Evolution of the Practice Amp

Soon after, I went through the usual suspects in the ’80s practice-amp lineup—a Gorilla GG-10, a Peavey Rage, a 15-watt Crate—until I leapt into the big leagues with a 1966 Fender Twin Reverb. But it had so much headroom it seemed impossible to practice in my apartment. I eventually learned what a guitar’s volume knob does, but before that I went a quieter route with a first-generation Scholz Rockman. I loved it, with all those big, pumping tones at my disposal, rushing through headphones. Sometimes I ran the Rockman through the Twin, so all the dogs in the neighborhood could howl along. But, after a while, as I drew a bead on what I was interested in playing, I decided that heavily processed sound wasn’t really for me.

Over the years I’ve yearned for a great-sounding amp that’s small enough to sling into a bag or suitcase for travel, or to leave unobtrusively in the living room, so I could scratch the itch at will. I tried various tiny, low-wattage, low-cost combos, but most were plagued with tinny sound and limited controls, and nothing seemed evolved quite enough to get the kind of sustain, gain, and sonic variety I needed to be happy.

Then, in the early 2000s, a friend gifted me a first-gen Roland Micro Cube. I loved its sound and versatility, and also used it for coffeehouse gigs, radio appearances, and recording demos. But one day during the pandemic … it died.