There was once a satirical sketch from the Monty Python gang featuring a judo instructor and his captive audience of fresh faced students.The protagonist is employed to teach self defence to his captive charges but it becomes apparent quickly that he’s deranged and instructs them instead as to how to defend themselves against attack by endless varieties of fruit. “Have we done pineapple?” “Yes sir, we did it last week.” “What! Tinned and fresh?” “Yes. Can’t we learn how to defend ourselves from an attack by a man with a pointed stick?” “I see. Fresh fruit not good enough for you, eh? Well, let me tell you my lad, if some homicidal maniac comes at you tonight with a bunch of loganberries, don’t come crying to me!”
Which, if I can persuade you to attempt a metaphysical leap of faith, is how I feel about the world of effects units, stomp boxes, processors and the never ending flood of metal boxes that has continued to rain down on our feet since the dawn of man. Or 1965 - which is when archaeologists have calculated that Keith Richards unleashed the Gibson Maestro Fuzz Tone upon an unsuspecting world with 'that'unforgettable riff on (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction. Iconic. Mains operated. Noisy. All yer favourites.