The legendary LES PAUL is not only a master of the electric guitar—he invented it.
BY BRET LOVE
PHOTOGRAPHY BY MATTHEW SALACUSE
Though his name may not be as familiar as inventors such as Alexander Graham Bell, Thomas Edison or Henry Ford, some might argue that
Les Paul’s contribution to humanity is every bit as significant as the telephone, light bulb or automobile.
Born and raised in Wisconsin’s Waukesha County, Paul’s frustrations with the limitations of the acoustic guitar in the ’30s led him to create an electric guitar prototype (later known as the Gibson Les Paul) that remains the standard of excellence today.
Over the course of an influential 70-year career, which included a broad range of country, pop and jazz hits, he also blazed trails in the fields of multitrack recording and effects processors. In short, without Paul, there would never have been a Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck or Eric Clapton, all of whom have made pilgrimages to pay homage to the Wizard of Waukesha.
Now, at the age of 92, Paul still performs once a week at New York City’s Iridium Jazz Club, and is awaiting the opening of an exhibit in his honor at the Waukesha County Historical Society & Museum, as well as the PBS premiere of “Chasing Sound,” a documentary about his life’s work. We recently had the honor of speaking with the music legend himself.
What are some of your fondest memories of growing up in Waukesha?
The most important one was the exposure to the radio, telephone and phonograph. I lived close to the WTMJ radio station and got the chance to study engineering there. I also took piano lessons from Bob Downey, who lived close to my home. Finally, being able to play at all the clubs around Waukesha gave me all the breaks I needed in my career.
What inspired you to want to play music in the first place?
There was a ditch-digger working out in front of our house, and on his lunch hour he played the blues harmonica. I leaped off the front porch and went down and stared at him. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It attracted me so much, he handed it to me and said, “I think you want this more than I do!” Just as I reached for it, my mom took it and says, “You’re not playing this thing until I boil it!” I’ve been boiling my guitars ever since!
You started on harmonica and piano, so what made you take up the guitar?
My mother was the one who said, “[When you play piano] you’ve got your back to the audience, and you’re not gonna find a piano down at the beach.” I tried the saxophone, but my mother pointed out that I couldn’t sing with a sax in my mouth. So I went to the accordion, then a couple of other instruments, before I tried the banjo. Shortly after that, I heard my first guitar player on WTMJ.
I used to ride my bike—even in the rain—to sit under that transmitter and listen. The sound amazed me, and I wondered what it would be like to hear it come out of a loudspeaker. One day, the engineer invited me to come inside out of the rain and said, “You sure are intrigued with electronics.” I told him I loved it, and he said if I came out every Sunday, he’d teach me how things worked. That was a very important step in my life.
When did you start your own electronic experiments?
As soon as I could play and people told me I was pretty good.
I couldn’t take their word for it—I wanted to hear it myself—so I rigged up a phonograph recorder with a crank telephone. Long before I knew what Edison did, I was making my own aluminum records in my dad’s garage. All of a sudden, here I am deep into electronics and music. Everybody in Waukesha loved it so much, I built my own radio station so I could broadcast my music around the neighborhood.
You’re credited as the inventor of the electric guitar. How did you develop the first rig?
There was a BBQ place in Waukesha I used to play on Saturday nights. I rigged up a PA system that consisted of my mother’s radio speaker and a telephone. I sang into the telephone and was heard through the speaker. I was playing for cars that would drive in, and they would send requests up to me. One night, I got a note that said my system was very good, but my guitar wasn’t loud enough. So I went home and got a phonograph pickup and jabbed it into the top of the guitar, but I got a lot of feed back. So, I tried to shove socks and rags into it, but there were still problems. Finally, I realized the best thing to do was to test two mock-up guitars: one was a string stretched across a plank of soft pine and the other was a string stretched across steel from a railroad track. The wood sounded terrible, but the steel was sensational! I ran and told my mom that the railroad track made a great guitar, and she said, “The day you see a cowboy on a horse holding a piece of railroad track…” She blew me outta the water, so I started looking for a denser wood material that would allow the guitar to sustain notes.
How did you establish your historic connection with Gibson?
Finding a company interested in making electric guitars was the biggest problem of all. Gibson thought of me as a character with the broomstick with pickups stuck to it; for 10 years I was just a joke. Finally, the phone rings one day and the people from Gibson ask me to bring “that gadget” down to their offices. So, I brought the gadget to Chicago and played for Gibson’s chairman of the board, who was amazed, but skeptical. He wanted a lot of tests done, but eventually everyone had the opinion that the electric guitar was a great idea. The acoustic guitar is sweet and beautiful, but the electric is a super-brute: Turn the volume up and you could be louder than any instrument in the band! But, you could also change the tone, which was the most important thing.
Nowadays, the Gibson Les Paul is the standard by which other electric guitars are measured. How does it feel to have your name associated with such a revered brand?
It’s the most rewarding thing that ever could’ve happened, along with the inventions of the multi-track tape machines and all of the other electronic stuff that followed suit. They wouldn’t have all these digital recording devices and computers or the electric guitar if it hadn’t been for good old Waukesha. I was lucky enough to start there.
You still play weekly gigs in New York City. What keeps you going, even in your 90s?
I like having a reason to get outta bed in the morning and do something that is terribly important. I had a little 11-year-old violinist who was very good up on stage with me last night, doing what I did when I was his age. I love the wide demographic of the audience, and their reaction to the music, how they love and remember it and what it meant to their lives. When I sign autographs after the show, people from Ireland or Tokyo or Russia will tell me, “You have no idea what you did to my life.” They are very touching moments. Last night there was a woman in the front row bawling like a baby because I played something that meant so much to her. It’s a pleasure to play for them, to talk and laugh and share stories.
How does it feel to be performing in Waukesha for the first time in more than 20 years?
It feels like just yesterday, because I don’t think they’ve changed the bandstand one single bit since I lived there. All the memories are still there, though many things have changed.
You’ve played a benefit for the Waukesha County Historical Society & Museum, which plans to use the money to fund a permanent exhibit on your life and career. How do you feel about that honor?
Well, I think these things should have a home, and their home should be where my home was. The Smithsonian would like to have all these things, but I know if I put ‘em there they’ll probably end up in some warehouse in Baltimore. If I put ‘em in Waukesha, they’ll be on display forever. It’s more important to me that the young people are encouraged to fulfill their dreams. I want them to see that they can win that ball game; you just have to believe and have the get-upand-go to make it happen.
