![Josh Homme is finally prepared to discuss tone.]](https://backingtracksfullcollection.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/Josh-Homme-is-finally-prepared-to-discuss-tone-758x426.jpg "Josh Homme is finally prepared to discuss tone.] 1")
There’s something sexy about secrets, and Josh Homme knows that. While he was down-tuning a whole genre into existence with Kyuss, making waves with Queens of the Stone Age, or crafting one of the best supergroup records of all time with Them Crooked Vultures, he was pretty tight-lipped about the gear he uses.
But during an interview with Mark Ronson for Apple TV in 2021, he disclosed that his “secret weapon” was a rather unassuming Peavey Decade combo amp. Since then, the mask has begun to slip, punctuated by a signature version of the 10-watt, solid state workhorse – the first time he’s ventured into the world of signature amps.
Article continues below
It feels like talking over your art project in a classroom – it’s exciting to break it apart and see how the sausage is made. I used to have a couple dummy pedals on stage behind my amps, because people would always come up and try to sneak photos.
I think those secrets are what’s cool about this. There’s a sound that sounds just like you. It takes a minute to figure out what that is, and that journey is truly joyous to take. Like everyone else, I love knowing what Angus Young is doing – but it’s also fun to make it a bit of a scavenger hunt for people, so they don’t miss the good stuff along the way.
Nobody here is inventing the wheel. You’re really just saying, “I made a wheel. Do you want to roll with me?” And that’s what’s so wonderful about this: you get to explore, and oftentimes the mistakes you make end up being the secret sauce.
I don’t know what it was about that day, but I thought, “If I keep it a secret forever, no-one will understand where I’m coming from.”
I’m from a smaller town that was about 30,000 people when I was a kid, over a really vast expanse of land. But one thing was constant: in the States, there’s always a little music store, and Peavey always did a really good job of making sure that’s the store they were in. Peavey was the PA at your mom’s wedding, the gear that people were playing in church.
Was your first amp a Peavey?
My first amp proper was an Ampeg VT-40 – I still have it. It was so heavy to lift as an 11-year-old! But I wanted an amp, and I knew I wanted something old, because it’s such a tactile sensation. The knobs on an amplifier mean something. If they’re not to my taste, it sort of turns me off.
As teenagers the only rule was that if you sounded like someone else, people gave you s**t – and rightfully so
In Liar Liar they say “Don’t judge a book by its cover. But that’s what people with a shitty cover always say!” Of course the cover matters. I do this solely by vision, and then sort of make it into being. The truth is you can make anything sound like you. I’ve picked amps, guitars, pedals, and outboard gear solely because of the knobs and things like that, without any regard to if it plays well.
What about your first guitar?
One of the first electrics was a Teisco Del Rey [Tulip] flower guitar, which I bought with the VT-40. It was instant Kinks. As I got older, I realized that the Japanese – because of the post-World War II economy – couldn’t get the best stuff, so they had shitty beginnings. But they did the best they could. It’s really well-made shit, and it creates this unforgettable sound.
I went through this phase of buying Japanese guitars; they were cheap, so it was an easy experiment. Then I discovered Tempo’s high-end guitars. I started exploring cool combinations of three and five pickups, and switches that are like a little light switch instead of a pickup selector; hearing what that does to the phase. They had the skinniest tones ever.
Later, having an opportunity to work with people like Echo Park and Motor Ave, I could ask for things. I’ve been fucking with out-of-phase things a lot in the last 10 years, because then you have multiple amp sounds out of one guitar in just a couple switches. You can do it with your pinky while you’re playing. I always respected Hendrix for doing that.
What were some of your early lessons about gear?
As teenagers, the only rule was that if you sounded like someone else, people gave you shit – and rightfully so. When you’re young, you wear your influences on your sleeve pretty heavily. You don’t know if that’s right or wrong. Until you experience a penalty for doing that, you progress in that direction.
In early Kyuss we drank too much of the Misfits Kool-Aid. We got a little shit for it, but I walked away from that taking the right influence from Black Flag, which is that you I can love something and be influenced by it without having to sound that way. When I was 16 I felt like there was some combination of sounds that sounded like how I felt. I needed to look only for that thing.
I couldn’t afford a tuner, so I started experimenting with detuning guitars, because it was the one thing I did not see out there at that time. I’d take the guitar down so it was floppy, then tune it back up a little bit; it was as low as I could go, in C and B. All of a sudden you could feel that.
I guess you’re looking for something that resonates with you. You’re looking for your frequency. Years later I learned that’s the natural order of things. It injected this beautiful philosophy about what it means to play – how you’re actually getting closer to the universe. So gear became the most important thing. It was the right tie pin or the right fucking socks, you know?
Anything is an amplifier to me – old stereo tuners, old tape machines; anything with a speaker and a jack
That set you down a path…
I bought a 12-channel PA from the ’70s and started playing guitar through that, because I was looking for ways for that C and B tuning to be accepted by an amplifier without it folding on itself.
That’s when I went, “I’ll play through bass cabinets!” You’re looking for any way, visually and sonically, to do something that nobody else was doing. Getting shit from people was the best thing that could happen – it made me think, “Never again will anyone ever say I sound like someone else. I’ll find a way.” My goal was that, within three seconds, you know it’s me.
Is that what led you towards atypical gear?
There are so many examples of plugging a Telecaster into a Fender amp, or a Les Paul into a Marshall. There’s a homogenization that leads to sterilization. I call it “unsupply on demand” – what’s in the nothingness between those things? That’s where I should live.
Anything is an amplifier to me. I love playing out of old stereo tuners, old tape machines; anything with a speaker and a jack. Forget quarter-inch. RCA, TT, if I can get in there I will. With a Les Paul and a Marshall I know what’s going to happen there. I figured I’m good; music is about matching your own evolution.
It’s hard not to want to get behind the underdog, because music is about being an outcast. All I need is insurmountable odds and I’m in. Give me your worst guitar, a boutique amp made in someone’s mom’s garage, and a pedal that’s not supposed to be there, and we’ve got something. When you do that, you instantly feel like these things are yours.
Were there any other unusual aspects to your Kyuss rig?
Kyuss was all neck pickup. That was one of the secrets to thickening things up and taking leads that were one-strings. It just sounded wider. Playing through bass cabinets, I learned that two wrongs don’t make a right but 40 wrongs make a weird. So a bunch of little adjustments – neck pickup, bass cabinets – and their grand total sound completely different.
And you can add the Decade to that…
When I found a Peavey Decade back in the day, it was $15 at a flea market. There was no risk in trying it. It was so small I could take it anywhere. I could hammer nails into it and it wouldn’t break. It was really versatile because there’s saturation, a clean input, and it has a pre- and post-gain; that’s where I learned about that relationship. And with a Coles ribbon mic, it’s one of the greatest bass amps of all time.
For many years we’ve used Decades to warm up before gigs – and in a strange way we never sound better. You can make yourself sound like you’re in the Kinks in two seconds, and if you want to blow it out, it blows out in such a strange way.
I was like, ‘We’ve got to do a stack!’ It’s such an over engineered idea to have a stand for a small cabinet. It’s funny
I was never a huge fan of distortion but I’m a huge fan of overdrive. I want to blow something apart. Distortion is compression; you’re shrinking it down, and then you need to turn that up, right? The idea of overpowering something seemed more punk rock to me. It’s about the gear, but also the attitude you have to it.
Has anyone ever dismissed the Decade on looks alone?
I showed the Decade to John Paul Jones when we were in Them Crooked Vultures. I have this Yamaha hollowbody bass with flatwounds on it, which I call Lame-aha. Instead of a pickup switch, it’s a volume knob, so you’re on the spectrum of which pickup you’re using. I said, “Try that with the Decade and a Coles ribbon mic.”
He laughed – and I love that, because the looks are deceiving. You’re like, “What is this entire piece-of-shit setup?” Then he played it. It was fun to see him go from giggling about how shitty something looks to complete joy. It’s fun to do that to people and it’s fun to do that to yourself, too.
Peavey is the first brand you’ve done a signature proper with. Had there been other offers on the table before that?
Years ago Ampeg came to me about remaking the VT-40. I was a little suspicious because I’ve never really done endorsements. That’s not my thing – I don’t work for you, man. The way Ampeg approached me, what they wanted to do and how they wanted to treat me, I felt like I was being used.
It was like, “You’re the only person playing this since Keith Richards, so we want to use that image; but we want to make the amp like this…” I wasn’t having it. And I love Ampeg; I have so much Ampeg gear. But life is about what it is now, not what it was. I’m not a puppet that you can put your hand up its ass and make do stuff.
Plus, I wanted to make something that anybody could buy. I’m talking with Echo Park about doing a line of limited guitars, and I have a few ideas about the styles of the tone. Those things will be expensive because of what it takes to do that. It’s unfortunate.
So I thought, “I’ve gotta do something with Peavey that everyone can get!” And there’s that notion of a little kid in a small town; when they get started playing guitar or bass, I’m there with them.
And the amp has some added extras.
We went back to the Decade and tried to retain all the good stuff. But I said, “You’ve got to hear this WEM solid state head that I have!” There’s a bright switch that turns your eyes from half open to pinned open like Alex from Clockwork Orange. So we took a note from that for the treble switch.
When everyone was moving to digital I got so much outboard gear from old churches, like Collins compressors for $100 – and now they’re thousands
There’s a bass switch to make it eat a little chocolate so it gets a little chubby on the bottom. Then, since you want to use stuff like this in the studio, a direct out with XLRs, so you’re not fucking with buzz and noise. You can control that volume too, so you can really pin the rails going direct and just blow the thing out completely.
Then I was like, “We’ve got to do a stack! We have to have an extension cabinet and ape the Vox cabinet stands because they look so fucking cool!” It’s such an over engineered idea to have a stand for a small cabinet. It’s funny.
Is that your Spinal Tap Stonehenge moment?
Yeah, 100 percent – it turns it into a Stonehenge! Everyone can do 90 percent; it’s that last 10 percent that matters. It’s the little details that reveal your true intentions.
Like a hammer, it’s useful in all situations. You can pull nails, break windows and build something with this thing. It was fun to design; John, the engineer at Peavey, really got it.
What other gear is exciting you right now?
Have you tried the Jack White Fender Pano Verb? It’s fucking insane! Jack clearly has OCD on an exaggerated level; he’s such a stickler for details. He sent over a cavalcade of shit. The Triplecaster is great, too; it’s a lot of possibilities in one guitar. So I’m giving Jack my Stonehenge in return.
Our guitar player, Troy Van Leeuwen, has a knack for being really loud and demolishing things without noticing. So I plugged into this thing with the settings that were on there. I always do that whatever an amp is sent – I plug in and assume that somebody had some idea somewhere, and it sounded fucking amazing.
We tracked some music with it right away, and we ended up using it as scratch because the tone was so good. Then Troy plugged into it, same settings, different guitar – boom! He blew the speaker.
What’s your strangest gear find?
Many years ago, in a pawn shop in Lawrence, Kansas, I found a 1938 Gibson EH-185 combo amp. At the time, Gibson was making amps in batch of fives; everything was handmade, so each batch sounded subtly different. It’s one of the great amps of all time.
And I got the matching lap steel that came with it. It was $300 for the pair, because who plays lap steel? That’s one of the reasons it’s been a part of Queens since the very beginning. Lap steel is to guitar what ice skating is to walking: it’s the slippery version. So I’ve always had this attraction. It’s wonderful to get something when someone didn’t know what they were getting rid of.
On tour I’d go through the Recycler papers. When everyone was moving to digital I got so much outboard gear from old churches, like Collins compressors for $100 – and now they’re thousands and thousands. Going through a church yard sale and picking out two noise gates and suppressors for $100… that sort of scavenger hunting is one of the real joys of this. As a shepherd of the weird, I can say those are the places to go.
- For more on the Decade Too, head to Peavey.
