Feature Photo courtesy of Alex Masi – photo by Alex Ruffini
Born in Venice in 1960, Alex Masi came to prominence during the now-famous “Shred Era,” where blazing guitarists of all shapes and sizes ran roughshod over the music industry with Super Strat’s in hand. But before then, he played with a group called Dark Lord until around 1986, before catching on with Metal Blade Records, relocating from London to Los Angeles to join Sound Barrier, and forming his band, Masi. For the uninitiated, Masi’s debut, Fire in the Rain (1987), remains a staple of shred guitar, and the group’s second, Downtown Dreamers (1988), isn’t far behind, as it features the classic single, “God Promised a Paradise.”
Those two records were outstanding, but to understand Masi’s greatness, you’ll want to sink your teeth into his record, Attack of the Neon Shark (1989), nominated for a Grammy for Best Instrumental Rock Album. And once you’ve feasted on that, you’ll want to move on to that record’s follow-up, Vertical Invader (1990).
In the ensuing years, beginning in 1998, Masi published a successful trilogy dedicated to three of his classical influences: Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven, and has collaborated with the likes of Chris Aable, Carmine Appice, Allan Holdsworth, John Macaluso, Ray Gillen, Frankie Banali, Shawn Lane, Robin McCauley, Rudy Sarzo, Jeff Pilson, Jeff Scott Soto, and more.
Masi is still at it and can shred with the best of them. During a break in the action, Masi dialed in with ClassicRockHistory.com to dig into the ten records that changed his life. Are any of these your favorites, too?
Toccata & Fugue in D Minor by Johann Sebastian Bach, as played by Fernando Germani
I must have been four or five years old, and my father, who was an artist [painter], used to play records all the time while working in his studio inside our home; he would play both jazz and classical records, but when I first heard this piece, I stopped and noticed that something was going on in this music that was more profound than anything else I had heard up to that point, as much as a five-year-old can notice.
The second part of the piece, the Fugue, hit me especially hard. The interweaving of multiple lines with their developing harmony made me feel something I couldn’t understand, but I knew it was extraordinary. That was the beginning of my unending love for Bach and counterpoint music; a few decades later, when I recorded my Bach tribute album, In the Name of Bach, I included that same piece arranged for guitar. Full circle.
Dark Side of the Moon – Pink Floyd (1973)
I was twelve when I first heard this album. I was in bed with the flu and would listen to the radio on the nightstand. Back then, in Europe, these pirate, independent radio stations would broadcast, late at night, entire albums that were considered outside of the mainstream. I remember clearly visualizing sci-fi images as the music played; I had never experienced anything similar.
The sounds were amazing; it all felt like I had entered uncharted territory. Through the decades, I’ve remained a big David Gilmour fan, both of his guitar playing and his singing. I like to think I learned some of Gilmour’s lessons when it comes to creating a mood using sound and spaces in between notes; he remains a major influence.
Electric Ladyland – The Jimi Hendrix Experience (1968)
All records by Jimi Hendrix are amazing, even the “not-so-perfect” ones, but this album has an extra element that makes it stand above everything else, in my opinion. There’s a vibe that’s a mix of urgency and reflectiveness, from the adrenaline of “Crosstown Traffic” to the long meditation of the “Rainy Day Dream Away” suite, etc.
It’s a record that takes you on a journey like only very few records have done in history. At one point when I was a teenager, I spent a whole night listening to “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” over and over, finding amazing new things each time. When I got my first electric guitar, thinking on the way home that I would plug in and get all those wild sounds like Hendrix, but I was wrong!
I fell into minor despair when I realized the gods had forged his guitar. At the same time, mine had been assembled by mere mortals working a nine-to-five job. I listen to that entire album at least twice yearly, and each time, I thank whatever powers are out there for bringing Hendrix to us.
Deep Purple In Rock – Deep Purple (1970)
My schoolmate let me borrow this album. Later, when the needle hit the first track at home, I was blown away by that intro to “Speed King,” which sounded like some natural disaster and something completely wild. And then, when they start playing the actual song, they sound so tight and powerful that you can’t help grooving along heavily. They were all great, but I remember thinking Ritchie Blackmore was like a wild beast.
He was playing in a way that forced you to pay attention to what he was doing, razor-sharp lines delivered with no mercy. I remember some months later watching a show on British television with Deep Purple performing a few tunes… Blackmore wasn’t just playing the guitar; he was raping it, making it sound like a roaring lion. The entire In Rock album is super powerful to this day; it was and still is a significant influence on me as far as approaching the guitar with reckless abandon goes.
Led Zeppelin II – Led Zeppelin (1969)
A famous bubble gum company in Europe used to have a commercial on television in the ’70s that had “Whole Lotta Love” playing in the background. I had no idea what that music was or who the band was, but I knew there was something great about it. That androgynous voice, hypnotic riff, and rhythms caught my attention. I remember spending a few days asking my friends if they had any ideas. Finally, one day during that summer, a jukebox inside a bar by the beach where I used to get ice cream started playing that song, and I could read the band name and title!
Soon afterward, I got Led Zeppelin II, another of those life-changing revelations. What impressed me was discovering all the layers to those songs, the use of dynamics, switching from loud to soft, and everything in the middle while retaining that huge power and intensity. Every time I hear that opening riff and those vocals, I stop whatever I’m doing for at least a few seconds and raise my imaginary glass to it… unless I’m holding a real one.
Yessongs – Yes (1973)
Another “accidental discovery” came while I sat in the sand at the beach. Some older guy a few meters away from me was blasting weird but intriguing music on his portable cassette player featuring very long pieces containing complex structures and harmonies. It reminded me of some of those Stravinsky records my dad would play at home but with drums and electric instruments!
I was spellbound and had to ask the guy whose music that was. When I discovered it was a triple live album, I started thinking I’d never be able to afford it, as I was 13 years old. I was lucky to find out that another of my classmates had an older brother who owned the album! Long story short, within a few months, I memorized every twist and turn on each of those six sides.
That was also when I started playing the guitar and learning as much as possible became one of my top priorities. Through the years, I became aware of the greatness of the entire Yes band, aside from Steve Howe, especially Chris Squire. And every time I have to record bass for my music, or even for someone else, one of my first thoughts is, “What would Squire play here?”
Tempest by Tempest (1973)
I had a Slade album; I liked them, and they sounded fun. So, my friend asked me if he could borrow the Slade record, and in return, he would let me borrow one of his. I saw this cool-looking artwork belonging to an album by Tempest, but I had no idea who they were. I still decided to give it a try.
I remember that right away, I could tell something special was going on with the guitarist, Allan Holdsworth, even before hearing the first solo from the first track. There was something about the chords and the delivery. And then, the solo happened, and it was one of those moments where you realize things will not be the same from then on.
It must have been like during the days when people heard Charlie Parker or John Coltrane soloing for the first time. Nobody did that on the guitar inside a rock context regarding fluidity, tone, note choices, or articulation. From that album on, Allan Holdsworth became one of the few lasting influences on me, not because I wanted to copy him, as when I hear people trying to do that, I cringe.
Allan himself didn’t like it when people attempted to play like him, but because of his approach, oblique musicality, disregard of all the rules, his taking the guitar where it wasn’t supposed to go, and the sheer beauty of his notes. That’s what makes his contribution to the art form everlasting. When I had the immense honor of meeting him and having him guest on one of my albums, it felt like an out-of-body experience that lasted for a few weeks. I miss him a lot.
Utopia by Todd Rundgren (1974)
I really can’t remember how I came across this album. Maybe it was a casual listen in a record store in my hometown, as I had never heard of Todd Rundgren. But the fact remains that that first opening tune floored me. Everything about it was next level and a lot like Yes, with incredible structures, sounds, delivery, and great guitar playing.
Todd is an underrated guitarist, and the melodies were all stunning. Every song on this record is excellent, and then there’s the suite on side B, The Ikon, which moves, develops, and keeps shifting gears. It’s music that demands attention, and it’s so ahead of its time. I’ve been, and still am, a huge fan of Todd Rundgren, and I would love to meet him someday to thank him for his decades of inspiration.
In Praise of Learning – Henry Cow (1975)
In my late teens, I started getting into more experimental and adventurous music. It was a logical extension of the music I had been slowly getting into, like Soft Machine, Frank Zappa, etc. One night in 1977, I ended up at a show near my hometown featuring Henry Cow, a very unorthodox band playing some challenging stuff with contemporary classical, free jazz influences, and strong political overtones.
Their presentation was compelling. The following day, I bought their latest studio album, which, along with their live performance, turned me into a huge fan. In Praise of Learning contains some highly complex music, wild improvisations, and powerful lyrics. Fred Frith, the guitarist, remains a huge influence on me as an improviser and a composer, and their albums are as relevant today as they were back then.
1987 Demo by Shawn Lane
Ok, it’s not an official album, but for me, it’s as fundamental as any of those records I’ve mentioned so far. After one year of being in the United States, my friend Greg Young insisted that I listen to a cassette he was given, this 1987 demo. The tape opens with an unaccompanied guitar solo; at first, I couldn’t tell what was happening.
Yes, it was a guitar, but it sounded like a computer on cocaine. At that point, I had been playing guitar for 15 years, but what I was hearing had nothing to do with what I had learned about the guitar up to that point. That same tape contains several other brilliant moments both on guitar and on keyboards, and for a year or so, I started tormenting everybody with that tape. It was like a mystical revelation I had to share with the world.
Then, in 1988, during a tour stop in Memphis, I had the fortune of meeting Shawn and got to hang out with him for many hours. It was a truly life-changing event, and we stayed in touch and hung out a few other times up to the year he passed away. We even planned to make an album of Qawwali music that I would produce for him. I still have that original cassette from 1987, which I remastered several times to preserve and enhance it. He was the last of the guitar innovators in my book.