breach of faith when I first learned that Jimmy
Page, the High Priest of the Disciples of Paul,
played his classic “Stairway to Heaven” solo
on a Telecaster. As it turns out, there wasn’t
a Gibson on the entire track—the other parts
were played on a damn Fender Electric XII!
What the hell?! Conversely, Clapton’s famous
“woman tone” came before my time, so I’m
sure it bothered some of his early disciples
when he denounced his Gibson ES-335 and
SG for the more subtle Strat sound. But for
me, “Blackie” is Clapton. I mean, he’s one of
the founding Southern Strat-tists! Same goes
for Jeff Beck; his Les Paul days predate my listening, so for me he is an unwavering priest in
the church of Strat. Could you imagine Angus
Young on a Telecaster, George Benson on
an SG, or James Burton on an Ibanez? Sheer
heresy. I’m sure these legendary players could
make these guitars work—they may even
sound better on these instruments. We just
don’t want to see it, and I do mean “see” it
more than hear it.
Sacred Icons of Lust and Zeal
Ironically, our tone rituals are often more
visual than aural. Think about this: the sting
of betrayal seems to only occur when we see
our deities aligning themselves with guitars
from other denominations. The guitar greats
change amplifiers and experiment with different pedals on a regular basis, but it’s not that
big of a deal to their followers even though
amplifiers and effects are as responsible for
a player’s timbre as their guitar choice. But
because the guitar is more visually associated
with the player, whereas amps are in the background or hidden altogether, we feel uncomfortable with their change. Often, it’s the sight
and not the sound that indicates a more ritualistic than reasonable pattern of tone worship.
If it’s not entirely based on sound, what makes
us align ourselves with one particular guitar
denomination over the other?
It could be argued that one’s theological religion depends more on geography than spirituality. It’s no surprise that I am a Christian—I was
born and raised in the United States in the 20th
century. Had my ancestors hailed from India, I’d
be Hindu. It’s that simple. Likewise, our tonal
beliefs are influenced by where we live. I live In
Nashville, and I’m not sure you can even cross
the border of Tennessee without a Telecaster
on your person. Go southwest for 870 miles
to Austin, walk into any live music venue, and
there’s an excellent chance you’re going to see
someone bludgeoning an old Stratocaster, SRV
style. Or, head 880 miles north from Nashville
to the clubs of New York, and you’ll hear and
see an inordinate number of Les Pauls, 335s or
Strats retrofitted with humbuckers.
Speaking of the geography to tone relationship, to my ear, the two biggest pickup
companies sound like the place they’re built.
DiMarzio pickups are New York. Like the city
that never sleeps, DiMarzio pickups are LOUD,
in your face, aggressive, “Fugetaboutit!”
Conversely, Seymour Duncans sound laid
back and cool just like the west coast—”It’s
all good.” (Both companies have diverse
product lines, but the pickups that put them
both on the map fit the above descriptions to
this player.) Why do sound regionalisms exist?
Because our beliefs are in part shaped by our
surroundings, whether it’s the place where we
were born or where we moved to.
The Ascension of Deities and Demigods
Can’t you see he’s the man, let me
hear you applaud he is more than a
man he’s a shiny golden god.
—“Classico,” Tenacious D
Clapton, Page, Hendrix, Django, Van Halen,
Santana, Brent Mason, Danny Gatton, Roy
Buchanan, Kirk Hammett, Slash, Jeff Beck, SRV,
Duane Allman, Larry Carlton, Eric Johnson,
Mark Knopfler, Steve Vai, Ritchie Blackmore,
Skynyrd. Most of us learned to play by emu-
lating the sounds of these guitar greats. We
research and buy gear like our heroes use(d),
not necessarily because it’s the best but
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because they used it. Some boutique builders
will argue that they make better Stratocaster-style and Telecaster-style guitars than Fender,
but Fender remains the most coveted and
popular because that’s the brand played on all
those classic albums of the past; this is a consumer decision based on ideology rather than
facts. Our idols established the laws of tone,
and most of us follow without question.
Have you ever gone back and listened critically to some of the guitar playing that first
inspired you? Take some time to collect the
isolated guitar tracks, (You Tube has some
great ones); it’s an amazing experience.
When you strip away vocals, drums, keys,
and bass to hear the naked, raw tone of
legendary guitar tracks you’ll experience
some surprises. These are the sounds that
inspired thousands of loyal devotees and
millions of dollars in gear sales, but a truly
open-minded listen will reveal the sublime
and the downright ugly. Last year, I stopped
into my friend Chuck Ainlay’s studio while he
was mixing Clapton’s latest Crossroads DVD.
I watched Chuck struggle with a mix that
day because one of the guitar greats had a
downright bad tone happening. Granted,
this was a plug-and-pray festival where acts
run on as the others run off, so there probably was some questionable backline gear
and not much of a soundcheck. This guitar
legend was playing well, but—yikes!—the
poor engineer was left polishing a tone
turd. This could have been a bad day or this
guitar god may just have bad tone all the
time. Who knows? But it was an ear-opening
experience for me as an apostle of this
player, and it helped me listen more critically
to what’s coming out of my amp.
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Finding one’s own personal sound is like any
spiritual odyssey: It starts with what we are
exposed to, but somewhere along the line
something clicks inside of us and we become
true disciples of the faith. I was raised in
Montana, where old cornball country music was
ubiquitous. Though I hated much of it at the
time, I’ve come to appreciate the nostalgia of
it probably more than the sound. What really
shaped my tone quest were my hip parents
and very cool older brother who exposed me
to ’70s rock, music that by today’s standards
has more in common with country music. The
Eagles, the Dead, Dire Straits, the New Riders
of the Purple Sage, or even “Lay Down Sally”-era Clapton and “Landslide”-era Fleetwood
Mac sound far more like real country music than
