With his 1994 debut album, Welcome to the Cruel World, Ben Harper revealed himself to be both a forward-looking singer/songwriter and a passionate advocate for roots American music from the era of 78s and wind-up Victrolas. For starters, he conjured his lonesome, overtone-laden slide sound on a Style 4 Hawaiian koa guitar built by Hermann Weissenborn during the 1920s. His playing technique, with the guitar held flat on his lap, harkened to the Hawaiian musicians of the early twentieth century and the very first recordings of blues guitar.
With slide songs such as “Whipping Boy,” Harper seemed to conjure the spirit of Blind Willie Johnson, whom he readily acknowledged as his primary musical inspiration: “That’s it,” Ben confirmed when I asked him about it soon after the album’s release. “When I’m sleeping, I hear Blind Willie Johnson. I hear him all the time. My other heroes are Blind Willie McTell, Robert Johnson, Taj Mahal, Lowell George—oh, man!—and Chris Darrow, who played with David Lindley. And even great rhythm players, like Bob Marley, with his chunk rhythm heartbeat, and Jimi Hendrix—God, all day, you know?”1
Born in 1969, Ben grew up surrounded by music. His family owned the Folk Music Center, a music store in Claremont, California, and his grandparents weaned him on their collection of blues 78s. After some musical experimentation, at age sixteen he found the technique that suited him best. “I found I was able to express myself on slide guitar,” he recalled. “I started playing bottleneck a lot—I still do—but the attack and the sound I was trying to attain used a different musical formation, so I switched to playing lap-style.”2 He invented his own tunings. Before signing with Virgin Records, Ben sharpened his playing in Taj Mahal’s road band.
In our 1994 interview, Ben was guarded about his recording techniques and the open tunings he used for slide. This was not the case when we had our next interview, on June 5, 1997. At the time of this conversation, he was celebrating the release of his third album, The Will to Live.
You have an uplifting message in a lot of your music.
Thank you for feeling that. It’s nice to be behind the guitar in that spirit.
To me, a song like “Homeless Child” has everything that made “Rollin’ and Tumblin’” great.
Ah, bless your heart!
I hear it coming out of that spirit of “get in the trance and ride that lick as far as you can” kind of music, especially with that jangly background rhythm. It’s almost like that old Eddie Head music, “Lord, I’m the True Vine,” and those other songs from the 1930s.
Absolutely. You know how hard it is to bring something new to roots blues. I mean, what’s brought to blues and the spirit of blues today is really nothing but barroom. And the barroom blues, for me, just doesn’t move my heart. And so it’s been a huge challenge and it’s the first time I feel strongly that I’m bringing a contribution to the blues. And I hope I have done the spirit of roots blues music justice through that song. I mean, I write a lot of blues songs and Jas, I gotta tell you: I put ’em away. They haven’t been strong enough and I just set them aside and I use the lyrics from the blues songs for other songs and things. And I feel privileged to have written a song that, from your words, reaffirms my feeling of contributing to that spirit and not taking from it.
That song of yours “I Want to Be Ready” sounds even older, like it could have been a Southern spiritual before the Civil War.
Yeah.
Where did that song come from?
It just came into my mind. And, you know, around the house there was a lot of roots gospel music played, because of my family and how much they love roots and gospel music. And “I Want to Be Ready” and “Long White Robe,” they’ve been used in early Delta blues and gospel music phrases that are maybe not exactly that, but in that vein. And it’s from that tradition—directly. Definitely. “I want to be ready to wear my robe” or “my long white robe”—that type of lyrical usage as far as life’s redemption to a higher level of existence after life. I mean, that’s used as a reference in gospel music constantly. It was something I felt and wrote the song at once—it came at one time: “How I am strong just to know what makes me weak, how I am found just to know just whom I seek.” It just came out.
Did “Homeless Child” evolve over time?
The first two verses of “Homeless Child” and that lick—that came straight up. And then the last verse just came later. And it just came in one wow!
There’s a certain sense of melancholy in a number of your songs. I wonder if you feel some spiritual link or subconscious connection to people from the past who’ve been oppressed.
When you feel your ancestral heritage, you feel it whether you’re conscious of it or unconscious of it, whether you act upon it or not. I feel that strong. That’s a large part of my expression.
Do you feel it when you pick up an instrument?
Every time! When I pick up an instrument, for me, I go somewhere. You know what I mean? I go somewhere it takes me. I can’t say where. I don’t even want to know where. And then I try to bring the people with me to where it trips me out to. Then it’s a good show.
You have some wonderful old instruments. Have you ever intuitively felt something about the previous owner or felt anything about the kind of music the instrument may have played fifty or sixty years ago?
Definitely, definitely. Oh, yeah. You pick it up and every instrument speaks in its own voice, which is why every instrument has an infinite [amount] of songs within it. Every instrument! And it’s to that player to tap into that inspiration of the instrument itself. And that comes from the instrument itself, it comes from the maker, it comes from previous players. Sure. That’s why sometimes when you get a new guitar with old strings, you don’t want to change them real quick because you don’t know what songs are in those strings. I mean, I’m so drastic, Jas, that even pens have songs in them. If I have a pen and it doesn’t write a song in a week, I throw it away.
That’s amazing!
Yeah. I don’t mess around with this stuff, man.
What engenders your songwriting? What’s the kind of condition where it’s most likely to occur?
There’s no condition but life’s condition. You know, people say, “Oh, I gotta be around the house. I gotta be at home and comfortable.” Man, you get to the house, the phone’s always ringing, take out the trash, blah blah blah. Music is inspiration is eternal. Inspiration doesn’t stop for man, man has to catch up with inspiration and keep up with inspiration, because it’s always moving.
Had you played much standard steel-string guitar?
Yeah, I woodshedded on bottleneck—for years, hours a day. Just hours and hours, to where morning would turn to night. And I did that for years, man. For years! From the time I was eighteen to twenty—two years, just playing and really trying to learn Robert Johnson tunes. Breaking strings, because I didn’t know Robert played slide with a capo. So I was trying to tune the strings way up. Oh, it was a mess. And Mississippi John Hurt—of course, Elizabeth Cotten—and just working those songs out. Because once that music hit me when I was at a conscious level of age—when you’re fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, when you’re in your teens, you listen to things differently. And so when I was at an age where I was opening up musically, Mississippi John Hurt just hit me like a truck. And at that point, that was something I had to play and be a part of. I woodshedded eighteen, nineteen, twenty, and Taj called me up. He had heard me play and said, “Man, come on the road with me.” And I went on the road with Taj for a while, and that was great. And then I really started getting into my own things. Then lyrical inspiration came and I started writing, and that’s when I started making records.
Is there anything you’ve learned making the second and third album that you wished you knew when you made the first record?
I have to say no, because the only way you learn to make records is by making records. And I feel now more than ever I am able to make the studio as musical as an instrument itself. And that’s with the help of my producer and dear friend, J. P. Plunier. He and I produced the first two records together. But you know what, man? He has shown me stronger than anyone how to get out of my own way for the first two records—not that I was in my own way, but I needed to learn about production for those records. But for this record, it took every drop of my blood sweat to get this record to where it is. I mean, realize, Jas, like on “Faded” and on “Will to Live,” you’re hearing an acoustic Weissenborn run through a Groove Tube Solo 150-watt and a 4x10 Marshall with an Expandora together with an Ibanez Tube Screamer. And, man, it has taken me years of experimentation to get to that sound. Also run through the Sunrise 12. I go through those pedals, and you lose a little bit of the line signal from those pedals. But then I go into the Sunrise 12—not the tube preamp, but the 12 dB—and then I go into the amp.
This is with an ancient Weissenborn?
This is with a Weissenborn, man.
I’ve never heard of anyone doing something like that.
Oh. And to come out on the positive end of that experimentation is overwhelmingly positive for me.
It’s such a big, angry sound.
And you can tell. People say, “Oh, Ben Harper has gone electric!” No. It sounds it, but you can tell it’s not a Tele, it’s not a Strat, it’s not one of the Rickenbackers. You can tell it has its own thing—I hope! I hope that its own sound is coming through.
I was wondering if it might be a lap steel.
No, no. It’s a Weissenborn with a Sunrise, run through those effects.
Then the sound in the guitar’s acoustic body must be driving a lot of the distortion.
Well, the Sunrise picks up the movement of the top and the air from the sound hole, and so it’s still acoustic, yet it’s run through that different chain.
Did you use the same setup on something cut at lower volume, like “Homeless Child”?
“Homeless Child” was straight acoustic. No, no. What we did on that—see, we always run the amp in a separate room, so it’s isolated. And then we run a clean send from the pickup itself to the board, and then we mike it in the sweet spot. And so we have three channels to either combine into one or pick whichever one fits the song best. And so that’s a combination of a Fender Champ amp—a ’58 Champ, tweed—and a mike sound.
To my ears, it sounds like that track was recorded about 1952.
Amen! And then we ran the whole track back through the Champ, and then miked the Champ and mastered it from there. Sounds like a damn 78, doesn’t it?
Yeah, it does.
I’m so glad to hear you say that, man. And that was J. P.’s masterpiece. He just came up some incredible ideas. And that’s where we come full circle. I had to get out of my own way so I could focus on the playing and the singing and step it up to another level, and not have to think about different ideas and running behind and saying, “Was that a good take?” No. I had to just say, “Hey, man, it’s on you. Tell me what’s best.” It took everything I had to just concentrate on the music itself.
Isn’t it great to give it up?
Oh, it’s so great! God.
There are so many players I wish would do that.
Yeah, yeah. Man, I’m so glad you recognize that too. But thank you for saying so, because it’s a big step for me.
Hearing you play nylon-string classical guitar is a treat. I don’t associate you with that at all.
What song is that on?
There’s a break in the middle of “Faded.”
You know who that is? It’s gonna blow you away, and Jas, you gotta cover this guy. You’ve got to do a specific article on him, because he’s a genius. On “Jah Work,” the guitar playing is done by Al Anderson, [Bob] Marley’s first guitarist. From Natty Dread on, that’s Al Anderson. And he’s just a wealth of reggae music knowledge. From Ernest Ranglin, he revolutionized. He took it another step and brought blues into reggae music. I don’t play skank. I don’t play reggae guitar. So I had to call. Al’s just been down with the music and the lyrics, and he’s been coming to shows. And I called him up, said, “Man, ‘Jah Work Is Never Done.’ Who better to pay on ‘Jah Work Is Never Done’ than Bob Marley’s guitar player?” And he also played that nylon blues guitar in the breakdown, and he and I played together. I played Turkish saz—it sort of sounds like a twelve-string. In “Jah Work” Al was on a small-bodied Guild twelve-string and a Gibson G-2 [Gibson LG-2 acoustic]. He’s a genius. And the thing is, he heard the song maybe twice, if not once—I don’t know if he rewound the rough mix—and he just went in and dropped it. He’s a genius, man. You gotta talk to Al.
It must have brought a great vibe to the session.
Didn’t it? And then the stuff he laid down on “Faded,” I played saz while he played a ninety-dollar nylon-string Prelude guitar. Good mike—had a good mike on it.
I’ve been telling people for a long time: It’s in the hands. It ain’t in the instrument.
Proof there!
Were there other guests guitarists, or did you do the rest of it?
I did the rest of it. Just Al.
What’s the secret for getting that beautiful, crisp, immaculate sound of an acoustic rhythm guitar?
It’s found in patience and in the instrument itself. Well, it starts in the instrument itself, but great-sounding instruments don’t always go to tape easily. I thank mighty God I have had the pleasure of being able now to try different [techniques]. At the same time, it’s easy to say about early Robert Johnson, those guys, “Oh, they didn’t care about what mike,” but you know what? Those old roots cats who were recording for RCA, they were geniuses too. And they had a selection of mikes. In the early Columbia Blind Willie Johnson stuff—those guys weren’t joking around. They probably tried six different mikes before the one that was right for Blind Willie’s sound came up.
With Blind Willie McTell, you can hear the differences from session to session day to day.
Totally. Can’t you, though?
Or you can imagine where he was positioned in the room at different times.
Or certain rooms have a certain life. You don’t want to record guitars in a certain room for a certain song—and that’s how drastic it gets. Every instrument, different guitars, sound different in different rooms. And you’ve got to be sensitive to that kind of thing to give the song its strongest voice.
What’s your favorite room to play in? Do you have one?
Yeah. My favorite room to play in is the room at Grandmaster Studios. It’s on Cahuenga, just north of Sunset [in Hollywood]. That’s where we recorded Fight for Your Mind and The Will to Live. And it’s the wood room there. The guy started building the studio at the front door and tuned it all the way in to the recording room, and it is just a beautiful room. Allen Dixon owns it. Black Crowes—Shake Your Money Maker, that was recorded there in that room. It’s just a great room. It’s a real magic room. If you’re ever in L.A. and we time it right where I’m there, I am bringing you through there first thing. You’ll know what I mean when we walk in the door and you start talking in the room. You just get a chill.
Keith Richards told me that he can walk into a studio room, snap his fingers, and know right away if it’s going to be good or not.
Yeah. You just know. Ah, Keith. Man, thank God Keith is still around making music.
Listening to “Ashes” and “Widow of a Living Man,” it sounds like you have a very light attack on acoustic.
Yeah, I like to take it easy when it’s time to take it easy. I think that you have to respect the lyrics and the guitar work. It takes a gentle, gentle brushing of the guitar. A lot of people, especially people in the folk tradition, man, they want to just get on there and just hammer away. It’s insulting to the instrument and to the song. You really gotta take it easy.
Isn’t it tougher to record at such a quiet volume?
Ah, man! People say, “It must be hard to record those fast slide licks and things,” but it’s harder, because those were all recorded vocal-guitar at once. And it’s a challenge to get that right feeling at that right moment. The softer songs are way harder to record than the band ones. They’re much more delicate.
If you’re recording guitar and voice at the same time, what’s the best mike to be singing into? Does it matter?
You know what? It could be a really cheap old RCA mike, or even a cheap beta—you know, a Shure—or it could be a C-12 or a U-47. Tube or solid-state. It just depends on the tune and the sound you’re going for.
Do you always play fingerstyle?
Yeah. I don’t use picks. I have—I used picks on the songs “Welcome to the Cruel World” and “Give a Man a Home,” but my thumb, thank goodness, is blistered to a rock. So I can sting the string like Albert King.
What did you use for the solo on “Glory and Consequence”?
I gotta tell you. For the basic track, it’s that same Guild twelve-string on “Jah Work” and “Roses.” I think that’s over on the left side [of the mix]. And then it’s the Gibson G-2 sunburst for the rhythm acoustic track, and then it was done. The song was done. And then J. P. said, “Man, you gotta try electric guitar on this song.” J. P. has a ’63 Tele, cream, and I have a ’58 Twin, which I like to run for recording. I won’t take it on the road, but I like to record with that, the high-powered Twin tweed. That’s on the solo for “Will to Live.” He brought it in to the studio to play during break time—he’d go in and play the Tele when we’d take breaks. And he said, “You gotta try electric on this song. I think it would work.” I said, “J. P., man, you know I’m not a solidbody player. I like to mess around.” He said, “Just try it.” I said, “Nope.” He said, “For me. Please.” I said, “Alright, man. I plugged it into the high-powered Twin ’58—boom. “We’re gonna roll tape.” I said, “Alright, man. I’ll throw the headphone on.” I threw the headphones on, I took one pass all the way down the song, and that was it. That’s what’s on tape. That’s how Ben plays the electric guitar. And then I put it up. I said, “Okay. I’m not doing it again.”
Who did the wah-wah in “Mama’s Trippin’”?
That’s me. That’s a Gibson G-2 acoustic with a Vox wah-wah. [Both of us laugh.] Isn’t that a trip?
It’s funny, the stuff you came up with.
[Laughs.] It’s crazy! I’m having so much fun with this stuff.
What are your main tunings now?
My main tuning is DADDAD—“dad dad.” And I’ll go a whole-step below that and a whole-step above that.
What’s the advantage of playing in that tuning?
It just opens up all kinds of chord possibilities and single-note lead possibilities. It’s just endless. It opens me up to be able to play pretty much anything on the slide guitar. You can go all the way up the neck and have a workable open chord. And it also works as a really cool drone when necessary.
It has a beautiful sound.
Thank you.
Is that the tuning we hear on the record a lot?
Yeah, definitely. Definitely.
Is there backwards guitar on The Will to Live? Sometimes you have a strange attack.
On “Roses from My Friends,” it’s eight to ten backwards slide guitar tracks on the intro. And backwards slide is a trip! It falls so different than fretted backwards guitar because it’s almost like playing backwards cello or something.
The attack is so bizarre.
Yeah, and it lands in such a strange place. But finding the place where it finally drops and works is such a joy. In the solo section on “Roses from My Friends,” it’s backwards slide guitar, backwards [Fender] Rhodes [electric piano], and then a bed of forwards Rhodes. And then on “Will to Live” it’s just one solo from beginning to end—you know, of the solo section—and there’s a drone that I do on the low string at the twelfth fret on the teardrop Weissenborn. It’s a feedback, and I adjust the volume pedal during the drone, so it takes off into a higher feedback and then lower as I push forward or lessen the thrust of the power through the chord. I did that twice and panned it, and then took the solo over it. So there’s a drone all the while behind the solo. And that had a great effect, I think. I’m really happy with the way that effect came out for that song.
I like how the music works as an entire album—the journey it takes.
Oh, good, good. Because we spent so much time sequencing the record. I mean, some people, I guess, maybe just throw a record together. We take a lot of time—months, really—getting the order of the songs. Not only the order, but the space between the tunes too.
Are all Weissenborns good-sounding instruments, or do you have to look for one?
I’ll tell you what: all Weissenborns are good-sounding instruments. I’ve never heard a dog, Jas. Ever. Ever! Even the ones with loose ribs. Even the ones with no ribs! They all sound amazing. Not all the remakes do, but all the Weissen ones do.
Have you acquired any extras in the last couple of years?
Yeah. I’ve gotten a nice collection together of Konas and Weissenborns.
Does any particular one stand out?
The teardrop. Because, man, the teardrop can sound like the hourglass-shape. The teardrop can sound like a National or a Dobro. Dobros and Nationals run and hide when the teardrop comes out. They just duck.
What songs have come out of that one?
It’s my main writing slide guitar. I’ve had this one for six years.
Do you know what year it was made?
I believe early ’20s.
When you hit the stage, do you have a mission beyond playing well?
[Long pause.] If I play well, all other missions that I may have, conscious or unconscious, are fulfilled.
When are you happiest?
When my sound is together and the shows go strong.
Have any musicians given you valuable advice?
John Lee Hooker’s magic words, the first time I ever met him—at the Sweetwater, opening up—he said [imitates Hooker], “Man, I like your slide playing. You wanna be a great guitar player? Do you wanna?” “Heck, yeah, man!” He said, “Well, man, you gotta take all them notes you’re playin’ and play half as many. And you’ll be gettin’ somewhere.” Well, Jesus Christ, that’s the best damn advice, and I took it to heart, man. Isn’t that something? “Play half as many”!
CODA: As of 2016, Ben Harper has released a dozen studio albums. His 2004 release There Will Be a Light brought him Grammy Awards for Best Traditional Soul Gospel Album and for Best Pop Instrumental Performance. Issued by Stax Records, his 2013 collaboration with harmonica ace Charlie Musselwhite, Get Up!, earned him another Grammy for Best Blues Album.