“I thought if I f**k this up, I’m over” Steve Lukather on Toto’s Hold The Line: his ultimate guitar solo
“It was the first solo I cut on the album, and I was on the spot,” says guitarist Steve Lukather, speaking about his seismic, jaw-dropping lead run on Toto’s debut single, Hold the Line. “I was 19 years old, and I was scared shitless. I was in the studio with my guitar cranked to 10, and all of these guys were behind the glass looking at me like, ‘You better bring it, kid.’ They counted off four bars, and off I went.
“I had no idea what I was doing. I thought to myself, ‘If I fuck this up, I’m over.’”
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Given the circumstances, Lukather’s nervousness was understandable. It was 1978, and he was a relative newbie held to scrutiny by the watchful eyes and ears of the LA session scene crème de la crème. “Jim Keltner was there, so was Waddy [Wachtel] and Kootch [Danny Korthmar],” Lukather remembers. “I’m sure they were all going, ‘Who’s this young punk ass? How did he get in here? He must’ve jumped the line or something.’”
A couple of Lukather’s friends were there, too, namely keyboardist-singer David Paich and drummer Jeff Porcaro. The guitarist had played with them a year before on his first big-time tour backing up Boz Scaggs, then riding high with his smash album Silk Degrees (half of which featured songs co-written by Paich). At the conclusion of the tour, the three, along with fellow Scaggs’ alumni, keyboardist Steve Porcaro (Jeff’s brother) and bassist David Hungate, talked about playing together again.
Line In The Sand
Hold the Line would prove to be an important song for Toto; in many ways, it wouldn’t be untrue to say that it was a catalyst for the formation of the band. “I was invited over to Paich’s house, and some of the other guys were there,” Lukather remembers. “David had a spinet piano, and he started playing the song. We didn’t have our instruments with us, but we were rocking out. He played me the riff on the piano, and I could hear how good it would sound on guitar. It was exciting. Jeff looked at me and went, ‘Yeah, man, that’s the shit!’ We all knew it had something. Some songs aren’t there at first. This one was. It kickstarted us being in a band.”
And so it was on that fateful day in Studio 55, when Lukather, gripped with fear and eager to prove that he had the right stuff, let loose with a spontaneous one-take wonder that combined impeccable phrasing and flamethrower intensity. When he was done, he looked at the folks behind the studio glass and asked, “Am I still in the band?”
“I wanted to be in the band so bad,” he says. “I was young and hungry. I mean, as far as I was concerned, this was the ultimate band. It was insane. And [singer] Bobby Kimball was a firecracker of a human being. Being near him was like sitting next to an M-80 – he was a big presence. That voice of his could break glass. Boy he could sing.”
The solo – like the song itself – sounds so well composed.
“We got in the studio, and everybody played the right part the first time,” he remembers. “I think we did two or three takes – that was the record. There were no demos. All the sessions we did, there were no demos or rehearsals – for anything. It was just a guy or a gal playing an acoustic guitar or piano, and we’d go, “Okay, there’s a chord chart.” We’d make little notes and come up with our own parts. After that, it was a question of where we gonna take it.”
Did David have the lyrics written out?
“Probably. He’d come into the studio with finished songs.”
That powerful rhythm guitar crunch – where did that come from?
“That’s what I brought to the band. Truth is, it was the most obvious part to play. I mean, it wasn’t like, “Wow, that’s genius.” I was just following the bass and piano part. Now, in doing that, it toughened things up. It wasn’t going to be just a little pop song. Jeff dug in with his drums a little harder than he would have on some other session. We were just discovering who the hell we were.”
Were you using a Les Paul on that?
“Yeah, that was a Les Paul. I may have just bought a 1958 goldtop. I did the main track on a ‘71 Deluxe burst, and when I overdubbed the solo, I think I played the goldtop. I think. It was a little bit ways back.”
Do you remember the amp?
“Absolutely. I was using a Fender Deluxe Reverb modified by Paul Rivera. I bought it off of a buddy of mine. Oh, I loved the amp so much. I begged him for it. He sold it to me for a couple hundred bucks – God bless him.”
Was it always known that you would play a solo in the song?
“The solo was built in. Paich was like, ‘Oh, you’re going to solo over this section’. I said, ‘Oh, wow.’ I was in the hot seat. It was one take until the very end when I did the harmony guitars. Dave insisted on that – ‘I want that Queen-Boston thing.’ For that, he punched me in and I played the first harmony, and then I doubled it. We did it as a three-part thing.”
Let’s drill down a bit. So you knew there would be a solo, but you didn’t plan it out at all, even a little bit?
“No! It was like, ‘Go. Play. Now.’ It was improvised. The solo was one take out of fear.
You made quite an entrance at the start of the solo. You must have known you had to come on strong.
I played something like that, and the rest was a stream of consciousness. I flubbed one thing at the very end, and Paich said, “Don’t worry about it. I was going to make you do that again to put the three-part harmony in there.”
Were you happy with what you played? After the one take, did you say to the guys, “I think I can do it better”?
“No. I was just hoping I was still in the band. [Laughs] I mean, we all mess up. Everybody thinks, ‘one take’, but I mean, when I was young and cocky and confident, I could go in there and nail it. I was sure I could. I already knew I could nail it before I nailed it. I wasn’t an asshole about it, but I knew inside myself, ‘I’m going to bring this. I’m going to be one of those guys that gets one or two takes and it’s done’. I would do that.”
I understand that you ran around the house in your underwear the first time you heard the song on the radio.
“That’s true. I was in my first house with my first wife, Marie. The album had just come out, and back then there were two stations we listened to – KMET and 95.5 KLOS. Those were our local rock stations when we were in high school. They kept saying, ‘You’re going to be on sometime.’ Oh, man, that was the dream. I got a call from Paich – ‘Turn on 95.5 right now!’ I’m in my underwear, I had just woken up. I turned on the radio and started screaming. Of course I’m dancing around the house in my underwear. Who wouldn’t? We were on the radio.”
What was it like to hear the sound of your guitar on the radio? I imagine the EQ might have sounded strange at first.
“It was surreal – the dream had come true. But you know what they changed the most? They cut the solo the fuck out to make it shorter so it could be on AM radio. They cut it out like it never happened. I remember being in my car going, ‘All right, we’re on the radio!’ Then it gets to the end and I’m like, ‘What?’ That’s what stations did. Most of the time, they played the whole thing.”
Has Toto ever done a show without playing Hold the Line?
“No, man. I mean, there’s certain things you have to do. I don’t play the solo exactly like on the record because I’m too lazy to learn it.”
You even play the song with Ringo and his All-Starr Band.
“Well, that was scary. They made me sing it, and I had to lower the key and everything. I have [saxophonist-singer] Warren Ham cover the really high bubble parts. I’m not a lead singer per se, but at least I’m not lip syncing it. You know what I mean? Nobody’s perfect. That’s the whole thing about fakery – people expect it.”
What’s it like to turn around to see Ringo Starr playing one of your songs?
“That never gets old. Never, ever.”
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