The Lazy J Cruiser Deuce is more complex than your classic stomp-and-go pedal, though its functionality is intuitive.
The Cruiser Deuce’s brown finish and cream knobs (Gain, Volume, Drive, and Sat, i.e., saturation) give it a vintage look; In/out jacks on the side, two footswitches, and a mini toggle round out the operative parts. It operates like a two-channel amp – Gain and Volume knobs control the Boost channel (activated by the left footswitch), while the Drive and Sat knobs control the Drive channel (right footswitch) and the mini toggle governs the degree of compression through the Drive channel. In the middle position, it offers no compression, up employs a medium degree, down offers the greatest compression.
Plugged in between a Stratocaster and a late-’50s Ampeg Jet set for a little natural breakup, the Cruiser Deuce’s Boost (with Gain and Volume set at 12 o’clock) gave the amp greater clarity and presence.
With the Gain all the way on, the Strat produced overtones an octave higher on the sustained notes, even in selector switch positions two and four, where pickup frequency cancellation offered less output. Chords at full gain were crunchy but not too dirty, with audible note-to-note separation. And the seemingly endless sustain and harmonic richness of single notes was very musical.
Punching the right-side footswitch to engage the Drive circuit; set at noon, the controls caused other harmonics from the overtone series to blossom. Adjusting the knobs brought varying degrees of serious crunch, though the mini toggle effect was subtle at low volumes. Cranked, the levels of compression became more obvious. With both channels engaged, subtle adjustments of the knobs revealed various levels of expression as the channels interacted.
Run with a set-neck solidbody with a Charlie Christian-style pickup, it achieved that slightly overdriven sound of a late-’30s ES-150 through a small Gibson amp.
Experimenting a bit through a solidstate amp and an archtop with a Fishman Powerbridge, the Cruiser Deuce’s Boost mode worked very well as a preamp to fatten the piezo bridge response over the entire frequency range. Because the Cruiser Deuce doesn’t change the bass, mid, or treble levels, the lack of tone controls never felt like an issue with any of the guitars.
Got your eyes set on a boutique amp, but just can’t swing right now? The Cruiser Deuce just might just do the trick!
This article originally appeared in VG June 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Photo: Billy Mitchell, courtesy Gruhn Guitars. Instrument courtesy of Lloyd Chiate.
When Gibson acquired Epiphone in 1957, the plan was to introduce a new line of Epis that would be made in the Gibson factory but designed to be slightly less expensive than the equivalent Gibson model.
It worked out that way in the electric line of the 1960s, where the more expensive Epis had mini-humbuckers and the equivalent Gibsons had full-size pickups. But in the acoustic flat-top line, it wasn’t quite that cut-and-dried. The Epi Texan was a little cheaper than the Gibson J-50, but its parallelogram inlays were a little fancier than the J-50’s dots. The Epi Frontier in sunburst was a little cheaper than the Gibson Hummingbird, but the natural Frontier was the exact same price as the Gibson. It looked as if Epiphone were somehow threatening to surpass Gibson, and the threat became reality in 1963 with the debut of the Epiphone Excellente, a model that had no equal in the Gibson line.
Epiphone’s new identity was the brainchild of Gibson president Ted McCarty. The company had roots back to the 1800s in Greece and Turkey; patriarch Anastasios Stathopoulos moved the family to New York in 1903; his sons Epi (Epaminondas), Frixo, and Orphie carried on the family business, becoming a major banjo maker in the 1920s and Gibson’s most formidable competitor among the guitar makers of the 1930s and early ’40s. However, Epi’s untimely death of leukemia during World War II left the company without effective leadership. Orphie sold what was left of Epiphone to Gibson in 1957. McCarty bought the company for its bass production capability, which then proved overrated. But he quickly came up with a new plan to quell a growing problem with Gibson dealers.
Gibson protected its dealers’ territories, and consequently, there were many stores that wanted Gibsons but could not get them. If Epiphones could be “almost a Gibson,” then the dealership base for Gibson-made instruments could be effectively doubled without actually opening any new Gibson dealerships. In early 1958, McCarty met with M.H. Berlin, president of Gibson’s parent company, Chicago Musical Instruments, along with several sales executives, and drew up a new line that incorporated elements from past Epiphones, current Gibsons, and even competitors’ models (such as Martin and Fender).
Some Epi electrics crossed over the “almost a Gibson” line. The Emperor, for example was larger than any Gibson thinline electric, and cost more than any Gibson except the carved-top Johnny Smith. The flat-top line, however, initially kept a low profile, starting with the Cortez (a version of Gibson’s small-bodied LG-2), the Texan (corresponding to Gibson’s round-shouldered dreadnought J-50) and the Frontier (intended to compete with Martin’s square-shoulder dreadnoughts but with the maple back and sides of the earlier Epi model FT 110).
Dealer and consumer reaction to the new Epi line was favorable, and the Epi sales force embraced the brand with pride. Every time a new Gibson was introduced, McCarty recalled, Epi sales manager Les Propp demanded something just as good for the Epi line. Out in the field, Gibson salesman and product demonstrator Andy Nelson was busy sketching out a full line of fancy Epiphones. At one point, Nelson said, he was called into McCarty’s office and told to knock it off, and that Epiphones would always be a notch below Gibsons. Nevertheless, one of Nelson’s designs made it into production as the Excellente, and no Gibson flat-top – not even the venerable J-200 “King of the Flat-Tops” stood above it.
The Excellente debuted in 1963, sporting a square-shouldered dreadnought body with rosewood back and sides. The rosewood alone made it different from any standard post-WWII Gibson. The oversized pickguard featured the engraved image of an eagle landing (which would later be revived on the Gibson’s deluxe archtop Kalamazoo Award). The ebony bridge had its own shape (although it might be interpreted as a droopy reference to the J-200 moustache), and unfortunately, it had the height-adjustable saddle that plagued Gibson and Epi flat-tops in the mid ’60s. The bound ebony fingerboard sported cloud inlays, the signature inlays of Epiphone’s DeLuxe archtop (which was to Epiphone what the highly respected L-5 was to Gibson). The headstock was inlaid with a huge pearl rectangle, with cloud pieces placed above and below. Andy Nelson’s sketch had an ornamental cutout at the top of the headstock, framing the Epiphone epsilon (Greek letter E), but the production version had the standard Epi headstock shape.
The Epiphone FT-120 Excellente hit the price list in July, 1963, at $535 (plus $50 for case). It cost significantly more than the Gibson J-200, which in natural finish listed for $475.
The listing was a bit premature, as only one Excellente shipped in 1963, but as might be expected of the fanciest guitar in the line, the Excellente soon found a home in the world of rhinestone suits and big hair. It was almost the Sonny James Southern Gentleman model (VG, August ’99), and Gibson went so far as to build one with a smaller pickguard and a reverse-belly bridge as requested by James, but the country star and his record label felt he was too strongly identified with the sound of his Martin D-28 to endorse an Epi. In the meantime, country music legend Ernest Tubb (whose guitarist, Jack Drake, had arranged for James to meet with Gibson) put down his famous Martin with “Thanks” on the back and began performing with an Excellente. Loretta Lynn found the Excellente to be the perfect symbol of her newfound success, and she performed onstage with it for many years.
The Excellente may have surged past all the Gibson models in price and ornamentation, but not in sales. Total production from 1963 to ’69 was 139. By comparison, the slightly cheaper J-200 topped the Excellente’s total figure every year. During the same period, the Epi Texan was averaging about 1,500 per year and its counterparts in the Gibson line, the J-45 and J-50, around 7,000 per year. The Excellente was effectively out of production by the time of the 1968 price list, where it checked in at $675. Only eight were shipped in ’68, and two in ’69.
Today, the Excellente holds the same position as its price in the 1960s would suggest; possibly the best flat-top made by Gibson in that era, and certainly a symbol of triumph for those who believed Epiphones were every bit as good as Gibsons.
This article originally appeared in VG March 2007 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
When it comes to “travel guitars,” players are often forced to sacrifice size for portability and even functionality. Unlike many travel instruments that are simply miniaturized six-stringers, the Traveler AG-105EQ is a useful and playable instrument featuring a full-sized fretboard and a body that’s just two inches smaller across the lower bout than a full-sized grand concert guitar.
How is this accomplished? Three U-clamps and Allen bolts anchor the strings north of the nut, while a Steinberger-like tuning system on the far side of the bridge holds the ball ends, eliminating the need for a headstock and allowing standard strings. Called the Streamline Tuning System, it’s different from a traditional headstock-and-tuning-key system in one major way: it’s a lot better. It goes out of tune with the regularity of a presidential election and transforms tuning into a one-handed affair. Only the rear .625″ of the tuning system touches the top, so its damping effect is minimal.
Thanks to a fretboard that’s 1.75″ wide at the nut and a satin-finished C-shaped neck .875″ thick at the seventh fret, playing the AG-105EQ is a breeze. The excellent setup is reflected in the .098″ clearance between the bass E string and the top of the twelfth fret. The 25.5″ scale conspires with the solid spruce top and 3.25″ sides to produce clear and bright bass, sweet highs, and notes with serious punch. Chord note definition is very good.
Plugged in, the 105 comes to life. Its Shadow Nanoflex pickup captures vibrations from the strings and the top, introducing much more harmonic complexity, breadth, and depth to the amplified sound than average piezo and soundhole pickups. The Nanoflex is connected to an Allegro preamp with controls for volume, treble and bass, and a headphone output and auxiliary input. There’s even a built-in tuner and a phase switch for conquering feedback. The Allegro runs on two AAA batteries that are easily accessed through the soundhole, even by people with large hands.
With its great sound and compact size, the AG-105EQ is damnably inviting (just try to get anything else done in a room with it in full view). Its headless design and headphone-out jack make it the ideal tour bus guitar, and it’s even large enough to play onstage without looking like you used to deflect a blast from a shrink ray. And, it includes a well-padded, functional gig bag. But you don’t have to travel to love this guitar – once you get one, you’ll have a hard time leaving the house.
This article originally appeared in VG August 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
While many pedal makers tinker away on effects that exhibit their personal tonal philosophies, the fact is that most don’t play gigs or compose music. Seraphim Marcopoulous of ToneConcepts was keen enough to take advantage of his professional relationships with some of the finest guitarists in the industry, asking, “What’s missing?”
After collaborating with the likes of Billy F Gibbons, Buddy Guy, Kenny Wayne Shepherd, Alex Skolnick, and Jim Campilongo, Marcopoulous discovered what was missing: They wanted a tone-shaping boost pedal that enhanced the sound of their rig, kept their core tone intact, and improved the sound of subpar backlines. Named by Wilco guitarist Nels Cline, The Distillery was created for guitarists with an ear for nuance who want to preserve the character of their guitar’s sound.
The Distillery’s workmanship is solid and its graphics strikingly cool. A true-bypass pedal, it features two circuits, each activated by a footswitch. The right footswitch is the On/Off button for a boost circuit featuring three controls: The Boost knob gives 20 dBs of added volume and edgy grit; the Guts knob is an extra gain stage to add more punch and sustain; and the Bleed knob is a passive tone shaper that can tame highs or add edge. These features would be more than enough for the guitarist seeking to add more pizzazz to their amp, but we’ve only begun.
Engaging the Shape footswitch on the left opens up a big can of tone-shaping delights. The Contour knob adjusts high frequencies when turned clockwise, and also works as a filter, while the Edge knob adds sparkle and upper-mids. These two knobs work together to fatten up thin single-coils or to achieve more clarity with bassier neck-position humbuckers. Unfortunately, while the Boost can be engaged without engaging Shape, Shape can’t be used without Boost.
Used with a variety of combo amps, high-gain heads, and guitars, The Distillery is like an energizing cold snap. The Boost section alone offers transparent amp-pumping options with lots of variations from light volume goosing to full-blown organic breakup. It’s perfect for the anti-pedal player who prefers to exploit the tonal purity of an old combo amp. Engaging the Shape side and adjusting the Contour and Edge knobs did not produce one bad sound, but rather provided everything from comfy mids to crispy chime. It also added lively zing to fuzz and distortion.
Not recommended for the attention-challenged, The Distillery is nonetheless a superb pedal for the experienced guitarist who understands the idiosyncrasies of EQ, boost, and their respective effects on making beautiful music.
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.
Photos: William Ritter. Instrument courtesy of George Gruhn.
Harp guitars with a standard six-string guitar neck and varying numbers of sub-bass harp-style strings have been made by a variety of American builders. Some of the best-known include Gibson, Joseph Bohmann (of Chicago), Knutson (Seattle), and the Larson brothers (Chicago), who made them primarily under the brand of Dyer (a distributor based in St. Paul, Minnesota). Even Martin experimented with a few harp guitars more than a century ago. Bohmann and Gibson produced harp guitars with carved tops, whereas others produced flat-tops with harp extensions.
The concept of producing fretted instruments with a standard neck and harp extension originated during the Renaissance, with lutes that were given harp extensions.
Gibson harp guitars originated with Orville Gibson himself, who produced harp guitars, six-string guitars, and mandolins from the 1890s until he sold his patent to a group of Kalamazoo businessmen which in 1902 incorporated the Gibson Mandolin-Guitar Company. The 1902 Gibson catalog featured four harp guitar models – the R, R-1 (with slightly more ornamentation), the U, and the U-1. The R was their least elaborate model at that time featuring a 17 7/8″ wide body and 25 1/2″ scale. The R-1 was same size and appeared only in the 1902 catalog, whereas the R was continued until circa 1907.
The most expensive instruments in Gibson’s catalog at the time, the earliest listing of the style R priced the instrument $195.03 while the R-1 listed at $221.63 and the earliest listing of the style U was $265.96 while the style U-1 was an astronomical $354.60.
The Gibson Style R you see here is typical of a circa-1906 model, with a carved mahogany bridge with scroll ends. Though the bridge is glued to the top in much the same manner as the bridge on a flat-top guitar, it is also held in place by a metal-strap tailpiece. By late 1907, the scroll shaped, fixed bridge was replaced by a moveable bridge and a double-trapeze special design tailpiece with string retaining pins mounted on a tortoiseshell grain celluloid crossbar. The reinforcement rod with turnbuckle adjuster running between the scroll and the six-string peghead is typical of 1906 onward. The star-and-crescent peghead inlay harkens to the days of Orville Gibson, who used this inlay pattern on many early Gibson models. The interior label in this instrument includes a photo of the face of Orville Gibson and one of Orville’s lyre-shaped mandolins which is typical of Gibson instruments made prior to 1909.
The language used to describe the harp guitars in early Gibson catalogs included a substantial dose of humor.
The carved top and carved back and scroll on the upper bass bout, as well as the oval sound hole, are similar in construction to Gibson artist-model mandolins. Though the earliest Gibson catalog specifies maple back and sides for harp guitars, virtually all which have surfaced made from introduction through 1907 have walnut back and sides. Later catalogs continued to specify maple back and sides, however the typical wood utilized was, in fact, birch, which is relatively similar in appearance to maple. Birch was the standard wood used by Gibson after 1907 for backs and sides on almost all of its guitars until 1925 and was used on A model mandolins as well as the F-2 mandolin prior to 1925, though the F-4 mandolin had figured-maple back and sides. From 1925 onward, Gibson phased out birch in favor of maple.
Though the Style R catalog specifications call for six harp extension strings, this instrument features seven harp extension strings. Gibson offered the option of varying numbers of strings. By 1906 10 sub-bass strings were standard on the style U and remained so from that time onward.
The original version of the style U in the 1902 catalog had a 21″-wide body and 27 1/4″ scale. The first version featured a six-string neck and 12 sub-bass strings. By 1906, the style U had a 25 1/2″ scale and by 1908, the scale had been reduced to 243/4″, the same as other Gibson standard single neck six-string guitars, and by 1913 the body width had been reduced to 18 3/4″ inches resulting in a much more comfortable instrument to play than the early style U. The Style U went through numerous evolutionary changes over the years, culminating in an instrument with an adjustable truss rod in the neck and a height adjustable standard archtop guitar bridge for the six string neck by late 1921.
Though style U remained in the catalog until 1939, there is little evidence any were made after the mandolin orchestra boom died in the early ’20s. Once demand for harp guitars ground to a halt, Gibson continued selling instruments from remaining stock and listed them in the catalog until supplies ran out.
Gibson harp guitars never sold in large quantities, likely due in large part to their high price and the fact they were unwieldy and uncomfortable to play. Gibson did, however, devote significant catalog space to harp guitars and even touted them as the ultimate evolution of the guitar. Early catalogs include impassioned promotions reminiscent of biblical passages.
Though Gibson’s statements that the harp guitar would render the standard six-string guitar obsolete proved to be untrue, there are still musicians composing and playing music on harp guitars today and a number of makers producing very fine new harp guitars. If anyone can be said to have been influential in this movement, it would be the late Michael Hedges, who played a Dyer harp guitar made by the Larson Brothers. Though Gibson harp guitars are among the most artistic and well-crafted, most modern harp-guitar players use vintage Knutson or Dyer/Larson models or modern instruments based upon Knutson/Larson design.
This article originally appeared in VG February 2014 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Morgan Monroe Blues 32, Morgan Monroe Creekside MV-01 and Loar LH-200
Picture the archetypal 1930s blues man, photographed with a studio backdrop, jaunty hat, knowing leer…. What else do you see? A guy with not too much money, that’s what! That’s why the guitar in his lap was usually something like a Gibson L model – small, shapely, and sunburst.
The iconic Robert Johnson L-1 was discontinued in 1937, when a Gibson L-0 sold for $25 and an L-00 cost $30. The 2007 equivalent sums are $350 to $420. So, where does that put your typical not-so-heavy-in-the-pocket blues player today?
Morgan Monroe provides a couple of answers in the form of their Creekside MV-01 and Blues 32, two guitars with different but equally pleasing voices.
The Blues 32 is finished in glossy tobacco sunburst, the top shading reminiscent of the later L-00s with a narrower dark outside edge, allowing for more of the tight sitka spruce grain to show. A bit more deluxe than its MV-01 sib, the appointments are still tastefully simple; Grover Sta-Tite tuners, three-layer white/black/white plastic top binding, inlaid maple logo banner, and bone nut and saddle.
Sonically, the Blues 32 is very reminiscent of its L-model inspiration, with a blues-approved sound strong in the mids, but with a full, textured bass and some treble snap.
This tight-sounding box, up to 43/8” deep, sounds equally good with plectrum or bare fingers: the steely, immediate response just invites a player to dig into classic blues licks and bass patterns and returns the favor by never sounding compressed, even under a heavy right hand. A slim V-neck with diamond volute, attached with an old-school dovetail joint, with 111/16” nut width and 14” radius, is perfectly comfortable. With a 5/16” nut string spacing and 251/4” scale, the Blues 32 is easy to play, with good volume and balance.
The Morgan Monroe duo share features other than the bone nuts and saddles: each fingerboard is graced with well-dressed, buzz-free frets.
Generally stellar construction values are visible throughout both guitars, though the MV-01 deviates from the Blues 32 with a slightly bigger body width, narrower body depth, subtle satin-sunburst finish on the top, stainless steel frets, and a tasteful maple binding. The triple-bound neck has a 243/4” scale length, maple dot inlays, and a contemporary D profile. The greatest difference is in the sound: considerably more body resonance with an airy presence.
Our archetypal blues man would do well with either Morgan Monroe; both offer excellent sound with fine playability, good intonation, solid-but-lightweight construction, and visual appeal. Although the Blues 32 comes out ahead in the 1930s bluesman appeal category for looks and quick-response sound, the MV-01 belies its lower price with its wooden appointments and more complex tonal palate.
The Loar LH-200 strikes immediately as a contender in the looks department “Vintage Vibe” division. The ivory-black-ivory binding, pearl logo and fret markers, abalone fern pattern (craftily overlaid, not inlaid, in an age-old technique utilizing microthin shell) and snakehead-with-vintage-style tuning machines has enough flash to complement any upright archetypal blues man’s better suits and dapper foot/headwear. The Loar flat-top boasts clean construction, good fretwork, modern rounded neck profile, and a classic sunburst finish over a bearclaw spruce top.
The LH-200’s long (201/4”) body and 251/2” scale length sound strong and play comfortably with its 111/16” width bone nut (which was cut very, very well). Though the saddle is plastic, intonation out of the box was quite good and all frequencies spoke with authority when played finger-style. With a thick Dunlop pick, the LH-200 summoned up a powerful growl in the bass, strong mids, and a good cut in the high-end frequencies. The LH-200 also featured a long, resonant decay, and fine slide-guitar sustain. We think any Bluesman would be tempted by this slightly pricier Korean-made guitar for all the right reasons; it plays well, sounds great, and leaves a striking visual impression with the generous shellwork on the headstock.
If vintage Kalamazoo and Gibson guitars have an advantage in solid wood and ’30s mojo, these newfangled contenders have more dependable intonation and neck adjustability. All three are good guitars, and represent exceptional values.
Morgan Monroe Blues 32/Creekside MV-01
Price: $499/ $479.95
Contact: Morgan Monroe, 1922 West Banta, Indianapolis, Indiana 46217; phone (800) 475-7686; www.morganmonroe.com.
The Loar LH-200
Price: $699.95
Contact: The Music Link, PO Box 162, Brisbane, CA 94005; phone (415) 570-0985; www.theloar.com.
This article originally appeared in VG July 2008 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
At 1.5″ x 3.5″, the E.W.S. Little Fuzzy Drive looks fun and toy-like, but, when plugged in, thoughts of cuteness disappear.
Designed to use half the space on a pedalboard, the Little Fuzzy Drive (LFD) is sturdy despite is size, and is capable of a variety of tones, from slight overdrive to full-out retro fuzz. Instead of using a germanium transistor, E.W.S. incorporated an actual amplifying element, which the company says increases stability and makes the pedal less sensitive to temperature changes. A true-bypass pedal, the LFD can handle a 9-volt adapter.
Plugged in between a 1970 Stratocaster and a ’66 Vibrolux Reverb, its heavy fuzz setting sounded great for leads. Like the best fuzztones, LFD is sensitive to the instrument, giving the player the ability to dial back the level of fuzz by merely rolling back the guitar’s Volume control.
For overall tone shaping, it allows the player to toggle between normal- and fat-sounding fuzz tones via the microswitch on the top of the pedal. Fat Fuzzy mode engages a mid-boost that expands the gain and also seemingly increases the bass, giving even the thinnest-sounding guitar the creamy richness and sustain of the much sought-after “woman tone.”
Joe Bonamassa’s latest record, Driving Towards The Daylight, is a return to the blues. After two successful studio albums with the heavy-rock band Black Country Communion, Bonamassa’s latest solo effort explores some of his early influences. While covering Robert Johnson, Howlin’ Wolf, and Willie Dixon, he got help from heavyweight guitarists including Brad Whitford, Pat Thrall, and Blondie Chaplan. But Bonamassa couldn’t have recorded this album without the help of producer and label partner Kevin Shirley. Their unique relationship has produced a great body of work as well as some awesome guitar tones.
Driving Towards The Daylight sounds like you getting back to your thing.
It’s a little bit of a return to the blues, which is always fun. It was about time to stop messing around with the bouzoukis and world stuff, and do a blues record again.
Was that an actual conversation you had with Kevin Shirley?
That was the word. Every record has a word. Ballad of John Henry was “swampy.” Black Rock was the “world blues” thing. Dust Bowl was “Americana.” This one was “blues,” so we tried to make a blues record. It’s fun to play and the material is translating very well live.
When you and Kevin discuss concepts, does it flow naturally, or do you have goals in mind?
We always find ourselves on the same page. That’s why the way we work is so special. He’ll say, “I think we should make a blues record.” And I’ll say, “I was just thinking the same thing.” That’s the beauty of it. When you run your own record company, it’s like, “I’ll do whatever I want!” There’s no committee thinking. There’s no hits. We don’t play the radio game. In spite of it all without a radio hit, we’ll walk into venues with 2,000 to 5,000 each night, going, “This is better than having some kind of radio hit that you have to play every night.” There are a few songs they would be disappointed if I didn’t play, so I get to them, but there’s certainly no career-defining song.
What keeps you on course in terms of the records you choose to make?
I try to make records I know my fans would like. I think I know my fans pretty well at this point; they tolerate a lot of adventurism on my part, with trips to Greece and bouzoukis laid over I-IV-V changes. I think they know me as a person and they know whatever I want to do is something that’s uniquely authentic to myself. They have a good barometer when they smell “the machine” getting behind it, and so do I. When I see that coming down the lane, I pick up my guitar and run the other direction.
Was joining Black Country Communion an attempt at a crossover?
Essentially, what we tried to do was make modern classic rock. It sounds like it was recorded in 1972 with that kind of live-in-the-room feel, with everybody playing great on new songs. We saw there was definitely a niche for that – “new classic rock.” New songs, but they would sound relevant to 1972, as well.
For years, blues purists were saying, “Please stop trying to hi-jack the blues and go join a rock band, because your show is more rock than blues.” Some of the points they made are valid because it really isn’t “blues” by definition, yet it’s categorized as blues. So I gave them their wish, and honestly, it’s a lot of fun! They’re good cats to play with, and good people, and it’s exhilarating.
Staying away from rock, how did you choose the material on Driving Towards The Daylight?
One of the initial songs was Howlin’ Wolf’s “Who’s Been Talking?,” and we basically let Howlin’ Wolf dictate the tempo. At the beginning of the song is a sample from the ’60s, when he went to London and did those sessions; it’s him talking to Aynsley Dunbar. On Robert Johnson’s “Stones In My Passway,” we just wanted to do it like if Lead Belly was alive today, doing Robert Johnson on a 12-string. We’re messing with the traditional structure, but that’s the way I like it.
What’s the difference between the gear you use for Black Country Communion and the gear you use on solo tours?
I bring more stuff for the solo gigs. I have 13 albums to get to. For Black Country Communion, I bought seven guitars. Mostly, I played a couple of my signature-model Les Pauls and my first ’59 Les Paul Standard sunburst. Since then, I’ve purchased two more. On tour, we have two ’59 Les Pauls, a ’60 with a Bigsby, two dot-necks – a ’60 and a ’61 – a ’53 black-guard Tele, a ’54 Firebird, and a ’57 goldtop with P-90s. Amp wise, I’m using two Marshall Jubilees, a Trainwreck Liverpool from 1990, and a prototype from Jim Kelley, built by John Suhr. It sounds freakin’ wicked.
My whole thing is that I just want to be different from everybody else. I don’t want to be lumped in. What I do is different than Derek Trucks. Derek Trucks is different than me. Kenny Wayne Shepherd is different than both of us, and Jonny Lang is different from all three of us.
The people who do the lumping don’t have an ear for nuance…
“Oh you’re a blues guitar player, so you must like Stevie Ray Vaughan.” Well, I admire the man’s music, but let’s not go to the lowest common denominator here and take the Wikipedia definition. There are deeper things. I’m from America, but British blues is my thing.
This article originally appeared in VG August 2012 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
Mike Lipe has a wall of gold records. Why? Not because he’s a musical star, but because he’s a star to the stars. A former top builder at Ibanez, his creations have helped Steve Vai, Joe Satriani, Andy Timmons, and many others become luminaries on the instrument. Now on his own, Lipe is producing a line of hand-built instruments.
Lipe’s traditional-leaning Maestro is a solidbody guitar that incorporates bolt-neck construction and a Tele-meets-Jazzmaster design. Weighing in at an startlingly light five pounds, eight ounces, its body and neck are mahogany, its fretboard a dark, tightly grained rosewood with large 6155 Dunlop fretwire, a bend-friendly 12″ radius, along with a 25.5″ scale length, and a nut width of 1.70″. The neck is a handful, with a measurement of .90″ from front to back at the first fret, and .99″ at the 12th. The headstock has a 7-degree angle, which allows for elimination of string trees and promotes tone through greater downward pressure on the nut. Hardware consists of Hipshot locking tuners and a solid Strat-style bridge, with black knobs that go to 11. Electronics are two Amalfitano P-90 pickups, complemented with a three-way switch, master Volume, and master Tone controls. The body is stained deep red, while the neck is satin-finished, providing a friendly feel. Lipe does no CNC shaping of necks or bodies, and various neck shapes and fret sizes are available.
The neck of the Maestro has the size and feel of a vintage Precision Bass. Though large, it’s comfortable, and Lipe builds to suit the player’s taste. Finishes are beautifully applied and the woods are gorgeous. Playability is top-notch, facilitating clean bending, and intonation on our tester was spot-on, allowing chords to ring loud and true. The pickups are perfect for the instrument, bringing out the best of its Fender-meets-Gibson nature. The neck pickup offers a clean, articulate tone that’s warmer than most Fender styles, and less muddy than most Gibson-style instruments. The bridge pickup can get downright twangy, but never with harsh top-end. Run together, they produced a grand sound – clear, bell-like, and full. With either amp’s overdriven tones, as well as with dirty tones derived from a pedal, the Maestro worked equally well. No matter the level of drive or volume, the guitar never fed back or lost its character under the weight of heavy distortion.
The Maestro is beautiful, playable, and tonal. Its Fender-style neck and Kalamazoo-style tone woods, pickups, and headstock angle make for a pleasant mix.
This article originally appeared in VG February 2013 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
LeVang in ’69 with with his ’64 Fender Telecaster.
Neil LeVang was about to get a lecture.
Days earlier, the A-list studio guitarist’s new boss, Lawrence Welk, had golfed with a couple well-known singers who mentioned that LeVang had played on their sessions.
“Neil,” Welk implored in his famous German accent, “If you thought as much about this (band) as recording with all these different people, you could be my right-hand man.”
LaVang, a master of the sarcastic retort, had an instant comeback.
“Should I have my cards printed now?”
His easy laugh bursts forth as he tells that story and others covering his half-century career. Like Welk, LeVang is a rural North Dakota native. But the similarities end there. ABC’s weekly “Lawrence Welk Show” gave him such high visibility that he was the first guitar hero to a number of babyboomers. As a kid, Seymour Duncan audiotaped LeVang’s solo spots from the show (see sidebar). Nonetheless, the former jazz violinist made his greatest mark as a guitarist in Hollywood’s recording studios from the late 1950s through the late ’80s, his staggeringly diverse workload spanning all genres, including TV and film.
Regardless of their home base, great studio players tend to be a breed unto themselves, with their own codes and an uncanny chemistry. LeVang joined that elite group when network TV was evolving and stereo was becoming mainstream. The digital era was dawning when he hung it up in the early ’90s. His strength – a knack for tasteful playing – remained a constant, as did his ability to give producers and arrangers precisely what they wanted. For him, it was art, but also business. He never took his eyes off quality, excellence, or the bottom line; understandable, given his humble origins.
“I came from a Swedish family,” he says. Born on a farm in 1932, Neil Kenneth LeVang says his home town of Adams was made up of “200 people, so, you know… not much talent around there! We didn’t have electricity or plumbing, so we were… in trouble!” he laughs. “My dad had a violin and a guitar hanging on the living room wall, but wouldn’t let me touch ’em. I was very young. Dad played old-style fiddle, and my older brother, Morris, played guitar. When I was three or four years old, I was totally interested in music. And I didn’t realize at the time, but I had (perfect) pitch. And as time went on, my mom would let me take the violin down, so I learned to play it a little.
“We didn’t have electricity, but my dad worked up a battery-operated radio, and at night I could get WLS in Chicago. I’d listen to jazz players like Rhubarb Red – Les Paul – and George Barnes, and saxophone players… the greats of the day. And that’s what I wanted to play. I hadn’t even started school yet, but I knew what I wanted to be!”
LeVang began working when he was young, “candling eggs at Johnson’s Mercantile for 25 cents a crate. I worked all evening.”
In 1940, the family moved to Bemidji, Minnesota, a town of 5,000 that LeVang recalls was “humongous to me. It was like New York!” He became interested in the guitar, and at age 10, met a kid from the local high school. “He got some kids together to form a band – horns and the whole shot. He asked me to play guitar with the band, and we practiced, then got a job at a place called Shore Crest, in nearby Walker. All of a sudden, I was making $5 a night! People loved it because we were kids.”
LeVang in 1980, with his ’74 Gianninni Craviola.By 1945, LeVang had decided to leave Bemidji for California, where a cousin worked at an aircraft plant in Riverside. After telling his family, they moved with him. Despite his guitar experience in Bemidji, jazz violin remained his main instrument, with Joe Venuti and Stuff Smith, two of the greatest, among his heroes. Like Smith, LeVang amplified his violin. Arriving for a Sunday jam at a Riverside bistro, he met Edgar Hayes and the Stardusters, a respected jazz combo led by pianist Hayes with bassist Curtis Counce, guitarist Teddy Bunn, and drummer Blinky Allen. Bunn, LeVang recalled, tuned his guitar to E-flat. His violin so impressed the band they took him to Los Angeles’ Central Avenue area, locus of a vibrant music scene. Jamming at Jack’s Basket Room, upcoming young blues singer Jimmy Witherspoon complimented his playing.
Eventually, someone directed him to a restaurant near CBS’ Hollywood radio studios, where a number of Western singers hung out, among them Jimmy Wakely and comic Smiley Burnette. LeVang assembled a combo to open Burnette’s stage shows. His guitarist was jazz virtuoso Bill Dillard, who later replaced Tal Farlow in the Red Norvo Trio before he died in a fire. “This guy was a beautiful jazz guitar player, 22 years old, and we went on the road and opened for Smiley. We had worked up some jazz tunes, some standards. I was playin’ electric fiddle and we… kicked butt!”
In Hollywood, he met singer Colleen Summers, part of the local Western duo the Sunshine Girls. She was a regular at Les Paul’s garage studio on North Carson Street even before Les renamed her Mary Ford. In 1948, LeVang joined the Western vocal group Foy Willing and the Riders of the Purple Sage as a singer. The stint lasted two years, after which he moved to Texas Jim Lewis’ band as a fiddler. During an engagement at Manhattan’s first important country music club, New York’s Village Barn, LeVang did his first recording sessions as a sideman, fiddling behind the country band the Pinetoppers, who recorded for the Coral label. His composition “Jelly Bean Rag” was later recorded by Leon McAuliffe and the Cimarron Boys.
Lewis was Seattle-bound in January of 1951, and when LeVang arrived, he took an office job at Seattle radio station KOL, working his way into a disc jockey job and later, becoming a local TV personality on KING. “I was dabbling with guitar on the side, but not as a profession,” he recalls. “I heard everything; I was a sponge.” From 1951 to ’53 he was enlisted in the U.S. Coast Guard, based in Seattle, and doing so well in a bureaucratic position at the port that his commanding officer urged him to stay. Attorney-politician Albert Rosselini, a future Washington Governor, helped him get into college and shoot for a law career, a notion he abandoned in 1956 by returning to Hollywood.
Switching to guitar, he wound up replacing Barney Kessel as guitarist on Jimmy Wakely’s weekly CBS radio show, playing a Gibson ES-175D. During two years attending the Westlake College of Music part-time, he learned the Schillinger System of composing and arranging. Acquiring a new Fender Pro amp launched his lifelong friendship with Leo Fender. “I loved the sound of it because it didn’t try to make sound – it [reproduced] sound. That was my thing with Leo. I was supplied with instruments, and he would come up with these country amps with a pitch only dogs could hear. The Pro was my favorite because it had a mellow sound.”
1) LeVang on the Welk show with the 1974 Gianninni Craviola and singer Ralna English. 2) LeVang with his 1930 B&D Silver Bell tenor banjo. 3) LeVang with his son, Mark, in 2008.LeVang found work doing demos, and by ’58 had graduated to country sessions with the Sons of the Pioneers and Freddie Hart. A soundtrack date with pop orchestra leader David Rose led to a lifelong friendship and association, including working on Rose’s own orchestral recordings (among them “The Stripper”) and briefly on Red Skelton’s weekly CBS TV show, where Rose ran the band. In the fall of 1959, after touring with Gail Davis, TV’s “Annie Oakley,” he got a phone call about a job. Buddy Merrill, Lawrence Welk’s wunderkind guitarist, was going into the Army, and the band needed a replacement.
Welk’s Saturday night TV show had immense appeal to older adults enamored by his bland but melodic “champagne music,” complete with a machine pumping out bubbles around the band. For average uncritical music fans, Welk was all they needed, and even hipper musicians who deplored that music couldn’t argue with Welk’s commercial and financial successes.
There was no favorite to fill Merrill’s chair, he remembers. “They had several different guitar players (try out). Tommy Tedesco was on the week before me, so when I called into the office they asked, ‘Can you do it this week?’ I went in the week after Tommy, and I played ‘Little Rock Getaway.’ I guess I did it good,” he laughs. “He called me on Monday (imitates Welk). ‘Hello! How would you like to join our show?’ I said, ‘Let me think about it.’” He was dubious, though his band encouraged him. Finally, he talked with George Cates, Welk’s musical director, telling him, “I’ve got a good studio business starting here, and as long as tjos doesn’t limit me from doing my studio work, I don’t mind.” Cates assured him that beyond the day the show was taped, he was free to work sessions.
LeVang officially joined the Welk Musical Family around Thanksgiving of 1959. He’d remain for the next 23 years, doing occasional tours but mostly working that day a week when the show was taped.
His rationale for taking the job was mainly pragmatic, explaining, “it paid my kids’ (health) insurance and my child support,” and firmly asserts Welk was “a quarter of my total work.” He had good reason to maintain his studio schedule. The other days of the week, he worked for top arrangers like Nelson Riddle, Don Costa and Billy May. Early on, he’d become a vital cog in the musical section of the Hanna-Barbera cartoon machine, working with arranger Hoyt Curtin, which led to 15 years of more or less steady soundtrack work.
Kicking around new ideas with Leo Fender, LeVang helped him create the Fender Bass VI. He explains one early prototype thusly. “I took a Telecaster and equipped it with bass strings. He built the other one (production model), which I used.” Youtube videos show him using the Bass VI on the Welk show. He also recalls using it years later on Glen Campbell’s hit “Wichita Lineman.” Campbell was an old friend; they worked many sessions side-by-side. “They’d write parts for him, but he didn’t read, so I’d sit there alongside him and I would pencil in his stuff and I’d play in thirds or whatever.”
The Bass VI was introduced in ’61, the same year Buddy Merrill, discharged from the Army, returned to the band. Around that time, Welk decided to make other changes, delegating Cates to call the unlucky musicians. LeVang received one of those calls. Unconcerned, he took David Rose up on his offer to fill the guitar chair with the orchestra for Red Skelton’s weekly TV comedy-variety show. Cates consulted with Welk, who within an hour reversed course on Neil. A tough negotiator, LeVang wanted double union scale and doubles for playing multiple instruments. When Welk balked, LeVang reduced the double scale, but shrewdly worked out a deal that, when the smoke cleared, netted him a total 2.25 times scale. Again, he asserts, practicality motivated his thinking. “I’ve been a businessman since I was a kid,” he explains. “Let’s face it. You either make this a business, or you make it a hobby. I just feel that you do it for one reason or another: you want to kick ass or work the country club and pick up chicks – your choice, not mine.
“I’m very proud of [being] self-taught. I learned to read from violin and clarinet books, and if you can get that down, you can read anything.” In the early ’60s, he recalls, “I did a lot of things with Herb Alpert. I did the original Tijuana Brass. We were tryin’ to get a sound, so I did those up to the time of ‘Whipped Cream’ – when he formed the (recording and touring) band.”
Sessions gave him the opportunity to rub shoulders with giants. “We were doing an album with Frank Sinatra, who never rehearsed – he ‘came in.’ The band rehearsed. And one time there was an empty chair in the rhythm section, and he came over and sat by me, listening to playback. He said, ‘Hey Neil. Don’t sound bad for an old drunk, does it?’ He loved musicians.”
Sessions paid well, but also had their frantic side. “My biggest problem was makin’ it from one studio to the other,” LeVang laughs. He worked with anyone popular at the time. “I did an album with Liberace, one with Roger Williams, Eddie Fisher – the worst singer I ever recorded with – and Carol Burnett before she started doin’ TV. At one session with singer Tony Martin, Martin asked the studio be set up like a stage so he could record in a concert setting, wearing a tux.”
LeVang did extensive work on TV soundtrack sessions and, in ’65 a “Beverly Hillbillies” cast album for Columbia. Other TV work in the ’60s included two classic themes – “Green Acres” (“that’s me on first guitar playing the theme”) and Neil Hefti’s theme for “Batman.” “I did a whole bunch of things with him. I played six-string bass and also regular guitar.” Playing alongside him on the “Batman” session were two other guitar giants – Howard Roberts and Al Hendrickson.
1) LeVang on the Lawrence Welk Show in ’67, with Lynn Anderson and Buddy Merrill. 2) Neil LeVang with his early-’60s Fender VI. 3) LeVang in 1980 with his ’63 Fender King Acoustic.He also worked extensively with other great orchestral arrangers including John Williams, Patrick Williams, Marty Paich, Artie Butler, and Henry Mancini among them, as well as his buddy Frank DeVol, known for portraying inept bandleader Happy Kyne on Martin Mull’s sitcom “Fernwood-2 Nite” (with Tommy Tedesco on guitar). “With Frank, I did ‘Brady Bunch,’ ‘Family Affair’ and several other things,” LeVang says. “He was a beautiful cat.” When the plot for “Family Affair” included a trip to Spain, he asked LeVang to record Spanish guitar solos for the soundtrack. His response was typically candid. “I said, ‘I don’t want to hold you up. But I’m not a legitimate gut-string guitar player.’” When DeVol insisted, LeVang offered to have a schooled gut-string player standing by in case he couldn’t cut it.
“I never looked at charts before the session because I didn’t want to freak myself out. I put the earphones on and opened it up. But he wrote so well for guitar, I just read the (solo) spots. Listening to the playback, I didn’t even recognize my own playing! DeVol came out and said, ‘Where did you learn to read like that?’ I said, ‘I don’t know.’ He asked, ‘What was your original instrument? I said, ‘Violin.’ He said, ‘That explains it!’”
The rock and roll of the ’60s expanded his range of sessions, though due to overdubbing, he often recorded backgrounds, unaware of the identity of the singer or band. “At one session, this guy comes out of the booth and says, ‘Neil, you did a hell of a job on the last album!’ I said, ‘Oh… Whose album was that? He said, ‘Dino, Desi and Billy.’ We were doing the Monkees stuff. Studio musicians did the work and (the rock bands would) sit down and copy the records.” That wasn’t the case, however, with one session. “I was called to TTG studios to do an album with Frank Zappa when he was just starting out. I was working with Welk at the time, and we got through the first session, when Zappa looks at me, his hands wheelin’, and says, ‘How do you play that way? You’re “Mr. Straight Life!” I thought he was out of his mind!”
A 1971 date brought an unexpected reunion. “When I got there, they said, ‘You’ll be playing funk fills. I got my Fender and put the headset on, doin’ the fills. And after I get through with the first tune, this fella puts his hands on my shoulder. He said, ‘Don’t you remember me, Neil? I’m Spoon!’ It was Jimmy Witherspoon, who he’d met 26 years earlier on Central Avenue. “It was a kick that he remembered me.”
Some in Welk’s musical family expected LeVang to be on the receiving end of a different kick. “Everybody thought I was gonna get fired all the time.” He witnessed Welk’s penchant for mangling the English language with his famous bloopers. Once, reading from cue cards, he announced the band would play “songs from World War Eye.” Another time, Welk requested a sideman accompany an auditioning female singer, innocently asking the accompanist to, “Give this girl a good feel.” But the money was good, and he got along well with Cates, who ran the band behind the scenes. “I was in charge of the rhythm section and (George) respected my ability. I’d come in one day a week, do my gig, and get the hell out. I didn’t want to be invited to Lawrence’s for dinner.”
Clearly, that was not going to happen, given incidents like one during the band’s Lake Tahoe engagement. Accompanying the Lennon Sisters, he suddenly found Welk standing in front of him exclaiming, “Too much! Too much!” “He’s wavin’ his arms. I’m hearing him over my earphones and said, ‘Shhhh!’ and keep playin’.” Called to Welk’s dressing room later for a chewing-out, LeVang struck first. “I said, ‘Lawrence, I could hear you over my earphones, and if my mic is picking you up, it’s going out to the audience, I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.’ He said, ‘Everybody’s telling me how to run my band!’ I said, ‘No, Lawrence.’ He said, ‘You were just playing too much.’ I said, ‘I may not be the best guitar player in the world, but I’m probably one of the tastiest!’ I had to fight that ego with ego.”
At its peak, LeVang’s armada of gear gave his cartage company a considerable workout. It included the Bass VI, a Fender Precision Bass, Dobro, Gibson L-5, Fender steel-string acoustics including a King, and “several gut-strings” including a Tarrega. He can’t recall the brand of one favorite guitar, but, “I called it the Thrifty Mart because it cost $39.95, but had a hell of a good recording sound.” A Fender Twin Reverb and a ’65 blackface Pro Reverb were his amps of choice.
1) A 1960 Fender promo photo. 2) LeVang in 1952 with his first Fender Telecaster.Along with guitars, he routinely kept four-string tenor and five-string banjos handy, tuning the tenor like a guitar because, as he says, “People didn’t know how to write for tenor banjo, so I tuned it like a guitar, so I could read (music while playing) on it, and I also played a Fender electric mandolin. I had a couple of ukuleles – tenor and a baritone. Hell, I had a little bit of everything. I played a Gibson (A-series) mandolin.”
On some early shows, he played a Fender Jazzmaster given to him by Leo, who liked LeVang’s directness. He recalls a time Fender was planning to make an electric banjo. “He had a prototype I happened to see one day, and he said, ‘What do ya think?’ Leo had a 42-foot boat, and I said, ‘If your rudder ever breaks, this would be a good replacement!’ He always wanted a straight answer.” LeVang particularly loved one axe Fender custom-made for him in the early ’60s – “a Stratocaster with curly maple. The I had them wrap the pickups so they didn’t have all those highs, and the neck was flat in the back like an old Gibson neck.”
In ’74, the Strat and some of his other instruments were stolen from Welk’s truck. “The guy transporting them from the studio went to his girlfriend’s for lunch and forgot to secure the truck. I had an L-5 stolen, along with the Stratocaster.” Also gone was tenor banjo given to him by Eddie Peabody when he appeared on Welk in ’63. “The Lennon Sisters had written him a solo, but he didn’t read.” After LeVang played the part for him, a grateful Peabody gave him the Vega he used on the show.
“When Leo sold the factory, I started playin’ other stuff,” LeVang noted. “I had an Epiphone Sheraton that I loved, and a Guild Starfire I played on the Welk show.” On occasion, he used a Music Man and a Fiesta Red Tele owned by his son, Mark, a composer and studio keyboard player in L.A. But when Fender founded Music Man, LeVang switched allegiances, playing the company’s electric guitar and HD 130 and a 115 RP amps.
His soundtrack work continued, encompassing dozens of major feature films including All the President’s Men, At Long Last Love, Valley Of The Dolls, Dick Tracy, Good Morning, Vietnam, the Disney Herbie The Love Bug series, Rosemary’s Baby and Smokey and the Bandit, to name a handful. He played his Gibson mandolin on the Godfather soundtrack. That led to his recording an album with singer Al Martino, whose bodyguard effusively praised LeVang’s mandolin playing, adding “And you’re not even Italian!” For a Judy Garland concert with the L.A. Philharmonic, he remembers, “I played gut-string, and knew how to accompany a vocalist. I played fills, and it was a very nice moment. She wanted me to do her TV show, but because of my other obligations and the Welk show, I couldn’t. Still, it was nice to be asked.”
He worked with pop and rock acts including Duane Eddy, the Fifth Dimension, the Jackson Five, Harry Nilsson, and Rosemary Clooney. He played on the Jackson Five’s “I’ll Be There” alongside ace session guitarist Don Peake, and did some of Michael’s and Janet’s solo material. On other sessions, he backed Barbra Streisand, Johnny Mathis, David Clayton Thomas, Dick Dale, Lou Rawls, Neil Diamond, Al Martino, Dean Martin and Sinatra. He played on the Carpenters’ Christmas album and Phil Everly’s acclaimed Star Spangled Springer album. “I did Bing Crosby’s last album (Crosby died in 1976),” he adds. “Beautiful. He was laid back.”
1) LeVang in a U.S. Coast Guard promo photo in 1950, playing fiddle. 2) A 1952 promo photo of Texas Jim Lewis (from left) Lewis, Frank Lawver, Tex Worrell, Neil LeVang, and Jack Rivers.He once recorded in Nashville with Brenda Lee, working alongside some of the celebrated A-Teamers with Lloyd Green on pedal steel.
LeVang’s work on the Welk show had its moments, both solo and when he teamed with Merrill, a featured and much-admired soloist on guitar and pedal steel until he departed in ’74. One youtube video shows the pair tearing up the “Green Hornet Theme” on matching Strats. LeVang also accompanied band member Peanuts Hucko (respected big-band clarinetist) on tenor banjo on the ancient jazz favorite “Hindustan.” Backing violinist Joe Livoti on the Joe Venuti-Eddie Lang instrumental “Wild Dog,” he made his Fender King sound like a jazz archtop. “I happened to be playing the bass line along with the chords,” he laughs. “I made it up as I was going along. What do I know?”
He was involved in another unusual Welk jazz project – a ’65 album with iconic Duke Ellington tenor saxophonist Johnny Hodges. Welk faced a changing world during that decade. Amid the turmoil of the civil rights movement, pressured to include black performers, he added tap dancer Arthur Duncan to the cast. When longtime drummer John Klein (who was Welk’s cousin) left the drum chair in ’76, at LeVang’s recommendation Welk hired a black drummer who worked with the band for a time. In the past, rock acts occasionally appeared with Welk (the Chantays played “Pipeline” on one broadcast), but by the ’60s the show included more rock, adapted (dumbed-down, some might say) for Welk’s aging audience.
LeVang’s cheekiness with the boss occasionally exacted a price, yet even then, he had a comeback – or two. He wrote all the charts for a (Welk) album, but then on the day of a show taping, he found a copy of the album on his music stand in the studio, and his name was conspicuously absent from the credits. Irritated, he hit the talkback button on his music stand and began reading the album credits to everyone in the control room. “I was naming all the people including (Welk’s) secretary, down the line to the guy who cleans up the stage. And Lawrence comes back just a couple minutes later and he says, ‘Neil, I notice the album doesn’t have your name on it.’ I said, ‘That’s alright. If the album’s a flop, your name is on it, mine isn’t.’ That was the relationship we had.”
Nonetheless, the show continued through the ’70s, and so did LeVang’s session work. He worked with David Rose on the soundtrack for the TV series “Highway To Heaven,” which ended in ’88. “When we did the last show, he called and said, ‘I didn’t have time to write a guitar part. Just look at the score and when you feel like it’s time to play, you play.’ It was a pleasure working with the man.” Rose died in 1990.
He even went the distance with Welk, remaining until ’82, when the 79-year-old leader, dealing with the realities of age, ended the show after a hugely popular farewell tour. Welk hosted a couple subsequent reunion shows before he died in 1992. Summarizing the relationship, LeVang reiterates that “Welk was not my career or my head or my heart. That was to pay my child support and the insurance for my kids. It was sensible to hang on to, and that was basically it. You see the (Welk) things of mine online and (think) ‘This is what the guy did.’ But that’s not what I did. I didn’t do all I could on that show, because we were limited.”
When his studio calls tapered off by the late ’80s, he was philosophical. “I had so many years, I really didn’t care,” he says. He found himself touring Japan with bandleader Billy Vaughan, who was “a sweetheart of a man” bigger overseas than in America. During those tours, LeVang did occasional solo shows. At one, he met a fan who bowed to him. “I said, ‘I’m just a guitar player. You don’t have to bow to me.’ He said, ‘No, I’m just a doctor. You are an artist.’”
What does LeVang consider himself today? “Retired, thank God! All I did was make a living. I never had to work a day in my life, and I’m proud that I had the chance to do the things I’ve done. Some were memorable.” He no longer plays, saying, “I have nothing to prove. It was a nice 40 or 50 years! It was great.”
Seymour Duncan: The LeVang Connection
“I bought my first Fender Stratocaster in 1963 because of Neil LeVang,” says Seymour Duncan, whose admiration for the L.A. studio great and Welk guitarist sparked his passion for the instrument. “I told the owner of Musicville, in Woodbury, New Jersey, that I wanted to get a Strat so I could sound like Neil LeVang.”
Duncan, a revered guitar tech even before he started his legendary pickup company in 1978, is an institution himself, his gear used and endorsed by everyone from David Gilmour and Slash to Robben Ford and Jimmy Bruno.
LeVang’s inspiration helped start it all.
Seymour’s uncle, Howard Duncan, actually pointed the way. Having hipped his nephew to Chet Atkins and Jimmy Bryant, he told him about the Welk guitar duo of LeVang and Merrill in the early ’60s. Duncan’s dad, who owned a reel-to-reel tape recorder, allowed him to record LeVang’s playing on Welk’s show every week. Duncan remembers how it affected him, particularly his performance of “Ghost Riders in the Sky.”
“He was the first professional musician I ever saw perform, and he was playing a sunburst Stratocaster with gold pickguard with white pickup covers (the guitar stolen from Welk’s truck in ’74). I watched the show every week, recording any solo Neil would take. He was my first guitar hero, along with Duane Eddy and The Ventures, who I only heard on record. It was so great to see Neil play, and watch his technique.
“I liked his playing because I could hear the melody. I basically get lessons while watching.”
Later, the two met at NAMM shows in Anaheim. “Meeting him was a great thrill. He can play so many styles of music.”
Also memorable for Duncan were the guitars LeVang played on the Welk show, including a white Jazzmaster he used when he performed “South,” with tortoiseshell pickguard and the “switch in the middle position.” He later used a sunburst Jazzmaster, again with the tortoiseshell guard. For “Green Hornet,” he and Buddy Merrill used white Strats. In ’77, he vividly recalls Neil using a three-tone sunburst Strat to perform “Wabash Cannonball.” On a performance of “Wheels” that same year, LeVang used the neck pickup on his famous Fiesta Red Tele.
Duncan and Fender’s Custom Shop have teamed to build a reproduction of the stolen Strat with the custom pickups Leo Fender wound especially for him to emphasize a more mellow tonality. Duncan has a clear strategy for recreating that sound. “I’ll make the pickups by hand, using a specific Formvar-insulated wire, and I’ll scatter-wind the coils using hand-controlled tension, magnetized and calibrated magnets, and it’ll be calibrated for the bridge, middle, and neck position. The tone will also be determined by the string gauge Neil uses.”
Other custom touches will include waxed pots and a custom wiring harness with a five-way pickup selector switch. The pickups will be calibrated for string balance and position, and the pickguard will be either anodized or single-layer white, depending on Neil’s preference. The pickguard will have a ’50s control plate.”
This article originally appeared in VG December 2009 issue. All copyrights are by the author and Vintage Guitar magazine. Unauthorized replication or use is strictly prohibited.
After collaborating with the likes of Billy F Gibbons, Buddy Guy, Kenny Wayne Shepherd, Alex Skolnick, and Jim Campilongo, Marcopoulous discovered what was missing: They wanted a tone-shaping boost pedal that enhanced the sound of their rig, kept their core tone intact, and improved the sound of subpar backlines. Named by Wilco guitarist Nels Cline, The Distillery was created for guitarists with an ear for nuance who want to preserve the character of their guitar’s sound. 
