Ibanez dates back to pre-World War 2, with origins
in Spain, but they really came into prominence
from the famous "lawsuit" models in the 1970s.
Here's a couple that are awfully Fenderish, and
one that's less Paul than original, if you catch
my drift.
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"Mediocre minds imitate. Great minds steal."
- Show business truism As you can see, the company
duplicated the famous deigns of big American
guitar giants like Gibson, Fender, and even
Rickenbacker. But while the guitars looked and
even played similar (or better), the price tags
were a lot easier to deal with. Then as now,
Ibanez wasn't afraid of putting the player ahead
of playing nice with their competitors. This
also gave the company the reputation of a shoddy
Japanese-made product. (There was a lot of that
going around in the early '70s, but like Honda
and Toyota versus the AMC Gremlin, the best
products won out in the end. They always do.)
As the decade moved on, the company started
innovating, rather than imitating. The Artist
series guitars for George Benson, the Iceman
model for Paul Stanley (KISS) and the Destroyer
for Adrian Smith (Iron Maiden) put the company
in the hands of some of the most influential
players of the day. They also established Ibanez
as the burner of choice for metal maniacs, and
set the stage for what would become the company's
elecric mainstay, the Roadster. Here's George
and his axe:
J of White Zombie with his Iceman. (Paul Stanley
has, alas, moved on to another manufacturer. Never
let it be said that the man didn't know how to
cash a check.)
and some Destroyer action. Remember, if the
guitar wasn't pointy, you weren't allowed to
play lead.
The first RGs hit the stage in 1986... and
no working hard rock player was complete without
his glow-in-the-everything paint job, some hair
that spanned a zip code or two, some usually
unfortunate leather and spandex, and oh yes
- an Ibanez. Here's what the RG looks like today,
simply because the '80s pics are a little too
scary.
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No matter what you may think of the era or the
music, know this: that was a flat-out *great*
time to be a lead guitarist. Extended solos
were still possible, showmanship was encouraged
to a degree that was never seen before (or since),
and your RG was right in the thick of things.
If you could get past the gunslinger-like 'who
plays faster' arguments, you were golden. Perhaps
this is overstating the point, but I kinda think
the entire era might not have been possible
without Ibanez. After all, that kind of work
requires a guitar that would take a pounding,
and yet stay in tune. Guitar tones were still
clean enough to betray the sloppy player, and
it's not as if the lead player was fighting
to be heard in the mix. And since the RG didn't
cost more than your car, it let you be a showman
without pulling punches. But enough sociology:
let's get into what made this guitar great.
A Strat style, lightweight body, locking tremolo
system (Floyd or Kahler) and a humbucker in
the bridge position carried the mail. (Extra
groupies for anyone with a custom graphic on
the body.) Paralyzed by their history, Gibson
and Fender were hard to find in working bands
at this time. Most up-and-comers went with the
super skinny necks and pointy headstocks. Of
course, Ibanez wasn't alone in making a guitar
for the young and the restless. No history would
be complete without at least a nod to Jackson/Charvel,
Kramer, and B.C Rich. But since Ibanez had fifteen
years in the trenches to go with their history
of outstanding value, as well as the sense to
continue innovating their designs, they were
in more hands for that movement. They also had
the best chance of being in the hands of the
next pioneer. The place was Seattle, and you
can still hear the effects today. Consider for
a moment that the same guitar maker who led
the power-metal movement of the '80s was also
the axe of choice for grunge. How amazing is
that, really? Every new movement rejects the
most recent past, none more dramatically than
grunge. And yet an Ibanez was the axe for both
camps. (And as you will see below, jazz players
as well.) Amazing. Kramer sank, B.C. Rich remained
a niche player, and Charvel/Jackson stayed more
or less the same. The big boys started getting
back into the game with cheap knock-offs that
promised to out-Ibanez Ibanez. But it never
happened, and Ibanez rolled with the changes
through good designs, better values, and relentless
playability. New masters like Steve Vai and
Joe Satriani joined the fold, and the Floyd
Rose marched on. And then -- yet again, really
-- the company anticipated the future with seven-string
models.
Here's Joe and his guitars. Surfin' with the
Alien, indeed:
Traditionalists can scoff at 7-string as just
being mere mud, and jazzmen (oh, didn't you know
that Pat Metheny plays Ibanez? See the pics below
for the proof) may shake their heads about how
their baby has grown up all wrong, but the only
way to predict the growth of this axe was to get
outside of the rock world. For what is 7-string,
really, but a way for the guitar to tap into bass-happy
danceland? Yeah, yeah, yeah - Korn isn't making
dance music, at least not the kind you'll find
in the hip-hop clubs. But the concept is the same:
give the people what they want (bass in yo' face!)
and bring it into the Sabbath world. Remember
what we said great minds do, after all.
So Vai got one (the Jem series; see a catalog
page for it, as well as Steve playing it), and
he promptly kicked out some avante-garde insanity
that shook players all over. The Korn boys grabbed
them and promptly changed metal. (Some people
claim it was all Metallica's doing, but it's hard
to give a band that attempts to subpoena people
who share its music credit for anything anymore.
But I digress.) And the (heavy, heavier and heaviest)
beat goes on.
Now, before you run off and check out all of the
cool pictures, facts and links to all things Ibanez
(more whenever I can update the page, so drop
a bookmark here, too), let me drop a personal
story about what the guitar means to me. When
I first got serious about playing my own music,
I met a funk-rock player in a legendarily crazy
East Coast funk band (names are withheld to protect
the very guilty). This guy delivered pizzas between
gigs, smoked most of what he made, was as gentle
as old hound dog, and could solo in the pocket
like you just don't care. Most people in my scene
couldn't get over how weird his band was to realize
just how good of a player he was, but once you
just listened to the guitar, it became pretty
damn clear that the man could play. (Remember,
Vai started with Frank Zappa, God bless his soul.)
My gig was punk, so I never had the chance to
bring him into the fold on a full-time basis.
But when some primo studio time fell into my lap
while my band was between guitarists, I gave him
a guest shot on some tracks.
Every gig I ever saw this guy play, he used a
cheep cheep cheep Ibanez with the most mangled
Fender amp you ever did see. It always sounded
good, but that's live, and we're in a monster
studio. So I've got a collector friend with me,
and he's brought a Paul Reed Smith, a classic
Fender, a vintage Les Pauls, an authentic Telecaster,
and the list goes on. We're a freakin' music store
waiting to happen, and in walks my man with his
Ibanez and a smile. The man didn't even have a
case!
Long story shorter: an hour and six mic set-ups
and tests later, the PRS is safe and secure in
its flight case. The Les Paul goes home. The Fender
is in my hands, but it's not plugged in. The low-end
Ibanez - probably $200 new, and something you
probably wouldn't spend $50 for - is in front
of gold-tipped mics, and we use it on every track.
Iit comes out as warm, clean, lush and lovely
as anything we ever recorded. It's a miracle,
it's all true, and it's why I play an Ibanez today.
You should, too.
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