BTW, if you haven’t visited the site yet, it is a lot of fun to read through their interviews and track reviews.

Current bassists under consideration:

Jimmy Blanton
Charles Mingus
Ray Brown
Red Mitchell
Scott LaFaro
Charlie Haden
Christian McBride
Eddie Gomez
George Mraz
Oscar Pettiford
Dave Holland
Michael Moore

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Among the many fascinating questions I get asked while wheeling my bass to gigs or waiting for parking lot elevators is: “Hey, is that a full size cello?” I have a variety of responses, depending upon my mood. If I’m in curmudgeon mode or in a hurry I’ll simply nod enthusiastically and move on. But sometimes I will take the time to explain that the instrument I am lugging is, in fact, a bass, not a cello and that it is not, in fact, “full size”. The bass I normally play has a string length of about 41″, which I believe makes it a 3/4 size. I rarely get this far with my explanation, however, as the inquirer usually loses interest after the heartbreaking news that they can’t tell a bass from a cello.

Since there are so many variations in the size, shape, tuning and other esoterica about our wily instrument, I’m not sure I can even define “full size”. I think a double bass has to have a 44″ mensure to be considered a 4/4 size. During my career I have owned two basses that were around 43″, which I guess made them 7/8 size, but I’m far from certain. What I do know is that, no matter what you hear on the street, the size of your bass really does matter, baby.

First, an admission: I have a rather small hand. I probably shouldn’t be a bass player for that reason alone (no snickering from those of you who know my playing, please…). Years ago, a wise teacher admonished me that I would never be able to out-muscle the bass; I’d always have to out-think it. I have always been jealous of the pornstar-like paws of bassists like Stanley Clarke and Jaco Pastorius. But we make do with what we have, right?

So I have no idea what possessed me to own those two 43″ behemoths of the bass world, one a Juzek, the other a Gotz. I had the former for a few years around when I was a student at DePaul; the latter only lasted a few months. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why it was so difficult for me to navigate the Juzek, especially in the lowest couple of positions. More practice, I figured, would solve everything. It didn’t help that I was studying with a teacher at the time who was not exactly big on solving technical problems, so it never occurred to me that the bass was just too damn big for me. Looking back, the chronic pain in my left hand should probably have given me a clue.

It wasn’t until I acquired my “good bass” that I realized what a difference those couple of inches really make. Aside from the big leap in tone quality, my Amelot is SO much easier to play because of its smaller size. I don’t get so fatigued, I can play in tune (more or less) and the technical issues are now due to old age rather than being overmatched by my instrument. I bought this bass well over 20 years ago, so you would think I’d learned this “size” lesson by now. But no, apparently not.

Here’s another awfully difficult admission to make on the doublebassblog: I own and enjoy playing the bass guitar. For those of you who are still reading, let me tell the recent sad story of my 5 string electric bass:

In case you don’t know, we have a world class maker of electric basses here in Chicago. The company is called Lakland and they have a workshop on the near north side of the city. They became known especially for their 5 string basses with a low B string, mainly because they have been able to get a clearer, more focused sound in that range than most other bass guitar builders. The only problem is that, in order to get enough stiffness into the neck, Lakland had to make it an inch longer. Normal string length for bass guitars is 34″ and this 5 string is 35″. Silly little inch difference, you say? Remember that the ebass is played with one finger per fret (or half step). So down on the open string and first couple of frets it gets pretty stretchy for some of us. The 34″neck is about as wide a stance as I can manage; the 35″is, as I’m finally admitting to myself, just a bit too much to ask.

A few years ago I purchased a beautiful Lakland 55-94 with a natural wood finish and a rosewood fingerboard, Bartolini pickups and, unfortunately, a 35″neck. It’s a great looking and sounding bass. I’ve been wrestling with it ever since. My other Laklands are 4 stringers with manageable 34″ inch necks. So, not only have I had to adjust between the upright and electric string lengths, I’ve had to compensate for the extra inch plus the extra string on my lovely 5 string. This has made my bass playing life considerably more stressful and complicated than I presently feel it needs to be.

Finally, after mulling it over for the last year, I decided that I’ve had enough. This week I sold the Lakland (sniff) and purchased a 34″ 5 string bass made by master luthier Roger Sadowsky. I don’t think the B string on this bass is any less punchy than the Lakland, and I don’t have to put my left hand on the rack to play the thing. Perhaps in the future I’ll be able to remember that size really does matter in this bass world of ours. But I’m not counting on it.

My extensive research into the area of influential and prolific jazz composers who happen to be bass players has been something of a bust. Much as I wanted to shill for my fellow low note creators, the sad truth is that there are not enough outstanding musicians who fit the description to warrant a full length article. I had hoped to write something for the new and quite good online journal Bass Musician Magazine, but there is barely enough material for a decent blog post. So, here goes:

It will come as no surprise that the first and most outstanding jazz bassist/composer was, of course, Charles Mingus. He really has no peer in terms of output, passion, skill, stylistic advancement and influence. A quick glance at his catalog of compositions will give you a good overview of the breadth of this man’s work. From simple blues based compositions like Haitian Fight Song and Better Git Hit In Your Soul to the massive and flawed Epitaph, his oeuvre is impressive – almost overwhelming.

Mingus aspired to be the Duke Ellington of his generation, though he also venerated Thelonius Monk and Charlie Parker. I’m guessing that his most played composition is the memorial he wrote for Lester Young, Goodbye Pork Pie Hat, which is essentially a re-harmonized blues melody. The tune is rightfully well known and often recorded; it is hauntingly beautiful.

Next I have to go with the man who put the fretless bass guitar on the map and wrote a handful of great and often performed tunes, Jaco Pastorius. Jaco’s output as a composer doesn’t come close to the scope and influence of Mingus but some of his tunes have become fusion (for lack of a more appropriate term) icons. Such compositions as Three Views of A Secret, Teen Town, Havona, Punk Jazz, River People, Barbary Coast, Continuum and Portrait of Tracy leave no doubt as to the writing talent Jaco possessed. Unfortunately he did not live long enough to see that talent fully realized.

Dave Holland has produced a great deal of music, primarily suiting his purpose to have the tunes serve as springboards for improvisation. He has written a number of compositions arising from his interest in odd meters and has also stretched the limits of harmony, often juxtaposing “tunes” and free improvisation. A friend of mine said that his historic early recording Conference of The Birds sounded like TV themes interspersed with free blowing. That’s awfully dismissive, but some of the tunes do sound a little immature. Fortunately, he had the likes of Sam Rivers and Anthony Braxton there to push the improvisational envelope. Many of his recordings have been without chording instruments, which reminds me of Mingus’s piano-less quartet recordings of the early 1960′s. [The presence of Eric Dolphy on the seminal recordings of Fables of Faubus and What Love, among other tunes, certainly helped make those sessions as close to masterpieces as there are in jazz.]

Holland has garnered many accolades in the past couple of decades for his work as a bassist and bandleader. Some of the inherent value of his groups is due to the quality of his writing, which has greatly matured over the years. He has borrowed a strategy from the Ellington (and Mingus) play book, namely, writing compositions specifically for the individual players in his groups. Like his early mentor Miles Davis, Holland has fostered the careers of many younger players, providing them a movable workshop not only for their playing but for their tunes as well.

The only other bassist/composer I have found to be a potential rival for these masters will come as a surprise to many of you. I first heard Ben Allison‘s music in connection with the NPR show On The Media. After doing some investigating I discovered that Allison had been writing, performing and generating considerable buzz with his semi-cooperative band Medicine Wheel for a number of years. His writing is eclectic and fresh sounding, incorporating a lot of non-jazz elements like pop and world music textures. I can’t give you a good thumbnail description of his compositions – there are a lot of them, spanning a good half dozen or so CDs. What I’ve heard I think is well worth checking out.

I realize that this list may be somewhat controversial. I’ve left out a lot of the usual (and some unusual) suspects. Many bass players have written some good tunes. My short list of these players includes Steve Swallow, Gary Willis, Gary Peacock, Charlie Haden, Ron Carter, George Mraz, Miroslav Vitous, Michael Manring, Oscar Pettiford, Scott LaFaro, Eddie Gomez, John Patitucci, Eberhard Weber, David Friesen, William Parker, Avishai Cohen, Drew Gress. I’m sure I’ve left out some worthy names, including your personal favorite…

But none of these players’ work as yet comes up to the standard set by Mingus, Pastorius and Holland. Perhaps several of them will emerge as truly seminal, outstanding composers. That remains to be seen, or, rather, heard.

As always, your comments are welcome.

_____________

I’ve been immersed in a fascinating book called This Is Your Brain On Music. The author, Daniel J. Levitin, is a musician/recording engineer/producer turned neuroscientist. Despite the unfortunate title, the book is a serious exploration of the connections between music (from both a listening and playing perspective) and the brain.

The chapter that most interests me discusses the venerable talent vs. hard work dichotomy. When it comes to developing true expertise as a musician, is it innate, genetic predisposition that matters most? Or is it what Artur Rubinstein referred to as “sitting power?”

The strongest evidence for the talent position is that some people simply acquire musical skills more rapidly than others. The evidence against that talent account – or rather, in favor of the view that practice makes perfect – comes from research on how much training the experts or high achievement people actually do. …experts in music require lengthy periods of instruction and practice in order to acquire the skills necessary to truly excel. In several studies, the very best conservatory students were found to have practiced the most, sometimes twice as much as those who weren’t judged as good. (p. 196)

The emerging conclusion is that experts in many fields (sports, literature, composition, performance of every kind) need about 10,000 hours of practice time to achieve world-class levels of proficiency. 10,000 hours is the equivalent of 3 hours a day, seven days a week, for a period of 10 years. These studies do not address the differences in the efficacy of practicing for different people (which is known to vary widely). But when we’re discussing performers on the level of Michael Jordan or Philip Roth or Yo Yo Ma, there apparently have not been cases where truly world class expertise was developed in less time.

According to Levitin, who runs the intriguing sounding Laboratory for Musical Perception, Cognition and Expertise at McGill University, this 10,000 hour theory is consistent with what science knows about how the brain learns. The genetic components for musical expertise are also crucial. Such things as physical size may determine that one is more suited for the double bass instead of the piccolo, for instance. Other relevant genetically linked physical traits include manual dexterity, eye-hand coordination, and memory. Determination, self-confidence and patience are certainly requirements for becoming a highly skilled musician; those traits are inherent as well.
Levitin has a broad range of musical taste and knowledge, which helps make the book approachable, whether you’re a baroque purist, a mainstream jazz aficionado or a Joni Mitchell fan. For the scientifically savvy there’s also a certain amount of detail regarding areas of the brain that are engaged when we listen to or perform music.

Finally, Levitin writes with passion about the emotional content of musical performance. He notes that “so much of the research on musical expertise has looked for accomplishment in the wrong place, in the facility of the fingers rather than the expressiveness of emotion.”(p. 208) Since we go to music (as well as other forms of art) to be moved emotionally, it seems that being an expert musician ought to include the performer’s ability (or lack thereof) to communicate with listeners in a meaningful way. Quantifying these skills is, alas, no easy task. But Levitin and his colleagues around the world are focusing some of their attention on these more mysterious matters. It may be just a matter of time before science is able to pinpoint the areas of the brain responsible for musical expression, sensitivity and communicative ability.

Meanwhile, it’s back to the woodshed. At this point I think I’ve got about 7,529 hours to go.

___________

I’m a musician. You know – a man with no marketable skills. Civilians sometimes ask me what I do for a living; musicians I run into often ask me what kind of stuff I’ve been doing lately. These questions always leave me tongue-tied. What on earth DO I do to make ends meet? Sure, I play gigs, I teach, I run my jazz education website. I do Finale copy work… But what does it all amount to and how can I succinctly answer these quesions? After all, if you ask someone in “normal” life what they do they’ll say something like “I sell shoes” or “I teach fifth grade” or “I’m a bartender”. I have no such pithy response.

My wise friend Sarah says that we belong to the “artist class”; we’re not blue collar workers because most of us are highly educated and “professional” yet we’re not really white collar either since we don’t get a regular paycheck and most of us do not earn six figures (0r anything close to that!). So we occupy some subversive nether world; we have the freedom of a freelance schedule but the burdens of an irregular income, no paid vacations and having to fork over large wads of cash every month if we want to have health insurance.

When I examine the work I do as an instrumentalist I have to laugh. One night I’m playing Louie, Louie with a metaphorical paper bag over my head at someone’s wedding; the next night I’m playing a jazz festival. One week I’m subbing on Wicked and earning serious dollars; the next I’m looking for spare change under my rug to buy a cup of coffee. Unless one has a day gig or some kind of steady job (in an orchestra, say, or touring with a name act), this is our reality.

I earn about 20% of my income teaching. Again, though I really enjoy the process and most of my students, it can be very hit or miss. I’ll have a week where everyone shows up for their allotted time, followed by two where half my students cancel. There’s also a wide variance in both skill and talent level, not to mention the amount of practice time people put in from lesson to lesson.

So, I ask my fellow freelance musicians: What do you do for a living?

There’s an old joke in the biz: Q: “How do you make a musician complain?” A: “Give him a job.” That is as succinct an assessment as I can imagine about this rather subversive business of making art. Even though we love to play we are constantly struggling with the practicalities of making a living doing this. Just a few of the inconvenient truths are: the unpredictability of a freelance income (never knowing when or how much you will work, how much you will be paid and when those checks might arrive); dealing with incompetent and/or arrogant conductors, band leaders, contractors and fellow sidemen; traveling to or finding the venue, parking and unloading unwieldy instruments, amps, etc; competition for gigs from other players of one’s instrument and on and on.

He also discusses life in the “zone”and how the analytic part of the brain has a difficult time grasping the power of these moments. Great stuff from Bill! Definitely check out the complete post. He’s completely right–there’s no substitute for being in the “zone”.

Related Posts:

• Art Davis dies at 73
• This New Bass (A Painful Journey)
• Jazz Bassist/Composers
• Innovative arts funding model in Chicago jazz scene
• Why I’m a jazz player

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Let me say it straight – I don’t enjoy orchestral playing. I love to listen to orchestral music, chamber music, solo recitals, etc. But playing in a section rubs me the wrong way and I am not good at it.

Playing in a bass section, to me, is like a factory job. Five or eight or ten players all attempting to execute the same music precisely at the same time, using the same bowings and articulations is my version of Dante’s Inferno. Section playing is so authoritarian; the principal player dictates all the bowings. It’s so hierarchical; one must obey the conductor, obey the principal, everybody has their assigned seat and stand. And it is so impersonal; individuals do not have the opportunity to be expressive. It is all about execution, and that is that part of music that interests me the least. I guess I have way too big an ego to be a good section player. I have problems with authority, too, which makes the situation even worse.

Sure, there’s power in all those strings vibrating together, especially on some double forte note low on the E string. I’ll grant you that. But it is not enough. What if I don’t feel like playing that particular passage the “correct” way. What if I want to play the “C” up an octave so I can actively support the second flute part? Nope, sorry. Not in the contract. Do it the “right” way and do it that same way every time or you’re out on your buttinski.

What I enjoy is being able to intimately influence the tempo, dynamics, texture, harmony, and articulation at any given point in the music. Sure, the chord changes and melody are a “given”, but I can interpret that information any way I see fit in the moment. So what if my job consists mainly of playing a steady stream of quarter notes with the occasional solo chorus or two? It feels really good to lock into the groove with the other members of the band, especially drums and piano or guitar. I like the feeling of being the glue that holds the key (no pun intended) to both the harmonic and rhythmic underpinning of the song. People stay out of my sonic way, too. Most of the time I am the sole inhabitant of the lower couple of octaves – they are mine to handle as I wish.

I also like being able to hear myself, something that I was never able to do playing in a section. I find it demoralizing to have spent years working on playing in tune, getting a good sound, and so on, and then going to work and not being able to even hear if I’m accomplishing those goals.

Hey, props to you section players! More power to you, especially if you dig doing that. As we say on my side of the street, that’s just not my bag.