by Joe Satriani
The final thing Andy focused on was my melody guitar line, which he fed into a combination of Prime Time chorusing, reverb, and compression and brought its return back on a separate fader. By creating this unique space for the sound he was able to give it a depth that allowed you to find it instantly without it having to be loud and in your face. He would ride that fader during the mix to create a changing "space" for the main guitar. That solved the problem of placing the wah-wah guitar sound in the mix, and it was a brilliant idea.
Andy Johns: Joe came into the control room the next day and listened to what I had in mind, and I remember he turned around to me and gave me a very nice compliment when he said, "I didn't know you were doing all that, man. I've never heard myself sound like that. That’s absolutely fabulous."
One of my other favorite songs from that record is "Friends," which is a difficult one to describe stylistically. I remember the idea for the song came to me one afternoon when my mother and sisters were over visiting us in Berkeley, and we were all going to go to lunch. And I said, "You know what? I'm going to stay home. I feel like I'm gonna write a song, so I'd like to just hang out for a few hours." So they all left me alone in the apartment, and I had a photo book that Rubina had brought home with the smiling faces of children from around the world. I remember looking through the pages, and I came across a page of some six- or eight-year-old kids, maybe somewhere in Africa, just beaming and smiling into the camera. So I left that page open and wrote the song on bass while I was staring at that picture. It was just one of those things that was very easy and fun to write. It’s a celebratory song, and I'll never forget the excitement when we heard our first take of "Friends" played back for us at Ocean Way. Everyone was wondering beforehand, "What’s this going to sound like? Andy’s a crazy guy . . ." He'd called us in and said, "I think you guys should come in and listen to this." I don't think any of us had ever heard anything so big and beautiful, ever! Hearing it made us want to run out there and play all day long, because each one of us was saying, "My instrument sounds bigger than it has ever sounded before. It’s finally captured in all its glory!" We were just so psyched about it.
That’s me in late ’70 or early ’71 in bassist Steve Muller’s basement. Guitarist John Riccio’s amp towers above me in the back.
PHOTO BY STEVE MULLER
John Riccio; me; my brother, John (sitting); and bassist John Gordon jamming in my backyard in ’71
PHOTO BY SATRIANI FAMILY ARCHIVES
My first band’s business card. We never played a gig! I’m not sure who came up with the name. My sister Carol provided the lettering.
PHOTO BY JOE SATRIANI
This was the business card for the first “real” band I played with back in high school
PHOTO BY JOE SATRIANI
My ’68 Fender Telecaster and Univox amp in my room in late ’71
PHOTO BY JOE SATRIANI
Me in my Westbury, Long Island, basement on New Year’s Eve ’71
PHOTO BY SATRIANI FAMILY ARCHIVES
Just getting started in Berkeley, CA, ’79
PHOTO BY KATHERINE SATRIANI
The Squares after a Berkeley Square show in ’81
PHOTO BY SAUL GRABIA
The Squares at Berkeley Square in ’81
PHOTO BY JEFF HOLT
The Squares backstage at the Keystone Berkeley club circa ’82
PHOTO BY RUBINA SATRIANI
Teaching at Second Hand Guitars, Berkeley, CA, circa ’85
PHOTO BY RUBINA SATRIANI
A page from my Joe Satriani EP notebook for “Banana Mango”
PHOTO BY JOE SATRIANI
Not of This Earth 2-inch tape box, side one
PHOTO BY JOE SATRIANI
Not of This Earth 2-inch tape box, side two
PHOTO BY JOE SATRIANI
That’s me at a Bamboo rehearsal in S.F., most likely in ’85
PHOTO BY CHRIS WITT KETNER
Surfing with The Alien mix reels
PHOTO BY JOHN CUNIBERTI
At Hyde Street’s Studio C with my Black Dog in hand in ’87
PHOTO BY JOHN SIEVERT
Jeff Campitelli hamming it up for the camera in Hyde Street’s Studio C in ’87
PHOTO BY JOHN CUNIBERTI
Me and Steve Vai backstage at The Limelight, Chicago, July of ’87
PHOTO BY ROBERT HAKALSKI
Me and Mick Jagger at S.I.R. Studios, New York City, rehearsing for his solo tour on February 20, 1988
PHOTO BY EBET ROBERTS
Manager Bill Graham and me backstage in ’88
PHOTO BY NEIL ZLOZOWER
Me and Kirk Hammett backstage, S.F., in ’88. Note my new braces!
PHOTO BY PAT JOHNSON
John Cuniberti and me in Studio C at Hyde Street, S.F., ’89
PHOTO BY KEN FRIEDMAN
Sunset down by the water in Berkeley, CA, in ’89
PHOTO BY MARK LEIALOHA
Steve Vai and me after a long photo session with Neil Zlozower in L.A. in ’89
PHOTO BY NEIL ZLOZOWER
Me and Stuart Hamm on the Flying tour, 1990
PHOTO BY MARK LEIALOHA
On tour in ’90 playing acoustic
PHOTO BY LARRY DIMARZIO
My tech Mike Manning tuning guitars on the road in ’90
PHOTO BY JOE SATRIANI
1990 Ibanez/Flying in a Blue Dream ad
PHOTO BY ROBERT HAKALSKI
Doug Wimbish, Phil Ashley, Simon Phillips, and me at Bearsville, late ’90
PHOTO BY JOHN CUNIBERTI
Sitting at the Bearsville console in late ’90
PHOTO BY JOHN CUNIBERTI
Andy Johns, Matt and Gregg Bissonette, and me at Ocean Way Studios, L.A., ’92
PHOTO BY LORI STOLL
That’s me with Gregg and Matt Bissonette in the Ocean Way control room, with Andy Johns coming up behind us. L.A., ’92.
PHOTO BY LORI STOLL
Performing on the Extremist tour in ’92
PHOTO BY NEIL ZLOZOWER
Me with an Ibanez JS/Tele-ish prototype guitar at a video shoot for “All Alone” in ’93
PHOTO BY JOHN CUNIBERTI
Glyn Johns and me at The Site, 6/14/1995
PHOTO BY JAY BLAKESBERG
Recording at The Site in ’95
PHOTO BY JAY BLAKESBERG
Eric Johnson, me (shirtless!), Jeff Campitelli, Stuart Hamm, and Steve Vai at G3 rehearsals in Arizona in ’96
PHOTO BY NEIL ZLOZOWER
My home studio in panorama circa ’01
PHOTO BY JON LUINI
Eric Caudieux at The Plant for the SBM record in ’02
PHOTO BY JOE SATRIANI
Matt Bissonette recording with my ’64 P-Bass at The Plant in ’02
PHOTO BY JOHN CUNIBERTI
Mike Manning tunes a JS1000 painted by Nicholas Del Drago at The Plant in ’03
PHOTO BY JOE SATRIANI
Robert Fripp having a bit of fun with ZZ’s skateboard after a G3 show in Spain in ’04
PHOTO BY JOE SATRIANI
Me and Les Paul after his ninetieth birthday party show at Carnegie Hall, New York in ’05
PHOTO BY DAVE ALLOCCA
Producer Mike Fraser, me, and Jeff Campitelli with wigs, posing like rockstars at Armoury Studios in Vancouver in ’05
PHOTO BY ARMOURY STUDIOS
Jeff Campitelli at Armoury Studios in Vancouver for the Super Colossal sessions in ’05
PHOTO BY RONN DUNNETT
Listening back to a solo at The Plant during the Satchafunkilus sessions in ’07
PHOTO BY JOHN CUNIBERTI
Chickenfoot at Sammy’s studio in ’08
PHOTO BY LEANN MEULLER
Andy Johns and John Cuniberti at Sammy’s studio during the Chickenfoot I sessions in ’08
PHOTO BY JOHN CUNIBERTI/JAMIE DURR
After some Chickenfoot mayhem at Shepherd’s Bush, in London in ’09
PHOTO BY RUBINA SATRIANI
Sammy and me a
t Shepherd’s Bush with Chickenfoot in ’09
PHOTO BY CHRISTIE GOODWIN
Chickenfoot at Shepherd’s Bush in ’09
PHOTO BY CHRISTIE GOODWIN
Jeff Campitelli, Mike Keneally, me, and Allen Whitman in hazmat suits at Skywalker Studios in ’10
PHOTO BY ARTHUR ROSATO
That’s me with my lightsaber using “the Force” at Skywalker in ’13
PHOTO BY ARTHUR ROSATO
Me and Mike Fraser taking a break from the Unstoppable Momentum sessions at Skywalker in ’13
PHOTO BY ARTHUR ROSATO
Vinnie Colaiuta, Chris Chaney, Mike Keneally, and me at Skywalker
PHOTO BY VINNIE COLAIUTA
Vinnie took this shot of me at Skywalker during a short break in the action in ’13
PHOTO BY VINNIE COLAIUTA
Warming up backstage before a show in Bucharest during the first week of the Unstoppable Momentum tour in ’13
PHOTO BY RUBINA SATRIANI
The Unstoppable Momentum live band with the Steve Morse band, backstage in ’13
PHOTO BY BOB MUSSELL PHOTO
Live in the UK in ’13
PHOTO BY CHRISTIE GOODWIN
Gregg Bissonette: With that song, Joe and Matt and I hit it off because we wanted the same thing: we wanted Joe to have an album that he was proud of. So whether he'd ask me to play a beat forward or backward, if it’s something you want, and you're paying me to play on your record, and we can succeed in getting the sound you want, that’s the greatest gift ever.
I was excited about "New Blues" as well. The melody and chord sequence of the chorus section was new and exciting territory for me, and we had a lot of fun tracking the song back in Bearsville. The rhythm guitar in that song was done live, and it’s all two-hand tapping. Funny thing is, when the album came out, nobody asked me about that, and I realized that no one had ever done that before, working two-hand tapping into the structure of a real song where the technique wasn't the "showboat element" of the song. It wasn't meant to be, "Hey, look at me, I'm tapping!" It was part of the ensemble and it went over everybody’s head, so part of me patted myself on the back and said, "You did your job. That’s what you wanted to do, to show the validity of two-hand tapping as part of the ensemble." But the other part of me said, "How come no one patted me on the back for pulling that off?" Ha! I guess I did it too well, and it just went under the radar. That’s part of the art of arranging and composing: You don't want to reveal the structure and distract people like that all the time. It’s really about the music, not about the technique. And I truly loved that song, as it brought a lot of my jazz roots to the record.
"Crying" was a difficult song to record because it was about my father’s passing and my grieving process. When writing the song, I guess I was at that point where I was focusing on the good memories and trying to carry on. So each time I would go to work on the song there'd be this emotional intensity, but I would have to be professional about it as I tried to get people to play it. It was also a bit heartbreaking during the sessions when I couldn't get people to play it the way I wanted them to. It was always difficult for me to get into the proper head space, because you either open the floodgates or you keep them closed—you can't just open the door a little bit and think you're going to get a great performance and keep your act together. If you're producing a track, you can't be an emotional wreck. So I arrived at the last sessions with the Bissonette brothers to once again try to do this track. I was thinking, "I've gotta give the definitive performance on this song, get this cathartic thing recorded and carry on." The emotional roller coaster of working on the song was wearing me out.
I remember being in the control room with Andy while Gregg and Matt were out in the music room, and we did this take that turned out remarkably well. Andy turned around and said to me, "Amazing! That was the take! What are you plugged into?" It wasn't supposed to be "the take" for me; it was supposed to be a guide track for Matt and Gregg. I wanted this to be my ultimate emotive performance on the album, and we recorded it almost by accident!
Andy Johns: He actually made me cry because he was playing like a bird. His elegance in the melancholy moment, you can hear the man thinking, and when he was done, and I listened, of course I shed tears. And he has this absolutely astounding technique, which isn't just rich on purpose, it’s to emote. I admire that so very much. I really do think one of the things on that record that blew me away most was the song "Crying," because he did play that through a box, and I thought, "This is a very soulful thing. I'm going to leave the room and let him get it on his own." when I came back in, he played this spectacular thing and it made me cry, and I took it home when the record was finished, and I and my wife got a couple bottles of Champagne—as she does whenever I finish an album—and I put it on my system, which is a pretty good one, and I turned around and one of my kids also had tears running down his face. So Joe’s take definitely had the desired effect upon people.
When I finished playing it, I was relieved, because I had carried that performance in me for years. When I finally heard the playback I thought, "That’s it. That’s what I've been waiting to perform," and I didn't care that I had put my guitar through a Zoom headphone amp and not a "proper" amp. Just, "Thank God we have a recording of it."
I had an unusual experience writing "War." I was in a local supermarket in San Francisco, where we'd just moved from Berkeley. I remember I was doing some shopping, and the news was on about the war that was getting started in Iraq. And I just remember thinking, "War is hell. People should avoid war at all times. It never turns out good," and I started writing that riff right there in my head. Anytime that happens to me, I get very excited about finishing something—if I've created something that sounds so easy and yet the structure of it is so bizarre, I get very excited by it. When I got home, I picked up the guitar and started to flesh out the song, and there were a lot of things about it that were important to me. Harmonically I thought it was a very interesting way to suspend tension and hold off resolution. This served the meaning of the song well. The chord combination in the chorus was unique, too: D minor to D minor (add) 9 followed by A flat 6/9/Major 7th (#11). I thought to myself that nobody had tried that before.
It’s one of those things nobody ever noticed or asked me about, but I loved it! I never heard, "Man, what’s up with that chord progression?" and I'm happy I didn't in one respect, because that means I did my job very well. I didn't make them think about the structure, in other words; all they're doing is reacting to the music, which is what I wanted. But at the same time, part of me was saying, "I just wish one musician would come up to me and say, 'Wow, the bass line drops a flatted fifth while the upper partials are suspended second chords dropping by a whole step . . .'" Those are the things that, when I'm composing, I go, "Wow, look at that harmonic structure, and look how I can play a melody on top of it that sounds so powerful and yet is so simple." That’s what creates the tension and resolution. That’s what tells the story. That’s where the art form of harmony can really be put to work. I love that—that’s what I've devoted myself to in part as a composer, to unlock the secrets of compositional harmony.
Cliff Cultreri: Joe came up with the title for the album, The Extremist, while he was visiting me down at my house in Hermosa Beach, actually at a cookout at the house of a neighbor friend of mine. He was grilling some fish on the barbecue and doing his wonderful gourmet thing, and we were talking about the concept, batting around different ideas for the title, and Joe was talking about going from the precise drum machine— everything perfect, every beat here and there—to the question of "How do we do live in the studio?" And I always favored that, because I didn't just want a live-in-the-studio album, but I wanted something that was almost a little bit chaotic in a way. I wanted some energy—let’s see what happens when things aren't all mapped out and going by the numbers— because I would always cite certain albums and how they were recorded, and Joe was on the same page. So as we're talking a
bout doing this, my friend Philippe says, "Joe, you're crazy, you're such an extremist." And that’s where the album title came from, my neighbor calling Joe an extremist because of the way he wanted to work and push these new boundaries! I think it allowed him to finish it by using the title as kind of an inspiration.