Larry Carlton

My generation's Joe Pass

Screenshot from a 2021 webinar

One of the reasons that I was first attracted to the guitar, decades ago, was the variety of sounds that you could get out of one. Andrés Segovia, JJ Cale, Django Reinhardt, Chuck Berry, Duane Allman, Wes Montgomery, Chet Atkins, Jimi Hendrix and Joe Pass all play the same instrument. That incredible palate of sonic opportunity was something that blew my mind back then. It still does.

The first music I fell in love with beyond pop and rock was classical. I know for a fact that my roommates got way tired of hearing Béla Bartók's Fourth and Sixth String Quartets at top volume on the quadraphonic system in my room.

Jazz came next. One of my favorite groups early on was The Crusaders, who had, on guitar, a skinny white kid with long hair named Larry Carlton. The thing that I most liked about Carlton's playing with the Crusaders was the understatement at a time when showing off was all the rage. It wasn't until you dug into what LC was doing that it became apparent there was a lot going on beneath the notes.

Larry Carlton, born in Torrance, CA in 1948, began guitar lessons at the age of six. His musical idols were Barney Kessel and Joe Pass. He started playing jazz in junior high school. His first gigs were in the early 1960s and he slowly built a career during that decade.

LC's name kept cropping up as a sideman on records that I liked all through the seventies. He appeared on albums by Michael Franks, Joni Mitchell and many others. In May 1976, jazz-rock auteurs Steely Dan released an album called The Royal Scam - which made Larry Carlton known to every house in America with a guitar in the corner somewhere. LC'S searing solos on Don't Take Me Alive and Kid Charlemagne almost single-handedly established jazz-rock as a popular musical genre. He also made a volume pedal a must-have accessory for any guitarist with serious aspirations.

Through the decades, I've listened to Wes Montgomery, Steve Howe, Joe Pass, JJ Cale, Glen Campbell, Pat Metheny and others for inspiration. But LC is the guitarist I've listened to the most. LC's playing encompasses the harmonic sophistication of Pat Metheny (and pianist Bill Evans), the melodic fluidity of Joe Pass and Steve Howe and the tonal quality of Wes Montgomery.

LC has been prolific as a studio ace, as a sideman, as a collaborator and as a solo artist. He's toured extensively for many decades. He's won four Grammys (and been nominated for 19). He's been a successful composer, producer and arranger. He's at the top of the pyramid of living guitar players no matter who the mush-for-brains millennials at Rolling Stone, who've heard about this thing called music but don't actually know much about it, have in their best lists.

I've had the opportunity to interact with Mr. Carlton twice. The first time was back in Lexington, KY, in the mid-1980's, when he preformed in support of his album, Alone/But Never Alone, at the Fine Arts Center on the University of Kentucky campus.

The UK show was an example of university personnel demonstrating the concept of grasp exceeded reach. The seats in a large auditorium were assigned by the venue. I had a seat in about row six and there were, perhaps, a half-dozen others seated in the rows in front of me with a few dozen more scattered throughout the auditorium.

LC came out with his band, kicked off the show with a set of highlights from the album, then stopped after a few songs, looked out into the audience and asked “OK, how many of you are NOT, guitar players?” Not a single soul raised a hand. I know because I looked around for a good while, myself.

LC asked us all to come up to the front and then did something remarkable – he sat down and talked with us. He conducted a clinic within a concert performance. He answered questions, signed autographs, played requests, discussed guitars, amps, effects and setup. The low attendance didn't seem to faze him one bit. It was the most wonderful example of an artist dealing graciously with fans I've ever experienced.

Not long after this show, LC was the victim of a random act of violence by gun-wielding juveniles outside of Room 335, his studio in Burbank, CA. He was shot once in the throat and sustained significant trauma. For a while it was unclear if he'd ever play again. A distant cousin of LC's was an acquaintance of mine at the time and told me that the rehab was very difficult. It's a miracle that LC made a full recovery.

Fortunately, LC did recover - and has made more wonderful music during the ensuing decades. He's a master of the guitar. He's played when he was happy and when he was sad. He's done just about everything you can do on the instrument and I'm reasonably sure that there is nothing about it that he doesn't know.

Now, in the twilight of his career, LC has indicated that his touring days may be over. That's a loss. But the time comes for everyone. I just hope that he continues to record.

The second time I had the opportunity to interact with LC was during a webinar that he put on during the Covid pandemic. It was a couple of hours long and there were about 200 of us in attendance. Again, LC played, talked equipment and technique and graciously answered questions.

One thing that I've heard often from accomplished people is their disdain for the word “talent.” They'll nearly all tell you that talent may give you a head start, but the rest, and there's a lot of it, is hard work. I just listened to an interview with Pat Metheny where he talked about playing 12 – 16 hours a day for years and years. That's why he is now who he is.

During the webinar, someone asked LC what motivated him to spend all of those countless hours practicing and refining his playing. His answer: “I have always loved the sounds that I could make with my guitar. If you learn to play sounds that you love, it's less about work than it is about being able to produce things that you really like hearing.”

I've written before about LC's solo in Kid Charlemagne. It's the most incredible pop guitar solo I've ever heard. There are elements of bebop, swing, jazz and rock all fused melodically together in 60 seconds of fiery virtuosity – all improvised in the moment. The solo was recorded in two takes.

There are scorching licks throughout (including tapping - years before Van Halen) and much of LC's trademark chord outlining. The guitar was a Gibson ES-335 played through a Fender Tweed amp with the gain cranked just to the threshold of breakup. The harmonic and melodic sophistication was light years beyond most pop songs then and now.

But one of most impressive things in this solo are two simple clusters of four notes played over a Dm9 – FM7 change near the end. LC, on the fly, chose the perfect three notes, the best parts of each chord, to bridge the change. It's stunning when you figure it out.

I love Joe Pass. And I’m pretty sure that LC would not compare himself to Joe. So I’ll do it for him. My generation's Joe Pass, and then some, is Larry Carlton.

My personal ode to LC. Done in two takes because I blew the ending. The video and audio were recorded through two separate paths.

Associated Press and Idaho Press Club-winning columnist Martin Hackworth of Pocatello is a physicist, writer and retired Idaho State University faculty member who now spends his time with family, riding bicycles and motorcycles, arranging and playing music. His writing on Substack, “Howlin' at the Moon in ii-V-I” may be found at martinhackworth.substack.com. Follow him on Twitter @MartinHackworth