Steve Vai and His Self-Presentation in the Media

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Popular Music (2021). © The Author(s), 2021. Published by Cambridge University Press, page 1 of 15 10.1017/S0261143021000295

‘Freak Show Excess’: Steve Vai and his self-presentation in the media

ANDREI SORA Independent researcher E-mail: [email protected]

Abstract This article attempts to uncover the complex relationship between musical expression, artist discourse and personae, by focusing on the way virtuoso guitarist Steve Vai presents himself and his music in the media. I analyse video and print interviews that span the three decades of Vai’s career to trace patterns and contradictions in his views on his music and artistry. This is not to assume intention- ality, but rather to ask what sort of gap there is between how Vai sees himself and presents himself as a musician, and whether he sees music as self-expressive, or as involving a constructed persona.

Introduction I was made aware of Vai’s music in the early 2000s, having received a copy of the G3: Live in Concert (1997) CD as a gift. His performance of ‘For The Love of God’ (1990) completely changed the way I understood expression on the electric guitar. Given the title of the song, the voice-like quality of Vai’s tone and the intensely idiosyncratic playing, that specific performance felt like an intimate praying ritual. Yet Vai sometimes seemed to not view himself and his music on the same spiritual level. There is a clear difference between the Vai who claims that, at the time of recording ‘For the Love of God’,hewas‘in the middle of [a] 10-day fast’ (Vai n.d.) and the Vai who, while doing a rundown of his gear and guitars, declared:

The one thing I can’t do without is (...) my fan. (...) First and foremost, (...) it makes me look cool. Because, you know, you get your hair blowing (...) and, come on, isn’t that what it’s really all about, looking cool? You know that I’m a poser from way back, so let’s not kid anybody here! (Vai 2009b)

Humour aside, such sentiments beg the question: if the fan (a character also present on stage for the G3 performance, as I later found out by watching the DVD) is there for entertainment value alone, what else is there just for cool factor? There is a clear rift between the real emotions of Steve Vai (the real Steve Vai) and how he presents himself in the media (the poser from the 1980s). Consequently, what I interacted with during that G3 performance of ‘For The Love Of God’ was not the direct expression of Vai the person, but Vai the persona. The humorous and playful manipulation of an over-the-top shredder persona is central both to the artist’s self-positioning as a poser and to the music he creates, as the following pages will show. 1

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This article aims to contribute to the literature on enactment of musical persona by exploring both the role of music itself and authorial self-positioning in media texts, through a close reading of virtuoso guitarist Steve Vai. It evaluates the coher- ence or gap between these different modes of voicing the musical self in the absence of lyrical content. This strand of instrumental guitar hero rock is ideal for an analysis of expression and persona, as it sees the integration of performer/composer in music- making (as opposed to classical music), puts emphasis on individual expression (rather than collective expression) and results in instrumental music by personalities. The following discussion will not give imagery equal weight, despite Steve Vai’s obvious awareness of the role of image in persona construction (describing himself as a poser and trying to find ways of looking cool). This is not to say that sound is somehow associated with the true self and that image is mere artifice. Watching Vai perform is perhaps as important as listening to him perform, particularly to his fans. Nonetheless, the absence of a detailed visual analysis leaves room for a more exhaustive look at sound, which is ultimately the focus of this article. A visual analysis of Vai’s persona could proceed from dividing the visual realm into live performance (attire, gestures, etc.) and iconography (album artwork, etc.), which could help in both creating a multi-medium approach to his persona and pla- cing him within the idiom he is part of (guitar hero rock, shredd scene). While the current study is not concerned with issues of gender, the glam rock, glam metal and hair metal styles that influenced Vai (or that he influenced in turn if we take his stint with Alcatrazz or Whitesnake into account) carry heightened gen- dered elements of which he is clearly conscious in his establihshing of an androgyn- ous image. Nonetheless, these issues also remain outside the scope of this article. My enquiry paints a different picture of rock, drawing attention to the peculi- arities of instrumental rock as a popular music form, not least in its elevation of other sounds/instruments over the voice, while retaining a similar account of stardom. Instrumental stardom and the self-expression that seems to be endemic to Vai’s work create a sphere of music that is ripe for analysis, particularly with the analytical tool of the concept of persona. Academics have discussed the persona in regards not only to classical music, but also to popular music with vocals (Cone 1974; Tagg 1999; Clarke 2005; Robinson 2005; Cochrane 2010; Moore 2012; and the list can go on), and all of them suggest that listeners tend to identify person-like qualities in music. However, the instrumental rock persona has not been studied in the context of popular music, nor has expressivity been explored through the prism of the persona in instrumental rock. Of course, not every research gap needs filling, but I believe that valuable insights on expressivity can be gained through this approach. Analysing popular music personae in songs with lyrics opens an entirely new avenue for exploring how the singer expresses the emotions, so the potential for persona analysis in instrumental music is immense, given the lack of a vocal strand, and can offer fascinating new insights into the expressive power of instruments, in any genre.

Literature review Expressivity and persona are fused in pop music into the star, an entity that has been a mainstay in both public and academic discourses. We seem to be unusually pre- occupied with ‘the publicization of the self’ (Marshall 2014, p. 154), making the ‘con- tinuous interplay between the self’ and a wider audience more and more prominent

(Marshall 2014, p. 163). Harries (2009) argues that factors as diverse as on-screen performances, marketing performances or interviews come together to construct the star persona. Dyer and McDonald (1998, p. 1) also note that, from a sociological point of view, the stars are dependent on the texts that make them. Outside of these texts they are real people, but even though this fact is important to ‘how they signify’, ‘we never know them directly as real people’, only ‘their signification’ (Dyer and McDonald 1998, p. 2). While a thorough analysis of the complete persona of any guitarists must consider all the behind the scenes ‘extra-textual elements of celebrity’ (Marshall 2014, p. 166), this is too great a task for the present study. Moreover, as Moore (2012) notes, if we follow the whole output of a band or artist, then our sense of musical persona ‘will have a historical dimension’ (Moore 2012, p. 212). Stars can change, and I think we need not go further than Cat Stevens, Christina Aguilera, Miley Cyrus, Michael Jackson, John Lennon or Alex Turner to acknowledge this. Yet both onstage and in the recording studio, the real person makes choices about the sounds they make. The decision-making process reveals much about their persona, and is presumably coherent across different music-making situations. Certain trends might influence an artist to such a degree that their overall persona changes drastically throughout their career, even though we know it is the same person at the helm (David Bowie being an obvious example). A person can certainly have a changing persona: in everyday life, we are used to treating people who age, change partners, change sexual identity, become parents, etc., as the same person. Growing older is an interesting factor in music, as the voice changes with age (especially the singing voice). Samples (2018, p. 120) also takes this into account, noting how Tom Waits’ characteristic vocal distortion has created an extreme distinctiveness, ‘a timbral characteristic of his branded persona’, regardless of the ‘significant vocal changes and timbral variations’. Finally, stars can change but their ability to change then becomes a (stable) part of their persona, with David Bowie being the obvious example. This apparent paradox of ‘a changing voice [sound, persona etc.] that retains recognizability’ is ‘an essential sonic marker’ of what Samples dubs the ‘brand persona’ (Samples 2018, p. 120). The ever-changing nature of the persona is explored by Waugh (2017)ina study on underground non-vocal electronic music. The artists that he interviewed ‘perform multiple ‘selves’ in the (relative) anonymity of virtual spaces’ (Waugh 2017, p. 234), thus escaping the potential prison of a single persona. Formilan and Stark (2020) also touch on this issue, where they outline three principal name-altering methods that artists in underground electronic music adopt – pseudonymity (an alias), polyonymy (multiple aliases), or complete anonymity – exploring multiple genres and subgenres. In the current ‘post-internet’ space where social media and the current internet culture (reddit, 4chan etc.) are ‘part of the “real” world’ (Waugh 2017, p. 235), artistw must now ‘maintain a carefully constructed image of themselves both offline and online’ (Waugh 2017, p. 237). This ‘hyper-saturation of digital cultural material disintegrates the notion of a “stable” identity online’ (Waugh 2017, p. 249) and leads to a ‘diversification of the self’ (Waugh 2017, p. 243). Sora (2019) also touches on the subject in an analysis of French synthwave artist Carpenter Brut, proposing a model for analysing this disintegration to even the level of individual songs. However, Steve Vai operates in a specific socio-cultural context and lineage that is quite different from synthwave or other forms of electronic music.

The guitar hero rock world that Vai inhabits is a ‘site[s] of virtuosic transcendence’ (Walser 1993, p. 119) where the ability to manipulate any melodic line, extend- ing notes and vibrating them, thus enriching the expressive potential of the guitar, makes virtuosity an issue of the flexibility of the guitar playing, and not only about speed. This ‘amazing virtuosity that can create a sense of perfect freedom and omnipotence’ is ‘set up between the potentially oppressive power of bass, drums, and rhythm guitar, and the liberating, empowering vehicle of the guitar solo’ (Walser 1993, pp. 53–4). Regardless of one’s view on virtuosity, it does highlight individual prowess and expression, with the virtuoso being able to ‘to command extraordinary, almost supernatural rhetorical powers’ because of his/her ability (Walser 1993, p. 76), in the same way as, in a genre like rap, for instance, ‘artists also can preserve their authenticity or remain respected on the basis of their rhyming flow or poetic skills’ (Ahlers 2019, 463). Of course, Vai’s music might fit into what Walser (1993, pp. 99–101) calls ‘guitar for guitarists’ music, where ‘ideologies of com- plexity, virtuosity, and individuality’, along with the ‘valorization of balance, plan- ning, and originality’ and ‘a conservatory style fetishization of technique (...) and innovation’ reign supreme. Nonetheless, virtuosity is a key element not of Vai’s music, but also of the entire guitar rock genre itself, as it puts the limelight on individual expression.

Constructing the musical persona Shredder is a common term used to describe modern guitar players, and Steve Vai has not been a stranger to the adjective. Vai’s technical prowess is sometimes seen as his endgame, even though he often declares that he is always after making ‘something speak, with articulation’ (Vai 2005c). The way he makes his guitar speak is fascinating and essential to comparing his musical discourse with his media discourse, and I will analyse the way Vai creates this illusion of a speaking guitar in the following pages. The singing guitar and the music that it generates create an extra layer of identity for Vai: a strictly musical persona. Cone (1974), who to my knowledge was the first to explore the idea, develops a threefold model of a score-based persona (vocal, instrumental and composer persona), but his model also incorporates some eight other subgroups. While I can see why there would be a need for that many personae in a symphony, the model is too complex and unwieldy to be used in a pro- ductive way in the context of popular music. The most economic models that can be applied to popular music are found in the research of Frith (1998) and Auslander (2009), where there are only three facets to any given persona: real person, star personality and song/track personality. Moore (2012) develops their ideas and proposes a model consisting of performer, persona and protagonist. His persona-proper is the illusion of a musical body that produces sound, what Zak (2001, p. 13) dubs as ‘electronic persona’, and it is this facet of the persona that I focus on. The biggest difficulty, then, becomes accounting for the features which are innate in the vocal persona but are harder to pin down in an instrumental setting. Consequently, the most logical step in this direction would be to find a link between the instrumental persona and the vocal persona. A fruitful avenue might be to consider the relationship between a vocal protagonist and an instrument that can be per- sonified, as in the quasi-dialogue between singer and instrument in Genesis’‘Dodo/ Lurker’ (1981). The lines ‘Meanwhile lurking by a stone in the mud/Two eyes looked

to see what I was/And then something spoke/And this is what it said to me’ are continued by a synth melody, which symbolizes what was said by that ‘something’. In this case, the instrumental line takes on a life of its own, and becomes a fully fledged protagonist, having the same weight in the music as the vocal protagonist. Moore points out that ‘the result of the activity of singing’ is what is subjected to the accompaniment of music with lyrics, not the melody per se (Moore 2012, p. 189). Referencing Frith (1981), he points out that the sounds/noises around the words – Barthes and Heath’s(1997) grain of the voice – can signal if one is to trust the singer or not, so to speak, because of the tendency in popular music reception to celebrate the inarticulate over the articulate, in the same way that in everyday life we tend to trust sighs, laughs, moans and gasps more than what people actually say. Particularly in instrumental rock music, as Samples (2018) notes, the actual timbre of the voice and instruments constitutes the mark of distinction, further showing how important distinctiveness is in popular music. Instrumental rock came into existence owing to the advent of the electric guitar, which, particularly the way it is used in rock, is by its nature a composite instrument, involving all the various means of electronically changing its sounds. The role of electronic amplification implies a focus on sonic (rather than melodic or rhythmic) analysis. Guitars and their relationship to technology create a complex set of sound possibilities. This manipulation can be electronic or can be achieved by certain guitar techniques, which allows for a multitude of unique aural fingerprints to emerge. As a direct consequence, the electric guitar can bridge the gap between instrument and voice, either through aforementioned electronic means (effects pedals and racks, etc.) or through certain techniques such as bending, sliding, trilling, hammering on and pulling off. The (lead) guitar occupies the same level of centrality in instrumental rock as the voice does in vocal rock. Neal (2018, p. 48), for instance, argues that the ‘an emphasis on each note’s upper partials’ through amplification, distortion and pick usage, creates the characteristic ‘twang’ that made electric guitars perfect substi- tutes for vocalists. In vocal music, as Tagg (1999) observes, the lead singer becomes the figure with which the audience is expected to identify, mostly because of the presence of the vocal strand and the fact that the voice is the carrier of words, often seen as carriers of meaning. In instrumental rock, we may interpret the lead synth sound as a substitute vehicle for conveying meaning, as it is not only firmly placed in the centre of the sound-box, but it is also treated similarly in terms of com- pression and equalization (EQ), with a focus on getting the guitar to sit in-front in the mix, in terms of dynamics and frequency spectrum. The lead guitar thus trans- forms ‘into a singing voice that wishes to remain wordless’ (Cone 1974, p. 78). Consequently, we can look to analytical tools developed in conjunction with vocal music and apply them in an analogous manner to instrumental rock.

Methodology The article follows a straightforward, two-fold framework. I start by exploring how Vai presents himself and his music in the media, focusing on issues of self- expression, originality, tone and vocality, and studio practices. I then analyse key tracks from Vai’s repertoire to see if the music reflects his discourse. My endeavour is both inductive and deductive, as I base my assumptions on previous knowledge and theories but I also aim to contribute to theory development.

Music Qualitative analysis has been prioritised over quantitative. I opted to only analyse music that was featured on Vai’s standard studio releases (from his 1984 debut Flex-Able to 2016’s Modern Primitive, his most recent album), as these are the versions most listeners will be accustomed to (thus excluding deluxe, special or regional edi- tions). I also used standard live albums to analyse tracks with no studio version – such as Vai’s ‘I’m Becoming’, appearing on Sound Theories (2007). While Vai the musician has changed from one release to another, observing what has remained constant and where differences lay will help reveal Steve Vai’s musical persona. These analyses do not function as exhaustive descriptions of the music in question and must be read in conjunction with listening to the actual recordings. The discussion aims to inform the reader on how the features such as vocality are utilised in specific cases rather than in an abstract synthesis or general survey – I am not inter- ested in presenting an exhaustive account of Steve Vai’s musical persona. Rather, my interest lies in how he constructs his persona and how this relates to his discourse on issues of persona and expressivity. The aim of the thesis is to provide an approach for analysing Vai’s and other similar guitarists and, perhaps, other instrumental music genres as well. I will focus on the way the instrumental persona is constructed from the per- spective of the sound itself (processing, the quality of the sounds themselves, etc.). Consequently, scores are missing throughout the entire analysis. The rationale for omitting them is not fear of litigation, however. My particular brand of persona analysis focuses on the sound of the guitar (along with the other instruments found on a record) and not on issues surrounding harmonic movement or melodic contours. Moreover, even though Vai’s music is mostly clearly composed, he rarely use nota- tion themselves. I am confident that readers will be able to navigate the analyses by listening to the track, which is why I provide CD times for all analysis points. While I do on rare occasions refer to Vai’s melharmonic idiosyncrecies, my concern throughout is with the way he constructs his persona on a sonic level. Not relying on scores allows for a more focused exploration of specific guitar phrasings and techniques, and various electronic means to manipulate the sound, trying to pinpoint what defines their electronic persona. I will also consider issues of texture and technique, in terms of both guitar technique and studio or performance gestures. Instrument gear, recording technology, elements of the recording process (overdubbing, sam- pling, etc.), all will be looked at and analysed to uncover their relationship with the persona that they help create. Finally, this also ties in with the idea that probably the most overlooked factors in rock are the timbral and production values of recordings (Walser 1993; Zak 2001; Frith and Zagorski-Thomas 2012).

Media The second layer of the investigation will consist of a discussion of Vai’s self- presentation in the media: written and video interviews, documentaries and web sources. As I agree wholeheartedly with Wimsatt and Beardsley (1954) in their assessment of the intentional fallacy, I do not intend to use Vai’s comments on his work as authoritative in any way, but rather to see how close or far apart artist and analyst may be. For example, what sort of gap is there between how Vai sees himself and how he presents himself as a music-maker? Does he see music as

self-expressive? Does he see his music as involving constructed personae? Are ideas of uniqueness, vocality or compositional practices integral to his understanding of music-making? The interview data is not a form of verification of my analytical find- ings. If there is no gap between the analyses and these artists’ philosophy on expressivity, then the discourse analysis provides an alternative source of information about expressivity with which the persona approach can be compared. If, on the other hand, there is a considerable difference between the results of the musical investigation and their thoughts on the matter, then the research becomes that much more relevant. This second section of my analysis functions as an alternative source of information about expressivity and the persona. To address these issues, I have watched, listened to and read hundreds of interviews with Steve Vai. At the time of writing this, Google searching ‘Steve Vai interview’ produces 2,450,000 results. Not all entries were consulted, of course, because of the sheer volume of interview material available. Out of those that were, audio and video interviews ranged from 1988 to 2016, and written interviews from 1989 to 2016, thus covering the time-span between his first and latest release. Interviews about his debut 1984 album were post-1988, as I could not uncover any relevant ones from closer to 1984 (most from that time period dealt with his stint in Whitesnake, Alcatrazz or the David Lee Roth band). Interviewers approached similar topics in similar ways, so I aggregated the responses. I also opted for videos with most views and written interviews in more prestigious publications, as these will ultimately be the ones viewed by most people and will in the long run constitute his main legacy in the press. Steve Vai’s self-awareness is an interesting element in how his persona is created. He admits that he has always paid attention to ‘how to conduct [one]self in the press’, always being ‘unequivocal when (...) say[ing] things’ (Vai 2012f). He is clearly aware of what the press is saying about him, noting in one case that he gave one of his tracks the title ‘Freak Show Excess’ (2005) after reading a review of one of his shows (Vai 2005b). While, judging by the consistency of his music (in terms of general sound and underlying musical material), the media does not seem to have a strong effect on his musical output, it does, however, affect the way he wants to be perceived by the media and by his audience. A good example of this would be Vai’s views on spirituality and its link to music-making. He often discusses reading books on metaphysics and religion (Vai 2013b), particularly in his early teens (Vai 2015b). He also practices meditation (going on retreats at Buddhist monasteries – Vai 2013d) and meditates before going on stage (Vai 2012c). The reason for practising meditation and inquiring into the nature of the mind is that ‘inside of me, there’s wars that rage between my ego and my spiritual desires’ (Vai 2011a). An interesting parallel can be drawn here between Vai and Cliff Richard, who, as Löbert (2008, p. 95) argues, has a ‘carefully constructed public image’ of redeemer and saviour, with the the symbolism being found on both lyrical and visual planes, with album covers showing him in messianic poses, featuring intense light, low-angle compositions shot against the sky. Vai’s album art also abounds in symbolism and seems to reflect his contemplative nature. As mentioned in the introduction, while the focus of this article is sound, Vai’s album cover art is also heavily involved in the construction of the spiritual elements of Vai’s persona and also act as a counterweight to his ironic demeanour in the press and to the artificiality he was alluding to in the opening quote (‘poser’). It is here where Atkinson’s(2006) notion of autobiographical performances becomes useful. He argues that such interviews will automatically bring forth

narratives that represent ‘performed identities’ (Atkinson 2006, p. 161) which bring the artist ‘into being through a performance of the self’ (p. 163). Of course, this does not mean that such accounts are false, but that they are highly personal and sub- jective. The issue in the following analyses will not be the notion of persona per se, rather that Vai’s persona is what emerges from his highly Romantic ideological understanding of the problems of creativity, individuality and self-expression.

Analysis In the media Vai’s demeanour in the press could be understood as an extension of his stage persona, where even interactions with the press involve a performance. While he argues that the lack of cohesiveness on his albums is ‘much to the detriment of any identifiable persona that most people need to grasp onto when it comes to qualifying an artist’ (Vai 2012b), this characteristic is exactly what creates an identifiable persona. Its main feature might not be one of unity, but this lack of cohesiveness is precisely what defines Vai’s musical output. In 1993, he professed that ‘in the future, the name “Vai” will represent to people, hopefully, something that they’re not gonna expect’ (Vai 2013b). The unexpected nature of his music comes from his ‘peculiar personality, this absurdity to me’, arguing that his music ‘kinda comes out that way’ (Vai 2012g). While technical and compositional complexities might be what part of the public consider essential to his persona, Vai concludes that what separates him from other players is ‘the bold (...) melodic, harmonic adventurous quirkiness’ (Vai 2015d). He claims that the most important personality ‘trademark’ he ‘always (...) put[s] into [his] playing’ is ‘this weird tweak (...) that’s got a little bit of a comical edge to it, or an absurdity to it’ (Vai 2008). His eccentric, humorous nature comes out even in his interviews, where the line between seriousness and joke is thin and reflects his positioning as both an artist and a ‘poser’ from the 1980s:

Playing [the guitar] and being sentimental, and expressive, and emotional is very good sometimes. But it’s really important to be able to grab the guitar by the monkey grip and swing it around your head! I mean, what are we here for, folks? (Vai 2012d)

Among these absurd qualities is his propensity for practising until ‘blue in the face’, for ‘ten, fifteen hours a day’ (Vai 2008), which led to a virtuosic command of the instrument, but he stresses that virtuosity was never the endgame. Instead, he contends that technique must become ‘natural’ so that one can ‘go deeper’ (Vai 2015b); it represents only ‘preparing the vessel’ that eventually leads to ‘that freedom of expression’ (Vai 2015c). As he ultimately confesses, ‘I really have no choice (....) I just have to do what’s natural to me’ (Vai 2008). For Vai, the guitar is an ‘infinite instrument of expression’ (Vai 2014b), allowing you to express ‘your personal feel- ings’ (Vai 2013a) and create ‘a style [in which] your own true self is flowing into it’ (Vai 2015b). The type of image Vai is promoting is of a sincere musician and composer who has no choice but being who he is. There seems to be no difference in his mind between Steve Vai the man and Steve Vai the musician. He argues that ‘experiences from my life, from my imagination’ (Vai 2009d) let artists express themselves on the instrument. Ultimately, any artist is creating ‘a reflection of [their] personality’ (Vai

2008), and whenever one ‘pick[s] up an instrument and (...) do[es] anything, [they]’re expressing [themselves] to a degree’ (Vai 2010b). This issue becomes even more relevant whenever he brings into discussion the notion of uniqueness, which happens frequently (Vai 2009a, c, 2013c, 2014b, 2015a, b, for instance). He set out to ‘be different and unique’ in ‘a conscious turning away from the norm’ (Vai 2011b), wanting ‘to identify and cultivate a unique musical voice’ (Vai 2010d). He argues that by looking ‘outside of the box’, these ‘little different (...) not so normal’ elements eventually became normal and unique to what he does (Vai 2005c). He contends that he never felt good enough at any of the pre-existing styles and genres, and that he could not ‘even approach playing [blues, jazz, etc.] effectively’ (Vai 2016). He reasoned that instead of doing badly what other people were already extremely good at, he looked ‘for something that was within [his] capability and that was different and interesting’ (Vai 2016). The notion of tone is essential to understanding what Vai is getting at here, particularly in how he understands this unique musical voice. He frequently discusses how ‘as you go through playing, you kinda infuse (...) [and] charge the instrument with a personality’ (Vai 2012h). He describes this process as a ‘trance’ in which ‘you’re kinda like one with the instrument’ (Vai 2012j). In this context, he argues that a certain ‘energy (...) comes through the person [and] goes into the note’ (Vai 2014b). He contends that this type of energy and oneness with the instrument ‘cannot really be pantomime[d]’ (Vai 2014b), and gives multiple examples to support his statements, often referring to Jimi Hendrix (‘you can’t really ever get that Hendrix sound, because it was in his fingers’–Vai 2012j), or Yngwie Malmsteen (‘You don’t emulate Yngwie’–Vai 2012a). Finally, when reminiscing about the moment he played on Brian May’s guitar, he admitted that ‘it sounded like me playing, not Brian!’ (Vai 2012i), signalling again that there seems to be something each great guitarist does that makes the guitar sound specifically theirs. Tone, in Vai’s view, is intimately intertwined with the guitarist’s personality. The road towards a great tone begins by ‘finding the tone that is in your head’ and then using phrasings and pieces of gear (effects pedals, amplifiers, etc.) to make it a reality (Vai 2015b). On the reason why he continues to use Ibanez guitars, he argues that Ibanez ‘created an instrument that’s a reflection of my idiosyncrasies when I play’ (Vai 2010c). Furthermore, in the context of the diverse amps and guitars that he owns, Vai notes that even though he might use other equipment occasionally, he ‘usually go[es] right back to [JEMs and Legacy amps] because these guitars and this equipment [are] custom built specifically to my ear and my fingers’ (Vai 2012j). However, even though he highlights the fact that the gear is at least as important as the other aspects of playing, the undertone here is that these pieces of gear are designed specifically for the way he plays (specific phrasings and his own touch on the instrument), making the gear as unique as his playing style. More importantly, however, he points out that ‘tone is in your head and your fingers and not necessarily an amp and guitar’ (Vai 2005a). He notes on multiple occasions that he always felt ‘very protective’ of his intel- lectual property, a trait he claims to have gotten from Frank Zappa, who was allegedly the same (Vai 2012e). While not opposed to working with other artists, he claims that for him to ‘sonically go to bed with somebody, so to speak – I want them to really know what I am, know what I do and have a handle on it, and I don’t want them to have to change what they do’ (Vai n.d.). Consequently, he writes,

records and produces everything himself. He does not, of course, record the bass and drums, but hires musicians to play the parts that he writes instead (Vai 2013b). These artistic decisions are not only aesthetic, but also practical. For instance, in ‘Building the Church’ (2005), he observes that modifying the EQ of the guitars not only helps paint the picture of the main theme of the track (the building of a literal church, as the linear notes of the album show), but it ‘also separates the audio field of the rhythm guitars and the melodies’ (Vai 2005a). He often addresses the diverse pro- cesses that he goes through in a recording situation, such as splitting the signal of the guitar and sending each to different effects and amps, panning and EQ-ing (Vai 2014a). I now move to examining key tracks from Vai’s catalogue to uncover how the persona becomes apparent in the music. Vai certainly wants his audience to perceive his music as coming from the heart and from the soul, so to speak, and his apparent command of every aspect of production further sediments this perception. Seeing how these issues come across in his music can help illuminate the numerous ways Vai either maintains or breaks this perception, and can help paint a better picture of the relationship between person and persona in instrumental rock music.

In the music Vai’s apparent dual performance of ironic self-awareness and spirituality (‘I’m Becoming’, ‘For The Love of God’) and his engagement with a sense of both playful- ness and sincerity (‘Freak Show Excess’) are also structurally important for his persona.The way Vai explores and articulates the notion of voice through his instru- mentation, including the use of gear and studio-production, enhances his capacity for expression, which is why I also focus on tracks which deliberately blur the boundar- ies between guitar and voice (‘Yai Yai’, ‘The Audience is Listening’, ‘So Happy’). In ‘I’m Becoming’ (2007), Steve Vai uses his signature Ibanez JEM model, with the sustainer pickup activated, straight into the clean channel of his signature Carvin Legacy I amplifier. The guitar signal is then coloured by a stereo delay and light reverb. The hard left–right delay gives the notes and chords depth and an illusion of an echo, thus creating a sense of a massive space where the guitar notes bounce off of distant walls, which in conjunction with the hollow sound of the sustainer creates an organ-like tone (0:00–0:10). In this context, the infinity of the notes as well as their bell-like qualities carry the implication that this ‘becoming’ is a religious experi- ence. Since Vai frequently alludes to an amalgam of Eastern and Western religious practices and beliefs (Vai 1989), the religious strand is bound to represent a strong influence on his music and can be taken to be a possible interpretation of the track. Moreover, the piece seems to support Laing (1975) and Frith’s(1998) observa- tion that the voice provides a singular point of view, since the guitar is the sole instrument on the recording. Not only is the track about a single entity (‘I’), about some sort of religious or other metaphysical transformation, but the recording itself also provides ample evidence for both the persona and the protagonist being unitary, from the single guitar placed firmly in the centre of the stereo field (where a vocal normatively lives), neither changing its position nor its tone throughout the entirety of the track, to the lack of complicated effects chains or production gestures. Ultimately, the track is the perfect representation of his views on his relationship with the guitar. He argues that ‘the touch on the instrument, (...) your relationship with the note (...) can never be deep enough. It’s an endless, endless pool’ (Vai

2010a). This suggests that one can never become one with the note. You never get to the point where you can say ‘I am become’, but you can say ‘I am becoming’, acknowledging the fact that the process of becoming one with the note, one with the music is an infinite one. The spiritual is also explored in Vai’s most well-known track, ‘For the Love of God’. Here, the link to religion is even more pronounced, given the title of the track and the ending voiceover from Whitesnake singer David Coverdale: ‘Walking the fine line between Pagan and Christian’. ‘For the Love of God’ features several musical elements that point towards the spirituality that Vai is alluding to in many interviews. This track features a single distorted lead guitar, with no overdubs, which strengthens the perception of a single persona trying to get a better understanding of their place in the Universe and its relationship to its Creator. Moreover, throughout the track, the main harmonic instrument is the electric sitar, which carries with it, owing to its association with Hindustani music, connotations of Eastern spirituality. Even though departing from the sparseness of the previous track, the other instruments on ‘For the Love of God’ are subdued, maintaining the general harmonic and rhythmic flow and rarely anything more, which pushes the lead guitar even more to the forefront. Finally, the way Vai combines the use of the wah pedal and the whammy bar on his guitar (3:04–3:54) simulates the opening and closing of the mouth, creating the illusion of a speaking guitar, which in this context could represent a praying protagonist. ‘Freak Show Excess’ departs from the focus on the divine and presents perhaps the most complex view of Vai’s musical persona, not only because of the various compositional elements (odd time signatures, strange phrasings, unusual modes), but also because his recorded voice appears at two key points. He does not sing, but utters the word ‘Meltdown’ at 2:51 and the sentence ‘Alright, that’s enough of that nonsense’. These moments do not seem to have been chosen randomly, as they coincide with the beginning and the ending of two highly virtuosic sections of the track. These ‘site[s] of virtuosic transcendence’ (Walser 1993, p. 119) symbolise a musician’s control over the instrument and the principal theme of the track is rein- itiated after Vai points to it being just nonsense, further enhancing the dual nature of Steve Vai’s persona. Here, Vai literally inserts himself into the recording, strengthen- ing, perhaps, the perception that he is the one expressing the music we hear. This literal voice can translate into an instrumental voice. Here, Vai’s guitar can act as a human voice, as the protagonist of a monologue (as in ‘Yai-Yai’), act as a protagonist in a dialogue with a human voice (as in ‘The Audience is Listening’) or act as a partner in a duet with a human voice (as in ‘So Happy’). Each note of ‘Yai-Yai’’s (2005) melody has its vocal quality modulated, with each long note sweeping through the frequency range and generating an ‘i’–‘e’–‘a’–‘i’ pattern. This is achieved by sending the guitar signal through an Eventide Electronic DSP 4000 effects-processor (Vai 2005c). While it takes a certain amount of time before the effect generates all three different vowels, the shorter notes of the melody only spell out one or two of them. In this way, the illusion of a voice is even more accentuated, since the constant breaking of the ‘i–e–a–i’ line could be interpreted either as some form of stuttering or as a way of reorganising the units of the guitar language to create discrete sentences. In ‘The Audience is Listening’ (1990), the guitar acts as the partner of a dialogue with a human voice. In the opening section of the track, a female voice (which we are led to understand is the protagonist’s school teacher) pep-talks ‘Stevie’ into

performing in front of the class, noting that she will be in the back of the room to support him (0:00–0:26). There is an entire conversation between the teacher and Stevie, but I shall concentrate on two exchanges, both consisting of a question from the teacher and an ‘OK’-like answer from the guitar. The teacher asks Stevie not to be nervous, ending the sentence with an ‘okay?’, to which the guitar responds with a line that resembles a human uttering ‘o-kay’ (first note higher, second note lower; stress on the first). The discussion ends with a similar question and answer: ‘I’ll introduce you, okay?’, ‘{OK}’ (0:03). However, the okay at the beginning of the dialogue is somewhat different than the one at the end (0:26). While the first sounded unenthusiastic owing to the longer notes and lower register in which it was played, the second one is considerably more enthusiastic (higher and shorter notes), suggest- ing that the pep-talk was successful. This vocality is achieved through a masterful manipulation of the whammy bar and careful control over string bends. Another way Vai achieves vocality is by doubling the vocal line, overdubbing it on the guitar, as in ‘So Happy’ (1984). The track features a main female protagonist (recorded by Laurel Fishman) among a multitude of other protagonists (recorded by Stu Hamm, Joe Despagni and Lill Vai; ‘Steve Vai – Flex-Able Leftovers’ n.d.). The female protagonist (Laurel) is the main character not only because of the placement of the vocal track in the centre channel (as opposed to the other voices, which are panned left and right), but also because it is the only one to utter actual words (as the other vocal tracks feature moans or screaming). Her speech is addressed to ‘Steve’ (Vai, as he recorded the guitar part), the electric guitar that comes in at 1:06, mimicking every nuance in her talk pattern. What is particularly interesting here is that while the part of the speech up until 1:06 is spoken in a natural way, the section that follows sees her speech modified, with a more prominent melodic contour. This is done, presumably, to facilitate the overdubbing of the guitar. Nonetheless, as opposed to other artists who double the vocal line on their instruments, this one does not reproduce any singing but speaking, which is much less pre- dictable in terms of rhythm and particularly pitch. The result is an amalgam of a voice and a guitar that mimics the voice perfectly, sans lyrics.

Conclusions Vai’s persona emerges from the different musical/technical solutions to the following issues: personality vs. musical personality, originality vs. genre rules, individuality vs. collaboration, instinct vs. control, and the metaphor of the voice. Vai constantly addresses his eccentricity, quirkiness and rebellion against (musical) rules, often arguing that idiosyncrecies in his personality find their way into his music. It is obvious that Vai sees music as self-expressive, and while it is clear that he defines originality in terms of one’s own identity, it is less clear if this refers to a kind of intuitive or instinctive expression (your sound is who you are and you cannot help it) or as a kind of calculation (the way you make a sound that is quite clearly different from other people’s sounds), which is to suggest that originality refers in first instance not to identity, the uniqueness of the self, but to distinction, one’s displayed difference from other selves. Vai describes how making music enables the inchoate self to be recognised (the sound in your head is given shape and form), but he also suggests that his self already exists and it is that which is expressed in his music. The complications of what is meant by being true to yourself while making something that to be music must follow certain conventions, technical requirements, etc., remain

unresolved. He is not clear as to whether the player’s personality is expressed through the notes played or through realising the personality of each note, with personality here hinting at the usual distinction between technical and musical expression. He also seems to suggest that person (or self) and persona come together in the bodily nature of technique, both instrumental and from a production stand- point. This physical sense of making music – very clear in Vai interviews – might also account for his off-centre self-image, as it feels very personal. The difference between the true self and the suggestion that you ‘become what you create’ (Vai 2011a) is fascinating but it is not clear how the two are related: is the true self generating the creation, or is the creation generating the true self? What the analysis suggests is that Vai has a clear sense of persona but this is not the same thing as his sense of self. Any such contradictions seem to be resolved for Vai by notion of creating a unique voice on the instrument, a unique tone that is both personal and distinguish- able from anyone else’s. This tone emerges from the combination of technique and gear, and it seems that these various threads coalesce in the metaphor of the voice, not as carrier of semantic meaning (lyrics) but as immediately self-expressive. What runs through all these accounts is the problem of what it means to find your own voice. This is precisely why the solution Vai finds in the music can be (and must be, perhaps) heard as a person. Mimicking voices, using effect units to simulate vowels or employing techniques that help the guitar stand on an even footing in a dialogue with a human voice goes hand in hand with Vai’s desire to create a unique guitar sound that sets him apart from all other guitar players. As opposed to vocal music, where a singer’s voice brings with it a clear sense of how the persona is constructed sonically and how a listener should make sense of changing lyrical topics, in instrumental rock the sum of these often divergent synth sounds constructs the instrumental persona. Vai’s sonic persona is the result of all of the lead guitar sounds found on all of his tracks. Recognising the possibility of instrumental personae in Steve Vai’s music also brings with it many analytical opportunities outside of his approach to music-making. The framework discussed above can easily be applied to other genres of music. Arguably, jazz and other solo-led music can easily be analysed using the model and related issues that I have addressed here. Some types of electronic music such as synthwave could also benefit from such an analysis, as I mentioned before (Sora 2019). Regardless of genre, though, expression is a key element of music, and I believe that exploring it through the lens of the persona can lead to results that might otherwise remain hidden.

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Discography

Genesis, ‘Dodo/Lurker’, Abacab. Atlantic, B000091DXY. 1981 Satriani, Joe, Johnson, Eric and Vai, Steve. G3: Live in Concert. B000002BT9. 1997 Vai, Steve, Modern Primitive. Sony Legacy, B01FFUNLSC. 2016 Vai, Steve, ‘So Happy’, Flex-Able. Favored Nations, B00007KK8C. 1984 Vai, Steve, ‘For the Love of God’, Passion and Warfare. Sony, B000025I5U. 1990 Vai, Steve, ‘The Audience is Listening’, Passion and Warfare. Sony, B000025I5U. 1990 Vai, Steve, ‘Building the Church’, Real Illusions: Reflections. Epic, B0007IK55A. 2005 Vai, Steve, ‘Freak Show Excess’, Real Illusions: Reflections. Epic, B0007IK55A. 2005 Vai, Steve, ‘Yai-Yai’, Real Illusions: Reflections. Epic, B0007IK55A. 2005 Vai, Steve and the Metropole Orchestra, ‘I’m Becoming’, Sound Theories: Vol. I and II. Sony, B000QFCCV4. 2007