkins and Smith, still incorporates passages in his arrangements as a result of studying Smith’s book, Aids to Technique. “I spent hours with that book as a teenager, and its exercises have informed my playing to the extent of their truly becoming ingrained,” he said.

Open Letter to John Williams
Another interesting controversy in Smith’s career was a letter he wrote to classical guitarist John Williams.

“I had these students at my store – the very best of our guitar students. And nearby, a theater was showing film of John Williams. I insisted the students see it, and paid their way. But in the middle came this electric-guitar putdown. I was so disappointed my students saw it, and I was so upset that I wrote a letter to John. I don’t know if he ever saw it, but I got a reply back from some company in England saying John couldn’t care less about my comments. In the letter I said that were it not for amplification, we would not be privileged to hear great artists like him and Segovia.”

Of course the irony is that later in Williams’ career, he experimented with electric guitar and sound processors as a member of the rock-fusion group Skye, and with Pete Townshend – with whom he recorded a version of the Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” for Amnesty International’s benefit show The Secret Policeman’s Ball. A press releases from the time said Williams wanted the broader attention of the rock audience.

Coda
Smith’s final tour was with Bing Crosby in 1977.

“I hated the travel and trauma of trying to get on airplanes with a guitar and amplifier,” he said of attitude by that point. “Bing died a few days after the tour finished, and I decided then that I didn’t want to do it anymore.

“I can’t think of anybody more fortunate than I am. Every dream I’ve ever had has come true. When I was young, I dreamed of playing with great musicians, and that came true. I dreamed of being able to fly my own airplane, and fishing for marlin on my own boat, and that came true. I always dreamed of living in a beautiful part of the country, and that came true. I never dreamed of getting rich, so I didn’t have to worry about that (laughs)!”
Special thanks to Lin Flanagan and Mitch Holder for their invaluable contributions to this profile.

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This article originally appeared in VG November 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

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Musicians being artists and artists needing to express themselves, it says something that Will Lee’s new album, Love, Gratitude & Other Distractions, is only his second in 20 years (his first was 1993’s Oh!).

Mostly, it speaks to the fact that since James Brown is no longer with us, Lee may well now be the “Hardest Working Man in Show Business”; his bread-and-butter gig has long been helping bandleader Paul Shaffer back David Letterman on the famed TV talk show at the Ed Sullivan Theater in midtown Manhattan, where for three hours each weekday, he and several hundred other people watch Letterman tell jokes, read a “Top 10” list, and talk to (mostly) famous people. When the show goes to commercial, Shaffer, Lee, and company entertain the audience with a few pop songs.

Most weekends find Lee jamming with Jimmy Vivino (VG, July ’13) and a few other friends in Fab Faux, a renowned Beatles tribute act they formed in 1998. Pile on his frequent session work and that leaves precious little time for solo projects.

Lee, 61, grew up in a family of musicians. His father taught jazz and for 18 years served as dean at the University of Miami’s music school. His first instrument was piano, followed by violin, trumpet, and French horn. But, typical of kids of his generation, The Beatles on their first “Ed Sullivan Show” in 1964 nearly pushed those instruments from his mind, and toward drums, then the electric bass, which he studied at Miami.

While attending college, he worked locally until 1971, when he joined the New York jazz-rock band Dreams with trumpeter Randy Brecker, jumping aboard in time to help the group record its second album, Imagine My Surprise. Not long after, he began working with a list of artists that eventually included Bette Midler, Barry Manilow, B.J. Thomas, David Sanborn, Boz Scaggs, Carly Simon, Frank Sinatra, Spyro Gyra, Ringo Starr, Steely Dan, Cat Stevens, and Barbra Streisand.

In 1975, Brecker and his brother, Michael, asked Lee to join them in a new funk-fusion group, The Brecker Brothers Band, where he stayed for a few years before joining guitarist Hiram Bullock and drummer Steve Jordan in The 24th Street Band. That unit released three albums that proved very popular in Japan. From that band, Lee, Bullock, and Jordan were hired by Shaffer to play with Letterman beginning in early ’82.

One of the millions who were watching “The Ed Sullivan Show” on that fateful night in February of ’64 (when the Beatles made their first U.S. television appearance), Lee has lived the babyboomer-musician’s dream by at various points sharing a stage with three Beatles. And, he’s perpetually tickled by the fact he goes to work every day in the joint where that band played that night. “I gave Paul McCartney a hug when his son, James, was on Letterman,” Lee recalled. “Being in the Sullivan Theater, I told him, ‘Welcome home!’”

Lee’s new album, Love, Gratitude & Other Distractions, features original songs rendered with help from guitar slingers Steve Lukather, Pat Metheny, Billy Gibbons, Leni Stern, and Oz Noy, along with several other top-tier musicians including Shaffer.

“It’s a lot of fun,” he says of the disc. “I usually like listening to it, and there’s nothing better than when someone tells you they feel something when they hear it.”

Is there any particular reason you waited 20 years between solo albums?
I think because I was working (laughs!) It’s funny though, all these song ideas fill my brain to the point I just can’t do my day-to-day work anymore! They drive me nuts and I’ve got to get them out. In the back of my mind, I was always ready to start another album, but it took a certain spark, which was the recording of “Miss Understanding.” That song was done at a songwriter’s circle where we were playing original tunes in front of an audience, and somebody recorded it. I sent the file to a drummer I wanted to hear it, and he liked it so much he put a track to it. That was the genesis.

The album mixes funk and jazz but has a pretty strong pop vibe…
If I had to call it a genre, I’d say it’s “s**t I like.” I have a bunch of ideas for songs in the works for the next one – another plethora of stuff – and as much as I’d like to say, “I’m gonna do a funk album,” I think I’d lose interest. I like having a bunch of irons in the fire; I can’t focus on one song for too long.

How did you choose guitar players for the guest spots?
I just thought about who’d be perfect for each song. In the case of Billy Gibbons, it was interesting. In the midst of doing the album, I woke up one morning with the song “Get Out Of My Life Woman” in my brain, then the phone rang; “It’s Gibbons. I’m in town.” I said, “What are you doing tonight? Do you want to come over and sing ‘Get Out of My Life Woman’ with me?” And he goes, “I got a terrible cold – let’s get this recorded before it goes away.” He was so happy that I asked him because of his f***ed up voice that day! I can’t imagine any other singer having that reaction. And the song is really strong – a good juxtaposition of two voices. It reminds me of Sam and Dave, or maybe more Allison Krauss and Robert Plant.

So, the track happened fairly spontaneously?
Very spontaneously. Luckily, guys in New York really hustle, because as soon as Billy said, “I want to do this,” I got on the phone with drummer Shawn Pelton and told him, “I have Gibbons coming over tonight to sing this song, can you do me a drum track that sounds like this, at about this tempo?” (makes a click-track sound) Shawn was running to yoga class at the time, but remembered the beat and the tempo and sent me a loop. We cut it up a little to create different sections, but it all happened so quickly; it was one of those miraculous things. And it continued when I called Allen Toussaint and said, “Hey, are you gonna be in New York?” He said, “Next week.” And I said, “How would you feel about playing some piano on that tune you wrote?” And he was up for it. It was one of those amazing, organic things that happened without a lot of sitting down or outlining and stressing over.

How about the Steve Lukather track?
Luke and I have been really good friends since before Toto. He and Jeff Porcaro used to call me when they were forming the band and say, “Hey, we want you to move out [to L.A.] to be in this band.” I kept saying, “I love you guys for asking, but I’m doing really good in New York. Thanks anyway.” But we’ve remained good friends and I was lucky to be on a few sessions and some live stuff with him.

On his track, “The Natives are Restless,” I was trying to get this energetic feeling. It’s a song about how we’re f***ing up the environment and how we’re having to scramble just to survive – floods, fires, unpredictable weather, and all that stuff. So I thought it would be great to have Luke blaze a solo to help illustrate. Sure enough, he did a great job.

And Metheny?
Yeah, Metheny’s on the record, uncredited. My father gave him a scholarship to the University of Miami, and he has always felt very thankful. I played on his album, Secret Story, and we’ve always had a mutual admiration. So I wrote a little solo section with him in mind for “Gratitude,” the first song on the album. I requested that he use that sound of that synth guitar – a very horn-like sound. I thought it would bring something to it and boy did he ever bring it home.

“Simple Way to Say I Love You” and “Smile” are bass solo/melody tracks.
“Simple Way” is a song I wrote for John Tropea’s album years ago. I was producing and always thought it would sound good played by a fretless player, and I found one I could afford – me! I thought it lent itself to the sound of that instrument. So I was happy to have Tropea play on it, along with Peter Erskine and Gary Schreiner, who I recently met. He plays a nice chromatic harmonica solo.

Which instrument did you use on it?
I think I used my vintage Fender Precision-turned-Jazz. Somewhere in its life, I had Sadowsky put EMG pickups in it, way before he was making basses, and luthier Woody Phifer filed down the frets.

How about “Smile”?
It’s funny, I had figured out a bit of that song within the harmonics that were really available to my eye and ear on a bass, to the point where one night in Japan, while playing with Hiram Bullock, he had a technical breakdown and there was time to fill. So I started playing that melody. Being onstage with Hiram was always fertile ground for creativity, and it was in Japan, where the open-mindedness of the people is enough to make you take chances you’d never take anywhere else. I hadn’t really thought the song through, but my fingers found some spots; some of it worked, some of it didn’t, and the parts that did, I remembered – luckily.

The thing that really turned it into music was Chuck Loeb and the amazing soundscape he created with his great harmonic knowledge. It makes it sound legit, I think.

Which basses and amps do we hear on the record?
The only time there was an amp used, it was my Ampeg Micro-VR, which is really cool. I use it in my studio, to test basses and practice, once in a while to record. I needed it to bring out some harmonics on “Papounet’s Ride.”

I used a Pedulla fretless five-string, and for a few of the tunes, and an early-’60s P-Bass, mostly with flat wounds. That’s on “Get Out of My Life Woman” and “Miss Understanding.” I’m sure I used the Sadowsky 5 on “Simple Way to Say I Love You,” but that melody is being played on the fretless Fender. I used my four-string Sadowsky signature on the rest.

What about the Letterman gig has kept you there for 31 years?
Oh man, it’s such a great gig. I get to sit there and watch a really great TV show and a great comedy show happening while keeping my hands on my instrument, keeping my chops up. I hate practicing on my own, and it’s a great excuse to not practice!

And, you’ve been doing Fab Faux for 15 years.
Yeah, same five guys. It’s pretty amazing. We’re still spelunking, we’re still…we still have our shovels out, trying to dig for what the real elements are that made these songs so great. We’re still picking them apart to try to find the right notes and parts and instruments and sounds.

How do you work the set with that band?
Yeah, we try to make it a roller-coaster ride, unless we need to package something into a theme of some sort, which sells tickets but may not be the best show. It’s more fun when we jump between eras – play a psychedelic song, then go back to a Cavern song and move it all over the place.

Did you start noodling on guitar after you saw the Beatles, or did you opt first for bass?
It was drums, actually, because my father had given me a drum kit when I was six or seven – a totally happening Leedy/WFL Ludwig kit. I didn’t have the first idea what I wanted to do with it until the Beatles played Sullivan. As soon as that show was over, I started practicing.

Banging out Beatles’ songs?
There was a lot of stuff going on. We had the Beach Boys, we had the Ventures, which was a great outlet for us kids who didn’t have any microphones and everybody plugged into one amp.

What was your first gig?
There was an outdoor park where a Catholic youth organization had a picnic and needed a band they could pay six bucks per man.

Once a fretted instrument caught your interest, was it guitar or bass?
It was bass, by default, because there were no bass players our age – there were plenty of guitar players and drummers. 12-year-olds don’t have much sense of the function of the bass, but it seemed to me we’d be a cooler band if we had a fuller sound. So, like an idiot, I volunteered. Of course, I soon realized it was impossible to play bass and sing at the same time. That’s another thing I had to figure out.

What was your first bass and amp?
Something my father bought me for Christmas – a Kalamazoo amp, and a no-name Japanese bass. It was very brown, with not the loveliest headstock.

Being a jazzer and a music educator, was your dad okay with immersing yourself in pop music?
Yeah, I don’t think he saw me as a really disciplined kid. But when he bought that bass, he knew I wanted the white Fender Precision in the music-store window, and the fact that he didn’t buy it for me probably was the best thing he could have done, because after waking up Christmas morning and seeing that goofy bass, I knew I’d have to earn the Precision somehow. And when I did, it was a much better feeling than just having it handed to me.

How long did it take?
A couple/three months – and it was still in the store for some reason. It was such a beautiful thing!

Do you still have it?
No, it had been through too many LSD-inspired incarnations, I think (laughs) – sanding the finish down to the wood, changing pickups. I might have just traded it for a better-sounding P-Bass because it really wasn’t that great. It was just beautiful, and at the time I didn’t know much about tone. I’m still learning about that!

Speaking of, what was your first decent amp?
I had an early Bassman that had everything going for it – the Tolex gave off the most delicious scent, and when I hit the Standby switch, I was off and running. But for me, being a pocket player, the first thing that really got my rocks off was a solidstate Standel. It was instant – the note came out at the exact moment you played it, and that felt really good. I don’t know if it was because I was used to playing drums or if I just wanted to be able to not have to anticipate the note. In fact, once I started becoming a studio musician in New York, I’d have the engineer split my track so he could get direct signal from me or whatever and do whatever he wanted to with compression and all the beautiful-sounding tube stuff and feed me the unaffected direct track so I could really be in the pocket with the drums.

Is there a particular type of music you prefer to listen to when you’re not working?
There are really two kinds of music, right? I like the good kind! I get something out of any music that grooves and isn’t out of tune! I like it all, I love what we’re doing with the Fab Faux – I never seem to tire of doing Beatles songs. I love what Jimmy Vivino does, his passion is the blues and I love that whole thing. I love jazz because both my parents were jazzers. I didn’t really want to be the same kind of musician as my father, who was locked into bebop city, you know? I grew up in Texas, and he hated country music. I never hated it – I couldn’t, for some reason. He didn’t see harmonicas as musical instruments, but I couldn’t hate the harmonica, because to me it depends on who’s blowing into it. If you’re Howard Levy, you can get all the notes. And if you don’t want to go for all the notes, that’s fine, that’s called ‘taste in space.’”

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This article originally appeared in VG November 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.

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