Understanding Jeff Beck: An explanation for those who do not play guitar

 I shall put aside politics, economics and other matters today, and yes, I wrote about the passing of Jeff Beck yesterday, but when someone like Jeff dies, it deserves real reflection.  When pop stars and celebrities die, the country, or perhaps even the world pauses.  I generally do not care.  When the Queen died, her family deserved time to mourn, but as I oppose the concept of royalty, I just did not personally care.  I remember with disgust the world's reaction when Michael Jackson died, and people generally ignored his serial molestation of children in favor of music that I find uninteresting, but at least generally remember.  Jeff Beck's name is, to non-guitarists, perhaps something like the Queen's name was to me.  Perhaps you knew it, and you knew that a category of people prostrated themselves before him, but you never really knew why.  Also, English.  Think of it this way.  I know nothing about sport.  I know the name, "Michael Jordan."  Imagine Michael Jordan just died.

In yesterday's "In memoriam" post, I provided a bit of an explanation, describing his evolution, the general reaction of British blues guitarists to Jimi Hendrix, and how Jeff Beck went on a lifelong journey of innovation, but I did quite explain what he did in clear terms.

I noted that Beck did something fundamentally different from the rest of the British blues players by turning to jazz, although this was actually something noteworthy on the British folk-rock scene in the 1960s.  The central player and innovator here was Davy Graham, who traveled the world, picking up styles and genres like dropped pennies.  Graham was amazing, and a key influence on Bert Jansch and John Renbourn, who were the guitarists for Pentangle.  Separately, together, and with Pentangle, they combined blues, jazz, and British folk traditions, under Graham's influence, but mostly in the bop and post-bop traditions.  It is also noteworthy that Jimmy Page shamelessly stole from Bert Jansch.  Jansch had a song called "Black Water Side" on his 1966 album, Jack Orion.  Page stole that, and called it "Black Mountain Side," for Led Zeppelin's first album.  Fucking thief.

Beck, though, kept going.  When jazz continued to progress into fusion, thanks to Miles Davis on classic albums like In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew, with British guitarist John McLaughlin (who later formed Mahavishnu Orchestra, which I mentioned yesterday), Beck kept absorbing.  He took in everything.  Clapton had plateaued, Page was a thief, Townshend's gifts were really multifaceted anyway, but Beck kept asking, what next?

Understand how rare a trait that is in any art, and it is what allowed him to record an album like Wired in 1976.  This album had a brilliant cover of "Goodbye Pork Pie Hat," which Charles Mingus wrote as a tribute to the great saxophone player, Lester Young, who always wore a pork pie hat.  Mingus recorded it for his '59 album, Mingus Ah Um.  I do not think I need to restate my opinion of Mingus.  If anyone ever bothered to read my music and art commentary, my opinion would be clear.  Anyway, here is Mingus's rendition, followed by Beck, on Wired.  Mingus wrote a deep blues piece for an album whose entire feel was constructed around his signature combination of bop and gospel-blues church shouts.  The piece for Lester was just a piercing elegy.  Classic.  Amazing.

Then Beck takes the piece, and his guitar, cutting to the bone.  Hendrix and Mingus together.  What's going on with Beck's guitar?  Hendrix went nuts with bends and effects, but listen to the precise control that Beck has.  Listen to the precision of his bends, the precision of his wammy bar usage, the precise control he takes to change the tone with his pedals.  He is doing all of this for a reason.  He heard Hendrix and said, I can't do that.

What can I do?  Think about how admirable this is, at the personal level, at the artistic level, and then from the instrumental level, guitarists are back here listening to what Beck did, what he taught himself instead and saying, holy fuck, that's genius, and we can't do that either.  For Beck, it isn't about wildness.  It's about the precision of those bends, the wammy bar, the tone, all to create sounds that other guitarists still cannot create, but for completely different reasons, yet that are more subtle.  And yes, Tim Henson of Polyphia might scoff at all of those "boomer bends," but I am quite happy to listen to both Jeff Beck and Polyphia.  (I drank the Polyphia Kool-Aid.)

What I will point out now is how Beck's playing progressed.  After listening to that classic rendition of "Goodbye Porkpie Hat," let's go back to that Ronnie Scott concert with Tal Wilkenfeld.  One of the pieces that still sticks with me is a very strange song with a singer who generally does nothing for me.  Imogen Heap.  However, listen to the time-warping characteristics, not just of her vocals, but of how Beck responds, and how surreal his solo is.  He is using the bends, wammy bar, volume control knob, and pedals all together, not to make noise, but to have the precisely correct microtonal sound at the right moment.  It's the strangest solo you'll hear.  Don't focus on his left hand.  Focus on his right hand.  Watch how he manages picking with his thumb, precise control of the wammy bar with his palm, and subtly working the knobs with his pinky, and you aren't even seeing him work the pedals with his foot.  That's the key to understanding Jeff Beck.  If you really want to understand a guitarist's unique sound, watch his right hand.

Who plays like this?  No one.  Not anymore, because Jeff Beck is gone.