This week In Guitar Virtuosi 07/52

Pat Metheny, Larry Carlton, Shawn Lane, Fred Frith, Steve Howe, Steve Hackett, Ritchie Blackmore, Robben Ford . Joe Bonamassa, Eric Clapton . Jeff Beck, Eric Gales, Gary Clark Jr. . Rory Gallagher

They are the Guitar Virtuosi selected among the 305 Posts we publish this week.

Here, they are reunited in one glorious playlist. Enjoy!

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Tracklist

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

Pat Metheny’s interpretation of Carly Simon’s “That’s The Way I Always Heard It Should Be” reveals his characteristic knack for balance—delicate yet deliberate, emotionally evocative yet technically precise.

Originally released in 1971 on Simon’s debut album, the song dives into fraught discussions of love and disillusionment. Metheny, however, sidesteps lyrical delivery entirely, instead coaxing a layered narrative out of the strings of the 42-string Pikasso guitar—a contraption almost comedic in its excess, yet wielded here with restraint. The resulting sound, at its best, mirrors a murmured conversation: overlapping tones that clash and coalesce like opinions at a dinner table.

The standout achievement of this version lies less in re-imagination than in presentation; Metheny stretches Simon’s confessions into cascading harmonics, often playing his baritone guitar as though auditioning for a one-man string quartet. That he accomplishes such depth without overdubs feels as much an artistic choice as a dare-sized flex. His live performances of this track, including at The Bardavon in April 2024, further spotlight his ability to translate Simon’s emotional density into instrumental storytelling.

The original’s Grammy-winning emphasis on lyrical intricacy is inevitably lost, but Metheny’s playful expansion of harmonic structures ensures the track doesn’t become a deflated reproduction. What’s missing is the tension—the gut punch—that Simon’s vocal delivery carried. In its place, Metheny offers technical mastery, which, while impressive, risks feeling detached at times. For fans, though, this reimagining captures the essence of “what could be” more than “what always was.”


Lifted from : Pat Metheny records ‘What’s It All About’ . solo album for Nonesuch (2011)

2 . Larry Carlton . Emotions Wound Us So

“Emotions Wound Us So,” a live cut from Larry Carlton’s 1986 album “Last Nite,” finds the guitarist weaving a tapestry of subtle drama and restrained virtuosity.

Recorded at North Hollywood’s Baked Potato, the track manages to capture the intimacy of its small-club origins while showcasing a band so polished they might as well have been mic’d in a studio. Keyboardist Terry Trotter shapes the harmonic space with finesse, Abraham Laboriel’s bass work dances methodically, and the rhythmic backbone provided by John Robinson on drums and Alex Acuña’s percussion offers a steady sway that feels both anchored and fluid. Together, they create an unobtrusive but essential canvas for Carlton’s explorations.

The choice of guitar—a Valley Arts Strat equipped with active EMG pickups—is pivotal here, lending Carlton’s tone a sharpness that diverges markedly from his earlier productions. For six minutes and seventeen seconds, his playing blurs lines between lyrical phrasing and percussive agility, without ever tipping into bombast.

Despite its quiet brilliance, the piece may frustrate listeners looking for more dynamic shifts. While its textural subtleties reward careful listening, a less-than-daring melodic approach could leave some yearning for greater risk-taking. However, its inclusion in “The Very Best Of Larry Carlton” underscores the track’s appeal as a showcase of the guitarist’s craftsmanship.

Notably, it has resonated with musicians like Guthrie Govan, whose admiration speaks to its influence within technical guitar circles. Yet, for a broader audience, “Emotions Wound Us So” might register as a well-played but ultimately mood-specific artifact—a sonic photograph of Carlton at his 1980s live-performance peak.


Lifted from : MCA Records publish Larry Carlton’s live album . ‘Last Nite’ (1986)

3 . Shawn Lane . Rice With The Angels (w/ Jonas Hellborg, Sergio Marchesini)

“Rice with the Angels” captures a near-telepathic interplay among Shawn Lane, Jonas Hellborg, and Jeff Sipe, distilled into a sprawling live performance at Sweden’s Fredmon Jazz Club on November 15, 1996. Clocking in at 17 minutes and 42 seconds, the track sits firmly within the fusion and jazz traditions but audibly stretches their boundaries with intensity and precision.

Shawn Lane’s guitar work here is a study in contrasts—at times fluid and exploratory, at others razor-sharp, bearing a weight of urgency that demands close listening. Questions about Sergio Marchesini aside, this trio’s cohesion suggests all participants are locked in a shared language, one in which Lane’s ethereal phrasing is matched by Hellborg’s serpentine bass lines. Beneath it all, Sipe’s drumming refuses to be relegated to mere accompaniment, plunging headlong into the chaos with intuitive syncopations.

As part of the live album “Hellborg, Lane & Sipe Live Fredmon Jazz Club Sweden 15/11/96,” the song benefits from the immediacy and raw fidelity of its setting. While the recording quality lays bare the slightest imperfections, that rawness is also its strength—humanizing the technical virtuosity on display. Lane’s work has been lauded by peers like Paul Gilbert, and “Rice with the Angels” exemplifies why, though its relentlessness can feel overwhelming by the halfway mark.

Rather than offering neatly digestible hooks or melodies, the piece unfolds as a conversation, more concerned with exploration than resolution. This might alienate listeners expecting resolution or tonal consistency but rewards those willing to embrace its restless dynamism. Posthumous tributes to Lane often focus on his technical prowess, but this recording underscores his equally formidable sensitivity and unpredictability. It’s a moment suspended in time, raw, intricate, and at times unsettlingly beautiful.


Lifted from : Shawn Lane travels to India (2003)

4 . Fred Frith . Solo

“Fred Frith – Solo,” recorded during his June 24, 2006 performance at the “Mózg” club in Bydgoszcz, Poland, offers a rare glimpse into the controlled chaos of experimental guitar artistry.

The venue, translating to “Brain,” stands as an apt host, its commitment to avant-garde music mirrored in Frith’s boundary-pushing technique. Not content with mere strumming, Frith weaponizes his guitar, treating it less as an instrument and more as a canvas for sonic improvisation. Strikingly, he employs unconventional guitar preparations—think objects jamming, scratching, possibly colliding, each altering the guitar’s voice like a series of unscripted soliloquies. This is music unafraid to shed formality, opting instead for extended playing that stretches tonality to its breaking point.

Listeners entering expecting melodic coherence may feel unmoored; Frith thrives on a foundation of unpredictability, layering spontaneity with an almost surgical manipulation of sound. Each pluck, scrape, and resonance seems to engage in a dialogue not with standard harmony but with the room itself. For the audience in “Mózg,” the interplay between performance and venue surely becomes its own ephemeral artwork.

The weakness here lies in exclusivity—the very nature of such experimentalism risks alienation, leaning heavily on context and open ears. Frith’s esoteric approach does not beckon a wide audience. Yet for those willing to commit, “Fred Frith – Solo” finds its reward not in resolution, but in its refusal to settle for easy listening.


Lifted from : Happy Birthday Fred Frith. ‘Frith The Fred’

5 . Steve Howe . Heat Of The Moment (w/ Yes)

“Heat of the Moment,” a cornerstone of Asia’s self-titled 1982 debut, is both a product of its time and an anomaly among Steve Howe’s guitar-heavy legacy. Written by John Wetton and Geoff Downes on the fly to satisfy Geffen Records’ John Kalodner’s plea for a single, it embodies the opportunistic urgency of the early-’80s pop machinery.

Steve Howe’s contribution is curious here. Despite his initial reluctance toward the track’s pop leanings, he layers the verses’ power chords through seven different amp setups, yielding a fuzzed-out texture that’s strangely at odds with the song’s otherwise polished sheen. His subtle doubling of Downes’ synth line with a koto during the middle eight comes across as a quirky, almost academic flourish—more a nod toward Howe’s prog roots than a cohesive addition to a tightly structured radio hit.

Released on March 8, 1982, amid MTV’s ascent, “Heat of the Moment” capitalized on the medium’s new ability to catapult songs into ubiquity. The album’s nine-week reign atop the US charts hinges as much on this track’s catchy simplicity as on Wetton’s plaintive delivery and Carl Palmer’s crisp, restrained drumming. Less clear, however, is whether this success qualifies as triumph or concession; Wetton and Downes’ formulaic chorus-verse dynamic arguably sacrifices nuance for hooks.

Producer Mike Stone keeps things sharp, but there’s an almost sterile precision in the final cut, a calculated warmth that sells records but feels distant. For all its craftsmanship, “Heat of the Moment” feels like a compromise—proving that sometimes, the heat itself burns away the moment’s substance.


Lifted from : Yes travel to Atlanta (2017)

6 . Steve Hackett . Every Day

“Every Day,” the leadoff from Steve Hackett’s 1979 album “Spectral Mornings,” unfolds like a quiet critique wrapped in progressive rock textures. The song channels Hackett’s personal brush with the darker edges of the drug culture, a theme underscored by the tragedy involving his first girlfriend. While the subject matter hints at gravity, the track isn’t weighed down, thanks to its integration of pop sensibilities with carefully measured progressive undertones.

Musically, the opening is light and hook-driven, almost deceptively upbeat, before transitioning into a guitar passage that feels purposefully sparse. The shift from vibrant melody to introspective minimalism gives the track a dual personality—accessible enough for casual listeners but with plenty of depth for prog enthusiasts looking for nuance. Pete Hicks handles lead vocals with a steadiness that acts as a counterpoint to the song’s emotional undercurrent, supported by the soft harmonies of Hackett and Dik Cadbury.

While “Every Day” didn’t chart as a single, its role within “Spectral Mornings” is pivotal. The album itself reached number 22 on the UK Albums Chart and number 138 on the US Billboard 200, a reflection of its niche appeal. Hackett’s live performances of “Every Day” have since cemented its standing as a cornerstone of his solo work, though it’s more a piece of a larger puzzle than a standalone anthem. The understated yet potent contribution of Cadbury on bass ensures a subtle but crucial texture, grounding the experimental leanings in something firmly tethered to melody.

Thematically, the song’s anti-drug stance may not be immediately apparent through its arrangement, which avoids outright heaviness. Instead, Hackett opts for subtlety, embedding the sentiment behind introspective instrumentation rather than blunt lyrical statements. For all its craftsmanship, the track occasionally borders on restraint to a fault, almost as if holding back the full force of its narrative.

As an opener to an album that features a tapestry of moods and styles, “Every Day” feels deliberate, its purpose tied less to fireworks and more to laying a thoughtful foundation. It bridges pop convention and progressive instincts without ever fully surrendering to either, a balancing act that reflects Hackett’s penchant for understated complexity.


Lifted from : Happy Birthday Steve Hackett. ‘Highly String’

7 . Ritchie Blackmore . Lay Down Stay Down (w/ Deep Purple)

“Lay Down Stay Down,” a track from Deep Purple’s 1974 album “Burn,” captures a band in flux, balancing established hard rock credentials with a revamped lineup.

The song is a product of the Mark III era, featuring David Coverdale on vocals and Glenn Hughes handling bass and additional vocals, framed by the steady rhythms of Ian Paice on drums and Jon Lord’s signature keyboard flourishes. Yet, it’s Ritchie Blackmore’s guitar work that defines the track’s propulsion, delivering riff-laden foundations with a sharp urgency.

Released on February 15, 1974, “Burn” marked Deep Purple’s adaptation to post-Ian Gillan and Roger Glover dynamics. While “Lay Down Stay Down” isn’t the album standout, its collaborative energy showcases the band’s attempt to integrate this new artistic DNA. Coverdale and Hughes share vocal duties with evident chemistry, infusing a bluesy warmth amidst the harder-edged instrumentation.

Commercially, “Burn” landed at number 3 on the UK Albums Chart and cracked the top 10 on the US Billboard 200, peaking at number 9. While specific chart recognition for “Lay Down Stay Down” remains undocumented, the song reflects the transitional energy of a band recalibrating its ambitions during an unstable period.

Recorded during a time of internal shifts, the track bears a raw intensity that mirrors the frictions and renewals within the group. Despite its driving momentum, the song occasionally falters, feeling more like a jam than a fully cohesive composition. Still, Paice’s percussion punches through, and Lord’s keyboards twist around Blackmore’s riffs, ensuring moments of intrigue.

While faithful to Deep Purple’s signature aesthetic, “Lay Down Stay Down” operates best as a snapshot of experimentation, with a band testing its limits amidst evolving circumstances. Balanced between its strengths and loose edges, it reflects both the promise and imperfections of this era.


Lifted from : Deep Purple release their eighth album . ‘Burn’ featuring David Coverdale on vocals (1974)

8 . Robben Ford & Joe Bonamassa . One Phone Call (w/ Rock Candy Funk Party)

“One Phone Call,” the joint effort of Robben Ford, Joe Bonamassa, and Rock Candy Funk Party, feels like an intriguing balancing act: part funk-jam playground, part blues-rock masterclass, and part sheer indulgence.

Ford’s guitar work, known for its fluidity and precision, layers the track with his signature blend of blues-drenched phrasing and jazz-tinged complexity. Bonamassa, never one to shy away from the spotlight, counters with his usual intensity, delivering riffs that oscillate between fiery conviction and moments of surprising restraint. The interplay of their styles gives the track its backbone, even as it occasionally veers close to excess.

Rock Candy Funk Party carries the groove-heavy foundation with their characteristic flair. The ensemble—a side project that includes Ron DeJesus and Chris Cicchino—operates in a space where funk, rock, and blues intersect. They provide texture, rhythm, and a sly dose of irreverence, though it’s easy to wonder whether a touch more discipline might have elevated the whole affair.

What “One Phone Call” lacks in lyrical substance—if the presence of vocals exists here at all—it substitutes with a jam-session ethos that leans heavily on the dynamics between its performers. This can be both a strength and a drawback. At its peak, the track feels alive with improvisational joy. Yet, there are stretches where the indulgence threatens to outpace cohesion.

Ultimately, “One Phone Call” is less about breaking new ground and more about revisiting familiar territory with seasoned hands. It’s not a game-changer, nor does it strive to be. Instead, it serves as a reminder of what happens when musicians of this caliber gather and let loose—messy, uneven, and at times, electrifying.


Lifted from : Robben Ford . Joe Bonamassa et al rock the cruise (2015)

9 . Eric Clapton & Jeff Beck . Little Brown Bird

“Little Brown Bird,” performed by Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck, offers a glimpse into the intertwined legacies of two guitar icons, both steeped in blues tradition yet carrying distinct stylistic imprints.

The live rendition at London’s O2 Arena on February 14, 2010, situates itself as a moment of understated mastery rather than spectacle. The interplay between the two guitarists is taut but unshowy—less a duel and more a muted conversation where each phrase carries the weight of shared history.

What makes this performance intriguing is not just the technical prowess—though there’s plenty of that—but the restraint on display. In an era where virtuosity often skews toward self-indulgence, this collaboration leans into subtlety, exploring texture and tone rather than chasing crescendos. The Yardbirds’ alumni connection clearly informs the synergy; familiarity seeps into every note, yet it’s tempered by mutual respect, avoiding the trap of one-upmanship.

Still, for all its pedigree, “Little Brown Bird” might leave listeners wishing for sharper edges. The chemistry, though undeniable, occasionally reads as too polite, and the song itself—a less-than-iconic piece—struggles to rise above being a vessel for musical camaraderie. What it gains in craftsmanship, it sacrifices in urgency.

Ultimately, the O2 performance doubles as a statement about blues tradition: a genre often defined as much by its implicit spaces as its explicit notes. In that sense, Clapton and Beck succeed, even if the song itself doesn’t transcend its setting.


Lifted from : Eric Clapton meets Jeff Beck in London (2010)

10 . Eric Gales . God Only Knows

“God Only Knows” from Eric Gales’ 2022 album “Crown” situates itself within a complex tapestry of personal evolution and societal reflection.

While the album boasts the fingerprints of celebrated producer Joe Bonamassa and contributions from Keb’ Mo’ and Tom Hambridge, the track itself remains paradoxically shrouded in specific detail.

The broader context of “Crown” offers the clearest lens through which to view this song, emphasizing themes of emotional struggles and resilience, all underscored by Gales’ personal triumph over addiction—five and a half years sober at the time of release.

Musically, if one imagines “God Only Knows” operates in the orbit of its album mates, Gales likely combines a deeply felt blues tradition with modern technical prowess, though the lack of explicit detail about the track leaves much to conjecture.

Chart-wise, “Crown” tangibly succeeds, peaking at number 2 on the Official Jazz & Blues Albums Chart and cementing its commercial longevity with 19 weeks on the listing.

Yet within these numbers lies a tension—how much of this success belongs to the quiet intricacies of individual songs like “God Only Knows,” and how much to the album’s collective force as Gales’ self-described “statement record?”

The answer may rest as much in Gales’ virtuosity as in the careful curation of collaborators, though whether “God Only Knows” captures that balance or overreaches remains unrevealed within the available text.


Lifted from : Josh Smith and Eric Gales go on . cruise (2016)

11 . Gary Clark Jr. . Oh Pretty Woman

Gary Clark Jr.’s rendition of “Oh, Pretty Woman” carries the weight of history while making room for his signature voice.

The song, written by Roy Orbison and Bill Dees, became a chart-topping staple in 1964, cementing its place in the canon of popular music.

Clark Jr. approaches this classic like one threads a needle—taking care not to unravel its original spirit while stitching in his blues-rock sensibilities.

At the New Morning venue in Paris on February 18, 2013, he delivered a live performance steeped in an intimate energy befitting the setting.

Just two months later, in April 2013, Clark Jr. gave the song an arguably heavier spotlight at the 28th Annual Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony.

This dual performance context—a small Parisian stage juxtaposed with a ceremonious event honoring rock’s lineage—highlighted the flexibility of Clark Jr.’s interpretation.

Still, the shadow of Orbison’s unmistakable voice looms large, almost daring any cover to step beyond mimicry into something more transformative.

Clark Jr., for all his guitar prowess and smoky vocal tone, doesn’t stray far enough to claim full ownership, yet he injects the track with just enough blues heft to justify its inclusion in his live repertoire.

Some might argue that his version, while competent, sidesteps significant innovation.

The 2013 performances serve as a testament to Clark Jr.’s command over his instrument and his reverence for the history of rock and roll, but they stop short of reimagining Orbison’s creation into something distinctly his own.


Lifted from : Gary Clark Jr. plays in Paris (2013)

12 . Rory Gallagher . Secret Agent

“Secret Agent” sits snugly within Rory Gallagher’s eclectic 1976 album “Calling Card,” a record that straddles the unlikely territory of hard rock and blues while peaking at number 10 on the UK Jazz & Blues Albums Chart—a peculiar ranking that feels both apt and faintly ironic given the album’s electric grit.

At its core, the song narrates a cheeky tale of “romantic subterfuge and private detectives,” with Gallagher weaving the narrative through energetic riffs and an electric slide solo that jolts the track to life. The slide work, while accomplished, leans more toward flair than subtlety, giving the impression that Gallagher is out to dazzle when restraint might be more fitting.

The band lineup—Gerry McAvoy on bass, Lou Martin on keyboards, and Rod de’Ath on drums—brings solid support, though none of these contributions truly stand out. Martin’s keyboards float in and out without leaving a significant imprint, and McAvoy’s bass does the necessary groundwork without exactly reinventing it. Gallagher’s harmonica makes a brief appearance, hinting that it might have added more texture had it been given room to stretch.

Gallagher’s live performances of “Secret Agent,” often included as an encore piece, add context to its fan appeal. Yet live doesn’t always mean improved. Critics seemed to value it more as a spirited closer than a track of deep substance. Ranked 28th among his top 30 songs by fans, it feels like middling praise—memorable, but not quite remarkable.

“Secret Agent” is undoubtedly competent storytelling set against a lively backdrop. But while it’s carved itself a niche in his discography, it doesn’t quite stake a claim as one of his most groundbreaking efforts.


Lifted from : On TV today . Rory Gallagher plays the blues (1977)

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