This week In Guitar Virtuosi 03/52

1 . Mick Taylor . Can’t You Hear Me Knocking

“Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” staggers in with a swaggering riff that feels both gritty and exotic, courtesy of Keith Richards’ open G tuning experiments.

By the time Mick Taylor’s impromptu guitar solo takes over just past the 4:40 mark, the track abandons structure altogether, morphing into a loose, hypnotic jam session that could’ve easily been a misstep but isn’t.

Recorded as the tape accidentally kept rolling, Taylor’s fluid soloing intertwined with Bobby Keys’ smoldering saxophone creates an unexpected alchemy that turns indulgence into brilliance.

The congas by Rocky Dijon and Billy Preston’s organ weave a texture that nods towards jazz and Latin influences, giving the chaotic conclusion a worldly charm.

It’s a rare example of spontaneity trumping meticulous planning, precision giving way to passion.

“Sticky Fingers,” the album housing this track, climbed to the top of the Billboard charts in 1971, proof that messiness, when mastered, can be a roadmap to greatness.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Mick Taylor. ‘My Taylor Is Mick’

2 . Larry Carlton . Burnable

“Burnable” by Larry Carlton emerges as an understated gem within his 2001 album “Deep Into It,” released under Warner Music Japan.

The track sits comfortably in the jazz fusion domain, showcasing Carlton’s knack for weaving clean, melodic guitar lines into grooves that lean toward the smooth without sacrificing complexity.

As part of a body of work produced during the twilight of his association with Warner Brothers, “Deep Into It” encapsulates Carlton’s post-session musician chapter—a career that boasts over 3,000 session recordings with luminaries like Steely Dan, Joni Mitchell, and Michael Jackson.

While the album marks a reflective pause in Carlton’s broader discography, which stretches from his years with The Crusaders in the ’70s to his later stint with Fourplay, “Burnable” hovers as an atmospheric, groove-driven piece rather than a standout narrative moment.

The guitar’s tone is inviting, polished, and precise, carrying subtle echoes of the artist’s studio pedigree and collaborative history.

Yet, the track’s lack of overt thematic ambition leaves the listener more admiring than fully engaged, a feeling not entirely disappointing but slightly restrained for an artist of Carlton’s stature.

In the context of “Deep Into It,” “Burnable” feels like an elegant side note, a piece happy to exist without vying for center stage, much like Carlton’s understated yet indispensable contributions to modern jazz and rock music over the decades.

Lifted from : Larry Carlton visits Ontario (2012)

3 . Nils Lofgren . Keith Don’t Go

“Keith Don’t Go” by Nils Lofgren carries the weight of an emotional plea wrapped in mid-’70s rock simplicity.

Its origin lies in Lofgren’s concern for Keith Richards’ health during the guitarist’s well-documented struggles with heroin addiction.

The song approaches the subject with heartfelt sincerity, avoiding melodrama while addressing an existential anxiety within the rock world during the era.

Sonically, it’s rooted in Lofgren’s sparing yet expressive guitar work, employing a Fender Strat through a blackface Super Reverb amp, delivering a crisp, classic tone that complements his candid vocal delivery.

The rhythm section, led by bassist Wornell Jones and drummer Aynsley Dunbar, supports the track with a subdued but purposeful groove, highlighting the song’s reflective urgency.

Its plea for Keith Richards to keep pushing forward with his art extends beyond personal camaraderie, speaking to a broader cultural dependence on musical figures to endure despite their flaws.

Though the song falls short of commercial success, it has become a mainstay in Lofgren’s live performances, resonating as an ode not just to Richards but to the fragile genius of artists in a self-destructive industry.

Lofgren’s debut album, “Nils,” peaked modestly on the Billboard 200, but this track’s endurance overshadows its initial reception.

“Keith Don’t Go” stands as a time capsule of rock’s golden decade, where raw talent and human vulnerability collided with harrowing frequency.

Lifted from : Nils Lofgren visits London (2015)

4 . Jimmy Johnson . Born Under A Bad Sign

Albert King’s rendition of “Born Under a Bad Sign” pulls no punches, embodying the gritty realities of life’s unlucky streaks.

The track was born in the halls of Stax Records, with lyrics penned by William Bell and a minimalist yet captivating composition by Booker T. Jones.

It’s blues at its rawest—angry, weary, but somehow full of swagger, riding on the taut interplay between King’s commanding guitar and the deft backing of Booker T. & the M.G.’s and the Memphis Horns.

The astrological lament—”If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have no luck at all”—strips the blues down to its purest essence: hard luck articulated with cathartic beauty.

The song paints a stark picture, yet does so with infectious groove, a dichotomy that made it accessible not just to die-hard blues fans but also to rock audiences discovering King through Cream’s later cover.

Built on a classic 12-bar blues framework, the phrasing melds perfectly with King’s sharp, measured string bends, showcasing his knack for transforming simplicity into profundity.

Behind the chords lies the unmistakable rhythm of the late ’60s Memphis music scene, its influence rippling outward to attract listeners from far beyond its geographical roots.

The song’s cultural staying power is unshakable, affirming Albert King’s status as both a pioneer and a bridge between genres in a period of intense musical exploration.

It’s a piece that feels just as relevant now as it did decades ago, precisely because misfortune—and the art it inspires—never goes out of style.

Lifted from : Buddy Guy meets Jimmy Johnson (2014)

5 . Matt Schofield . Dreaming Of You

“Dreaming Of You” by Matt Schofield serves as a stage for the British blues guitarist’s shimmering, fretwork-heavy artistry, a modern blues piece drawing its roots from the expansive soil of the genre’s storied past.

Performed alongside his trio, the track feels less like a polished studio confection and more like a conversation—raw, improvisational, and clearly tailored for the live stage.

While its 2009 album origin, “Heads, Tails & Aces,” situates it within Schofield’s growing catalog of contemporary blues efforts, the track’s lasting impression stems more from its live renditions, particularly the TRI Studios performance uploaded in early 2012.

This setting lets Schofield stretch his guitar vernacular, punctuating each measure with deft phrasing rather than overindulgent solos.

The choice to lean into melody tempered by technical finesse avoids the overwrought pitfalls common in the blues-rock sphere.

The lack of chart accolades or high-profile collaborations for this song underscores its status as an understated gem rather than a marquee anthem.

Instead, its appeal flourishes in niche circles, where listeners prioritize nuance over immediate hooks.

In a genre routinely revisiting its own iconography, “Dreaming Of You” opts for subtlety—an unhurried riff here, an eloquent bend there—all the while remaining unobtrusive enough to attract only the type of audience willing to appreciate the slow burn of its craftsmanship.

Lifted from : On TV today, Matt Schofield Trio is live from TRI studios (2012)

6 . John Sykes . Crying In The Rain (w/ Whitesnake)

“Crying in the Rain,” a cornerstone of Whitesnake’s repertoire, undergoes a fascinating transformation between its two versions.

The original, penned by David Coverdale and released in 1982 on “Saints & Sinners,” is steeped in blues influences, tinged with melancholy from Coverdale’s real-life divorce.

This first rendition feels raw and deliberate, encapsulating the emotional weight of its origin story, with Bernie Marsden delivering a searing yet restrained guitar solo.

Fast forward to 1987, and the re-recorded version explodes onto Whitesnake’s self-titled album with an entirely different ethos.

Here, John Sykes takes the reins, injecting the track with a heavier, sleeker intensity fit for the glam-metal zeitgeist dominating the late ’80s.

The reimagined arrangement discards its predecessor’s aching pace, favoring a ferocious tempo and amplifying the power of its guitar work and production polish.

Sykes’ aggressive playing, combined with his co-writing contributions to much of the album, showcases his knack for marrying technical precision with an anthemic quality.

Yet, the revised version, while dynamic, perhaps sacrifices some of the raw emotion of the original for a broader commercial appeal.

The track serves as an emblem of Whitesnake’s evolution from bluesy hard rock to a mainstream rock juggernaut, albeit one tinged with backstage turbulence.

Sykes’ unceremonious exit before the album release adds an air of irony, considering his pivotal role in crafting one of the band’s most commercially successful eras.

Performed live across various lineups, often with an indulgent drum solo, “Crying in the Rain” embodies the contradictions of Whitesnake: a band as much about reinvention and spectacle as it is about its musical roots.

Lifted from : Whitesnake rock In Rio . day . (1985)

7 . Kenny Wayne Shepherd . Deja Voodoo

Kenny Wayne Shepherd’s “Deja Voodoo,” a track from his 1995 debut album “Ledbetter Heights,” packs the kind of guitars-only swagger that screams precocious virtuosity rather than seasoned finesse.

At just 18, Shepherd leans heavily into blues-rock inflections, delivering searing solos that might seem almost taunting in their intensity—if not for their sheer technical brilliance.

The song is fronted vocally by Corey Sterling, whose resolute delivery acts like a counterweight to Shepherd’s freewheeling strings, a partnership that navigates the murkier waters of mid-’90s blues revivalism.

“Deja Voodoo” didn’t scale the Mainstream Rock charts, but its live renditions—particularly in Shepherd’s hometown of Shreveport—captured audience energy in a way that a studio track could never bottle.

Despite falling short of mainstream breakout status, the song occupies an intriguing spot in Shepherd’s discography: a sharp-edged trial balloon for a career that would soon flirt with greater complexity and refinement.

Lifted from : Kenny Wayne Shepherd goes on . cruise (2016)

8 . Steve Morse . Mary Long (w/ Deep Purple)

Deep Purple’s “Mary Long” gets a reboot in the Steve Morse era, arriving with the kind of guitar work that suggests Morse didn’t just join the band—he decided to call the shots. It’s a cover, yes, but don’t expect a polite nod to its 1973 origins. This version, from the 1996 album *Purpendicular*, splices the raw DNA of the original with Morse’s clean, technical precision.

The riff provides an immediate hook, a mix of nostalgia and reinvention that mirrors the band’s attempt to re-energize themselves after a few hit-or-miss years. Ian Gillan’s vocal delivery circles back to his more outspoken tendencies, but instead of courting anger, it edges closer to a sly indignation.

The irony? “Mary Long” musically strides forward while lyrically dragging the baggage of moral critique from decades ago. Its biting wit hasn’t mellowed, and the song’s social observations feel both out of place and prescient—an odd paradox that seems perfectly suited to Deep Purple’s catalog during this period. And as for Morse, his presence amplifies the meticulous energy on stage tours and live recordings, giving the song an extra glow that’s less reckless and more deliberately crafted. It’s a tug-of-war between old tension and new elegance, and that’s precisely why it clicks.

Lifted from : Deep Purple release their seventh album . ‘Who Do We Think We Are’ featuring ‘Woman from Tokyo’ (1973)

9 . Daniel Johns . Freak (w/ Silverchair)

“Freak” by Silverchair epitomizes the late ’90s grunge angst, channeling a raw energy that feels both cathartic and claustrophobic.

It hails from their second album, “Freak Show,” a follow-up to the roaring success of “Frogstomp,” but this time steeped in darker tones as Daniel Johns confronts fame’s suffocating grip.

The track thrashes forward with abrasive guitar riffs and a vocal performance that vacillates between an unhinged roar and moody restraint, capturing the alienation of youth with unsettling precision.

Silverchair’s sonic palette at this stage leans heavily on their Seattle influences, echoing the likes of Soundgarden yet carving out their uniquely Australian bleakness.

Live renditions brought an almost feral urgency, particularly during their Big Day Out performances, cementing their reputation as a band able to translate studio angst to live chaos.

While the lyrics may be straightforward, their bluntness magnifies the track’s visceral impact, making it a standout lament in the grunge canon.

The album surrounding it didn’t shy away from turbulence either, with tracks like “Slave” and “No Association” continuing the exploration of inner turmoil.

Despite the relentless intensity, “Freak” retains a magnetic pull, its aggression underpinned by Johns’ grappling with personal demons that marked this phase of the band’s trajectory.

Not content with a single-layer interpretation, a Paul Mac remix hinted at experimental undercurrents that Johns would later embrace in his work with The Dissociatives.

Though the music video’s specifics are elusive, it’s safe to assume it mirrored the track’s grim energy, aligning with the band’s visceral aesthetic during this tumultuous chapter.

Lifted from : Silverchair rock in Rio III (2001)

10 . Joe Satriani . Phil Collen . John Petrucci . Highway Star (w/ Glenn Hughes)

Joe Satriani, Phil Collen, and John Petrucci teaming up for “Highway Star” is like three Formula 1 drivers sharing a single racecar. The G3 tour, known for its unrepentant display of technical wizardry, hit peak spectacle in Newark, NJ, during this February 2018 performance. The fact that Glenn Hughes, an ex-member of Deep Purple, lent his unmistakable voice and bass skills to this already overpowered lineup is both audacious and entirely on-brand for an event this excessive.

It’s not just a cover; it’s a collision of styles, egos, and decades of rock pedigree. Satriani brought his fluid precision, Phil Collen injected some arena-ready flair, and John Petrucci added a heavy dose of Dream Theater’s prog-metal complexity. Hughes, meanwhile, anchored the chaos, his voice tearing through the mix with the kind of grit that only someone who lived through the ‘70s can summon.

What makes the performance compelling is its refusal to play it safe. Each guitarist takes their turn bending the classic Deep Purple riffs into unrecognizable shapes, morphing nostalgia into something unruly and alive. “Highway Star” becomes less of a song and more of a proving ground, with the musicians dueling like it’s their last night on Earth. Yet, amid the shredding theatrics, there’s a strange cohesion, a sense that this is less about one-upping and more about shared obsession.

The obligatory YouTube recording preserves the evening’s gritty charm, catching not just the technical spectacle but the sheer joy these musicians seem to take in stretching a rock anthem to its breaking point. It’s not neat, and it’s not polite, but it’s pure excess—big riffs, bigger solos, and an even bigger sense of fun. In essence, it’s exactly what the G3 tour promises, but with an added splash of rock history stomping across the stage in the form of Glenn Hughes.

Lifted from : Glenn Hughes sits in with G3 (2018)

11 . Joe Perry . Slash . Johnny Depp . Train Kept A Rollin’

Train Kept A-Rollin’ is less a song and more a shape-shifting relic, surviving decades while wearing the costumes of jump blues, rockabilly, and hard rock.

The 1951 original by Tiny Bradshaw shuffled in with a smooth jump tempo, but by 1956, the Rock and Roll Trio plastered distortion over its spine, marking one of rock’s first rebellious roars.

Aerosmith’s 1974 version turned up the drama, splitting it into two acts like some sweaty, leather-clad opera: a smoldering, slow groove morphing into a riotous homage to the Yardbirds.

This legacy performance, featuring Joe Perry, Slash, and Johnny Depp, assembles a rock star Avengers squad at The Roxy in 2018, more spectacle than subtlety.

The DeLeo brothers, Gary Cherone, and David Goodstein round out the lineup, fleshing out a rendition so thick with guitar solos, it could probably run its own electricity.

The song’s immortality highlights its knack for reinvention, though one wonders if its chaotic energy now feels more nostalgia-driven than genuinely defiant.

Lifted from : Slash . Johnny Depp et al sit in with Joe Perry (2018)

12 . Eddie Van Halen . Demo At NAMM

Eddie Van Halen’s 1996 NAMM Show demo is less a performance and more a masterclass in guitar indulgence, complete with heartfelt tributes, audience banter, and a showcase of his signature Peavey Wolfgang guitar.

“316,” an instrumental piece recorded for Van Halen’s “For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge” album, takes center stage with an anecdotal charm. Composed for his son Wolfgang while Bertinelli was pregnant, its backstory lingers in the air as Eddie’s tapping and harmonics provide a lullaby-like intimacy peppered with his iconic precision.

Next, snippets of “Humans Being” make an appearance, a rarity in its unfinished state at the time but foreshadowing its future “Twister” fame. The grunge-tinged riff exudes a raw energy, as if Eddie is testing the waters with the untamed spontaneity he was known to unleash during live jams.

“Amsterdam,” a more structured morsel, makes its way into the mix as an audible tease. Though no deep dive into this track’s 1995 “Balance” roots is given, it’s a classic Eddie wink at the audience, woven between riffs from his sprawling catalog.

The real showstopper might just be the audience interactivity. Inviting fans to test the Wolfgang guitar strays into territory others might fear, yet Eddie revels in the chaos, blending humor with technical prowess. It’s not perfection he’s after—it’s connection.

What lingers is not just the brilliance of a virtuoso but the disarming humanity behind the strings. Eddie isn’t just playing the guitar; he’s playing with his legacy, his family, and an adoring crowd—all with a smirk, a story, and, of course, some damn good riffs.

Lifted from : Eddie Van Halen demoes at NAMM (2007)