There’s logic and a process to how the artists we write about are selected, and how we strive to fulfill our commitment to serve the entire guitar community. Let us know how we’re doing.
Recently, we received a letter from a reader complaining that we didn’t write about enough artists that reader knew, so they were canceling their subscription. I was perplexed. Over the past few months, we’ve written about Kerry King, the Black Keys, Marcus King, the Melvins, the Black Crowes, Blackberry Smoke, Judas Priest, Steve Albini, Sleater-Kinney, and, in this issue, Slash, the Decemberists, and Richard Thompson. Hardly a cavalcade of the obscure. Plus, one of the reasons I started reading guitar and other music magazines when I was 16 was to find artists I didn’t know, and decades later I still love discovering new musicians who excite me.
And I still believe it’s every music media outlet’s responsibility to turn readers or listeners on to performers they are unfamiliar with. Hence, our recent features on Khruangbin, Sheer Mag, Anne McCue, Bill Orcutt, Dave Pomeroy, and Laura Jane Grace.
Although we also love to write about gear, and have devoted more pages (and covers) to gear features over the past 18 months, we don’t take our artist coverage lightly at all. Each month, as individual editors and collectively, we listen to dozens of new albums, refine that to a list of anywhere from 20 to 40 artists and titles, and vote on that list. Those artists with the most votes get the ink, and sometimes the lobbying is intense. Occasionally, an artist we love who doesn’t get the votes will end up in our Question of the Month column, or elsewhere. Often an artist we can’t squeeze in due to timing or space constraints, like, recently, Warren Haynes, Steve Vai, and Julian Lage—who we’ve written about many times and also love—will end up in a Rig Rundown, thanks to our video crew headed by Chris Kies and Perry Bean, often supported by our popular host John Bohlinger. (I also enjoy being the talking head for Rundowns when I can.)
Perhaps the unhappy reader was thinking about Green Day, Brian Setzer, or Mark Knopfler? They’ve all appeared on the covers of the other guitar magazines recently, and that’s one of the reasons we didn’t put them on ours. We try to not duplicate the other magazines’ coverage. Sometimes we know what they’re doing; sometimes we don’t and we make our best guess. Also, we believe in letting the dead rest in peace. I love Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jimi Hendrix. And while I was too young to catch Jimi, I saw Stevie Ray in concert 14 times and interviewed him on several occasions, and got to chat backstage. Besides his musical excellence, I feel that he was the most giving performer I’ve ever seen. His music touched me profoundly, and when he died I cried hard. Nonetheless, Stevie or Jimi won’t be making annual appearances on our cover. At this point, especially after Charles R. Cross’ Room Full of Mirrors and Alan Paul and Andy Aledort’s Texas Flood, there really doesn’t seem to be any mysteries left in their legacies. That said, when one presents itself, we’ll do our best to cover it. We also revere our artists who are gone or faded into semi-obscurity, and you can read about many of them in our Forgotten Heroes features, or, as the worst happens, in our memoriams. I recently penned those for Dickey Betts, Wayne Kramer, and Duane Eddy, who were among my rock ’n’ roll heroes. I hate writing these, but I believe that contributors to the guitar canon deserve a strong, heartfelt, goodbye.
“We try to not duplicate the other magazines’ coverage.”
We do feel a great sense of responsibility to our readers, but also to the character of our publication. We don’t want to bring you a generic guitar magazine. I hope we succeed in being different, and letters like this ex-reader’s certainly make me reflect on our work. But I could not be happier or more honored than to be among the fine group of editors here. We all have areas of expertise that we bring to our jobs, and I am proud of our collective effort. But I’m also open-minded enough to know perfection is rarely attained, and that sometimes we miss the mark. I depend on your letters and emails to help us stay on track, and I invite them both. So please do let us know what you think about PG’s coverage … regularly.
You’ve probably seen me write this before, but we are all part of the guitar community, and I want to be sure we’re always in touch. Our community members are a diverse bunch, artistically and personally, and our connection, via the music and instruments we love, is important. Speaking of diversity, I’m pretty sure our senior-most reader is Ida Hoffma of Bristol, Rhode Island. Ida is 97 and mostly reads the things I write, looks at the rest of the issue, and gives it to her son-in-law, Ernie, who reads the magazine and then passes it along to one of his wife Susan’s guitar-playing co-workers. (Pass-along rates used to be an important consideration in print journalism.) Ida doesn’t play guitar, but since I’m married to her daughter, Laurie, I think she sees her role in our community as keeping me employed. Thanks, Ida!
Our columnist’s pursuit of guitar lore brought tears to the eyes of the late Japanese builder Yasuo Momose, who became nostalgic for his designs like the one featured here.
Once upon a time, yours truly was a young journalism major who hated to read! Yep, I wanted to be a sports writer, and was only really interested in that endeavor. But alas, young Frank was forced to read about two books/novels a week, for about two years. It was good for a backwards weirdo like me because I was exposed to history, culture, and philosophy to the extent that I was actually becoming a little worldly. Just a little. Out of those experiences, I learned to appreciate telling stories, especially through interviews and firsthand accounts.
When I began to research guitars, I just simply reached out to people and asked all the questions I could think of. Man, I talked to musicians, studio people, factory workers, guitar designers, and company owners. Almost all of them were a bit surprised at my interest in them and my wanting to know about mostly forgotten guitar history.
I’ve interviewed people from all over the world, from the U.S. to Italy to England to Germany. At one point, I had so much information that it was depleting my hard-drive space and my brain, to the extent that I had to take a breath and organize all this stuff! In that process, I found that I cared for all these people and felt the need to tell their stories. Like any good journalism major, I realized the historical implications and the human element. So, for this month, I wanted to highlight a guitar design by Yasuo Momose. He worked at the famous Fujigen factory in the early 1960s, and later moved to a smaller factory called Hayashi Mokko, where he let his creative notions flow. He’s responsible for all the ultra-cool late-’60s Kent guitars with the racing-striped bodies!
Japanese guitar designer and builder Yasuo Momose.
Photo by Tadashi Ito
This particular model borrows from the “violin” guitar craze, mainly perpetuated by Paul McCartney and his Höfner bass. Dubbed the 834, this Kent was only produced for two short years, from 1967–1969. Priced at $125, the 834 was described as:
“The best of both—all in one! The free-sounding acoustics of a violin-shaped body, plus the charged up excitement of Kent electronics! This semi-acoustic body has an arched top and back, two pickups, two tone and two volume controls, toggle switch for pickup selection, rhythm-solo switch, compensating damper bridge and Kent tremolo tailpiece.”
Ah, to be an ad writer back in those days! In reality, this guitar was supercharged because of those Kent pickups, which are hot as hell, and could drive a small tube amp into the red zone! This is one of the guitars I wish I had never sold, because it’s light but also over-engineered and rather sturdy. Oh well. It has a wonderful headstock and body, “Kent” inlays, and of course, the cool side binding which had a dual purpose: to cover up the wood joining and to act as rally stripes. So cool!
As I was researching my book, I could never figure out which factory made the 834, along with all the other Kents from that era. So, on one of my visits to Japan, I was encouraged to visit Momose-san, who was then working at the Deviser factory in Matsumoto City. He was still making guitars, but they were all high-end electrics and acoustics, sold under the Momose name. I was led back to his workspace and there he was, toiling away at five guitars! He made all of them from scratch and was treated with a certain reverence among the other employees. In Japan, they respect their elders!
“Almost all of them were a bit surprised at my interest in them and my wanting to know about mostly forgotten guitar history.”
We got to chatting and sat down for an interview. At the end, I showed him some pictures from my book, and when I came to the Kent guitars, he started to tear up. He said, “These were my first designs,” and went on to tell me some more history and anecdotes. I tell this story again because Momose-san passed away recently, and I wanted to highlight him once more. He was the same age as my dad, both born in 1944. It turns out there is really only one reason to write about history. Get it straight before it disappears.
How a musical legacy is passed from generation to generation.
I’m fascinated by family traditions. Much of my family’s were lost in the transition from Poland to the U.S., and to a language barrier. Thus, the details of my grandmother's history as a village healer in her youth are lost. But for musical families, legacies are easier to trace and preserve, thanks to recordings and other documentation.
One of the best examples in American music is the Carter and Cash clan—four generations deep, with hundreds of records and filmed performances between them. The Allman/Trucks/Betts kin are another illustration that spills across generations. But the closest to my heart are the Burnsides, who, along with Junior Kimbrough and his sons, are guiding lights of North Mississippi hill country blues.
The patriarch was R.L. Burnside, who was born in 1926 and learned to play at the feet of his neighbor, Fred McDowell, who was the foundation of North Mississippi blues as most of us know it—although the style, with its intricate rhythmic bedrock, is really an offshoot of the straight-from-Africa sound of the fife-and-drum bands that are the precursor to rural acoustic and electric blues. My beloved friend and mentor R.L. died in 2005, but his sons, Duwayne and Garry, and his grandsons, Kent and Cedric, who collectively span two generations, carry on the family tradition. Cedric, in particular, who I met when he was a 14-year-old drummer supporting his “Big Daddy” on tour, has become a profoundly important part of his family’s musical legacy at age 44.
Quietly, without his grandfather knowing, Cedric was taking notes on the fabric of R.L.’s guitar style from his seat behind the drums. It was only on his deathbed that R.L. learned Cedric was preparing to step forward into history. “I had only really started playing guitar in 2002,” Cedric, who, along with Kinney Kimbrough, was already one of the two preeminent drummers in North Mississippi blues, recalls. “I was able to play for Big Daddy and show him a song I’d written, and—he couldn’t really talk clearly at the time—his eyes lit up, delighted. I could tell he was proud of me and he put his thumb up. He loved to throw that thumb up when he heard something he dug.”
Today, Cedric has been nominated for three traditional blues Grammys and took the prize for his 2021 album I Be Trying. He has also won a half-dozen Blues Music Awards and was awarded a 2021 National Heritage Fellowship by the National Endowment of the Arts, the federal government’s highest honor for folk and traditional arts.“I could tell he was proud of me and he put his thumb up. He loved to throw that thumb up when he heard something he dug.”
At a recent show at Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium, supporting his new album Hill Country Love, the simplicity and complexity of Cedric’s music was laid bare. With his guitar and singing supported by only a drummer—in the deep juke joint tradition—his playing echoed his grandfather and McDowell, but was also a self-created style of swift, sharp, fingerpicked, hard-chiseled melodies that resonate like the music’s deepest bones. At times Cedric sounds like Ali Farka Touré, an artist he had never heard until his own approach was entirely developed. And Cedric’s lyrics deal with the struggle of being Black in an oppressive culture, of fighting up from poverty, of finding his own way in a tradition that goes back more than a half-century in his family’s history and to a place two continents away.
As any of Johnny Cash’s children, or Duane Betts or Devon Allman, might tell you, hefting that kind of legacy to new ground can be a heavy load. And yet, Burnside relates, “I just try to let it flow and do what my heart tells me to do, and if it works, great. If not, I regroup and try again. But I am grateful for how far the hill country sound has come, and grateful I’ve been able to help carry it. I’m about letting people know where I got it from, while paving my own way. As long as I can help keep it alive and well, I’m honored to be able to do that.”
Along those lines, Cedric says he’s got enough new original songs on his phone for three or four more albums. “So, I’m just going to do my own thing and put out as much music as I can before the good Lord calls me home, and show as much of this music to the younger generation around hill country—maybe even my own kids—so after I’m gone we can keep this going.”
R.L. would be very proud.
Dedicated educators across the U.S. are bringing mariachi to young musicians, and creating an exciting future for music.
Once again, my travels have put you, the reader, in my thoughts, and my recent trip to Texas inspired me to share more about a sound that has been a big part of my life—one that many musicians and guitarists appreciate for its musical stylings. I’m speaking of one of the more popular ensembles of Mexico, mariachi!
I could write an article on each of the instruments used in a mariachi ensemble, but for now, I want to briefly mention them before focusing more on the impact of this music, with a look at some of the amazing educators bringing it to young musicians.
Although a mariachi ensemble (not a mariachi “band”—you wouldn’t say orchestra “band”) can have variations of the instruments used to make up the grouping, the following configuration is most common. In the armonía or rhythm section, you will have any or all of the following: a nylon-string guitar, Mexican vihuela, guitarra de golpe, guitarrón, and Jalisciense harp. The melodies are played by a violin section, and a trumpet plays countermelodies. I’ll circle back on the armonía instruments in later articles, but right now, I want to talk about music education.
I have the privilege and honor of working alongside some of the most devoted teachers around the United States: music educators. Whether for band, orchestra, choir, or mariachi, these are the people who are bonding with our children, staying late for rehearsals, and going to competitions or performances through weekends and summers. Their long hours and dedication are truly unmatched—one could argue sports coaches do the same, but unlike most sports, music has no season. It continues all year long.
“Their long hours and dedication are truly unmatched … Music has no season. It continues all year long.”
I could highlight dozens of educators who have helped mariachi grow in schools, from Richard Carranza, former chancellor of New York City Schools; to Albuquerque Public Schools’ fine arts director Gina Rasinski; to Katie Dudley, who is growing a program on a shoestring budget in Waukegan, Illinois’ public schools. But in Fort Worth, Texas, there are two leaders who are infectious in their ability to impact students from middle school to post-secondary: Ramon Niño and Wendy Martinez.
Often having had to fight battles to succeed, Niño and Martinez managed to find great support from their high school’s principal and the school’s director of fine arts. Niño and Martinez’s ensemble, Mariachi Espuelas de Plata, has performed across the country, from Carnegie Hall to Nashville to Hershey, Pennsylvania, as well as with top professional mariachi ensembles. Last year, legendary jazz trumpeter Arturo Sandoval joined them on stage for a performance in San Antonio. I’ve been proud to help them introduce new programs at universities like Texas Christian University and Texas Wesleyan University’s Mariachi Oro Azul, through my budget-friendly La Tradición string-instrument line. To see the eager response of college students, many of whom have never played in a mariachi, is truly amazing.
I asked Ricardo E. Rodriguez, dean of Texas Wesleyan’s School of Arts and Sciences, for his thoughts on their mariachi program. “The presence of Ramon Niño and Wendy Martinez has not only provided a basic music foundation for the Mariachi Oro Azul, but they have established a culture of family and inclusiveness as well as the recognition that music crosses all boundaries,” Rodriguez says.
While we have seen hints of mariachi in popular music in the past with songs like Blondie’s “The Tide Is High” and its mariachi trumpet stylings, the wave is larger and stronger than ever now. More and more, I’m noticing that labels are signing Black and Latino artists to genres like country music, a genre where their presences on main stages have been relatively rare. I get calls from artists looking for mariachi musicians to play on their tracks, and hybrid versions of mariachi are popping up on the stage at the Grand Ole Opry with acts like Stephanie Urbina Jones & the Honky Tonk Mariachi. I see these as the knock-on effects of the programs and teachers that have helped introduce mariachi into learning spaces.
The roots and influences that help shape music’s future start at home and in the classroom. Opening students up to forms of music from other cultures helps enrich not just their lives, but ours, too. Thank god for our music teachers, and those who support them.
Ever think of adding EQ to your signal chain? Here’s a brief but definitive guide on how to get started.
Equalization is a powerful sonic-sculpting tool. Almost immediately after we figured out how to convert the music we hear into electronic waveforms, electronic engineers devised circuits to manipulate those signals by attenuating and accentuating different frequency bands. In recording studios, equalization can subtract bass from a boomy kick drum or add sibilance to a breathy vocal. In sound reinforcement, we can equalize the response of a PA in a room with less than ideal resonances.
These resonances add or subtract energy from the PA output and present an uneven response to the audience. Equalization adjusts the PA’s frequency response to account for those room dynamics and makes the response even, or equal, across all bands.
Human hearing is usually understood to extend from 20 Hz to 20 kHz. The frequency range of the guitar is much more limited, typically ranging from around 80 Hz to 6 kHz. Interestingly, the human voice shares a great deal of the same bandwidth, meaning the same ears and audio-processing centers that are fine-tuned for distinguishing the differences in voices can readily adapt to distinguish the differences in guitar tones. Accordingly, small adjustments in frequency equalization can have big effects in the ears of the listener, making a world of difference in a guitar’s fundamental sound. No amount of EQ will turn a red-knob Fender Twin into a Marshall plexi, but a little EQ might be all that stands between the sound in your head and the gear that you already own.
There are a host of EQ guitar pedal options on the market, from the venerable Boss GE-7 graphic equalizer (which contains preset frequency centers and bandwidths) to the new-fangled Empress ParaEq (which contains fully adjustable frequency centers and bandwidths). If you’re an EQ neophyte, stick with a graphic EQ. The sliders will be spaced evenly, and you can train your ear to hear the difference between frequencies before graduating to the laissez-faire frequency selection of a parametric EQ. As you’re learning what each frequency does for your sound, pull the fader all the way down and listen carefully, then push it all the way up and do the same. Listening to the EQ at these extremes may help you key in on the change at a more tasteful setting. Make a habit of turning the effect on and off to sample what it is doing relative to your unaffected signal.
It may be helpful to think of EQ as a flavoring agent. Like a little salt enhances a dish’s existing flavors, EQ can make for some tasty tones. If you have an overdrive that you’d like to make a little more “screamer,” add a bit of 800 Hz. If your sound has got a little too much of that green pedal honk, cut 800 Hz just a hair. If your chunky rhythm sound lacks clarity, cut from 200–250 Hz. This is where the low-midrange mud lives.
“If the unobtanium overdrive du jour is a Ferrari, then an EQ is like a Honda Accord.”
Almost every move has a practical reciprocal. You can add clarity by cutting low mids or boosting high mids by a commensurate amount. I normally recommend cutting first as a rule of thumb, as excessive boost can make things squirrelly, due to increased overall gain. That said, boosting around 500 Hz can add midrange body; around 2 kHz can help a neck pickup cut through the mix; and around 5 kHz can add airy click to your sound.
As you tweak, remember the upper-frequency bands will have more of an effect when placed after overdrive and distortion in your signal chain, as those processes generate harmonics that add energy to higher frequencies. But, there are no hard and fast rules. Adjust with listening ears! Your sound is like a ball of clay, and EQ can help you shape it just how you’d like.
Experiment with EQ placement as well. Apply EQ after dirt in order to carve your signal like the channel strip on a mixing console. Apply EQ before overdrives to cause them to saturate sooner at specific frequencies. This can greatly affect a pedal’s feel as well as sound.
If the unobtanium overdrive du jour is a Ferrari, then an EQ is like a Honda Accord. It’s practical, modest, and functional, but most people don’t dream about owning one. However, with the ability to subtly sculpt and cut or boost in the extreme, EQ can get you where you want to go.