This week In Guitar Virtuosi 04/52

1 . Pat Metheny . That’s The Way I Always Heard It Should Be

Pat Metheny’s take on “That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be” is a thoughtful re-imagining of a Carly Simon classic, originally co-written with Jacob Brackman in 1971.

Recorded for his 2011 album “What’s It All About,” Metheny leans on his expertise with the baritone guitar to reshape the song’s intimate confessional tone.

The album marks Metheny’s first attempt at curating an entirely covers-based project, which emerges as less about mimicry and more about reinterpretation.

Here, restraint and subtlety dominate; the rendition trades Simon’s poignant vocals for the understated swell of Metheny’s strings, yet the emotional weight of the song emerges intact.

Critics have commended the Grammy-winning project for its ability to reinterpret historically important songs without overindulgence.

The stripped-down aesthetic avoids sensationalism, favoring faithful textures reworked within a contemplative instrumental palette.

“That’s the Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be” stands as a reminder that simplicity, when paired with artistry, can speak volumes.

Lifted from : Nonesuch publish Pat Metheny Group’s thirteenth album . ‘The Way Up’ (2005)

2 . John Fahey . Old Southern Medley

John Fahey’s “Old Southern Medley,” from *The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death*, strings together a patchwork of Americana that’s as intricate as it is idiosyncratic.

The medley opens with “Old Black Joe,” a Stephen Foster lullaby steeped in sentimental sweetness, before segueing into the jaunty gallop of “Camptown Races,” another nod to Foster’s antebellum kitsch.

Fahey then folds in Charley Patton’s bluesy “Some of These Days I’ll Be Gone,” adding his own flair with high thirds on the top strings, a signature touch that feels at once intimate and cerebral.

And just when you think the medley might leave you there, in a reflective blues haze, it pivots to “Dixie,” Daniel Decatur Emmett’s controversial anthem.

The whole performance is structured around Fahey’s open C major tuning (C-G-C-G-C-E), which imbues the piece with a resonant, hymn-like quality, transforming a collection of culturally loaded melodies into something oddly transcendent.

First released on Riverboat Records in 1965, the album bears the deliberate imprecision of a home recording, complete with imperfections like a dog’s audible bark—kept in, one assumes, out of sheer irreverent loyalty to spontaneity.

Barry Hansen, Fahey’s friend and producer, clearly prioritized authenticity over polish, a choice that suits Fahey’s loose, exploratory relationship with his material.

What gives “Old Southern Medley” its bite is the tension between the nostalgic and the subversive, with Fahey weaving between these loaded melodies with a touch that’s knowing but never smug.

The California performance in 1981 further underscores this, with Fahey leaning into his role as a historian and provocateur, skillfully distilling fragments of American folk and blues into a single cohesive statement.

If the medley has a flaw, it’s that Fahey’s reinterpretation is so dense with historical allusions that it risks leaving the casual listener behind.

But for those willing to engage, it feels less like a musical nod and more like Fahey challenging you to reconcile the beauty and contradictions woven into America’s musical heritage.

Lifted from : John Fahey picks in California (1981)

3 . Tommy Emmanuel . Eva Waits

“Eva Waits” is a hauntingly elegant track that showcases Tommy Emmanuel’s knack for weaving intricate fingerstyle guitar into cinematic narratives.

Though it doesn’t formally appear on his sprawling discography, the song exists as a beloved gem among fans who exchange whispers of its existence in online forums with a devoted fervor.

Its alleged inspiration draws from Spielberg’s “Bridge of Spies,” though the exact tether to this Cold War thriller is left open to interpretation—more mood than storyline.

Musically, “Eva Waits” suspends itself in tension and release, Emmanuel’s dexterous picking conjuring an almost restless yearning in every chord.

It’s as if the guitar itself is waiting, perhaps wistful, perhaps unresolved, but undeniably deliberate in its storytelling.

While Emmanuel has toured the world extensively—including a memorable visit to Glasgow in 2017—there’s no concrete evidence the song has graced one of his live sets, another detail that adds to its mystique.

Known for collaborating with virtuosos like Chet Atkins and John Knowles, Emmanuel often blurs the lines between genres without ever losing his earthy, personal touch.

His albums “Accomplice One” and “Accomplice Two” overflow with such experimentation, yet “Eva Waits” feels stripped of all pretense, existing only as a quiet dialogue between player and listener.

If anything, it’s this tension—this absence of conclusion—that defines its charm.

Lifted from : Tommy Emmanuel pays his yearly visit to Glasgow (2017)

4 . Charlie Hunter . Untitled Improvisation #2

Charlie Hunter’s “Untitled Improvisation #2” is an intricate performance that brims with the artist’s hallmark innovation and technical prowess.

The piece is built around his custom seven or eight-string guitar, an instrument capable of simultaneously handling bass lines and guitar melodies, turning solo performances into the auditory illusion of a duo.

This particular improvisation feels less like a constructed song and more like a stream-of-consciousness meditation, with every note fluidly reacting to the last.

Hunter’s thumb anchors the bass notes with a steady rhythm while his fingers navigate a melodic labyrinth, blending jazz, soul, and funk into an almost conversational dialogue between the registers.

His technique isn’t just a gimmick but the backbone of his artistic identity, honed over decades and showcased to full effect here.

Though inherently virtuosic, the track never feels self-indulgent, maintaining an earthy accessibility that threads through Hunter’s discography.

“Untitled Improvisation #2” avoids settling into predictability; instead, it pushes forward with the kind of restless energy that defines not only Hunter’s music but also his career-long commitment to the discovery of new sonic terrain.

If the piece lacks a distinct theme or structure, it’s intentional—an offering born from spontaneity rather than formula.

This is the kind of performance best appreciated live, where Hunter’s dynamic interplay with his instrument feels more complete, but even on tape, it captures his ethos: groove, wit, and a refusal to play by conventional rules.

Lifted from : On radio today, Charlie Hunter improvises (2009)

5 . Steve Vai . Salamanders In The Sun

Steve Vai’s “Salamanders in the Sun” clocks in at a swift 2:26, yet it’s as ambitious as the rest of his eccentric debut album, *Flex-Able*.

Recorded during 1983 in the oddly charming confines of his backyard studio, Stucco Blue—a glorified garden shed—the track embodies the quirky, DIY ethos permeating the record.

It’s not content to be “just” a guitar song; Vai layers offbeat textures with contributions from Scott Collard on synthesizers and Larry Crane sprinkling lyre, xylophone, and bells into the mix.

The result feels like plucking musical frogs from a dreamscape while stepping into surreal daylight, and yes, somehow that description works here.

There are flashes of Vai’s tenure in Frank Zappa’s orbit, particularly in the song’s unpredictable structure and playful shifts in tone—a wink more than a formal nod to the bizarre experimental streak Zappa embodied.

“Salamanders” never overstays its welcome, preferring to delight in its brevity before scampering into the strange ether it emerged from, leaving you both amused and slightly puzzled.

If the rest of *Flex-Able* channels Vai’s frenetic creativity, this little track is its whimsical punctuation, a brief but memorable jaunt into the absurd margins of his imagination.

Lifted from : Steve Vai releases his debut album . ‘Flex-Able’ (1984)

6 . Shawn Lane . Solo Improv in San Diego, 2001

Shawn Lane’s “Solo Improv in San Diego, 2001” captures a moment of raw, unfiltered creativity that walks the line between brilliance and bewilderment.

In “Improvisation 2,” Lane manages to channel a chaotic yet hypnotic energy, blending rapid-fire guitar runs with an almost lyrical sensitivity.

This isn’t your average shred session; Lane’s approach has more in common with jazz’s spontaneous combustion than it does with the predictable structures of rock or metal.

His intricate phrasing and use of unexpected tonal shifts reflect the influence of eclectic collaborators like Joe Walsh, Anders Johansson, and Jens Johansson.

There’s an almost overwhelming density to the performance, yet within it lies a surprising clarity, a hallmark Lane developed in albums like “Powers of Ten” and “The Tri-Tone Fascination.”

By 2001, Lane was fully immersed in boundary-pushing projects, including collaborations with Indian musicians V. Selvaganesh and V. Umamahesh.

You can hear hints of that east-west fusion here, as unconventional scales slide seamlessly into Lane’s improvisation, adding layers of texture and tension.

Recorded in front of what feels like an intimate audience, the piece serves both as virtuosic display and reflective exploration.

But it’s not all polish—the occasional rough edge feels less like a mistake and more like a deliberate risk, Lane testing the limits of where his guitar can take him.

This performance may leave you either exhilarated or exhausted, depending on your tolerance for relentless complexity, but one thing’s for sure: it’s never boring.

Lifted from : Shawn Lane improvises in San Diego (2001)

7 . Stevie Ray Vaughan . Riviera Paradise/Lenny

“Riviera Paradise” sits quietly in Stevie Ray Vaughan’s 1989 album *In Step*, an instrumental piece brimming with restraint, yet soaked in emotional depth.

Played on Vaughan’s beloved guitar “Lenny,” the track feels like the spiritual counterpart to his earlier instrumental *Lenny*—a whisper of clarity amidst the album’s brash moments.

If *In Step* is Vaughan’s phoenix rising post-rehabilitation, then “Riviera Paradise” is the calm after the inferno—a reflective breather tucked between the high-octane blues numbers.

It’s the kind of track that doesn’t beg for attention, instead inviting you to lean in and lose yourself in its bluesy nuances, much like a late-night conversation over whiskey.

The clean, melodic phrasing of Vaughan’s guitar moves with an almost conversational fluidity, devoid of virtuosic flexing, which makes it even more compelling.

What separates this track from many others in Vaughan’s catalogue is its near-jazz approach, a soft detour from his fiery blues-rock staples.

That said, it doesn’t stray too far from his roots—it simmers rather than ignites, but still keeps the room warm.

For those tethered to the bite of “Crossfire” or the urgency of his live performances, “Riviera Paradise” may seem like a curveball, but it’s one that reveals new dimensions of Vaughan’s artistry.

The track closes the album like a slow exhale, leaving you with the sense that Vaughan wasn’t chasing his demons here—he was having a rare moment of peace away from them.

It’s not flashy, not groundbreaking, but that’s the point.

It’s a quiet reminder of the human side of an artist many see as larger than life, as if Vaughan’s guitar decided to whisper instead of shout.

Lifted from : Stevie Ray Vaughn takes Double Trouble to Tokyo (1985)

8 . Joe Bonamassa . Never Give All Your Heart

“Never Give All Your Heart,” co-written by Joe Bonamassa and Jonathan Cain, sits snugly within the blues-rock tapestry of Bonamassa’s 2014 album, “Different Shades of Blue.”

The track’s title feels like a direct nod to cautionary tales, though Bonamassa’s impassioned delivery suggests he hasn’t fully followed his own advice.

Released by J&R Adventures, the album occupies a curious limbo between classic blues traditions and the polished sheen expected of contemporary rock.

The live version from “Live at Radio City Music Hall” frames the track in a heightened grandeur, as Bonamassa steps onto one of New York’s most hallowed stages for the first time on record, an event that cloaks the performance in half nostalgia, half ambition.

The video on YouTube captures his technical precision with ease—a bluesman’s sermon delivered over the hum of an electric guitar.

But amidst the wailing solos and well-worn chord progressions lies a performance curiously devoid of risks, a polished safety net that neither astounds nor deviates far from expectation.

Still, fans of methodical musicianship will find comfort in its even-keeled execution, a reminder that sometimes, a steady stride wins the race over a reckless sprint.

Lifted from : Joe Bonamassa enchants Radio City Music Hall (2015)

9 . Yngwie Malmsteen . Encore @ Canyon Club

Yngwie Malmsteen’s encore at the Canyon Club in 2018 delivered a setlist that felt like a masterclass in neoclassical guitar theatrics, featuring tracks that remain touchstones of his career.

“Far Beyond the Sun,” from his 1984 debut album, bursts out of the gates like a Baroque fever dream played at a breakneck pace. It epitomizes his penchant for shredding with surgical precision while weaving melodies that somehow hover between grandeur and outright excess.

“Black Star,” also hailing from the same record, strikes a more measured tone—if only slightly. Its deliberate phrasing offers a moment of relative introspection, though the relentless technical gymnastics still shine through. It’s a track that earns its sermonizing reputation without tipping into monotony.

“Trilogy Suite Op: 5,” an opus from 1986’s *Trilogy*, doesn’t so much blend classical music and metal as it violently clashes the two together, creating a kind of controlled chaos. This is Malmsteen at his most fiercely ambitious, wielding his guitar like a composer’s quill dipped in fire.

Then there’s “Arpeggios From Hell,” the title alone practically a declaration of war against casual listeners. Known for its head-spinning patterns and face-melting execution, it’s less a song and more a five-minute argument for why guitarists either worship or fear Malmsteen in equal measure. Originally featured on his live album *Trial by Fire: Live in Leningrad*, the track’s intimidating complexity has made it a rite of passage for those brave enough to attempt it themselves.

Together, these songs showcase a musician both thrilling and exhausting, as if each note is a duel with the very concept of restraint. His live performance doesn’t just revisit these works; it reaffirms his unwavering commitment to excess—not everyone’s cup of tea, but undeniably unforgettable for those willing to step into the arena.

Lifted from : Yngwie Malmsteen shreds in California (2018)

10 . Eddie Van Halen . Eruption

“Eruption” by Eddie Van Halen emerges as a sonic detonation that changed the trajectory of guitar playing forever.

This blistering 1 minute and 42 seconds of unaccompanied instrumental virtuosity wasn’t even meant to make the cut for Van Halen’s debut album, but serendipity struck when producer Ted Templeman overheard Eddie goofing around with it in the studio.

It’s a piece that feels less like a structured song and more like a chaotic yet precise exhibition of what the electric guitar can accomplish when placed in the hands of someone both fearless and obsessively innovative.

The heart of the spectacle lies in the two-handed tapping technique, a happy accident of Eddie’s experimentation, which emerged here as main event rather than mere ornamentation.

The Frankenstrat guitar screams its way through quicksilver runs and wide-interval sweeps, its voice warped and stretched by effects like the MXR Phase 90 and Univox echo unit, giving the impression of a science experiment conducted on the fretboard.

The brief anchored intro, courtesy of Alex Van Halen’s drums and Michael Anthony’s bass, fools you into thinking this might be an ensemble affair before Eddie completely hijacks the stage.

For all its dazzling bravado, “Eruption” crams in peculiar surprises, like a nod to Kreutzer’s violin “Étude No. 2” and a closing flourish akin to a classical sign-off, suggesting Eddie’s musical knowledge ran deeper than his spandex-clad rock star persona might have implied.

Its impact isn’t just musical but cultural—this is where generations of bedroom shredders learned that guitar solos could tear through convention, dragging classical and heavy metal into a bizarre, electrified marriage.

Of course, all that cultural baggage could come across as a bit much for the more casual listener, for whom “Eruption” might seem less like music and more like an over-caffeinated math problem.

Still, as a singular moment in rock history, its placement near the top of countless “best solo” lists only confirms what anyone who has strapped on a guitar and failed to replicate it already knows: Eddie Van Halen didn’t play “Eruption”; he summoned it.

Lifted from : Van Halen At Their Best

11 . James “Blood” Ulmer . in Copenhagen 2014

James “Blood” Ulmer’s “Black Rock” thrives as a study in genre fusion, where he blends blues, rock, and free jazz into a simmering, unpredictable concoction.

This track’s angular guitar riffs pull no punches, colliding with a vocal delivery that feels as raw as it is purposeful.

Performed live, particularly in Copenhagen, it takes on an even bolder shape, with its jagged edges sanded only slightly by the energy of the moment.

More than a song, it’s a declaration of Ulmer’s defiance in sticking to a sound that refuses categorization.

By contrast, “Baby Talk” leans toward a blues-rock melting pot, pulled from the underrated gem “No Escape From The Blues: The Electric Lady Sessions.”

There’s something delightfully unrefined about this track, as Ulmer’s guitar shifts between groan and growl, echoing his vocal’s gritty urgency.

The recording feels less like a polished product and more like a late-night confession, riddled with imperfections that magnify its charm.

Together, these two pieces place Ulmer as both alchemist and provocateur, a musician unafraid to coax chaos into coherence.

Lifted from : James “Blood” Ulmer (Live in Copenhagen, January 28th, 2014)

12 . Paco de Lucía . Antonia (Buleria Por Solea)

“Antonia (Buleria Por Solea)” from Paco de Lucía’s 2004 album *Cositas Buenas* is classic flamenco with a modern heartbeat, the kind of track that makes purists loop back to their rulebooks while nodding in reluctant admiration.

The piece exists at the crossroads of tradition and innovation, marrying the structural precision of soleá’s 12-beat compás with the exuberant twists of bulerías, creating a hybrid that’s as intricate as it is visceral.

It’s a meeting of worlds—one foot in the tablao, the other flirting with contemporary harmony. The tempo flirts with chaos but never loses its grip, pulsing between 150 and 190 bpm like a restless pulse, always in the key of A but never settling for the obvious turn.

De Lucía’s mastery is evident not just in his technique but in his ability to weave layers of emotional complexity—there’s a melancholic edge beneath the fire, a whisper under the cascade of notes.

*Cositas Buenas* is sprinkled with collaborations, yet this track feels unequivocally personal, as if the guitar is speaking in a voice only Paco de Lucía could provide.

Not merely a showcase of virtuosity, it’s a dialogue between past and present, a love letter to flamenco without latching onto its nostalgia. That delicate balance—between reverence for tradition and a refusal to be constrained by it—remains the true magic of this piece.

Lifted from : Paco de Lucía releases the album . ‘Cositas Buenas’ (2004)