G. E. Stinson - Plumbing the depths to find the light

G.E. Stinson could have rested on his laurels: having forged, together with Shadowfax – the band of which he was co-founder, co-composer and guitarist from 1974 to 1990 – a highly recognizable style, a sort of jazz rock settled into a hybrid of world music and sophisti-pop instrumentals, his career could have carried on peacefully, reiterating what he'd already played with only minimal variations. Already a bestselling act for the historic new age label Windham Hill, and buoyed by a Grammy win in 1989 for the album “Folksongs For A Nuclear Village”, the group led by saxophonist and lyricon player Chuck Greenberg had reached, in 1990 with “The Odd Get Even”, its most refined studio effort, recorded during breaks in an exhausting schedule of live shows around the world. Instead Stinson, born in Oklahoma in 1949, chose to abandon ship at the very peak of that artistic journey, bid farewell to the majors and set off on a stubbornly underground solo career.

G.E., let's start with a question that might seem unrelated to music: how has meditation influenced your life? 

Meditation, specifically the practice of zazen, has been an essential part of my life since 1975. Zazen has proven to be a discipline that allows me to be focused and present in every moment, which is very similar to the state of presence you find when playing music, especially improvised music. Some of the most profound experiences I've had during practice have turned out to be comparable, in terms of expanded consciousness, to what I've felt while improvising on stage.

Is it fair to say that in your solo career you've plumbed the darkest depths of the human soul?

I've certainly made some very dark, dissonant and abrasive music, and doing so has been a way to channel very specific emotions like anger, sadness, regret and the like. It can be extremely cathartic: it's a very effective way to process difficult emotions and tragic events.

With "The Same Without You" ('92) begins your slow but relentless descent into the depths of abstraction. What sparked this new artistic direction?

In the early years of Shadowfax, say between '74 and '78, we were drawn to adventurous music and put out compositions that were far more demanding than the ones we produced in the Eighties. So, after years of touring, I'd grown tired of playing the same stuff every night. The others didn't seem as eager for improvisation as I was, so I felt it was time to start exploring with other people.

On the album "Masters Of The Abstract" (2011) you dedicate a track to Ornette Coleman: most remember him as the father of free jazz and for his unconventional saxophone style, but few recognize his greatness as a composer.

There are several Coleman albums that capture his most intense and expansive compositional side: "Science Fiction" and "Skies Of America" are the ones that struck me most deeply. I was lucky enough to see him play live when I was in college, and I'll admit it was a life-changing experience.

With "Black Skies" ('17), playing every instrument yourself, you created one of your most elegant and mysterious works ever. The common thread is a kind of deep melancholy. Was that a reflection of your life at the time?

It's true that I often tend to create melancholy music. I've loved that particular mood since I was a teenager. In the case of "Black Skies", there were several events that pushed me to write those tracks: first and foremost, the deaths of several Shadowfax members, and of John Abercrombie, a jazz guitarist I admired a great deal.

Among your boldest albums I'd mention "Ghost Aggregate" ('18). What was your modus operandi for composing it?

It was created during and right after the Covid-19 lockdown. Before the lockdown I'd been improvising a lot in Los Angeles and wanted to keep going in that direction. I see it as an attempt to recreate the music I used to improvise live in my studio together with some musician friends. During that period I got pretty skilled at producing music that sounded completely human but was actually created with a computer. The hardest part is still the drums. I didn't have a drummer or percussionist available, so I spent a huge amount of time tweaking rhythmic samples and MIDI instruments to give them a human touch. But it was hugely satisfying when some musicians asked me who the drummers were on those recordings.

Shadowfax: music critics generally agree that "Folksongs For A Nuclear Village" is your masterpiece, but I've always thought the real peak came with the following "The Odd Get Even".

Music critics are entitled to their own opinions, of course, but they're often poorly informed, and so what they write ends up misleading the listener. For most of Shadowfax, "Folksongs For A Nuclear Village" is not our masterpiece — in fact, we considered it our least successful album artistically. And, compared to our other records, it was also a commercial failure. That was a rough period for the band... we'd left Windham Hill and signed with Capitol, but in hindsight that turned out to be a huge miscalculation. We weren't getting along anymore, and I was already preparing to jump ship. "The Odd Get Even" was very different, mainly thanks to the excellent production of Bob Margouleff, someone who's worked with names like Stevie Wonder, America and Jeff Beck. By that point we'd also dropped Capitol and signed with Private Music, run by Peter Baumann of Tangerine Dream. For me, and I think for some of the other members too, "The Odd Get Even" is one of our best records.

You've often been labeled a "new age" band, but no matter how hard I try, I can't quite see how you'd belong to that genre. 

Being labeled "new age" always cracked us up. We started out in the Seventies and, album after album, got branded as a jazz-rock band, fusion, world music and so on. The new age tag was fair enough, if only because we were signed to Windham Hill, but honestly, that genre - like any other - doesn't strike me as representative of Shadowfax's music. And if we're being completely honest, I don't think a lot of Windham Hill artists have anything to do with new age either.

A word on Chuck?

We felt close, like brothers, and just like brothers we sometimes fought hard. When I met him he was a very adventurous musician, and we shared a love for artists like, among many others, John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman and Miles Davis. We were also passionate about music from pretty much every corner of the world.

An anecdote involving the two of you?

I could give you plenty, but here's one: in 1979, after five years making music together as Shadowfax, we decided to take a break. Chuck and bassist Phil Maggini moved to Los Angeles, while drummer Stuart Nevitt and I stayed in Chicago. We had no idea if we'd ever play together again. So when we got the chance to record and go back on tour, we were grateful to fate. During one of the first dates of that reunion we played a show in Northern California, and afterwards we drove the camper to a beautiful little town surrounded by redwoods, where it seemed like a good idea to stop for the night. When I woke up the next morning, Chuck was at the stove cooking eggs, potatoes and toast for everyone. Sunlight was pouring through the windows and birds were singing all around us. It was perfect. Every time I think of that moment it brings tears to my eyes.

Straight talk: why did you quit Shadowfax?

I touched on this in an earlier question, but let me go deeper: eight years of touring had become an unbearable routine for me. We were a successful band constantly on the road, and that demands a huge commitment, not just as an artist but as a person. On top of that, success often pushes bands to try to repeat what they've done in order to hold on to what they've achieved; that was frustrating for me because I've always been more interested in creativity than fame. Success can be fantastic, but it can also lead you into a dead end. Some artists are happy to repeat the same formula: I'm not. Add to that the fact that the commercial side of music can trigger a whole host of problems within a band, because if you make the wrong decision it can have damaging consequences for everyone. And that's exactly what happened to us.

A flaw of Shadowfax?

Tough question, and I'm sure my answer would differ from what other band members would tell you. For me, the limitation was a lack of compositional complexity and freshness. While it's true that together we created a "formula" that worked well, it's equally true that we weren't able to expand on it enough, or at least to change it up.

After you left, the band released the albums "Esperanto" and "Magic Theatre". What was lost and what was gained?

I can't help you there, because I haven't listened to either one.

Having studied your discography in its entirety, I suspect you're a fan of John Fahey.

In my formative years Fahey had an enormous influence on the way I played guitar. His approach is absolutely unique, even though he used folk forms that had existed for decades. His use of unusual melodies over seemingly simple chord patterns was a revelation. His music could be dark, slightly dissonant, but also warm and gentle, all of it steeped in great intensity and a particular sense of nostalgia.

What was he like live?

I saw him play live three times, and each time was slightly different. What tied every performance together was his ability to play technically complex things and make them sound simple and immediate.

Alex De Grassi told me about how you crafted the guitar abstractions for your “Shortwave Postcard”.

Oh yes, I really dug deep into experimentation for those pieces, and it was a significant challenge for him to adapt to those “extended” techniques, but as a musician he has an open mind. And it's proof that you can possess excellent technique while also boasting creativity and the ability to move people.

What can you tell me about his style on the instrument?

He's an exquisite guitarist. Chuck played lyricorn and soprano on three tracks from his '81 album “Clockwork”. That's where I first heard him, and at that point I went back through his discography, discovering the early things he'd done on Windham Hill too, gems like “Turning: Turning Back” and “Slow Circle”.

Which guitarists of the past do you owe something to?

Bo Diddley is the reason I decided to start playing guitar. From him I learned the importance of giving rhythm a soul. Muddy Waters was also a huge influence on me: Muddy was a very refined slide guitarist.

No one from the world of rock?

At the time Jeff Beck was probably my favorite rock guitarist. I admired his attention to sound, the way he used his hands to alter tone and texture. But I can't leave out Jimi Hendrix; I'd say Hendrix and Beck did things I'd call “sound painting”.

And jazz?

John Abercrombie, Terje Rypdal and John Mclaughlin, though they're certainly not simply jazz guitarists. In Abercrombie I admire the subtlety, in Rypdal the use of space and of the dimension relating to sound. Mclaughlin has astonishing technique, but I also loved it when he played funk with Miles Davis. Derek Bailey and Fred Frith were also extremely important to me: they both used extended techniques and noise in surprising ways. I almost forgot to mention Ralph Towner, who passed away last month… that would have been a serious oversight, because he was a profound source of inspiration - just listen to my guitar on “Watercourse Way”.

Among your most fruitful collaborations I'd mention those with the brothers Alex and Nels Cline: what do you like about their approach?

Alex and Nels are like brothers to me too. We've played together so much that it's hard for me to tell you what I appreciate about their attitude. First of all, they're both fantastic people. Second, as musicians, they possess extraordinary natural abilities and versatility. In Alex's case, for instance, the way he uses percussive elements and sound is unmatched among anyone I've played with. But go listen to how he plays drums too! Nels is a super-creative musician and an outstanding guitarist-composer.

Are there boundaries art shouldn't cross?

It's just my opinion, but I'd say that if there are limits in art, I've never run into them.

When does experimentation become boring?

When it's not done properly. Many artists think they can simply experiment in front of an audience without first dedicating time to perfecting their ideas and finding a voice that sets them apart. Maybe "experimentation" isn't the right term to describe what I do. Like me, most of the musicians I play with are very aware of what they're doing — they've spent whole days, weeks, months, years creating and refining a palette of sounds, ideas, and their own musical vocabulary.

What do you ask of the composer within you?

It depends on the circumstances, on the kind of music I'm composing and, more generally, on the context. There are so many different ways of thinking about music that I couldn't say I have a single main goal! If I had to name one overriding aim, I'd say that creating a coherent, singular structure is the foundation underlying everything I make.

Listening again to the simple beauty of a song like "What Goes Around", from the album "Too Far To Whisper", I found myself wondering why, after leaving Shadowfax, you didn't give more room to songwriting.

Actually, I did, quite a lot — you just don't know it, because when I chose to sing I used pseudonyms. So I'd recommend listening to "The Man Who Loved A Thousand Dark Flowers", released under my project Fragment X, the self-titled album by A Thousand Other Names, and "This Haunted Play", released under the moniker Abstract Companion.

This one is from Sylvia Plath: "The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt."

Insecurity can obviously be a problem for an artist, and I've been through my own periods of it too; I don't think it's possible to stay human and not have doubts about yourself... unless you're a narcissist, of course! As for Plath, she was a brilliant poet but, from what I remember, an emotionally unstable person. So let's just say that, sadly, insecurity was a prominent part of her psychological life.

Fusion is considered by many a genre where instrumental technicians who can't move an audience take refuge. Five albums to prove them wrong?

"On The Corner" by Miles Davis, "I Sing The Body Electric" by Weather Report, "Distant Hills" by Oregon, "Timeless" by John Abercrombie, and "Eponymous" by Terje Rypdal, Miroslav Vitous and Jack DeJohnette.

If you think of the Los Angeles of the '70s and '80s and compare it to today's, what's the most radical change that stands out to you?

For me the two big issues are income inequality and gentrification, along with everything that comes with them. L.A. today is made up of ethnically mixed neighborhoods that have been invaded and gutted by big corporations and real estate giants. This has driven a lot of working-class people out of the city. Don't get me wrong: it's still a fantastic city, but for some people it's getting harder and harder to live here. On top of that, we have a very high number of people living on the streets or in their cars, and sometimes they're dealing with mental health issues and addiction. For anyone with even a shred of empathy, seeing situations like that is distressing.

What's the most extraordinary aspect of being an artist?

The creative act itself, and the connection you experience with fellow musicians as well as with the audience. Few experiences in my life can compete with these — they're pure, simple manifestations of beauty.

(March 1, 2026)

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