Like a Swiss Army knife, the multifunction Metal Pedals JH-3 Johnny Hiland has more options than you’d expect in such a small package.
Hiland, solo artist and session man for folks from Toby Keith to Hank III, was so inspired after playing through Metal Pedals’ Bomb Shell distortion (VG, June 2011), that he offered his working-man’s ideas for a variation on the design.
The resulting hand-wired (in the U.S.A.) JH-3 has the expected Gain and Volume controls, supplemented by Treble, Mid, and Bass controls, and a noise-reduction circuit for heavier gain stages. Housed in a rugged aluminum box with a sensible layout and an image of Hiland (perhaps a bit less seductive than the Bomb Shell graphic!), when plugged into a Fender Blues Junior and with its Gain and Volume knobs at 3 o’clock, the JH-3 offered plenty of fat, sustained distortion. The tonal controls functioned as subtle shaping tools, without radically EQ’ing the sound – rather tweaking their respective sonic ranges, allowing the amp’s controls to define a bass-, mid-, or treble-heavy sound.
With the JH-3’s Gain knob at 12 o’clock, blues lines and country picking were fluid and defined, with great sustain. Sustained power chording and advancing the Gain knob created more satisfying crunch, but also activated upper harmonics, and not just the predictable octave and two octaves up. The JH-3 allowed each note to have some clarity even through the pulsating sound. Maxing out the Gain resulted in a power-chord sound thick enough to butter bread. Backing off the guitar’s Tone knobs resulted in a “woman tone” with warmth and sustain that conjured images of the Ultimate Earth Mother.
Hiland’s day gig requires a little country-treble snap in his arsenal, so it’s no surprise that single-coil tones also benefited from the JH-3, with tones ranging from a sustained twang perfect for slinky double-stop bends to a full-throated chainsaw snarl. It sounded downright orchestral through a Holy Grail Reverb using volume-swell techniques.
The JH-3’s noise-reduction circuit is effective in reducing 60-cycle hum and focusing the response from a Vox wah while decreasing the racket from other pedals.
Despite its load of options, the Metal Pedals JH-3 is nonetheless intuitive, inspired as it is by the needs of a performing guitarist.
This article originally appeared in VGMarch 2015 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
After moving to England and leaving behind the vintage Fender Deluxe he modified as a gigging amp, Jesse Hoff decided to build a new amplifier from scratch, using the modded Deluxe as his inspiration. After many requests from other players for one for his tweed-inspired creations, Hoff began the Lazy J Project, building amps to customer specs.
The Lazy J 20 has a solid-pine finger-jointed cabinet with a plywood baffle, a lacquered tweed covering, a Celestion G12 Blue 12″ alnico driver, a pair of EHX 6L6 power tubes, a 5AR4 rectifier tube, and a pair of 12AX7 preamp tubes. For those looking for more traditional Tweed Deluxe performance with less power-amp headroom and more output sag, the Lazy J 20 can also accommodate 6V6 power tubes and a 5Y3 rectifier without the need to re-bias. Under its hood, the J 20 sports all point-to-point circuits utilizing top-notch components like Heyboer transformers, CTS pots, Sprague filter caps, and Switchcraft jacks.
On the surface the Lazy J 20 looks like a typical narrow-panel Deluxe-inspired boutique amp. However, it happens to have several hidden treasures, the first of which is evident on the control panel. Along with the Bright and Normal channel dual inputs, corresponding Volume controls, and master Tone control is Lazy J’s optional Variable Attenuation Control (VAC) in place of the ground switch, a feature which allows the player to seamlessly dial the amp’s output down from 18 watt to 5 watts. Inspection of the amp’s back side reveals a tube-driven tremolo unit with Speed and Intensity controls and a tube-driven spring-reverb unit with Volume and Tone controls. At first, housing the reverb and tremolo in the back of the amp might seem a bit inconvenient for making adjustments, but the Lazy J comes with a dual-button footswitch to turn both units on and off, as well as corresponding controls to adjust tremolo speed and reverb depth on the fly.
The Lazy J 20 test unit was put through its paces with a Fender Custom Shop ’60s Strat and a Gibson Les Paul ’54 reissue. The bridge pickups in both produced a crisp, lively tone where open chords rang with overtones, while single notes jumped. The amp displayed a nice amount of gig-worthy headroom with the 6L6 tubes, and backing down on the guitars’ Volume controls cleaned things up nicely without losing life. The J 20’s single Tone control is very well-voiced, offering anything from bright and crispy to dark and round, and has the bonus of a subtle but effective push/pull mid boost to fatten the sound of the Strat’s single-coils.
Two interactive channels with independent Volume controls affected the sound regardless of which channel the guitar was plugged into, not only adding a bit of gain but a nice midrange boost that thickened the tone when both Volume knobs were dialed in. In addition, the Lazy J was capable of some seriously crunchy overdrive with both volumes cranked up and the tone set to the treble side. The neck pickups on both guitars had a tendency to loosen up the low-end on the amp and make it wash out with the volumes turned up, but this was easily rectified with another of the J 20’s features: a subtle but very effective low-cut toggle switch nestled between the two preamp tubes. Once overall volume shifted to the loud side, the Lazy J’s VAC attenuator brought it down without negatively affecting overall tone or the thickness of the overdrive. The optional tube-driven reverb had that classic Fender sound – clean and crisp, with a warm decay to accommodate anything from super-drenched surf licks to subtle, laid-back blues. The optional tremolo circuit likewise does not disappoint, with its thick, smooth, and slightly dirty effect that’s not overly choppy and doesn’t eat up a lot of gain or overall volume.
The J 20 certainly lives up to its “deluxe” inspiration, with outstanding tone and a host of nicely conceived features.
This article originally appeared in VG September 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Lee Ritenour’s career accomplishments are the stuff of greatness. With thousands of classic recording sessions and more than 40 albums bearing his own name, Ritenour continues to work his magic straddling the world of jazz, rock, fusion, and Latin music.
Ritenour’s Yamaha Six String Theory Guitar Competition recently came to a close, and 16-year-old guitarist Shon Boublil was crowned the winner. Boublil bested 13 competitors from around the world and won a scholarship to the Berklee School of Music. He also gets an endorsement deal from Yamaha guitars and will make a guest appearance on Ritenour’s Six String Theory CD.
Along with Rit, the album features Keb’ Mo’, B.B. King, George Benson, Taj Mahal, Steve Lukather, John Scofield, Joe Bonamassa, Pat Martino, Mike Stern, Neal Schon, Slash, Vince Gill, Jonny Lang, Andy McKee, Joe Robinson, Guthrie Govan, and Shon Boublil.
What’s it like judging guitarists with such a high level of musicianship?
It wasn’t easy, especially since we did something that was quite unusual. We had six different styles being represented. So at the end of the story it was very difficult to have the parameters of how you pick one guitarist over another who plays completely different stylistically. We were also judging how well they were doing within their own genre, and how well they were fairing against the others when it finally got down to the top six.
The guitarists were amazing, but the judges had a tough job.
A couple of guitar players I thought were in the running earlier who had done really well in the first round, didn’t do quite as well in the second round, and that’s sort of the nature of the beast. I’ve done judging of guitar competitions a couple of times; I did one at the Montreux Jazz Festival two years in a row and it was exactly the same thing. The first round, some guys really shine. The second round… didn’t go so well. Then some other guy came roaring through.
Do you think the quality of the performances differ from round to round because of song choices or nerves?
I can pinpoint a couple guys who were pure nerves. But I can also pinpoint a couple who maybe didn’t think they would get that far and were not as prepared on their second tune. Or they picked a vehicle that didn’t feature themselves as much. [Players need to consider] all the parameters of what could happen. Sometimes, experience will do that, and sometimes it’s just the pure artistry of the particular guitarist.
Being seasoned helps…
That didn’t hold true with our winner. He’d only been playing the guitar for five years, but his nerves were rock-steady. He played his hardest piece second and it was a seven-minute extravaganza. I think he had probably played them in competitions before, or at concerts. The other guitarists, I’m sure, played their pieces before in public, as well. It was nice because the top six were all winners within their category, and all fine guitarists.
Talk about the Six String Theory album.
It’s my concept from beginning to end, but I’m not on every tune. I am on quite a few of the pieces. There’s 15 songs in all and 20 guitarists represented.
Including the winner of the competition.
Absolutely. Shon did a beautiful job. His tone on classical guitar is wonderful and we might wind up putting his song at the end of the album, right after Guthrie Govan, which is a bit of a dichotomy. He did an awesome track called “Five.”
You’ve got a ton of great artists on this recording, from John Scofield to B.B. King.
What I love about it is that it doesn’t sound like a bunch of guitar players just shredding and showing off. It’s a very musical record. I kept the arranging and the orchestration rhythm-section oriented. It’s really just keyboards, bass, and drums. Most of the time, the accompaniment instrument is organ, so it has a thematic rhythm section. The guitars, because there are so many different colors and sounds, were the orchestration and color. The tunes are cool, the playing is cool, and it’s really a shared experience. I think anyone can enjoy the album tremendously. It’s not just for guitar players.
Sounds like it’s varied, as well, with Vince Gill, George Benson, and Neal Schon.
It has a lot of variety. There’s some combinations probably never heard; Steve Lukather, Neal Schon, and I play one tune and jam at the end. Lukather and I are on a couple – we wrote one together called “In Your Dreams,” which is a big rock ballad. It’s one of the strongest tunes on the record. We’re also covering “Shape Of My Heart” by Sting. There’s four or five tunes I’m heavily featured on, along with the other guitar players. And I’m playing rhythm guitar on a number of other tracks.
On the B.B. King track “Why I Sing The Blues,” we have B.B. King, Keb’ Mo’, Vince Gill, and Jonny Lang playing and singing, with me on rhythm guitar. Joe Bonamassa and Robert Cray do the Tracy Chapman tune “Give Me One Reason.”
Pat Martino is on the record, too.
That’s a great track. It’s organ-based, with Joey DeFrancesco, Will Kennedy, myself, and Pat. It’s a tune I wrote called “LP” which has sort of a double meaning. Lee and Pat, but it’s also written for Les Paul. I wrote the melody with kind of a modern version of Les Paul in mind. It’s a pretty uptempo be-bop tune with Pat and I soloing with Joey DeFrancesco. Most of the album was cut live with the guitarists in the room which was really a blessing.
This article originally appeared in VG December 2010 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Since bursting on the scene with its Visual Volume, Tennessee-based Visual Sound has earned a reputation for sounding great and for solid construction.
The company has introduced the next step in its series of redesigned dual-function pedals with the H20 V3 Liquid Chorus and VS-XO Premium Dual Overdirve.
Along with a new look/housing that takes up less real estate on a pedalboard come connection points that are well-conceived and make for a more-natural wiring flow and more flexibility than the bigger box. The H20 V3 also has significant updates in its chorus and echo sections. The chorus has Speed, Width, and Depth knobs similar to many chorusing effects on the market, as well as mini slider switches to control Intensity and Detune. The Detune function, in particular, is extremely useful for miming classic analog chorusing sounds of the ’70s and ’80s. The chorus section has mini knobs to control tone and chorus/vibrato, a welcome addition. Tones can even be dialed in between the sections for further sonic explorations.
The H20 V3’s echo section also features some notable changes. In addition to Delay, Repeat, and Level knobs, there’s a slider switch for short and long delays, while the controlled oscillation brings the echo effects to new heights. As with previous H20s, the V3 has individual true bypass switching for each effect. New separate inputs and outputs allow the effects to be wired in any order. Don’t worry, though – there’s a default connection point so that they don’t have to be wired separately, thus saving on cabling.
The VS-XO Premium Dual Overdrive is similar in construction to the H20 V3 and also offers flexible inputs and outputs and true bypass switching for each effect. This is where the similarities end. The VS-XO is indeed a “premium dual overdrive.” There are separate Drive, Tone, and Level controls for each side, and the right channel has a different EQ curve that makes it a bit more midrange-heavy without getting honky. There are also separate three-way switches for bass voicings and clipping diodes. The right channel has a Clean/Mix mini knob, and the left has a Bass knob.
The VS-XO’s versatility stands out immediately because the EQ curve for each channel has a very different sonic voice. Players of virtually any genre will find these settings useful for the gentlest of breakup or full-on overdriven lust. The warmth on both sides summoned by just the basic knobs makes this a very useful pedal, but from there it just gets better. The three-way Bass switch adds welcome girth to the midrange for heavier sounds, and each position makes way for numerous possibilities. The different clipping settings also demonstrate that, in addition to guitars, this box is perfect for basses and analog keyboards.
The real bonus comes from the Clean/Mix knob. Roll the right channel all the way over to clean for a clean boost for leads. The left channel can be driven harder by the right channel for much higher gain overdrives. Use the clean boost for a unique tone or drive into Drive for a full-on freight train of tone. The left channel is the more useful side for a main bass overdrive setting as it can fur up while retaining the low end needed to drive a group.
All in all, Visual Sound is making strides without losing sight of what has made them successful. The new housing designs will please players, and the new sounds are all top-shelf. The H20 V3 is sure to continue its legacy as a classic, while the VS-XO should join the ranks of boxes to be reckoned with.
This article originally appeared in VG October 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
From the Land of the Rising Sun, Providence pedals have been building an audience among players in the Western Hemisphere thanks to a buzz regarding their versatility and stout construction. Indeed, two of Providence’s more popular overdrive/distortion units, the Silky Drive (SLD-1F) and Stampede DT (SDT-2), generate wide swaths of tones that most electric guitarists find useful.
At first blush, the Silky Drive is reminiscent of the classic Ibanez Tube Screamer TS9, with three potentiometers (Level, Tone, and Drive) laid out in a similar pattern. The first key difference that becomes apparent, however, is a Gain Boost button that pushes the Silky Drive from a medium overdrive sound to chunky distortion. In addition, the Silky Drive offers something called “Vitalizer,” a noiseless switching circuit that adapts to the instrument’s output, ensuring that the original signal is uncompromised. Gain Boost and Vitalizer result in a stompbox with higher fidelity and more transparent sound than a TS9, ideal for pushing the front end of a vintage amp into smooth, natural distortion.
The Stampede DT picks up where the Silky Drive leaves off. A four-knob design, it features more of a butt-shaking bottom end (think 4×12 cabinet) and a wider range of distortion, from medium overdrive to all-out, end-of-the-world fuzz. Inside, the Stampede’s up-converter circuitry creates an internal operating voltage that is higher than the output of the battery (all Providence pedals are shipped with a specially made 9-volt), resulting in a greater dynamic spectrum, less background noise, and sounds that range from gritty to explosive (but which are all very usable). While many overdrive or distortion pedals are great for lead work, they can mush out when pressed into rhythm service, muddling arpeggiated chords. This is not the case with the Silky Drive or Stampede DT, both of which retain the definition of individual notes in chord work, making them ideal for rhythm and lead.
The Silky Drive and Stampede DT also feature a double-contact grounding circuit that provides two points of contact to the pedal’s ground circuit for 1/4″ jacks. The pedals are AC adapter-compatible and come encased in heavy-duty MXR-size boxes.
This article originally appeared in VG March 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
1913 William A. Cole Eclipse Professional Special. Photo: Michael Wright.
Straight-from-the-catalog instruments are fun – and reassuring – because you know exactly what you’ve got. But there’s another kind of thrill – and satisfaction – when you find something that’s totally off the radar, something that presents a mystery to be solved, like this circa 1913 Cole’s Eclipse banjo, which sports a Washburn headstock and atypical decoration!
The Cole brothers, William A. and Frank E., were based in Boston and played a very important role in the first golden age of “classic” banjos at the end of the 19th century. The city was, according to many banjo enthusiasts, one of the two key centers of banjo-making during that period (the other being Philadelphia; New York and Chicago were important more for manufacturing prowess than design innovation at the time).
The Philly school was led by Samuel Swaim (with an “m”) Stewart, who probably did more than anyone to popularize – and legitimize – the banjo. He famously favored wood-rimmed banjos with metal-clad “spunover” construction where a sheath of shiny metal was wrapped around the outside and curled or rolled over the top edge to let the head sit atop a kind of hollow tube.
The Boston school (likely preferred by modern players) was more into developing various types of “tone rings” – metal rings of various designs that sit on top of the rim, between the head and wooden shell. They can be round or scalloped, solid or hollow – whatever the particular inventor thinks will improve the banjo’s sound. The evolution of tone rings is one of the central themes in modern banjo history. The main leaders of this arena were Albert Conant Fairbanks and the Cole brothers.
Banjos, invented by slaves, became popular in white America (and England) in the two decades preceding the Civil War, when blackface minstrelsy was created and spread, marking the beginnings of what would become Vaudeville. They came on even stronger following that conflagration, eventually invading the parlors of even the most polite society.
One of those parlors was that of a family in Sterling, Massachusetts, where A.C. Fairbanks (born 1852) was attracted to the banjo. He moved to Boston and began building banjos in 1875.
By the 1890s, W.A. Cole was performing as part of the successful Imperial Quartet, and teaching in Boston. As frequently happens, Fairbanks (the manufacturer) figured it would be convenient to team with a popular performer who could help promote his wares. In 1880, they formed Fairbanks & Cole to make banjos. During this partnership, the legendary banjo designer David L. Day joined the company. Just as Cole was ready to strike out on his own, Day invented the famous Electric tone ring. Basically this was metal ring with a flat surface that rested on the rim, and an upper edge with wide scallops with points spaced about the same as the brackets. A round steel rod sat atop the scallops and carried the skin head.
Cole continued to perform and in 1890 left Fairbanks & Cole to start W.A. Cole, Manufacturer with his younger brother, Frank, who was a cabinetmaker. Frank was in charge of banjo production, and was awarded three patents – one for a mandolin (1891), one for the Eclipse tone ring (1894) and the Cole bridge (1899).
Frank Cole’s Eclipse tone ring was no doubt a competitive response to Fairbanks’ (Day’s) highly successful Electric tone ring. The Cole’s Eclipse tone ring was equally elaborate. A square metal ring with tiny little posts sticking up (again, about the same spacing as brackets) was laid into the top of the rim. A round steel ring then sat on the posts, bearing the skin head.
Structurally speaking, the banjo you see here is regulation Cole’s Eclipse Custom Professional Special – one of their better grades. It has the Eclipse tone ring, a black-lacquered laminated mahogany rim, and one-piece mahogany neck with the so-called boat heel. The floral abalone headface inlay and pearl-diamond inlaid ebony fingerboard are also typical of that model. The head is a modern pre-mounted calfskin, and the head tuners are replacement two-band style. The dual-bridge arrangement was the Cole style, here with two reproduction Cole bridges made by Missouri bridge maker Don New. Serial number is 3951, which would place it around 1913.
Dating would tend to be confirmed by the mysterious presence of an atypical Washburn-style headstock. This anomaly may be explained when we realize that Lyon & Healy’s new line of banjos introduced in 1913 included a number of banjos sourced from Rettberg & Lange in New York and a version of the Cole’s Eclipse, albeit a different model than this banjo. However, the Cole-made Washburn banjos were badged “Washburn.” This banjo’s dowel is stamped “Cole’s Eclipse,” so the Washburn-style head mystery is unsolved.
The beautiful band of abalone dots around the bottom of the pot also remains a mystery, but thank goodness they’re there! Cole may just have wanted to differentiate this from its catalog models. Could this have been a sample or prototype made for Lyon & Healy, with dots to lend appeal and help close the deal? We’ll likely never know.
In 1904, A.C. Fairbanks burned down. Its trade names and patents were purchased by The Vega Company and became the basis of that company’s banjo line. W.A. Cole died in 1909, and Frank soldiered on until 1922, when he sold Cole to the drum maker Nokes & Nicolai, which continued to make Cole banjos. The Liberty Musical Instrument Co. of Chicago bought Cole in 1926, briefly producing Liberty (not Cole) banjos until it was taken over by Slingerland, though by that time the banjos had little resemblance to Cole’s designs.
If you had a catalog-perfect Cole’s Eclipse – even one of the Washburns – you have a handsome, fine-sounding, professional-grade banjo. But having one that’s all that plus an alluring mysterious back-story, well…
This article originally appeared in VG July 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Two of the finishes offered on the EP-200B, circa 1966. EB-200 and EP-200B: Rick Malkin.
Teisco Del Rey basses from the 1960s are exemplary of the Japanese-made instruments that swept into the American market like a tsunami during the “guitar boom” – and were the primary contributor to the demise of America’s budget-guitar industry.
Which means, of course, that an untold number of American teenagers played instruments like these.
During that era, Teisco instruments were imported from Japan by Westheimer Sales, a distributor that, for the U.S. market, changed the brand name to Teisco Del Rey.
One of the more-seen Teisco Del Rey basses thumped in garages across the country was the solidbody EB-200, a simple, short-scale instrument with practical (and interesting) aesthetic features. The headstock has an oversized silhouette that exudes an Egyptian-pharaoh vibe, and the crown on the logo plate alludes to the “Del Rey” (Spanish for “of the king”) portion of the name. The 21-fret rosewood fretboard was shown with rectangular position markers along the bass side and double blocks (one along the treble side) at the 12th fret. The bridge/tailpiece was under a plate that attached with a single screw. Under the top edge of the plate was a piece of grayish-green foam that muted the strings.
(LEFT) The Teisco Del Rey EB-200. (RIGHT) An EB-220 with brushed-metal pickguard. EB-220: courtesy of Mike Gutierrez.
A four-page Teisco Del Rey brochure from early 1965 described the two rocker switches as “individual noiseless velvet touch on/off switches” that controlled “Two ultra high sensitive pickups.” The text further notes that, “Brushed satin metal plates protect the body finish,” a reference to not only the pickguard, but a plate on the headstock (which, on some instruments, was white plastic).
By the following year, many Teisco Del Rey solidbody guitars and basses (and associated brands) were given striped brushed-metal pickguards; their matte finish applied to reflect light in two directions. By ’66, the headstock of most Teisco basses (solidbody and thinline) had been given a three-plus-one tuner configuration, while most electric guitars in the line had a four-plus-two layout.
Other solidbody basses with different body silhouettes, such as the EB-220 (seen here in metallic blue) also appeared by that year; note the partial German carve around the top of the body. The “stripes” on the pickguard are faded but still visible.
In ’66, Teisco introduced the EP-200B, a short-scale thinline hollowbody with offset body waists and offset cutaway horns, a la Fender’s Jazzmaster and Jazz Bass. Newer models began to exhibit ordinary dot markers on the fretboard instead of edge-mounted blocks. The EP-200B had 21 frets, like its peers and predecessors.
The top of the 200B’s body was a bit crowded, with two pickups, f-shaped sound holes, a thumbrest, a finger rest, master Volume and Tone controls, and a three-way rotary switch on the treble cutaway. The separate bridge was still covered by a plate that included foam for muting, and the trapeze tailpiece had an oval-shaped portion where the strings anchored.
Teisco Del Rey guitars and basses were marketed in the U.S. only briefly, as the company adapted to pursue emerging trends. Still, they stand as great examples of cheapo models that umpteen babyboomers played as kids.
The EB-220 in sunburst, from a 1966 catalog.The EB-200 (middle) as seen in a 1965 brochure. Catalog images courtesy of Steve Brown.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s October 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Photo: Kelsey Vaughn, courtesy George Gruhn.This Gibson RB-3 five-string from 1925 is a rare piece, as is any five-string banjo from the era dominated by tenor banjos. But it’s more important as a representative of one of Gibson’s first steps in a desperate attempt to develop a competitive banjo.
Gibson recognized the impending popularity of the tenor banjo as early as 1918, when the first Gibson banjo was introduced. But unlike the innovative and prestigious Gibson mandolins and guitars, the Gibson banjo featured a relatively primitive design – with no tone ring – and was not at all competitive, with the instruments made by Vega, B&D, Paramount, Epiphone, and other companies that specialized in banjos. According to a 1924 letter from Gibson’s general manager Harry Ferris to the company’s board of managers, “The Gibson banjo had the worst reputation of any banjo on the market.”
Rather than fight the banjo makers head-on, Gibson had given “acoustic engineer” Lloyd Loar the task of creating an improved mandolin that would revive interest in the instrument. Loar came up with the Master Model family, headed by the F-5, which is legendary today but was a commercial failure when it appeared in mid 1922.
Fortunately, Gibson did not put all of its eggs in the Master Model mandolin basket. In March, 1923, Gibson introduced a new line of banjos called (not coincidentally) Mastertones. They had a hollow metal tone ring drilled with holes on its inner and outer sides. The ring was raised off the rim by a series of ball bearings.
The Mastertone name would forever associate the banjos with Loar and his mandolins, but the extent of Loar’s involvement in the ball-bearing tone-ring design is unknown. The photo in Gibson catalogs of Loar at his workbench shows him mired in mandolins, but there’s an old-style Gibson banjo propped against the wall at the end of his bench. A more likely suspect is Ted McHugh, who designed and patented the adjustable truss rod (still in use today in all Gibsons) and co-designed the adjustable “coordinating rod” for Gibson banjos. Since tone rings were metal, McHugh was probably involved. On the other hand, the concept of suspending the tone ring on ball bearings, and the odd configuration of holes in the ring (more of them on the inside than on the outside) would seem to be more akin to Loar’s “tuned” F-5 bodies than to the pragmatic designs of McHugh, who did not play an instrument. McHugh was pictured in a late-1928 banjo brochure with the title “chief engineer,” so the credit (supervisory, at least) for such post-Loar innovations as the archtop and flat-top tone rings goes to McHugh.
Prior to the Mastertones, Gibson’s top banjo was its original model. It had no model number. The tenor was model TB, the five-string was RB (for regular banjo), plectrum was PB, etc. Cheaper models, introduced in 1922, were called Style 1 and Style 2. With the introduction of the Mastertone tone ring, the number-less model gave way to three versions, designated Styles 3, 4 and 5.
The early Styles 3, 4, and 5 all had pearl-dot fingerboard inlays, and pegheads were the tapered “moccasin” shape. Their resonators set these Gibsons apart from the competition… but not in a good way. Players had the option of a hinged-back “trap-door” style or a shallow dish-like Pyralin (plastic) unit that fastened with a single screw. Compared to the Mastertones we’re familiar with today, these were rather primitive in design, and despite their official name, banjo aficionados today generally do not consider them true Mastertones.
By the end of 1924, Gibson’s chances for survival appeared to be dwindling. Lewis Williams, a founding partner and the general manager who had hired Loar, had resigned at the end of ’23. His replacement, the bluntly honest Harry Ferris, was forced to resign in late ’24. And by the end of the year, Lloyd Loar, too, was gone.
Nevertheless, the innovative Mastertone movement continued to pick up speed. In 1925, the Mastertones received a makeover, with a new “fiddle-shaped” peghead and a modern-style “cupped,” flange-mounted resonator. Style 3 got a bound fingerboard and diamond-pattern inlays. The new styling also brought changes on the inside of the instrument. This example from early ’25 has the second-generation ball-bearing tone ring, with the bearings sitting on springs rather than on the rim itself.
With the new design, Gibson finally had a banjo to be proud of, and they added the Mastertone name to the peghead in block pearl letters below the Gibson logo. To today’s banjo enthusiasts, that marks the beginning of Mastertone era. By mid 1925, the name was moved from the peghead to an engraved pearl block at the end of the fingerboard, where it remains today.
Although it was a professional-quality model, the 1925 Style 3 was still far from what are today considered classic specifications. It had a maple neck and resonator, as did the newly introduced Granada, while Style 4 was mahogany and 5 was walnut. It wasn’t until 1929 that Style 3 went to mahogany neck and resonator. At the same time, all the Mastertones got the “double-cut” peghead shape. Style 3’s resonator was also upgraded with the addition of two concentric rings on the resonator. Gibson changed the inlay pattern on Style 3 from diamonds to a fancier pattern (that still had some diamonds), although the 1925 diamond pattern continued to appear on some examples for a few years.
Gibson continued to improve functional designs, as well. By the end of 1925, a tone ring with no outer holes was implemented, and the rim was enlarged slightly (but with no change in the head diameter). The “raised-head” or “archtop” tone ring, with no inner holes, appeared in 1927, followed later in the year by a ring with 40 holes drilled on the inner edge. By late ’29, the 3 was available with the new one-piece flange, which replaced the earlier tube-and-plate design. Also in the late ’20s, Gibson had developed the “flat-head” tone ring and begun offering it as an option on Styles 3, 4, 5, and Granada. Two decades later, Mastertones with the one-piece flange and flat-head tone ring would become the Holy Grail for bluegrass players.
In 1937, the mahogany Mastertone model was renamed Style 75. Ironically, the most famous Gibson RB-3s were officially Style 75s. In the late ’40s, bluegrass banjo legend Don Reno traded a Granada to another legendary banjo player, Earl Scruggs, for a Style 75, and Reno will forever be identified with that instrument. Innovative stylist J.D. Crowe also played an RB-75, and in 1997 Gibson introduced a Crowe signature model based on his Style 75. The RB-3 returned in ’97, with the ’30s-style inlay as standard, though wreath-pattern is the only fingerboard inlay available on the model today.
This article originally appeared in VG‘s June 2009 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Calling any player “the hardest working guitarist in the business” is rather like referring to one as the “best guitarist” – do it, and you’re just asking for trouble. But if output equates to effort, there’s no doubt Joe Satriani works his as… err, fingers off! The rock shredder has been doing what he does on a top-tier professional level for about 30 years, and shows no signs of slowing down; he still organizes and stages the renowned G3 tours, which for the last 20 years or so have seen him grab a couple other stalwart players for an ocassional summer-long thrill ride, and for the last four years he has satisfied his group jones with Sammy Hagar, Michael Anthony, and Chad Smith in Chickenfoot.
He also continues to lend his talents as a guest player on various recordings and performances, and in 2010, hip-hop vocalist Nicki Minaj sampled his “Always With Me Always With You” in her song, “Right Through Me” from her multi-platinum debut. On top of it all, “Satch” regularly cranks out solo albums that have sold more than 10 million copies and garnered 15 Grammy nominations.
His 14th such effort, Unstoppable Momentum, was released earlier this month. Produced by Satriani and Mike Fraser, it was created with the help of friends old and new, including drummer extraordinaire Vinnie Colauita, super-versatile bassist Chris Chaney, and keyboard wizard Mike Keneally. The album’s 11 songs, he says, go “in different directions… touching on a variety of musical influences.” We asked him to help us dig into it a little deeper.
To make the new album, you went back to Skywalker Sound studios?
Yeah, I love that place. I live in the middle of San Francisco, so it takes about 45 minutes and it’s a beautiful drive over the Golden Gate Bridge, through the hills of Marin County, into Lucas Valley, and then you pull into this little village and drive through organic farms where there are sheep and lamas and horses and cows, baseball fields, vineyards, and every once in a while some sort of building that looks like a bed and breakfast, but you walk in and there’s a room that’ll hold a 100-piece orchestra. It’s amazing! And every other day or so, George [Lucas] walks by and says, “Hi.”
I find the whole place artistically stimulating, plus it gets me out of the city, where I forget about domestic stuff and business and everything. And, after 10 hours in the studio, I also love the drive home in my convertible – no matter how cold it gets, the top is down! I put on a sweatshirt, leather jacket, scarf, and hat, even if it’s 45 degrees. There’s something bracing about it. It’s fantastic.
Even though you’ve got a lot going on – Chickenfoot and various other things – you managed to record the new album just 2½ years after Black Swans and Wormhole Wizards.
I could’ve done it earlier, but I think it’s good to take a few months to see if I really like what I’ve done. The artistic life is such that you’re never satisfied; you deal with the chaos of your own creativity. So it’s good for me to have a schedule because I’m not really good at deciding what to do next. I hate to say that – I’m supposed to be a professional (laughs)! But after all these years, I realize that my audience has the proper perspective, and that I, as an artist, should just do what I do then move on while other people figure out whether they like it.
Was there anything different about the way the songs for Unstoppable Momentum came together, and were any of them “leftovers” from previous album sessions?
There were two of what I call “catalyst songs” that had their start in 1988… but they’re not on the record! Sometimes, I work on a song, maybe even finish it, before I realize it was there to help the other songs – perhaps put certain things in perspective, melodically, harmonically, or recording-technique-wise. And some things are great because they’re cathartic for the process with the band. In this case, since we had two new players, it was nice to have more songs to see where we were as a rhythm section. We also got to think about which ones we all liked best.
Speaking of, how did the band come together?
Well, I met Vinnie Colauita many years ago at a Les Paul birthday party in L.A. He’s a tremendous musician and a fantastic individual. We clicked, and started talking about playing together. I ran into him again at a Jeff Beck show in the Bay Area, when Chickenfoot was recording its first album, then a few months later at a festival in Belgium. When I finished the G3 tour last fall, I booked studio time and gave him a call. He was working with Sting through Christmas vacation, but had 10 days in January. Then, I was speaking to Mike Bowden, who has done a lot of editing for me over the last 10 years, and he told me Chris Chaney had just been in another studio where he was working and people were raving about him. I thought, “Of course!” And it turned out Chris was perfect because he plays with Jane’s Addiction, where he brings a wonderful sense of rock and roll, which is extremely important to me, musically and personally! I knew he was a first-call session player and does a lot of film and TV work, so he’s very flexible.
The last piece of the puzzle was Mike Keneally; Mike and I were looking forward to making another record, but you always kind of roll the dice when you put together a new unit – you don’t know how everybody’s going to get along, musically. But we started playing and it was a party – a lot of fun. Every song took five to seven takes and they were all extremely different because the guys kept giving me interpretations. They’d nail the parts, but play it so differently. It was great.
The Marshall JVM410JS Joe Satriani signature model is a 100-watt/four-channel, EL34-based head. Its clean channel was designed to replicate that on the Marshal 6100, while its Crunch channel includes Marshall’s AFD circuit. Its overdrive channels offer slightly less gain and have two Master Volume knobs, effects loop, and MIDI implementation.
Did you send the guys demos beforehand, so they had an idea of song structures?
No. We went in cold. And credit goes to Mike Keneally for that. I asked, “Do you want demos or do you want to be surprised?” And he e-mailed back, “I like surprises.” (laughs) During the sessions, on some evenings I’d know which song I wanted to do the following day, so I’d give everybody an MP3. Most of the time they’d put on their earbuds there at the studio, listen, then change gear to what they felt would work. We gave everybody the freedom to explore; Mike had a grand piano, an organ, a Wurlitzer, a Rhodes – everything – and he’d wander around and figure out what would be fun on a take. Same thing with Vinnie and his drums and Chris picking different amps and basses. It was good – a lot of fun, and everybody had room to improvise.
Did you stick to a handful of guitars and amps, or mix it up?
I didn’t use the entire complement I brought, which was an impressive-looking layout of about 100 guitars and 50 amps (laughs)! But I wound up using my Marshall signature JVM410JS heads for most of it. I brought about a dozen vintage Fender amps – Champs from the ’50s, my ’53 Deluxe, Princetons, Princeton Reverbs, Vibrolux, Vibrolux Reverb, my ’59 Twins. And if I go down the song list, I can pick places where I played one chord or one solo bit on, say, the Champ. I also had a Fargen, my old 5150, and I had a bunch of old Marshalls – 100-watts, 50-watts, 6100s – but they were generally there for complements. By coincidence, most of the vintage amps wound up on songs we left off the record.
The guitar was pretty much my prototype JS 2410, which is the Muscle Car Orange JS 1000 with an alder body and bubinga stripe in the neck. It gave a different sound – a bit more sustain and vibe in the midrange than the standard JS 1000 with a basswood body and a straight maple neck with rosewood fretboard. I also had a couple of 1000s with Sustainiac pickups, along with two or three JS guitars with Evertune bridges and in C tuning, which I used for “A Celebration.” Those tunings don’t stay very well, but the Evertune bridge allowed me to be aggressive with the rhythm and play like Ritchie Havens! And when we’d layer it with standard-tuned guitars and piano, it blended beautifully. I think there’s one bit – a four-bar melodic piece – where I used this beautiful ’83 Gibson 335, all-maple with action that’s way too low – the thing’s a buzzmeister – but I plugged in to a Strymon vibrato pedal, the JVM410JS head, and we put some delay on it; sometimes, when you lay a bunch of guitar on an instrumental where guitar is in your face, you get something great and go, “Could we add anything else?” I don’t care what it is – a Broadcaster, a Rickenbacker, something to make us go, “Oh, what’s that sound?”
It’s funny, I brought a bunch of old Strats and Les Pauls, and we’d pick them up and try them, then put them down. But I did use my Fender Electric XII for eight bars in the second verse of “Shine On American Dream,” and the guitar is swimming in delay with an open D string while I’m playing the melody on the G for a part tucked under a bunch of other guitars as support. But it was an important moment when we figured out that was what it needed. It’s a bit Spinal Tap to say, “A 12-string – that’s what this song needs!” but…
What did Chris bring for basses and amps?
He brought one of his favorite Fender Bassman amps and we rented from SIR two SVT full stacks and another little piggyback Ampeg. He would go direct and into one of the amps – he and Mike Frasier would pow-wow on every song, and I stayed out of it. I told him, “Just make sure your bass is big and fat all the time. Don’t be afraid to jump in front of everybody and leave the riff.” I like that kind of bass playing.
A couple of Ampeg SVT stacks would definitely help push him to the front…
It’s a great sound, and you ask him, “Can you do that with your fingers?” or “Can you do it with a pick?” and he can. He’s got a bunch of basses – P basses, Jazz basses, Rickenbackers, all sorts of stuff. He had five or six instruments ready, and sometimes he’d play different ones on different takes just to see if it would shine extra light.
Apologies if you’ve been asked this a quadzillion times, but how do melodies come together for you?
It’s great when you’ve got your guitar on and the recording rig is running and you can just push the Record button. But sometimes it happens in the car or when you’re raking leaves – doing something mundane, you know? You go, “Oh, man… Now?” But really, anytime it happens, it’s a wonderful thing and you do whatever you can to get it down. If I’m not near a recording device, I’ll jot it down, but most of the time it’s easier to hum into the phone as a voice message to myself. Then, every couple of weeks I gather the scraps of paper or the digital notes and see what I’ve got.
There are two songs on the album, “Jumpin’ In” and “Jumpin’ Out” that I had been working on for quite a while. “Jumpin’ In” grew as an arrangement over time; one day I opened the file and realized I had another piece of music associated with it – I think it was called “A Harmonic Minor.” I thought, “What is that?” So I opened the file and it was a really cool drum-and-guitar track where I was making believe I was a tenor-sax player in a swing band in the ’40s. I liked the imagery, and though it was just a digital “scrap,” it was a complete song that I’d improvised and forgotten. So I added bass and keys and brought it to the band to bookend “Jumpin’ In,’” but later decided the two songs should be back-to-back since they borrow that swing idea.
Where does the syncopation come from in those songs?
My parents grew up in the jazz age, they loved music and played it all the time. So I grew up hearing great horn players. My parents had great stories, living in New York City and seeing the greatest bands of that era. They could walk into any club, get a beer for a nickel and see the Dorsey Brothers or Benny Goodman. So, I was playing drums at nine years old, and the drum teacher, Mr. Patrikus, was a full-time jazz drummer – one of the funniest and coolest guys I’ve ever met. He used to come to the house with a sharkskin suit like he walked out of a black-and-white TV show about jazz cats. My parents enjoyed having him over for coffee, and then he’d give me lessons for a few minutes! But he taught me how to swing as much as he could. I was not destined to be a drummer, but I did understand that swing was the thing. There’s a million ways to swing, and drummers – good ones – can swing differently at the same time with each of their four limbs. The swing thing is part of my musical DNA; I started to pick up on it once I got into Hendrix, who created this groove, and with Mitch Mitchell it was so deep because they had this blues/R&B and heavy-jazz background. I found them extremely interesting, and it resonated with me.
Where on the new disc does that influence manifest itself?
I think “Three Sheets To the Wind” is the most obvious, because the swing in the verse is very different from the swing in the choruses. It’s interesting; the song was originally written as a single-coil-through-a-vintage-amp kind of thing, but I realized the melody was too strong to leave on just guitar – it needed to be blown out to a lot of instruments. Then I thought, “I should allow myself the space to swing in different places, to play with the backbeat a little.” Throw all those elements in, and the song still feels comfortable, which is important. “Jumpin’ In” and “Jumpin’ Out” are focused on swing, that’s so obvious.
It’s funny, the opposite happens on songs like “Weight of the World,” “A Celebration,” and to a degree, “Unstoppable Momentum,” which have more-modern views of time. “A Celebration” is like a locomotive – straight ahead – everybody’s right on time, completely opposite of “Jumpin’ Out.” I mean, you can’t play “Jumpin’ Out” like that, you have to think of the timing as a huge two-lane highway and the four band members are weaving in and out. In “A Celebration” it’s a country road and everyone’s going really fast (laughs), so they have to stay in line, you know (laughs)? It’s fascinating, how music works like that. And for a year, “A Celebration” was done at less than half the tempo you hear on the album. It was on acoustic guitar and a combination of two songs I had written on a new Republic resonator I had just taken out of its box. I immediately wrote two pieces of music on it – one I called “Texas” because it had a bit of a Texas feel, the other I called “India” because it had an Indian-type melody. After a couple days, I thought, “These two should go together,” but I wasn’t sure how. So I put them together in a way where the “Texas” part was the verse and the chorus was the “India” part. It had a verse and a solo section, and was six minutes long. Then, one day I thought, “This song doesn’t need a bridge and I should get rid the solo section, then make it more of an ensemble thing.” Then the idea was to add acoustic piano and tom-toms. I had a demo for months, then on the day after Christmas, I thought, “I’ve been doing that song all wrong.” So I recorded a version where the tempo more than doubled, I got rid of the acoustic instruments, and it became an iron horse charging through the plains – a big, uplifting thing. Then, the two melody sections, the verse, and the chorus came together with one purpose.
There are a lot of instances on the album where the melodies have a lyrical quality, like “Shine On American Dreamer,” where the root melody and chorus all but sing the title.
One of the themes I set for myself on this record was to be super melodic. So, if I had a song that had a good groove and an impressive guitar part, I didn’t want it. I kept thinking, “It’s got to have a melody that’s so strong, first, then I can figure out the rest later. Once I’m in studio or making a demo, the great melody will present opportunities for playing.” I was just not in the mood to work on songs that didn’t have big melodies. I wouldn’t say they had to be singable, but they had to have a vocal quality that reached me, first of all, and that would reach people and resonate the way a great vocal can. Sometimes, that changes the songs you do, and I realize if I’m going down that path, the album is going to have a lot of diversity. But then I thought, “That’s great, because my favorite albums are like that.” I generally don’t listen to albums where every song is the same as the one before it, just faster or slower.
I figured that approach would keep me engaged, keep me changing and moving forward and trying different things. And the cool thing is how you realize, “I have artistic license. I can have an orchestra behind me…” or “I don’t need drums on this song” or “I need a honky-tonk piano and a horn section” and “…on this song it’s just going to be guitars.” Just charging ahead. You realize that you’re free and not forced to fit into any specific context.
Satriani’s 14th solo album is titled Unstoppable Momentum.
Do you ever write a song with the intent to give it lyrics, then later leave it instrumental? I ask because a track like “A Door Into Summer” seems ripe for lyrics.
I don’t know, but I took that song to the Chickenfoot III sessions and was so excited about it. At the time, I hadn’t figured out all of its melody, but I thought, “Well, it’s too long for just a guitar. It needs words.” So I played it for everybody, and they had this funny look, like the way a dog or a cat looks at you (laughs) when they’re trying to figure out what you’re telling them. I thought, “Maybe I’m playing the song the wrong way, or picked the wrong moment.” I kept saying, “Sammy, you could tell a story – you don’t have to sing, you can kind of talk or do a Sammy Hagar rap in the verse.” And he was looking at me like, “What planet are you from?” And Mike and Chad played around with it for a while, then were like, “I don’t get it.” So I put the song in my pocket and thought, “Those guys are nuts!” you know?
I have to give them some credit – I did bring about a dozen songs and we had a lot to do in very few days, so we moved on. But I kept thinking, “Every time I hear that melody, I feel good,” which was weird because not many songs make me feel overwhelmingly happy or sad, but this one had this salubrious effect.
But yes, the benefit of lyrics is you can be repetitive with musical phrases, and with different words, tell stories. But how does an instrumentalist do that? The biggest challenge was deciding where to put a bridge, and I figured it should come at the end of the song. Then, once I wrote the bridge I thought, “That should start the song…” So there was a lot of discovery. Months later, I did a pass one day with a melody and solo, then went to the studio and told Mike, “Let’s keep the solo, but I’ve got to figure out the right approach; it’s gotta be heavy and sort of cavalier.” So I played the melody six times before he said, “You got it. Leave the room, please…” (laughs)! Like a dutiful musician, I said, “Thank you, sir,” and left. So I’m not sure which of my takes makes up the first verse or last verse, but he found the best phrases and stitched them together. When I came back 20 minutes later, I was like, “That’s it!”
While we were listening to the tape, we realized that Vinnie wasn’t playing to the bass or the rhythm guitars – he was actually playing around the melody, which was brilliant because we were tracking the melody live. As we played, I was trying to edit the melody to its essentials, with the intent to double or triple the guitars on the chorus. But it wound up being unnecessary and we maintained that soul-singer image, like Aretha Franklin telling a story while the band was playing a beautiful soul beat. It just so happens to have really huge electric guitars in it.
Still, though, do you wonder if there might be lyrics floating around that could make it a hit?
Well, that would be great. I’m always waiting for somebody to come along and do that. You know, when we were touring behind Surfing with the Alien, we used to get tapes of people singing weird lyrics over songs like “Surfing…” It was so funny, and I was touched by it, but at the same time it was a little ridiculous. But, a couple years ago, when Nicki Minaj reached out and asked if she could use a bit of “Always With Me, Always With You” for a single, I thought, “That’s fantastic. First of all, thanks for asking first…”
Because artists don’t always do that…
No, they don’t (laughs)! But she did, and I thought it was great. In the last couple of years, I’ve heard a few renditions of people rapping over songs and I think, “This is cool. The music is growing in different genres, and different generations will hear it.” So I’m open to that. I’d love to hear people do it. I get really caught up in songs, and if one has deep meaning, I may put words to it to help connect with the melody.
Speaking of connecting, there’s a timelessness to the tunes on Unstoppable Momentum. A lot of them would have fit right in on Surfin’ With the Alien.
I think everyone who makes music aspires to that. There’s always a push to be timely, but actually being timeless is the quality you want. You want your music to be special to itself and not rely on trends. A lot of credit goes to my team – the musicians, co-producer and engineer Mike Fraser – they helped tremendously steering the project toward that kind of end result, where it’s got a timeless quality. You don’t want people to say, “Hey this is the latest thing and we should jump on it,” and make your whole album appeal to this or that group of people. Credit also goes to the people at Epic and Sony, who let me do what I wanted. No one there ever tells me to follow a trend, and that helps us focus on the music. Hopefully, the compositions and the performances take on that timeless quality.
This article originally appeared in July 2013 issue of VG. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Preamp tubes: two 12AX7, one 12AY7, two 6BJ8, two 6SK7, one 6V6 (used as a voltage divider) Output tubes: two 6550 Rectifier: GZ34 Controls: Ch1: Volume, Treble, Bass; Ch2: Volume, Treble, Bass, Compressor Speakers: two 12″ Norelco/Phillips twin-cone speakers Output: approximately 60 watts RMS
We generally love amps of the tweed era for their ability to go all chewy and juicy when hit with some attitude, but most makers of the day were trying their best to maximize headroom and clean punch within the parameters of price point and product size. When we think “vintage clean” in pre-1960 terms, our thoughts often go to the Fender Twin and Bassman, and maybe some of the larger models by Standel or Magnatone, but Gibson had it going on in this department, too. Taken at face value, the GA-200 Rhythm King might even be too clean for some tastes.
The model was introduced in 1957’s two-tone range, when only 22 were shipped, and phased out after the (somewhat altered) Crestline rendition of ’63, and our feature subject sits right in the center of that span, a pristine example of one of Gibson’s turn-of-the-decade tweed amps. Rated at 60 watts from two 6550 output tubes, with a closed-back cabinet housing two 12″ speakers and no bells and whistles other than the guts of what was necessary for loud, clean amplification, the Rhythm King was very much a professional product for the big stage. An amp that might have seemed a little behind the times already in the age of rock and roll (if ahead of the times in its inventive design), it was intended to partner the big professional archtops like Gibson’s L-5CES and Super 400, enabling them to belt out a rhythm on the bandstand.
That’s a pretty hefty output rating back in the day for two tubes fed by tube rectification, but it is all aided by some boat-anchor-sized transformer iron and substantial operating voltages on those 6550s. Given this heft in the back end and a preamp circuit tuned more to high fidelity than to tweedy grind, the Rhythm King stays clean way up on the dial, and really only gives in to a little softening crunch when you push it way hard. It was a tone that did the trick for late blues ace Sean Costello, who often pumped his vintage goldtop through a GA-200 Rhythm King, and, until recently, a model of a similar vintage to this one was also among the playing collection of J. Geils. For a lot of today’s players, “tweed tone” is more likely to conjure the sound of a 5E3 Deluxe or 5F4 Super, maybe a Bassman for something stouter, or a Gibson GA-40 Les Paul or smaller GA-20 – meaning the loud, tight performance of the GA-200 Rhythm King just won’t light the right fires. For a bold effort with good texture and depth, though, for big-stage jazz chops, cleaner blues excursions, or spanking country twang, this is an amp to put a smile on your face.
A circa 1960 Gibson GA-200 Rhythm King.
While the GA-200 lacks tremolo and reverb, it is equipped with a real rarity in guitar amps of the day: a circuit labeled “Compressor,” available on Channel 2 only. Using half each of 6BJ8 and 6SK7 tubes, and tied to the output stage via a 6V6 tube used as a voltage regulator (somewhat in place of a traditional bias circuit) this oddball extra was different from anything guitarists conceive of as a compressor today. Its job seems to have been to further ensure a smooth performance with maximum headroom, overload protection when needed, and the squelching of feedback when your big archtop started to howl. All in all, a very unusual approach to the problem and, while there might be something similar out there somewhere, we can’t think of another maker who ever used such a circuit.
Taken in its entirety, the Rhythm King also provides another fascinating example of how Gibson’s amp line resisted conforming to any particular template through the ’50s and early ’60s. The lack of a uniform format across the line, as seen with Fender amps and many others of the era, for example, might have dented Gibson’s staying power in this market, and contributed to their fading from the spotlight in the mid ’60s. But it also let the company’s designers take a pot-shot now and then, and occasionally hit something that was worth the effort. Between the angled, trapezoidal control panel with rear-facing input jacks; dual-chassis design with top-mounted preamp circuit and rear-facing power and output chassis; aforementioned compressor circuit; chunky closed-back cabinet with angled upper-rear quarter; and dual Norelco/Phillips twin-cone (a.k.a. “whizzer-con”) speakers, there was nothing else quite like it – other than, perhaps, its big brother GA-400 Super 400, which had three channels and some other differences.
As Costello, Geils, and a few other latter-day players discovered, a big, clean beast like the GA-200 Rhythm King certainly has its applications in a broad range of genres and playing styles. Conventional or traditional it is not, but it will present the bold, bare tone of whatever you put into it – and loudly – or provide a fat and sturdy platform for whatever pedals might help generate your own playing voice. As for its intended audience, it was already becoming something of a dinosaur in 1960, with the needs of the jazz-guitar market changing, and ultimately diminishing relative to those of the rock and pop boom. The Rhythm King shipped in its greatest numbers in 1960, selling 265 units. After selling 263 in ’61 – again, not bad, but not sensational – the GA-200 evolved into the Crestline styling, quite a different amp when put in a piggyback configuration with a head that tucked into the speaker cab for carting. After that, the “big clean” professional combos moved to a different, usually more-conventional form, but you can bet few if any ever sounded quite like the Rhythm King.
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.
Metal Pedals JH-3
Lee Ritenour’s career accomplishments are the stuff of greatness. With thousands of classic recording sessions and more than 40 albums bearing his own name, Ritenour continues to work his magic straddling the world of jazz, rock, fusion, and Latin music.
