Jimmy Bryant was notoriously hard to work with. Which might explain why it’s not Jimmy but his rhythm guitarist, Billy Strange, pictured with his face turned away from the camera on the cover of Country Cabin Jazz, Bryant’s 1960 Capitol Records release.

Born Ivy John Bryant Jr. in 1925, Jimmy started as a fiddle player and moved on to guitar. Although he was influenced by Django Reinhardt, Chet Atkins and Les Paul, his style was so unique as to be beyond the definitions of any genre, something Country Cabin Jazz makes perfectly clear. 

The album is packed with great performances, unique and concise songs, and the phenomenal chemistry of Jimmy Bryant and pedal-steel virtuoso Speedy West. They’re given exhilarating support here by Strange, bassist Cliff Stone, drummer Roy Harte and pianist Billy Liebert, with the result that every track on this great LP is compelling.

As for that cover photo, as the story goes Jimmy wanted to sing as well as play instrumentals, but Capitol said no, with the result that he was a no-show at this album’s shoot. I think stories like this add to his mystique, and make evident the source of his singular, uncompromising vision. 

Whatever history tells us, true or false, Jimmy Bryant was undeniably one of the great Telecaster heroes of the 20th century and remains so to this day. 

All this is evident on Country Cabin Jazz. Side one opens with “Frettin’ Fingers,” an otherworldly, minor-key extravaganza that reinforces Barney Kessel’s view that Bryant “is the fastest and cleanest and has more technique than any other.” 

The classic “Night Rider” shows Jimmy and Speedy at their best, as the former shreds and the latter answers with slower, impactful lines that border on humorous. The lovely “Deep Water” follows, giving us a chance to catch our breath. Jimmy plays a beautiful, unique chord melody while Speedy answers with conversational phrases.

These guys are the country-jazz John and Paul. Then comes “Jammin’ With Jimmy,” a stellar swing composition that showcases Jimmy and Speedy’s playing and chemistry. On the follow-up, the good-natured “Whistle Stop,” Jimmy and Speedy sound like one fused entity, while the ensuing instrumental masterpiece, “Stratosphere Boogie,” is the end-all Jimmy-and-Speedy performance for the uninitiated. 

Jimmy plays a 12-string tuned in thirds, giving his A section performance the sound of a most awesome twin-guitar performance, while the band swings hard, making this an instrumental for the ages. 

Side two begins with “Pickin’ Peppers,” where Jimmy shreds as Speedy runs playfully alongside. ”Pushing the Blues” is a doublestop boogie, and the wonderfully paced “Rolling Sky” is a touch of country exotica with a lovely B section that I would offer as evidence in music court to prove these gentlemen were underrated songwriters.

The uptempo “Yodeling Guitar” features jaw-dropping technique and humor, but it’s the next track, “Bryant’s Bounce,” that floors me. It’s a tune I’ve played for more than 20 years, but only occasionally do I feel “inside” of it. Dominant 7 chords fly by with breakneck speed, and the A section is reminiscent of Thelonious Monk. I never tire of playing it. 

“Hometown Polka” closes the album, with Jimmy playing a merry melody at top speed, and with a robust, yet unforgiving sound. I encourage you to seek out Country Cabin Jazz. While Jimmy and Speedy’s music can be described as complex and even “out,” it remains fun and inclusive. Jimmy Bryant’s legacy is rich with substance, offering lively and entertaining music to all.

I don’t want to rock the boat, but to me Fleetwood Mac never meant Stevie Nicks, Lindsey Buckingham or the tedious media fascinations with the band members’ relationship conflicts. To me, Fleetwood Mac meant one thing: Then Play On – one of the greatest blues-rock records ever made. 

Then Play On was the group’s third album, released on the Reprise label in 1969. This gatefold record is hard evidence of Fleetwood Mac’s growth from an excellent blues band to a blues-based act that defied description. 

The group at this point featured Peter Green and Danny Kirwan, each on guitar and vocals, Jeremy Spencer (whose only contribution here is piano on “Oh Well”), and the world-class rhythm section of bassist John McVie and drummer Mick Fleetwood.

“Coming Your Way” opens the record with McVie and Fleetwood’s trademark jungle beat. 

The song quickly reveals how the group had evolved since its 1968 debut, where it sounded more like a traditional blues band. We can hear its vocabulary expand into a language all its own. It’s still blues, but with a new dialect. The song ends with a dramatic riff-rock passage that sounds like a precursor to the Beatles’ “I Want You (She’s So Heavy).”

It’s a stunning entrance to this great album.

“Oh Well,” easily the best-known track here, actually entered the Billboard Top 100 chart and is memorable both for its insistent riff and blunt vocal refrain, “I can’t sing, I ain’t pretty and my legs are thin.” 

Midway through, it abruptly shifts from a primal rocking blues vamp to a movement with echoes of an Ennio Morricone soundtrack that you might hear as a pair of gunslingers stare one another down in a duel.

“Rattlesnake Shake” is another masterpiece. The guitar tones epitomize evil, in the best possible way. (Isn’t that what we all want?) Again, the rhythm section grinds away. 

The Peter Green vocal is spoken as much as it’s sung, and it’s as laser-direct as the guitars. Some vocalists have chops, but it feels like they’re playing a role, and I don’t believe in them. Green’s vocal performances, on the other hand, always feel like a confession more than a performance.

Being drawn to instrumentals, I was most influenced by “Underway.” The song is basically a vamp using the A major 6 chord on the 2nd fret: Just lay your first finger down and – presto! – you have ‘Underway”!

In high school, I found a live extended bootleg version of this song that changed my life. It’s a reverb-laden sonic exploration, and a performance for the ages that ends with Green playing beautiful, stabbing melodies, long after the entire band has dropped out.

That said, the album version is a nice rendition.

I’m impressed by how Then Play On prioritizes what I assume Fleetwood Mac wanted to show of themselves: their ability to create both taut, vocal-led tracks and stunning instrumental workouts. 

In between beautiful orchestrations and heart-wrenching vocals, performance pieces like “Searching for Madge” and “Fighting for Madge” shoulder their way into our listening experience. These are exciting, dripping-raw one-key jams, but their presence here feels seamless with the rest of the tracks. The group’s commitment makes me believe in them. 

Side two ends with Green’s “Before the Beginning,” and his vocals and crying guitar performance are the perfect ending to an almost-perfect record.

Sure, Fleetwood Mac and Rumours are great albums that served up anthems for an era, but I can usually hear select cuts from those records while waiting at my bank machine, or at the grocery store.

On the other hand, when I want to hear brilliant blues rock that never compromises and demands to be heard, I put Then Play On on my turntable and play it loud.

When I was still in high school, my friends and I were driving around in my ’62 Ford Fairlane “Woody” (that had no wood), all the while smoking weed like it was our last day on Earth. I’m surely not advocating marijuana, but my buddies and I were primed for the Julian Priester Pepo Mtoto Love, Love experience.

While we were cruising around listening to the eclectic Bay Area jazz radio station KRE, the jazz trombonist and composer’s Love, Love started coming through the car speakers at the perfect time. Transfixed, with mouths agape, we listened to the pulsating hypnotic bass and drums that supported the ethereal sounds – beautiful, ambitious, at times kinda evil and almost even bordering on pornographic.

I had the feeling that Love, Love had found us. The DJ announced the cut before playing it, so five minutes into the lengthy title track, I made an illegal U-turn to our local Record Factory.

For those who don’t recall, Record Factory was a corporate version of Tower Records, with a pretty impressive selection of music, nevertheless. Arriving at the store, I quickly parked and left my friends in the car, still listening to Love, Love. Five minutes later I returned with the album while they were still rocking out to all 19 minutes and 30 seconds of this great track.

Love, Love was released in 1973 on ECM Records, a label that represented excellence and personal artistry. Many of my favorite LPs are on ECM, and back in the pre-streaming days I might buy an ECM release without hearing a note of it. ECM stood for something: good music.

Love, Love has a wonderful supporting cast that includes Kamau Eric Gravatt on drums, Ron McClure on bass, Pat Gleeson on synthesizer, Bayete Umbra Zindiko on keyboards, the great Bill Connors on electric guitar, and Hadley Caliman on flute, soprano, tenor sax and bass clarinet (he plays a great sax solo on the title cut).

I love Connors’ unhinged electric guitar work, and his contributions here are significant. His solo acoustic records on ECM are wonderful, and his playing on Return to Forever’s Hymn of the Seventh Galaxy made it my favorite album of theirs.

On Love, Love, Connors plays a sort of contradictory shredding non-solo. It’s very futuristic in approach, and cutting edge. He employs diminished runs along with personal-sounding rock phrases, while his biting and raw overdriven sound keeps me on the edge of my seat.

I love the space between phrases, and at one point when I think the solo is done, there is a manic reprise. It’s like taking a long breath before a speedy closing monologue. The guitar could be mixed louder, but I’ve been listening to Love, Love for 40 years, so it can’t be totally “wrong.”

The title track is always a fascinating ride. The downbeat flip-flops every two bars, employing a 15/8 time signature. Despite the exotic time signature, the bass line sounds very Billy Cox/Band of Gypsys. Drummer Gravatt and bassist McClure play a deep hypnotic, repetitive groove in real time for more than 15 minutes. I respect their endurance and feel their humanity.

We listened to a lot of great music in that old Ford Fairlane: Muddy Waters, the Sex Pistols, Elvis, Julie London and more. Most of what I listened to is still in my DNA, but not much compares to having something powerful coming in uninvited that perfectly defines the moment, almost by spiritual force.

Sometimes how and when I found music plays as powerfully as the music itself. A song can be like a smell, reminding me of a love that was extinguished by time but re-awakened by a sweet perfume.

I always feel compelled to oversell a classical guitar record. Why? It’s my hunch some folks won’t read this article because it’s about some dude they’ve never heard of playing Spanish classical guitar, and not about Neil Young, Hendrix, the Allman Brothers and so on.

After all, it’s hard to maintain an ongoing curiosity these days. We’re inundated by YouTube clips, Netflix recommendations, access to 500,000 songs and to every movie ever made, all while we’re busy trying to be responsible adults.

That said, if you’re looking to expand your musical diet with something good, Alexandre Lagoya’s The Spanish Guitar is just what the doctor ordered.

Although Lagoya is identified as Spanish because of his name, he was actually a French citizen, born to a Greek father and an Italian mother. His parents were not musical, but he could not recall a time when he wasn’t completely moved by music.

While still a child, Lagoya began playing a guitar owned by his brother (who strummed and sang a few songs), and at the age of 13 began a lifelong commitment to guitar, successfully giving solo concerts.

The Spanish Guitar was recorded in 1979 and released on the Columbia Masterworks label in 1980, when Lagoya was 57 years old. A long journey preceded this great LP, and his association with guitarist Ida Presti is essential and noteworthy.

In 1950, Lagoya met the well-established Presti, his musical heroine, in Paris. Their mutual passion for music and their undeniable chemistry as musicians led them to form a guitar duo and subsequently marry in 1952. They went on to play thousands of concerts together.

In 1967, Presti became ill before a concert in Rochester, New York, and soon died of a massive internal hemorrhage due to a tumor. Lagoya was devastated. Nearly two years passed before he could begin to work at playing solo, but he couldn’t imagine performing without Presti, his musical and life partner. It took another five years until he had the confidence to go out on his own.

I have Lagoya/Presti recordings that are sublimely beautiful and essential listening, but while Lagoya plays alone on The Spanish Guitar, it lacks nothing. It’s a stunning display of beauty, technical prowess and humanity.

The opening track, “Guajira,” was composed by Emilio Pujol and is worth the price of admission. It’s basically a I-to-V exploration with eventful and charming key changes. The playful performance, along with a mysterious bridge, keeps us at the edge of our seats.

All the performances on The Spanish Guitar are exciting, and the freedom one feels from Lagoya’s playing is captivating. The compositions by Torroba, Albéniz, Tárrega and Rodrigo are also played with an understanding and a mature looseness, sounding at times off the cuff and improvised. Lagoya takes perfect liberties with tempo, technique and dynamics, making each performance personal and intimate, yet he never shows off the four aces he holds via his technical prowess. That would just be a distraction. Lagoya serves the music, and we benefit from his maturity and generosity.

The Spanish Guitar is an album that I can turn over and over and listen to for days. I never tire of its music and always feel rejuvenated by the grandeur and soul of the performances.

Alexandre Lagoya shows us the boundless potential of guitar. I urge you to check out this performance of “Guajira.” You’ll be glad you did.

Agustín Barrios was born in Paraguay in 1885 and began his formal guitar studies at 13. He improved quickly and went on to give virtuoso performances that made him a legend throughout South America.

His repertoire and writing were influenced by Fernando Sor, Beethoven, Francisco Tárrega and the folk and popular music of his day, and as a result his music covers a wide color palette. Roughly three decades after his death in 1944, a Barrios renaissance occurred, and his many recordings and transcriptions were rediscovered.

Andrés Segovia, Leo Brawer and John Williams revered Barrios, with Williams calling him “the greatest guitarist/composer of any time.” Many of Barrios’ 300 compositions are still performed, and he stands out as both a recording pioneer and one of the 20th century’s great guitar virtuosos and composers.

I first heard Barrios performing his composition “Confesion” and was struck by the vulnerability that shone brightly through the piece. He played it as a linear journey that captured an endless yearning. On “Confesion,” he employs an alternate tuning (low to high, D G D G B E) that facilitates his expansive harmonic sense.

Barrios often used alternate tunings, with natural and induced harmonics and other guitaristic techniques that showcased the instrument’s strengths, and he sometimes used steel G, B and E strings for their availability, durability and sound.

The stunning Barrios composition “Madrigal Gavota” requires technical prowess, but his virtuosity is never placed in the forefront. Instead, he’s always prioritizing beauty. 

“Danza Paraguaya” again shows Barrios’ power as a composer and virtuoso, joyfully giving the illusion of two or three guitarists.

The beautiful “Un Sueno en la Floresta” reveals his super-human tremolo, but his technical ability never undermines the sweetness of his composition. It’s a study in loveliness. Everything he plays is extraordinary and easy to love.

Interestingly, Barrios created the alter ego of Chief Nitsuga (Agustin spelled backward) Mangoré. Billing himself as “the Paganini of the guitar from the jungles of Paraguay,” he would perform wearing indigenous garb.

Barrios shouldn’t have required any such promotion. His stunning virtuosity and musicality could stand on their own.

I’ve tried to add Barrios pieces, including “Confesion” and “El Sueño de la Muñequita” (“Dream of the Little Doll”), to my repertoire. Despite my comfort zone on a Telecaster, playing his music has given me immense enjoyment and deeper insight into the guitar.

If you’re unfamiliar with Barrios, seek out these recordings. His music is heaven sent.

Elektra had reasons to be concerned about releasing Kick out the Jams. Between its offensive language and suggestive lyrical content, the 1969 debut album from Detroit’s MC5 (short for Motor City Five) was a minefield.

Some stores banned the LP from its bins, so the label, over the group’s objections, released a censored version.

In either version, Kick out the Jams is undeniably heavy. Recorded live at Detroit’s famed Grande Ballroom over October 30 and 31, 1969, it stands as a precursor to punk and defines, for me, timeless rock music.

The album opens with lead singer Rob Tyner declaring in preacher-like tones, “You’re either part of the problem, or you’re the solution! You must choose!” upon which the band breaks into its hard-rock version of “Ramblin’ Rose,” a tune previously covered by Jerry Lee Lewis (not the Nat King Cole cut, as many have believed).

“Love is like a ramblin’ rose,” guitarist Wayne Kramer sings in a falsetto that gives me unease. “The more you feed it, the more it grows.” It’s followed by the title track, a churning gospel breakdown as important and vital as anything played in rock history.

The MC5 original “Come Together” seems like an extension of it, riding atop a guitar riff that’s a siren song to carnality, while Tyner shouts, “Let me give tongue to it. Yes!”

“Borderline” opens side two with a blur of power chords and locomotive drums, followed by a cover of John Lee Hooker’s “Motor City Is Burning.”

Between their blues clichés, Kramer and co-guitarist Fred “Sonic” Smith play an interpretation of an Elmore James lick that has no reverence for the past whatsoever. “I Want You Right Now” sludges through a testament of desire before the jaw-dropping closer “Starship.”

Written by the MC5 and co-credited to Sun Ra, it’s an onslaught of electric guitars on the verge of feedback, with a breakdown that fuses eerie, intoning chanting with swelling guitar chords that build to a cacophony of otherworldly noises. It’s a showstopper and, appropriately, the last track on the album.

You have to hand it to the MC5. Rob Tyner was a great vocalist and quintessential frontman who, here, somehow manages to remain front and center amid the band’s fireworks.

Meanwhile, bassist Michael Davis throws down a thick bass foundation, allowing drummer Dennis Thompson to occasionally step out from being an atomic metronome and play creatively and reactively.

Together, Smith’s Rickenbacker and Kramer’s modified Stratocaster buzz, feed back and scream as they create a grooving sonic soundscape, like a toxic adhesive holding it all together. Folks wax poetic about Ron and Keith, but in my opinion, Fred and Wayne beat them to a pulp.

Rock music is a combination of bravado and lust, expressed urgently, with wild abandon and total commitment. In that respect, MC5 left pretty much everyone in the dust.

Order Kick out the Jams here.

Way back in 1974, when I was in high school, I took a ceramics class from a teacher named Mr. Rafello. My specialty was ashtrays. The big perk of the class was that we had a community stereo. Students could bring music to play as we worked.

After a month or so, Mr. Rafello noticed I was bringing albums by Cream, Jimi Hendrix, the Allman Brothers Band and so on. One day he pulled out a selection of his own: Django Reinhardt et Stephane Grappelli, a compilation of recordings with the Hot Club of France.

The album jacket was covered with dried clay and dust, and featured an illustration of a debonair Django. “Jim, you should hear this,” Mr. Rafello said as he put the disc on the turntable.

It was like hearing music by divine aliens. I was knocked out: the shredding guitar phrases, the driving quarter-note rhythms, and a sound so real it was like nature. Immediately, I stopped bringing in my own music and would play Django Reinhardt et Stephane Grappelli every day.

After a few weeks, Mr. Rafello gifted the album to me. Of the small mountain of records I own, it remains one of my most cherished.

Released in France in 1970 on Pathé Marconi/EMI, Django Reinhardt et Stephane Grappelli features the classic sound of the Hot Club of France with Django on a Selmer guitar, Grappelli on violin and Django’s younger brother, Nin Nin, on rhythm guitar.

A second rhythm guitarist may be present, and there is a mystery pianist I suspect might be Grappelli doing double duty. There are hardly any album credits, and what’s there is in French, with no mention of the sidemen.

Django was a Gypsy. As is well known, when he was 18, he was badly burned in a caravan fire that left the third and fourth fingers of his left hand partially paralyzed and pulled tightly against his hand. Despite this, he adapted his style to fret with only two fingers and went on to play fully developed iconic music with a technical prowess that is absolutely breathtaking.

Never mind that he played the fretboard with two fingers – Django sounds like he has an extra four digits on his fretting hand.

Influenced by recordings of Louis Armstrong, Joe Venuti and Eddie Lang, he went on to collaborate with Grappelli and formed the Hot Club of France.

All of Django’s fire, technique and limitless musicality are evident on Django Reinhardt et Stephane Grappelli. Classics like “Minor Swing,” “Sweet Georgia Brown,” “My Blue Heaven” and “Over the Rainbow” are played with a fresh perspective and a bravado of discovery.

One standout is “Nagasaki,” where Django sounds like a stallion busting out of the gate. His solo is stupendous, full of life and certainty as he plays basically everything a guitarist can: ripping arpeggios, crying bends, flashy pull-offs and rapid-fire 64th-note rhythm accompaniment. And this is all as early as 1936! This and every track on the record is a must-hear.

That said, one can’t go wrong with almost any Django selection. Fortunately, he was one of the most-recorded guitarists of his era. 

Personally, I love his underrated electric guitar playing, and the bootleg recordings of Duke Ellington with Django are fantastic. He combines his Gypsy roots with a post-bop Charlie Christian vocabulary.

Django was a musician who kept growing and evolving until his unfortunate early death in 1953, at the age of 43. Sadly, he didn’t trust medicine.

Sometimes I think good deeds cause a “ripple.” If I hold a door for someone, they might be kind to someone later. Sometimes a ripple can turn into a tidal wave.

I experienced this firsthand when Django Reinhardt et Stephane Grappelli changed the course of my life.

Thank you, Mr. Rafello.

If you’re like me, you might not think about José Feliciano very much. I knew his 1968 hit cover of the Doors’ “Light My Fire.” Every time I heard it while I was out and about, I would stop dead in my tracks and listen as it slipped into the Muzak of my errands.

That was the extent of my knowledge of him, until I bought his 1968 debut album, Feliciano!

Released on RCA when the guitarist was a mere 23 years old, Feliciano! includes both “Light My Fire” and his other early hit, a cover of “California Dreamin’.”

The album spent 59 weeks on the Billboard 200 album chart and received a Grammy nomination for Album of the Year.

José himself won the Grammy for Best New Artist at the awards ceremony held in 1969. Now 77 years old, he still plays and performs, and occasionally releases albums.

Lucky us.

The fourth of 11 boys, Feliciano was born blind due to glaucoma. When he was five, his family moved from Puerto Rico to New York City’s Spanish Harlem.

Soon afterward, young José showed an exceptional penchant for music. He would spend up to 14 hours a day practicing, while he studied classical guitar and tried to emulate artists as diverse as Segovia, Sam Cooke, Wes Montgomery and Ray Charles.

These influences are all evident on Feliciano!, and to my ears José Feliciano is a true “American” artist. After all, he has Puerto Rican origins, lived in Spanish Harlem and listened to American soul music, jazz and classical guitar.

He is a musical melting pot as well as an amazing American story. What are the chances a boy, born blind, in a family of 11, who emigrated from Puerto Rico to New York City would rise to the pinnacle of musical success?

Feliciano! has many great moments, including the previously mentioned hits, “Always Something There to Remind Me” and “Sunny,” as well as two Beatles covers: “In My Life” and “Here, There and Everywhere,” and they show the many aspects of his talents.

José’s imaginative and deep interpretations and perfect re-harmonizations redefine the music as he makes the songs his own.

My favorite track is Tom Paxton’s “The Last Thing on My Mind.” This beautiful version is re-harmonized and has great understated guitar work shining brightly within every vein of the melody.

If I hear “The Last Thing on My Mind” once, I have to listen to it 10 times in a row. It’s like potato chips to me: I can’t stop at one listen.

For me, José Feliciano is one of those artists who could sing the phone book and keep me riveted and on the edge of my seat.

In 1968, José was invited to perform “The Star-Spangled Banner” at Tigers Stadium in Detroit, for Game 5 of the World Series. His uniquely soulful and heartfelt take on the national anthem caused outrage. Protests were raging against the Vietnam War, and some people thought his version was a desecration.

Years later, José would explain that he was simply trying to present his own personal, non-traditional performance to make people pay attention and give fresh thought to a familiar song they had perhaps heard countless times before.

But the backlash hurt José and damaged his career. DJs stopped playing his music, and some folks wanted him deported. He even thought about leaving the country. All of which is remarkable when you consider how the anthem has today become a show piece for artists to put their own spin on.

In 2010, the Tigers invited him back to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” again and right a wrong. I encourage you to give a listen to his version from 1968 at the MLB channel on YouTube (below), and I hope you find it as lovely as I do.

José Feliciano could always find the beauty and truth in a song, a point that is made as well with every song on Feliciano!

This page usually focuses on electric guitar- and acoustic guitar-oriented records, for obvious reasons. That said, this is my third or fourth non-guitar record spanning almost one hundred columns.

To complicate matters even more, the few people who have heard tenor saxophonist Ben Webster’s The Warm Moods playing at my house have asked, “Why are you listening to Muzak?” or said, “My father listened to stuff like this.”

All I can say is, we agree to disagree. The Warm Moods is one of my all-time favorite jazz records, and it’s a must-hear. I’ve transcribed many of its tunes with awe and humility, so I feel compelled to share this record, because I love it.

The Warm Moods was released in 1961 on Reprise Records, and every track has something special. The great supporting cast of pianist Don Trenner, bassist Don Bagley and drummer Frank Capp underwrite Webster flawlessly.

Arranger Johnny Richards does wonders melding a string quartet to the music. They seamlessly take center stage, then duck behind the curtain keeping the spotlight on Mr. Webster.

The MVP award goes to Trenner, who takes some lovely instrumental breaks that allow Ben to return as the sole melodic focus. Everyone involved here is a top-notch performer. Ben’s phrasing on The Warm Moods is something to behold. It’s simple, direct and lovely. He slurs, gives us purposeful delays and employs breath on the reed to create a sound almost more expressive than the human voice.

Even more significant is that he conveys the true meaning of the song instrumentally. For example, when I heard “Nancy (With the Laughing Face)” played instrumentally by John Coltrane on Ballads, I thought it was beautiful, but I assumed it was about loss.

Ben Webster’s equally beautiful version of “Nancy” on Warm Moods conveys a positive aspect that’s hard to explain. It’s not swinging full Pollyanna, but somehow I knew it was a song of awed appreciation. As it turns out, “Nancy” is a father’s perspective about his love for his daughter: Frank and young Nancy Sinatra, to be specific.

Additionally, “Stella by Starlight” is one of the many beautiful tracks on this LP. I always heard “Stella by Starlight” as a mandatory music school exploration. Ben’s version introduced me to the song’s romanticism.

“It’s Easy to Remember” and “But Beautiful” are tutorials in phrasing and melody. Ben and his fellow musicians, combined with Johnny Richards’ great arrangements, make these songs captivating and brimming with a high level of craftsmanship.

That said, I should offer a consumer warning: The Warm Moods has cello, viola and two violins and is highly arranged – but don’t let that trip you up. Ben Webster’s masterful ability to play a melody with intimacy is the star of the show, and The Warm Moods has shown me the “right” way to play a song: with simple melodic lines phrased skillfully, and deeply based in harmony, all while avoiding a flood of theory and scales. Ben Webster was a crooner, a storyteller who could sing torch songs through his instrument.

A few years back, the unforgettable New York City bassist Tim Luntzel couldn’t make one of my gigs. Per musicians etiquette, he found a sub. The replacement was conscientiously a little confused about his role in the group. Tim said, “Oh, it’s kind of a jazz gig, and Jim is the singer.” That comes closer to describing my music than anything I’ve ever heard...maybe because I love the playing of Ben Webster.

Hear it for yourself…

Most collectors know Emmons Guitar Inc. as the Black Album, a fitting name for a record shrouded in mystery.

It was released in the late ’60s, or as late as 1971, and distributed by the Emmons Guitar label through music stores, specialty record shops and steel-guitar retailers.

Buddy Emmons was born in Indiana in 1937 and began playing lap steel at age 11. He joined Little Jimmy Dickens while still young and went on to make significant contributions to pedal-steel guitar and country music, recording with Ray Charles, Ernest Tubb, Ray Price, Roger Miller, the Everly Brothers, Danny Gatton and many others.

With collaborator Shot Jackson, Buddy made innovations to pedal-steel mechanics, leading to the signature Sho-Bud model.

He won the Academy of Country Music’s Best Steel Guitarist award nine times and was honored by the Country Music Hall of Fame.

It’s selling him short to narrow his body of work down to a few LPs, but Emmons Guitar Inc., the compilation Four Wheel Drive and his work with Ray Price made a huge impression on me.

He incorporated jazz and country seamlessly, and his counterpoint and voice leading seemed to follow the principles of Bach.

His harmonic/melodic sophistication within the context of country music paved the way for me to realize my potential as an instrumentalist.

Unfortunately, little information is available about Emmons Guitar Inc. 

Its lineup includes pianist Bill Pursell, bassist Chuck Sanders and drummer Marty Allred. 

According to the liner notes, Buddy invited some of his virtuoso friends to the session, and the Mount Rushmore of steel-guitar greats he convened includes Curley Chalker, John Hughey, Jimmy Day, Roy Wiggins and Ed Hamilton.

A standout track for me is Buddy’s own composition “Blue Jade.” Using the E9 neck, he plays a lovely pentatonic melody while making extensive use of chiming harmonics. His performance is dynamic while it retains a mood of serene beauty.

He also revisits Price’s version of Willie Nelson’s “Nightlife,” a tune that made Buddy’s reputation as an innovator, seamlessly incorporating jazz substitutions while keeping it unmistakably “country.”

The rest of the record walks that line with exceptional hot country jazz composed largely by Buddy.

The sound also takes surprising detours, such as the whimsical echo/delay on “Witches Brew.” But my favorite track is the traditional Irish tune “Danny Boy,” a heart-wrenching tour de force on which Buddy exhibits his total command of the E9 neck.

His dominant cadences ascend majestically, incorporating augmented 7ths embellished with daring # 9 and b9 movements. I’ve tried to incorporate these ideas in my playing, but I never get close to approaching his musical heights.

As magical as a six-string guitar can be, it pales in comparison when I try to imitate a pedal steel, especially as played by Buddy Emmons.

Special thanks to BuddyEmmons.com and Joe Goldmark for their help with this article.

If you’re like me, you may have thought about your melodic leads and improvisations at one time or another and said, “I’m sick of playing what everyone expects to hear in my solos. Always the same scales, the same arpeggios… I need to take some chances!”

It’s easier said than done, however. So how does one take real melodic chances without sounding like your guitar is falling down a flight of stairs?

The key to achieving this seemingly elusive objective is to use harmonic-melodic substitutions, or superimpositions. This means either performing a line based on an arpeggio that differs from the chord over which you’re playing, or employing a scale that operates outside of a given key.

I touched upon this concept previously in this lesson but offered only a hint of the possibilities. Each example’s superimposed arpeggios stayed within the bounds of the original key.

But there’s nothing keeping you from superimposing arpeggios that venture outside of the given key.

In jazz circles, this approach is referred to as “playing outside the changes,” or “playing out,” for short.

This concept was pioneered back in the 1950s and ’60s by innovative jazz legends John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk and others. Jazz and rock guitarists such as John Scofield, Bill Frisell, Robert Fripp, Frank Zappa, Robben Ford, Julian Lage, Mike Stern, Jim Campilongo and Wayne Krantz have also brilliantly explored this territory in their lead work.

To players unfamiliar with the practice, playing out can be a mystifying concept, seemingly based around the prospect of playing “random” notes that have nothing to do with the original key. But, I assure you, there is nothing random about this approach.

In this lesson, I’ll walk you through some of the mad methods of harmonic-melodic superimposition, with a focus on arpeggio substitutions, first by laying out the simplest approaches and then gradually exploring more complex and harmonically sophisticated methods.

The commentary on the examples will be primarily related to music theory – why we’re playing the notes, as opposed to how they’re played – so be sure to observe all the pick-stroke and fret-hand fingering indications in the notation, which should hopefully provide all the hands-on guidance you’ll need.

Let’s dive in!

BAR-LINE SHIFTING

The simplest approach to superimposition involves what’s called “shifting the bar line.” This means playing over the original chord changes without truly superimposing any new arpeggios over them, but rather extending the arpeggio patterns that match the chords.

This is done by either anticipating the next chord – melodically implying it before the chord change – or prolonging the previous chord’s arpeggio, so that the arpeggio of the previous chord or the next lays over the current chord in the accompaniment.

Ex. 1 presents a melodic line played over a repeating iidim-V-I progression in the key of C (Dm7b5 - G7 - Cmaj7), with each chord falling on the first beat of the bar (on “one”).

Instead of lining up each melodic arpeggio to change on beat one, along with the accompaniment, we’re either extending the arpeggio into the next chord (what’s called suspension) or starting to play the arpeggio of the next chord early, before it appears in the accompaniment (anticipation).

Although we’re not actually introducing anything different here, we’re emphasizing the tensions of each chord, meaning the scale tones that fall between the root, third, fifth and seventh, played an octave higher, which are the ninth, 11th and 13th.

For example, in bar 1 we play a Dm7b5 arpeggio (D F Ab C) over the that same chord.

In bar 2, however, we keep playing that arpeggio, prolonging it as the chord changes to G7 (G B D F) in the accompaniment.

While both chords share the notes D and F as common tones, in bar 2 you’re superimposing the notes Ab and C from Dm7b5 over G7, with those two notes now being heard over a G root note as the b9 and 11, respectively.

This melodic superimposition creates a decidedly jazzier and more dramatic G7b9(11) sound (G B D F Ab C).

As you study the remainder of this example, and all those that follow, notice that each anticipation and prolongation is indicated by a second, lower row of chord names, which identify the arpeggios played, with horizontal lines and brackets showing the extent of their duration.

THE HALF-STEP APPROACH

Here is where we start truly playing “outside,” or “out.”

When we talk about the concept of half-step approaches, we generally think about it in terms of a single tone that sits a half step above or below a chord tone and resolves to it within the course of one beat or less.

Because the resolution happens so quickly, even if the approach tone is out of key, it never truly sounds “out.” Instead, the half-step approach merely emphasizes the chord tone you’re targeting by resolving to it in short order, more like a grace-note articulation of the chord tone rather than a true disruption of the key.

To take our first steps outside of the key, we’re going to apply this approach not only to a single chord tone but to entire sequences of notes. We’ll accomplish this by playing an arpeggio that sits a half step above or below the accompanying chord, taking a chromatic approach but delaying the resolution to the “correct” key.

This allows for more notes outside of the key to sit between chord tones before resolving. By giving these outside tones some melodic structure – in this case an arpeggio instead of a single note – the eventual resolution to the accompanying chord is still perceived by the listener as if you were resolving a single note, albeit with a more interesting and jazzy approach, one that temporarily gives the listener a sense of unease that increases with each outside tone you play before finally resolving.

Ex. 2 demonstrates this melodic device applied to a simple two-chord progression, Am7 to D7, that’s based on the A Dorian mode (A B C D E F# G A).

Over the Am7 chord in bar 1, we superimpose a four-note G# m7 arpeggio (G# B D# F# ) on beat three, which represents a chromatic half-step shift downward from our “one” chord, then resolve it back up to Am on beat four.

Similarly, in bar 3 we superimpose an Eb7 arpeggio (Eb G Bb Db) over the underlying D7 chord (D F# A C), which represents a chromatic half-step shift upward. This move also creates dramatic tension that likewise resolves, or releases, satisfyingly on beat three, as we shift back down to the correct key and play a line built from a D7 arpeggio.

THE TRITONE SUBSTITUTION

Normally, when we think of chord substitutions we think in terms of changing the chord progression itself, or reharmonizing the accompaniment. But the same concept and approach can work effectively without altering the chord accompaniment at all, but rather by implying different changes over it melodically, via different, superimposed arpeggios.

The tritone substitution is among the most common substitutions, which also means it makes for a great superimposition as well.

Any dominant seven chord – a major triad (1 3 5) with a minor, or “flat,” seventh (b7) added – can be replaced by, or superimposed with, a dominant seven chord that sits three whole steps, or a tritone, above or below.

This works because the 3 and b7, commonly referred to in jazz harmony as the guide tones, are common to both chords, with their roles reversed – the 3 becomes the b7, relative to the new root note, and the b7 becomes the 3

Ex. 3 presents an adventurous melodic line played over a straightforward diatonic (scale- or key-based) chord progression in the key of C: Em7 - A7 - Dm7 - G7 - Cmaj7, or iii - VI - ii - V - I. If we were to replace each dominant seven chord with a tritone substitution, it would look like this: Em7 - Eb7 - Dm7 - Db7 - Cmaj7.

Note the chromatic root motion added to this modified chord progression, compared to the original, which moves very angularly in fourths/fifths.

Instead of replacing the chords, however, our example melodically superimposes these tritone substitutions over the existing progression.

The result is a lead that veers forcefully between tension and resolution with each alternating bar, creating a musically compelling feeling of forward motion.

PIVOT TONES

Another musically cool and effective technique for superimposing arpeggios from outside the prevailing key is to take a single note from a given chord and overlay a completely different arpeggio that shares that one note, or common tone, which is often referred to as the pivot-tone substitution.

Played over the same diatonic progression as the previous example, Ex. 4 keeps the tritone superimpositions over the A7 and G7 chords (Eb7 and Db7, respectively) and adds new superimpositions from pivot tones on top of the remaining chords.

Over Em7 (E G B D) in bar 1, we use the note B as our pivot tone and superimpose a B7 arpeggio (B D# F# A).

Conversely, over the Dm7 chord, we’ll superimpose an Fm7b5 arpeggio (F Ab Cb Eb), using the shared F note as our pivot tone.

In both cases, the superimposed melodically implied chords create a significant amount of tension that is only resolved when you finally land on the pivot tone.

Ex. 5 takes this idea even further. Here, over the Am7 - D7 progression found in Ex. 2, we split each bar and superimpose two arpeggios over each chord.

In Bar 1, over Am7, we first superimpose Ebm7b5 (Eb Gb A Db) using the A note as our pivot tone.

Then, on beat three, we switch to an Ab7b9 (Ab C Eb G Bb), with the shared C note serving as our pivot tone.

Moving into bar 2, we superimpose Am7b9# 11 (A C E G Bb D#) over the D7 chord (D F# A C), using both A and C as pivot tones.

On beat four, we switch to an E7 arpeggio (E G# B D) before resolving back to the root of Am to finish.

When exploring this and more advanced superimposing techniques on your own, put your best foot forward by starting your lick either on the pivot tone itself or on a chord tone from the accompanying chord, and then shift into the non-pivot tones of the superimposition.

The purpose of this is to give your melodic line a solid tonal foundation to build on. The tension that comes from playing out will be far more effective if you start from a more balanced sound that an accompanying chord tone will give you.

COLTRANE CHANGES

Tenor and soprano sax legend John Coltrane, one of the most innovative musicians of the 20th century, pioneered the use of multitonic systems in jazz.

’Trane most famously utilized his three-tonic system in his iconic compositions “Giant Steps” and “Countdown.” The chord progressions to these tunes would later come to be widely known as Coltrane changes.

Instead of operating in one key, as one normally would, multitonic systems operate in either three or four equidistant keys at the same time.

In a three-tonic system, the three keys are two whole steps, or a major third, apart from one another, whereas a four-tonic system uses four keys a step and a half, or a minor third, away from one another.

Ex. 6 takes the progression from Examples 3 and 4 and superimposes a three-tonic system over it, as implied by its arpeggio-based melody.

The parent key here is C major (C D E F G A B), while the remaining two tonics of the three-tonic system descending from C are Ab major (Ab Bb C Db Eb F G) and E major (E F# G# A B C# D# ).

After arpeggiating the accompanying chord Em7 (E G B D) in the first half of bar 1 – starting off in the key of C – we then arpeggiate Eb7 (Eb G Bb Db), which is the V7 chord of Ab.

From there we resolve the Eb7 to Abmaj7 (Ab C Eb G) and continue arpeggiating each V7 - Imaj7 cadence of the three tonics, continuing in descending order (Eb7 to Abmaj7, B7 to Emaj7, G7 to Cmaj7) with each implied Imaj7 resolving on the downbeat of the next bar.

On the last two beats of bar 4, we throw in one last Eb7 and B7 arpeggio, which are the V7 chords of the keys of Ab and E major, respectively, before ending on the original tonic chord, Cmaj7.

This creates an incredibly tense lead line that nevertheless resolves back to the original key, C.

With all of the keys being equidistant from one another, they create a sound that may be described as a whole-tone-like tonality – the whole-tone scale being a six-note scale wherein each successive note is a whole step above the previous one – only far more complex. It may take you some time to develop an ear for what works and what doesn’t.

But whether you’re looking simply to dip your toes outside the key or want to embark on your own jazz odyssey (not to be confused with the Spinal Tap song), these tools will act as a perfect roadmap for playing out with perfection.

Just remember, patience is key, and don’t be afraid to take chances when employing these techniques in your own leads. Be adventurous. Besides, what’s the use in sounding like everyone else?

I purchased Muddy Waters’ Chess Blues Masters Series around 1978, when I was a mere 20 years old.

This great double-record set was originally released in 1971 as McKinley Morganfield a.k.a. Muddy Waters and is a compilation of many classic Muddy recordings spanning 1950 to 1956.

At the time, I had enjoyed a few of the great bluesman’s tracks, but when I saw this album’s cartoonish cover, I knew it was the LP for me.

Soon after buying it, I became a Muddy Waters disciple. I listened to him at home and when I drove, and if I was going over to a friend’s house to play Monopoly, I’d bring a Muddy Waters cassette.

Basically, if I was awake, I was listening to Muddy Waters.

Muddy is known as the father of modern Chicago electric blues, and his singing and songwriting have made indelible marks on our musical culture.

The Beatles, the Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan each owe a debt to him. When the Beatles first visited the United States in 1964, John Lennon said he wanted to meet Muddy and went on to mention him by name in his song “Come Together.”

“She’s All Right” is the first track from this record that I’ll spin for the uninitiated.

It features a repetitive riff that speeds up perfectly as the band’s emotion grows to a fury. The lyrics swell in intensity too: Muddy sings, “I could’ve had religion” and “Let the poor boy pray,” while the band digs in even harder.

It’s so raw, it’s bloody.

On the other hand, “The Same Thing” plays like a great pop song, with strong hooks and an almost film noir atmosphere, as Muddy sings, “What makes a man go crazy when a woman wears a dress so tight.”

“Rollin’ Stone,” “I Just Want to Make Love to You,” “Rolling and Tumbling,” “Long Distance Call,” “I’m Ready,” “She Moves Me,” “Kind Hearted Woman” and many other tracks included in this set are, in my opinion, masterpieces.

The musicians on these tracks include Little Walter, Willie Dixon, James Cotton, Otis Span and Tat Harris, to name a few, and they play a big role in transporting Muddy to another plane.

Little Walter’s crying harmonica is a large part of that trajectory. He and many of the sidemen are credible solo artists in their own right.

Additionally, Chess Records cofounder Leonard Chess (credited here with playing bass drum) once noted in an interview that a typical Muddy Waters recording session was packed with attractive female fans.

That might explain why many of the performances are so earthy, seductive and interactive.

Sure, it’s the singing and songs that matter most, but in my opinion, Muddy’s guitar work is vital as well. Playing the iconic red Telecaster he used for most of his career, he picked out slide licks so emotive that they transcended melody and became pure feeling.

His “take no prisoners” approach to soloing still inspires me to say something meaningful – to throw out the scale/theory book and get my fingers dirty.

And I’ve always been impressed by the rhythmic approach of these tracks, which often combine a straight feel and a swing feel.

I love how his band switches between the two without it being obvious or sounding manufactured, like they’re working some ancient magic.

Muddy Waters records are still my favorite blues music, and if I had to choose one blues album to take to a desert island, this set would be my first choice.

Johnny Paycheck’s At Carnegie Hall album was released in 1966 on the Little Darlin’ label.

Of all the records in my library, this one took the longest to find. I spent 10 years navigating the record store jungle in our pre-internet world before I found a copy (thanks to my longtime pal Brian Dunleavy) to replace the beat-up Realistic cassette dub that I’d nearly played to death.

First off, let’s get something straight: At Carnegie Hall was not recorded at Carnegie Hall. It’s not even a live record. The liner notes offer a vague explanation for the title, detailing how much pride Johnny felt performing these songs at the legendary New York City venue.

That, in turn, inspired the quality of the material on At Carnegie Hall.

Honestly? I’m not sure I get the connection, but regardless, Johnny and company created a fine country record.

This album and Paycheck’s other LPs for the Little Darlin’ label are excellent, captivating and feature great performances and playing.

They deliver the essential ingredients I want from a country record: simple chord changes, and great melodies with easy-to-understand lyrics that tell a relatable story.

Importantly, this recipe is complemented by a pedal-steel guitar that’s mixed as loud as the vocals.

Producer Aubrey Mayhew, who clearly knew a good thing when he heard it, put Lloyd Green’s spectacular playing front and center.

Like a good movie soundtrack, the pedal steel can convey the visceral feeling and drama of what the lyrics are saying.

When I’ve been lucky enough to be asked to co-produce a country record with Luca Benedetti, we always use the ’60s-era pedal-steel-adorned recordings of Merle Travis, Willie Nelson and Ray Price – as well as Little Darlin’ Johnny Paycheck records – as a sonic template.

Though Johnny is best known for his 1977 hit single, “Take This Job and Shove It,” it seems I am partial to country artists before they grow facial hair.

Clean-shaven Willie, Merle and Waylon Jennings all reinforce this observation of a crooning virgin voice, and Johnny Paycheck is no exception.

His output on the Little Darlin’ label is phenomenal and features some of the most heartfelt, virtuosic vocal styles I’ve ever embraced.

Yet, in Paycheck’s world, there is always a looming sense of danger working in alliance with R-rated lyrical drama.

“Ballad of Frisco Bay” is presented as the last words of a man making his watery escape from Alcatraz prison, where he was sent after taking the blame for a murder committed by his wife.

“He’s in a Hurry” is about feeling regret while hanging out with your ex-wife’s faithful husband, who is eager to head home to be with her. (Obviously no fun.)

On “Not What I Had in Mind,” Johnny forlornly sings, “Now she’s gone, she hates the very sight of me.”

Even a tune like “My Last Night in Town” has a sinister edge and is filled with volatility, despite its familiar lyrical scenario.

Johnny’s performances have a twisted narrative that’s reminiscent of a Coen brothers film gone awry, and his emotional delivery fills one’s imagination with endless dark outcomes.

I love ’60s country music and want everyone to love it as much as I do, but it’s understandably difficult to sift through decades of dreck.

Even the good stuff in the ’80s and ’90s doesn’t call my name like ’60s-era Buck Owens, Merle Haggard and Johnny Paycheck.

Comparing the country music of those decades is like trying to find the Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper’s in John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s Double Fantasy or Paul McCartney and Wings’ Band on the Run. It just ain’t the same, and because of this, sometimes country music is misunderstood and even avoided.

For the country music neophyte, I suggest listening to Buck Owens’ single “My Heart Skips a Beat”/“Together Again” or Merle Haggard’s “I’m a Lonesome Fugitive” before jumping into the deep end of the pool with At Carnegie Hall.

That said, Paycheck’s Little Darlin’ era contains some of my favorite country music ever.

These records are still affordable through eBay and Discogs and available on the CD The Real Mr. Heartache: The Little Darlin’ Years.

Best of all, you don’t have to search for 10 years to find it.

My all-time favorite Lenny Breau recording is a bootleg cassette that a pal of mine recorded at a guitar clinic, where Lenny seemed comfortable, funny and among his own people: guitar players.

That said, Guitar Sounds From Lenny Breau is a great LP and an extraordinary overview of Mr. Breau’s revolutionary and groundbreaking approach to the instrument. Released by RCA in 1969, it is his second album (his first is a live recording) on which one can hear Lenny’s amazing right-hand harmonics, the independence of bass/chords and melody, and his evolved concept of harmony.

Despite Lenny’s virtuosity, his playing is always grounded in something wonderful and pleasing. To put it simply, Lenny’s playing is fun for the whole family. A non-musician “civilian” could love this record as much as the snobbiest pipe-smoking Jazzbo.

One of the many aspects I love about Lenny Breau’s playing is that he never seems to be trying; everything he does sounds effortless. To my ears, he was certainly not trying to prove anything; it was all about the music, and he never prioritized that he was debatably the greatest solo electric guitarist of the 20th century.

On Guitar Sounds From Lenny Breau, one can hear his seven-string prowess displayed on Roger Miller’s “King of the Road.” His lead lines are always perfectly melodic, and one would be hard-pressed to remove a single note, even during his flashy flurries.

“Taranta” follows, and I can hear the influence of pianist Bill Evans. Lenny started employing right-hand harmonics to express Evans’ 10-finger piano chords that he loved and was on a mission to replicate. It seems to me that Lenny refused to accept any of the guitar’s limitations and dedicated countless hours to breaking down the confining walls we players face.

Chet Atkins did a wonderful job producing this LP. It sounds great, and the song choices include what I suspect are Chet approved. “A Hard Days Night,” “Music to Watch Girls By,” “Monday, Monday” and other mainstream vehicles provide context for Lenny’s creativity to show us the depth of his imagination. His version of Hank Williams’ “Cold, Cold Heart” sounds like a modern classical guitar piece, yet with an underlying melancholy and yearning.

Lenny Breau was a guitar genius.

Being a fan, I read the Breau biography One Long Tune, which among other things is a tragic story about his inability to overcome drug use. Although there were flashes of the almost childlike Lenny Breau, not fully equipped for everyday life, there were many inspiring moments as well.

Atkins’ undying generosity toward him was unconditionally beautiful. In 1984, at the young age of 43, Lenny was found dead in a swimming pool, with some suspicions cast on the cause of death. He is currently in an unmarked grave. But I wouldn’t want this to be the focus of his incredible life. This Canadian guitarist gave us all so much.

As I listen to Guitar Sounds From Lenny Breau while writing this column, Lenny’s spirit and innovations are ringing true in my living room. He is a gift that keeps on giving. I’ve always wondered why Lenny Breau’s name doesn’t come up more. To me, he belongs on the small list of guitar innovators of the 20th century, along with Segovia, Django, Charlie Christian, Wes Montgomery, Jimi Hendrix and Eddie Van Halen, to name a few.

He certainly deserves to be recognized and championed. His right-hand harmonics alone put him in the top pantheon of players and this, with all his superhuman musicality, makes him an obvious stand-alone innovator – that along with always sounding warm, smart, sweet and generous.

Check out Lenny playing “Georgia On My Mind." He’s young, at his peak and, as always, jaw-droppingly good.

Discover more of Lenny Breau's music here.

Back in the pre-Internet Stone Age of the 1970s and ’80s, my connection to new music was the Bay Area’s own KSAN radio. KSAN was the FM birth child of freeform radio pioneer Tom Donahue, an underground station where relaxed, understated DJs spun extended jams and strung together a gamut of musical styles that could segue from Link Wray to Ravi Shankar to the Ramones.

I felt like I was inside the brain of those radio personalities, broadcasters who included Richard Gossett, Ben Fong-Torres, Dusty Street and Bonnie Simmons. Every day was a learning experience, and I always heard something new and exciting.

KSAN radio introduced me to Muddy Waters, Lonnie Mack, Ravi Shankar, the Sex Pistols, the Police, the Pretenders, Devo and many other great artists that might have required an archeological dig if KSAN hadn’t delivered their music to my home.

This is how I first heard Bill Evans’ “Peace Piece,” from his LP Everybody Digs Bill Evans.

Released in 1959 on the Riverside label, the album was the jazz pianist’s second record as a leader and featured Sam Jones on bass and the great “Philly Joe” Jones on drums.

I was 13 years old at the time, and, admittedly, most high-calorie jazz playing might have been lost on me.

But “Peace Piece” was a great jazz primer for the uninitiated, and I was instantly in awe of Evans’ musical mastery. The track is a six-minute vamp over a repetitive bass line, where Evans patiently and brilliantly takes us through a journey of melody and improvisation.

He plays everything from nursery-rhyme melodies and flat Lydian scales to discordant whole-tone and diminished block chords, all the while being simultaneously extroverted and introspective.

My young ears realized a solo can be a story with dramatic form, employing rising action, climax and resolution.

The great fringe benefit of Everybody Digs Bill Evans was being exposed to the album’s other great, more traditional jazz performances, like “Tenderly,” “Oleo” and, my favorite, “What Is There to Say?” Evans’ phrasing on this track is absolutely sublime, and to this day, consciously or unconsciously, I try to employ it.

Any instrumentalist can benefit from hearing Evans play piano, and his influence was felt keenly by Lenny Breau. In trying to break through the guitar’s limitations, Breau took picking-hand harmonics to a new level, escaping successfully into fully realized Bill Evans piano voicings.

I’ve always felt a sense of irony when seeing the cover of Everybody Digs Bill Evans and reading that line “I’ve sure learned a lot from Bill Evans...” Because, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve embraced the quirkiness and energy of Thelonious Monk, the playfulness of Erroll Garner and the craftsmanship of Duke Ellington.

But I will always have a sense of “home” with the music of Bill Evans and a great feeling of gratitude to KSAN “Jive 95” for playing me a gateway to jazz.

Hank Garland was born in South Carolina in 1930; a “natural” guitarist, by 18 he recorded his classic country instrumental, “Sugarfoot Rag.”

Originally created as a warm-up for his left hand, the recording went on to sell more than a million copies.

Hank played a Byrdland guitar, a model custom-built for him and Billy Byrd, taking its name from a combination of both men’s surnames.

Jazz Winds from a New Direction was released in 1961 on Columbia Records. Recorded in one day, the album chronicles Hank’s successful leap into becoming a bona fide world-class jazz guitarist.

The lineup included 17-year-old whizz-kid Gary Burton, bassist Joe Benjamin and drummer Joe Morello (from the Dave Brubeck Quartet). Every tune on it is a guitar tour de force.

“All the Things You Are” features an improvised jazz-shaped Bach counterpoint between Hank and Burton and “Three-Four, the Blues” kicks off with a wonderful unison line, propelling into a reverb-laden Garland solo.

“Move” features Hank ripping effortlessly over jazz blues changes, exhibiting spectacular dexterity and a deep jazz vocabulary.

On ”Always,” he plays acoustic guitar and “Riot Chous” is another fast blues tune, in the style of “Move.”

My personal favorite is “Relaxin’,” where Hank demonstrates a deep wealth of ideas well beyond his years. You’re invited in with a great chord solo, filled with altered and dominant chord magic.

It’s the kind of break one can sing along to. I studied this track obsessively, occasionally going back to it, to review his genius.

Understandably, Jazz Winds from a New Direction inspired young George Benson to play jazz guitar. 

But, it’s mind-blowing that it was made by the same guitarist who rocked with Elvis Presley and supported Patsy Cline, bringing hillbilly jazz to new heights.

Tragically, Hank was in a car accident (the same vehicle pictured on the cover of Jazz Winds from a New Direction) at age 30.

As a consequence, he suffered brain damage that prevented him from playing guitar at his former world-class level.

In 2002, I emailed him telling him “thank you” – that he raised the bar for all of us guitarists – and his sister wrote back to me, with a charming reply that was lost when my computer crashed.

She said that she’d read my email to Hank and it had brought tears to his eyes. I can’t really describe my feelings about this.

Maybe trying to get to the musical heights of Hank Garland is an act of futility, but it’s something I’m still trying to do, every day.

And, no matter what, we can always be inspired by his great musical legacy.

Browse the Hank Garland catalog on Amazon Music here.

Classical guitar albums can be staid affairs. Casually Classic is an exception. It’s a record that breaks through to feel free, loose and in-flight. It’s a first-class journey, courtesy of Los Indios Tabajaras, a guitar duo that consisted of brothers Antenor and Natalicio (Nato) Lima.

Los Indios Tabajaras translates to “people who live in the north-east of Brazil,” which is literal, to say the least. The brothers were indigenous Brazilians from the Tabajara tribe. They spent three years traveling on foot 1,200 miles to Rio de Janeiro, where their musicality was forged.

Most of their musical background is vague, but I did find they were self-taught, recorded for RCA Latin America, and took a break to study music before resuming their career as Los Indios Tabajaras.

The brothers were then heard by Chet Atkins, who at the time was producing artists for RCA America. They went on to record their own instrumental record on RCA and proceeded to have a discography so vast, it reads longer than a Staples receipt.

Los Indios Tabajaras also enjoyed commercial success with “Maria Elena,” a song that has been covered by the always discriminating Ry Cooder as well as by Marty Robbins, Nat King Cole and Jimmy Dorsey.

The brothers made the tune their own, and their recording of it spent 14 weeks in the top 100 in 1963. It’s a must-hear, it’s plodding monolithic rhythm supporting beautiful Django-esque lead lines that create an expressive world of their own.

While “Maria Elena” and most Los Indios Tabajaras’ albums offer many wonderful moments, my personal favorite is Casually Classic. Released by RCA Victor in 1966, this great LP includes selections from Chopin, Tchaikovsky and Bach and an assortment of lovely and stunning renditions of classical standards.

It’s a delightful listening experience and a great way to meet the unforgettable artistry of Los Indios Tabajaras, who really let their hair down and shred.

The album opens with Chopin’s “Valse in C-Sharp,” giving the listener a taste of what will follow stylistically: tempo changes so locked in that only brothers could pull them off, as well as jaw-dropping technique, sprinkled with romanticism and played from the heart.

“Flight of the Bumble Bee” is just crazy good. It might be the fastest guitar playing I’ve ever heard in my life, and it’s a showstopper. As far as I’m concerned, the two brothers could show up to a gig and play this one tune and I’d leave a satisfied concert goer. Vivo Nato!

Aside from being a great hang, Casually Classic has given me a lot. When Luca Benedetti and I recorded “Minute Waltz” on our album, Two Guitars, I referenced the Los Indios Tabajaras’ version as a successful template.

The brothers’ playful tempo changes made it okay for us to humanize the piece and emphasize the beauty of the song – to brush off the dust of historical precedent and make “Minute Waltz” ours too.

 You might think you’re not a classical guitar person, but I urge you to check this record out, no matter what preconceived leanings you may have. Casually Classic is a great way to enter the pristine house of classical guitar and hear the explosiveness of Los Indios Tabajaras, who breathe fire and soul into these classical standards.

Pianist Federico Mompou was born in Barcelona, Spain, in 1893. Because of his basic shyness and reserved nature, he didn’t perform publicly. Instead, he found his true destiny: composition.

His music, though totally unique, is somewhat reminiscent of Erik Satie and has some shades of Debussy, but his own indescribable and unique voice always shines through brightly.

I initially discovered Mompou’s music on the Decca album Andrés Segovia Guitar, where the virtuoso classical guitarist performs “Cuna,” from Mompou’s Suite Compostelana.

This is part of the Mompou story for me. Since I was diving into the wealth of Spanish guitar composers – Enrique Granados, Francisco Tárrega, Fernando Sor, Isaac Albéniz and more – I came to realize Spanish composers created a music that called my name.

Their music was easy for me to embrace, and the Spanish composers gave me a new lease on my guitar life.

I immediately started a Federico Mompou dig, and when I discovered Mompou composed mostly for piano on piano, I was a bit surprised.

His 1962 Suite Compostelana composition is the only work he wrote for guitar. In fact, he composed it for Segovia.

Meanwhile, Segovia’s performance of “Cuna” became kind of an obsession for me. I’d share this piece with everyone I knew. I’d ask them, “What is this piece saying?”

Most folks didn’t get very specific.

I contacted a knowledgable classical guitarist I knew, thinking he’d unravel the song’s beckoning mystery. He told me, “It always rained where Mompou composed. This piece represents his wet environment.”

I found that unsatisfying. I still felt hungry for clarity. Me? I thought Mompou’s “Cuna” would be the music I’d hear when my spirit left my body and shot into the universe shortly after my death, my spirit traveling through the high-voltage cosmos faster then light, toward a vast glowing serenity.

Or maybe “Cuna” is just a piece that articulates wetness?

Kind readers, I don’t know and who can say? Mompou? He passed away in 1987. In 1974, at the age of 81, Federico Mompou recorded his compositions, playing solo piano for the Spanish label Ensayo.

This five-record set Mompou Interpreta Mompou (also released on CD on Brilliant Classics) could be the music I’ve listened to the most in my entire life. It’s indescribably sustaining.

Many of Mompou’s works are short and sometimes sound like nursery rhymes, or even lullabies, but with an amazing depth. As I stated earlier, Mompou’s music captures, almost wrangles, my imagination, and I would fall short of describing his music successfully.

His music is nourishing, inspiring, and yet has an unobtrusive character that allows the listener to disengage. As when hearing the drone of wind chimes or the sound of birds chirping in the distance, one doesn’t sit at the edge of the seat anticipating the upcoming sound.

Federico Mompou’s music is as uncorrupted as the sound of nature.

In addition to all this, this recording sounds wonderful.

When playing Mompou Interpreta Mompou through my Dynakit pre-amplifier via my McIntosh power amp through my Klipsch speakers, I’m transported to 1974, with the (left-handed) Mompou playing a grand piano in my New York City apartment. It’s my personal recital.

The five-LP box is hard to find, but the two-CD set is affordable and easily attainable.

I highly recommend the music of Federico Mompou, where one can discover the abyss of their own imagination, or simply have the perfect music for a rainy day.

A while back, while doing a radio interview, I was asked about my cover of the Rolling Stones’ Beggars Banquet track “No Expectations,” from my album Orange.

I resigned to be totally honest with the interviewer and admitted the producer, Anton Fier, chosen the song after politely vetoing my original selection, the traditional pop tune “Hawaiian Wedding Song.”

As it turned out, my version of “No Expectations” has become a Campilongo fan favorite and another entry in the column titled “If It Hadn’t Been for the Producer…”

After the interview, I put on Spirit of Eden by Talk Talk, and while I listened, I pondered: Might our purposely free and vibey performance of “No Expectations” or Talk’s Talk’s Spirit of Eden have ever existed without the Stones’ Exile on Main St., one of the vibiest records of its time?

That record was the Stones being unapologetically their loose and stylistically unfettered selves. And while Exile and Spirit of Eden couldn’t be more different, both albums took completely different journeys to arrive at some place similar.

Released on the Parlophone label in 1988, Spirit of Eden is the collaboration between singer/multi-instrumentalist Mark Hollis and producer Tim Friese-Greene, who added guitar, harmonium and organ to the proceedings.

The album features a big cast of instruments, including trumpet, Dobro, 12-string guitar, violin, bassoon, clarinet, Mexican bass, double bass, harmonica (played by Mark Feltham) and drums (by Lee Harris).

All these instruments color the music and are used sparingly and with great care. Nothing upstages the sonically barren landscape of Spirit of Eden.

I have to admit, this LP is hard to describe track by track. Spirit of Eden is filled with peaks and valleys that transcend traditional song form and present more of an emotional approach. Tracks segue seamlessly into one another.

Somehow, Hollis and Friese-Greene pull this off by employing fantastic guitar sounds, a harmonica as big as a house (at times I thought it might be a B-3 organ) and impassioned vocals that are mostly and fittingly unintelligible.

One can feel the prioritization of creating music dripping with vibe.

Spirit of Eden is almost painfully patient. Its production values remind me of a ’60s Italian art film that takes its time to develop. When something big finally happens, it’s momentous.

Despite this reading like a recipe for something too ambitious to be successful, there are numerous moments of significant beauty on Spirit of Eden. It plays like a great psychedelic opera.

While I can’t say I love all of Exile on Main St., in its finer moments its songs ooze a primal vibe that sounds like “the magic take.”

Spirit of Eden, on the other hand, oozes with atmosphere, craftsmanship and focus.

Many of its tracks were based on long improvisations played in an intentionally darkened studio. And despite the improvisational composing, the non-traditional song form, and the weaving in and out of sound collages, Hollis and Friese-Greene created an album that could have easily sounded narcissistic and druggie.

Instead they made something lovely and extraordinarily connected.

Spirit of Eden follows the Exile aesthetic but instead is successful thanks to its sober vision. 

Could it have existed without Exile? It’s hard to say, but I enjoy connecting the dots between significant stylings in rock history.

And perhaps those of you unfamiliar with Spirit of Eden will feel your curiosity piqued enough to listen to this brave and unique record.

Incidentally, when we reissued Orange on vinyl, I had to cut some tracks to make it fit the format’s time restrictions. 

The first song I removed? 

“No Expectations.”

Oh well. Sometimes it’s hard to learn how to play the game.

Browse the Talk Talk catalog here.

This is a strange way to start a column about noteworthy records, but, kind readers, it’s harder and harder for me to listen to music.

Aside from my senses being assaulted when I leave my New York City apartment (is the national bird the jackhammer?), music is everywhere.

Inescapable.

It’s in the Uber, it’s at the supermarket, it’s at the hardware store, it’s at the bank…

A few months back, I was running errands and realized I had heard “Jessie’s Girl” three times and “Hotel California” twice at four different locations.

Huh? Are there only 10 songs in the world?

One might think when I return home I’d put on something personal to cleanse the palate, but instead I receive four or five YouTube music links from my inspired, loving friends and see dozens of silenced music performances on my Instagram and Facebook feed.

Instead of wanting to explore new ideas and new music, I withdraw. I want to evacuate from any stimuli whatsoever.

Many days I actually force myself to play a record, and 100 percent of the time I’m so glad I did!

On one of those days, I put on Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, and it brought me back to a time when music was not taken for granted.

It has real instruments, it’s cutting edge, and completely and utterly unique, inspired, humble, soft and beautiful. It makes me want to move…and it’s trying to change the world.

Marvin Gaye’s 11th solo record, What’s Going On was released on the Motown label in 1971.

This LP was conceived as a concept record, and it remains timeless, yet undeniably ahead of its time.

What’s Going On balances that problematic line of addressing issues like the environment, inequality, needless war and hopelessness, while urging compassion for each other to remedy the overwhelming chaos of the early ’70s.

All the while, it’s cemented in a “pop” presentation that’s grooving and infectiously accessible.

Influenced by the melodic ideas of Miles Davis, Marvin wanted to incorporate the musicality of a jazz mentality and jazz harmony.

This amazing LP plays like a “soul opera,” where the tracks segue from one to another masterfully.

Marvin preaches to us the Gospel of Marvin Gaye while singing beautifully over cascades of harmony, with his heart on his sleeve.

The record opens with the title track and the haunting alto sax line played by Eli Fontaine, who conceived the part while warming up to the song.

To my ears, this is one of the top 10 perfect moments in pop music history, and I assume you’ve heard it just the same way I do.

It’s magic.

Next up is “What’s Happening Brother,” about a soldier returning from war and trying to assimilate into a culture that remains difficult and unchanged.

This song creates a harmonic journey that descends and ascends with the narrative.

“Flyin’ High (In the Friendly Sky)” has shades of Mr. Gaye’s tour de force, “Trouble Man,” where Marvin’s voice is reminiscent of a Miles Davis trumpet performance.

“Save the Children” states, “When I look at the world, it fills me with sorrow,” and on “God is Love,” he professes his Christian ideals – “all He asks of us is we give each other love” – that, in my opinion, any spiritual adherent or atheist could successfully live by.

Every track is significant, including “Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology),” “Right On” and “Wholy Holy.”

But my personal fave, “Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler),” combines the infectious style of Curtis Mayfield with a jazz mentality that knocks me out every time I hear it. It’s the perfect marriage of message and groove.

What’s Going On is filled with hope and never feels naïve or arrogantly preachy. It’s a cry for help.

To this day I can’t fathom how Marvin Gaye and company pulled this feat off over 50 years ago.

His solution to the world’s problems? We need to care about each other.

I was hesitant to start this column like an old guy yelling “Get off my lawn, you young whippersnappers!”

But if you’re struggling and assaulted by an onslaught of sound, you’re not alone.

If you are trying to find some beautiful, uncorrupted music that can unthaw your senses, What’s Going On is shelter from the storm.

Order What's Going On here.

I often ask my students, “What does love sound like? What does hate sound like? What does humiliation sound like?” More often than not, they’re stymied by this task. I tell them, “There’s no wrong answer!” and urge them to say something personal, to be brave on their instrument and express the intangible. 

In short, I urge them to follow the example of the music contained on Howlin’ Wolf, which is the sound of someone crying, “I’m alive!” 

Born Chester Arthur Burnett in 1910, Wolf was influenced by seeing Charlie Patton play and by hearing Blind Lemon Jefferson, Ma Rainey, and Lonnie Johnson, to name a few. His music sounds drenched in danger and overflows with raw sexuality, qualities exemplified on this long-player, which is also known as the 'Rockin’ Chair Album' after its cover photo. 

Originally issued on Chess in 1962, the LP is a collection of iconic singles issued between June 1957 to December 1961, and to my ears these sides are as fine as blues can be. The tracks feature the brilliant guitar work of Hubert Sumlin, as well as a who’s who of blues sidemen, including pianist Otis Spann, bassist Willie Dixon, drummer Sam Lay, and a slew of guitarists (among them, Buddy Guy) and other contributors. 

It’s easy to be confused about who’s playing when you have so many great musicians, but Sumlin’s guitar provides a voice equally as distinct as Wolf’s. Sumlin’s sound and phrasing leap out on equal footing with Wolf’s growling vocal style. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to see this group live. I would probably have to start throwing chairs and tables.

Every track on this LP is fantastic, but I’ll summarize with a few cuts. 

Side one starts with “Shake for Me,” which might be my favorite Wolf track ever. The groove is infectious and somehow otherworldly. The message is predominantly X-rated and Sumlin's solo is full of quirky hooks and filled with sweeps, slides, and vocal-like bends. It’s a masterpiece. As usual, Wolf combines poetry and melody, and the result is frighteningly hair-raising. 

“Wang Dang Doodle” is another personal favorite, a Willie Dixon original on which the group showcases its high-level ensemble playing. Every part the musicians play demands attention, and they fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Here again, Sumlin’s guitar solo and fills sound glorious and contemporary. 

Side two’s “Howlin for My Baby” is another example of great ensemble playing that has the mindset of a hit, with an insistent hook that drills home. It’s played with a looseness that is perpetually infectious, but it’s dripping with humanity and a sound that remains fresh even today.

Add in the tracks “Red Rooster,” “Spoonful,” and “Little Baby,” among many others, and you have what is simply one of the greatest blues records of all time. 

Outside of this column I’m leery to write any opinion. There’s a lot of noise out there, so before I write anything on social media, I ask myself why my opinion matters, and 99 percent of the time I conclude it doesn’t matter whatsoever. 

Why share my dissatisfaction with the army of white dudes playing the blues, or ponder why a guy shredding pentatonics on a Paul Reed Smith doesn’t sound “blue” to me at all? It’s like watching a bullfighter with a padded crotch strutting in a bull ring without a bull. But there’s an answer for those of us who want to experience the blues at its best, and in a dramatic arena where it sounds vital. 

It’s here on Howlin’ Wolf, where Wolf and Hubert Sumlin remind us on cut after cut what real blues is all about.

Back in the early ’90s when I’d frequent the Emeryville, California, Sunday morning Record Swap Meet, I discovered a copy of The Fabulous Roy Lanham in a seller’s milk crate.

Finding this type of rare-bird LP was the reason I set my alarm to wake up at the crack of dawn, but paying a whopping (then personal record) high of $40 for an LP was a little unsettling.

That was a ton of money to me back then, but, kind readers, I made the plunge and had no regrets whatsoever.

This holy grail album showcased a tremendous electric guitar player, and its cover photo gives one the impression Roy Lanham could be a double for Robert Goulet.

How could anyone regret this?

The Fabulous Roy Lanham was originally released on the Sims label in 1963 and reissued on CD by Bear Family in 1993.

The reissue included some great tracks from Lanham’s solo 1961 album, The Most Exciting Guitar, on the Dolton label.

This Vinyl Treasures will focus on the original Sims 1963 vinyl release.

Roy Lanham was born in Corbin, Kentucky, in 1923, and went on to play guitar with the Delmore Brothers and the Sons of the Pioneers for almost three decades.

Barney Kessel would tell Roy, “Take off your boots and hat and you can be a great jazz player,” but I’m grateful that he kept wearing them.

If my arm were twisted to describe Roy’s style by genre, I would probably say he’s a jazz guitar player, but he also had a big spoonful of something that, to my ears, is delightfully indescribable.

Imagine Chet Atkins throwing away his thumb pick and becoming a flat-picking fiend, exhibiting steroidal chops and shredding to his heart’s content. This might be my best shot at describing Mr. Lanham to the uninitiated.

Roy came from an era of guitar that preceded folks obsessing on the “perfect killer tone.”

I might understand paying $5,000 for a Klon Centuar, but one might ask themselves, “Can I play a nylon-string guitar to make folks happy?”

Roy Lanham made people very happy by getting the most out of his right and left hands. He employed right-hand muting, sweep picking, raking toward destination notes, superb phrasing and Django-like trills, typically all packed into one performance.

Sure, I might also suggest this record occasionally flirts with sounding corny, but that’s no diss. It would be corny in the Neil LeVang tradition, which is great corny.

To me, this is high-level, strategized craftsmanship that perfectly complements his moments of jaw-dropping brilliance.

The first example of Roy’s virtuosity is side one’s “Holiday for Strings.” He goes through rapid-fire chord work and rips through key changes while sounding relaxed throughout.

This is followed by one of my personal favorites, “Roy’s Blues.” Here he plays a style that brings to mind Johnny Smith trying to sound like a pedal-steel guitar.

Another stand-out track is “Brazil,” a tune that swings so smoothly it almost melts.

Lanham’s version of the song became my gold medal winner, unseating Les Paul’s great version to a second-place tier silver medal.

“Under the Double Eagle” and “Brown’s Ferry Blues” are absolute stunners, with the latter laying the way for Roy’s opportunity to exhibit his Jimmy Bryant chops, while giving the sonic impression he’s never close to breaking a sweat.

“One Love” shows his ability to play a straighter, traditional jazz, yet somehow Roy manages to sound totally original.

We would be missing the point by attributing this to his Fender Jazzmaster sound; his virtuosity and choices are always distinctive, and his pyrotechnics always sound effortless.

Side two ends with the show-stopper “Can’t We Be Friends,” where Roy and the group – Dusty Rhodes on rhythm guitar, Red Wooten on bass and Muddy Berry on drums – throw in the kitchen sink, beckoning the listener to turn the album over to side one and experience The Fabulous Roy Lanham one more time.

Fabulous!

While writing this column, I did a quick Discogs search for The Fabulous Roy Lanham. Two copies were available, with each seller asking around $200.

Evidently, aside from being a timeless, bad-ass guitar player, Roy Lanham proved that wearing a tux and having a Robert Goulet mustache can be a very good thing.

Released in 1977 on TVP Records, the album 22 Original Gospel Greats entered my life during a visit to my Aunt Fran in Portland, Oregon.

On an open-ended afternoon, I wandered into a local music store where I had no preconceived intentions of buying a gospel LP. But when I saw 22 Original Gospel Greats, I thought, Why the hell not?

Little did I know that listening to it would be like signing up for a community college night class about gospel music.

I’ve sought out and loved gospel music ever since.

All 22 tracks on the album are wonderfully curated; there’s not a clinker in the bunch.

Three cheers for TVP Records!

James Cleveland opens the LP with a big bang on “Get Right Church.” His impressively masculine vocals (imagine rapper Chuck D singing gospel) are answered by a chorus of heavenly female sirens, while a repetitious two-beat drives it home. Fantastic stuff.

An arpeggiated 6th chord starts off the Harmonizing Four on “His Eye Is on the Sparrow,” and the entrance of Joseph Williams’ baritone is mammoth, as it almost vibrates the room.

“Motherless Child,” the other Harmonizing Four track included here, is my favorite cut on this excellent compilation, bar none.

The vocal arrangement sounds like a soulful string quartet. This track makes me proud to be human.

Both songs left me wanting more and set me on a search for more Harmonizing Four.

Do yourself a favor and check them out!

Shirley Caesar, who is represented three times on this LP, rocks the house in a big way on “The Bride of Jesus,” “The Church is in Mourning” and “Tear the Kingdom Down,” while oozing power and authority.

Another favorite track is the Highway Q. C.’s “I Dreamed Heaven Was Like This.” These gentlemen could show up anywhere and perform this track verbatim, just as it plays from these grooves.

“I Had a Dream” by the Staple Singers features a great vibey vocal performance that’s a must-hear.

And by the way, guitar friends, if vibrato guitar were a term in the dictionary, it would have to include a photo of Mr. Roebuck “Pops” Staples, who tuned his guitar a half-step below 440. He exhibits a perfect vibrato effect, played in a complementary style. His low E sounds deeper than a mere half-step below standard pitch, and the end result feels well below sea level.

Sister Rosetta Tharpe appears here with two songs: “What Are They Doing in Heaven” and “God Lead Us Along.”

Both are stunning, with a vocal style that demands attention, but unfortunately these two Rosetta Tharpe tracks, as good as they are, don’t feature any of her ferocious lead electric guitar playing.

Sister Rosetta Tharpe playing her white Les Paul Custom (while most likely wearing a white mink coat) is humbling. That fine lady can stay in the ring with any super-heavyweight with her guitar lines that sound like distorted lasers emanating from her heart.

Gospel music’s presence exists, whether it’s delivered by Lead Belly, Sam Cooke, the Beatles, James Brown, Robert Johnson, Marvin Gaye, the MC5 or Tim Dog. It’s my opinion that all American music has its roots in gospel music.

For that matter, 22 Original Gospel Greats merits a family tree for all the future purchases I made based on the tracks here that called my name.

At the very least, this affordable LP (also available at minuscule prices on CD) would be a great addition to every music collection.

The beauty and minor miracle of randomly going through record store LP bins is that sometimes a record will find you. And you will be the better for it.

One Sunday in Januray 2022, I watched football for about nine hours straight. The games were fantastic, full of exciting finishes that made for great live television.

That said, I was forced to watch dozens of commercials. 

I saw folks meet their romantic soulmates, only to suddenly leave…to get a burrito by themselves. I saw a twosome negotiating who could dip their deep-fried piece of meat into a “cheese” sauce. Mostly, though, I saw dozens of commercials for NFL betting.

Hey, why not bet it all on the 49ers to win the the Super Bowl? It’s “risk free”!

After binge-watching football commercials all day, I began to wonder, What exactly are our priorities?

And what’s really “good”?

Folks, all this TV watching required a turbo-charged high-octane palate cleanser. Well, kind readers, I found what I needed on Herby Remington’s Steel Guitar Holiday.

There are many great records I put on for a single listen, but Steel Guitar Holiday beckons for repeat playings...unlike, say, side two of Abbey Road, a masterpiece that nevertheless leaves me full after one listen.

Despite having an apartment full of LPs, I might happily listen to one record for weeks, and Steel Guitar Holiday is the kind of album I’ll play and play and play. It fills my heart with something beneficial to my own kindliness. It’s nourishing, abounds with good melodies and joyous teamwork, and is filled with sounds that magnetize my soul.

It’s played by master craftsmen who prioritize a people-pleasing aesthetic that, unfortunately, seems long lost.

Steel Guitar Holiday lives up to its name and delivers an escape to wholesome goodness.

It’s something positive to binge on.

Originally released as Herby Remington Plays the Steel, by “D” Records in 1959, the album was reissued by United Artists in 1961 in the guise we celebrate here.

It features a stellar cast that includes the jaw-dropping Paul Buskirk on guitar, Clyde Brewer on piano and fiddle, Darrell Raley on fiddle and sax, and the swinging rhythm section of bassist Dean Reynolds and drummer Al Hagy.

Mr. Remington has an impressive bio. He was the house steel player at Gold Star Studios in Houston, where George Jones cut “Why Baby Why,” with Herb. He was also a member of Bob Wills’ Texas Playboys from from 1946 to ’49.

But to me, Herb was most of all a fine writer of catchy and timeless instrumentals. The classics “Boot Heel Drag” and “Remington Ride” are on this album, along with many other great instrumentals he penned.

As far as my own songwriting goes, this LP was by far the most influential. The stylistic variations presented by Herb and company opened my eyes to what boundaries could easily be crossed, and Herb’s songs are a template for “go-to” possibilities.

“Sam and Oscar” opens side one, and it’s a stunner somewhat reminiscent of Django’s “Swing 42.” Paul Buskirk’s electric guitar solo is an absolute must-hear. He shreds effortlessly while retaining a melodic playfulness.

“Minni Lani” is up next, a warm steel-guitar jazz piece with lovely changes that display heartfelt performances by all. It’s followed by “Deep Beat,” a cut that combines rock, jazz and swing, and plays like an “odd man out” here, even while it fits in seamlessly.

The next track, “Lonesome,” begins with a “Nightlife” turnaround that again showcases Herb Remington’s prowess on midtempo steel-guitar jazz. This is enhanced by Darrell Raley’s great saxophone contributions.

“Coo-Coo Creek Hop” follows, with the guitar and steel playfully answering what almost seems like sonic mating calls.

Side two opens with my favorite track, “Chime Out for Love.” The A section is filled with angelic harmonics that set the table for Mr. Buskirk’s solo, which is fantastic. Herb follows Buskirk (not an easy thing to do) with inventive harmonics, all without skipping a beat.

The next track, “Slush Pump,” revisits the “Deep Beat” vein, again combining rock, swing and blues.

The LP races to the finish line with Herby’s classic instrumental “Boot Heel Drag.” Herb knew how to write a hit, and this song is filled with hooks.

The record closes with another classic instrumental, “Remington Ride,” featuring a ripping Paul Buskirk solo. If you haven’t heard Mr. Buskirk, this LP is a great primer.

If you want some good music, or need something to restore your mental balance after binge-watching hours of NFL commercials, I highly recommend multiple listenings to Steel Guitar Holiday. 

It’s a tasty vitamin shake for one’s humanity.

Special thanks to Joe Goldmark, Chris Clem, Jeff Keyton and the whole gang at the Steel Guitar Forum for their valued information! 

Grab a copy of Herby Remington’s Steel Guitar Holiday here.

One of the great things about getting my guitar repaired by Flip Scipio is that he’ll brew up a nice cup of coffee and play an LP of some wonderful music I’ve never heard. He’s like a “Vinyl Treasures” column in real time.

One of the many LPs Flip played for me is The Guitars of Sergio and Eduardo Abreu, specifically the one released in 1969 on the U.K. label Ace of Diamonds, not to be confused with the album issued in 1971 on Columbia Masterworks.

Both have the same name and similar covers, but to my ears the Ace of Diamonds disc is the standout recording from these talented brothers.

Born in Rio de Janeiro in the late 1950s, the Abreu brothers were taught music by their grandfather and went on to have significant, yet relatively short music careers between 1968 and 1975, before Eduardo made the decision to stop performing in public.

Sergio became a respected maker of fine classical guitars and continues in the profession to this day.

Thankfully, their artistry is preserved on this great Ace of Diamonds album. Their technique and chemistry is sublime, and the recordings have an energy and fire that, even in the context of great guitar duos, make this album a standout.

While I love the solo performances that intersperse their duo recordings on The Guitars of Sergio and Eduardo Abreu, the brothers together is timeless, as they seemingly morph into a single entity with 20 digits and 12 strings.

This is immediately heard on the elegant “Sir John Langton’s Pavan,” which opens the album. The brothers continue with Girolamo Frescobaldi’s “Fugue,” which features Sergio’s arranging skills.

The Vivaldi piece Preludio and Corrente, which comes next, gives the impression the brothers have broken a sweat, offering a dazzling display of virtuosity that sounds like six guitars instead of two.

This is followed by the duo in full force with an absolute showstopper: Scarlatti’s Sonata in D.

Side one ends with Bach’s Suite No. 3, S.995, which features a solo performance by Sergio that is intimate, with a personal touch. He pulls everything out of a nylon-string acoustic guitar with his right-hand picking placement, varying his attack with a vibrant imagination.

Sergio takes us through all the movements, and it’s like a roller-coaster ride in a beautiful garden. As spectacularly as the brothers perform, they never undermine the beauty of the composition, possibly because they sound fully in control.

Side two begins with Eduardo playing solo on Brazilian composer Villa-Lobos compositions Preludio No 1 and Estudio No. 1. Eduardo brings out the drama and passion of these pieces while exhibiting his flawless technique.

Eduardo also tackles two Segovia compositions, “Estudio Sin Luz” and “Divertimento.” I was pleased by this, since I’ve always felt Segovia was an underrated composer.

Eduardo’s last solo piece, Spanish composer Federico Moreno Torroba’s “Madroños,” is a must-hear.

His technical authority and the prioritized loveliness of his performance have me in awe, and I’m happily reduced to a humble fan appreciating the guitar and its limitless possibilities.

The record closes with my favorite moments of this great LP, as Sergio and Eduardo join forces for Ravel’s “Pavane Pour une Infante Défunte” and the Spanish composer Isaac Albéniz’s “El Puerto,” from Iberia.

I can think of quite a few stellar duets I’ve heard in my time – John Williams and Julian Bream, Ida Presti and Alexandre Lagoya, to name two – but these performances by the Abreu brothers are most definitely gold medal contenders, in my humble opinion.

Although the brothers playing together is what makes this record timeless and powerful, the mixture of solo and duo performances delivers a full listening experience through which we meet them collectively and individually. It’s a great hang.

Some mornings when I’m combing through Twitter, Facebook and The New York Times, I feel like there’s nothing but disagreement – immovable opinions that border on social anarchy.

My mind can go in 20 different directions, but then there’s the remedy, the heaven-sent medicine of what’s best about us – and more often than not, that’s the healing power of great art.

The music on The Guitars of Sergio and Eduardo Abreu energizes and inspires me, and their otherworldly musicality makes me feel proud to be a human.

Thanks again, Flip!

Jim Campilongo has 14 critically acclaimed instrumental records available on vinyl, CD and digital download here.

Junior Brown is what I would call a bar-band virtuoso. 

What is that, you might ask? Fair question. 

To me, it’s an artist who thrives in a 200-capacity (or less) venue, one who, along with putting on a great show, never comes close to taking more than what he gives.

Junior Brown is among the elite of this genre.

Playing his guit-steel double-neck, a hybrid electric and lap-steel guitar, he delivers show-stopping solos and will quote Hendrix at the drop of a hat.

His detuning plunges are exciting and feel like a bomb hit the building.

And then there is his songwriting. 

In my opinion Junior Brown is a totally underrated tunesmith. His songs are filled with melody and original hooks, and they breathe characters and scenarios that become real people, living in honest-to-goodness situations. 

Junior’s prose gives life.

For evidence, I point you to his album Guit With It. Released on Curb Records in 1993, it’s a great overview of Junior’s unique depth and encyclopedic knowledge of country music and beyond.

Guit With It begins with the fast Ray Price shuffle “Doin’ What Comes Easy to a Fool,” which has great playing throughout. 

Special mention goes to Junior’s dismount on his guitar solo, a wild counterpoint phrase that is hall of fame major league.

Next up is “Highway Patrol,” where Mr. Brown channels Red Simpson like nobody I’ve heard. He remains himself while nailing the genre.

On the instrumental track “Sugarfoot Rag,” Junior throws in the kitchen sink for an action-packed four minutes of instrumental bliss.

My favorite song here is the little masterpiece “My Wife Thinks You’re Dead.” The spoken lyric is danceable all by itself; I feel like I’m listening to an audiobook.

Jimmie Vaughan plays a curiously out-of-tune solo, but maybe I’m nitpicking and that was the point.

I shrug my shoulders. Junior steps up next to deliver a guit-steel solo that’s one for the ages.

The track “Names And Addresses” reminds me of a great Willie Nelson tune that incorporates some moderate jazz changes.

Junior sings and plays these changes as if they fit him like a comfortable pair of old slippers.

“Guit-Steel Blues” is another instrumental tour de force, one on which his guit-steel quotes Hendrix’s “Red House” and takes us on a ride on the edge of our seats.

This is a blues that makes you feel good, and Guit With It is a great hang.

Back in the 1990s, I was lucky enough to open for Junior Brown twice. It was a humbling experience.

Performing at the time with his wife on rhythm guitar, a swinging bassist and a drummer playing a lone snare drum, Junior and his band filled the house with sound wherever they went.

When our set was over, he plucked six notes and obliterated everything I had played before him down to a well-intentioned, forgettable introduction.

I was a young musician and knew I had a lot of work to do.

Like Chet Atkins, Roy Buchanan, Link Wray and Lonnie Mack, Junior Brown is cut from bar-band virtuoso cloth. With him, and all the aforementioned players, the presentation is close-up and personal, with one eye on the audience.

In contrast, arena performances demand participation. We all stand in the vastness and show our gratitude that we were lucky enough to hear Keith Richards play the intro to “Satisfaction” one more time.

Sorry folks, I need more than that. I don’t go to a show to unconditionally praise artists.

I long to be entertained and moved by the soul and urgency of the music. Bar-band virtuosos like Junior Brown create a relationship based on the here and now, and Guit With It captures his mastery in full.

Jim Campilongo has 14 critically acclaimed instrumental records available on vinyl, CD and digital download here.

Blues Breakers With Eric Clapton, also known as the Beano album, was released on the Decca label in 1966. There are many groundbreaking aspects to the record, not the least of which is Clapton’s marriage of a Les Paul through a cranked Marshall amplifier, the electric guitar equivalent of the Wright Brothers’ first flight at Kitty Hawk.

This magic coupling was defined by the hands of a spry 21-year-old. His youthful mastery is jaw dropping, and his iconic sound is now a guitar industry standard that at that time reinvigorated interest in the almost forgotten Gibson Les Paul model.

Jimmy Page and Jeff Beck weren’t yet fully developed, Pete Townshend was more of a rhythm guy, Ritchie Blackmore wasn’t really a blues guy, Jimi Hendrix wouldn’t release Are You Experienced until a year later, and groups like Love, Jefferson Airplane, Them, Big Brother and the Holding Company, Creedence Clearwater Revival and other young acts of the day couldn’t stay in the same ring as Clapton.

Most guys were struggling to intonate bends and trying not to fall off the log. Meanwhile, E.C. was like Larry Bird.

Clapton wasn’t just all sound. He could swing. Pre-Blues Breakers guitarists like Bill Jennings, Wes Montgomery, Charlie Christian and dozens, if not hundreds, of others might swing harder, but they didn’t have his Les Paul-with-Marshall-on-10 sound and an innate sense of beyond-their-years phrasing.

There are many timeless moments on the Beano LP. The major 7th feedback note that ends “Steppin’ Out” is unexpected and sonically imaginative. I almost feel the floor of the recording studio vibrating on the “Key to Love” solo. It’s like a jacked stallion busting out of the gate.

“Have You Heard” has a great violent blues solo that sounds like Clapton is pissed he had to wait so long to play it. The Clapton vocal track, “Ramblin’ on my Mind,” introduced a generation of young kids to Robert Johnson, priming listeners to search for the source.

It’s not a perfect album. John Mayall ain’t no Steve Winwood, the multiple guitar tracks sometimes sound cluttered, and while “What I’d Say” might have been a showstopper in a London nightclub, it could have been left off the record. That said, the high points are stellar, and it’s all there on Blues Breakers With Eric Clapton.

In the years since its release, Clapton has sometimes put his foot deep into his mouth, but his doing so makes sense to me.

He famously refused to turn down at the Beano sessions. Engineers in lab coats were shocked at his ear-shattering volume. His “you’re with me or you’re against me” musical focus screams out from the grooves, along with an innate English aesthetic that was structured, organized and almost militaristic.

Clapton went on to grow a Bob Ross-style Afro that might have been a tribute to Hendrix, but he’d never play as loose, sexy and beautifully Black as Jimi did. All that said, when I listen to Blues Breakers With Eric Clapton, I don’t care about the ups and downs of decades with Eric Clapton; I just hear a young man reinventing electric blues.

When young students ask me what inspired me when I was learning, I might play them the swinging genius Clapton exhibits on “Hideaway,” where he whips the Freddie King gem into his vision. Yet, more times than not, it underwhelms the uninitiated listener.

I think I get it. The world is filled with blues lawyers playing ’59 Les Pauls and clowns like Steven Seagal playing beefed-up pentatonics. Listeners shouldn’t be confused by this, because not hearing the importance and impact of Eric Clapton on Blues Breakers is like watching Citizen Kane and observing, “Oh, it’s only a black-and-white movie.”

Clapton could reach the pre-internet youth with a guitar that sounded like a flamethrower, wrapped in a tidy white package with an acute fashion sense. He repackaged and reinterpreted the blues for a generation, and spliced blues into rock.

“Clapton is God” is too much for anyone to live up to, but Eric Clapton is undeniably one of the most influential and inspiring guitarists of his generation. Blues Breakers With Eric Clapton proves that with each listen.

Pick up a copy of Blues Breakers With Eric Clapton here.

Jim Campilongo has 14 critically acclaimed instrumental records available on vinyl, CD and digital download here.

Pat Martino’s Joyous Lake was released on Warner Bros. Records in 1977. Along with Pat, its alumni includes Delmar Brown on electric piano, Mark Leonard on bass and Kenwood Dennard on drums and percussion, and it’s a terrific lineup. 

I first heard the album on KRE, the Bay Area AM radio jazz station that exposed me to hundreds of artists and their works, including Julian Priester’s Love, Love, Bobby Hutcherson’s “Houston St. Thursday Afternoon” and Pat Martino’s Joyous Lake.

The opening track, “Line Games,” basically says it all: athletic impassioned playing, almost impossible unison lines, and yes, one could use the F word – fusion – to describe it accurately. 

Pat always had a unique sound that wasn’t really jazz guitar or rock guitar; it was simply Pat Martino. He always fused together something that was exciting and original. He tears it up on “Line Games,” my favorite track on the LP.

The Delmar Brown composition “Pyramidal Vision” follows with a sound like a stormy wind, before a lovely melody played by Pat brings us indoors. While Kenwood Dennard borders on unhinged, he never comes close to derailing but instead righteously energizes the music.

Side one closes with “Mardi Gras,” a track that reminds me of a pre-Jaco Weather Report tune. It begins with fusion funk but enters a thoroughfare of melody that is timeless. Pat’s electric guitar solo sound on this track is the most “plugged into an amp” of all the album’s songs, and of course he plays masterfully. I love when he does his 16th-note triplets thing. I can’t get enough.

Side two opens with the Dennard composition “M’Wandishi,” and while it might be pushing my fusion calorie limit, it’s sincere and trippy. His composition “Song Bird” follows, delivering more impossible ensemble parts before settling into a vamp where Pat’s guitar testifies successfully. 

The “Song Bird” MVP award goes to keyboardist Brown, whose comping is sublime. The LP’s closer, “Joyous Lake,” slams into us gently and revisits some of the territory discovered on “Line Games.”

There was a fusion “golden age” (at least for my generation) that included Allan Holdsworth with the New Tony Williams Lifetime, Return to Forever, Bill Connors’ solo LPs, John Abercrombie, Jon-Luc Ponty, John McLaughlin, Weather Report, Miles Davis, Stanley Clarke with Jeff Beck, and Billy Cobham with Tommy Bolin, to name a few. 

I always revisit this era of fusion. I don’t think I took it for granted back then, but the music is almost more impressive to me today. All these artists were knocking down walls. Their music strikes me as more ambitious than what anyone expected, displaying an almost impossible athleticism that required a loving, focused dedication. They were stretching boundaries without the distractions of commerciality. 

Pat Martino delivered all that, and his artistry is captured in spades on Joyous Lake.

Browse Pat Martino's catalog here.

Jim Campilongo has 14 critically acclaimed instrumental records available on vinyl, CD and digital download here.

Growing up, I was exposed to many great artists through the wall separating my bedroom from that of my two older sisters. Lucky for me, my siblings had great taste. “We” listened to Hendrix, the Incredible String Band, the Easy Rider soundtrack and the Beatles, to name a few. It was in this manner that I discovered Buffalo Springfield's Again.

Released in 1967 on Atco Records, it was the second of three Buffalo Springfield releases and, in my opinion, it’s their finest record. Years later when, as an adult, I put Buffalo Springfield Again on my turntable, my appreciation was more mature, but the result was the same. Then and now, I love this LP.

With a lineup that featured Stephen Stills, Neil Young and Richie Furay on guitars and vocals, Bruce Palmer on bass and Dewey Martin on drums and vocals, Buffalo Springfield comprised a stylistically eclectic range of influences, yet their sound held together seamlessly while their vocals reigned supreme.

Buffalo Springfield Again almost reminds me of a Beatles record with its range of folk, country and psychedelia, all of which somehow coalesce under the banner of country rock, a genre the group helped to define in the late 1960s with albums like this one. In addition to the group’s five members, Buffalo Springfield Again features a talented cast that includes James Burton on Dobro, co-producer Jack Nitzsche on piano and members of the Wrecking Crew. It’s a tasty stew of talent.

The record kicks off with Young’s “Mr. Soul.” Young is the rare artist who can successfully cover a lot of ground, from extreme raw angst to an almost feminine melancholy. “Mr. Soul” is from his “Cinnamon Girl” songwriting template, a catchy rocker with great guitar hooks and an infectious melody.

It’s followed by Furay’s “A Child’s Claim to Fame,” which encompasses and predates the definitive California country sound we’ve come to know, with Burton’s Dobro contributing playfully to the party.

“Everydays” is a Stills tune that finds the group playing its mutated version of jazz, but it’s never naïve or overreaching. Stills has a knack for a great melody, and the drone notes, distorted electric guitar and harmonies make this track Buffalo Springfield’s unique take on the genre.

“Expecting to Fly” is another Young composition, and it brings to my mind the Moody Blues’ “Knights in White Satin,” which was released a scant week before this album. “Bluebird” is another Stills tune with more absolutely great guitar tones, and one that sounds like it could have been on Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young’s Déjà Vu.

My favorite track is “Hung Upside Down,” and it’s the song I usually play for the uninitiated. Harmony “woman tone” guitars invite us in, and the song takes hold, never letting you go. The melody is haunting, and the Young-and-Stills tandem kill it. The louder I play this song, the better it sounds.

“Sad Memory” is a Richie Furay original that could have been played in a lonely folk coffee shop. ”Good Time Boy” is an Otis Redding-style track that shows Furay’s versatility with a catchy R&B groove, while Young’s “Broken Arrow” closes the record. As for this last cut, the band’s ambition might have exceeded the end result. My personal grading for this erratic track might hover around a C-plus. That said, it’s still a great record.

The story goes that when Stills suggested Young join CS&N, Graham Nash was against it. After Young himself suggested Nash listen to the Young-and-Stills guitar tandem, he had a change of heart. What I find interesting about this duo is that they don’t play the traditional roles of any classic guitar team but instead seem to slip in and out of a deep conversation and often speak at the same time.

To me, Stills and Young are underrated for some things and possibly overrated for other things, but their rock-guitar duo thing is vastly underappreciated (see Déjà Vu’s “Woodstock” below). They play together as totally generous narcissists who know each other completely.

I always mention Buffalo Springfield Again when discussing noteworthy pop with my pals. Many folks aren’t aware of the record, or perhaps they simply forgot about it. Either way, I suggest spending some time with it, preferably in the same room as your speakers.

Get your copy of Again by Buffalo Springfield here.

Jim Campilongo has 14 critically acclaimed instrumental records available on vinyl, CD and digital download here.

It was a record born from surprise – not the good kind – and struggle. In fact, the whole concept of Two Guitars (Blue Hen Records) wasn’t inspired by the great guitar-duo collaborations of the past, such as Chester & Lester.

It was instigated by necessity. When wicked weather forced their drummer and bassist to go MIA from a gig at New York City’s 55 Bar, guitarists Jim Campilongo and Luca Benedetti decided to press on without a rhythm section. 

“We said, ‘Let’s just play,’ ” remembers Campilongo, “and we stumbled along, trying to recreate a full band sound with just the two of us. Eventually, we relaxed and didn’t worry about filling everything in – you know, playing ching, ching, ching, ching in a Django Reinhardt style – or keeping a strict tempo going. 

“In those moments, we had a revelation about the creative freedom of a duo. We definitely knew we had something going when Luca’s wife told us after the gig, ‘I noticed when you guys would take chances – that’s when it got real good.’ ”

The road to Two Guitars didn’t get all that much easier when the duo decamped to Brooklyn’s The Bunker Studio in mid-2019 to record the album. Campilongo was sick during the sessions, and he didn’t know how sick until later. He had pneumonia.

“We decided to sit down and play, and not have any expectations about the outcome,” Campilongo says. “We didn’t talk about it much, and the tracks ended up sounding pretty wonderful, despite my not feeling my best. Luca and I respect each other, and we have good chemistry, and that certainly helped.” 

But even excellent chemistry couldn’t transform one of the album’s final surprises into a welcome one.

“After already playing for seven hours in the studio, Luca drops on me that we should try ‘Mood Indigo’ by Duke Ellington,” Campilongo says. “I was tired, and I didn’t feel like learning anything, so I had a shitty attitude for a few minutes. But Luca is super kind, and he just said, ‘Let’s try it. I bet you could reimagine the horn parts as volume swells.’ 

“That idea immediately appealed to me, because I’ve found the best-case scenario for me is often discovering a song as the tape is rolling. It’s like falling off a log, and when we can find the magic in the moment like that, then we’re going to be able to compete with really fine music.”

Although Campilongo and Benedetti are enormously accomplished players with massive creative palettes from which they can draw inspiration, they didn’t exactly have an easy time forging the arrangements and musical interplay.

“The minute we started playing as a duo, it took some adjustment,” Benedetti says. “All of a sudden, the strong, driving rhythmic thing that a drummer provides was gone, and we’d notice something would drop out from time to time. Also, neither of us wanted to strum chords constantly for an obvious timing reference, so one of us would take a solo, and we’d go, ‘Um. Ah. Oops.’

“The recording exemplifies Jim and I working that aspect out, and it wasn’t totally painless or effortless. Everyone has their own sense of time, and I had to trust Jim being there for me, and me being there for him. 

"In the beginning, we didn’t have our different rhythmic approaches dialed in, so that had to be developed between us. I’d think, This is where I’m feeling it, and I’m just going to keep going, because right now I’m a little confused as to where we are.”

“But we were workhorses,” Campilongo adds. “The more Luca and I played, the more we started reacting, interacting, and honing in on how we could communicate effectively, and what we wanted this duo to sound like. 

"One of the things I learned from producer Russ Titelman [Steve Winwood, Eric Clapton, Cyndi Lauper] was that he always wanted everyone to keep playing, keep playing, keep playing. If the musicians are really listening to each other, a special language emerges.”

Another in the ongoing series of surprises during the project was that Campilongo was thwarted from playing the guitar he wanted – a 1958 Gibson ES-225.

“I brought that guitar to all three sessions for the album, and each time something was broken on it,” he says. “It was frustrating, because I’m someone who always gets his guitars and amps worked on before I do anything. Even if I’m just doing a favor for a friend, I make sure my gear is serviced, because the most important thing to have at a session is a guitar that’s perfectly in tune. 

“One of the bummers about living in New York is the weather is constantly changing. I get a setup, and a week later, the guitar is a mess. Similarly, no level of preparation mattered with the ES-225. It kept breaking every time I went near the studio. You can see why I’m a little boring with gear and don’t bring five guitars to sessions. In the end, I used my ’59 Fender Telecaster and Princeton amp on Two Guitars.”

Although Benedetti didn’t have to suffer through any equipment tragedies, he still kept his rig pretty sparse. (“Too many factors can mess up a take,” he says.) He mainly used his “parts-caster” based on an old Telecaster and a 1962 Fender Deluxe amp. 

For some tracks, he opted for a 1953 Gibson ES-175 with a single P-90 pickup, or a 1966 Epiphone Riviera with mini humbuckers. He also changed things up by plugging into a 1960 Supro Coronado amp when he wanted a more clean and direct sound. 

“The Deluxe doesn’t have reverb, but there’s a really nice tremolo on it,” Benedetti says. “I just add a reverb pedal, and I could get away with that setup for the rest of my life. I was excited to play the ES-175 on the record, because I had bought it a week before the session. 

“It was so easy to play, and it sounded great. When you hear the melody on ‘Mona Lisa,’ that’s the 175. The best example of the Riviera is my solo on ‘Nice Dress.’ Jim swears it’s the 175 on that tune, but I swear he’s wrong [laughs].”

One of the many delights of Two Guitars is that you can hear the rapport of the two guitarists unfold right before you on every track. It’s an authentic testimony, as well. 

You can hear bits of amp hum, fingertips dragging across string winds, and the near-psychic velocity of ideas being tossed back and forth during improvisational sections. It’s a record forged in shared aspirations, experience, respect, and heart.

“Jim has this unique ability to always be on task,” Benedetti offers. “I’ll sometimes get distracted by something in the room, and my mind can wander. Not Jim. I feel like he’s always there – 110 percent – and he keeps me focused along with him. I really treasure that. My best playing happens when we play together.” 

“We care about each other, and we care about the music,” Campilongo says. “Luca is always thinking about what the music needs, and he brings it. There’s no autopilot with him. As a result, when I listened to a test pressing of Two Guitars, I was so emotionally involved, I was almost holding my breath at times. And I thought, Oh, we did it. We really did it.”

• Jim Campilongo and Luca Benedetti's Two Guitars is out now via Blue Hen Records.

Released in 1963 on the Blue Note label, Kenny Burrell’s Midnight Blue remains one of my all-time favorite jazz guitar LPs to this day. The music exudes a vibey simplicity as Burrell and company thread the needle between sounding blue and grooving introspectively.  

Kenny Burrell was born in Detroit in 1931 and started playing guitar at 12 years old. Inspired by Charlie Christian, Django Reinhardt, and Oscar Moore, he went on to study composition, theory, and classical guitar before working with John Coltrane, Billie Holiday, and Lena Horne, to name a few of the many artists with whom he collaborated. 

The great Duke Ellington called Burrell his favorite guitarist. On Midnight Blue, he delivers one of the greatest guitar sounds in the history of recorded music. (I assume it’s his Gibson Super 400 archtop through a Fender Deluxe.) Burrell’s supporting cast features Stanley Turrentine on tenor sax, Major Holley on bass, Bill English on drums, and Ray Barretto on congas. 

Given his fluency in many guitar languages, it’s amazing how perfectly simple Burrell’s playing sounds on Midnight Blue. When I listen to it, I never think, I can do that, but rather, How does he make that sound so damn good?

Occasionally, he and Turrentine spell out beautiful lines over ii - V’s, tritone substitutions, pedal tones, and so on, but mostly he explores the full potential of simple pentatonic lines and blues scales. I love it when Burrell answers his simple melodies with electrifyingly hip dominant-seventh chords, and I’m never left wanting more.

“Chitlins Con Carne,” the album opener, has a sexy, “sneaking up on you in a dark alley” vibe. Burrell’s solo is a study in craftsmanship, and I love how he allows one bar of silence between his lines, as if he’s having a dialog with the groove. 

“Kenny’s Sound” is the most aggressive track here, and while he rips over the changes, he makes it feel relaxed and charming. Less mature artists might make this tune a snowball in a coal bin, but Burrell and his band make it fit the record perfectly. 

Among the album’s nine tracks, I particularly love “Mule” and “Gee Baby, Ain’t I Good to You.” On “Mule,” both Burrell and Turrentine branch out to play jazz changes, but never flippantly or on autopilot. Their playing is about staying in the groove and committing to the song’s storyline, which is always understated. 

And despite the absence of a vocalist, the performance on “Gee Baby, Ain’t I Good to You” expresses the amorous, sweet longing of its original lyrics. The groove and teamwork of the entire group creates an arena of deep listening, where what is implied is as poignant as something that is boldly stated. 

Midnight Blue is much like an acting performance by Steve McQueen or Gary Cooper, where the strength of the work comes from the subtlety and nuance of the players practicing the magic of their craft. 

When my students learn that familiar pentatonic scale we all discovered on guitar lesson three or four, I tell them that they now have enough knowledge to become a great artist (see Link Wray), and I’ll play them a track from Midnight Blue, where we can witness how Kenny Burrell uses his Nobel laureate guitar chops to serve up a satisfying portion of the blues. 

More than a virtuoso guitar player, Kenny Burrell is a communicator. 

• Look for Jim Campilongo and Luca Benedetti’s new release, Two Guitars, available now at City Hall Records on CD and vinyl.

Sometime around 1966, my mother turned me on to the Yardbirds. After hearing them on the radio, she bought an LP on her way home from work and played it on our family console stereo. 

As the music bled into my bedroom, I knew this wasn’t from the typical Campilongo family playlist of Andy Williams, John Gary, and Herb Alpert. I heard a sound that called my name. I liked the band name, too. I was eight years old. 

Having a Rave Up With the Yardbirds was released on the Epic label in 1965. It’s an underrated record and well worth revisiting or discovering. The Yardbirds are rarely mentioned in the template of musical discussions concerning rock history, and then only for the Mount Rushmore guitar chair of Clapton, Beck, and Page.  

To my ears, it’s amazing how sophisticated this young group sounded and how original they were. In 1965, most groups couldn’t help but be influenced by the Beatles, but the Yardbirds had their own thing, in particular, long, dynamic one-chord vamps that could build an audience to a frenzy.

On Rave Up, these tracks are paired with catchy pop songs that sound cinematic and – certainly – ambitious. Side one is a studio record with Jeff Beck on guitar, Keith Relf on vocals and harmonica, Chris Dreja on rhythm guitar, Paul Samwell-Smith on bass, and Jim McCarty on drums.

Side two contains all live tracks, with Eric Clapton replacing Jeff Beck in the guitar chair. Interestingly, the album has “I’m a Man” represented twice – side one with Jeff Beck, and side two with Clapton. 

Side one opens with “You’re a Better Man Than I.” It’s hooky and nice enough, but not necessarily my favorite song on the LP. “Evil Hearted You” follows with a memorable melody and some wonderful thrashing guitar work by Beck.

The record really gets in gear on “I’m a Man.” Recorded in 1965 at Chess Studios in Chicago, this track exhibits the Yardbirds’ one-chord-vamp excursions that combine a driving gospel aesthetic, along with 21-year-old Beck’s aggressive psychedelia.

Beck was always great, and to my ears he just keeps getting better. This kind of dynamic performance had to be developed organically, in the community of late-night teen erotica, in a nightclub with a crowd manipulated by band dynamics.

The track is super-eventful, too, with ascending progressions, guitar mania, and jarring, but successful, tempo changes. It’s followed by the album’s only original band composition, “Still I’m Sad,” a unique recording that combines Gregorian chant-style backing vocals, an Ennio Morricone–like musical arrangement, and a terrific lead-vocal performance.

Side two has my favorite track, “Smokestack Lightning,” where the Yardbirds again play a hypnotic, frenzy-inducing vamp. I’m very familiar with Clapton’s history, but this track is particularly impressive.

Clapton is totally in the pocket, and bends and grinds the theme lick for all it’s worth. He makes this vamp as addictive as potato chips, and every two bars this listener wants more. Despite being a bit musically schizophrenic, Having a Rave Up With the Yardbirds has many high points. Sure, the music alternates between radio hits and blues explorations, and yet it all hangs together.

Yin and yang seemed to be more accepted back in the day, with groups like Cream, Zappa, the Beatles, and others presenting dual personalities, and with no explanation needed. That said, Having a Rave Up With the Yardbirds never feels herky-jerky.

Realizing how young these guys were at the time, I’m impressed by how evolved the Yardbirds sounded. I would bet these performances against the 1966 Rolling Stones and many blues groups of that era, because the Yardbirds rose above reverence and mimicry and explored their own thing. Thanks, Mom!

• Jim Campilongo and Luca Benedetti’s new release, Two Guitars, is out now via City Hall Records on CD and vinyl

I've been writing this column for almost three years and never covered the Beatles. It’s tough to choose an album of theirs, because I love every one for different reasons. 

Ultimately, I’ve selected the White Album for its variety of sounds, and because it was the first Beatles album I purchased, when I was 11 years old. It’s also probably the record I’ve listened to the most.

Officially titled The Beatles, and released in 1968 on the group’s Apple Records label, the White Album features incredible guitar sounds, as well as what are arguably John Lennon’s most rocking and inventive songs with the group. 

“Everybody’s Got Something to Hide (Except Me and My Monkey)” is a study in rock guitar playing, with the opening, downbeat-obscuring chord phrase drawing us into the song. 

The interplay between the guitars and bass is masterful, as is the song’s climax, where the guitars plow away at the flat-7 chord. On “Yer Blues,” Lennon sings “Yes I’m lonely, wanna die” over a unique, 6/8 blues form that goes straight for the jugular.

Here again, the guitar playing is phenomenally raw, and the scratch vocal leaking into the basic track makes me feel like I’m listening to Lennon’s subconscious mind. “Yer Blues” sounds as vital and modern today as it did in 1968. I wish more blues releases had this kind of urgency and honesty.

“Happiness Is a Warm Gun” takes its name from the disturbing headline of an article in American Rifleman magazine, and is a continuation of Lennon’s abstract expressionism exemplified previously on “I Am the Walrus.”

The song’s beautiful, haunting melody is supported by dreamy, arpeggiated guitar chords, and the song’s sinewy low-note solo ends with a groan that’s just brilliant. I still scratch my head in wonder at how terrific that guitar sounds 50 years on.

“While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” though not one of my favorites, features Eric Clapton playing through what sounds like a Leslie speaker - the effect was actually created by a technician manually wobbling the Varispeed control on the tape delay. Here again, the guitars sound masterful and iconic, and every part fits just perfectly.

Elsewhere, the acoustic guitars on “Blackbird,” “Julia,” “Rocky Raccoon,” “Mother Nature’s Son” and “I Will” sound intimate and have breath - you can hear the air resonating around them. It’s not a stretch to say these tracks created a template for a generation of Travis-picking singer/songwriters.

I’ve always felt the White Album was underrated compared to other Beatle releases. And while I hear in its songs the loss of the band members’ youths and their growing isolation from one another, I also hear an inspired and ambitious effort that shows each of the Beatles maturing and developing his own distinctive voice.

• Jim Campilongo's new album, Best of Jim Campilongo Vol.1, is out now via Sundazed/Harmonic.
• The Beatles' White Album is available now on 4x LP 180gm vinyl via Capitol.