In Pursuit of the Perfect Guitar Solo
or Exploring the
by Chuck Welsh
Playing guitar is as gripping and addictive as the most dangerous pleasures. The redemption in this condition is that satisfaction comes in never-increasing small doses, while posing no health risk. So, I offer this column as a source of inspiration for the novice, and reflection and motivation for the experienced player. Pick, pluck, and strum on.
A few decades ago, before the technology that gave birth to the Internet, and subsequently YouTube, my cousin--then a young dental student--was doubling as my older brother, and tripling as my guitar teacher. In vintage style he arrived every week in his Chevy SS Nova, toting a '69 Stratocaster in a hard shell case. He, thankfully, insisted on a year of theory, reading, and chord structure before he offered formal instruction in soloing. Finally, it came. The simplistically energetic soul of the solo in Wild Cherry's "Play that Funky Music" gave me a superficial command of the neck I eagerly awaited. Employing only three strings, high E, B, and G, it incorporated the techniques most often associated with the almighty six-string: hammer-ons, pull-offs, and bends. It gets better. It was in the E position on the 12th fret, the cool one with the double dots on the maple neck of my Strat copy.
A month or so rolled by, and under my cousin's tutelage, I was on task with bits of solos by various classic rockers: Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, and Aerosmith. Many of these were also rooted on the double dots. And although I never questioned the neck garnish, I was now convinced it served as a beacon for guidance into the all-purpose jam key of E.
We eventually made our way into solos in A, D and G, all more or less with the same melodic quality as their sibling, E. Trends revealed themselves. The D string was used as little more than a launching pad, as well as a place to resolve many licks on the root. The G string was usually at the center of the action and, when employed, was bent as often as not. And the provincial, single-position, tiny canvases were not yet incorporating much of the color and character of either the A or low E strings. This was the way to learn what was often referred to as the blues-rock scale. Many of the greatest players extract more soul and excitement out of three or four strings in one position than most arpeggio-flinging neck burners.
My cousin also insisted on ear training, so he encouraged me to learn tunes on my own. What began as a fearful proposition, morphed into a daunting task, and finally settled into a comfortably challenging habit. Once I got the identifiable licks and basic chord patterns down enough to identify the key, I would engage in bouts of capturing licks, runs, and riffs. Reaching for the blues-rock scale was an automatic response. It proved productive for much of what I attempted such as Clapton's "Cocaine" and Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird." But the boys from Jacksonville threw up a roadblock. From this opportunity would spring a most enlightening detour.
Skynyrd's "Gimme Three Steps" was not at all a blues-rock playground, but set a couple of its own precedents. After establishing the basic chord pattern I lurched right for the D position on the 10th fret. What I offered was not congruent with the grooves on the vinyl disc, and the cacophony that burst out of the amp might still be bouncing off of my bedroom walls. Taking immediate action, I grew weary of lifting the stylus to restart the tune as I tried various neck positions.
Stumbling upon what was beginning to sound acceptable, I was bending the G while striking the B string, double bending, also called double stopping. The effect was intoxicating and added a certain fullness, rendering a rhythm guitarist temporarily redundant. This tune also demanded a nominal mobility. My neck position changed along with the chords, and I was now working in what amounted to a virtual mirror image of the blues-rock scale. The real distinction was its melodic appeal. It conveyed a sweeter, brighter "feel." I was then predisposed to hear it. The Rolling Stone's "Honky Tonk Woman" had it too. This was a dip into what I came to know informally as the country/southern rock scale. This was admittedly an embryonic understanding, but with an eye and ear toward growth. An added bonus was discovering that the double bend was a fair emulation of a steel guitar. It helped keep me musically employable in the post Urban Cowboy boom of the early '80s and would prove central in the development of my fretboard voice.
This "alternative" scale found an unlikely home in AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long." The basic guitar tracks arising from record producer Mutt Lange's powerhouse "wall-of-sound" production, seemed an obvious choice for a festival of blues-rock fireworks. Angus Young's decision to take the solo in a more melodic, poppy direction appealed even to AM radio, in part guaranteeing a multi-platinum result.
The solo in Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed" sparked a connection. It required a rather nomadic approach, traversing up and down the neck, tracking chord changes. Ultimately, it culminated in a little flurry of scale-blending licks.
Clearly the entire neck was fair game and there was much work to do. Trial and error, analysis, and a few passing tones gave rise to some hybrid fruits of the labor invested. These scales could be seasoned, mixed, and served in endless ways. Constructing and improvising a solo was like formulating a recipe with an opportunity for refinement with every meal. There is no consensus on a perfect dish, but diligence and experimentation lead to some rather palatable plates.
Chuck Welsh is a freelance writer from Pittsburgh who has played and taught guitar for more than 30 years.
