So, Bernie, you and the Silvertone go way back. Tell us why it’s got a place in your heart. 

So, it was the early 80s, I was working in a music store in Hollywood. One day this guys comes into the store, points to a guitar, as says Hey, you ought to tell David Lindley about this Dan Electro.

I didn’t know Lindley, but the guy got him on the phone. We hit it off instantly. From there, we became phone buddies—I’d call him up when I found weird old guitars at garage sales, and he’d geek out with me. I'd find something cool in a garage sale, and that was at a time when you could still see, you know, a double-pickup white, early '60s Dan Electro for 50 bucks. So we became friends like that.

And that's how you got to know David Lindley? 

A little later, I left the store and was trying to figure out my life when Lindley called the shop looking for me. He was forming a new band and needed a rhythm player. The guy told him, “Bernie can do it.”

And that was the call that changed everything.

I went to audition at The Alley, this legendary North Hollywood studio where Bonnie Raitt, Ry Cooder, and Little Feat rehearsed. I’d never played reggae before, but I found a feel, and Lindley saw it. The percussionist, Babu—a rhythm genius from Trinidad—told Lindley, “He’s got it.” That meant everything.

Okay. Where is the Silvertone in all this?

Lindley handed me a record Jackson Browne had produced and said, “Learn these five songs.” I went home, learned both guitar parts on each track—how they locked together like puzzle pieces. A few days later, I came back and just slotted in. Lindley nodded. I had the gig.

At our first rehearsal with Jackson, he walked in holding a guitar. He looked at me and said, “Hey Bernie… for you.”

It was a 1962 Silvertone. That was our first meeting. I still get chills thinking about it.

That guitar became my sound. I played it on Melissa Etheridge’s breakout record—Grammy-nominated—and even gave her one like it for her 30th birthday. She opened the case and said, “I dreamed about this guitar.” Meanwhile, someone else had just gifted her a $10,000 vintage Fender. But the $200 Silvertone? That’s the one that moved her.

It’s not a fancy guitar—just hollow pressboard with a balsa frame, a wooden bridge, and an aluminum nut I later swapped out. But it’s got a unique, punchy voice. Not built for high gain or heavy sustain—just this dry, rhythmic snap that’s perfect for what I do.

That Silvertone’s been with me ever since. And it all started with a phone call, a dusty guitar on a wall, and a feeling I didn’t ignore.