By James Healy
STAFF WRITER
Four decades as a rock guitarist have left Robin Trower,
Mr. Bridge of Sighs, with little to fret about.
Aside from the loss of his vintage-guitar collection, which vanished
in the 1970s ("an inside job," he says), and some albums he wishes had
never materialized, the British guitarist looks back over the ages and
practically shrugs.
"I like to think about the future more," he says by phone after arriving
stateside for a national tour.
Trower, who confesses an aversion to practicing and says he's "not a
very practical person," won't even venture a guess as to how many solo
albums he's released since his 1972 departure from Procol Harum, which
he'd joined as guitarist in 1967.
"I honestly don't know how many. Too many, actually. There's a few in there
that I wish I hadn't made, I can tell you that -- a couple in the '80s
that I wish would disappear off the face of the Earth."
The guitarist, whose 1974 album "Bridge of Sighs" evoked a gush of comparisons
to Jimi Hendrix (a primary influence to this day, he admits), continues
to hone his skills in a Holy Grail-like pursuit.
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"With a three-piece,
you're on the edge the whole time of it working and not working. Because,
really, with a three-piece there is a guy missing." |
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"You're always learning about your instrument. It's
a never-ending task, really. I'm just trying to move forward. Like the
blues album (1997's "Someday Blues"), which was a real challenge. I feel
like I progressed a long way to get that stuff right.
"I'm always trying to come up with something that tickles me, anyway."
A recent challenge for Trower, who until "Someday Blues" was vocally
silent, has been learning to simultaneously play guitar and sing.
It was longtime bass player James Dewar who sang on classics like "Lady
Love," "Too Rolling Stoned" and "Messin' the Blues." Although he and Dewar
were to reunite in 1983, Trower said collaboration is no longer possible.
"I'm afraid Jimmy had a stroke some years back. It's a great shame, a great
loss to the music world."
Singing, he says, "is a whole new thing I've had to learn. But I'm now
a bit more comfortable with it. Starting so late in life, it's quite a
trick to pull it off."
It's also added a dimension to his live performance, which Trower says
is the mainstay of his musical career. (Look for "This Was Now," a double
live disc on V-12 Records, in the near future, Trower says; one disc is
from a 1974 concert, the other from last year's tour.)
"I want to keep up on the instrument, and performing live is the best
way, because I'm not a practicing player. I can't sit and practice at home
-- I find that very difficult. And it must be because I'm lazy, fundamentally,
that way.
"But you're inspired in front of an audience, you've got to get on with
it and there's no prevarication about it."
Back to basics
Procol Harum aside, Trower almost always has played in a trio -- including
a 1980s stint in BLT, which featured Jack Bruce, himself an alumnus of
prototype power trio Cream, on bass.
Trower says he enjoys the challenge offered by a trio's somewhat tenuous
framework. "With a three-piece, you're on the edge the whole time of it
working and not working. Because, really, with a three-piece there is a
guy missing."
Once spellbound by technology, Trower prefers a simpler approach today.
"I use pretty much the same pedal setup as I did then. But I had a period
through the middle '70s where I was really into effects, on albums like
'In City Dreams' and 'Caravan to Midnight.' I was trying to synthesize
the guitar sound into something else, basically. But I fell out of favor
with that and decided to go more back to the basic guitar sound."
By no means does Trower shun the modern tools or toys of his trade. But
he's careful with their use.
"I tend to like the sound more of the old- fashioned stuff, tape and
tubes. It's more musical sounding. It's possible to use technology, even
the most modern, as long as you keep in mind what the possibilities are,
and what you're trying to get out of the sound. I prefer a mixture of the
two."
The guitarist, whose smoldering, occasionally mystical, blues-tinged
rock was a staple of FM radio's "progressive rock" era of the mid- '70s,
laments the airwaves' now-distorted mission.
"I get the impression it's not so important, artistically. It just turns
into something to sell product. It's all about the advertising people,
isn't it? Whereas I remember in the late '60s and around that period, a
big part of what they were doing was just putting on music that they really
believed in. I don't think it's such a cultural development thing as it
used to be.
© Copyright 1999 Union-Tribune
Publishing Co.
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