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  • Trevor Larkin - the Happy Nomad Guitarist is Stone Rollin'

    It’s a cliché to say that we’re all basically the same, but it’s true...

    By Team HC |

    by Blake Wright


    SINGER, SONGWRITER, guitarist, Berklee graduate, podcast host, newsletter author, essayist, solo artist, member of the Allen Stone band, world traveler — such is Trevor Larkin, a self-described “happy nomad” and public person who keeps a surprisingly low profile.


    He’s been on the move since a young age, relocating a few times with his family, and exploring internationally with them while growing up. It fostered a sense of discovery and a desire to see the world, as well as opening his eyes and mind to new cultures and sounds. All of this has informed his music and his prose, as well as building a perfect foundation for being a member of Stone’s band.


    “I’m very lucky and grateful that we had the reason and the means to travel,” he says, looking back. “It was very special. When you travel, you realize important things. You realize that the human condition is a universal one. It’s a cliché to say that we’re all basically the same, but it’s true. We all want our bellies to be full, we want shelter, we want to feel love, and we want to feel a part of something greater than ourselves, and that can manifest in a lot of different ways.”



    Trevor Larkin - The Happy Nomad Guitarist is Stone Rollin'



    “You realize that no one has the monopoly on good ideas. There are a whole lot of ways to live life that are beautiful. I’m grateful to have traveled in the Third World as well, because you encounter challenging situations, and when you see people’s humanity shine through that, and that sense of community, and cultivation of purpose, and the kindness in environments that are truly horrific and impossible, especially to Westerners—I feel lucky to have experienced a lot of that at a young age.”


    “From a musical standpoint, you appreciate the different cultures and what all these musical languages have to offer, and that a career in music doesn’t have to be in the United States, and that’s valuable too. Also to be willing to go on that journey with your art. I feel I’m in a position to do that—to go where the wind blows, sharing my songs from the road, taking the podcast on the road, and that’s powerful. I live my life out there. It’s in my nature to float around wherever inspiration and opportunity take me, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m embracing that. It’s hard for me to imagine a life without travel.”


    Larkin was waiting for the new Allen Stone album to be finalized, and make its way to mixing and master- ing, when Gearphoria caught up with him. Mostly he was eager to begin a fall tour and bring some new material to live audiences. “It’s in my DNA to travel,” he says. “I recharge and burn cleaner on the road. My writing is better, I think clearer, my mood improves, and my energy improves.”



    Live To Play Live: Trevor, Allen and the rest of the band play live to a packed house on the recent Radius Tour



    Gearphoria: Let’s start with the new album. How far along are you, what can you tell us, and also let’s talk about how you like to record guitars.


    TREVOR: My general philosophy, and how I approach it live, is I’m very much a guitar-cable-amp kind of guy. I’ve got maybe three ped- als on the floor, because the Allen Stone project is a keyboard-heavy thing, and Allen plays guitar too, and if I have too much going on, it doesn’t work. I’ll try to get more ambitious with my guitars and ef- fects onstage, and then I’ll listen back to the board mix or Instagram clips that fans post, and the guitar just doesn’t cut through. It doesn’t sound very good. So my approach and my setup are very simple.

    Two shout-outs. Our producer, Jamie Lidell, is an absolute genius when it comes to sound and sound design. He was so much fun to work with for someone like myself, who doesn’t come to the table with a lot as far as nerdy gear goes. He was able to guide my hand and say, “Try this.”


    The other important player in all this is my buddy Nick Bearden from Jamestown Revival. He rented to us the majority of the vintage instruments that we used. I went to his house in Nashville, played through a bunch of his stuff, and picked out my favorites, because even though I don’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of gear, I know what good stuff sounds like and feels like, and I have my tastes aligned in a certain way. Those guitars sound really cool, and the record would not have been pos- sible if it wasn’t for him being a gear nerd and collecting all this stuff over the years.


    We had Studio A at Sound Emporium reserved for ten or twelve days, and 80 to 90 percent of the record was live in the room togeth- er with no headphones, no click track, nothing. We had all the amps set up in line with the drum set, so everything was projecting out and there was minimal bleed into the microphones. So we had this great energy of playing live, and our favorite way to make music was how we recorded this album. We had most of the amps in the main tracking room, we had some stuff isolated—a whole percussion station and a miscellaneous instrument station—and whenever there was an idea, we could hop between those different areas and make music and see what happened.


    It was so much fun to go, “What does this do?” and listen to the sounds, and have Jamie or our chief engineer, Eddie Spear, who’s also a sound design genius, come in and start to manipulate it. It was cool to see them work, and I feel like I understood the whole inner workings of the sound just by being a fly on the wall with them.


    The best gear is a creative tool. You stomp on a stomp box, you manipulate a synthesizer, and what comes from that should be exciting and inspiring, and energize you to create the next section or embellish the section you’re working on. I was able to present them with cool parts and ideas that in turn were inspiring for them to sit down with a lot of equipment and do their part of it. It was a great partnership in the studio.


    Sometimes there is a tendency for the musician to play a passive role and let the producer and engineer take over, but that wasn’t the case. Everybody in the band contributed so much and everyone’s voice was heard. The end result, sonically, was so ambitious and so cool.


    The last record, Radius, didn’t have much guitar on it. The producer was more of a keyboard guy. So it was important for me, on this record, to have the guitar be an integral part of the arrangements. All the gear that Jamie brought into the studio was really cool because it sounds beautiful and dissonant and it’s ambitious. It was so much fun to create in that way.


    Most of the songs were written before we got to the studio, but we deliberately left them in a skeletal demo form. We didn’t embellish a lot of the ideas. We went to the studio and let the environment and equipment influence the creative process, which is how I know a piece of gear is really good—it’s something I’m excited about. It could be a simple piece of gear, like the MXR Univibe pedal. That is my love of the Police and Rush; that oscillating texture is so power- ful, especially when the keyboards are moving quite a bit, and the drums and keyboards and vocals fill up a lot of space. So for me to click on that Univibe and play an extended voicing, like a minor eleventh chord or a minor ninth, or something like that, and let that shimmer and float over the top of what they’re doing—stuff like that makes me so happy.


    Jamie was supportive of my voice on the instrument, and as he got to know me better as a player, the equipment he chose for the guitar sounds changed and evolved, and that was fun to see. The end result sounds like our voices on these songs, and it’s really cool. Ultimately, it goes back to is the song good, is the ini- tial idea really strong, are the parts you’re coming up with in the moment—do those sing? Do they sound like they belong in the band?


    We definitely had a few mo- ments when it was, “I feel like this is for us, as opposed to for the audience.” It’s cool to have a few of those moments for the fellow mu- sicians, but it’s easy to start losing the song in that, so we had to double-back and go, “When the fans listen to this, is there too much going on?” It’s a good sign, because it means we’re having fun in the studio, but are we losing the plot? It’s the same thing live. We can all play, and we all have our moments when that’s obvi- ous, but are we losing the plot? We’re constantly policing ourselves to make sure the music still sounds intentional. It’s great to have those moments, but not to the detriment of the song, and I think we’ve done a good job of balancing those two worlds.


    What led to recording in Nashville with Jamie Lidell? Obviously you live there, but what made the band choose Sound Emporium?


    We’re back with ATO Records, and while they have a voice in the room, we’re given a lot more freedom. We were given the green light to just go for it. We’re all fans of Jamie Lidell as an artist, and he is having a lot of success right now as a producer and writer. We needed someone who was willing to work with the band and let us do our thing, and who could connect with Allen on a deep level. Jamie has a lot of respect for us as musicians, so we were left to our own devices to be creative, and he spent a lot of time with Allen, listening to his ideas.


    Jamie is based in Nashville, so Sound Emporium was a logical choice. He has a great relationship with that studio, and our chief en- gineer is a good friend of Jamie’s who does a lot of work there, and Sound Emporium was able to work with our budget, so they won out pretty quickly. Also they do a lot of live sessions, and the A room is set up to be conducive to that type of environment and workflow. So it all made the most sense. And there’s something about Nashville.


    It’s a Southern city, it moves at a slower pace, and everything is accessible. The guys were staying ten minutes from the studio. That type of thing, being relaxed and not stressed out, is important for the creative process.


    The record was supposed to come out during the fall, but anyone signed to a label knows that if they say three months, expect it to take nine. That’s just how it works. I learned from Capitol that if you

    are signed to a label, when it’s time for them to take the ball, let them run with it. Whatever the pro- cess looks like, let them be there and figure it out. Provided everyone’s on the same page with the songs, however much time it takes is however much time it takes, and just be patient.


    The upside of that is this tour we’re doing in the fall. We haven’t toured as a full band in a while, so we need to build up some momentum again. The singles are doing well, and it feels like we’re back in a lane that makes sense and closer to where we need to be. Hopefully, when the record comes out early next year, the fans will be primed and excited. This is far and away the best record that this project has put out. It’s a big leap forward, a pronounced evolution.


    How so?


    For one, we’re playing live, and we wrote the majority of the songs together. Since we started play- ing in 2011, and since it became a full-time, internationally touring thing in 2012, what made the project successful is the band and Allen Stone performing together onstage. That’s the chemistry that’s special. That’s the lightning in a bottle. We’ve never honored that on a record before.




    Into it: Larkin moves between Strats and Teles with relative ease.



    There is almost no information about you anywhere. Here is what we know. You are from Seattle, graduated with honors from Berklee College of Music, and played in a house band called Vintage

    Pink on Sunday nights at the Sea Monster in Seattle, which is where you met Allen Stone. Let’s fill in the blanks going all the way back. First, are you originally from Seattle?


    No, I grew up in Walla Walla, a small town in Washington state.

    My sister and I were born in Chicago. We were there for a few years, then we moved to Los Gatos, California, and I was there until fourth grade or so. My dad was running a company that he sold, and one of his clients offered him a job running an educational soft- ware company in Walla Walla. I was in elementary school and my sister was in middle school. And so that’s where I grew up.

    I went to Berklee, graduated with honors, and moved to Seattle.



    When did you begin playing guitar?


    My parents are not musicians, but they are supportive of the arts, and music of some description was always going on in the house. I discovered on my own the desire to make and play music, which I think is powerful, because when I started playing guitar in my freshman year of high school, there was no period of “Do I want to do this or not?” It was 0 to 60 in 60 seconds flat.

    I was a big sports geek, and in those developmental years I was grateful for my sports background because that’s how I approached the guitar. It made sense to look at it from a technique standpoint and develop chops. So I focused on the technical side during those early stages. When I got to Berklee, I started to relax on that a little bit and expand creatively. Some people treat Berklee like a technical college. They study music production and engineering and zero in on that. My nature is to do a lot of things, so I treated it like a liberal arts school. I took classes in ethnomusicology, music therapy, music education, guitar performance, film scoring, production, engineering, music history, the list goes on and on.


    While there, I started appreciating myself as being a creative person rather than just a guitar player. I realized almost immediately, thank- fully, that the “virtuoso guitar play- er” route was not that exciting for me. What was exciting was to sit down with music, express myself, and feel like I understood it. That’s been my approach ever since.


    Right at my first year at Berklee is when I started writing songs and being more of a creative spirit rather than a technician, which is good, because when I was young, I wasn’t ready for that. There’s a certain amount of life experience that I feel needs to happen. You need to let your guard down, in a sense, in order to be open to cre- ativity. It was important for me to spend time with the metronome and the progressive metal records and shredding. During my sophomore year of high school I had a back condition get worse, so I wasn’t able to play sports at a high competitive level. Fortunately, the guitar was there, and heavy music was there, and I could get out my adolescent rage in a constructive way.



    New Wood: Something the Walla Walla Guitar Co. cooked up for Larkin...the Gypsy Guitar



    What happened between Berklee and Vintage Pink?


    I graduated from Berklee in two years. I was able to test out of a bunch of core classes. I took some college courses in high school at Whitman College, a liberal arts college in Walla Walla, so I didn’t have to do a lot of the general education requirements that Berklee had.


    I knew that I wasn’t ready for L.A. or New York. I was a sensitive, shy kid, and I knew I wasn’t ready for those places. So it was between London, England, and Seattle, Washington, because clearly a kid who isn’t ready for New York City is ready to leave the country and move to a city that’s just as formidable! But my parents are South African, so I’ve been to London many times over the years, and growing up in a British Com- monwealth household, there were a lot of cultural touchstones there that made sense to me. So it didn’t feel scary going to London. It felt familiar.


    I ultimately decided to go to Seattle, which was the right choice, absolutely. My plan was to spend six months to a year there and collect myself after Berklee, because I experienced such a shift in perspective there that I was overwhelmed and kind of burned out. So my plan was to go to this easier, more user-friendly city, gather myself, and then go to L.A. But I ended up getting some cool gigs and freelance work for the symphony and the opera and the ballet, and teaching lessons, and playing in punk and hardcore bands.


    I started my own Foo Fighters-style trio and we almost got signed to a label. But the band broke up and that led to playing in Vintage Pink at the Sea Monster on Sunday nights, just for fun. Everyone who subsequently became part of Allen’s band either sat in or played in the house band from time to time. Allen would sit in, and that was the genesis of it.


    I was asked to come along on a four-city tour in California, one of the first tours that Allen did. He wasn’t playing much at all, and nothing out of town. I don’t know how this tour came about, but he was offered a four-city run opening for Nikka Costa and he needed a band. So the core group of us

    got in the van and did these dates together, learned the tunes in the van, and the first time we played together was at soundcheck at the Independent in San Francisco. Everyone had a good time, we got a booking agent in L.A., at the Roxy, that we have to this day, and suddenly we were on the road.


    In a sense it’s bizarre, because it was seven years ago and there’s been some success, but the project was only supposed to be around for those four shows, so the rest of it has just felt like an added bonus for me. I haven’t overthought the process, I don’t ask too much of it, I’m just happy that it’s still happening.


    Over the past year or two, every-one in the band has been excited to get their own things happening outside of Allen Stone Universe. For me, that’s the podcasts and focusing on my own music again. That’s going to be happening in earnest over the fall, releasing songs and doing more one-take videos. My daily newsletter has a lot of subscribers, and that’s fun. I enjoy writing, and I look forward to keeping that going and having more articles and essays published.


    The Allen band is a great platform for being a creative spirit. Most bands at our level don’t travel the world as much as we do, but soul music is a universal language, so we get out and see things, and it’s an inspiring place to be. I’m grateful now that I’m honoring my genuine creative self and have all these outlets through which to express myself. That’s really exciting.


    And, over the course of the evolution of the band and my personal evolution within it, to take a look at the music I want to make, and the sounds I want to hear, and find the best piece of equipment for the job. The Univibe is a great example. There are plenty of pedals that are more boutiquey and expensive, but it’s a classic sound, it’s the thing I get excited about, and it works, so I stick with it. It’s fun for me to try different things and see what resonates and what doesn’t.


    Because of my nerdy disposition and what I’m into, and the way I write and talk, people expect me to know the exact dimensions of the screw in the headstock of the Suhr Tele, but my nerdiness hasn’t carried over so much into that world. There’s time. I’m still relatively young, so hopefully there’s time. But again, my focus from a gear standpoint is that gear as a creative tool is inspiring and I’m all about it, but if it’s just there because it sounds weird, it’s hard for me to get excited unless there’s an application for it in the song.



    Take One: Larkin produces a music video series called 'One Take Videos.'



    Let’s back up again. You had a scholarship to Berklee. What led to that? Your degree is in what, exactly, and what were you planning to do with it?


    Growing up in Walla Walla, there weren’t outlets to play. I would play with the weekend warrior guys at rodeos and monster truck rallies and stuff like that. We’d play Garth Brooks, AC/DC, Allman Brothers, crowd pleasers, and it was awesome.


    I was also playing in the standard high school bands, playing punk and thrashier stuff, and some fusion. I was taking jazz courses at Whitman College. I never gravitated to jazz as a player, but as a listener, I appreciated it and enjoyed the harmonic stuff. It was a great tool for learning about music. So it was an interesting combination of being totally fine onstage at a county fair, but also transcribing all the instruments for a Mahavishnu Orchestra record, learning progressive metal songs, and transcribing jazz vocal stuff.


    In between my junior and senior years of high school, I did a five-week summer course at Berklee. That was my first experience being around people my age who were as much into music as I was. Some professors came up to me during that course and told me that I should do the scholarship audition. My audition happened at the Hyatt Regency in downtown Vancouver, and for reasons I don’t understand, I played a bluegrass song. I shredded this bluegrass chicken-picking thing, which I think made a good impression on them. They were used to hearing the typical academic music, so to hit them over the head with bluegrass I think was really welcome, and they gave me a very nice scholarship.


    People ask me about Berklee all the time. Music school is a difficult concept for people to wrap their heads around, but what I tell people is that if you’re a musician, just own it. If you want to play punk music and get in a van, do it and dedicate your energy to that. It’s the same with music college. Go, be a student, embrace that, and soak up as much as you can, read every book, listen to all the music, play with everybody you can. That’s what I tried to do. Graduating was a very unsentimental time. I had enough credits, I left, and I got my diploma in the mail a few months later. But it was an important time in my life.


    I have a bachelor’s of music degree in professional music. It’s like a jack-of-all-trades degree.

    I took courses in everything that looked interesting, and I was able to do that because I had tested out of core requirements and general education. I was lucky enough to go in as a pretty good guitar player, so I got placed in some challenging ensembles. Professional music was a catch-all major for people who didn’t specialize in anything.


    Most people speak to you about Berklee and advise you to go in with a plan. I went in thinking I’d be a guitar performance major, but if you feel yourself pulled in another direction, listen to that. That can be a fruitful experience as well, letting the completely opposite thing happen. If you had told me back then that I would make my living playing guitar in a soul band, I would have laughed out loud. I never even really listened to soul music. So it’s funny where things take you when you’re open to opportunity and you’re not so committed to a specific path.


    There was a moment of “Now what?” after leaving Berklee, because I didn’t have a plan. I arrived in Seattle, and that degree was just exotic enough that I was able to get in pretty quickly with the symphony, the opera, and the ballet, and be hired on recording sessions for films and video games, and for teaching gigs. I was by no means a cool kid on the Seattle music scene, but I was busy all the time and I was making a living.


    When Allen Stone really took off in 2012, that was exciting because it was closer to what I had fantasized about as a kid—getting in the tour bus, playing big shows, traveling around the world, and being a guitar player. Over the past couple of years I transitioned into wanting to holistically share my own story, my music, and conversations and writing that veer away from the traditional guitar player stuff but to me are complementary to that. So I’m about to enter a new chapter in my career, and that’s exciting. My role in the Allen project is firm and established, and when we get together, it feels like a healthy place, so there’s a lot more mental real estate and time for me to expand into this new world that I occupy and what does that look like. It’s fun.


    Were you surprised by the success? What were the odds for a band like this one? At the same time, as you said earlier, soul music is universal.


    I felt both things equally, which maybe is a little strange. The likelihood of this kind of thing happening isn’t even one in a million; it’s one in ten million. It’s so unlikely that we may as well call it impossible. And the fact that it’s a soul artist, and a weird soul artist at that, with this motley crew of musicians in the band, it feels like we’re on a pirate ship a little bit. But there’s an honesty about it, and the way we’ve done it hasn’t been social media or a lot of the modern approaches that have broken the band. It’s been playing live.


    I have nothing against social media or the modern distribution of music. I’m a huge fan of it, actual- ly. But in the case of this band, we got in a van and pounded the road. By doing that, we found an audi- ence that was enthusiastic and supportive of what we were doing, in a way that online can’t be by virtue of the way the artist communicates. They started coming to shows, and we started seeing real money and got real offers and opportunities from real people to go overseas and do festivals and headlining tours and stuff like that.


    I think people gravitate toward authenticity. Especially in a world where there’s so much information, and people are inundated and their attention spans are pulled in all sorts of different directions, if the art is not spot-on and honest, people don’t have time for that. So we were fortunate to find a way to communicate that was honest, people followed and supported us, and we’re now in this neat position where the band is successful but it’s not famous, so we can play cool shows and live this unique and interesting life, but it’s low pres- sure and it feels sustainable, which is a great place to be.



    SOLO: Larking stands alone at rehearsal for the Special Olympics gig



    We have to talk about the Special Olympics. Allen always seems so happy and in the moment, and it really shows in that video. There’s such joy and exuberance in his performance. Is that contagious? If you’re having a bad day, or a bad mood, does being onstage with him bring you out of it?


    It sure can and it often does, and especially that performance, it was so special and cool. Allen said afterwards it’s the most fun he’s ever had playing music. It’s moments like that I feel grateful for. Not a lot of bands get the opportunity to play an event like that, and it was so remarkable. “Warriors” had just been released and it was the perfect soundtrack for that moment. That song will forever be associated with that incredible energy, that moment in the stadium, the euphoria that Allen experienced, and our joy as a band.


    It’s easy with this band to become lost, in the best way, in the music and the moment. We all comple- ment each other well with that. And Allen is a real, pure vocalist. He loves to sing. He communicates with the world through his voice. To be put in an environment like that where it’s keyed up to be “This is going to be perfect, this is amazing,” it’s absolutely contagious. As we’ve been around longer and matured as individuals and as a band, we find ourselves in situations like that more and more, where it’s like, “This moment needs these guys, and these guys are perfect,” because it is about joy, it is about this almost youthful exuberance.


    Coming from a background like mine, of a lot of time in a room with a metronome, definitely self-serious, it feels great to go onstage with these best friends of mine and smile and experience and share with an audience. My favorite thing to do is to look out over the crowd as we’re playing, and look at people who are smiling, dancing, crying, laughing, whatever the reaction, and be, “This is the reason why. This is my connection with music.” That’s another reason why I keep things simple with gear onstage—I don’t want to be performing this intricate ballet on my pedalboard and miss those moments. I want to communicate the music as quickly and effectively as possible so I can be on the same wavelength as the audience. And Allen brings that out of me, which I’m really grateful for.


    Was this band an adjustment for you as a guitarist?


    The role of the guitar is completely different in the Allen Stone band than what I grew up playing and what I’m used to. My background is as a rock and metal guy, and the guitar is the primary instrument. It’s way up in the mix, double-tracked, it’s loud, it’s aggressive. The role of the guitar in this band is completely flipped. I think R&B and soul in general, and especially this project, it’s rhythm section and keys driven, and that’s how the genre works. My job as a guitar player is to paint over the top of that, play a supportive role, and find my pocket where I can add something. I think of my role as the hi-hat on the drum set, where you almost don’t notice what’s going on until it’s not there, and then all of a sudden it’s an incomplete, empty sound.

    I hadn’t played a lot of soul music prior to joining this band, so there was a big learning curve. When

    I realized that this gig was going to take over my life, I did a deep dive into the genre. I listened to

    all of Marvin Gaye’s catalog, all of Steve Wonder’s catalog, on down the line, took in soul music through a hose, and tried to figure out my relationship with it.

    Also my love for guitar players like Andy Summers from The Police, the way that he approached playing pop music, leaving a lot of space, using these cool, extended voicings from jazz and landing them in a pocket of music in a way that makes sense. It doesn’t sound gratuitous. I relied upon this balance of my own aesthetic and influences, and a more traditional approach to soul and funk, guys like Nile Rodgers and Prince. They’re influential on my approach.


    At first it was difficult because I was not used to playing with musicians who were so active. There is a lot of movement on the drums, keys, and bass, and Allen is doing runs and stuff vocally, so there’s a lot of information happening on- stage. At first I was overwhelmed, almost to the point of “Do I even need to be up here?” But the more I listened to the classics of the genre, and the more confident I got in my role in the band, I started to discover these neat moments where I could channel Andy Summers

    and some of the more textural stuff that Alex Lifeson did. Those James Brown records were influential from a guitar standpoint because it was about finding a part and creating this musical moment, as opposed to busier, fluttery stuff.



    Tip Of The Cap: The cat...in the hat



    How does all of that relate to what you do on your own?


    There are five solo tunes up on Spotify and iTunes right now, and I describe those as Tom Petty meets Radiohead: big, melodic, guitar-driven tunes, like good, classic, American rock and roll, but with a lot of neat ambience and textural stuff. I’m also doing a lot of one-take acoustic videos of original songs. I think there are fifteen out now, and in fall I will put out a lot more, and then an EP. I’m pursuing that voice, and it is so different from the Allen project, so by focusing on my solo material, I can go back to the band, be present in that moment, and be respectful of the art and the music and the chemistry, which is important to me.


    And then I have this other outlet, where I can sing and strum open chords, and do more traditional singer-songwriter rock and roll stuff, and it feels good. We’re all so different and complementary onstage and away from the band, but it works and it’s part of the same continuum. That seems like a healthy, holistic perspective for our own stuff. We’ ve all worked hard over these past seven years, we’ve made a lot of sacrifices, and we’ve had a lot of success and setbacks, so I think we’ve earned that confidence to go out and be ourselves. Different but complementary, and that’s a good place to be. -HC-


    photo credits: Blake Wright - Cover Image Courtesy D'Addario


    Who Are Gearphoria? 


    Blake and Holly Wright are Gearphoria. They travel full-time in their 25-foot Airstream while writing about cool guitars and guitar accessories. Gearphoria is a bi-monthly free-to-read online publication. You can visit their website by going to www.gearphoria.com and while you are there, sign up for their free e-zine.


    Sub Title: It’s a cliché to say that we’re all basically the same, but it’s true...

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