As one races through the man’s tributes, time and again, the list of those that used his patented Gibson Les Paul are legion. Late 50s models are the true deal, the magic referenced above, waiting in some dark ancient tomb to wreck havoc on a teenager’s mindset like a mummified guitar hero seeking just one more soul for his musical crypt. Everyone from Eric Clapton to Jeff Beck to Jerry Garcia to Trey Anastasio to Warren Haynes to Slash each took a turn on the Les Paul and either made the instrument their own, or drifted towards another guitar. Paul created “The Log,” an early solid-body electric guitar in the 30s, but his real technological breakthrough came in the 1950s when he teamed up with Gibson to produce his ultra-modern instrument known simply as the Gibson Les Paul. By the early 60s, new models, not endorsed completely by Paul, would be manufactured and were called the Gibson SG, or Solid Guitar. Paul discontinued his association with the company, and variations of the instrument were created over the years, but it was the original models, as mentioned, that truly define the Les Paul Sound.
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And thus, brief percussion bashings aside, since I am not a musician, I can only write about how the music feels to me as opposed to the numerous technical attributes that make up the classic Les Paul guitar. With that sensation of sound came, arguably, an even greater invention by the Wizard of Waukesha—the development of multi-tracking, overdubbing, tape delay, and general studio magic that can be explained and taught to the neophyte or veteran musician, but one needs the tunes to create this spell, right?
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Enter young Jimmy Page, who at the age of 25 had already endured (and looking at his list of varied 60s musical credits, some of those sessions must have been painful) hundreds of hours in the studio working on tracks for other artists whilst toiling away for a brief spell with the Yardbirds. When Page compiled his quartet for Led Zeppelin, he also had amassed a lifetime’s worth of knowledge studying the studio work of Les Paul. Therefore, Page felt more than ready to fill the producer’s slot—a role he’d keep for all nine Zeppelin studio albums. More than any other producer, or musician for that matter, Jimmy Page took advantage of Les Paul’s taping innovations to create layers of sound that evoked some memorable moods that are both timeless, and—yes, that word again—sinister. How does one create guitar tracks that appear to contain the cosmos—the Big Bang and Big Crunch—within their nearly invisible-walled sonic environment? Listen to the zenith of the Led Zeppelin studio career, the sprawling guitar army known as “Achilles Last Stand” on 1976’s Presence, and one hears the peak of the Les Paul sound. One hears how far into The Zone a musician can take numerous layers of sound—especially the beloved guitar sound—and not forfeit heart in service of mechanical art.
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My two favorite Clapton albums are ancient. I am not a huge fan of most of his post-_Layla_ work, but it is really the John Mayall album that we are concerned with here, especially if one is, yet again, speaking of that specific Gibson Les Paul sound. On the Bluesbreakers with Eric Clapton, an album with the legendary blues group he recorded with after his brief spell with the Yardbirds (that band, again?), Slowhand found his muse at a crossroads with his influences (arguably an intersection that he never really left), and created a near masterpiece of tension and release. I have it on album because it doesn’t sound right on CD or (gasp) mp3, and it is always cranked at high volume. Clapton used a 1959 Les Paul on the album, and helped continue to usher in the era of the Marshall monoliths by blasting though a Model 1962 Amplifier. But it’s that damn Les Paul guitar, a beast that sounds truly magical in the hands of a seemingly otherworldly talent like Clapton that makes these blues recordings so transcendent. Yeah, I prefer the majestic heartache and fire and brimstone jammed-out blues of Layla, but it was on Bluesbreakers where Clapton produced the sheets of sounds that would be imitated, but never duplicated by lesser lights in the years since. (And when speaking of Hendrix, one places him in a whole other architectural category—the pyramids as opposed to the Mt. Rushmore-like structure of Messrs. Clapton, Beck, Page, and yes, Keith Richards who employed Les Paul’s guitar, or recording techniques, from time to time in their storied careers.)
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Echo (or is it the same spin on the kaleidoscope, yielding a similar yet different image? Is it all a practiced magician’s trick? You meant “musician,” not “magician,” right? No. No, I didn’t). And thus, brief percussion bashings aside, since I am not a musician, I can only write about how the music feels to me. Paul’s guitar and studio wizardry always sounded just about perfect when wedded (literally and figuratively) with Mary Ford’s voice. Although he created numerous overdubs, delay tricks, and multi-tracks on their many tunes, it is her very angelic voice that somehow humanizes the often demonically mechanical heart that beats within the Les Paul sound. You can hear it almost immediately on “Just One More Chance,” a track that Paul wanted her to sing like Bing Crosby. Alas, she could only sing like Mary Ford; yet, that was always just good enough. He played either “The Log,” or a chopped-up pre-Gibson Epiphone, but the track also contains another Paul hallmark—his sound is sometimes so simplistic that it’s beautiful.
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So, yeah, son, there is such a thing as real magic. May you find your own path yourself, but it’s so much easier, especially if one chooses to become a musician, interpreting melodies in a new and unique way, if the path has already been cleared by such an innovative inventor of musical magic like Les Paul.
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