Greg, I didn't realize that we couldn't edit, or better yet delete, pre-coffee brain farts after an hour, or I would have. It's The weekend and the Foghorn is decidedly Scottish today.
I apologize for channeling Cletus in here for a cheap laugh and forgetting to delete it right away.
Your bass is a work of sculpture and it's been a privilege to watch you glide through the decision making process from the unique perspective of a fellow bassist and craftsman.
I'm continually reminded of a quote from a book called Does It Matter by Alan Watts:
Among the hippies, I know makers of musical instruments - lutes and guitars - that, for delicate ivory inlays and excellence of grain and texture, are as lovely as any works of the Italian Renaissance. ...
http://www.beezone.com/alanwatts/moneyversuswealth/moneyvswealth.html We know who he was talking about. Especially given our mutual love for spending evenings with our arms around a warm upright bass, a perspective few of our fellow bassists appreciate.
So when I discovered to my horror that I couldn't exorcize Cletus from your beautiful thread, it's like being caught in the glare of monks with torches, taking a crap on the Sistine Chapel floor.
And all I have to offer by way of apology is that I'm a married man, and trust it will suffice.
I was just trying to make you laugh. Is that a bad thing nowadays? We play such bombastic instruments, y'know. Sometimes when you crash and burn at a volume that could pulverize concrete blocks, it can be pretty damn offensive.
I've missed a turnaround and had a whole dance floor full of people stop and flail about like trout, and every scowling drunk in the room turn their bloodshot eyes toward me. Many, many times, I'm afraid.
I call those kinds of unexpected extremes dynamics. They kinda perform the same function as that DEEP button on that behemoth Ampeg SVT monolith I sacrificed my lumbar to. I used to look at that thing in the middle of a song and go; if I push that at this volume, it'll knock the whole front row over. Oh, what the hell. [crash, screams.]
I believe a certain aspect of that thing that makes us bassists is mastery of the DYNAMICS of the damn thing. And it's especially true of this bass, your work of art.
Bravo, sir. Godspeed.
My favorite thing about this place is that it's about learning excellence. I open my Alembic's road case and instead of taking it out immediately, I always stand back up and pause, just to look at it. I can't help it.
Every other guitar I just take out of the case while I'm there. You know what I'm talking about here. In a hurry to spank the plank to make that twine whine. Not with my Alembic.
It's that thing that happens when you hook it up to powerful amps that make big speakers pump like bass drums, and add a good drummer.
The drummer is essential. With the right one(s), it's the single greatest experience of my life. The thing I like doing more than anything else. I believe the same is true for you.
My 7th grade music teacher, Mr. Southworth, said that Beethoven asked potential students one question, for which he would only accept one answer. The most important thing was that the reply must flow from their mouths like water, without hesitation.
Beethoven's question was; why do you want to play music?
The only answer he'd accept was; because I have to.
Ever since Mr. Southworth told me that, I've just doggedly pursued playing bass. Because I have to. I can tell you do, too.
I suggest you get Thomastik Spirocore strings for your upright before you retire your left arm. I was absolutely delighted to discover that Stanley Clarke uses them, and he doesn't even know me! The rope core is made from a secret Austrian formula - I'd tell you more if I could - wrapped in some kind of indestructible metallic Bavarian ribbon stuff. They're unbelievably flexible and yet ballsy, with a nice, flatulent lower register you can pump like a heartbeat.
That was one of the reasons I posted the video of him playing Bach, to hear them for yourself, as well as witnessing a musical high water mark.
I bought mine purely by accident, at an old music store that looked like a set for Hoarders. They could have been anything, but they turned out to be something that made me strive for excellence.
Sorry about the floor. I'll get a bucket and mop.
