Ask a guitarist to name five famous Les Paul players and you’ll probably get Slash, Jimmy Page, Pete Townsend and Joe Perry… and maybe Ace Frehley, or the late great Gary Moore. There’s plenty of players to choose from: a quick look at the Gibson website reveals that just amongst the models currently on sale there are 23 signature edition Les Pauls!

With so many legends making their name using Gibson’s most famous axe it’s easy to overlook the fact that every one ever made is a signature model of the “Wizard of Waukesha” Les Paul himself.

If, at this point, you’re wondering who Les Paul is you’re in good company. When I was a kid I had heard that he was the man who invented the electric guitar, and so I naturally assumed that he must be an engineer who worked for Gibson.

In this series I’m going to explore the life of Les Paul: the only man to be in both the Inventors and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and hopefully demonstrate why I believe he is the greatest example in history of musicianship and innovation acting in perfect (multitracked!) harmony.

First, let’s get a few things straight: Les Paul didn’t invent the electric guitar, the solid body guitar – or even the Gibson “Les Paul”! He did however have a key role in the development of all three. He was also responsible for innovations arguably even more important, which changed the way music would be made forever and paved the way for the jazz and country music of the 40′s to mutate into Sgt. Pepper and Dark Side of the Moon in the 60′s and 70′s.

We’ll start with a look at the classic Gibson “Les Paul” guitar, and Les’ role in its creation. In subsequent parts we’ll be learning about his vast contributions to the art and technology of recording, and audio effects.

Les Paul and the Birth of the Electric Guitar

As a youngster, Les Paul played acoustic guitar and harmonica in a hillbilly act under the name Rhubarb “Red” (where he invented the neck-mounted harmonica holder; but that’s another story).

After a show he was handed a note by an audience member saying “Your act is great, but no one can hear your guitar”. From that day forward he knew he needed to get amplified if he wanted to make the big time.

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As players, guitarists are expected to have a wide range of skills including incredible ears. We are asked to play by ear, accompany singers in any key, and improvise. In developing these skills we need to be able to recognize different chord types and their inversions, as well as to be able to translate what we hear to the instrument.

When we are learning different chord forms we seem to be inundated with their seemingly endless variations and notations. But at their essence are four different basic sound qualities: major, minor, diminished and augmented. Within these four basic triad qualities are really just two modes: major and minor. The diminished triad is related to the minor triad, as the augmented is to the major one.

In this article we will review close position major and minor triads as they are found on the guitar. Close position triads on the guitar are perhaps not the most practical chords to use from a playing perspective, but they will help you understand the construction of larger four and even six note chords that you may be more familiar with, and provide a means for learning their sound quality in their most basic forms.

Triads

Triads are three note chords built by stacking thirds, from a root note. If you consider the common C major chord below, it actually only consists of three pitches: C, E and G. The other two notes are just repetitions: another C on the second string and another E on the first string.

A standard C Major guitar chord

Standard C Major guitar chord

Chords sound the strongest when we put their root as the lowest note. Nevertheless, any of a chord’s members can be the lowest, note giving a triad three possible positions: Click to read the rest…

Sometimes it can feel like the music world is just treading water between Radiohead releases. Yes, we’ll listen to tons of other bands and fully enjoy many of them, but Radiohead remains one of the only groups that can still stop everyone dead in their tracks, getting them to drop what they’re doing and run to their computers, scrambling to frantically download the band’s newest offering. Perhaps I’m exaggerating a bit here, but I’m certainly not the first person to posit that Thom Yorke and the boys really do seem to be our modern-day version of The Clash – The Only Band That Matters.

Radiohead makes it easy to be a fan of their music, because there’s so many facets to what they do: Their songs are sonically complicated, but still often melodic enough to get stuck in your head for days. Their lyrics are notoriously indecipherable, and even when revealed, seem to ask more questions than they answer. Each member of the band is highly proficient at his instrument, with madcap tinkerer Jonny Greenwood proving himself adept at gadgets a lot of us don’t even recognize. Yes, they’re the sort of band that bridges the gap between snobby musicians, music nerds, and passive fans who just like a good tune.

I was right there with all these folks in February, eagerly anticipating the release of the band’s eighth album, The King of Limbs. I’m having to restrain myself from diving into a full-on review of the record, because I could ramble on about it for a while. But I’ll keep it short, for our purposes here: at first, I wasn’t sure what to make of the LP. But after repeated listens, I’ve grown to love it. And one of my favorite tunes from the record is one of the more stark, airy compositions, and one that certainly didn’t click with me right away: “Give Up the Ghost.”

Give Up the Ghost

It was only when I watched a YouTube video of Thom Yorke performing the song solo that I put together its minimalist origins and its heavy use of looping. There’s one loop that runs throughout the entire song (the “Don’t hurt me” line), and even after I had listened to the track probably thirty times (before I had watched the vid), it never occurred to me that that part remained static throughout the course of entire five minutes. In the live version, it’s obviously tough to miss this – you can watch Yorke initializing that loop, as well as the others that chime in towards the end of the song. But on the album version, the band builds the composition so gradually and carefully that you never have a chance to get bogged down in any repetition. It’s really impressive.

The song starts with Click to read the rest…