Man Of The World
Nev Marten looks again at his love of the much-lamented Peter Green, and his influence on him as a blues-style guitarist
Okay, I know I talked about Peter Green and his influence on me and my playing a few issues back, but with the shock of Peter’s passing just two days prior to my writing this, I feel I simply have to revisit the subject.
The outpouring of grief from virtually every guitarist on social media, and the obvious love people had for him as a player and an influence, moved me immensely. A bit like Rory Gallagher and Gary Moore, Peter was not a household name in the way Clapton or Hendrix are, and yet he was adored and revered in equal measure. Perhaps (again, a bit like Rory) the fact that he deliberately distanced himself from fame (and the fortune that came with it) lent him musical credibility. And maybe, in hindsight, he was the most genuine sounding of the 60s breed of blues players. Eric had the fire and brimstone that set hearts thumping, and of course he built on his own authenticity as his career progressed; and Hendrix, the ultimate performer, stood head and shoulders above Peter as a showman and scene-stealer, plus as a black American musician you could say he had blues naturally coursing through his veins. But Peter, a white Jewish cockney, had something altogether different.
The great Mike Bloomfield, the US’s own Greeny, if you like, was also Jewish and it has been pointed out that he, too, seemed to connect almost viscerally to the source of the blues. I remember asking Carlos Santana if he ever saw the three Kings play live; he told me he had, and in his ever brilliant way of putting things, said (and I paraphrase), “When those guys played they drew from a well that I could never visit.” But Bloomfield and Green came pretty close, as BB’s often quoted statement attests:“[Peter] was the only one that made me sweat!”
Early Influence
This weekend I was talking to my sister about Peter. It was she who had the albums and she pointed out what I’d forgotten: that we actually heard A Hard Road prior to the ‘Beano’ album. So it was the sound of Peter Green that alerted me to blues lead guitar, not Eric Clapton, as I had firmly believed. Turns out it was Peter’s licks that I mostly strove to emulate, not Eric’s. That came a little later with Cream – as it did with Jimi, too, when I heard Hendrix In The West.
In hindsight, Peter was indeed the perfect ‘teacher’. His playing was clean, thoughtful and tightly executed. He played in mini ‘statements’ that were relatively easy to pick apart once I’d broken the code. Peter could play as fast as Eric but mostly chose not to. He seemed to compose solos on the spot, really thinking about the pace and overall ‘shape’ of his lead breaks. And while I’d hesitate to say it actually rubbed off on me, it most definitely set me on my own path as a player, and indeed is in part what got me into writing about all this stuff in guitar magazines.
And let’s not forget that voice. Peter was one of a very few white blues guitarists whose vocal tone matched that of his guitar. Again like the three Kings, it was hard to tell whether his guitar playing was an extension of his singing, or the other way around. He certainly used his songs as vehicles for them both, affording equal importance to each ‘voice’.
Sadly, we are living in an age when our heroes are departing us one by one. Peter lived his later years quietly but comfortably in Essex, away from the spotlight that had lured and terrified him in equal measure. I feel so blessed to have heard him at his prime when I was just 16. I followed him as his career ascended with the mighty Fleetwood Mac, worried about him during his wilderness years, and finally met, interviewed and watched him play live in the 90s. Google ‘John Mayall with Paul Butterfield All My Life’ if you want to hear Peter at his exquisite best.
Rest in peace, one of the truly great guitarists of our lifetime. And I’ll see you next time.
“And let’s not forget that voice. Peter was one of a very few white blues guitarists whose vocal tone matched that of his guitar…”
The easing of lockdown restrictions has stimulated a change of atmosphere in the workshop this month. Customers are resurfacing to get their instruments serviced, live music outdoors is starting to take place, and I sense a flurry of impulsive lockdown induced online purchases are coming my way. With the doors and windows open inviting the world back in, it feels like the workshop is – both literally and metaphorically – a hive of activity.
It’s not just the bees and summertime insects causing a hum, though. Accompanying almost every new instrument repair this week is a complaint of buzzing of one kind or another, and not one customer can identify the source of it. In every instance I am humoured by the fact that no-one is able to reproduce the irritating sound they’ve been hearing at home, but nevertheless my job is to diagnose the problem and fix it. Let the sleuthing begin.
The guitar is a pretty complex piece of kit, and even in capable hands there are many elements prone to producing undesirable sounds. However, I would suggest that undergoing a good setup will, nine times out of 10, wring out a mysterious buzz. While we are all looking to squeeze every bit of potential out of our instrument – and let’s admit it, our ability, too – a very low action and light gauge strings are not conducive to a robust tone. A fresh set of strings often solves the problem anyway, ruling out the high-frequency rattle caused by broken windings and damaged ball-ends. A badly cut or low nut will also cause a string to clatter against the frets, and a poorly adjusted truss rod may cause notes to fret out in certain places. If fretbuzz is happening in specific areas of the neck it’s almost always to do with the overall setup, or may be a result of issues with the fretwork. Once you’ve attempted all the adjustments you are willing to make yourself, it’s time to go a little deeper.
The Sound & The Fury
I’ll wager that if you’ve an acoustic guitar with an irritating buzz that’s not setup related, you’ve got some sort of built-in pickup system. It seems to me that almost every acoustic pickup has an unfathomable amount of cabling running around inside the guitar, often using little more than sticky tabs and blind faith to keep things from rattling about. At best, these noises are little more than the occasional clack of a wire hitting the soundboard, but at worst, you’ll get some pretty invasive noises triggered by playing certain notes.
On the subject of hardware, I make it a matter of habit to check every screw on an instrument that arrives on the repair bench. Battery housing and strap buttons might be all you’ll come across on an acoustic but electrics are rife with buzz-inducing components, whereas banjos and resonator guitars top the list of problem instruments. And while we’re at it, instruments with trapeze-style tailpieces come with their own difficulties. The varying lengths of string suspended between the bridge and the anchor points of the tailpiece introduces six random resonances that may excite in undesirable ways. Fortunately, a bit of felt or appropriate damping material weaved between the strings is all that’s needed to clear up the sound.
Lastly, then, are the multitude of unforeseeable quirks that may accompany just about any instrument. It was this week, while exploring inside a vintage guitar, that I remembered a friend who had acquired an old cello banjo. As well as a rather muted tone, there was an annoying rattle that would be produced only when playing certain notes. When we opened it up we discovered a six-inch piece of plastic bacon glued – yes, glued – to the underside of the skin. Perhaps the lesson here is that if you’re resorting to raiding the kids’ toy box to fix your prized musical instrument, it’s probably time to put the ‘tools’ down and book an appointment with your local luthier.
“When we opened up the banjo we discovered a six-inch piece of plastic bacon glued – yes, glued – to the underside of the skin…”