Guitar legend Yngwie Malmsteen has opened up about a common misconception regarding his technique, saying that what many fans call sweep picking in his playing is actually not sweep picking at all.

As one of the most influential guitarists of the 1980s, Malmsteen changed the electric guitar scene forever. At a time when it seemed like the instrument had been pushed to its limits, he joined a small group of pioneers — including Eddie Van Halen, Steve Vai, and Joe Satriani — to prove otherwise. His unique fusion of baroque music and rock not only shaped a new genre but continues to inspire guitarists today.

However, while many of his fast, fluid lead runs sound like textbook sweep picking, Malmsteen insists that this label is incorrect. Speaking with Guitar Player Magazine (transcribed by Ultimate Guitar), he explained that his technique is often misinterpreted.

“Well, it’s certainly not explanatory of it because sweep picking means like this [gesturing up and down strokes with the picking hand],” he said. “If there’s two downstrokes in a row, then one up and then down, up — like alternate. And then two down and two up, let’s say.
You can’t call that sweep picking. You could call it a lot. You could call it string skipping, or whatever.”

In essence, what Malmsteen does could be described as economy picking — a technique that blends alternate and directional picking — and occasionally includes two- or three-string sweeps. But to him, it’s not about the label. It’s simply a means to express the music he hears in his mind.

“You see, since I never really was taught, per se, I more or less invented my technique because I never heard anybody play what I wanted to hear in my head,” he added. “So, I didn’t think too much about this, as much as I thought about what it sounded like.”

Malmsteen’s approach to playing wasn’t grounded in music school methods or mimicry of other guitarists. Instead, it was rooted in personal exploration and an effort to give life to the musical phrases in his imagination.

He also clarified another common mix-up in guitar terminology — the difference between sweep picking and arpeggios. Many assume that sweep arpeggios and sweep picking are synonymous, but Yngwie begs to differ.

“But arpeggio, it’s not up and down,” he said. “And not always the same, too.”

In short, arpeggios refer to chords broken into individual notes, while sweep picking is a specific way of playing those notes — typically with a smooth, continuous motion across multiple strings. Not all arpeggios are played with sweep picking, and not all sweep-picked passages are strictly arpeggios.

Malmsteen’s comments highlight not just the complexity of his playing but also the importance of not reducing a unique musical voice to technical buzzwords. His technique is less about fitting into categories and more about pioneering his own musical language.

So the next time you listen to Yngwie shred through a blistering solo, remember: what you’re hearing isn’t sweep picking — it’s something original, something personal, and something that Malmsteen invented to turn his musical vision into reality.

If you’re new to jazz, you might quickly discover that it’s not everyone’s cup of tea — yet its influence runs deep in the foundation of modern music. For those who master jazz, it becomes a versatile tool, easily blending into other genres and adding layers of complexity, diversity, and freshness.

One such musician is former Death guitarist Bobby Koelble, who is not only known for his work in metal — particularly his contributions to Death’s influential 1994 album “Symbolic” — but also for his deep roots in jazz. Koelble has built a dual career as a professional guitarist and educator, currently teaching jazz guitar at the University of Central Florida since 2007 and Rollins College since 1998.

In a recent interview with Guitar World, Koelble spoke about his experiences working alongside talented jazz faculty:

“I’ve been very fortunate to have taught jazz guitar at the University of Central Florida since 2007, as well as at Rollins College since 1998. The Jazz Professors are the performing faculty at UCF; it’s a great learning experience to work and play with such wonderful musicians.”

Koelble also shared insight into how he integrates jazz into his metal playing, drawing attention to both the differences and connections between the two genres:

“Jazz and metal can be very intense in different ways, though the vocabularies of the music are obviously very different. I still try to apply what I’ve learned from the jazz language to playing heavy music, and do my best to put my own twist on it.”

By combining the improvisational complexity of jazz with the power and precision of metal, Koelble demonstrates how two seemingly contrasting genres can coexist and enhance one another — a fusion that continues to inspire both his students and fans.

The life and legacy of late Limerick guitarist Johnny Fean have been warmly remembered by his former bandmate Eamon Carr, co-founder of the legendary Celtic rock band Horslips, as Carr launches his new book Pure Gold – Memorable Conversations with Remarkable People.

Carr, who co-founded Horslips in 1971 and served as both drummer and lyricist, recalled his years working with Fean as a formative time, full of music, creativity, and camaraderie. The two first connected shortly after the band’s formation, with Carr and the rest of the group seeking a standout guitarist to elevate their sound. That search led them to Johnny Fean, a Limerick-born musician raised in Garryowen, whose father worked at Shannon Airport.

Fean joined Horslips after impressing them with his performances in Jeremiah Henry. Carr reflected on that period with affection:

“We had seen Johnny playing and knew he was brilliant – but we didn’t realise just how brilliant until he joined Horslips.”

Fean’s blend of electric blues, rock, and traditional Irish music made him a rare talent. Carr recounted how Johnny had once toured with Ted Furey, patriarch of the Furey Brothers, showcasing his skills on both guitar and banjo.

“So while Johnny knew all the electric blues and rock and roll, he also played banjo with Ted Furey!”

The two shared a flat in Dublin during their early days in the band, a time Carr remembers fondly for its fun and musical energy.

Fean, who passed away on April 28, 2023, at the age of 71 in Shannon, Co Clare, is remembered by Carr as one of Ireland’s most gifted guitarists—on par with greats like Rory Gallagher and Gary Moore.

“He had a fabulous talent and was the nicest fella. Genuinely, a really lovely person, and the Fean family are good folk.”

Carr also spoke about Limerick’s vibrant music scene in the 1970s, describing it as a key hub for beat groups and emerging talent.

“In Limerick, you had Granny’s Intentions, Reform, Sweet Street. There were venues like the Confraternity Hall on O’Connell Street—we used to come down for gigs. It was fantastic.”

Though Carr hasn’t visited Limerick recently, he shared that when he does return, he always visits one of his favourite local spots—the Hunt Café at the Hunt Museum.

Now an accomplished poet, playwright, art historian, sportswriter, and entertainment journalist, Carr’s latest book, Pure Gold, revisits key moments in his eclectic career. The book features conversations with iconic figures such as Jack Charlton and Shane MacGowan of The Pogues.

Carr credits Charlton with kickstarting his career in journalism back in the 1980s, before the legendary Italia ’90 campaign.

“The person that really got me started in my career was Jack Charlton… In those days, we used to tape interviews on cassette tapes. I put them all in an empty box at home and found them years later—and that’s how Pure Gold was born.”

As Carr celebrates the release of his book, his reflections serve not only as a tribute to his own creative journey but also as a heartfelt homage to the musical genius and friendship he shared with Johnny Fean, ensuring that the late guitarist’s memory and influence live on.

Before Eddie Van Halen revolutionized rock guitar with his iconic two-handed tapping style, he was quietly perfecting the technique away from the public eye — and sometimes, quite literally, with his back turned to the audience.

In a recent interview with Get on the Bus, former Van Halen bassist Michael Anthony reflected on the band’s early days and Eddie’s dedication to crafting his groundbreaking sound. “We used to rehearse in this little garage when I first joined the band, and we used to rehearse there every day for a while,” Anthony shared [via Ultimate Guitar]. “That’s when Eddie was also developing his ‘hammers,’ his tapping style.”

Anthony recalled how curious guitarists in the local area tried to sneak a peek at what Eddie was working on. “There were like two or three guitar players in the area that Ed was friends with, and they knew that we rehearsed there. I remember one time we went to take a break, and we walk outside, and there were a couple of guys there like this, listening at the door, and they wanted to hear what Ed played.”

To protect Eddie’s unique style from being copied before Van Halen officially debuted, frontman David Lee Roth reportedly took precautions — even during live performances. “There were gigs that we would play. We played a place called the Golden West Ballroom in Norwalk, California. That was one place where we could play original stuff,” Anthony said. “We opened up for UFO there. I think that was one of the biggest shows we ever did. It held about 1,500 to 2,000 people.”

He continued, “But when Ed would play a solo, Dave would tell him, ‘Turn your back to the audience, dude, because you got this thing, and you don’t want everybody to see it.’ So Eddie would, literally, play solos, and he would turn his back to the audience when he would be tapping. Which was really, really interesting.”

Anthony clarified that while tapping itself wasn’t new, Eddie’s specific approach set him apart. “It wasn’t so much the tapping,” he said, “but the way he did it was different than what anybody else was trying to do.”

Later in the same interview, Anthony revealed that before Eddie’s passing in 2020, there were plans in motion for a major Van Halen reunion tour. “Unfortunately Eddie and I never [made amends],” Anthony admitted. “We had some issues, and I’m sure that if he had not passed when he did, that we would’ve reconciled or we would’ve really calmed all that stuff down.”

He added, “I did hear, and I’ve talked to Wolfgang about it, that they were planning on coming to all of us and putting together a big reunion tour with all of us.”

The conversation offers a rare and intimate look at not just Eddie Van Halen’s musical genius, but also the early camaraderie, ambition, and later regrets that shaped one of rock’s most legendary bands.

Terry Harper, a man who can barely play a chord, has spent the last 40 years ensuring that countless melodies at the Sydney Opera House sound flawless. Though not a pianist himself, Harper has become indispensable to some of the world’s greatest performers, one of whom once likened him to a doctor treating a singer’s throat. His job has been to get under the lid of grand pianos and tune them with expert precision, making sure each note rings true. Over the decades, he has worked with world-renowned musicians such as Vladimir Ashkenazy, Gary Burton, and the late Chick Corea. Despite his limited ability to play, Harper insists that musical skill isn’t a requirement for tuning. He recalls trying to learn piano as a child, only to give up after about a year and a half. Instead, he mastered the art of tuning, playing one key at a time to reach perfect pitch.

Now, Harper is stepping away from the keys, ending a remarkable career and closing a chapter on a family legacy at the Opera House. His connection to the iconic venue began in the late 1960s, when he was just ten years old. He toured the then-unfinished structure with his father, Ron Harper, a respected pianist who played in jazz bands and orchestras. Terry remembers the concert hall as a vast, empty space, open to the harbor on both sides, with only bare concrete terraces in place. He also recalls playing drums alongside his father, who was not only a skilled musician but also a piano tuner.

Shortly after the Opera House officially opened in 1973, the Sydney Symphony Orchestra faced a rehearsal disruption when its pianist refused to play on an untuned piano. Ron Harper was called in, tuned the instrument while the orchestra waited in the Botanic Gardens, and impressed everyone involved. As a result, he became the first official piano tuner of the Sydney Opera House. Terry followed in his father’s footsteps, getting his first chance to tune pianos at the venue at the age of 19 after completing his studies at the Sydney Conservatorium of Music. Initially, he tuned various pianos throughout the building as an apprentice. He later gained international experience with Steinway’s head office before returning to the Opera House in 1986 to take over his father’s role.

One of Terry’s long-time collaborators, renowned British concert pianist Sir Stephen Hough, has performed at the Opera House for over three decades. He equates Terry’s work to that of a throat specialist, someone who prepares his voice—in this case, the piano—so that he can perform. Terry, he says, is the reason he’s able to “sing.” Harper’s understanding of musicians’ unique needs has made him a quiet yet essential part of hundreds of performances. Concert pianists often seek a warm and mellow tone, while pop musicians prefer a brighter, more vivid sound. Regardless of style, Harper has been responsible for fine-tuning over 240 strings to ensure every piano is stage-ready.

As he approaches his 69th birthday, Harper is retiring 59 years after first walking onto the Opera House construction site, and 50 years after he first tuned a piano there with his father. His ears have been finely tuned by a lifetime of practice—he can now instantly detect when a piano is out of tune, whether he’s listening to a live performance or a recording. Even in retirement, he admits he’ll always be listening for pitch imperfections when attending concerts at the Opera House. It’s something, he says, that simply never leaves you.

But beyond the sound of the pianos, it’s the people of the Opera House that Harper says he’ll miss the most. The backstage staff, the musicians, and the many unseen workers who help bring performances to life have all contributed to what he describes as a warm and welcoming environment. For Harper, the Opera House has always been a joyful place—one where every corner carries memories, and every face tells part of a story. Even though he rarely took a bow on stage, his contribution to the music world, quietly rendered in every perfectly tuned note, has been nothing short of extraordinary.

Padel has become an unexpected source of inspiration and personal growth for Victor Aguirre, a professional violinist who has graced some of the world’s most prestigious stages. What began as a casual hobby during the pandemic has evolved into a powerful metaphor for his artistic evolution—revealing deep connections between rhythm, performance, and the freedom found in letting go.

Trained to value control and precision, Victor often grappled with the anxiety that comes from striving for perfection. Yet on the padel court, he found a different kind of rhythm—one that celebrated spontaneity, fluid movement, and the joy of play. The sport encouraged him to stay present, to react without overthinking, and to view failure not as defeat but as an essential step in growth.

This shift in mindset began to influence his music. Victor noticed he was more present during performances, less burdened by fear of mistakes, and increasingly comfortable in his own expression. His confidence on the court began to mirror his ease with the violin, and the graceful back-and-forth of padel mirrored the phrasing in his musical compositions.

Victor now channels this philosophy into his community initiative, Fast4Padel, a platform that fosters connection through music, sport, and shared experiences. His story reminds us that true artistry often emerges not from perfection, but from embracing rhythm, trust, and the beauty of the present moment—whether holding a violin bow or a padel racket.