I don’t know about you, but my desk is cluttered, my checkbook is a goddamn nightmare and my car could use a good vacuuming—and yet my music collection is clean and organized to within an inch of its life. In fact, in a recent idiomatic retooling and flexing of filing muscles, I’ve rearranged the entire collection based on the first name of the guitar player in the group. (In cases of multiple guitarists, I’ve simply obtained another copy of the recording in question and filed it in multiple locations, just to be thorough and complete.) So, whereas the “E” section formerly contained Eloy and ELP (Emerson, Lake and Powell), now you’ll find Ozric Tentacles’ “The Hidden Step” (Ed Wynne) next to Iron Butterfly’s “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” (Erik Brann). Ok, some of the preceding is pure bullshit (not the part about my checkbook). I can barely stand for one piece of living room furniture to be rearranged, let alone my precious hordes of music. But if I were to do that, I’ve realized that there’d be a nice set of guitar records in the “John” section. To wit:

JOHN McLAUGHLIN
Frank Zappa remarked about John McLaughlin in a 1977 interview with Steve Rosen, “The guy has certainly found out how to operate a guitar as if it were a machine gun.” It was meant as praise, if not admiration. And smart-assed or not, it was a succinct assessment of one aspect of McLaughlin’s playing—the cataclysmically intense electric fusion face of the Englishman. He has a serious jazz pedigree, coming to prominence with the likes of Wayne Shorter and contributing to monumental Miles Davis sessions such as Bitches Brew. This arc of progressive, adventurous music continued on through his seminal Mahavishnu Orchestra wherein he melded Eastern spiritualism with loud, aggressive sounds, wielding a Gibson EDS-1275 with the bombast and aplomb of Jimmy Page.

But McLaughlin has a quiet side too. His pre-Mahavishnu albums are rife with acoustic reflection. Later the unplugged McLaughlin would begin recurring associations with violinist L. Shankar in the world-tinged group Shakti and with fellow guitarists Al Di Meola and Paco de Lucia in the self-named super trio. Come to think of it, his acoustic playing is pretty machine gun-esque; a track like “Aspan” from the McLaughlin, Di Meola, de Lucia album Passion, Grace and Fire is a flat out motherfucker. The guy certainly has found out how to operate the guitar like a flat out motherfucker.

JOHN PETRUCCI
Let’s just be clear about one thing: John Petrucci is too fucking good. Sure, sure, he can “shred,” but so can 226 guys you’ve never heard of on YouTube. It’s Petrucci’s mastery of the instrument combined with his artistry that makes him great. As one of Dream Theater’s prime directors, he’s creative and prolific and seemingly flawless. This John is one of those guys who makes it all seem easy. Listening to the guitar/keyboard unison lines in “Metropolis, Pt. I: The Miracle and the Sleeper,” for example, one is tempted to think, “that’s not so bad, I could probably whip that up.” Well, maybe. The fact that his playing is so clean and precise gives a false impression of ease which a testament to his skill. His solos are measured, nested works of art which constitute important chapters within Dream Theater’s multifaceted superstructures. The eye-crossing hysteria that is the lead break of “Fatal Tragedy” is a case in point.

I think the logic and authority of Petrucci’s playing is something that speaks even to those who aren’t prog-rock-obsessed musos. A number of years back, at the dreadful height of Nu Metal, I saw DT live. After the solo in “The Glass Prison” the crowd went crazy. It was like jazz club patrons applauding after a tenor sax solo on “Blue in Green” or something, but on an arena rock scale. That’s the power of Petrucci.

JOHN ABERCROMBIE
No, not John Abercrombie, the Scottish horticulturalist, but John Abercrombie the American guitarist. Speaking of  serious jazz pedigrees. To the untrained observer, Abercrombie might appear as just another guy with doorstop of a discography and a questionable mustache. But that misses the point. Like John Petrucci, Abercrombie was a Berklee School of Music guy, so you can be sure he knows what he’s doing on paper. And in the real world, he’s had a constantly adventurous career serving as a sideman for legends like McCoy Tyner and Billy Cobham and generating dozens of albums as a leader. Ever the staunch musical explorer, Abercrombie has dwelt in various unconventional group settings and sought out new sounds, becoming an early adopter of guitar synthesizers. I still like him regardless of that last part.

JOHN DAWSON WINTER III
That’s Johnny to you. Johnny Winter has to be my favorite former heroin addict Texas albino blues player. Actually, he’s my favorite blues player in general. While the mainstream, Grammy-fied concept of the genre tends to run toward the consumer blues of Eric Clapton and Keb Mo, I prefer my blues with a little more teeth (and a little less pigment). I first came to know Winter via his cameo on Roadwork, a particularly scuzzy 1972 live album by his brother’s band, Edgar Winter’s White Trash. He shows up playing “Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo,” which he recorded prior to that song becoming a Rick Derringer signature (Derringer was a frequent collaborator with both Winters). Johnny did spend a lot of time play rock and roll—his early ’70s albums on Columbia are generally scorching examples—but always with an underpinning of Lone Star blues. He’s shunned rock for rootsier environs for many years and gained most of his notoriety in the field of da blues. Not only an expert player, Winter has also produced Grammy-winning albums for Muddy Waters. Maybe those Grammy folks do know what they’re doing every once in a while after all.

JOHN WILLIAMS
No, not the John Williams who wrote the themes to Star Wars and Schindler’s List (though he rules too), but the Australian born classical guitarist. My obsession with playing guitar has served me well as a gateway to amazing music in general; when I first delved into classical music it was because I wanted to hear incredible guitar playing. So I randomly bought a John Williams record which featured, in addition to compositions by Albeniz, Sor and the like, the famous Adagio from Joaquin Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez. When I heard that piece of music my ass was kicked in the same way as at first exposure to “Battery” by Metallica or “Caught in a Mosh” by Anthrax (I know—it’s such a cliche to mention those three together …). I’ve heard multiple other virtuosos perform the Adagio and I’ve seen Christopher Parkening play it live. None match the power and drama of Williams’ reading. With a recording career spanning more than 50 years, Williams is an unparalleled interpreter of classical guitar literature in general. I made a pretty lucky foray into the genre by stumbling onto his work.

JOHN SYKES
Yes, the very same John Sykes from the Tygers of Pan Tang Effect. After the relatively obscure Tygers period, Sykes maintained a series of high profile gigs. In 1982 he joined the legendary Thin Lizzy at the end of their career, appearing on the excellent Thunder and Lighting album as well as the live Life. Later he teamed up with David Coverdale’s already established Whitesnake on the eve of their gigantic stateside stardom. His playing can be heard on the U.S. version of Slide It In and not well heard on Whitesnake, wherein his solos were often criminally under-mixed in a reverby gloss of ’80s over-production. Some say his contributions to that self-titled release were a major factor in driving the album to its eventual position of #2 on the charts; others suggest that might’ve had more to do with Tawny Kitaen splayed all over their videos.

But don’t take Sykes for some sort of rock and roll free agent closer who strictly goes where the best opportunity is. Post-’Snake, he had more success with his own band Blue Murder (remember “Jelly Roll?”) and then with the Thin Lizzy tribute band … Thin Lizzy (sure, it had Sykes, Scott Gorham and Darren Wharton, but without Phil Lynott, it ain’t Lizzy, fellas … end of side rant). Gibson has even produced an “Inspired by John Sykes” model Les Paul. Now that’s a tribute.

Post script: When I started this piece it was named, “6 Guys Called Steve.” At some point I realized that somewhere deep in my memory I was essentially ripping off my magazine of choice as a fledgling guitarist, Guitar for the Practicing Musician (RIP). That fine publication issued an “All Steve Special” in December 1986 featuring some of (all of?) the Steves I was writing about (Vai, Howe, Morse, Hackett, Lukather, Stevens). Apologies and thanks to John Stix (a seventh important guy called John), wherever you are.

The Rack - Meditations on a Music Collection is what Troy Van Horn is thinking of when you assume he’s just staring at the wall.