That Very Sound: Debunking Myths About Guitar Tone

It's a curious phenomenon — how genuine misconceptions can live in the heads of even professionals for decades. Especially striking when they concern things right under their noses.

On the occasion of a lovely Sunday, let's talk about something that has entertained us since the Stone Age: music.

The Analog Myth

You've surely heard it: learning to play electric guitar must be done exclusively through an analog amplifier — a so-called "combo amp." And if you plug your guitar through an external audio interface with effects, everything will be terrible. Supposedly it creates an illusion that you can play, but when you connect to a real, especially tube, amplifier, all your flaws will "surface."

But if you learned on a combo amp — especially a tube one — then soulless digital plugins will be a breeze. Such claims can be heard even from recognized guitarists like Sergei Kalugin or Sergei Tabachnikov. The latter claims that through digital processing a guitar sounds like a MIDI keyboard — all notes identical — while through analog you hear the subtlest nuances, including the scraping of the pick. Kalugin asserts (quoting his bassist) that to achieve the sound of Flea (Red Hot Chili Peppers' bassist) you need equipment worth $5,000, with every component — from the guitar to the cables — being top-tier. They allegedly even have a special silver cable at the studio for an extra fee.

These people work with sound every day. Could they be wrong? Do they hear what laypeople can't?

Having studied the opinions of sound engineers and guitarists who conducted experiments and studied psychoacoustics, I can confidently say: all these tales about "magical" sound are myths. Perhaps they were relevant in the 1970s, when there was one Gibson guitar in the entire Soviet Union, and it sat in composer Tuhmanov's apartment. But today, in 2025, legends about the "legendary sound" of classic albums are a mix of urban legends, trivial effects, and psychoacoustic illusions. And a Gibson guitar has no virtues besides its exorbitant price.

Songs Make the Sound, Not the Other Way Around

Let's start with a simple question: why is a particular sound — guitar, bass, snare drum — considered "classic"? Most often because it was used on some landmark album by a respected band. But the very notion of a "respected band" is subjective. Many dream of the sound of Metallica, Tool, or Muse, but nobody asks for "the Foo Fighters sound" or "the Eagles sound," even though the acoustics of Hotel California should supposedly contain some magic.

Perhaps it's not the sound that makes songs legendary, but the songs that make the sound legendary. Metallica's "Black Album" and Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Blood Sugar Sex Magik" became iconic not because producer Rick Rubin achieved a unique snare sound, but because these albums are packed with hits. Meanwhile, the sound of "One Hot Minute" interests absolutely nobody. Even though Rick Rubin produced that one too — everyone remembers one album, nobody remembers the other. If you're not an RHCP fan, you may not have even known it existed.

The history of rock music knows countless cases where great albums were recorded on cheap equipment in a matter of days. The success of those first recordings then allowed bands to get into expensive studios.

Even if some bands' recordings could have been saved by expensive sound — we don't know about them because they didn't achieve success. Usually a band has to release a hit first, and only then spend millions recording the next one.

Many bands (from Manowar to Grazhdanskaya Oborona) later tried to "fix" old recordings by re-recording them on new equipment. Even Orgia Pravednikov re-recorded the first part of "For Those Who See Dreams." But somehow these versions are only of interest to hardcore fans. Songs that became hits solely thanks to "different sound" or microphones are virtually nonexistent. But songs that became hits despite poor quality? There are masses of them. The listener hears the song, not the sound. If the song is boring, no "signature tone" will save it.

The "Flea Sound" Problem

I'll go even further: we can't really say what "Flea's amazing sound" actually is.

On one hand, he plays slap — a special bass guitar technique that requires dedicated practice. If your slap technique is worse than Flea's, you simply won't be able to play similarly.

But even if your fingers move exactly like his — that doesn't clarify things. Which specific sound do you want? The studio recording sound? The concert sound? Or the sound coming from his equipment at home?

To achieve his "home" sound, you'd have to somehow sneak into Flea's house and play one of his bass guitars before the owner returns. Because we don't know what equipment he has there.

Concert sound is also tricky. Concerts take place in large venues, and the sound varies depending on where you're sitting. Even Metallica couldn't achieve a consistent, clear, quality sound for all listeners at their 2019 Moscow concert — and these guys spare no expense on sound.

Apparently, providing uniformly high-quality sound in a hall holding tens of thousands of people is technically impossible. Moreover, the real "concert sound" exists only in the headphones of the sound engineer — at the very mixing console from which live performances are recorded.

The musician on stage hears whatever happens — because nobody particularly cares about their perception; it's the audience that came to listen. To hear themselves, modern bands use in-ear monitors — specialized headphones fed the signal from the sound engineer's console.

How Studio Sound Actually Works

And studio sound is certainly not a concert. There are takes, edits, musician substitutions. In the studio, instruments aren't listened to — they're recorded. And they're recorded through specific microphones, at specific angles, under specific conditions.

Apparently, when people say "Flea's sound," they usually mean his studio sound. Let's think about how it's actually formed.

Flea arrives at the studio with his bass guitar. Or maybe he uses one that's already there — some studios keep their own instruments. Then he plugs the guitar into the studio equipment. If the recording is analog, the whole chain ends at a combo amp, beside which stands a special studio microphone designed and tuned specifically for recording bass.

Flea plays his part. Possibly multiple takes, from which the final track is later assembled. The sound that microphone captures — that's the so-called "Flea sound."

But the question isn't that simple. Most likely, you've never actually heard this "pure" sound. Perhaps in some form it's fed back to Flea's headphones — solely so he can identify mistakes and re-record if necessary.

When recording is finished, everything is just beginning. Remember: the microphone is positioned at a specific angle, and often there are several microphones recording sound from different amplifiers. This produces several versions — and at the mixing stage, the sound engineer starts combining them, balancing, layering effects, adding seasoning under the watchful eye of, say, Rick Rubin dozing on the couch.

A producer is hired for a reason. A sound engineer's ears get "fatigued" fairly quickly: after an hour of fiddling with a mid-weight riff, even the Polish band Behemoth might start sounding like heavenly music. And strange ideas creep in — remember the "signature" sound that Hetfield and Ulrich dialed in on ...And Justice for All. Although, even despite that, "One" became a hit.

Now pay attention: this is the bass you hear on the album. And how are you going to reproduce it? Even if you buy absolutely identical equipment, you'll have to guess: what microphones were used, how and where they were positioned relative to the speaker, and a whole host of other nuances, including position in the room and the room's characteristics.

All of this constitutes that "profile" we play through in Guitar Rig.

Even within a single album, bass sound is kept relatively consistent, but it happens that the same song used two takes recorded a week apart, on different guitars, with different picks, through different equipment, in different states, and possibly even by different musicians. And only through all this did that signature, recognizable, inimitable sound emerge.

Although, to be honest, the bass guitar isn't a particularly overtone-rich instrument. In most bands it sounds practically identical.

Moreover, this sound is exactly what digital plugin developers target. Not the band "Armor-Piercing Mushroom" from the school basement next door, but Metallica, Pink Floyd, Red Hot Chili Peppers. And it's in digital plugins that you have a far greater chance of finding the sound you need than in the murky circuits of old equipment.

As Salvador Dali said: "Don't fear perfection — you'll never achieve it." The same can be said about legendary sound. Even if you play somewhat similarly — that's fine.

Why Sound "Falls Apart" Live

It's often said that the reason is the habit of playing while accounting for hardware latency. But this problem was solved long ago: with a modern audio interface supporting ASIO, the latency is imperceptible. Even with the more sluggish ASIO4ALL, it's not terribly noticeable. After all, computers have become more powerful than 15 years ago, and progress hasn't stood still: today you hear in your headphones what you played at the same speed as you'd hear it from the most tube-filled combo amp in the world.

Maybe it's all about the "wrong" sound of digital plugins? We won't delve into the specifics of effects emulation; let's just look at it practically. If you plugged your guitar into one amp (digital) and it sounded good, then into another (tube) and it sounded worse, then most likely the issue isn't with you or the guitar — the second amp simply is worse.

Of course, it seems inconceivable that Jimi Hendrix could have played through a bad combo amp. But he was using the best available at the time, and decades of technological progress have passed since then. Engineers worked to make amplifiers sound better, eliminated artifacts that interfered with playing, reduced noise, improved reliability. Digital boards are a logical step forward. They simply sound better because what used to require manual setup is now built in. An old combo amp truly can sound worse — sometimes like a solid wall of mud. And unlike a computer at the same price, you can't even watch anime on it.

Add to this the acoustics of concert venues. Yes, there are ways to improve sound — for example, lining walls with special sound-absorbing materials. But achieving uniformly high-quality sound throughout the entire hall or on stage is beyond even modern acoustics. Many specialists consider this a fundamentally unsolvable problem. Even in concert halls with symphonic music, the orchestra is tuned to exactly one point — the conductor's podium. And only there does it sound "as intended" (but even there, not "like on the record").

Psychoacoustics

Psychoacoustics matters too. An ordinary person perceives sound approximately: mood matters more than timbre. We have almost no everyday vocabulary for describing the texture of sound, and even professional composers describe their impressions of sounds very differently. One and the same C major chord was perceived by Rimsky-Korsakov as white, by Scriabin as "red and warlike," and by Konstantin Saradzhev as black.

The human auditory system — "two ears and something in between" — is quite imperfect. It evolved not for musical enjoyment but for protection against predators in the African savannas. We're subject to numerous acoustic illusions. For example: the louder the sound, the "brighter" it seems, even though above a certain level the ear actually loses detail as the eardrum stretches from the pressure. This is precisely the basis of the "expensive pickup" effect: they're simply louder.

Headphone and speaker manufacturers account for psychoacoustics too. Any headphones and speakers distort sound — the question is how. Mass-market headphones are designed to boost bass and treble, tailoring themselves to popular music. So you don't have to bother with an equalizer — the manufacturer sets the right curve from the start. Expensive audiophile models aim for neutrality — which is why pop music sounds flat in them, while complex music starts to impress. Popular music is popular precisely because it must sound passable even from the cheapest device.

No wonder "naked" sound seems harsh or unpleasant to many. We've simply grown accustomed to sound embellished according to fashion.

Studio Reality vs. What You Hear

A separate story is comparing the recorded studio sound with what you hear on the album. A sound engineer's room in a good studio is a special space: with rounded corners, meter-thick layers of acoustic insulation behind the walls. It houses special, fairly expensive speakers (called studio monitors) that reproduce sound as accurately as possible, without the slightest distortion, and are even positioned so that the sound is as uniform as possible at any point in the room.

It's important to understand: this room is not designed for enjoying sound. On the contrary — sound from studio monitors will seem harsh and unpleasant to us. All this precision serves one purpose: so the sound is exactly as it was recorded — not better, not more pleasant, but exact. Everything "pleasant" will be added later — through the taste and effort of the sound engineer.

Hence the jokes about schoolkids who mix rap in headphones and then are surprised it "doesn't sound right" in speakers. Headphones embellish sound — and yes, their rap is also listened to in headphones.

Finally, the connection between music and emotions works both ways: stage fright, a bad mood, a broken guitar strap — all of this can ruin the impression of any music, especially your own. On stage you always sound worse than on the couch.

The Ever-Retreating Mystery

And here's what's interesting: as technology became more accessible, the "secret of great sound" kept retreating further away. First it hid in rare Japanese guitars. Then in expensive custom models. Then in amplifiers. Then in tubes. Then in the wood of the neck (with cheap Squier basswood being fundamentally different from identical Fender basswood, naturally!). Then in pickups. Legends emerged that cheap guitars "get lost in the mix" due to a lack of overtones imperceptible to the ear... Naturally, this myth was popular among those who had visited a studio maybe twice, just to look around.

Amusingly, even this myth cracked: as the internet sped up, raw session tracks from great albums became available. And suddenly it turned out that great recordings hide no miracles: individually, all the instruments sound ordinary, the vocals aren't operatic, the microphones are nothing special. And the entire "signature sound" is the result of studio magic.

But then equipment acquisition syndrome enters the stage. A person feels their music doesn't sound good enough because they don't have the right instrument, the right amplifier. And the endless cycle of buying and selling begins: guitar, combo amp, pedal, new interface... But like other audiophiles, any sound is never quite right.

The apartment turns into a music store. For those with less money — a resale depot. But the only one who benefits is resellers and "Uncle Liao," assembling gadgets "in the spirit of the '60s" from internet schematics, simply because they were the only options and therefore became "legendary."

The Equipment Industry

Naturally, one might say: "but the stars play on top equipment." However, the iconic Stratocaster, Les Paul, and Jaguar models were inexpensive in their day. The Fender Jaguar was actually considered a cheap, unsuccessful model until a wave of indie musicians like Sonic Youth and Kurt Cobain made it fashionable.

Signature guitars — outrageously expensive instruments whose production nobody tests in real-world conditions — are made for one purpose: to sell. Musicians are human too. They believe advertising.

And then there are collectors. They usually can't even play, but they have money. You can sell them anything as long as it adds to their collection.

Yes, it's a bit scary to surrender your sound — your self-expression — to a sound engineer sitting at a console in a round, cotton-padded bunker. You want the sound to be "in your hands." Hence the faith in the miraculous properties of expensive guitars. If it costs $5,000, it can't sound bad. You believe it because the price is its quality.

That's precisely why there's so much talk about the acoustic properties of wood, even though the very idea of a solid-body electric guitar is to negate those properties.

Manufacturers understand this perfectly. The Fender Stratocaster was made to order for a famous country singer; the Les Paul for a specific guitarist. These models are still churned out for crazy money despite all their design flaws: noise, bad tuning pegs, inconvenient truss rods (or their complete absence). But none of that matters anymore. Because the buyer doesn't want a guitar. They want a legend.

Unsurprisingly, guitar manufacturers continue to release astronomically priced signature models of star guitarists, aimed primarily at collectors. But since the Ibanez models of the early 2000s, nobody has tried to turn any of these into a new mass-market guitar — one that accounts for the taste of a musician who actually knows how to play.

So the mastery of Les Paul and that forgotten country singer remains unsurpassed? You can buy an exact replica of Brian May's legendary red guitar — but it seems only May himself can truly play it. And where do I find an affordable guitar advertised by, say, Joe Satriani, with the message: "It's loud and rich, and most importantly — comfortable to play. I tried it myself!"?

What the Industry Really Wants

As often happens, the answer hides right on Fender's website. There, in carefully worded language, it says: based on their observations, the overwhelming majority of people buy a guitar simply to have one. To play at home, for themselves, in a family or friend circle. Or to hang on the wall and be very proud. Fender has already convinced the market that an electric guitar with an amplifier is suitable for home gatherings and interior decoration. Now they're working on expanding the audience.

Money goes not into R&D and ergonomic improvement, but into marketing. They target women (half the planet's population), those who can't play at all, those who consider guitar playing prestigious — even if they can only afford the cheapest model (but later they'll perhaps save up for an expensive one). After all, we all know how many guitars any guitarist needs for happiness: "One more."

And playing comfort for the average buyer isn't that important. The professional musician? They'll manage. It's part of the job.

Conclusion

What should we, as listeners, do? Be prepared for the fact that academic knowledge is detached from reality, while practical knowledge relies on random experience, rumors, old articles written by incompetent journalists, and the staggering technologies of 1967. In our time, it's perfectly normal to encounter a conservatory graduate who has written several symphonies yet is convinced that tablature notation is inferior to standard notation because "tabs don't show duration" — meaning this person has never laid eyes on Guitar Pro, its dozens of free alternatives, or even tablature sites like Ultimate Guitar. And this person even sells courses in composition and music theory, and their warm-up videos on YouTube gather tens of thousands of views...