I recorded myself playing Clockworks by Meshuggah about a month ago — partly because it’s one of my all-time favorite tracks, partly because I wanted to push myself technically, but mostly because I was obsessed with setting up my guitars to handle extremely low tunings. That meant restringing, and in this case, literally drilling a hole in one of the tuning pegs just to fit a fat .080 gauge string on my 6-string Ibanez.
I’ve never really talked about music on this blog, but honestly, it’s a huge part of my life. I’ve played guitar on and off for over a decade. There have been long breaks — weeks, months, even years — but music always pulls me back. I love a lot of different genres, but some things just hit differently.
The first time I heard Meshuggah, it just sounded like noise. I didn’t get it — and that’s normal. But as I started listening to more complex music that strayed from standard 4/4 time, I came back to them. The songs were Bleed and Straws Pulled at Random. And let me be extremely clear: when Meshuggah finally clicks for you, it’s like a door opening to a part of music you didn’t even know existed.
When you know how to listen to Meshuggah — when it clicks — it’s an eye-opening experience.
Playing Meshuggah
I can personally play two Meshuggah songs — Straws Pulled at Random and Clockworks. As a guitarist who constantly pushes myself, Meshuggah is a bit of an anomaly. Looking at the tab, it’s easy to think a repeating note sequence will be simple… but with Meshuggah, it’s never that easy.
The guitars lock in with the kick drums so tightly that when you’re perfectly synced, it feels like you’re firing an assault rifle with your guitar — an incredibly rewarding feeling, but one that takes patience to earn. The precision chugging is an endurance game: learning a riff is one thing, but making it through an entire song without slipping even once is next-level.
Mechanics matter. The right-hand picking in Clockworks isn’t just “down, up, down.” It’s a consistent, machine-like downpicking pattern with a barely-noticeable swing in attack to match the kick drum’s transient feel. Your pick angle has to be aggressive enough to give bite, but shallow enough not to snag that .080 string. On the left hand, muting isn’t just palm-based — it’s a full handshake between fretting fingers and palm mute to kill sympathetic resonance from those insanely low notes. If you leave any string ringing, the tightness is gone.
Tuning
Meshuggah’s music is infamous for its extended range and unconventional tunings, which push guitars far beyond standard playability.
To illustrate, here are two performances of me playing the same song — one in a lower tuning and one in a higher tuning — so you can hear how pitch changes affect tone, attack, and clarity.
The Low-Tuning Challenge
Tuning guitars lower than standard introduces several difficulties:
- String Tension – Lower pitches reduce tension, making the strings looser and more prone to buzzing or flubbing out. Maintaining tight, percussive articulation — essential in this genre — becomes far harder.
- Intonation Drift – Fretted notes can easily go sharp or flat if string tension isn’t balanced with proper gauge and setup.
- Pickup Response – Low tunings can saturate pickups, causing muddiness unless EQ and gain staging are dialed in precisely.
- Palm-Muting Precision – In extreme low tunings, every muted note’s attack needs to be surgically tight to avoid sounding “washed out” in the mix.
- Amplifier and Cab Voicing – Lower frequencies can overwhelm speakers not designed for sub-heavy registers, making amp settings more critical.
Low Tunings in Plant-Based Metal
Even outside of Meshuggah’s tech-metal territory, these challenges apply to “plant metal” (or any genre mixing groove-heavy riffs with organic, naturalistic themes).
Low tuning can give riffs a massive, earthy presence — but without disciplined technique, proper string gauge, and thoughtful tone shaping, that heaviness quickly turns to sludge.
It’s a balancing act: dialing in enough low-end to feel the rumble without sacrificing note definition or rhythmic tightness.
Polymeter vs. Polyrhythm — The Epiphany That Almost Broke My Wrist
Let’s break it down:
- Polymeter is when two rhythmic lengths run at the same time, each with its own downbeat. For example: your guitar plays a 17-note riff while the drums stay in straight 4/4. They start together, drift apart, and only realign after several bars.
- Polyrhythm is when different rhythmic divisions share the same total time. The classic example is 3 evenly spaced notes against 4 evenly spaced notes in one bar — different steps, same finish line.
When I first tackled Clockworks, I thought the main riff was a polyrhythm — I could feel two pulses fighting. But it’s pure polymeter — like two escalators moving at slightly different speeds. Misstep, and suddenly you’re lost.
Here’s the cruel part: if you’re feeling the drums and your right hand starts micro-adjusting to “land” back on their downbeat, you’ve broken the riff. It’s a discipline game — don’t chase the drums. Stay with the guitar’s pulse and let the drums drift past you until they naturally lock again.
The Polymetric Engine of Clockworks
In Clockworks, the polymeter is both obvious and subtle. Lock into the drums, and the pulse feels solid. Lock into the guitars, and the “1” drifts until, several bars later, it snaps back into place with a satisfying click. Then it all starts again — deliberate, addictive rhythmic suspense.
The Percussive Machinery That Hooked Me
Meshuggah’s guitars aren’t just playing over the drums — they are the drums. The chugs mirror the kick hits so closely that string attack and drum hit merge into one sound.
It’s not about flashy solos — it’s about making every note land like a sledgehammer. Playing it right means becoming part of a machine: relentless, precise, and perfectly in time.
And here’s a secret — that “perfectly in time” isn’t just about when you hit, but how you release. The length of each muted note is just as important as its placement. Too short, and you lose groove. Too long, and it muddies the accents.
Why It’s So Damn Hard
Meshuggah demands more than accuracy — they demand flawless accuracy. One sloppy mute and the whole groove collapses. Clockworks is essentially an eight-minute endurance test for your right hand: grip, release, hit, repeat… over and over.
Mentally, it’s like walking a tightrope between feeling the groove and knowing exactly where you are in the cycle. The “time warp” effect is real — you can feel like you’ve been playing forever and still have no idea when the riff will align again.
Meshuggah’s Metric Traps in Clockworks
- The Bar Drift at 2:42 — Feels like it resolves early. It doesn’t.
- Phantom Downbeat at 5:17 — The ultimate “gotcha.”
- That Thing at 7:06 — Watch the hi-hat. Keep your pulse. Good luck.
- Hidden Sync at 4:44 — Blink and you’ll miss it.
Why It Works
Meshuggah doesn’t write from a math problem — they write from feel. The complexity serves the groove, not the other way around. The polymeter subtly messes with your perception of time, but it’s all in service of a hypnotic, human rhythm.
It’s like walking past a room full of mirrors — everything feels slightly wrong, but you can’t look away.
Watch Me Try to Hold the Groove
Here’s where my wrist testifies: