James Honeyman-Scott: The Pretenders Q/A

James Honeyman-Scott lived long enough to play on just three major releases with the group he co-founded – 1980’s The Pretenders, the Extended Play EP, and 1981’s Pretenders II – but he still holds his place among new wave’s most original guitarists.

In a 1999 Uncut interview, Chrissie Hynde called him her “musical right hand.” “He really was the Pretenders sound,” she explained. “I don’t sound like that. When I met him, I was this not-very-melodic punky angry guitar player and singer, and Jimmy was the melodic one. He brought out all the melody in me.”

After the 25-year-old guitarist died of cocaine-induced heart failure on June 16, 1982, Chrissie kept the Pretenders going in his honor: “One of the things that kept the band alive, ironically, was the death of Jimmy Scott. I felt I couldn’t let the music die when he did. We’d work too hard to get it where it was.” She dedicated “Back on the Chain Gang” to his memory.

I was lucky to have interviewed James Honeyman-Scott after the release of the Pretenders’ debut album. I found his charming, self-effacing personality as appealing as his approach to the guitar, which still sounds fresh today. He was an avid reader of Guitar Player magazine, and was thrilled at having just come in second for Best New Talent in the magazine’s annual Readers Poll. Our interview took place on January 29, 1981. At the time, he was living in Flat 1, Westside, 55 Priory Road, West Hampstead, London.

Here, for the first time ever, is our complete interview. I've kept the transcript true to his spoken words.


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What do you prefer to be called?

Jimmy.

Let’s start at the beginning. When and where were you born?

I was born in Hereford. Let’s see – 1956. November the 4th.

When did you start playing guitar?

My brother – he was in the Navy – brought one back from Africa when I was ten years old. That’s right. And then I graduated to a better model when I was 11. That was an f-hole guitar, and the neck fell off. And then when I went to high school, I got a guitar called a Rossetti Airstream. And the next guitar after that was a Gibson three-three-five [ES-335]. I got that when I was 16.

Which musicians were you listening to back then?

Eric Clapton with Cream and Derek & The Dominos. The Allman Brothers, and Yes. Those are main ones I was listening to at that time.

Did you take lessons?

No, never. I always wanted to play. There was a group in England called the Shadows, with Hank Marvin. He was the real one – that was it. I’ve met him a couple of time, but I’ve never seen them play live. I met him at TV studios and things.

What did you think was most important to learn?

Originally, I thought it was Eric Clapton guitar lines, guitar licks. But chords turned out to be the most important – chords and rhythm work, definitely.

Did certain records say a lot to you?

Oh, “Badge,” by Cream – Jesus! “Crossroads,” by Cream. Really, it was anything by Cream for important guitar work. And then came the Allman Brothers after that.

Like Live at Fillmore?

Yeah! “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” – that was really important.

When did you start playing keyboards?

I had piano lessons when I was seven, for only about for two years, at the most.

Do you know formal music?

No, I don’t read a thing, man. I forgot it all. Everything I do now is done by ear. I could never follow the theory of it. I always found it very distant. I used to pretend I could read it, but in fact I’d learned this little number by ear, you know, to fool the piano teacher [laughs].

When did you join your first band?

I used to play youth clubs, when I was 11. I turned out to be a bass player for a while. I borrowed this Hofner bass, and we were playing “Sunshine of Your Love,” “Hey Joe,” “Sabre Dance” by Love Sculpture. So I was 11 when I had my first band. But it had no name, from what I can remember. It was probably something blues band [laughs]. It turned out to be a blues band – this was 1968.

Was Mott the Hoople happening yet?

Yeah! Mott the Hoople were just taking big then. They came from a group called Silence that were around the Hereford scene for quite a while. Yeah, Mott happened in the early part of ’69.

Were you into their music?

No, not at first. What happened was me and Martin, the drummer of the Pretenders, joined up with Mott the Hoople’s keyboard player, Verden Allen, in 1974. That was with a band called the Cheeks. Then I got into Mott the Hoople. It’s a very weird process, but I love Mott the Hoople. I really started to understand them and thought they were a great group then. But at first I don’t think anybody in the Hereford really dug Mott the Hoople.

What about another of your hometown bands, Bad Company?

Bad Company! Yeah, I love them. They were great.

Did you know the guitarist for Mott and Bad Company, Mick Ralphs?

Yeah, yeah. Mick leant me a guitar for over a year, a little Les Paul Junior, when I ended up not having a guitar for a while with the Cheeks. He came to the rescue and let me use his 1957 Junior. It was beautiful, a beautiful guitar. And Mick Ralphs became a hell of a fucking big influence, because I started to steal a lot of his lead lines and things. I always liked the way he did finger vibrato. So I stole a lot from Mick like that.

Did other guitar players back then teach you specific things?

No. I don’t think so. The ones I’ve started to pick up on have been recently. In the past year or two, I’ve learned a lot from playing with people like Chris Spedding, and Billy Bremner showed me a few things. Billy’s from Rockpile. And Nils Lofgren. I was jamming for a while with Nils at his house, and he did a few dates with the Pretenders, joining us onstage. He showed me a lot of little tricks.

What bands you were in between the Cheeks and the Pretenders?

There were only two other groups in Hereford. One was called the Hawks, and the other was named after Emmylou Harris’ band, The Hot Band. And we were called the something “Hot Band” – after some village in Herefordshire. It was like 10 or 12 guys, accordion and all manner of guitars and things. This is pretty sweet, because I’ve met up with [Emmylou Harris’ pedal steeler] Hank DeVito, and we’ve become real good friends, man. But I’ve never told him that. I must tell him I named a group after his group.

What were you doing prior to co-founding the Pretenders?

I was selling guitars for a living, for a shop in the Hereford. I did gardening too – that was great! And it was during that time – I was out in the garden, you see, digging away, and the radio was on. Nick Lowe came on with [sings] “and so it goes, so it goes,” that number – Elvis Costello’s “Red Shoes.” And they had this big, jangly guitar sound, which is what I’d been wanting to get into for a long while. All of a sudden the radio’s on and there’s this huge guitar sound coming out, like sending out a big Rickenbacker 12-string or something. And I thought, “Ah, my time is here.” So that’s what happened. And then I hooked up with the Pretenders.

What did you use to get that sound?

At that time I was using an Ibanez Explorer that was fantastic – it was stolen. It was incredible. That went through a Marshall. And to get that sound, I was using the Clone Theory pedal made by Electro Harmonix. That’s how I go the sound. And I’m now using the old Boss pedals.

We'll get your whole equipment setup later on.

Oh, Christ! There’s tons.

With the Pretenders, how much does Chrissie play?

She plays quite a bit because her rhythm guitar – I don’t know anybody who plays rhythm guitar like that. So what happens is, because I can’t hear beats half the time – because I can’t count the rhythm – instead I’ll just put a little guitar line over it. Do you know “Tattooed Love Boys,” that little lick on that? I put that because I couldn’t count the timing. I just happened to know that those notes in that order fitted rather well, so I if I kept doing that, I wouldn’t go out of time. Because her time is so weird – that number is something crazy, like 7/13 or something.

What kind of demands do the strange meters put on you?

[Laughs.] Oh, quite a lot! I bluff a lot of it, and I’ve never told the rest of the group. When they read this, they’ll be amused, because I’ve never told them that I can’t work out those fucking times at all. I just do it my own way. If I come in a bar too late, they are used to me coming in a bar too late, and they think that’s how I play. But it’s because I’ve missed where she’s come in. That’s happened on the new album that’s coming out in April. We’ve done a track called “The Adultress” where I come in a beat too late because I cannot count the timing, and they think it’s great: “Oh, that’s Jimmy’s style.” And the fact is, I don’t know where she comes in with it. So I just bluff it and hope for the best.

On “Up the Neck,” who’s strumming and who’s picking?

Chrissie is doing the strumming, and I’m doing the single-note stuff.

Did she use a Telecaster on most of the tracks?

Yeah. The only cut she didn’t was on “Kid.” She borrowed my 335.

Did you use her Tele for the solo?

Yeah, I used her Tele for the solo. Very observant! Christ, you got that well. She’s got two Telecasters – a little white one and a metallic green one. And the white one is just one of the most fantastic guitars ever made. I love using that. I use it as much in the studio as possible.

The end of that tune almost sounds like a harpsichord.

Oh, yeah. That was done with a Gibson Dove guitar, and the bottom three strings were replaced with top three strings again – a real high tuning, you know? It was high strung. We laid all the picking down like that. Then we did it at half speed and doubled that to get the top notes again. That’s why it sounds like a harpsichord. It’s really difficult to do that, when you’re playing half-speed on a number. It’s done very slow and you have to get each note right on. It’s very difficult, but it turned out great.

Before you recorded the album, how did the band work out the material?

Well, we’d been rehearsing for quite a while – about a year, I’d imagine. Chrissie had had the material for a long while, and we just did lots and lots of rehearsing, seven days a week, all hours of the day and night. At first a lot of the licks were very heavy – like “Up the Neck” started off as a reggae song. I said, “Let’s speed it up,” and I put in that little guitar run, and that’s how it all really started to come together, by me putting in these little melodic runs that I like doing. Because my main influence is the Beach Boys. That’s how the melodic parts of numbers came about. And then Chrissie really started to like pop music. That’s why she started writing things like “Kid.” I love playing “Kid”! There’s a number we did called “Talk of the Town,” and that’s great to play as well. Pop songs like that – I love ’em.

Chrissie is an American singer, and yet the band sounds English.

Yes! I think that is because she’s been living in England since 1973, and all of her favorite musicians of all time are English. Her favorite guitar player is Jeff Beck, and her favorite songwriters are John Lennon and Ray Davies. She has written that songwriting-wise, the English were always the best musicians.

How different was your style before you got into the Pretenders?

Oh, very different! I wanted to use the style I was using in the Pretenders, but I couldn’t, because we had the band I was in, if you get what I mean. I was more towards Keith Richards sort of stuff then. And then when I joined the band, I was able to start doing nicer guitar work, more melodic stuff. So yeah, it did change quite a bit. Dave Edmunds had a lot to do with that – I started listening to him and Nick Lowe a hell of a lot, and I liked what they were doing. They always seem to like to do nice little guitar sounds that you can sing along to. That’s what I started trying to do.

What’s your approach to soloing?

I hate soloing, really. I like to do something that you’d end up whistling. Something short. There’s a solo on the reggae track – “Private Life.” And I really didn’t like doing that, because it’s a long solo, and I think long solos are a pain in the ass, unless you can play them. I can’t play them, but I like watching Albert Lee and people like that play them. I went to see Albert the other week at the Palamino. I like watching people like that because they can do it. I simply cannot do it, but they can play for a long period of time and not get boring, as far as soloing goes. I like to play short solos. There’s a track, “Lovers of Today,” where there’s a big run in there, like a real long run, and that was influenced by [George] Harrison, if anybody – probably pinched off of the Beatles albums! But the solo is just three notes or something that I got from Neil Young.

“Lovers of Today” has that full, massive sound.

Oh, yeah! Now, that was the Les Paul through a 100-watt Marshall. And when it came to that solo, I hit the wrong chord in the beginning! That opening chord is a big mistake. But we kept it because it sounded good, and I just tracked that once, that little lick, loud, very loud, and just slightly distorted. And then we tracked it again and again and again and again. And then I did it up at the top of the guitar. And then we did it again and I think we slowed the machine down and used a Harmonizer, so there must be something like eight guitars playing that – all very loud!

Is there a fuzz effect in the little solo in the beginning of “Private Life”?

No, no. That would have just been the amp.

During “The Wait,” what are the strange chords that come right before the solo?

That’s Chrissie. I don’t know what it is. Chris Thomas, the producer, asked me to do a solo over that – no, Chrissie played it, that’s right, and it sounded really scruffy. He said, “Jimmy, you do it, but make it cleaner,” but I simply couldn’t, because Chrissie plays that way and I don’t. So I tried playing like she did, and I just couldn’t. So I said, “Look, leave her to do it,” so we did. So that’s Chrissie’s baby, that one. The second part of the solo is mine.

Does Chrissie play any solos on the album?

Um, I don’t think so.

Who came up with the “Space Invader” lick?

Oh, Pete wrote the bass lick, and I wrote what people call the “Day Tripper” part of it and the chord run-ups, the major sevenths.

At the end of it you have that descending growl.

Oh! [Laughs.] Now that was done . . . I hit the bottom E string, and put it right out of tune. Tuned it right down with the tuning peg. I remember I was really drunk when I did this. I said, “I’ve got this idea – just follow it!” And they go, “Yeah, yeah, sure.” And I said, “No, you must listen to me! Play that back and take this.” They played it back and I hit the G string and I tuned the G string up at the same time. So you have one guitar going down and one coming up.

What is the effect on “Precious”?

That would be the Clone Theory through a Harmonizer. I didn’t use a MuTron then.

How did you get the siren?

Oh, that is by playing – what key is it in, “Precious”? A. It’ll be an F# and a C, just hitting those notes like that.

At the end of the “Tattooed Love Boys” solo, did you start flipping your pickup selector switch?

That’s it, yeah, and putting the guitar out of tune at the same time as well.

One last question about guitar parts. On “Mystery Achievement,” how many tracks did you use for the solo bridge?

I used the 335 on that. I tracked it twice, and then I did a half-speed guitar. That gets the high notes.

To do the half-speed guitar, you record the part at half speed and then play it back at normal speed.

Yeah, and of course it’s an octave higher.

When you recorded the first album, was that pretty much your stage show too?

Yes.

It has the feel of a live set.

Yeah, yeah. A lot of people have said that.

Which songs were recorded first?

“Stop Your Sobbing” was the first, and we did that with Nick Lowe back in October of 1978 or ’79.

How did you set up in the studio?

What we did was we set up like a little stage setup. We set up a P.A. in there and everything, and we recorded the numbers live. We used speakers in the studio – big ambient – and we kind of recorded a lot live. That was with Chris Thomas. But with Nick Lowe on “Stop Your Sobbing,” there was loads of guitars. There was Rickenbackers, Ovations, everything, and it was just lay down track after track – “Track the guitar again,” and do different inversions, open tuning, everything. That’s how it works with Nick.

Did you overdub your solos?

Yeah. I would generally use two tracks. What Chris Thomas and I like to do is to lay down a solo and then track it again, note for note. So you lay down the guitar solo, okay, and then you do it again, exactly the same. That gives it a fuller sound. Sometimes we’ll slow the machine down, just slightly, so it sounds like a 12-string doing the solo.

Do you ever have trouble remembering your solos?

No, not really, because I like to have fixed-pattern solos. Something like “Tattooed Love Boys” was just straight off the wall – I couldn’t have done that again, because I just wanted to go turn nasty on that one, turn the amp up and not care. But in general I like to track the solos note-for-note and remember them.

Do you splice together parts of different takes of solos?

Oh, yeah. We do that sometimes.

Are any parts recorded directly into the board?

On “Kid,” one of the guitars on the guitar solo was, I think, because I love doing that. Because you can wind up and get a lot of compression at the board. You can just make it sound slightly like a pedal steel or something. This is one of Edmunds’ favorite tricks, because Dave Edmunds and the boys like to go straight to the board. I do as well. But Chris Thomas doesn’t like me to do it that way. He likes me out in the studio with the amp.

What’s the difference between your studio and live playing?

Live, I’m more wilder a whole lot. Because you play some of those songs . . . We did five tours this year. We did two American, two English, European. And because you play those numbers night after night, you start to get a bit pissed off at them and then you start to put little things in to keep yourself amused. You start to find new things as well. So probably a couple of those tracks off the album would sound a little different onstage. Or some of the things that we’ve put in, like different steps and stuff, something clever to keep everybody on their toes.

Do you enjoy being on the road?

Oh, I love it!

Is it what you’d imagined it to be?

Oh, yeah! Non-stop partying, yes. Yes, it was exactly as I imagined it – it all happened.

Do you warm-up before a show?

[Laughs.] We usually just drink a lot. No, not really.

Do you practice?

No. I haven’t picked up a guitar in a long while. I don’t. But when I do, I go overboard. I start to find new ideas and things.

Do you have a systematic way of doing it, or do you just play?

I guess I just play. There are new little things I’ve found. Like, some of the things Chris Spedding showed me – Chris has got a totally different style from everybody else – and I noticed it’s all built within two frets and using just two strings at one time. You can just play a complete solo like that, and it just never gets boring. Just play two strings within two frets, and you just elaborate over that.

So your fingers only land on four spaces?

That’s right! And it seems he’s built up a lot of his stuff from doing it like that. So I’ve been trying a lot of things like that lately, so I’m using the minimum amount of work possible.

Are you always learning?

Yeah! Definitely.

Do you do much jamming?

Yes, I do quite a bit. I’ve spent a lot of the past couple of weeks in Austin, in Texas, and they’ve got some of the best players in the world there. Oh, my God! And some of those guys have invited me up to play, and it’s been great. I’ve done a bit of recording here and there. I met Billy Gibbons there. Joe King Carrasco – I played with him there. He’s in L.A. at the moment, playing the Whiskey. But yeah, Joe King and the Austin All-Stars, and the Tennessee Hat Band – I played with those guys. I love it down there. It’s great.

Has success been hard to take?

Yeah, it was at first, but it’s fine now. It’s very weird at first, when it happens. What you imagine as a kid, when you’re like eight years old and you see the Beatles at Shea Stadium on TV or in the film A Hard Day’s Night, you think, “My God. That is the answer to everything.” You know, having #1 records and gold disks. But when you get the #1 records and gold disks, you kind of think, “Whoa. Is this it? What happens next?” I think you tend to think the skies are going to open or something.

What advice would you give musicians wanting to make it in rock and roll?

You just have to stick with it. It just happens. It just turns up. Yeah, you just have to keep fucking sticking with it. It didn’t take me that long. I mean, I thought after a while I would sod it. I just went and started selling guitars and not really caring, although I knew one way or other I was going to get it done. I think you have to be completely determined, though. And I was. I thought “sod it” and then settled back a bit, and then I thought, “No, no.” I was determined, and you’ve got to make a bit of a fight for it. But it just turns up, I think. It just happens. You’ve either got it or you haven’t – style, luck, or whatever’s needed.

What would you like to accomplish in the future?

Well, I haven’t played with Ron Wood yet. I’d like to play with Ronnie Wood. I don’t know. Make successful albums, and I guess a little studio. What every player would want, I suppose.

Have you been on albums other than with the Pretenders?

Yeah. Nothing really to speak of. Nothing that’s been released in America. In England, an album called Place Your Bets by a guy called Tommy Morrison, and that was produced by Paul Rodgers. One by a guy called Robert John Godfrey, when I was 16. And I forget the title of that. That’s it, I think.

What are your main guitars?

[Tony] Zemaitis. He builds them for me now. I’ve got three of his at the moment, and the fourth will be ready soon. I’ve got two metal-front Zemaitis, like Ronnie Wood’s guitars. They’re all engraved metal, and Gibson humbuckers on them and ebony fingerboards. Oh, they are just the greatest. One’s a 22-fret, one’s a 24. I’ve also got another 24-fret that he built for me, but all the front is crushed mother of pearl, and it’s got three Mighty Mite Stratocaster pickups, and they’re inlaid in big silver blocks. I mean, these guitars just have to be seen. The one that he’s building for me at the moment has got three humbuckers set in a big silver map of the world. Also, it’s inlaid with mother-of-pearl scorpions and things like that. Pretty much, Tony will build you what you want built. I don’t go for active electronics or any of that, so I just have the normal controls – two pickups, two volume, two tones, and a toggle switch. I like the action pretty low. I use Ernie Ball Slinkies that go from .009 to .042.

Why did you choose Zemaitis?

Because Ronnie Wood used to use them, and I thought they looked so beautiful. Ron Wood’s a big hero of mine. Oh, yeah.

Who are your other heroes?

People like Spedding. Keith Richard, I guess. Eric Clapton, still. Albert Lee, the guys in Rockpile.

Have you other guitars?

I’ve got a Gibson Les Paul – that’s a newish one, a Standard. A 1962 cherry 335 that’s beautiful. Here’s the real killer: I’ve got a ’63 single-pickup Firebird – that’s a beaut – a three-pickup pink Gibson Firebird, a Fender Stratocaster with an Alembic Stratoblaster fitted to it and everything is brass on it. I’ve got a Rickenbacker 12-string, three Hamer guitars, a Yamaha – I don’t know what model. My acoustic is a Martin D-28, and I’ve also got a Guild 12-string.

Did you collect these since forming the Pretenders?

Yeah. One of the great things about having the success, having a bit of cash, is I was able to pick up these guitars at various places. It was the one thing I always really wanted anyway.

Do you care for the guitars yourself?

No, I have a guy that looks after them for me. On the next American tour I’m taking Ted Newman Jones, who works for Keith Richards. He wants to come with me. He builds beautiful guitars, fantastic guitars. He made some 5-strings for Keith. He’s great.

Do you use the same instruments onstage as in the studio?

In the studio I tend just to use the Les Paul and the Telecaster. Onstage, I always use the Zemaitis. But sometimes I just feel like playing a completely off-the-wall different guitar, but I’ve got to yank it out of the case.

Do certain guitars inspire you to play differently?

Oh, yeah. Definitely! A Zemaitis definitely makes me play a bit more like Ron Wood, whereas the 335 would make me play a bit more like Dave Edmunds.

Are your guitars stock?

Yeah, yeah. When I get a guitar, I don’t like to fuck about with it, unless it’s a new one, where you can get another couple of million like it, like a new Stratocaster. I’ve had mine all re-sprayed black and the Alembic things put into it. But if it’s an old one, I wouldn’t touch it at all.

Trace your signal from the guitar to the amp.

It goes through three Boss pedals – the little ones that have got noiseless switches. They come in pretty colors. I’ve got a blue one, a green one [laughs]. I’ve got a chorus, an overdrive, and a compressor. I don’t have a harmonizer, but I think I’ll get one. I think I’ll try one onstage. Pete, the bass player, uses one. And then I go right to the amps. I’ve got three 100-watt Marshalls and three 4x12 cabs, but two of those are spare, I think. I just go through the one. They mike that, and what happens is, I always play with the guitar flat-out, and I set the level as it would be for a loud rhythm sound. And then if it comes to showing off and doing a solo, I just flip on an overdrive. That’s how I like to work it. I like a really loud rhythm sound.

What kind of picks do you use?

Uh, I think they’re Fender Heavy Medium. I hold them in between the thumb and the first finger, with the point sticking out, and I always tend to play down-strokes.

Do you have any unusual techniques?

[Laughs.] Only in bed. Let me think. I think there’s one thing that I do that’s unusual, but I can’t think of it at the bloody moment.

Do you rest your picking hand on the guitar?

Oh, yeah, on the bridge. Sometimes I use the edge of my hand to muffle the strings.

Do you use your left-hand little finger much?

Yeah, yeah. Probably not as much as I should, but I do.

Do you play slide?

Yeah, but I haven’t been able to do it on record. Yeah, I love playing slide. I’m very much into open tunings.

Did you use any on the album?

Yeah, I did. I used some of the strangest tunings. On “Kid,” there’s open tuning on one of the acoustic guitars. That would be tuned down to D, I think.

Do you play in any styles that aren’t on the LP?

Yeah, country. That’s why I spend a lot of time in Austin – I try to. The thing is, you’ve got to make a good fucking go for it down there, because everyone is a better country guitarist than you. So you have to make a real good go for it.

Have you finished the second album?

No, we’ll be finishing it [Pretenders II] over the next a couple of months, and the new album will be out in April. There’s an EP coming out in America very shortly. We’ll be back in America in June.

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Nick Lucas: America's First Guitar Star Reminisces

I’ve always had a special place in my heart for Nick Lucas, America’s first guitar star.

During the Roaring Twenties, Nick made stacks of 78s, including 1922’s “Pickin’ the Guitar” and “Teasin’ the Frets,” the first notable guitar solos on record. Framing his warm, pure tenor with agile guitar parts, he scored his first major hit with 1924’s “My Best Girl”/“Dreamer of Dreams.” Nick won rave reviews on Broadway, played for royalty in Europe, and co-starred in the 1929 Technicolor film Gold Diggers of Broadway. Then he had the biggest hit of his career, “Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips With Me.” [To legally download this and dozens of other Nick Lucas tracks, visit http://www.archive.org/.]

By 1930, Nick Lucas was America’s most famous guitarist. His name appeared on instruction books, guitar picks, and an elegant Gibson guitar. As Nick’s popularity and influence were eclipsed by players such as Eddie Lang, Django Reinhardt, and Charlie Christian, he continued to make records and headline nightclubs. During World War II, he starred in several Soundies, the forerunners of the modern music video. The 1950s and ’60s found him gigging in casinos and appearing on TV variety shows. When pop sensation Tiny Tim married Miss Vicki on the Tonight Show – to an audience of 40 million – Nick was there, performing “Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips” in the background.

As an editor for Guitar Player magazine, I made it my mission to interview all the guitar pioneers I could find. When I located Nick, he was living in semi-retirement at 1811 North Whitley in Hollywood. From his apartment, he could see students toting their guitar cases to nearby G.I.T., totally unaware that they were walking past the man who’d paved the way for everyone from Eddie Lang to Eddie Van Halen.

Nick enjoyed our interview and stayed in touch with me for the rest of his life. I loved getting his phone calls and letters. Always full of life and the perfect gentleman, this wonderful guy passed away on July 28, 1982. The interview that follows took place on September 3, 1980.


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Are you up for doing an interview now?

Oh, sure. I'm ready to go. All you gotta do is ask questions. Everything you have in mind, why, I'll be glad to answer 'em. How far back do you want to go?

To about 1906, with your brother Frank.

[Laughs.] Yeah!

Learning mandolin?

Yeah. 1906 was just about the time. I was in grammar school; I was just about eight, nine years old. First of all, before I started with my brother Frank, he wanted me to study music without an instrument – solfeggio, which I studied from a Sicilian maestro, they called them in those days. That's all they did is teach music without an instrument. They taught the fundamentals of the music, of timing, and things like that. I studied that for about a year, and then he put me on the mandolin because in those days mandolin was the dominant instrument with the Italians and with the general public. Of course, it wasn't a commercial instrument; it was mostly for house entertainment – playing weddings and christenings and things like that. This was in Newark, New Jersey. That's where I was born.

Was your name originally Nick Lucas?

No, my original name was Dominic. My baptismal name was Dominic Nicholas Antonio Lucanese. That's an Italian name. Antonio was taken after some of my relatives; I guess they always like to include them. So actually I had four names. My first name was Dominic, I understand, due to the fact that I was born on a Sunday. "Domenica" means "Dominic" in Italian.

So after that, after I had a little knowledge of the fundamentals of music, he put me on the mandolin. My brother Frank was a very versatile musician. He was a thorough musician. He played the accordion, and in those days the accordion was it. It was a very, very popular instrument. And he wanted me to play the mandolin so that I could go with him on different occasions. I played weddings and christenings, because we did come from a very, very poor family. In those days, money was scarce and the wages were very poor. However, the living in those days was very, very inexpensive also, so there was no problem there. My father was working, of course. My brother would take me along with him, playing at weddings and christenings and saloons, passing the hat around, which I did. And we played in street cars and passed the hat around. We played on street corners – anything to make a dollar, so that we could help the family along.

So Frank was a couple of years older?

Yes. I might say Frank was about five or six years older. He was born in Italy. They migrated from Italy in the early '90s, because I was born in 1897. And he was the first. Then my sister, who passed away about a year ago – she was 85 – she was second, and then I was third. I was number three. There was another sister, and then there was three more brothers. Two of them are alive now. There's only three left in the family – my brother Lib and my brother Anthony, they're both alive. They're musically inclined, but not professionally.

So my brother took me around to play all these Italian weddings and christenings, and we got the big sum of a dollar an hour. All this work that I did for him gave me all the practice I needed, especially on the right hand, to get that tremolo and that technique. I had to study the mandolin under his tuition, and he was very stern. He really helped me. He gave me all the musical education that I ever needed. After that we parted, because he went into vaudeville with an act called The Three Vagrants. And then after I graduated school I was on my own, and I got a job in a nightclub in Newark, New Jersey, called The Johnson's Cafe. This was in 1915.

Were you playing guitar yet?

No. Believe it or not, I was playing . . . . They wanted more volume than a guitar, so I got myself a banjorine, which is a mandolin with a banjo head on it. And in order to get volume, I played the mandolin. That was my basic instrument. My brother, in the interim, he thought he wanted me to play a guitar, so there would be more volume as a background, because the mandolin is primarily a lead instrument. He also started me on the guitar, so I became as good on the guitar as I was on the mandolin. But when I first started, I played the mandolin in the night club and bought myself a banjorine. They were available in those days – anything that sounded like a banjo.

So I played with this big orchestra that consisted of three men [chuckles] – piano, violin, and the banjorine. And we played the revue. They had nightclub revues – like, they had a soprano singer, a comic, a line of girls, and a male singer. And that was the revue. The show lasted about two hours. And we played just with three pieces until eventually it went haywire – they put in a drummer! This was in Newark, and of course Newark is a short jump from New York. Naturally, I got all the work in town, because there was only very few musicians available in Newark who qualified to play for these nightclubs. You had to be a good faker. You had to read quick, you know. And most of 'em was fakin'. They'd say, "Oh, play it in C or play it in D, put it up in F, put it down a key," and if you couldn't do that, the music didn't mean a damn thing. When I went to the musicians union, I had to take a regular musical test, pass an examination, so I could get my union card. Of course, they don't do that today. They give you a card. Just pay your initiation fee, and you're in.

This is where I got all my experience. I was there two years, working with this outfit – the piano, violin, banjorine – and I doubled on the guitar when we had to waltzes and things like that. The guitar just came in handy. From there, I went on to another nightclub in Newark called The Iroquois with another combo. I had the great experience of playing with one of the greatest jazz pianists of that era, Blanche Merrill. She played that boogie-woogie piano. She used to live in New York too. We also had violin and drums. Oh, this was giving me all the experience and the qualifications of becoming a great jazz musician – unbeknownst to me.

Was the money good?

I'll tell you, the salary on the first job I got in Newark when I played in a nightclub was $20 a week. And I thought that was good then. I was in demand in Newark, and Newark was a wide-open town in those days. They had night clubs all over, and everything went – gambling, prostitution, everything was wide open. Then when I got another job at The Iroquois, they gave me $25. I bettered myself from $20 to $25.

And then we formed a unit called the Original Kentucky Five. In those days, they leaned on the South, like Dixieland jazz bands were very famous. So I got myself a group called the Kentucky Five, and I toured the Interstate circuit and the Keith circuit as a backup to the Ziegler Twins – they did a vaudeville act. I had a violin, and I had alto sax, piano, drums, and myself. I would say that was in the years of 1919 and 1920. I got married in 1917, then my daughter was born in 1918, so naturally I couldn't stay on the road too long. I only stayed on tour with this Kentucky Five, which I originated, for about a year because I had to come home. My wife had my only daughter, and I had to get myself a job around town. So I got myself a job in New York with Sam Lanin. And at that time Sam Lanin was the kingpin of New York. He did all the recording dates – well, I wouldn't say all, but most of it. I was working with him at the Roseland Ballroom. I played tenor banjo. I got myself a tenor banjo.

So the volume could cut through the orchestra.

Yeah. And I had the guitar alongside of it at all times for when we played waltzes. It was very difficult to play a three-quarter beat on the banjo, so the guitar came in handy. It blended better with waltzes. I had such great musicians as Jules Levy – that goes way back – on trumpet. We had two bands on the stand. One would stop, and then immediately the other would continue. Those were the days when it was 5 cents a dance, 10 cents. You remember that, way back? You buy tickets and pick up a dame there and dance with her, and that's how they survived. The other band was called Mel Hallett, who was very popular up around the Boston area. And there was a fellow playing piano there with Mal Hellett by the name of Frankie Carle. He became a great pianist.

How did you break into recording?

I did all of Sam Lanin's recording dates. In fact, sometimes I'd do two a day. The sessions were from 9:00 until 1:00, and then from 2:00 to 5:00, and then I still did my job at night. And I had a contract with Sam, getting $90 a week. And the phonograph dates, all they paid was $20 – that was the scale then. So I made $40 a day, and I practically worked there every day – four or five days a week – making those record dates. I was making a pretty good salary. $200 or $300 a week – that was a lot of money!

What was a recording session like in the early 1920s?

We always had trouble with the recording dates, because in those days they had the old cylinder wax. They had a big box in the back, and they kept all these waxes in the box always heated up. And the wax was pretty thick. We only had one horn to catch all the music into the cylinder to record. We didn't have microphones – this was the days before microphones. And we had the conventional combination, like three saxes and two trumpets and a trombone, piano, tuba, and a rhythm banjo. Guitar was unheard of. And we – that means the tuba and myself – had to sit way back in the studio, because when you blow notes out of a tuba, if it's too loud, that needle would jump off the cylinder and they'd have to start all over again. Very sensitive. And the banjo was the same thing, because it was a penetrating instrument. So I thought up an idea one morning of bringing my guitar to the studio. And Sam says, "What you gonna do with that?" I said, "Well, Sam, I'm having so damn much trouble with the banjo, let me try the guitar." He said, "Well, Nick, they won't hear it." I said, "Well, put me closer to the horn." So he got me right under the horn.

Now, this is a great, big horn. Visualize a great big horn, like you see advertised by the Victor Phonograph Company, the great big one with the dog. Well, that's what we had. So he put me under the horn, and the instrument was there. The rhythm was smoother, and we didn't have any trouble with the needle jumping out of the grooves. So he said, "Gee, Nick, that's all right. Keep it in." So that was the beginning of me playing guitar on record dates. Now, I would say that was around 1921 or '22, something like that.
I still worked with Sam for a while, then I worked with Vincent Lopez at the Peking Cafe on 45th Street. That was a hot spot, and in those days, Vincent Lopez was very, very hot in New York. He couldn't do anything wrong.

Did you record "Teasin’ the Frets" around this time?

No. "Teasin’ the Frets" was done while I was working with Sam with a different group, with a fellow called Don Parker. And on "Teasin’ the Frets" and "Pickin’ the Guitar," I did that all by myself. That was on Pathe Records. The sessions were from about 10:00 until 1:00, and I was all by myself. All I had was the musical director and the technicians in the studio. Nobody else. They were recorded in New York at the Pathe Phonograph Company on 42nd Street.

Did you compose those tunes?

Yes. [Both of these rare original versions can be heard at www.nicklucas.com/pathe.html.]

I've heard that those are the first popular guitar solo recordins.

I seem to agree with you on that. Now, I haven't done any research work on it, but I think they were the first ones.


Do you remember what kind of guitar you used for them?

Oh, yes. The guitar I started on, which was called a Galliano, made in New York by the Galliano Company. It was a small company located on Mulberry Street. I wasn't associated with Gibson until later, when I left New York. I went to join Ted Fiorito, who was an old friend of mine from Newark, and he had a band in Chicago called the Oriole Terrace Orchestra. He was at the Edgewater Beach Hotel there, and he sent for me. He asked me if I would be interested in coming out there, and he offered me $150 a week. And so my wife and daughter and I got in the car and drove out there. This was in 1923. It took us about four days to get there, because in those days they didn't have the route numbers. It was town to town – next town, next town. Of course, that was only day driving – I never drove at night because you'd get lost. You wouldn't know where the hell to go.

At that time I still had my Galliano. And when I went to Chicago, naturally we were a big hit there at the Edgewater Beach Hotel. We were booked for two weeks, and we stayed there almost three years. That was where I got my big break on radio. In those days, radio was the only media of entertainment. WEBH, Chicago – that was the studio. In the interim between sets, I used to go into the studio, which was right adjacent to our bandstand, and fill in some time with my guitar and sing and kind of croon. And that's when I started to get mail from all over the country. This wasn't a network by any means; it was just that they all had these crystal sets and they would tune in and get me all through the night. I got loads of mail, and I started to become very, very popular.

How did Gibson’s Nick Lucas model come about?

The Gibson Instrument Company, which was located in Kalamazoo, approached me. This was in 1924. They wanted me to play their guitar, but I said, "Geez, I got a great instrument now. I'm very happy with it and it sounds good. However, if you can make me a guitar to my specification, I'll be glad to make the change." I had no ties or contract with Galliano by any means, because I bought it for $35. So Gibson said, "We'll do anything to make you satisfied." At that time, the guitar was practically obsolete – it was going out. They had to do something. But by the same token it was coming in, so they made a guitar for me called the Nick Lucas model.


What was distinctive about it?

Well, the distinction was this: The neck board was a little wider. They made the neck board in those days – and they still make 'em today – a little bit too narrow, because you can't get a true tone out of some of your chords because the strings are so close together. I don't have an exceptionally big hand, but I wanted more room between the E and the B string, especially, for when I played a G chord or a C chord. See, then all the notes would come out distinct. I wouldn't get any interference with my flesh on the fingers. So they made a little wider fingerboard.

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What happened to the original Nick Lucas guitar?

I still have it. I still play it! I still use it! It's a gem. It's been fixed about 40 times, but I still use it. I wouldn't part with it. And I also said that I want a little wider body than the usual, and I want it black, and I want it so it don't shine, because the spotlight would shine on a guitar and it would glare all around the people in the audience. So they came up with this Nick Lucas model, which was a beauty!

When did you make the transition from guitar star to singing star?

With the Oriole Orchestra I was becoming very popular through the radio. I wasn't getting any money for it – this was all gratis. So that was my first stepping-stone to becoming a success as a singer and a performer. And then Brunswick Phonograph Company, which was located in Chicago, heard me and they signed me up to record. And I made a record there called "My Best Girl" and "Dreamer of Dreams," which was my first vocal recording – all by myself, in the old horn, no microphones. I sang in the horn and I made this recording, and it was a terrific seller. And then I left the band to go on my own. At the time I was with Dan Russo and Ted Fiorito, and I left them in December 1924. In the interim, I made the record, and the record was catching on all over the country. I was in demand. They wanted me to make personal appearances all over the United States. My first big theater engagement was at the Chicago Theater in December 1924. This was as a solo act. A friend of mine, Bert Wheeler, heard me sing and told his New York agent about me. He said, "Come out and catch this guy – he's great. I know he's gonna become somebody." So he did. We didn't sign a contract, but we had a handshake, and we were together for about 15, 20 years. From then on I played vaudeville.

My next big break from there came when I played the Palace Theatre in New York. That was the epitome of all. That was tops! I went into the Palace of New York, and I was a big hit there. Now, England was big in those days. I played at the Cafe des Paris, and the Prince of Wales and the Queen of Spain were in to see my show one night. Then they had me entertain for them privately about two weeks later. That's when I got publicity all around the world, and from then on, I couldn't do anything wrong. When I came back to America, naturally I had all the work I wanted to, and I continued to play in vaudeville, because that was the only thing around. Vaudeville was it. I played the Orpheum, Keith – I played all the circuits. I was making $3,000 a week. That's like $30,000 today – maybe more! All by myself. All I was doin' was singin'!

Your family must have been happy.

They sure were! As I said, this all came unexpectedly, because in those days, entertainers were far and few between. I used to play a lot of solos, but in those days they wanted to hear me sing. And today they still want to hear me sing. My voice, thank goodness, is still in excellent condition. Because I quit in 1965. I was working steady. I worked for Harrah's Club in Reno and Tahoe for eight years, had my own group. But that was too tough on my throat, so I quit in 1965. My voice today is better than ever. But the people in those days, and even today, they want to hear me sing. The guitar is a part of my act. See, nobody can play for me. When I sing, then I play for myself. I improvise, I play runs in between, and I play a little solo. Like I'll play "Babyface," and maybe I'll play 16 bars on the guitar.

In those days, the entertainers that were successful and very famous, I could count them on one hand. There was Eddie Cantor, Al Jolson, and Bing Crosby. And I was in that era. I was before Bing Crosby, but I wasn't before Eddie Cantor, though. He was way before me, as was Al Jolson, because I was practically a school boy when they were around. But my ambition was to be as good as them, but I never try to copy anybody. Never try to copy anybody. I try to be myself. When I record, I use my own ideas, and I felt I was little unique due to the fact that my guitar and my voice blended. It was one.

My voice is me. My guitar comes second, but the guitar is the one that made me. Without the guitar, I wouldn't be what I am today. Lucas without a guitar wouldn't be Nick Lucas. I'm not saying this in the spirit of conceit, by any means, but I feel that most of these contemporary guitar players studied from my books. I had two books on the market. They came out around '26 or '27, right after I became popular on records. Then when I got to 1929 and played the Orpheum Theater in Los Angeles, that's when I got my biggest break, with The Gold Diggers of Broadway. I was working there at the Orpheum Theater, and this was big time. I was on the bill with Sophie Tucker and Jack Benny and myself. That's pretty stiff company, isn't it? But I was learning as I was going along, watching these performers. I was very observative, and I learned how to get on and off stage, and that wasn't easy. It took me 15 years to learn how to take a bow. Today they do it overnight. So that's where I got my biggest break, with "Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips" [http://www.archive.org/details/Tip-toeThroughTheTulips--nickLucascas]. In fact, on April 15th of this year, the Variety Arts Club that I belong to gave me a big testimonial honoring 50 years of "Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips." I never dreamed that a song would become synonymous with my name all these years. And still, no matter where I go, it's "Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips."

And it's such an optimistic song.

Oh, yeah. I only hope to write another on like it. You see, you never know, when you're in show business, about a song until you sing it to the public. I might think it's great – every songwriter thinks every song he writes is great – but not until the public decides upon it, because they are the ones that buy it.

Many famous guitarists credit you with inspiring them to play.

I feel that I helped all these contemporary guys way, way back. Gene Autry said, "Without Nick Lucas, I wouldn't be playing the guitar."

Merle Travis also said he was influenced by you.

Merle Travis – he's a fine guy. I'll tell you another one – Barney Kessel. He's a great musician. And even Roy Clark said that he studied from my books. Now, I'm ignorant of that until they tell me. The first book was for beginners, and then I had a little advanced one. It was a beginning book for ordinary musicians, because contemporary guitar players in those days, they didn't know from nothing. They wanted to become guitar players, and they picked up my books. They happened to be very popular in those days. In fact, when I played Australia for six months in 1937, there was a group of natives waiting for me at the boat – this was right outside the Fiji Islands – because they all had my books and my guitar picks. I had to give them a concert and play every damn thing I knew on the guitar, because they all had guitars.

Now today, as you know, every girl and every boy wants to play the guitar. There's a big guitar school around the corner here in Hollywood, and I see 'em every day, walking around the neighborhood with guitars. So I think I started something. I don't commercialize on it. I don't go around telling people about it, but after I analyzed the whole damn thing, I started to realize the guitar is getting more popular now then ever. Somebody told me there's about 30 million people playing the guitar – not professionally, but they all have a guitar, like having a piano in their home.

This has been a great interview, Nick.

I'm telling you the truth, the whole resume of my life from the beginning. When I played the guitar, when I was eight, nine years old. I'm 83 now, you know. [Laughs.] I hit it August the 22nd. I don't like to publicize that too damn much. What do you think? Does it spoil the illusion? Use your own judgment on that. And I'm in good shape physically. My voice is in terrific condition, and I still can play "Pickin’ the Guitar" and "Teasin’ the Frets" – that's not easy! That takes a lot of fingering.

I still work. I play choice engagements, but I don't get out enough. I don't socialize enough to get acquainted with some of these musicians today that made it big, which I'm happy for. And I had my turn. I had my success, and I thank the good Lord that I still can sing and I still work. I played a lot of fair dates and casual dates. Just recently I played three days in Indianapolis at the Shrine show, and I was there last year. They want me back because they enjoy it. It makes me happy to know that I'm still able. As long as my health keeps up, I'm gonna keep on doing it until I can't do it any longer!


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