“Music is inherently a collaborative process, and quite often, our heroes work better together.”
In 1986, my friend Jon Small produced the video for Run-DMC and Aerosmith’s version of “Walk this Way.” Small starts the video with Aerosmith loudly jamming in a rehearsal space with an annoyed Run-DMC shouting from the adjacent room, “Turn that noise down, man.” When DMC realizes they can’t get around it, they have to get into it.
They rap the first verse, and then Steven Tyler breaks down the wall between the rooms and joins Run-DMC on the chorus. The metaphor is pretty brilliant, tearing down the wall between hip-hop and rock, tearing down cultural walls and unifying two audiences that seem totally different but are way more similar than anyone suspected.
Tyler, being a drummer at heart, wrote the lyrics with this perfect percussive flow that was essentially rap before rap was rap. Tyler also peppered the lyrics with double entendre, which became a huge part of hip-hop.
“Walk This Way” was 10 years old at the time, and Aerosmith had been through it all. The band's drug use had taken its toll. Joe Perry and Brad Whitford had both quit and rejoined, labels were skeptical, and radio was ignoring them. But this crossover collaboration reached No. 4 on the Billboard Hot 100, and its frequently aired video resurrected Aerosmith’s career by introducing the band’s music to a new generation. It also paved the way for a melding of rock and hip-hop in the hands of acts like Rage Against the Machine, Kid Rock, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and all the others who jumped into these blurred lines created by this collaboration.
Music is inherently a collaboration. In every band, orchestra, duo, etc., players join together to achieve a common goal. Even if you’re a soloist, your arms, legs, and fingers are doing wildly different, complicated tasks separately while working together, hopefully in harmony. The best collaborations happen when the energy/talent/spirit/personality jell in such a way that it brings the best out of everyone, creating work that neither party could have done alone. Beatles, Stones, Aerosmith … none of the members’ solo work is as good as the band collaborations that made their careers.
Collaborations go the other way as well, like those big, epic closing jams at a concert, where 5 to 15 guitarists get on stage and each player tries to kick the ass of the person soloing before them. They usually turn into an unwatchable dweedlely-dweedle wank fest. A three-diva sing off is equally torturous: no melody, all riffs. That’s ego getting in the way of being part of something bigger than you. That’s why most supergroups are usually less than super. But great artists thrive with collaboration.
“Iggy Pop seems like a feral animal compared to elegant Bowie, and yet the two wrote and produced a ton of legendary music together throughout the ’70s and ’80s.”
One of the attributes that made David Bowie such a next-level talent was his love of collaboration, particularly with artists who were so different from himself. Bowie’s hit “Fame” was a collaboration with John Lennon. One of my favorite Christmas songs is Bing Crosby and Bowie’s “The Little Drummer Boy.” In 1981, Bowie and Queen were both recording their own projects at Mountain Studios in Montreux, Switzerland. This led to Queen inviting Bowie to sing on a track, which led to an impromptu writing/recording session, which led to the creation of “Under Pressure.”
Bowie brought in a young and unknown Stevie Ray Vaughan to be the rude, angry counter to Nile Rodgers’ slick and funky rhythm on “Let’s Dance.” Iggy Pop seems like a feral animal compared to elegant Bowie, and yet the two wrote and produced a ton of legendary music together throughout the ’70s and ’80s. Together, they served each other as perfect foils.
Clapton’s guitar weeping over George Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” Eddie Van Halen’s rearranging Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” then laying down his iconic solo over the new section, or more recently, Bonamassa’s guitar driving under Glenn Hughes’ soaring vocals and Jason Bonham’s thunder with Black Country Communion’s new single, “Stay Free,” collaboration can take it to places where no one has gone before.
When I moved to Nashville 32 years ago, a writer told me this town was built on collaboration; it’s all co-writing, jamming, working together on life’s never-ending art project. Not only do you get a fresh direction in your work, but your chances of success double when two people are working on promotion rather than doing it all alone. The best part is the relationships you form. As your peer group comes to power, you all help each other along the way.
There are two collaborations I would love to see happen:
Ultimate collab #1:
Jack White and Jack Black. They are already friends. Both have an over-the-top, theatrical delivery. The project name options are numerous and brilliant. Call this unholy union “Jack White and Black” or “Jack Jack White Black.”
Ultimate collab #2:
Marcus King and Kingfish. Both brilliant guitarists deep in the blues/rock world, but with sophisticated jazz leanings. Both sons of the South. Proposed name: Marcus King Fish.
Marcus, Chris, Jack, and Jack, if you are reading this, know that your audience awaits with eager anticipation.
The guitar legend passed away after a battle with cancer Tuesday at the Williamson Health hospital in Franklin, Tennessee, according to his wife, Deed Abbate.
Duane Eddy, along with producer Lee Hazlewood, effectively defined “twang” and set the gold standard for instrumental guitar rock in the late ’50s with his songs “Rebel-’Rouser” and his version of the theme to “Peter Gunn.” In addition to his playing and exceptional approach to his instrument, he experimented and expanded the tone of the electric guitar, notably using a 2,000-gallon water tank as an echo chamber on some early recordings. Eddy’s influence extends into the most hallowed levels of rock ‘n’ roll and the guitar universe, spanning from the Beatles to John Fogerty to Bill Frisell and beyond. Full obituary to come.
This vintage electric hollowbody has some unusual components—such as a Rezo-Tube bridge—that would make it a fascinating addition to any collector’s vault.
Many guitar fans obsess over the “classics,” but I’ve always been more drawn to the obscure underdogs, especially those designed by England’s James Ormston Burns. Sometimes called the “British Leo Fender,” Burns’ success was comparatively minimal, but he left behind many interesting, if often quirky, instruments. The original Burns London company started in 1959, was bought out by the American Baldwin Company in late 1965, and shut down just a few years later. Few guitars with the Burns logo ever made it to the U.S., but many of his models were available here, branded Ampeg (1962–’64) and Baldwin (1965–’69).
This Virginian is one of the rarest, and oddest. Appearing at first glance to be an amplified (possibly hideously modified) flattop acoustic, it is actually a purpose-built electric. Introduced in 1965, it was one of Jim Burns’ final designs for his original company. This early 1965 example came over to me from the original owner’s family in the U.K., who taped the case shut, slapped on a label, and gave it to Parcelforce, hopefully with a nice “Cheerio!” Amazingly, it arrived in one piece and remains in excellent condition, except for an added string retainer on the headstock.
The Virginian evolved from an earlier Burns semi-acoustic, the GB65. That model used the same laminated mahogany body and flamed sycamore top, with eccentric twin f-holes and a trapeze tailpiece. Compared to the GB65, Burns substituted on the Virginian a decorative, round central soundhole—but the primary difference between the two designs is the patented Rezo-Tube bridge, developed as the vibrato system for the 1964 Hank Marvin solidbody. Each string terminates in an individual tube, hence the name, inside a cavity in the body isolated completely from the wood. Burns claimed that it “gives the string tone a new degree of resonance and sostenuto” (i.e., sustain).
The Virginian is built with Burns’ patented Rezo-Tube bridge, designed for the ’64 Hank Marvin solidbody, where each string terminates in an individual tube inside a cavity in the body.
Photos by George Aslaender
Burns was so pleased with the Rezo-Tube that the Virginian was designed around it, but here, the concept seems a bit counterintuitive. A large solid block under the bridge has a central opening; six strings in individual metal tubes hang down therein. The bridge is spring-suspended on a knife-edge pivot but not intended to move, having no vibrato arm. To top it off, decorative rosewood pieces are mounted either side, mimicking a flattop bridge. Despite a (mostly) hollow body, the Virginian has minimal acoustic sound, thanks to solid blocking around the Rezo-Tube. The natural-finished, bolt-on maple neck has a 24 3/4"-scale rosewood fretboard and the “scroll” headstock—also designed for Hank Marvin. As with most Burns designs, adjustment for the geared truss rod is hidden under the neck plate.
“The Virginian usually inspires a ‘huh?’ reaction—or at least a raised eyebrow—from any player that sees it.”
The Virginian featured Jim Burns’ newest 1965 Bar-O-Matic pickups. The wiring rig sports a major innovation Burns called the “density” knob. The knob blends in the lower coil of a stacked humbucker in the neck position, an original and early use of this concept. The simple-looking controls often baffle a first-time user; the forward knob is volume, with density in the middle and tone at the rear, which also works only on the neck pickup. There are effectively two tone controls for the neck pickup, none for the bridge, and a 3-way switch.
The guitar’s scroll headstock, seen here, was also designed for Marvin.
Photos by George Aslaender
Jim Burns seemed especially proud of this design, the initial ad touting, “Controlled Resonance technology … incorporates the Burns Rezo-Tube bridge/tailpiece developed for the Shadows.” The 1965 U.K. list price was £134, in the same range as many imported Fenders and Gibsons. Despite Burns’ gung ho, the Virginian seems a bit like a guitar in search of a mission. The name implies country Western, but the publicity highlighted “true jazz guitar tone! A real thick, full sound that explodes without ‘woolly’ trimmings with the unique density control.” It’s unlikely much serious jazz got played on Virginians, but one did appear with Lenny Breau in the 1960s. It also was played by a few 1965 U.K. chart acts: Unit 4 + 2, Pinkerton’s Assorted Colours, and even the Troggs.
The Virginian became Baldwin’s Model 550, listed at the rather non-bargain price of $495 (plus a $55 case). They reasoned that if you’re going to put in a vibrato, you should give folks an arm to shake—so later Virginians do have a whammy bar, along with other small changes. Baldwin had a Nashville operation tied in with Sho-Bud, so a few country stars, including a young Johnny Paycheck, got one. Baldwin Virginians were sold from 1966–’69, but first-generation 1965 Burns examples are rare—even in England. The Virginian usually inspires a “huh?” reaction—or at least a raised eyebrow—from any player that sees it. There’s something endearingly goofy about its hybrid appearance, but this is a solid player, handling well with a bright, clear sound for a full-size hollowbody. Jim Burns re-engineered the concept in the ’70s into the Steer model (a favorite of Billy Bragg), but the original Virginian remains unique, and has never been reissued.
This reader’s doubleneck guitar sports one rather unusual feature—a fretless neck.
I’m always looking for things that push my guitar playing in new directions and challenge me, whether it’s new music, rediscovering old music, or new gear. Though I’ve played fretless bass for years, I’ve always wanted a fretless guitar. Yet, the fear of being on stage without the safety net of a fretted guitar, coupled with the inspiration of Ron “Bumblefoot” Thal, pointed me towards a doubleneck. I put this guitar together with Warmoth parts, since a comparable Kiesel headless doubleneck was out of my price range.
I started with an alder body, finished in cinder red gloss by Warmoth. The fretless neck has maple fret lines on a black ebony fretboard, on a roasted maple neck. The fretted neck has a scalloped ebony fretboard (a nod to Yngwie) on a roasted maple neck. The ebony peghead veneers came out really nice. I didn’t have the courage to do a lineless fretboard on the fretless side, though it would have made the fretless side more obvious. Most people roll their eyes when they think there are just two fretted necks.
The pickups are Seymour Duncan Hot Rails in the neck, and Jupiter Rails in the bridge. In between the necks, there’s a 6-way Free-Way Switch. It operates like a 3-way toggle, but in the up position, it selects the fretless side, and the down position selects the fretted side. Despite the electronics separation, I still need fret wraps, because the sympathetic vibrating of each neck can be heard through the other neck’s pickups. They’re easy enough to slide on and off.
This guitar also has LSR roller nuts. Combined with the Gotoh locking tuners, tuning is pretty solid. I love the LSR nut, though you gotta be careful when changing strings because the little ball bearings fall out if you’re not careful.
“Most people roll their eyes when they think there are just two fretted necks.”
The fretless side is strung with D’Addario flats. I prefer .011s, though I know some fretless users go for heavier gauges. I’m considering having the fretless board epoxied, though the flatwounds don’t really chew up the fretboard. Anyway, I can always just replace the neck in the future if it gets chewed up. The fretted side has .009s, and I don’t have a problem with pushing them out of tune on the scalloped board.
One thing I learned, while I ordered the vintage spacing hardtail on the fretless side, is that it’s virtually impossible to find vintage-spacing bridges in black. But I managed to cobble together some bridges to make it work.
Lastly, I had a battery cavity installed in the back, though I knew that I wouldn’t use active electronics. I figured it would lighten this heavy guitar, even if just by a few ounces. Still, it “only” weighs 13 pounds.
I’m really surprised that various techniques work well on the fretless side—conventional picking, sweeps, and tapping. I had initially wanted a sustainer in the neck position of the fretless side, but that would have complicated the wiring beyond my meager abilities. Fortunately, I don’t need it. Sustain is not too much of a problem—maybe more so on the higher frets of the plain strings, but that’s nothing that some tremolo picking can’t solve. Chords are a different story, though. Hard to intonate any chords other than simple fifths. But that’s what the fretted guitar is for!
As a member of Bob Marley and the Wailers, he was one of reggae’s original creators.
Bass is about connection—within the music, among the players, and between the musicians and the listener. Even if you can only hear a song’s bass line, say, in a noisy, crowded room, or through an adjoining wall, you might be able to recognize the song—and conjure up all the memories and emotions of how that song speaks to you. Simply through bass. In the musical conversation between rhythm and harmony, bass bridges the gap, gluing everything together. And chances are, as the bass player in your band, you’re not only providing that musical groove glue, but you may also be holding the band together practically and interpersonally. And the whole time, you’re making everyone and everything feel and sound good.
It’s hard to think of any player who embodied this idea of bass as connection more than Aston “Family Man” Barrett. Though (like most bass players) he’s not exactly a household name, he truly should be: As the long-time bassist, arranger, and coproducer of Bob Marley and the Wailers, his musical innovations and memorable lines are exceedingly familiar to anyone who has ever heard reggae music. “Fams,” as he was known, died in February of this year at 77, leaving a long legacy of reggae mastery.
Indeed, as Family Man was one of reggae’s original creators, he helped birth the bass-heavy Jamaican genre into existence from its stylistic precursors, ska and rocksteady. Together with his younger brother, drummer Carlton “Carly” Barrett, Fams created and established much of the hypnotic pulse and infectious vibe that characterizes reggae rhythms. Family Man’s feel was firm yet relaxed, his tone deep, dark, and plush. It was with these bottom-heavy colors, coaxed from a Höfner “Beatle” bass in his early years, then from his flatwound-strung Fender Jazz bass, that Aston Barrett crafted snaky, syncopated hooks and short melodic phrases that bolstered the vocal melodies while playing against the bouncing backbeats of the rhythm guitar and organ.
Before building his first bass from plywood and a length of 2“x4”, Barrett’s first musical love was singing along to American soul artists on Jamaican radio. “When I’m playing the bass, it’s like I’m singing,” Fams told music journalist Bill Murphy in a 2007 Bass Player magazine interview. “I compose a melodic line and see myself like I’m singing baritone.” You can hear his vocal-like bass stylings in songs like “Is This Love” and “Waiting in Vain.” These and many other Barrett bass lines serve as countermelodies, animated motifs that play against each song’s main vocal melody. Family Man’s parts are often easy to sing along to, so it’s easy to imagine Fams singing them in his head.
“Fams not only kept that intragroup connection strong, but he also went beyond the bass, creating and composing many of the intricate, interconnecting parts you can hear in any Bob Marley and the Wailers recording.”
The Barrett brothers played in several early reggae bands before joining the Wailers full-time in 1972, including famed producer Lee “Scratch” Perry’s house band, the Upsetters. In 1969, when the original Upsetters lineup couldn’t make a U.K. tour due to a scheduling conflict, Aston and Carlton’s band the Hippy Boys became the new Upsetters. In this group, they backed a pantheon of early reggae artists, including the Wailers, a vocal trio with Marley, Peter Tosh, and Bunny Wailer. The Upsetters eventually became the core of the Wailers’ rhythm section. Tosh and Bunny Wailer left the band in 1974.
It was years before, though, well before he had children (and he had a lot of children) that Aston Barrett began calling himself “Family Man.” This reflected how he saw it as his role to keep the band together. As the Wailers’ bandleader, arranger, and co-producer, Fams not only kept that intragroup connection strong, but he also went beyond the bass, creating and composing many of the intricate, interconnecting parts you can hear in any Bob Marley and the Wailers recording. But his primary musical connection was with his brother, Carly. Among other reggae conventions, the Barrett brothers pioneered the “one drop” rhythmic style, in which the bass and drums skip the downbeat—dropping the one—as you can hear in the bass and drum parts of songs like “Trenchtown Rock” and “One Drop.”
I met Family Man at the photo shoot for that 2007 Bass Player cover story, and again in 2012 when Phil Chen and I interviewed him onstage during the weekend he received his Bass Player Lifetime Achievement Award. During the photo shoot, we also shot a short video interview, which you can find on YouTube, where he demonstrates the “One Drop” bass line, plucking with his thumb between the end of the neck and the neck pickup. Even barely amplified, you can feel the depth that comes from Family Man’s bass approach. In the Marley years, that huge “earth sound” came from two Acoustic 18" speaker cabinets and two 4x15 cabinets. “You need them that big to get that sound,” Barrett told Murphy, “because reggae music is the heartbeat of the people. It’s the universal language what carry that heavy message of roots, culture, and reality. So the bass have to be heavy and the drums have to be steady.”Aston "Family Man" Barrett, Bob Marley & the Wailers bassist - 2007 Bass Player mag. interview 1/2
Here's the first part of Bill Leigh’s 2007 interview with Bob Marley & the Wailers' bassist Aston "Family Man" Barrett.