Three Guitarists That Changed Slash’s Life

Before Slash became the top-hatted guitar legend we know today, he was just a kid who couldn’t tell the difference between a guitar and a bass. His journey from complete novice to rock icon wasn’t shaped by rigid practice routines or formal education – it was forged through pivotal moments with three guitarists whose influence would define not just his playing style, but his entire philosophy about what it means to be a rock and roll guitarist.

Keith Richards: The Riff That Started It All

The story of Slash’s life in music begins with a single moment of clarity, a flash of recognition that would alter the course of his existence. He’d walked into guitar teacher Robert Wolin’s studio with the modest goal of learning bass to join his friend Steven Adler’s band. He possessed virtually no knowledge of guitars, no burning passion for the instrument – just a practical desire to play music with his friends.

Then Robert Wolin put on The Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar.”

As the opening riff kicked in – that swaggering, instantly recognizable cascade of notes that defined rock and roll attitude – Wolin picked up his guitar and played along. He didn’t just play the rhythm; he captured the lead melody, the main riff, the entire essence of what made that song transcendent. Slash stared at the instrument in Robert’s hands “with total wonder,” and in that instant, everything changed.

“That’s what I want to do,” he declared.

It wasn’t the technical virtuosity that grabbed him. It wasn’t complex theory or impressive speed. It was Keith Richards’ ability to craft a riff that felt dangerous, sexual, and undeniably cool – a riff that communicated everything rock and roll was supposed to be in just a few bars. Richards never concerned himself with being the flashiest player in the room; instead, he understood that a great riff could be more powerful than a thousand notes. That philosophy, embodied perfectly in “Brown Sugar,” became the foundation of Slash’s approach to guitar.

The riff was everything: memorable, raw, and instantly identifiable. It was the sound of freedom, rebellion, and pure rock and roll energy distilled into its most potent form. From that moment forward, Slash knew he wasn’t interested in playing just any instrument – he wanted to create those moments of magic that made people stop, listen, and feel something primal in their gut.

Joe Perry: Finding Your Own Voice in the Saddle

If Richards showed Slash what he wanted to do and Clapton taught him how to approach learning, it was Joe Perry and Aerosmith’s Rocks that revealed what he was truly capable of becoming.

Slash heard just a fragment of Rocks as he was leaving a party, but that brief snippet stopped him in his tracks. The album had “a really nasty alley cat vibe” that cut through everything else he’d been listening to. If lead guitar was the “undiscovered voice” within him, Rocks was the record he’d “waited his whole life to hear.” This wasn’t polished or pretty – it was raw, aggressive, and dripping with attitude.

He became obsessed with “Back in the Saddle,” determined to master every note. But when he tried using songbooks to learn the riffs, he discovered they were hopelessly inaccurate. The notation couldn’t capture the feel, the nuance, the slight imperfections that made Joe Perry and Brad Whitford’s playing come alive. Frustrated but determined, Slash was forced to learn the song by ear, lifting the needle on his turntable again and again, hunting for each note and bend.

This painstaking process led to a revelation that would define his entire approach to music: imitation could only ever be a “stepping stone.” The goal wasn’t to become Joe Perry or Brad Whitford. The goal was to use their playing as a foundation for discovering his own voice.

Every aspiring guitarist faces this crossroads. The temptation to simply copy your heroes note-for-note is strong – it’s measurable progress, concrete achievement. But Slash realized that truly great players don’t sound like anyone else. Joe Perry didn’t sound like Jeff Beck. Keith Richards didn’t sound like Chuck Berry, even though Berry influenced him. The greats took their influences and filtered them through their own personality, their own experiences, their own hands.

Rocks taught Slash that developing your own voice required moving beyond mere technical replication. It meant understanding the spirit behind the playing, the attitude and emotional intent, then channeling that through your own unique perspective. Perry’s snarling, blues-drenched leads on that album weren’t just exercises in technique – they were expressions of a specific worldview, a particular kind of swagger and danger that could only come from him.

Years later, this lesson would come full circle in the most tangible way imaginable. A guitar collector contacted Slash’s management with an offer to sell him Joe Perry’s 1959 Les Paul – the tobacco-colored sunburst guitar that appeared on the Aerosmith poster that had adorned Slash’s wall as a teenager. He recognized it immediately, right down to its distinctive nick.

Despite the steep price of eight thousand dollars, Slash knew he had to have it. This wasn’t just any guitar; this was the instrument that had played an “essential role in the path [he’d] chosen in life.” When he finally held it in his hands, he felt he’d “truly arrived.”

The symbolism was perfect. Slash hadn’t acquired this legendary guitar by trying to become Joe Perry. He’d earned it by becoming himself, by taking the lessons Perry’s playing taught him and forging his own identity. (He would later immortalize this guitar in the “November Rain” video, using his hero’s actual instrument to create one of his own most iconic moments.)

Perry showed Slash that the journey from student to master isn’t about perfecting imitation – it’s about transformation. You absorb influences, you learn techniques, you study your heroes religiously. But then you must have the courage to step out of their shadow and become your own player, with your own sound and your own statement to make.

Eddie Van Halen: The Influence of Opposition

Not all influences push you forward on the same path – sometimes the most important ones push you in a completely different direction. When Slash began playing in earnest, Eddie Van Halen was the “marquee lead player” of the era, the guitarist every aspiring shredder tried to emulate. His two-handed tapping, his lightning-fast runs, his revolutionary techniques – everyone wanted to sound like Eddie.

Everyone except Slash.

It wasn’t that Slash didn’t appreciate Van Halen’s genius. He recognized Eddie’s brilliance, his innovation, his massive influence on rock guitar. But watching his peers attempt to copy Van Halen, Slash observed something crucial: none of them could capture Eddie’s unique feel. They could learn the techniques, memorize the finger patterns, play the notes – but something essential was always missing. Eddie’s sound was too personal, too intimately connected to who he was as a player and a person.

Rather than join the herd of Van Halen disciples, Slash made a conscious decision to avoid that path entirely. This act of resistance, of deliberately zigging while everyone else zagged, would prove just as influential on his development as the players he actively sought to emulate.

But Slash didn’t dismiss Van Halen entirely. Instead, he listened more carefully, looking beneath the pyrotechnics to discover something most Eddie-clones missed entirely: the blues licks. Even in Van Halen’s most technical passages, blues phrasing formed the foundation. Eddie hadn’t invented his style from thin air – he’d taken classic blues guitar vocabulary and filtered it through his own innovative approach.

This realization redirected Slash toward what would become his true guitar family: the individualistic players who valued passion and emotional authenticity above technical exhibition. He dove deeper into Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jeff Beck, Johnny Winter, and Albert King – players for whom the guitar was a means of raw emotional expression rather than a vehicle for displaying technique.

Eddie Van Halen’s influence on Slash was paradoxical but profound. By showing Slash what he didn’t want to be, Eddie helped him understand what he did want to be. Slash would never be a tapping, speed-demon shredder. He would never chase the latest technical innovations or try to play more notes than anyone else. Instead, he would commit himself fully to the blues-based, emotionally direct style of playing that felt natural in his hands.

In steering away from Van Halen, Slash actually completed his education. He’d learned from Richards that a great riff was everything. He’d learned from Clapton that technique should serve emotion. He’d learned from Perry that you must develop your own voice. And from Van Halen – perhaps ironically – he learned that staying true to yourself meant having the courage to resist trends, even when everyone around you was rushing in the opposite direction.

The Complete Picture

These three guitarists – Richards, Perry, and Van Halen – didn’t just teach Slash how to play guitar. They provided a complete philosophy about what it means to be an authentic musician in a world full of imitators and trend-chasers.

From Richards came the understanding that simplicity and feel trump complexity. From Clapton came the bridge between emotion and technique. From Perry came the courage to find his own voice. And from Van Halen came the wisdom to know which paths weren’t meant for him, no matter how popular they might be.

Together, these influences created Slash: a player whose bluesy, emotionally charged solos and instantly memorable riffs would define rock and roll for a new generation. He never became the flashiest guitarist or the most technical player. Instead, he became something more valuable – himself, completely and unapologetically.

When Slash finally held Joe Perry’s Les Paul in his hands, feeling like he’d “truly arrived,” it represented more than acquiring a piece of rock history. It symbolized the completion of a journey from wide-eyed student to confident master, from someone searching for his voice to someone whose voice was unmistakably his own.

That journey began with a single riff from “Brown Sugar” and ended with Slash creating his own legendary riffs – from “Sweet Child O’ Mine” to “November Rain” – that would inspire the next generation of guitarists the same way Richards, Clapton, Perry, and even Van Halen had inspired him. The student had become the teacher, the seeker had found what he was looking for, and the kid who couldn’t tell a guitar from a bass had become one of rock’s most iconic and influential players.