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Hear Canadian black death warriors Revelator growl their vicious “Death Serenade” on their new single.
The post Track Premiere: Revelator – “Death Serenade” appeared first on Decibel Magazine.

On Flickering Resonance, the instrumental auteurs throw down a spellbinding slab of post-metal majesty.To some, a rock band without a singer can seem like a band without a voice. But for Pelican, the lyrical guitar lines of Trevor Shelley de Brauw and Laurent Schroeder-Lebec are not without a point of view. Their self-professed “unconscious melting pot” of influences includes post-hardcore, punk, and doom metal, among others, but their music also often displays the grandeur of cinema, blending a thick sonic backbone with melodic passages and moments of quiet, introspective solemnity. They intentionally press against the heaviness of their preferred drop-tunings and endlessly yearning rhythms to find a musical sweet spot that is as uplifting as it is unrelenting. “I think the music has this exalting, elevating melody to it that could be described as positive or affirming,” describes Schroeder-Lebec. “It was never the intention to be dark or foreboding or menacing.”The instrumental post-metal band came together in 2001 in Chicago, Illinois, with guitarists Shelley de Brauw and Schroeder-Lebec, along with brothers Bryan Herweg (bass) and Larry Herweg (drums). Known for incorporating expansive, ambient passages that set them apart from their contemporaries, Pelican has released several well-received albums since the early-aughts, starting with their debut EP, Pelican (2001), and subsequent full length, 2003’s Australasia.SongstreamOn their latest album, Flickering Resonance, Pelican takes “as much inspiration from titanic ’90s post-hardcore, space-rock, and emo as they do traditional metal, showing that though Godflesh and Goatsnake records occupied the shelves of Pelican’s songwriters, so too did Quicksand, Christie Front Drive, and Hum,” writes band biographer David Anthony. “Pelican’s foundation was built upon the rule-free, genre-agnostic [’90s] scene synonymous with Chicago’s [legendary] Fireside Bowl.”Trevor Shelley de Brauw’s GearGuitar1972 Gibson SGAmpSunn Model TEmperor 4x12EffectsDunlop DVP VolumeEarthQuaker Devices Avalanche Run Stereo Reverb & DelayEarthQuaker Palisades Mega Ultimate OverdriveLine6 DL4 MkII Delay ModelerStrymon BigSky Multi ReverbTC Electronic ND-1 Nova DelayTC Electronic PolyTune 3 Polyphonic TunerStrings and PicksD’Addario (.013–.056)Jim Dunlop USA Tortex Standard (.72 mm)Most of the songs on Flickering Resonance were written by Shelley de Brauw, Schroeder-Lebec, and Bryan Herweg sitting in a room together. “We’ll get a rough version of a song together, record a voice memo [on a smart phone], send it to Larry, and he’ll compose drum parts around it,” explains Shelley de Brauw. “But the meat of the process is really all four of us being in a room together jamming and figuring out where the songs want to go. Once we’re in a room, we can really edit so that the DNA of all four of us is in there and it flows in a way that feels natural for us as a band.”A core influence on Pelican’s DNA is post-hardcore progenitors Fugazi, and their indelible creative imprint is all over Flickering Resonance, even if subversively. “Those records were written in a space, jamming together, and somebody’s coming up with something, and somebody else comes up with a counterpoint, and then everything just starts to gel over time,” observes Shelley de Brauw. “For us, it’s a similar process in that the exchange of ideas makes the music feel more organic in a sense.”“I think the music has this exalting, elevating melody to it that could be described as positive or affirming. It was never the intention to be dark or foreboding or menacing.” —Laurent Schroeder-LebecAside from Shelley de Brauw’s occasional use of Ableton, he and Schroeder-Lebec mostly eschew leaning on DAWs for crafting songs and records, even if that means slowing down some of the productivity. “You can be super productive [with technology] if you’re like, ‘I’ll throw up an arrangement, lay it down to a click tonight, send it to you, and if you’ve got a part that fits pretty good, you lay that down,’ but it sometimes takes away the back and forth that happens when you’re hashing out the riffs in a room together,” explains Schroeder-Lebec. “And that’s what feels familiar and gratifying. It ends up being a better representation of the band in the end.” It took Pelican six years since their last album, Nighttime Stories, to complete Flickering Resonance, a testament to their face-to-face writing ethos.Pelican recruited Sanford Parker to engineer the Flickering Resonance recording sessions. He’s worked with the band on and off for the past several decades, including for their first album, Australasia. “The idea was to work with somebody in a complementary way rather than a directive way,” explains Schroeder-Lebec. “Recording with Sanford seems to be a combination of miking with the DI out and staying open to the idea of splitting cabs, splitting heads, and trying to maintain the sound that you’re playing out of.”Laurent Schroeder-Lebec’s GearGuitar1981 Gibson Les Paul CustomAmpOrange Rockerverb 100 MkIIIOrange PPC412 cabEffectsBoss CE-2W Waza Craft ChorusBoss RE-2 Space EchoBoss TU-3W Waza Craft Chromatic TunerEarthQuaker Devices Hizumitas FuzzJHS Kodiak TremoloOrange Two Stroke Boost and EqualizerStrymon blueSky V2 ReverbStrymon Brigadier dBucket DelayStrings and PicksD’Addario EXL158 XL Nickel Wound Electric Baritone (.013–.062)Jim Dunlop USA Gator Grip Standard (1.5 mm)When he went to record, Schroeder-Lebec says he was attached to his Orange Rockerverb, but he curiously determined that it probably wouldn’t work in the studio. “I thought that it might get too murky at times,” he admits. “We tried a bunch of stuff and Sanford and Trevor were like, ‘It needs to be the Orange. That’s the best sounding one.’ We filled out some of the frequencies with a Triple Rectifier that was adjusted to a low-gain setting and went between the two at varying levels.”The guitar parts in Pelican songs are orchestrated more like conversations than distinct lead and rhythm roles. At times, Schroeder-Lebec says he will gravitate to foundational things, but what he enjoys most about the band, since returning after a long hiatus, is their openness with each other. “For me, it’s a sign of personal maturity not being super-attached to your awesome mega riff,” he attests. “And that is born of Trevor and I relating [to each other], and then Brian getting into the mix as a bass player.” He says open lines of communication end up informing intricacies within the songs, like picking patterns, especially when deciding if they are playing upstrokes or downstrokes, for example. “Even in the scheme of being instrumental, with as much slowness as there is, and repetition, and the wall of sound, there’s also nuance. The way the riffs are structured, they’re like interlocking pieces of the grander puzzle that I hope translate to the listener.”“For me, it’s a sign of personal maturity not being super-attached to your awesome mega riff.” —Laurent Schroeder-LebecShelley de Brauw and Schroeder-Lebec gravitate to different tonalities instinctually and find that they are surprisingly complementary of each other. “Trevor and I have known each other for a very long time, and friendship is a key component to the building blocks,” says Schroeder-Lebec. “It’s not infused with conversations like, ‘Hey I’m going to boost my mids,’ or anything technical like that, but we both want each other’s parts to be present, audible, and focused.” He recounts a funny anecdote from Russian Circles’ guitarist Mike Sullivan, with whom they toured recently. “Mike was watching us, and was like, ‘When I hear each of you individually, I’m like, how do these two guitars fit?’ They’re just such different ranges and when you hear the two together, it becomes this tapestry where everything hangs harmonically.”Channeling all of that sonic 6-string ferocity into live shows means lugging heavy 4×12 cabs and guitar heads to gigs and rocking the same setup that they’ve used since the beginning. No in-ears, modeling amps, or plugins for Pelican. “We need the air at our backs, and we need to feel the sound waves,” attests Shelley de Brauw. “The physical sensation plays a huge part in what the band is about.” Their volume has crept down over the years because they’ve been in pursuit of clarity, and hearing each other on stage has become paramount. “In the beginning, it was just turn it up and pound hard, and it worked,” remembers Schroeder-Lebec. “But we want to play with each other. That’s the goal now and we’re hoping that the combined effort is relatable for people coming to see the show.”YouTube ItPelican deliver a crushing take on “Cascading Crescent” from Flickering Resonance.

Cultic embrace the thrills of battle and high fantasy on newest offering “The Nomad.”
The post Video Premiere: Cultic – ‘Nomad’ appeared first on Decibel Magazine.

Get to know the 5-string heartbeat of mariachi ensembles.For any guitarist captivated by vibrant rhythm and unique sonic textures, the Mexican vihuela is an instrument that demands attention. Its instantly recognizable, bright, percussive strumming is the heartbeat of mariachi music, contributing an undeniable energy to the ensemble. But the vihuela’s story stretches far beyond the iconic mariachi sound we know today, rooted in European ancestry yet blossoming into a distinctly Mexican voice—one every serious string player should explore.The vihuela’s lineage traces back to the Spanish vihuela de mano, a sophisticated plucked string instrument that thrived in the 15th and 16th centuries. This European ancestor, often boasting six courses of strings and a familiar figure-eight body shape, made its way to the Americas with the Spanish conquistadors. While the Spanish vihuela eventually faded in Europe, it found fertile ground in the New World, particularly in Mexico, where it began its remarkable transformation. On Mexican soil, its size generally became more compact, and the string count typically settled at five, tuned in re-entrant courses, which is another way of saying the strings aren’t strictly pitched from low to high. The vihuela’s tuning is much like the first five strings of a guitar, but with the lower courses tuned higher. Most notably, the back of the instrument transformed into its characteristic convex shape, affectionately known as la jaroba. This unique curvature isn’t just for aesthetics; it’s a key contributor to the vihuela’s incredibly bright and resonant tone, allowing it to project over other instruments. While the exact reasons for this design shift are debated among historians, it undeniably gave the Mexican vihuela its unique sonic and visual identity—a true testament to organic instrument development.“The Mexican vihuela remains an indispensable part of mariachi music, its lively strumming instantly evoking the spirit of Mexico.”By the 19th century, the vihuela was deeply integrated into various forms of Mexican folk music, not solely confined to what we now recognize as mariachi. Historical accounts show it played in diverse regional styles alongside instruments like harps and violins. Its smaller size made it portable and perfectly suited for impromptu sessions and communal music-making—traits that resonate with any gigging guitarist.The vihuela’s ascendance to international recognition, however, came with the rise of modern mariachi in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. As mariachi ensembles solidified their instrumentation, the vihuela became a cornerstone of the armonía (rhythm) section. Its higher register and percussive attack cut through the ensemble, providing rhythmic and harmonic accompaniment with distinctive strumming patterns, complementing the deeper tones of the guitarrón and the melodic lines of the trumpets and violins. For guitarists, the vihuela’s playing technique is where things get truly interesting. Often played with a powerful strum that uses all the fingernails—a technique called the mánico—it generates a driving and energetic pulse that’s both rhythmic and harmonic. While understanding chord voicings is crucial, the articulation of the mánico is paramount, providing the foundational groove and propelling the music forward. This rhythmic sophistication is so integral that the specific mánico strum pattern is often how experienced listeners identify the style of music a mariachi band is performing. It’s a common misphrasing to say, “They are playing mariachi music,” when in fact, mariachi is the ensemble, performing various musical styles within its framework. Just as a symphony might play a sonata, rondo, or minuet, a mariachi ensemble performs styles including rancheras, huapangos, waltzes, sones, corridos, boleros, and polkas, to name a few. And the vihuela’s strumming, or mánico, is often the identifying factor. Today, the Mexican vihuela remains an indispensable part of mariachi music, its lively strumming instantly evoking the spirit of Mexico. It’s a living legacy, a testament to the blend of cultural heritage and musical innovation. In honor of Hispanic Heritage Month and the celebration of Día de los Muertos, I’ve included photos of a custom Mexican vihuela I recently built for Olivia Nuñez, an artist performing with Herencia Mariachi Academy in Corona, CA. It features symbols representing cherished memories of her family members who have passed away—a perfect representation of not only the music it shares, but also the profound importance of Mexican culture and family it embodies. The vihuela’s journey is a captivating one for any string player. It stands as a powerful example of how instruments evolve and adapt, ultimately finding their own distinct voice within a new cultural landscape. The next time you hear the spirited strum of a vihuela, you’ll appreciate its rich history—a story etched in wood and resonating through generations of captivating Mexican music.

When you think about the most name-checked guitarist of all time, who do you think of? Hendrix? EVH? Good guesses, but we think it’s gotta be Waukesha, Wisconsin’s own Les Paul. Though his name lies atop one of the most popular guitar models of all time, there’s so much more to Les. His inventions span modern recording history, and with his music—whether with then-wife Mary Ford, solo, with Chet Atkins—he left a mark across genres. And though neither host owns a Les Paul, we’ve both shared space with The Log.Thanks to Our Sponsor, Gibson!LEARN MORE! www.gibson.com

Fortin Amplification has unveiled the Kali pre-amp / distortion pedal, designed to deliver the legendary, brutal tone of the iconic Fortin Cali amplifier.Fortin Kali Preamp/Distortion pedalThis new pre-amp/distortion pedal allows players to inject the modern rock / metal Cali sound directly into their own rig.Meticulously crafted by renowned gain specialist Mike Fortin, the Kali pedal has been fine-tuned by Fortin to recreate the amp that came before it. Whether you’re in the studio or on stage, this pedal will provide the precision, power, and clarity that distinguished the original amp.Key features of the Kali pedal include:Active 3-Band EQ: Offering total tonal control to shape your sound3 voicings – Vintage, Raw and SaturatedEach gain control has a three-way bright switch to provide unlimited tonal optionsDual Channel Footswitching: Two footswitchable channels for ultimate flexibilityLike the Cali amplifier it is inspired by, the Kali pedal is engineered to deliver the most versatile, most powerful modded tones possible. For guitarists seeking to have complete control of their dirt, this pedal provides the legendary Fortin tone.Fortin’s Kali pre-amp / distortion pedal carries a street price of $299.00 (USD). For more information visit fortinamps.com.

If you’ve never worked on a tube amp, it can be hard to find your way into understanding how they work. Somehow, we create a tiny signal by making metal strings on our guitars oscillate over a magnet wrapped with a coil of wire, and our amp takes that electrical signal and gets it to drive a speaker. (And driving the speaker is basically the opposite of how the signal started: It is a coil of wire moving within a magnet, which drives a speaker cone that moves air.) I’d like to simplify some of the processes that go on in our amps, so even if you’re not an expert, you’ll have some idea of what’s going on. Let’s look at how tubes work and the role they play in turning our quiet, tiny guitar signals into sound. There are various types of vacuum tubes, but in the guitar amp world, three types are most common: rectifier tubes, preamp tubes, and power amp tubes.
Let’s start with rectifier tubes. As part of an amp’s power supply—the part of the amplifier circuit that makes the voltages the rest of the circuit needs to operate—rectifier tubes help convert, or “rectify,” the AC (alternating current) from the wall into DC (direct current). The amp’s power transformer only runs on AC, so it’s up to the rectifier tube to create DC, which is needed by the other tubes. (The filter capacitors are also part of the power supply, and these are needed to make proper DC from rectified AC, as well as a “choke” transformer.) The tubes that we use in this part of our amp are specialty tubes designed to do this one particular task and are not interchangeable with preamp and power amp tubes.“The small guitar signal creates electrical movement on the screen of the tube, which causes movement on the plate, which gets significantly amplified due to its high-voltage potential.”The preamp section’s job is to take the delicate signal from the guitar and amplify it to a level that can drive the output section. This is done in stages because of how small the guitar signal is, which is why we have many 12AX7-type tubes in our amps. Here’s how preamp tubes function:Typically, V1 (valve 1—this is not a specific part on a schematic in this article but refers to the first tube the guitar signal encounters) will take that delicate guitar signal and amplify it by about 100 times before we do anything with it in the amp. This process repeats in the other preamp tube positions as well. How does a tube make a signal 100 times bigger? The V1 tube has about 300V DC on its plate (and a few volts on the cathode, but I don’t want to get too technical here and explain that—let’s just say that’s part of the operation of the tube). The small guitar signal creates electrical movement on the screen of the tube, which causes movement on the plate, which gets significantly amplified due to its high-voltage potential.
Because these are still small signals, the tubes are small. A 12AX7-type tube has two sections. In this case, V1 can also be used as a second gain stage or the first stage for another channel input of the amp.
Power tubes are bigger. There’s only a single stage inside the glass. Why? Because they do more work. They are the horsepower of the amplifier. They need to drive the output transformer, which pushes that speaker cone to move air. The overall function is the same but with a higher potential. In the power tube’s case, it’s usually 400–500V DC. More voltage means more power available. When we create electrical response on the power tubes with our signal, we get that analog response on the plates. Those plates are connected to an output transformer. The output transformer does what its name states by transforming the signal on the primary side (the power tube side) to what is on the secondary side, which is the speaker. The power tubes need that high-voltage DC to operate, but a speaker only wants 10–30V AC to rock our world. The output transformer separates the AC guitar signal from the DC power supply. Again, there’s a bit more to this, but the power tubes are coupled to the speaker, driving that speaker and doing the hard work of moving air.
You might not be ready to go repair your amp, but hopefully, you now have a better idea of how your tubes work.

Over four decades, the Grammy-winning English bassist has held down the bottom for Roxy Music, Bryan Ferry, Pink Floyd, and David Gilmour. He’s recorded with everyone from Pete Townshend to Madonna and Michael Jackson, and he’s also a popular podcaster and stand-up comic. Whatever’s next, he’s ready.If Guy Pratt’s name doesn’t resonate with you, his bass playing certainly has. He’s held the low end down for Pink Floyd and David Gilmour since 1987’s Momentary Lapse of Reason tour, and elsewhere in the Floydian universe he’s a member of Nick Mason’s Saucerful of Secrets, which specializes in the legendary band’s early music. But wait, as the old huckster’s line goes, there’s more. Lots more. He’s also a longtime member of Roxy Music and Bryan Ferry’s band, and has toured with the Smiths. As part of the new wave band Icehouse in the early ’80s, he scored on the European and Australian charts and opened for David Bowie, and then springboarded into a series of higher profile gigs. In the studio, those have included sessions for recordings by Gary Moore, Michael Jackson (“Earth Song”), Tears for Fears, Echo & the Bunnymen, Iggy Pop, Tom Jones, Whitesnake, the Orb, Debbie Harry, Robbie Robertson, Madonna (“Like a Prayer”), and, in 2022, Pete Townshend. He also shared a Grammy for his playing on “Marooned” from Pink Floyd’s The Division Bell.And yes, there’s still more. In addition to Pratt’s many TV, film, and theater scores, the amiable London native embarked on a sideline of stand-up comedy beginning in 2005, when he took his one-man-plus-bass show to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. That show, My Bass and Other Animals, spawned his book, and he’s toured two more original comedy productions since. In his spare time, he started a podcast, Rockontours, with Spandau Ballet’s Gary Kemp, a co-conspirator in the Saucerfull of Secrets band. Their famous guests, spinning tales of the musical life, have included Nick Mason, Bob Geldorf, Phil Manzanera, Trevor Horn, Chris Difford, and Adam Duritz over 213 episodes.Last year, fortunate concertgoers got a chance to hear Pratt on Gilmour’s 21-concert, four-city tour behind Luck and Strange, an album where Pratt’s playing is woven into the deep currents that support the gorgeous tide of music created by the guitar giant and his hand-picked ensemble in the studio. There’s an old saying among musicians that if you always want a gig, play bass or drums. Just before his teens, Pratt settled for bass. “I wanted an electric guitar,” he recalls. “I fell in love with electric guitar. Simple as that. I begged my parents, and of course mum said, ‘Oh darling, why don’t you get a nice Spanish guitar?’ ‘Spanish?! I’ll do that at school.’ Rock ’n’ roll was outside the school gates back then; it wasn’t where we are now. And it had to be electric. The joke I would say is that actually a toaster would have been closer to what I was after than a Spanish guitar. So I asked for a bass. My mum and dad clubbed together and got me—because my birthday’s near Christmas—a bass guitar for Christmas and birthday. It was really weird … huge and kind of confusing, and I didn’t have an amp. But when I went back to school two weeks later, there were three kids who had got electric guitars for Christmas. Of course, if they wanted to be a band, they needed me, so I had my pick.” And so Pratt’s career began.​Guy Pratt’s GearBasses1964 Fender Jazz Bass (named “Betsy”)1960 Fender Jazz Bass (stack knob; present from David Gilmour)Nash Guitars T-style (w/ P- and J-bass pickups)Nash Guitars P-styleSpector NS-2Lakland fretless bassStratus 5-stringRickenbacker 4001V63 (w/ Nick Mason‘s Saucerful of Secrets)Rickenbacker 4003 (w/ Nick Mason‘s Saucerful of Secrets)AmpsAshdown Guy Pratt Signature Interstellar-600Ashdown CL-10 cabsEffectsTC Electronic Hall of FameBoss ODB-3 Bass OverdriveTC Electronic SubnupAshdown Bass Graphic EQTwo Boss GEB-7 Bass EqualizersBoss DC-2w Dimension CPeterson Strobostomp HDDemeter Opto CompulatorCustom Pedal Boards routerLehle volume pedalAshdown footswitchDunlop JCT95 Justin Chancellor Cry Baby WahDunlop volume pedalBoss Digital Delay DD-500Foxgear Echosex BabyBoss OC-OctaveMXR Phase 90Origin Effects Cali76 bass compressorThe Gig Rig QuarterMaster QMX-10Strings & PicksElites Stadium Series Roundwounds (.040–.100)Dunlop Tortex Triangle .88 mm (for older Pink Floyd songs)I’ve been listening to your playing since the ’80s, when you started working with Bryan Ferry and with David Gilmour and Pink Floyd. Your tone has evolved over the decades, from what I would describe as a pointier sound.Yeah, it was all front end. I was playing a Steinberger and it was bridge pickup. There was a lot of slapping. In the ’80s, bass was almost doing a different job because with a lot stuff I did there was a keyboard bass as well. Like when I used to work with [producer, drummer, and an original member of Duran Duran and the Lilac Time] Stephen Duffy, often I would go into the studio and I went on after the vocal. And my job was to kind of put stuff in the gaps, more like a horn part than bass.It was the first drum-machine generation, and suddenly LinnDrums were everywhere. The bass wasn’t necessarily doing the job it had to do. You weren’t in the room with the drummer laying the thing down. With the birth of hip-hop and the new romantics and then bands like Simple Minds, everyone was coming from a quite funky perspective. There was a lot of stuff happening with technology and the bass responded really well to technology, with the Steinberger and various effects and amps. It felt like guitar was really taking a back seat at that time, too.I mean, I was an asshole. Twenty-one-year-olds are assholes, aren’t they? So I guess the way I would look at it is I’m now a bass player. And maybe I needed the 40 years to become one. [laughs]At what point do you feel like you made that transition?I think it started on the ’94 Floyd tour. That’s when I suddenly started thinking, “Wait a minute, what are you doing here? You should be playing a Precision with a pick.” And then I kept at it. By 2006, the [David Gilmour] On an Island tour … I would say since then I’ve been a grown-up, if you will.“There’s no need for a sixteenth note on the bass anywhere in this music, ever.”You’ve mentioned retooling your gear specifically to address that sort of deeper, more grown-up tone. And you’ve spoken about a particular instrument that you created—part Jazz Bass and part Hofner.Bill Nash, who’s a friend and who makes the most beautiful guitars and basses, gave me a Telecaster bass. And it had one of those open [uncovered] pickups on it, but it also had a Jazz pickup. It’s got my Luck and Strange sticker on it, because it’s my Luck and Strange bass, and a stack knob. And the thing was, I was trying to think where to use it. On “The Piper’s Call,” David got ahold of the violin bass and noodled around, and it’s gorgeous stuff. I played a big, rounded Fender part that David told me to. Of course, when it came to rehearsing for the live shows, David said, “Well, obviously you’re doing both parts.” And I thought, “How the hell am I doing that?” Because there’s the Fender part and this nice little “do-do-do” going on top. I tried playing it with a violin bass. That just didn’t work. It’s too small, just too insubstantial for me to hold. And it didn’t work on the Fender. So then I thought, “What would David do?” Because he’s really good at coming up with A-team-type solutions for things, like re-tuning his lap steel so he’s got a major and a minor chord. I was trying to think of a version of that, and I said, “Ah-ha! What if I take this Nash bass, and on the top strings, the D and the G, put on flatwounds, and then get a bit of foam and stick it under just the top two strings.” What I always find interesting when rehearsing with David is what he remembers from bass parts. “You need to play that”—that sort of thing. A lot of the music is so slow and so big and there’s so much space in it. Very often it’s actually the length of the notes rather than how many notes you’re playing that matters more. With David, and this is something I get with the wisdom of years, every note does count. It’s quite funny when I think back to what I used to play in jams with him, like when we did a week of the Division Bell rehearsals. I was still stuck in that thing of playing sixteenth-note parts. It’s just like, “Why?” There’s no need for a sixteenth note on the bass anywhere in this music, ever.Your career started, essentially, playing in new wave bands and on sessions, including Madonna’s “Like a Prayer.” But now you’re best known for your work with Pink Floyd, Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music, David Gilmour … more atmospheric music. What was that transition like for you?There’s a quote: “As you live your life, it seems this absolutely chaotic, random set of events. And then when you get towards the end and you look back, it’s like the most beautifully plotted novel.” When I was playing with Icehouse, [frontman] Iva Davies wore his influences on his sleeve: Simple Minds, Bowie, Ferry, which was great stuff. I loved it. So I became versed in that style of playing. When we were making the second album, we got Rhett Davis, who was Roxy Music’s producer, for one of two reasons. Iva sang so much like Bryan Ferry that it was like, “If he’s gonna do Bryan, let’s do this properly.” Or Davis’ gonna go, “Come off it! Be yourself.” Anyway, it was fantastic working with him and we really got on. So it came to pass that I auditioned for Bryan and I got the gig. Even though I’d already worked with Robert Palmer, who was a huge, huge hero, this was different. Working for Bryan was crossing the Rubicon—as big as Bowie, an absolute icon in my head. So anything after that, Pink Floyd, nothing was gonna get bigger anymore. It was like, “This is Bryan fucking Ferry, you know?” Bryan is still my longest working relationship. I’ve been working with Bryan for 40 years.“Something that I really noticed on the tour is it feels like David now owns his past. He’s not owned by it.”Focusing on David, who you’ve been working with for 38 years, did that relationship start after he played on Bryan Ferry’s Boys and Girls sessions?The first thing was, I was playing for Dream Academy and David had produced them. He needed a support band for this one show in Birmingham. It’s quite funny because Nick Laird-Clowes, the main guy from Dream Academy, is this fantastic, enthusiastic character. And he said, “David’s heard your playing. He thinks you’re amazing. He can’t wait to meet you”—which of course was just bollocks. So we get up there in Birmingham. I’m terrified. And he said, “David’s just dying to meet you.” And I went in and just stood in his dressing room and it was awful. We both stood there with nothing to say until one of us had to walk away. David, being the ranking officer, got to be the one who walked away. And that was the end of it. But I got to spend a bit of time with him with Bryan, which sort of loosened things up a bit. And I started just seeing him out and about. I think I was just getting invited to better parties. [laughs]So, I went on holiday to Thailand and I came back and there’s all these messages from David. The first one saying hi, he was doing an Amnesty International concert, the Secret Policeman’s Ball, and he wanted me to play with him and Kate Bush. And there’s another message and another message. “Hi Guy, just wondered, it’s next week you know.” And then, of course, he had to get someone else. I’m like, “My god, that was my one shot.”A while later, David, Rick [Floyd keyboardist Richard Wright], and Nick were saying they were doing a new Pink Floyd album, and I didn’t think any more about it until I got a phone call from L.A., and it’s David going, “Hi. We’re putting Pink Floyd back together.” He said, the tour was gonna be a year, and would I be interested and available? So I went, “Yes!” And he said, “Oh, not working much, then?” And that started our relationship of him ribbing me and me constantly falling for it. That’s been the hallmark of our relationship for the last 38 years.David’s latest solo album, Luck and Strange, seems perhaps more organic than most of the Pink Floyd albums he’s helmed and his earlier solo work. After all these years working with him, you’re in a good position to comment on that. Is there something different that you find within it?I know what you mean. There’s definitely been something different about this album, about the way it’s been received, about the tour. It was hugely successful in a way that some people’s solo records could only dream of. On An Island is where it started. There are quite a few people now who will point to the song “On An Island”’s solo as on a par with “Comfortably Numb.” But there’s something about this one, a sound. And a lot of that’s to do with Charlie Andrew and Matt Glasbey’s engineering. It feels of a piece. And something that I really noticed on the tour is it feels like David now owns his past. He’s not owned by it. And for me, if you look at the set list, well over half is songs I played on. It’s always been quite piecemeal with David’s other records. I’ve gone in for a couple of days here and there, but David’s played quite a lot of bass himself. He’s brilliant.With David, there is always this thing where suddenly he’s puttering about, then puttering about a bit more, and then suddenly “bam,” we’re in gear—there’s an album. We did a whole week in British Grove Studios with Steve Gadd, which was amazing. His playing wounds you, gets you in the chest. It’s so light and so potent. It’s just gorgeous. Why I think he was such a great call is that, in all my years with all those elite drummers, Steve is the closest to Nick.I think Nick is a vastly underappreciated drummer. I love his playing. It’s so conversational.That’s a great way of putting it. Yes, he absolutely was underappreciated, in the same way, if you remember years ago, that David was actually a somewhat underrated guitarist. And you know, I’ve noticed that with all the top drummers I talk to now, everyone’s like, “Nick Mason, man!” It seems like he can take his playing anywhere he wants to and feel utterly relaxed at the same time. And what’s been amazing with the Saucers, because we’re doing all that early stuff, is it’s so crazy, manic. I get worried for him, you know. “Should someone have a heart monitor on him or something?” But that stuff doesn’t seem to bother him at all. It’s fantastic.I need to ask, what was it like playing onstage in Pompeii? A beautiful setting; what an extraordinary experience.At the risk of sounding unbearably smug. I’m one of the small group of people that played Pompeii twice. With David, we were on a stage at the end of the amphitheater. It was so small, we just had the screen, there was no sides, there was no roof; it was mad. There was only 1,800 people, so it was like a club gig. It was fantastic. And with the Saucers, we played at the Teatro, which is the theater, which is really small but lovely, in a different part of the complex, but it’s still Pompeii. But we did it in the middle of an absolutely horrendous heatwave. So it was nearly 40 degrees [104 Fahrenheit] and we couldn’t sound check. The poor crew were wilting and we basically just had to sit on the bus and then went in through the audience, did the show, and left. Whereas with David, we had Mary Beard, the great historian with us. We were there for four days. “At the risk of sounding unbearably smug, I’m one of the small group of people that have played Pompeii twice.”You’ve done extensive film and television work. How did you get into that?I love working on film. I used to work with Michael Kamen a lot. I love working to picture. I also love that it is a great way of writing music and not having to finish it. Usually, you come up with a great piece of music and, okay, well now I need a verse, now I need a bridge. Whereas with a film score, it’s like this character needs something. That’s it. Then you move on. TV music is like the demo version of film music. No one expects a real orchestra, so you’re kind of going, if this was a film, the music would be doing this. Of course, now everyone’s got massive screens and 5.1, so the stakes are higher. That came about through me hanging about at the Groucho Club, which is this big media arts club in London, and just telling people I wanted to do film music. The first thing I did was a documentary … on the Roswell autopsy. That was completely fake, but it was perfect. This was was mid-’90s, so it was the whole electronica and ambient house, chill, Orb scene. So perfect for that sort of film. But then I got this fantastic gig, which I’m still really proud of, which is this TV series, Spaced, with the director Edgar Wright, with Simon Pegg and Nick Frost starring in it. Edgar, if you know from his films, is such a film nerd, so literally everything is a reference. It was brilliant. I had to do Kubrick. There’s a bit of what looks like a zombie movie, so I had to kind of write a John Carpenter score.You’re also a podcaster, and your Rockonteurs, with Gary Kemp, is very entertaining, with its “behind the music” approachThe podcast came about literally from the first Saucer Full of Secrets tour. We had this tour bus and this is long enough ago that the bus actually had a DVD player. And I brought a box set of The Old Grey Whistle Test, which is the legendary 1970s English music TV show. We used to watch it on the bus, and it was just brilliant. Everyone had an opinion about every act that was on, or a story. Of course, half the time Nick knew them and he’d have some great stories and we’d be talking about it, and someone said, “Man, we should do a podcast.”We didn’t know it was gonna fly at all. We had this address book, we just asked a few mates to come and do it. And it just became a thing, you know, and it’s really nice because no matter how well I know the artists, we always get something I’ve never heard. We had a couple of scoops. My favorite got on the front page of The Times and The Guardian, when Whispering Bob Harris, who used to present The Old Grey Whistle Test, told us that Nixon asked Elvis to spy on John Lennon.“All musicians have really funny stories because it’s a kind of preposterous life we lead.”You also do a one man bass-and-jokes comedy shows?All musicians have really funny stories because it’s a kind of preposterous life we lead. So I started telling them, with my bass in hand, and it did really well. So then I had to write a book [My Bass and Other Animals]. I went around the world with it, been to Australia four times.It’s something I really like, because I knew I was never going to do a solo musical thing. I really love the job of the bass. I mean, I’m very happy being the center of attention at a table or whatever. But in a musical set, I really love that thing of playing the instrument that just makes everyone else work. But there’s a syndrome I call “sideman bitterness” that I’ve seen happen a lot. When people start getting to their 50s or whatever, it’s like, “Where’s my shit?” And so I thought, “Well, I need to do something on my own to avoid that.”Another thing is that when you get up on stage with Bryan Ferry and play “Love Is the Drug,” you’ve got a pretty good idea of how it’s going to go. With David Gilmour, when you play “Wish You Were Here,” you’ve got a pretty good idea of it. What I love with stand-up is that I get up there and people don’t really know what I’m gonna do. They don’t really know what they’ve come to see. I’m not entirely sure about it. It’s completely fresh, in the moment. And I think that’s something that might have made me a better bass player, in a way. Because now I’ve had it all on my shoulders, so it’s really nice to go back and just be the guy playing bass.YouTube ItDavid Gilmour is Guy Pratt and Gary Kemp’s guest on this episode of the Rockonteurs podcast.