The online guitar community has rallied in support of YouTuber and bass player Danny Sapko, who recently found himself at the center of another fake guitar player scandal.

Sapko has built a healthy following on the video platform and currently has over 620,000 subscribers. Much of his content is concerned with calling out fake playing and bad practices in the guitar community.

In a recent video, Sapko accused Marcelo Perez Schneider – a viral Argentinian guitarist/bassist – of fake playing, alleging that he mimes along to pre-recorded tracks live in order to "fool" his audience.

Schneider's playing videos – which have been praised by Nuno Bettencourt, Kiko Loureiro and Michael Anthony – are characterized by hyper-technical runs and speed-tapping sequences.

Sapko alleges that the viral bassist mimes along to pre-programmed tracks live. In his first video on the topic, he drew attention to multiple audio and playing discrepancies – such as mistimed slides, song cuts, and passages where notes and phrases don't match up.

In response to his allegations, though, Sapko received a serious copyright strike on his video, causing it to get pulled from YouTube entirely.

Copyright strikes against YouTube channels are serious business, cutting creators off from monetization opportunities, and even seeing the channel taken down entirely if they’re hit with too many strikes.

“In less than two days, [my accusation video] gathered over a million views with people in absolute disbelief of the evidence presented,” Sapko explained in a follow-up video, addressing the scandal.

“How did Marcelo respond? He turned off all comments on his Instagram after the backlash and had my video removed with a copyright strike put on my channel.”

The video was taken down entirely by YouTube because of a seven-second, phone-filmed live clip, meaning that was copyright strike one against Sapko’s channel.

If history had repeated itself with his second video, which alerted viewers to the copyright strike, Sapko says: “I am one step away from whole channel deletion.”

Key figures in YouTube community offered support for Sapko, who alleged his attempts to highlight the fake playing were being silenced. Ola Englund, for example, hit back, saying in his own video of support: “Using the copyright system to silence criticism is a dangerous thing.”

Englund encouraged people to hop over to Sapko’s channel and show support via comments and subscribing to his channel. Sapko also has a Patreon, where the original video is being hosted for free.

“I started posting regularly on YouTube to get out of the job center,” Sapko explained. “So, if you've ever thought about supporting this channel, now would be the time because I have had a proper wake up today about how quickly this could all be taken away.”

His first video has since been reinstated, and the copyright strike against Sapko's channel has been removed.

Sapko noted to Guitar World that it was a minor victory for YouTube creators, but says there are still huge problems with the copyright system and how easily entire channels could be deleted because of people abusing the process.

Fake playing accusations are rife in the online guitar sphere. Last year, Sapko was also at the center of the Giacomo Turra storm. He was one of the earliest voices to accuse the social media guitarist of stealing other musicians’ songs for content.

Head over to Danny Sapko's YouTube channel for more.

Few modern rock bands have gone from playing pubs and clubs to arenas quite as quickly as British duo Royal Blood, and they’ve swept up rock royalty along the way.

The bass and drum pairing of Mike Kerr and Ben Thatcher took off with their self-titled debut album in 2014. Their third album, 2021’s Typhoons, was co-produced by Josh Homme – who is but one of the many A-list artists who count themselves as Royal Blood fans.

“I still can’t believe that happened,” Kerr tells Spin’s Lipps Service podcast of the time none other than Jimmy Page turned up to a show. “It was [over] 10 years ago, but it was a moment I’ll never forget.”

The show was at New York’s Mercury Lounge back in May 2014, just as mammoth anthems like Figure it Out and Little Monster saw the band explode. “My hero came to the gig,” Kerr later wrote on Facebook.

“We got a heads up that he was coming, but it wasn’t a sure thing,” Kerr recalls. “And then some security rocked up a couple of hours before doors. Then I was like, ‘I think he’s coming.’”

That US tour provided firsts for the young bands everyday. This was a whole other level of terrifying.

“I didn’t know for sure he was there until I was walking on stage,” he says. “At the Mercury Lounge, the dressing rooms are at the back of the venue, so I had to walk past Jimmy to get to the stage. That was probably the most nervous I’ve ever been in my life.”

Still, like everything else, Kerr and Thatcher took every turn of the band’s rollercoaster in their stride.

“I think we opened with a tune called Hole [the B-Side for Little Monster], and I remember finding his eyes about a minute into the track. I could see he was engaged and enjoying it, and the weight was kind of lifted.

“It definitely gives you a run for your money, but that show in particular felt really special.”

Years later, the band was still running into rock royalty, from covering Foo Fighters with members of Biffy Clyro, Coldplay, and pop queen Dua Lipa, to taking on a Metallica classic as part of their bumper Black Album anniversary.

The band is now set to release their fifth album, Dead Company, next week. It was tracked at the prestigious Sound City Studios.

On December 4, 1993, the music world lost one of its most colourful and original characters when Frank Zappa lost his battle with prostate cancer at the premature age of 52.

During a career that lasted a little over 30 years, Zappa managed to release a staggering 64 albums that effortlessly genre-hopped from hard rock to doo-wop to jazz to orchestral and anywhere else he so desired.

Always eccentric, often controversial and constantly misunderstood, Zappa was an innovator in the true sense of the word.

“You have to put him in the same league as Lennon and McCartney,” says Conrad St. Clair, bassist and music director for acclaimed Zappa tribute band The Furious Bongos. “He was an extraordinary songwriter.

“Think about the Beatles’ output during that incredible two-year period when they released so much essential material. Frank maintained that level of productivity for 20 or 25 years. It’s incredible.”

Zappa amassed a cult fanbase that would follow him on his journeys across many different musical boundaries. But although his influence was felt far and wide, after his death, the possibility of his music disappearing from the public consciousness was very real.

St. Clair found himself in a position to do something about it.

“Around 2012 or 2013, I came across this treasure trove of transcriptions of Frank Zappa’s basslines from the 1988 tours. I’d grown up listening to Zappa, but I’d never really learned much of his music.

“Once you become a working musician, you don’t necessarily have the time to sit down and learn songs like Penguin in Bondage by ear. Nobody’s calling for that stuff on a gig! So I’d never really got into it.

“But I found these charts and I started working on the material, and eventually the idea developed into, ‘Why don’t we see if we can put a Zappa show together?’ So it began as a challenge: could we actually play this music?”

St. Clair’s route to becoming a bass player was itself far from conventional. Before taking up the low-end, he studied at Juilliard, setting his sights on a career in classical music. But the pull of rock ’n’ roll eventually proved too strong.

“I started out as a flautist. I was on the path to becoming a classical musician, but I decided that being a bass player in a rock band was more fun.”

Did you feel under any pressure when you put The Furious Bongos together?

Dweezil Zappa’s show is built around recreating Frank’s music with incredible attention to the original arrangements, but we deliberately went in a different direction. That distinction took away a lot of the pressure.

Obviously, certain things need to be played correctly, but beyond that, we just go onstage and be ourselves. It isn’t a nostalgia show. In fact, Frank hated nostalgia. There are plenty of quotes where he talks about that.

What’s been the biggest challenge?

Once I started diving into the material, I realized that although people make a big deal about how complicated Frank’s music is – and some of it really is incredibly complicated – the real challenge is having musicians who can convincingly play all those different styles.

And it has to come naturally. You can’t fake it, because it won’t sound right. So you need people who can play reggae like a reggae musician, blues like a blues musician and jazz like a jazz musician. You need a really wide musical palette.

How closely have you studied Zappa’s backing bands?

I actually studied arranging with Arthur Barrow, who played bass with Frank in the late 1970s and also served as his rehearsal director. One thing I took away from Arthur, and from the other people I’ve met who actually worked with Frank, is that Frank didn’t hire musicians simply because they were good players.

Chad Wackerman told me about his audition. At one point, Frank asked him, ‘Okay, what can you do that’s amazing?’ He didn’t just want another great player; he wanted somebody who brought something unique to the table.

Look at Scott Thunes, for example. Frank chose him over Jeff Berlin. Jeff is physically capable of playing basslines Scott might not, but Scott had a particular flavour that Frank wanted for his music.

How hard is it to play those basslines?

I went through my Billy Sheehan and Jeff Berlin phase early on, so I had already developed some physical technique that the bass players working with Frank didn’t necessarily have, but he was never writing for that kind of playing.

Interestingly, Frank rarely wrote particularly demanding bass parts. There are plenty of difficult passages in his music, but the bass guitar doesn’t usually get the most technically challenging material.

There are only a couple of pieces I can think of that are genuinely demanding from a physical standpoint. In both cases, Frank wrote basslines that his bass players didn’t actually play as written because they couldn’t quite manage them.

Can you give me an example?

In my opinion, the two physically hardest things Frank ever wrote for bass are in a tune called Drowning Witch [listen carefully at 04:08 and 05:43 in the video above]. Scott Thunes never played them live, and they slowed the tape down in the studio for Arthur Barrow to track the album version.

The first section of that song involves improvised cues, and you have to be able to move through straight jazz, different rhythmic feels and other stylistic territory. Then you get to the second half, which becomes this bizarre, avant-garde classical piece. It’s by far the most difficult piece in our repertoire.

Do you have any other favorites from the set?

Within that enormous catalog are these little gems, such as Sharleena. If Marvin Gaye had released that song, it could easily have been a Top 40 hit.

Let’s Move to Cleveland is another favorite. I get to solo on that track, but the way the solo develops is really important.

I play and then trade with the drummer. After that, I go around the band and give each person a little melodic cell – a short musical idea for them to play back to me. Then I come back over the top and develop the whole thing further.

That’s the most enjoyable part of that bass solo for me. It’s the moment when you realise we’ve created an entirely new texture over the underlying chord changes – something that’s different every night.

In a nine-piece band, you have to think like an arranger. That awareness of what’s happening around you is essential.

You play a fretless six-string bass. Does that add another level of difficulty?

I suppose it does. There are some songs where I might switch to a fretted bass if the ‘clank’ of the frets works for that particular song, but we play a different set every night, and a lot of the songs flow straight into each other without breaks. Sometimes I don’t have time to grab another bass, so I do everything on fretless.

What bass are you playing?

I play an ACG bass by a maker called Alan Cringean. I’ve got two of his basses and would like to get a third.

Who are your favorite bass players?

I’ve always been more drawn to players such as Pino Palladino than to people whose primary focus is technical virtuosity. For me, musicality is the fun part.

You’ve also worked with B.B. King.

I was chief engineer at the Overture Center for the Arts in Madison, Wisconsin, for about 12 years. One of my first shows there was with B.B. King.

I remember sitting at the mixing desk while the band was soundchecking. B.B. was doing his thing, the musical director was taking them through some tunes, and I was waiting for their front-of-house engineer to show up, but B.B. didn’t travel with a front-of-house engineer at the time.

Eventually, I thought I should at least start setting some gain levels. As we approached the end of the soundcheck, I went onstage and asked B.B.’s assistant, ‘Hey, man, when is your guy getting here?’

He just looked at me and said, ‘You’re here.’ I thought, ‘Oh, okay!’ So I ended up mixing B.B. King in a 2,000-seat theater without a proper soundcheck.

Seeing as I’d been waiting for somebody else to arrive, I had to get the mix together quickly. Fortunately, they were happy with what I did, and I ended up mixing a string of shows whenever B.B. came through the Midwest.

Luckily he always had a great band. I’d turn everything on, get the levels right, make sure the room sounded good, and the musicians took care of the rest themselves. It was a wonderful experience. B.B. King was musical royalty.

Octopuses. Legendary Pokémon. blink-182 smileys. Mark Hoppus has never been one to shy away from a custom bass guitar, but now he’s made one of his favorites available to the wider world.

His latest signature model with Fender, the Stoned Fruit Jaguar Bass, replicates the bass he played on blink-182’s blockbuster 2023 reunion tour. But there’s a key difference: the wacky artwork by Burrito Breath – aka Ohio artist Phil Guy – is included as a set of stickers, rather than the finish itself.

The idea of a custom bass that’s different for every player just hit different for Hoppus, who himself had slapped stickers all over his early instruments.

“I just thought it was a genius idea that people could customize it themselves,” he tells Bass Player. “It could be something similar to the one that I have, they could just leave it off or put one or two stickers on. It seemed like a whole project rather than just a single bass in a certain color.”

Even if it was just a one-off color, it’s a looker. Guava Green is exclusive to this model, and comes with a matching headstock. It’s highly limited, and only available for – yes – 182 hours. And, along with Hoppus’ previous signature Jag, it has the privilege of being one of the only – if not the only – guitars to simply say ‘Fender Jag’, not ‘Jaguar’ on the headstock.

“I always called it a Jag, and Fender just put it on the headstock like that,” he says. “I think it's cool because the shorthand made it from our parlance onto the headstock itself.”

Like his previous basses, the new Jag comes with Seymour Duncan SPB-3 Quarter Pound split-coil P-Bass pickups mounted in reverse formation – the key to Hoppus’ distinctive tone.

As he explained to us previously, that gives the E and A strings more bite and punch, while the D and G get a deeper, fuller tone.

That’s important to Hoppus, because, as he tells us in this candid interview, he views his role in blink-182 as not just a bassist but also a rhythm guitarist – and that has shaped the way he collaborates with Tom DeLonge and Travis Barker in one of pop-punk’s most iconic bands.

The new model is a Jaguar bass. What are the biggest differences between that and your P-Bass?

I love the P-Bass. When I first started playing, the P-Bass was the bass that I always wanted. That was my dream bass guitar. Then [producer] Jerry Finn and I started tinkering with that, and we moved to a Jazz Bass body with a P-Bass neck, and then I moved to a Jag body with a Jazz neck and Jaguar neck.

First of all, the Jag looks a little more punk rock than either the P-Bass or Jazz Bass body. I just like the angle on it. And when I started playing Jag basses, it just seemed like they had a little more midrange cut-through, which is what I'm always striving for in blink.

I play bass kind of as a bass guitar and kind of as a rhythm guitar, so I want that midrange to cut through and support what Tom is doing on the guitar, but also separate from the sub frequencies and sub bass in modern recording. I am always searching for that midrange punch, and I think this body does that.

The Stoned Fruit Jaguar Bass made its first appearance on the 2023 reunion tour, which kicked off with a surprise set at Coachella. What was your mindset when you first walked back out onstage with Tom and Travis again after all that time?

It was so weird because we had just come out of Covid, and then I got cancer and was down for another six months. I got the all-clear at the end of 2021. January of 2022, we started getting in the studio and putting songs together. And then my first show back at all, and the first show back with Tom, was Coachella.

The first weekend was a surprise gig. I think we played in front of like 60 or 70,000 people, and then Frank Ocean cancelled for the second week, and they're like, “Hey, will you just headline the entire festival?” And so my second show back was headlining Coachella.

It was really like being thrown right back into the deep end of the pool, which was great, but very intimidating to step back on stage. I hadn't played on stage in a number of years, and after being sick, and then with Tom in the band, nearly a decade without Tom in the band, and coming back out, it was a dream come true. It was awesome.

It was so overwhelming in terms of the size of the crowd, but I didn't think that anybody would stick around for blink-182. It was weekend two of Coachella, almost the end of the whole festival.

I was just like, “Oh, there's really no pressure because it’s just blink going up there.” I thought that people would be like, “Oh, we're gonna go home. We're gonna beat the traffic. Frank Ocean canceled. We're gonna get back to L.A., get a good night's sleep, and go back to work.” But the whole place stayed. It was really an amazing experience.

You mentioned your cancer treatment. How did playing bass help you through that time?

Yeah, totally. Playing my bass through COVID and through cancer and having instruments around and being able as a musician – not being able to tour sucked – but being able to play my bass in my home studio and work on singing stuff and people would send files around.

We were lucky in that we could still continue to throw ideas back and forth, but obviously it's not the same as when you're in the room with people. Nothing will ever replace being in the room with other people making music. But it was great to just be able to play my bass like I always have.

How has your guitar and bass partnership with Tom evolved over the years?

Tom is such a great songwriter. I think that as far as songwriting goes, the three of us really challenge one another and really back each other up. What Tom does, I don't have the ability to do, and a little bit vice-versa. And then Travis is this X-factor that comes in and changes both of our ideas.

The way that Tom approaches guitar and songwriting is very different. Tom is always pushing things off to the extremes. Whatever it is that Tom is into at the time, be it U2 or The Police or a band like [Massachusetts post-metallers] Astronoid, he pulls from. And then I'm always trying to pull things back towards a pop, clean sensibility. And then Travis just comes in and hits everything with a sledgehammer and makes it really cool.

I'm always trying to write basslines that back up what Tom does on guitar and back up what Travis is doing on the drums. I really spend a lot of time with Tom's melodies and Travis' kick patterns.

You’ve also played guitar on blink albums over the years. Are there any parts you’ve recorded that would surprise fans?

On Neighborhoods, on the songs that I sing on, I pretty much played guitar on all of them. Generally speaking, the songs that Tom sings, he writes, and the songs that I sing, I write, and that's probably correct about 80 percent of the time.

There's times when Tom will write something, and he'll say, “I think this is perfect for your voice,” and vice versa. But on Neighborhoods, I was writing stuff on guitar and performing it, and then sending it to Tom, and he'd be like, “Well, why do I need to replay those guitars? They sound great.” And then Tom would come in and do stuff, as well.

I wrote the guitar riffs for Dammit and What's My Age Again?, and a lot of the guitar stuff that I write, Tom will replay or he'll do it better. I write songs on guitar rather than bass because I think that the guitar is another human voice, almost.

When Travis joined blink-182, it marked a turning point for the band. How did he up your game as a bass player?

When he first joined the band, he was more bringing in this totally different style of drumming than we had been used to before. I was playing eighth-note downstrokes on all the songs. Then Travis came in and would do these Latin beats in a punk rock song, or heavy metal beats, or turn the beat around, and I was trying to match that.

Travis joining the band definitely made Tom and I level up our playing and live performances. And then as we started to take it more seriously, we did Enema of the State with Travis, which was straightforward blink-182 with Travis coming in, making things a bunch better. Then we did Take Off Your Pants and Jacket, where we explored a bunch of post-punk influences.

And then on the untitled record, I feel like that's where we were really all together throwing ideas back and forth and changing things around, and that's when my bass playing really locked in with what Travis was doing, and it was way more than just playing punk rock songs.

We were trying to make our version of Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds or Dark Side of the Moon. We were really trying to reference these amazing albums that influenced us so much, and we were trying to make something that we thought was important.

That's when I really started changing my bass more to like, “OK, what's Travis actually doing here? What can I learn from him as far as the rhythms that he's bringing?”

You’ve previously talked about using the Quad Cortex in your live setup. Is that still your go-to?

We played a show a few months ago, and I was like, “You know what? I really miss having a working speaker cabinet on stage.” The modelers – the Quad Cortex, the Kempers – are so good right now. They sound literally like having an actual Ampeg 8x10 cabinet mic'd up in the studio. With my Quad Cortex next to it, nobody can tell the difference, so it has made that part of it a lot easier. And it has all my tones: my Silvertone, my AC30. It has all these great tones in it. But I just miss actually making noise.

So what I have now is my Quad Cortex going into a power amp that's actually powering an 8x10 cabinet on stage. Just because I want to push air. I want to make actual noise, not simulated noise. And even though it's convenient and it's tidy and it's perfect to have the Quad Cortex running everything, I can have all my stuff in there. I still want to make actual noise.

Doing the next record, I want to actually set up amps and get the tones and and commit to sounds and and put them down. And not have a DI channel that a mixer can do what he wants or put a plugin on or whatever. Like, “No, this is the bass tone that I want on this song that we've all agreed to, and now you have to mix that.”

That leads us neatly onto the next blink album. How is that shaping up?

We have a new record deal, and we are starting to talk about dates for future tours and things like that. And we're all starting to itch to get back into the studio. I have stuff that I want to show Tom and Travis. I know Travis has ideas. I know Tom's getting his studio back up and running again, and starting to dive in. So we can't wait to get in and see where it takes us.

Because I always want to keep writing new music and touring, and introducing new songs into the set. I don't ever want to rest on our laurels and be like, “Yeah, you know, we wrote Enema of the State back in ’99, so I think we're cool.” If we’re touring, I want to be touring new music and be excited about new projects.

Is there any specific direction the material you’re writing is taking at the moment?

This past couple years, I've listened to a lot of Sonic Youth and Devo and Bad Religion, and really going back to music that excited me back in the day. So my stuff is a lot more stripped down, punk rock-sounding.

I don't know what happens when Tom and Travis get their hands on that, but for me, it's really back to basics: “What do I love about music? What do I want to say?”

I feel really inspired. There's been times where I'm like, “I don't even know what I want to write about,” or I’m searching for what I’m trying to say. But this year, I feel a lot more focused and a lot more excited to just cut to the chase and write some kick-ass, thrashy songs.

• The Mark Hoppus Stoned Fruit Jaguar Bass is available for 182 hours from Fender.com.

What would reggae be without Bob Marley, and what would Marley’s music be without Aston ‘Family Man’ Barrett’s rock-solid basslines?

After backing the Uniques at a session in 1968, Barrett, along with his younger brother, drummer Carlton Barrett, were employed by the late Upsetter himself, Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, for numerous recordings, and likewise for Bunny Striker Lee. It was these musicians that brought ‘Family Man’ to the attention of Bob Marley.

As the legend has it, Marley was bemused at Barrett’s youth, thinking that his nickname indicated an experienced performer. In contrast, Barrett was as prolific in the bedroom as he was in the studio, siring at least 41 children.

The Wailers went on to conquer the world with their roots reggae music throughout the ’70s and after the death of Bob Marley in 1981, Barrett kept the Wailers touring to spread the Rastafarian word through their music.

“I’ve played bass before Bob, with Bob, and after Bob, and along the way, I created a whole new concept of bass playing,” said Barrett in his October 2007 cover story. “That’s just my thing. That’s my destiny. We have to keep the music going for you all.”

In the years that followed, having taken on the role of musical director with the Wailers band, Barrett continued to speak of Marley in respectful, even mystical over-tones, but he couldn’t say the same of the Marley estate or Island Records.

In 2001 he sued for unpaid royalties, claiming that he was owed more than $100 million dating back to the early ’70s.

The suit was later dismissed in London's High Court, leaving Family Man himself in debt for an alleged $3 million in legal fees.

“I don't really want to say much. All I can tell you is that when Bob was alive, there wasn't any problem. Everything was going cool and smooth, but after he passed, things got off track. That was created by greed. What's supposed to come from anything bad like that?

“When we first decide to take reggae music to the next stage, we come together as singers and players to spread that message to the four corners of the earth. And we are still on the same mission today, no matter the crisis.”

It’s unlikely that anyone will ever catalog all of the sessions on which Family Man played, but you can hear his influence on any reggae, dub, trip-hop and two-tone bassline on pretty much any radio show at any time of any day.

And while Fams has also left his mark on a number of key sessions that have since become reggae and dub staples, he’ll always be best known for his Wailers legacy, which will undoubtedly continue to influence music around the world.

Aston “Family Man” Barrett, died at a Florida hospital on February 3, aged 77.

Having overseen Trace Elliot’s rise to fame as manager and chief engineer the previous decade, Mark Gooday set about starting his new bass amp company, Ashdown Engineering, in 1997. Named after his wife’s maiden name, the company's logo was modelled on the Austin-Healey motor badge.

Speaking to Bass Guitar Magazine back in 2012, Gooday said: “In the early days at Trace, my wife and I would lay up all the power boards at home. We’d be building all the power modules and preamps for all the early amps, and then we’d take them into the factory and assemble them.

“I still get involved with that side of things at Ashdown – when you’ve done it for so long you come to understand what goes inside an amp, what goes wrong with them and what they should or shouldn’t do.”

Ashdown’s list of artist endorsements, past and present, reads like a who’s who of bass-playing royalty, from Paul McCartney and Guy Pratt to the Foo Fighter’s Nate Mendal and Mark King of Level 42, to name just a few.

But there’s one player in particular whose support was pivotal to the company’s early success.

“Without John Entwistle it would have been so much harder for me to start the company. He immediately got behind what we did, and even today we are still selling bass amps because John used our gear.”

As it turns out, however, the amp guru’s first meeting with the Who legend didn’t exactly go smoothly.

“I remember going down to set up his first amp. John was getting ready to go on tour and had called to say that the amp was sounding terrible.

“So we went into the studio with his tech, Dan, a lovely bloke who’d known John since he was seven or eight years old, and we stripped the amp down and retested it, but we couldn’t find anything wrong with it!

“It was two in the morning when John came back, and he plugged in and started to play but immediately jumped back from the amp, holding his ears, shouting, ‘Whoa! What have you done?!’

“It turns out that two days prior he’d had digital hearing aids put in, which compress everything, so he’d been playing away, and the moment he hit anything loud, the high-end especially, it would collapse it, and he’d just forgotten he’d had the hearing aids in.

“So we had been ripping everything to pieces – and these racks are like skyscrapers. We’d taken everything apart, changed all the tubes in the preamps, and he’d then taken his hearing aids out and nearly blown his head off!”

An avid bass collector, Entwistle used a ‘Fenderbird’ for years, which was a Fender Precision-necked Gibson Thunderbird. He was equally fond of a huge Warwick Buzzard (later made in carbon fiber by Status Graphite).

His quest for tonal power also lead to the development of roundwound strings, which he worked on with Rotosound in the ’60s. It's argued that he also invented the 4x12 speaker cab while using Marshall amps.

When it comes to Ashdown’s signature sound, Gooday is unwavering in what he is trying to create. “For me it’s warmth. It still needs some highs so there’s a little edge to it, but I don’t want total clarity, I want a nice, round low-end.”

Formed in 1970 in Birmingham, England, Judas Priest set the standards for generations of heavy metal to come. Along the way, bassist Ian Hill watched the genre evolve through countless trends, from the rise of thrash to the more theatrical, masked aesthetic of modern metal.

Having recently retired, Hill has always been clear-eyed about what separates the lasting greats from the passing fads – believing that, beneath the surface, the fundamentals have never really changed.

“I still listen to the same stuff I was listening to 30 years ago,” said Hill, speaking to Bass Player back in 2002. “New metal has a lot to offer, but you take away the masks and the bullshit, and it’s the same stuff I was listening to in the ’70s.

“But it’s keeping the genre alive and introducing a new generation to metal – and that's good news, because it will encourage people to look back at the classic metal bands, including Judas Priest.”

Having long remained faithful to its original sound, Priest expanded its horizons with 2001’s Demolition album, tuning down a whole-step to incorporate the darker tones associated with grunge and nu-metal.

“With Jugulator and Demolition, we started using the bass guitar in a more melodic fashion. That made a big difference in my approach to writing parts.

“I actually put the lower four strings of a 5-string set onto the Spector and set up the neck for the heavier strings, tuned down to ADGC. I had tried using a Hamer 5, but it didn't sound as good on tape.

“On Demolition I actually played melody lines over the rhythm guitars on songs like In Between and the ballad Lost and Found.”

What was your studio setup for that album?

I used a Trace Elliot 122HSMX combo with two 10s, a tweeter, and a 12-band graphic EQ. We got a great sound from that little amp. I used that with a Marshall 2x15 cabinet for the lows.

I ran a DI for a clean line and another line through a Zoom 506 multi-effect pedal to dirty up the sound on some songs. The full bass sound was a meld of all those different resources.

I played my Spector NS2 4-string, and I did a few things on a Washburn AB20 acoustic bass guitar, too.

In what ways has your backline rig changed over time?

I started out with homemade speaker cabinets and an old Linear 30 amp. Then I got a Park 100-watt amp with either a Marshall or Park 4x12 cabinet. After that, I went to a Marshall rig, because that was what everybody aspired to have – but it didn't sound that good, and I was forever blowing those Celestion speakers.

Then around 1977 I tried an Acoustic amp – the amplifier was in the speaker cabinet and the preamp was on top. That’s all I could afford at the time. But as we started to get popular, I went over to the Acoustic 360 heads and the 301 cabs. I had four heads and six cabinets onstage. I used that rig until 1985.

After that, I had a rig built for me by a company in Florida called EARS. They built me four cabinets with two 15s and two 12s; I used two on each side of the stage. I had all Ashly amplification. It sounded great, but it was enormous.

How would you describe your bass tone?

I like to think of it as a complete sound. I strive for a round, piano sort of tone. I like a lot of lows and highs; I pull out the mids with a graphic EQ.

Who were your original musical influences?

My biggest influence was Jack Bruce. Cream was very much a blues-based rock group, yet Jack seemed to steer well clear of established blues basslines; he did his own thing, which impressed me greatly.

How have your style and technique evolved throughout your career?

They have evolved, but I’ve made no conscious effort to change things. I was playing with my fingers in the beginning, and then the band suggested that I try playing with a pick to cut through a bit more. Now I play most of the songs with a pick, but I also play some passages with my fingers.

I always play down by the bridge, and on softer passages I dampen the strings with the side of my hand and back off the bridge about an inch. As for the picks, I started out using really heavy-gauge ones, and now they’re medium-light. I find it's easier to play with a lighter pick for the faster stuff we play now.

What advice can you offer on building stronger bass parts?

Listen to the song as a whole. Don’t just pick up on what the guitars are doing; listen to the drums and the vocals as well. It’s also important to listen to suggestions from other people, because they often come up with valid ideas.

If you take all those things into consideration, you’ll come up with the appropriate parts to best fit the song.

Do you maintain a regular practice routine?

Not any more. Before a tour I do a bit of practicing, but I don’t sit and play scales for hours. I run through the songs we’re going to do, get my calluses back, and get my fingers in shape. And I do the same before going in to record an album.

How do you warm up before a gig?

Interviews and photo sessions! Nothing, really; I’ve never found it necessary to warm up before a gig, and I usually don’t touch my bass until I’m onstage. I’ve found that I can just get onstage and get into the groove.

Having worked alongside some of the biggest names in music, including Prince, Jeff Beck and Beyoncé, Rhonda Smith has no shortage of bass guitars to choose from. But one stands apart from the rest – an instrument she originally borrowed and, as she puts it, “never gave back”.

“It wasn’t actually made for me,” says Smith. “The first one – my baby, Tequila Sunrise – was Gary Grainger’s personal bass. It was one of the first four-strings manufactured by PRS for the Gary Grainger Signature series.

“At the time, I went to Burbank because PRS had a showroom at Center Staging, and they didn’t have many of those basses around. They were custom-shop instruments, so you generally had to order one.

“Gary was gracious enough to let me borrow his bass to try it, and they let me have it for the weekend. I fell in love with it. I got to the point where I wasn’t willing to let her go. I didn’t want to go back to any of my other basses. So, you know, I found a way!

“I’ve had other ones made since then, and they’re great. I have another four-string that’s white, which is a backup, and it’s beautiful. But it’s not the same.

“That’s one of the things I love about PRS. I own 26 or 27 bass guitars – everything from Fenders to MTDs, 6-strings, and acoustics. But this one bass has a sound that none of my other basses have.”

Now, that unmistakable bass tone has played a key role in shaping the sound of The Power of 3, Smith’s new supergroup with Orianthi and Cindy Blackman Santana.

“You know, all good things start with good friends and good music, and this project contains all of that. We’ve already put out two singles, and our self-titled album is coming out December 11. We’re having a great time.”

The project first began taking shape when Las Vegas Raiders owner Mark Davis encouraged Orianthi to assemble a Band of Gypsys-inspired power trio.

The Power of 3 is now gearing up to take its hard-hitting blend of guitar, bass and drums to audiences worldwide.

“A trio has always been powerful to me because you have to watch what you play and be conscious of what you’re playing, but it’s also nice to have that space. You have more space, but you also have more responsibility.”

How did you record in the studio?

We cut everything live – all three of us together – and did minimal overdubbing. That’s basically how we made the record. Orianthi was singing the leads at the same time, too, so everything was happening in focus. We’d just work things out until we were ready to lay down the basic tracks.

That’s kind of what we did, with the help of Eddie Kramer, who produced the record. He brought in a lot of vintage sounds, vintage equipment and vintage EQs, and all those wonderful things that are going on.

Was there a moment when you knew the chemistry was really working?

I think it was there from the very first song. The first song we wrote together was No Time for Love, and I think the second was Treat Me Like a Lady. It was pretty powerful from the start. We just knew it was right.

The album was recorded entirely in analog.

I think a lot of us have become used to the digital sound, especially with streaming. But old-school people know the difference. There’s just something about the sound. It’s thicker, deeper, and meaner. It’s becoming a bit of a rarity these days. We’re releasing the album on vinyl, too.

What can someone expect from the live experience?

Live, it’s powerful. I think it’s a one-of-a-kind thing to see. People follow by example, and I think we’re good examples for younger women.

There have always been female musicians, but I don’t think there are many groups like this, with the kind of experience we have in a trio and the power we have coming out and banging out rock ’n’ roll!

What else can you tell us about your studio rig?

I generally use Aguilar amps, and I had a pretty extensive pedalboard, with everything from wah and distortion to chorus. I don’t think I ever went direct – Eddie always wanted a live amp so he could get that feed.

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?

Prince was a great teacher. He was a hard teacher, but he believed in perfection in a world where perfection doesn’t always exist. His lessons about ownership and owning your music, understanding the business and respecting the music have always stuck with me. They’ve been invaluable.

What advice would you give to aspiring players looking to make their mark in the industry?

You need to know how to respect the music. For me, as a bass player, when I come into a group, respecting the music means learning the song, knowing my parts, being on time, being there and being open to change.

You’d think those things were simple, but sometimes they can be challenging for people. The number one thing is learning the parts. A lot of people just don’t do the work, but they show up anyway. And then you let the whole team down. It’s really about knowing your role.

Has The Power of 3 changed what you look for in a collaboration?

I wouldn’t say it’s changed what I want from a collaboration, but it’s definitely enhanced my ideas about what I’d like to do. We’re all super-positive about it and we love the record. We’re looking forward to the December release and to reaching people who maybe don’t know who we are or don’t know the music. It’s unique and very cool.

One of the benefits of pop stardom – other than the adulation, and relentless ego-boosting – is the clout and bankroll to hire the best musicians in the world.

Some labels demand this of otherwise-ignorant artists by default, but there are a handful of pop stars sophisticated enough to know that superstar sidemen can make a hit happen.

Paul Simon, himself no musical slouch, has always retained excellent players, often exploiting his bands’ strengths to dramatically alter his sound. This is particularly true of his bass chair.

Bakithi Kumalo’s unmistakable fretless tone and iconic bass break on Call Me Al still stands as a pitch-perfect example.

“We were recording that song on my birthday,” said Kumalo, who was working for a mechanic at the time. “There was space to fill, so Paul said, ‘Go ahead, Bakithi, do what you like.’ I just played – and they loved it. I brought in my fretless, and we started to play some grooves, and it just happened.

“Paul said, ‘Do you need another bass?’ I said, ‘Sure!’ So he sent somebody to the music store and got me a Fender. I played that bass on the Graceland shows we did in Zimbabwe, and it sounded unbelievable.”

From David Hood’s deep-pocket roots to Tony Levin’s rock-solid support and Bakithi Kumalo’s jaw-dropping fretless runs, Paul Simon’s catalog is packed with basslines worth stealing a closer listen to.

With that in mind, here are the 5 Paul Simon basslines you need to know.

1. Kodachrome - There Goes Rhymin’ Simon (1973)

A ‘70s classic anchored by one of the best studio bands in rock and R&B history: the Muscle Shoals rhythm section, from the studio of the same name.

“Paul had heard us on I’ll Take You There by the Staple Singers,” said bassist David Hood. “So he called Stax and said, ‘Who are those Jamaican musicians?’ They told him, ‘Those are some white boys from Alabama!’”

As he did on Aretha Franklin’s Respect or Wilson Pickett's Mustang Sally, Hood plays the perfect bass part, then kicks things up a gear with a double-time shout chorus at 02:38. It’s simple with just enough flair to punch the groove forward.

2. 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover - Still Crazy After All These Years (1975)

Tony Levin’s bassline in the verse may seem simple, but it's one of the best demonstrations of the old “play for the song” adage.

The verses are all about Simon’s witty chord changes, so rather than distract, Levin plays mostly roots, except for the delicious G, at 00:41 – the 7 of the crunchy Gmaj7b5 chord. Its where Levin places the notes – and the slides and articulations between them – that make his bassline faultless.

3. Slip Slidin’ Away - Greatest Hits, Etc. (1977)

This melancholy meditation on divorce and middle-age boredom gets a little levity thanks to Anthony Jackson’s guitaristic sequence on the pre-chorus. It’s a telling example of why AJ is not just excellent, but uniquely so.

Listen at 00:39 and imagine getting thrown these simple chord changes on a studio session. Could you come up with such an ideal bit of bass guitar genius?

4. Graceland - Graceland (1986)

When Simon headed to South Africa to enlist a local band for his monumental 1986 album Graceland, the bassist, Bakithi Kumalo, was working as a mechanic.

In one of the most fortuitous discoveries in bass history, Kumalo would flourish on the sessions, playing fretless bass with a singular verve that forever solidified his place among the greats.

On the Graceland chorus, Kumalo injects the lilting groove with a melodic unison line and crafty triplet fill, but from his perspective, fretless is all about tone first.

“The first step is to get the right sound. It shouldn’t be bottom-heavy; it needs to have a presence in the midrange, like a trombone, so it can cut through.”

5. Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes - Graceland (1986)

Kumalo’s bass playing on Graceland is so badass, I’ve included another example: the extraordinarily melodic lick occasionally thrown into the verse to augment Simon’s buoyant vocal part. Have a listen at 01:55.

“At the time my English wasn't too good, but I tried to understand the story and support the lyrics. Listening back now. I guess I was able to grasp it well enough!”

Don't get bogged down in making the notes only to lose the groove; Kumalo may be outlandishly creative, but never at the expense of feel.

Judas Priest bassist Ian Hill has announced his retirement, stepping down from the British metal stalwarts after 57 years of service.

Described as “the backbone of Judas Priest” in an official statement, the 74-year-old has made the tough decision to leave the group.

Hill, the band’s third bass player after a series of early line-up changes, joined in 1970, and has played on every single one of Priest’s 19 studio albums, from 1974’s Rocka Rolla to 2024’s Invincible Shield.

“For a long time now, when asked ‘how long can you continue,’ I’ve always answered, ‘until my performances suffer,” he says in an official statement. “I hate to say it, but that time has come.

“For some years now, I’ve been struggling with the onset of the evil arthritis, which is now in an advanced state in my left shoulder and right hand, established in my right shoulder, and present in both knees. I’ve been fighting this with painkillers, gels, and recently with cortisone injections in my shoulder and hand.”

Treatments, he says, made it possible for him to lay down his punching basslines on the band’s latest album. Since then, he has doubted his ability to take the music onto the road.

“We asked our good friend Davey Rimmer from Uriah Heep and Elegant Weapons to learn the set list to stand in for me if I had to pull out, which I did for the London show,” he says of their recent European tour.

“This was due to me snapping a tendon in my left shoulder, as if I didn’t have enough problems with it, just before the encore during the Brussels show two days before [September 18, 2026].”

Reluctantly stepping aside as the band flattened the English capitol’s Eventim Apollo has been a wake-up call for Hill, who says, “I’ve neglected my family life for 57 years.”

“I’ve decided to retire and spend the remaining years making up for it,” he adds. “There’s not a day goes by where I don’t give thanks for the incredible journey I’ve lived through, and it just remains for me to say that I love you all, and thank you for the life you’ve let me live.”

With the news, Hill confirms that Rimmer will take his spot in one of Britain’s most important metal bands.

Longstanding guitarist Glenn Tipton, meanwhile, has already retired from touring as age catches up with him, but is still proving a riff machine in the studio alongside Richie Faulkner. It means that vocalist Rob Halford is the only member to have played on Rocka Rolla left touring with the group.

Holding down the low-end for No Doubt, Tony Kanal helped turn the band’s punk-inflected pop into a global phenomenon.

Born in London to Indian parents, Kanal moved between the UK, Canada and the US before settling in Anaheim, California, where his musical journey began on saxophone.

But it was as a bassist that he joined No Doubt at 16, going on to co-write global hits including Just a Girl and Don’t Speak – the latter reflecting on the end of his seven-year relationship with singer Gwen Stefani.

But long before Kanal was filling arenas with No Doubt, he was simply trying to get his hands on a bass guitar he could call his own. A family connection to Yamaha gave him a way in.

“When I first started playing bass I was using the school Rickenbacker, and I would take it over the weekend to play shows,” Kanal told Bass Player in July 2017. “And as cool as my high school bass teacher was, when he found out about that, he told me I had to stop taking it or he’d get in trouble.”

“At the time I didn't have a lot of money, but Gwen’s dad worked at Yamaha in the WaveRunner division, so he got me an employee discount. I borrowed $350 from my dad and bought a BB1600.

“That was my bass from 1987 until we went to Japan in 1995, and I found a BB3000 in a store. I bought that bass and started playing it. Right about then Yamaha got in touch with me, and I've been working with them ever since.

“For years they’ve been finding vintage models from the ’80s, and they totally strip them and put in new electronics and re-paint them so I can style them how I want. I just love how the collaboration with Yamaha turned out.”

“I’ve also been using Gallien Krueger heads since the beginning. I still have the first one I bought at Guitar Center in 1988. They even rebuilt it for me a couple of times, because I blew it out over the years.”

What goes through your head when you’re onstage?

When everything is firing on all cylinders, I usually go to another place entirely. That's where the muscle memory kicks in – you just go with it.

Tom and I were writing the early No Doubt stuff when we were teens, so that's real muscle memory; when you're still forming physically and mentally, it’s part of your fiber. Whenever we play, it’s just there.

Who has been your biggest influence?

My go-to is always Prince. I listen to Prince every day, and I play his music for my daughters constantly. Talk about a monster bass player. That guy made every bass player look like a joke, and that wasn't even his main instrument.

Which other bass players influenced you?

Simon Gallup, Peter Hook, Horace Panter from the Specials, and my bass teacher from high school, Michael Stopher. I had only been playing for a year when we started No Doubt, but that guy introduced me to so much great music and so many great bass players.

What was it like going to Jamaica to work with Sly and Robbie on the Rock Steady album?

It was amazing. I learned so much from those guys, especially from Robbie on the bass side. He would tell me that I didn’t have to play as many notes to get my point across.

My early basslines with No Doubt were so busy, because as a kid you always have something to prove, so I was playing a ton, but space is so important, and that’s probably the biggest thing I learned from working with Robbie.

On our song Underneath It All, I play the low bassline and Robbie is playing a strumming bassline on top. He didn’t let me cut and paste any of my parts, so that song was all in one take. No matter if I got off or not, it was real.

You also played key bass for the first time on that album.

I had no idea what I was doing when I started playing keyboard basslines, but that was the cool thing about the way we recorded Rock Steady: We just let go of everything we had done in the past. It was just about trying something new.

In our case it worked really well, and I’m glad I didn’t get discouraged by the fact that I’m not a keyboardist. It wasn’t about skill it was all about getting something that just felt great.

I tend to overcomplicate things on bass, and this was a way to prevent that from happening. It forced me to play simply – but simple in a way that left me happy with the part. I think that changed my mindset overall, to the point where now I’m okay with playing a very simple part on the electric bass as well.

What advice would you give to an up-and-coming bass player?

You have to be hungry and work hard at what you do. We were just tenacious when we started out. People don’t realize this about us, but we didn’t get on the radio until we had been together for nine years. That’s a long time to be doing something, but we loved what we were doing.

I went to college for a little while and I was in psych classes and I was just working on the next No Doubt flyer. It was where my heart was. Love what you do, and don’t stop putting in the work.

Influential Canadian bass guitarist and rock singer Sass Jordan has passed away at the age of 63. A statement posted to Jordan’s social media accounts confirmed she died on October 2 surrounded by her family. A cause of death has not been given.

“She remains in our heart, an inimitable force of nature,” the post read. “An irreplaceable being of light and joy.”

Jordan was born in Birmingham, England, in 1962, but at the age of three moved to Montreal with her family. By her mid-teens, Jordan was performing with local bands in the area, learning both bass and guitar in her earliest musical years.

She eventually became the bassist and frontwoman of the Pinups, and contributed to a number of recording and songwriting sessions, before launching her solo career in 1988 with her debut record, Tell Somebody.

Single Double Trouble peaked just outside the Top 10, as did the title track, which became a hit in Canada. The record’s rootsy melting pot of hard rock, soul and blues put Jordan’s music on the map, earmarking her as one of the country’s most exciting emerging new artists.

After winning the Juno Award for the Most Promising Female Vocalist of the Year in 1989, Jordan scored her biggest success with Racine – her second studio album released in 1992, which produced hits such as Make You a Believer, I Want to Believe, and more. That same year, Billboard crowned Jordan its Top Female Rock Artist.

As Jordan’s recording career took off, so too did her live career. In the 1990s and beyond, she toured with some of the biggest bands of the era, hitting the road with the likes of Aerosmith, the Rolling Stones, AC/DC, Van Halen and more.

Around the same time, Jordan recruited a young Taylor Hawkins to her ranks. The aspiring musician, who was destined to join Dave Grohl and become Foo Fighters drummer, got his first big break with Jordan, and learned what it took to be on the road with a rock band.

“Sass taught me how to be in a rock and roll band and gave me my first rock and roll check,” Hawkins once remembered (via Guitar Player). He recorded Jordan’s third record with her, 1994’s Rats.

Jordan went on to record a total of 10 studio albums, with her latest – Bitches Blues – arriving in 2022.

News of Jordan’s death has been received with an outpouring of tributes from the music world, with Glenn Hughes, Lee Aaron, Mike Garson and more all honoring Canada’s Queen of Rock and Blues.

“Gab and I are totally in shock, RIP my dear friend Sass,” Hughes wrote. “A true friend. We had so much love, joy and laughter, and music together. RIP My Sasseroonie Girl.”

“Oh man…unexpected and crushing…my heartfelt condolences go out to Sass Jordan’s family, bandmates and loved ones,” Aaron echoed.

“The world has lost a formidable talent. RIP Sweet rock’n’roll sister…I thought we’d have many more years of making music and getting silly backstage together.”

Having already demonstrated his lightning-fast double-bass chops on Return to Forever’s first two, predominantly acoustic, albums, Stanley Clarke was poised to redefine the possibilities of the electric bass.

The advent of custom-built Alembic instruments would also create a distinctive tone and look – his Jimi Hendrix afro-style hair offsetting the unusual Alembic headstock in photos of the period.

“It’s the instrument I received the most notoriety on,” said Clarke in the March 2015 issue of Bass Player. “Yet l've always been an acoustic bassist at heart; it’s what I studied, and when I got to New York in 1971, that’s what I was.

“But after Return To Forever’s Light as a Feather record, Chick Corea wanted to do electric music. He wrote a tune called Hymn of the Seventh Galaxy and l wrote After the Cosmic Rain, and he said, ‘Let’s do a whole record of this stuff!’

“I said, ‘Do you think I can play upright?’ And he said, ‘I don’t know, man, it's gonna be loud.’ So I put the acoustic on the back burner and got an electric.”

Clarke’s move from acoustic to electric bass opened up a new sense of freedom, allowing him to move beyond the conventions of the instrument at the time.

“First of all, it was easier to play, it looked good on me, and people responded to it. I also enjoyed the freedom because it was new to me. I didn’t have the typical style at the time, which was Jamerson, Jerry Jermott, and Chuck Rainey seriously laying it down on Fender basses.

“I love that approach, but I looked at it more as an electric bass guitar and I wanted to play the full range, bottom to top. Plus, I had music in my head from listening to Coltrane and Hendrix.

“And just as important, I had an advocate. Nat Weiss, who was a lawyer for the Beatles and had a record label called Nemperor. He saw me playing in a club one night and he said to me, ‘Here’s $25,000 – I want you to make an album.’

“I was so fortunate that he believed I had something to offer, and he really unleashed me as a bass player and solo artist.”

The self-titled album that followed is another of Clarke’s inspirational early works that includes the expansive Life Suite, showing that a mere bass player can have a lot to say even with string accompaniment or in a big band situation.

“When I came along, I was rebellious in a way. I brought a jazz psychology and attitude to the electric bass. I never really prepared anything on it, like the guys who came after me – say Jaco through Victor Wooten.

“Those cats had a clear idea of what they wanted to present. The pieces on their records seemed much more prepared and worked out, but I was a jazzer; whatever came out that day, that was it.

“My jazz sense applied to slap bass, too. Larry Graham innovated the style using mostly open-string keys, but I needed to develop a way to slap in other keys, without using open strings, and to move through changes.

“When I look back now, I don't see what I did as overly special; it was just different. I was one of the guys who pushed the instrument along, and later players pushed it in their ways, and so it continues on.”

Heavy metal was already in full cry when Conrad ‘Cronos’ Lant and Venom got started, but they were the ones to give it a push, to pour gasoline on the fire, and to take it to new extremes.

“If Black Sabbath were Frankenstein, Venom are the Evil Dead,” said Cronos, speaking to Guitar World in 2015.

Cronos could never understand why Ozzy Osbourne would call out for God to save him. He would never take the Left Hand Path. Ozzy would sing about Satan but – as the song goes – Venom would be in league with him.

As bassist and vocalist, Cronos would lead Venom from the front. Their fundamentalist metal ethos needed a sound that it couldn’t be housetrained. Technicality and all that was a distraction. Cronos wanted chaos. And he got it.

“I decided I would be the evil bastard. But the music had to be evil, too,” he said. “So, while all these other groups would get to their lead breaks and play these pretty little leads, I wanted to have divebomb solos and guitars crashing against amplifiers and all this madness.”

Venom were formed in Newcastle, England, in 1979. Cronos was just 16 when he started on electric guitar. It was only when bassist Alan Winston got the heebie-jeebies and quit the band just five days before a show that Cronos switched codes and moved to bass.

Cronos played bass guitar like he played the electric, plugging it into his Marshall, cranking it up, playing the root notes and hoping for the best.

“Something magic happened. It sounded fucking amazing,” he said. “So I said, ‘Fuck it, I’m the bass player now!’”

In the early days, Venom would rehearse every week in a Methodist church they rented for £5, playing Judas Priest, KISS and Black Sabbath covers, and setting off the pyrotechnics that soon be their calling card. They’d pull in a few hundred metalheads to watch them rehearse.

Clive Archer, a long-haired ghoul who went by the stage name of Jesus Christ, was on vocals, Jeff ‘Mantas’ Dunn was on guitar, and Tony Bray, aka Abaddon, played drums. Archer looked the part in corpsepaint but his time was numbered.

The story goes that Mantas and Abaddon heard Cronos sing Live like an Angel (Die like a Devil) and wanted him to front the band. Other accounts say Archer was leaving anyway. Either way, it was a hinge moment for metal history. The man who would become extreme metal’s godfather and popularize the phrase ‘black metal’ was now at the mic and he was a force to be reckoned with.

Like many of music’s great pioneers, Cronos had a certain entrepreneurial acumen. He was working as an assistant engineer and tape operator at Impulse Studio, in Wallsend, not far from Newcastle, when he was asked to help record a bunch of local bands to capitalise on the rise of NWOBHM.

There was an urgent new sound and Impulse Studio’s owner, David Wood, also owned Neat Records wanted in on the action. Cronos did his bit. But he wanted some studio time for himself.

With studio engineer Mickey Sweeney oversubscribed, working all hours, Cronos would help out, and asked Sweeney to return the favor. He got Wood to give him some studio time but he paid for it.

“I ended up washing cars, sweeping the stairs and cleaning the toilets just to get that day in the studio,” Cronos recalled. ‘But we got to go into the studio and put down the stuff we had.”

Venom cut their Demon debut in April 1980, their six-song £50 Demo in October. They sounded rough but they had a vision. Neat released In League With Satan as a 7” single in April ’81, introducing Baphomet as a the band’s trademark, and put out their debut album, Welcome to Hell, in December.

Venom had arrived, much to the horror of critics. The production was horrible, and yet it is hard to understate its influence; lo-fi audio hideousness would become a production ideal for the black metal scene that Venom would influence.

Tracks like Witching Hour and Sons of Satan gave extreme metal form. Slayer, Anthrax – all of the main players in the thrash scene – would eat this stuff up. Norwegian black metal pioneers Mayhem took their name from Mayhem with Mercy.

But Cronos and Venom were just getting started. Their sophomore album, Black Metal, was the one. It sounded better, not pristine. That frenzied energy that Cronos got from punk was writ large as this super-evil Motörhead tore out the speaker.

“Lay down your soul to the gods rock ’n’ roll” came the refrain of the title track. Venom now had a record that was just as wild as their stage show. Black Metal was the album that became the genre, that became the text that informed metal’s underground subculture. It was the source.

“People credit us with starting a movement and all, but the truth is I think it was inevitable,” said Cronos, speaking to Guitar World in 2008. “Punk had died. Metal was lame. There could only be one new way to do this – for metal bands to get some fucking balls again.”

It was inevitable that Cronos would become a musician. He grew up in a musical household. His uncle played bluegrass. There was always musical instruments kicking around, and he, his sister and two brothers, were encouraged to pick them up and make some noise – not that tracks like Countess Bathory and Buried Alive were their thing.

“I knew I was doing right by my music when I found out that my parents hated it,” he said.

Venom caught heat for their use of Satan as their muse. The PMRC took exception to 1985’s Possessed. But then so did Cronos. He called Possessed “unrehearsed bollocks.”

He was refreshingly honest about his missteps. Cronos acknowledged that pulling a high-concept Rush/2112 move on 1984’s At War With Satan was too much for some fans – but isn’t that the point of being extreme, to have the audacity to give us a 20-minute black metal track that took up the entire Side A?

“Let the joyous celebrations of Hell begin”, indeed.

A band so extreme was bound to come apart at the seams. As inevitable as Cronos saw Venom’s emergence, so too was its lineup changes. Cronos was the one constant.

But then he was a something of a renaissance man, with a wicked sense of humor. Was he entirely serious when he said he died his hair with henna to be like Kate Bush, whom he was a superfan of? Probably.

He was no pushover. When Combat Records sent a production team to record Venom at Studio 54, and offered no contract, Cronos took an axe off the wall and cut the power cables. “One of the things we found out early on was that, in this business, if you let somebody rip you off, then it’s a free for all,” he said. “And you just didn’t do that to Venom.”

Cronos was many things. He became a fitness instructor in the ‘90s. He was a birdwatcher. He launched his eponymous solo project in 1990, and after reanimating Venom for a second time in 2005, he kept it going, releasing their 16th album, Into Oblivion, via Noise/BMG in May. He cultivated Carolina Reapers and Naga chili peppers. But ultimately he was free. That’s why he had no time for religion.

“My philosophy is this: you’re born and one day you’re in a box, and what you do in between is your own choice,” he said. “And to live by a dogma that tells you that you can’t do this and you can’t do that is one of the most absurd things I’ve ever heard.”

His death on October 1st, aged 63, invites discussion of his legacy. To give Cronos credit for black metal is almost to undersell his and Venom’s influence. He once described black metal as “all of the metals” and that’s his legacy.

“It’s always nice to hear that we came up with the phrase ‘black metal,’ but I get a lot more pride from seeing just how much metal is out there now,” he said.

“When I realized that there are so many millions of people around the world who also like that style of music, well, that’s just the most amazing thing in the world to me.”

In 2022, ZZ Top guitar tech-turned-bassist Francis Elwood made headlines throughout the guitar press and beyond when he whipped out an almighty 17-string bass guitar with the Texas blues-rock legends.

And although Elwood has since admitted he feels uncomfortable in the role he has occupied since Hill’s passing in 2021, his too-many-stringed bass continues the band’s great tradition of wacky instruments (the spinning fur guitars that starred in the Legs video being their most famous examples).

In an interview with Guitar World, Francis detailed the origin story behind the unlikely extended-range behemoth, which started life as a cheap knockoff of YouTuber Jared Dines’ 18-string Ormsby creation (and is most definitely not a Fender, no matter what that gargantuan headstock logo says).

“I did it to myself,” Elwood laughs. “I hate playing that fucking bass. I found it late at night while internet surfing on one of those Chinese websites. I couldn't believe they were making something like that.

“I found this guitar, took a screenshot, and sent it to Billy, saying, ‘We should order one of these, and I'll play it. It'll be hilarious.’ And three months later, we fucking got it. It came in all the way from China, and Billy pulls out this big-ass yellow 17-string bass and is like, ‘Okay, we'll play it for a song, right?’ I said, ‘Yeah, I guess I can do this…’”

Unsurprisingly, the instrument proved somewhat challenging to play, not least because the very first time Francis used it was on stage – to tackle, appropriately enough, ZZ Top classic Got Me Under Pressure.

“Man, the guitar tech barely got the thing ready for the show,” he says. “And we don’t do soundchecks; I didn’t even play the guitar until the first time, so it was a baptism by fire while we were out on stage. I was like, ‘God damn, this thing is hard to play.’

“I was seriously struggling because you don’t always know where you are, and if you look at it from the bottom, it’s a big blank neck; I was having trouble finding the frets to play.”

Once it was all over, Francis breathed a sigh of relief – “Okay, cool. Hope everyone laughed” – thinking he’d never have to play the monstrosity again. Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t the case.

“I thought it was over, but the son of a bitch went viral, and I woke up to all these messages and links to all this fucking bullshit,” he says.

“I was cringing because I knew I was struggling to play that piece of shit. I’m like, ‘Great. Of all the things to happen… Now that I got this reaction, Billy’s never going to let me not play it.’ I was thinking, ‘If I can just get through this… it’s just one song, and I’ll never have to play it again.’ But now I’ve got to play it [every night].”

And it looks like it could stay that way for some time – the 17-string bass has attained such notoriety, it has even surpassed some of ZZ Top’s most iconic guitars in fans’ estimations.

“At this point, more people ask me about the 17-string bass than they do the fuzzy guitar,” Francis laughs. “Now, the 17-string bass is the thing they want to hold!”

Read Guitar World’s full interview with Elwood Francis, where he discusses stepping into Dusty Hill’s shoes, and his teching years with Joe Perry and Steve Vai.

For Owen Biddle, playing bass guitar with The Roots on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon was about as far removed from a typical gig as it gets.

Presiding over the nightly comedy show, the band had to be ready for anything, all while delivering the kind of bulletproof groove that made The Roots one of the most formidable backing bands around.

“We’ve gotten to do some really cool gigs,” said Biddle in the July 2011 issue of Bass Player. “It’s definitely been a whirlwind. I’m trying not to take for granted that my résumé now has this huge spike in it!”

It was August 2007 when bassist Leonard “Hub” Hubbard announced he was leaving the Roots after 15 years, opening the door for Biddle to take over.

Before long, the Roots had become the backing band de jour for everything from NBC’s Haiti Relief Telethon and Jon Stewart’s Rally to Restore Sanity in Washington, D.C., to Carnegie Hall’s Tibet House benefit and Comedy Central’s inaugural Comedy Awards.

“I remember Bootsy Collins sat in on bass and vocals with the Roots all night on a Fallon show; we did Tear the Roof Off the Sucker at the end.

“Backing Sting was definitely one of the highpoints; he got to rehearsal while we were jamming and said, ‘Keep it going!’ and he jumped right in.”

“Probably my standout memory was the night we did two songs with Bruce Springsteen. When I first encountered Bruce and Steven Van Zandt, and they saw my bass, they lit up like two kids in a guitar store: ‘You have a six-string bass!’

“Then Bruce told me this story about when he was young and trying to get his tone together on guitar. He wanted to get more of the lush sound he was hearing from players like Jeff Beck, so he ended up buying this Gibson that had a real smoothness to it – but people kept saying, ‘Hey, that's a cool-sounding bass you have there.’

"It turns out he had bought an EB-6! So we bonded over six-string basses.”

Biddle was handed his first G&L bass at 14, which had been left behind when his cousin’s ska band broke up. He later worked his way through a succession of basses before turning to Philadelphia luthiers CallowHill Basses to build his dream instrument: a six-string bass with a compact 30-inch scale.

“I went into CallowHill basses with a laundry list of features that I wanted, and they catered for all of my quirky requests. I wanted the mahogany fretboard for the tone, and an overdrive circuit before the preamp so that the signal runs directly from the pickups to the overdrive, which I keep it on at all times.

“What I wanted was the sound of a short-scale bass, like a Höfner, but with more rigorous construction and modernised amenities.”

“The preamp, the pickups and the extended range of the B and C strings all give it a uniqueness that I sort of conceptualised when I knew that I was going to create this custom bass.

“The B string holds the tension of the notes beautifully because it is short scale at 30 inches, so the notes don’t die out and they get this punchy feel if I need it.”

Despite the instrument’s six-string range aiding his upper-register excursions, Biddle finds the low B string far more relevant to his playing than the high C.

“The 6 hasn’t changed the way I play; I still think like a 4-string player, but there are more opportunities for notes, especially down low. I don’t use the C much except for the occasional chord, or to show a keyboard player a specific voicing.”

“What I do like is having something visually provocative, which sorts people out for me – from the open-minded to the purists.

“I use flatwounds, which are also have that sort of built-in muted tone. The two pickups are Fat Stacks by Nordstrand, which I keep full on, in single-coil mode. Add in the warmth of the mahogany body and it has a classic, understated, all-purpose tone that I use for almost everything.”

To call Tony Levin simply a bassist would be doing him a disservice. He’s a full-scale multi-hyphenate musician who’s added his magic to the work of Peter Gabriel, Alice Cooper, King Crimson and more.

For the last two years he’s been touring with BEAT, celebrating Crimson’s music. He has a new Stick Men record out titled Let’s Thrak. Meanwhile he’s writing his memoirs.

“I've been working on it for years,” he says. “I’m lucky to have great stories of these bands I've played with, including playing under Igor Stravinsky. It’s pretty wild to have played with both Igor Stravinsky and Alice Cooper!”

1. What was your first bass?

I started on upright as a classical player, but I don’t have that bass. My first Fender was a Precision I bought in the ’60s. I saw a guy playing one at a show and asked him, “Hey, what’s that?” He gave me great advice: “Don’t buy a new one; buy a used one.” In the ’60s we didn’t use the term “vintage” – it’s just that older instruments were cheaper than new ones.

He said, “Go to New York and for $180 you’ll buy a used Fender Precision.” I did that; and for many years, that was my bass. Later on I switched to Music Man, also designed by Leo Fender. Unfortunately there was a fire in my barn in Woodstock, New York, and all my basses except for my road ones were lost.

2. What’s a quirk or habit of your playing’s become a part of your style?

There are probably a few, but I’m not aware of them because I don’t analyze my playing that way. No matter how complex or simple, when I hear a piece of music, I’m not thinking with the prefrontal cortex. I just let the bass player take over.

3. How many guitars do you own, and what gear do you own that might surprise people?

I don’t have that many, considering how many years I’ve been doing this! We all love to collect instruments, but frankly I can’t tell you how many I have. As for surprising instruments, I have a cello, and if it’s my album and nobody to stop me, I’ll play some cello.

4. Which bass do you have the closest relationship with?

It varies with the band I’m touring with. With Stick Men I play the Chapman Stick. Mine has 12 strings, with six guitar strings and six bass strings, and it’s touch-style with a stereo output.

And then there’s BEAT, which is the music of Crimson from the ’80s and maybe the ’90s, and I’ll play more Stick but also bass. My five-string Music Man is my go-to bass now. But I also have the four-string Music Man I played in the ’80s.

5. Tell us about a time you were faced with a decision that had real implications for your life as a musician.

There is, of course, no single moment; but I’m still going to pick one! I harken back to 1976 in July when I was called to play on an album in Toronto with Peter Gabriel, whom I didn’t know of. I hadn’t even heard of Genesis! One of the guitar players was Robert Fripp, so I met the two of them that day.

Now, there’s a craft to studio work. I loved doing it, and I’d just fallen into it. I’d started playing on rock albums for Lou Reed and Alice Cooper. Then Peter gave me the choice to go on the road with him, or I could continue to be a New York studio player.

I chose to play live, which is what I love to do. I chose to be musically kicked in the butt and given subtle music lessons on how not to be a “normal player,” and how to step outside the business as usual. A few years later I joined King Crimson, where business as usual is not even considered – we wanted to truly be progressive.

6. What’s your most memorable moment with a guitarist or guitar hero?

A day that’s been on my mind lately, is from 1980, when Robert asked me to get together with some guys he knew and think about forming a band. I went to downtown New York, and in the studio were Adrian Belew, Bill Bruford and Robert.

I hadn’t even heard the music of Bill and Adrian, but I knew Robert’s playing because I’d played on his solo album, Exposure, and I’d played on the road with him with Peter.

I vividly remember the first few minutes of them playing, and my jaw dropped. Adrian was a completely unique guitar player, Bill was the same on drums, and then there’s Robert Fripp, who, obviously, was completely unique.

My thoughts while looking down at my bass and Chapman Stick were, “I’m not even going to touch the bass. in this band I’m going to be super-challenged to just belong in the room.”

7. What’s it like being in the room with Adrian and Steve Vai with BEAT now?

It’s the same – but I’m not shocked anymore! I’m used to it. Steve is just a unique player and an amazing technician. I take it as an honor to be in a band with both of them. It’s a challenge to up my game musically; not technically, necessarily, but musically: to be fresh and unique and special enough. To try – and maybe I won't succeed – to be that kind of player, because that's what is called for.

8. What’s been the toughest time you’ve had as a musician?

I’ve been rejected from a band or from a tour. It hurts. It happens to most of us. This strange occupation of being a musician often entails being in situations where you’re not wanted. You put a lot of your deepest self into it, so when you’re rejected, it hurts. It can be rough, but we deal with it.

9. What’s the best piece of advice you’ve received?

I can’t think of verbal advice, but when I was at the Eastman School of Music with Steve Gadd, he was a great drummer even then. He got me on gigs and mentored me, and it was invaluable just standing next to him.

I got to feel what it was like to have good time, never speed up or slow down too much, and just have good feel – which is a pretty advanced lesson. He wasn’t showing me or even telling me; it was just subtle things I picked up.

10. What’s the biggest misconception about you as a player?

The truth is that I don’t think about how people think about me. I’m a little famous in some niches, and that’s nice; that’s okay – but I don’t think about it at all. I’m very aware of how lucky I am to be playing really good music with really good musicians.

11. What lessons have proven most true throughout your career?

With being humble, you want to talk to Peter Gabriel. I’ve been with the guy for 40 or 50 years; he asks if anyone in the room wants tea – and then he goes and makes it! He’s the guy who, at meet-and-greets or an after-show thing where everyone in the room is there to see him, will see the person in the corner not talking to anybody, and he’ll talk to that person.

I’ve been around Peter and people like him a lot. If some of that rubbed off on me, I give them the credit.

• BEAT hit the road again across North America on October 9.

After battling a bout of carpal tunnel syndrome and tendonitis and questioning whether he would even be able to play anymore, former Incubus bassist Ben Kenney thought he was moving into a better chapter of his life.

But he soon noticed he was starting to lose a “ton of hearing” on his right side.

“At this time, I'm in my mid-40s. I've been standing next to a bass [cab], 8x10, for 20 years. Turned all the way up. I'm just losing my hearing,” he tells Guitar World. Or so he thought.

“Then I started feeling lethargic and dizzy, and I was like, ‘No, that's a little weird. Getting old sucks. Getting old, man…’ And then my face started to go numb, and that was when my wife was like, ‘We got to get you sorted out. We got to figure out what's up.’

“I went through just a whole ordeal. Like, anyone that's gone through it knows that you got to talk to multiple doctors until someone tells you the truth. And I found a great doctor in L.A.”

The specialist informed him that he had a brain tumor. Shocked, he gathered every ounce of strength to keep the ball rolling.

“I'm on tour. I guess, 2022. I have the knowledge that I may have a brain tumor, right? I didn't tell nobody. I was just terrified, absolutely terrified. What does a brain tumor do? And meanwhile, this ear is just slowly turning all the way off. I need both ears to really find where pitch is.”

When he got back home from tour, the surgeons managed to remove his tumor successfully, but not without complications.

“I finally talk to my brain surgeon, and he's like, ‘Yeah, you'll live. You'll be fine. You are going to permanently lose your hearing on the right side. It's never going to come back because it's already destroyed, and the nerve is dead. Other nerves will heal. That one's gone. Your face may be paralysed for the rest of your life…’ Like this whole laundry list.”

As for Kenney, he was devastated that, “I'm never going to hear stereo guitars again, and hear that beautiful harmonic haze… that thing is a memory for me now, and that's a little bittersweet.”

However, even through all this ordeal, Kenney, who decided to step away from Incubus but is now back on the road with his solo project, is quick to point out the silver lining.

“The gratitude is like… look at what I've gotten to do. Look at what I've gotten to hear. Like, I could, if all my bills were paid, and everything, I never had to worry about anything ever again, I could call it a day and be like, ‘You did the thing. There's nothing more to chase.’

“You know, if this ear [his other ear] stops working – which, with the amount of music that I've been around, the amount of drums I've been around, I'm probably going to have a hard time hearing out of here – I'm good. I've gotten to get more out of music than anybody.”

You can watch Guitar World's full interview with Kenney above.

Some bands get kicked offstage for being too loud. Freeze the Fall had to leave because they were too young. But for bassist Aria Becker, her age was never supposed to be the headline.

“There were shows where we literally weren't allowed to stay inside the venue,” says Becker. “We’d have to wait in the car until the support act had finished. We’d then quickly go inside, play our set and run back out.”

Their youth became an unavoidable part of the Freeze the Fall story, with the band frequently introduced as a “teen band.” It’s an understandable label for a group that began making waves while its members were still in high school.

“We’d hear things like, ‘You’re so good for a teenage band,’ but we didn’t want to be known for being a young band. We just wanted to be known as a band.

“There were shows we couldn't play because of age restrictions, and certain parts of the industry were harder to navigate, but we’re starting to move beyond that now, which I'm really excited about.”

Luckily, it was never a dealbreaker for their record label. In fact, 604 Records came looking for them – but signing a young band meant figuring out how to build a career around restrictions that most artists never have to think about.

“They reached out to us first, so there wasn’t really any hesitation from them about our age. They’ve obviously had to work with us a little differently because some opportunities just aren’t available to us. Getting tour managers and booking agents can be difficult when you’re an underage band.

“I think that’s been one of the biggest challenges – people sometimes don’t believe you're going to stick with it. Now that we’re getting older, that's all starting to fade away.”

With a new single, Crescents & the Torch, out now and a new album pencilled in for later this year, Freeze the Fall are opening the door on their next chapter.

“It’s really the beginning of a new era for us. Like most of our music, you can think of this first single almost like a movie trailer for what’s to come. It lays the ground work for the sound and for the story we want to tell.”

Was making a full-length album always an ambition?

There was actually some debate about whether we should make an album at all. A lot of people don't necessarily sit down and listen to an entire record anymore – they pick their two favourite songs and then move on to the next thing.

So there was some discussion about splitting it into two EPs. But writing a full-length album has always been a goal for the three of us. We’re storytellers, so this is a concept album with a big overarching story.

You’ve described the band as having a medieval-inspired aesthetic. Where does that come from?

Ever since making our last EP, The Red Garden, we’ve fallen in love with that whole medieval aesthetic. We bring it into our social media, our outfits and the way we present ourselves on stage. The visual side is a big part of the band. Quinn, our singer, especially loves all the medieval stuff, so we use a lot of it.

What drove that evolution in your sound?

As we've learned more about writing music, our sound has just evolved with us. You can hear a jump from Thrones to The Red Garden, and the jump from The Red Garden to this new project is even bigger.

It's definitely the most jarring change we’ve made, but I think it's a good change.

What was your first bass guitar?

It was a three-quarter-size Jackson. I wasn’t really into music at the time. I played ukulele, but my parents basically said, “No, you need to play an instrument.”

One day I walked into my room and there was this Jackson sitting on my bed. I got a teacher straight away, and he completely changed everything for me.

Have you had any other “lightbulb moments” since then?

There was another big switch in my playing when I joined Freeze The Fall. I practise quite a bit, and before joining the band my practice was focused on warm-ups, techniques and things like music theory. I was a really good student!

But once I joined the band, that all went out the window. My practice became about singing and playing bass guitar at the same time, working on stage presence, writing for the band and running through the setlist.

My technical skills didn’t necessarily get worse, but they became stagnant for a while because I was developing a different set of skills as a performer.

Now I spend half my practice time working on bass skills and the other half working on band skills. They’re two completely different things.

Who have been some of your biggest musical inspirations?

My favourite band is Bring Me the Horizon. A lot of my writing influences come from them, too. They’ve definitely been a kind of moral compass for me. I even named one of my basses after the singer’s dog!

Have you had any memorable onstage disasters that taught you a lesson?

I had a strap lock come off during a show. The entire metal part that screws into the bass flew off, and the bass just started falling towards the ground.

I caught it before it hit the floor, but we were literally in the middle of a song. I had to play the rest of the song sitting on the stage!

I learned a very important lesson that night: check your instrument before every show. Make sure your patch cable is properly connected, make sure nothing is loose and make sure everything is secure. Especially on the road, things get bumped around and things come loose.

When did you first discover Dingwall basses?

I’d known about Dingwall since around 2022. All my favourite bands were using them, so I really wanted to play one. I got my first one in 2023.

I also use Darkglass gear. I have their Anagram, so Dingwall and Darkglass are kind of a match made in heaven. They sound really good together.

How attached do you get to your instruments?

It depends on what’s happening in my life or what I’m inspired by at the time, but I name all of them. I give them little personalities. I have one called Luna, and another one called Taz. It makes me feel more connected to them.

It’s like customizing your character in a video game. You get to hone in on the instrument and give it its own identity.

Tell us about your bandmates. What's the dynamic like?

Quinn is the guitarist and lead vocalist, and Jonah is the drummer. We’re all really close friends, and we understand each other really well.

Because we’re a three-piece, people often comment that we need another guitarist or a keyboardist. We do use backing tracks to fill out the sound, but I don’t think we’ll ever add another member.

What are your favourite songs to play live?

A song called VHS. There’s a lick at the end that I love playing. There are also a lot of songs on the new album that are really fun to play.

As a three piece the bass plays a big role so I have to be artistic with it, sometimes writing bass parts that are more like guitar parts to fill in the sound.

What's the best piece of advice you've been given?

Our drummer Jonah’s teacher, Justin, is also kind of our hype man. He’s always giving us pep talks. His advice sounds cliché, but it’s basically: don’t fake it – just be yourself.

In the summer of 1983, 18-year-old David Ellefson had moved from Jackson, Minnesota to Los Angeles, where he met guitarist Dave Mustaine, who had recently been fired from a new band named Metallica.

Equipped with only a bag of clothes, a B.C. Rich Mockingbird bass guitar, and a small Roland Cube amp, Ellefson squatted around L.A. while writing what would become Megadeth’s first two albums. Killing Is My Business... and Business Is Good! and Peace Sells... but Who's Buying?

This classic slice of ’80s thrash metal owes much of its success to Ellefson’s growling pick-driven bass tone. By locking tightly into the drums and guitar, Ellefson cemented his reputation as one of the genre’s greatest players.

“Growing up, I could never afford a big amp,” said Ellefson in the March 2016 issue of Bass Player. “I found that playing with a pick gave me a tone that would cut through, even when playing with my buddies who were using half-stacks.

“Fast forward to moving to L.A. and meeting Dave in 1988. When we first started writing music for Megadeth, I used my fingers because the music was much slower – it was almost Black Sabbath-type tempos.”

Megadeth’s transformation into one of thrash metal’s defining bands wasn’t entirely preordained. For Ellefson, the shift happened almost overnight, sparked by an unlikely source.

“One day, a fan wrote a letter to Dave that said, ‘Dude, I hope your new shit is faster than Metallica.’ Right then, we went to rehearsal, all of the tempos sped up by 50 to 60 BPM, and we became a thrash band that night.

“Because of that, I needed to use a pick to keep up, and it was already natural to me. The pick is just an all-purpose device that allows me to do everything.”

Another key element of Ellefson’s tone has been his long-standing relationship with Jackson, a partnership that began in the late ’80s and would eventually lead to a series of signature models.

“I went to see Judas Priest on their Turbo tour, and the opening act was Dokken. Jeff Pilson was playing a Charvel bass, and his tone was phenomenal.

“The next day I went to the Guitar Center on Sunset Boulevard, and I saw a Jackson bass on the wall. I plugged it through a GK 800RB head into a Hartke 4x10 and a single 1x15 cabinet. My tone was born right then and there.”

It was in 2016 that Ellefson reportedly achieved his favourite bass tone to date. During the recording of Megadeth’s Dystopia album, he decided to track with no drums, no guitars, and no vocals – just his bass and a metronome.

“Dave and I sat there together, and we went through everything part-by-part and song-by-song; by having the bass guitar as the first brick of the building being laid down, the rest of the structure was built on the back of the bass tracks.

“As bass players reading this will understand, you can sit by yourself at a computer and dial in a great bass tone, and then once the band comes in and everyone tracks together, your tone disappears in the mix.

“By doing it this way, we were able to build a tone that would stand up to the drums and the heavy rhythm guitar on top of it. We got such a crystal-clear, ripping bass sound. The bass became the benchmark for the rest of the album.”

The bold manoeuvre paid off, with Ellefson setting the bar for the rest of the band – nowhere more so than in the bass-heavy Fatal Illusion.

“That bass riff actually started off as a guitar part. That would happen a lot of times, where we’d write something difficult with a lot of hammer-ons and pull-offs, which can be tricky to nail on a five-string bass with a wide neck.

“But sometimes, instead of keeping them on guitar or doubling them up, we’d delegate them to bass. That part is on the lower register, down near the nut where the strings feel super-tight.

“Playing it is almost like a seesaw, where once you’re locked into it, it takes you into the riff. So the trick for me is to lock in right away, because as long as I get my up- and downstrokes going it’s like clockwork. But I tell you what, if you land on one of those notes wrong, you'll never get back into it.”

Los Angeles in the early ’70s was to singer-songwriters what Detroit and Memphis were to soul music just a few years prior. And as the rhythm-section backbone for artists like Jackson Browne and James Taylor, Leland Sklar was the James Jamerson and Duck Dunn of the singer-songwriter set.

“I was in a band called Wolfgang at the end of the ’60s,” Sklar told Bass Player back in 2014. “John Fischbach – who owned Crystal Recording Studio and engineered a lot of early Stevie Wonder records – was a really close friend of our drummer, Warren “Bugs” Pemberton.

“One of John’s friends was James Taylor, who he’d bring to our rehearsals to hang out. When James got his first offer to play at the Troubadour, they asked if I’d play bass with him. I thought it’d be one gig; it turned into 20 years!”

Sklar’s breakthrough came at a pivotal moment in the early ’70s, when his work with James Taylor began putting his name firmly on the radar of the Los Angeles studio community.

“As soon as James hit, drummer Russ Kunkel and I started getting a ton of work. One of the calls I got was for this guy named Jackson Browne.”

What do you remember about that first session with Jackson Browne?

It was a Crystal Recording Studio, and Richard Orshoff was the engineer. The studio had probably one of the biggest control rooms ever, and you’d listen to playbacks in there and just scream – it sounded so great.

Jesse Ed Davis came in and played the guitar solo on Doctor, My Eyes. He basically pulled his guitar out of the case, said, ‘Let me hear the song’, played that solo, and that was it.

How would you prepare for a typical session?

There were no rehearsals for anything. Jackson would sit down at the piano or with his guitar and play it, and we would craft parts. There were no charts or anything, and there was no pressure. We were in for long hours.

We’d cut something, and sometimes we’d come back a few days later and go, ‘Let’s try that one again, now that we’re in the right groove.’ It was a rich period in the studio. People weren’t clock-watching, and we had a lot of leeway.

That album probably stretched out six months or so. Jackson would come in and do some vocals, then decide to change a line. It didn’t take long to cut the tracks, but the entire process took a while.

We’d all go off and do other things, and Jackson would do some gigs to make some money. It was a very fluid, organic project, which most of the projects in that time were. But you’d find yourself in a dream state when you hear songs like Jamaica Say You Will.

Jamaica Say You Will is just one of countless tracks where your consistency, and especially your attention to note duration, is brilliant.

I know a lot of bass players who are very methodical and intellectual in their playing, I’m not. When a song starts, I go into another space and just start playing. I go with my gut: if it feels like the note wants to come out, that’s what comes out, if it wants to ring through the whole thing, I do it.

I don’t have rules, and I don’t give it any kind of conscious method. I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants player, and I think that stylistically, that’s to my benefit.

What bass did you record with?

I’m sure l used a ’62 Fender Jazz Bass. The main bass I use right now in the studio we built in around ’74. Up until that point I was using this ’62 Jazz Bass that I completely carved up with peace symbols. It was totally reflective of the times – I had a picture of Frank Zappa decoupaged on the back. I used that on James’ early stuff, Jackson’s, and Spectrum with Bill Cobham. I still have it, and I love it.

Did you record with a click track?

When you’re working with Russ Kunkel on drums, time is not an issue. If you turn on a click at the beginning of the song, and if you turn it on in the last eight bars, it’s probably damn near exact, but the song has taken a ride during its course; it's far more expressive than it would be if we had cut with a click.

I’m not a fan of the click, but I’m a realist, too, so I’ve worked with it for years. But given my druthers, I’d really rather have things feel more human.

What other details from that session do you remember?

It’s hard to remember exactly what went on. My reflection is really the entire experience of making that record with Jackson, and sitting there song after song and marvelling at this guy’s gifts as a lyricist, as a musician, and as a singer.

Jackson sang everything live with us. Whether or not that ended up being the final vocal track, I don't know because I wouldn’t have been there. But he’s one of those guys who will sing it live, and unless there’s an issue with mic leakage, every live vocal take was as good as you’re going to get.

He’s so consistent, every time he’d walk up to the mic, just the way James was. Everything was a performance – there wasn’t a throwaway.

When you're working with a singer-songwriter, how do you approach finding the right bass part for the song?

I’ve worked so much with singer-songwriters, where you really need to respond to the vocal. A lot of times, I’m listening to them breathe, and I’m moving with them in this little dance. If they lift their breath, I lift off, too, so there’s this beautiful little space in between. But it's not a conscious effort.

With guys like Jackson Browne and James Taylor I try to figure out what I can do to justify my playing: their songs are complete with just them playing. So I have to find a way to fit into it by responding to their performance to enhance it and to lift it to another level.

If it required me to play little staccato notes, I’d do that, and if it required me to do long notes, I’d do that. Jackson’s first album had it all. He’s one of those truly rare gifted artists who I feel blessed to have been able to work with.

“Recording with the J.B.’s cats again felt incredible – beyond sex,” said Bootsy Collins in the October 2007 issue of Bass Player. The funk bass legend was talking of his soundtrack session for the comedy film Superbad.

Led by guitarist/composer Lyle Workman, Bootsy and several other James Brown alumni – including drummers Clyde Stubblefield and John “Jab’o” Starks and guitarist Phelps “Catfish” Collins – convened to recreate the unique chemistry that had once made Brown’s backing band such a formidable force.

“It felt the same as it ever did. Even though we all have gotten older and are looking crazy, that energy popped back like we had been playing all the time. Nobody was rusty, man. Everybody was on – like we'd just got off the J.B.’s bus!”

Much like the James Brown days, that element of musical interaction provided the foundation for Bootsy to instinctively build his basslines during the session.

“We pretty much came up with our own parts once Lyle would strike up the groove, which is pretty much how it was with James Brown.”

“There’s nothing like it when you’re feeling each other, wondering what a guy is going to play next and knowing that whatever it is, you’re going to be on top of it.

“People are making great music with computers and so on, but that’s like having a doll in the closet instead of having a real chick, you know?”

Bootsy’s partnership with Clyde Stubblefield and John “Jab’o” Starks was never simply a case of locking into the same beat. Each drummer brought a distinct feel to the J.B.’s rhythm section, and Bootsy learned to respond accordingly.

“Jab’o has got the swing thing – like on Sex Machine – but Clyde is more of a live-on-fire kind of drummer – like on Get Up, Get Into It, and Get Involved. I've learned to lay with each of them.

“It’s like having two different girlfriends – you talk one way to one, and another way to the other. One chick will want to jump in the backseat real quick and get it on, and the other might require more foreplay. The end result is the same, so you play with the instruments like that.

“You have to vibe with Jab’o a little bit, and then he’s there. Clyde doesn't need any foreplay – you just jump right in with him!”

For the Superbad soundtrack, authenticity was more important than showcasing Bootsy’s trademark slap bass style, with the demands of the groove calling for the kind of precise, and syncopated fingerstyle playing that he had developed during his time with James Brown.

“With James, it was all about who had the fastest fingers, who could play the most syncopated fingerstyle grooves. They thought I was on fire with that.

“Now I don’t try to play so many things or so fast. I just concentrate on making sure the groove is there, and that the notes I play feel right. I try to avoid the obvious and put notes where nobody else would.

“It’s not something I think about – once you start thinking, you’re shot. It just happens, and that difference creates my style.”

An exhibition celebrating Motörhead and Lemmy is set to open at Las Vegas’ Punk Rock Museum in October.

The exhibit will include an extensive collection of photos from the band’s archive, along with handwritten lyrics from Lemmy himself.

However, the standout for bassists is the fact that fans “will be able to plug in, pick up the [Rickenbacker] bass, and experience the gear that created Motörhead’s unmistakable sound. It’s a rare opportunity to interact directly with an important part of the band’s history.”

In addition, a collection of Motörhead albums will be available to purchase from Vinyl Threat, the museum’s record store, along with exclusive band merch from the museum’s gift shop. The exhibition will mark 11 years since Lemmy died in 2015 and the band’s subsequent disbandment.

Vegas’ Punk Rock Museum opened in 2023, and the 12,000-square-foot space showcases iconic artifacts, exhibits, and events celebrating punk music culture. And while Motörhead may not necessarily be straight-up punk, they bridged the gap between heavy metal and punk and were embraced by both scenes.

The band emerged in mid-’70s England, around the same time punk properly kicked off, after all. And, despite Lemmy’s complicated relationship with punk – even going so far as to say that certain punk legends like The Slits were “a joke” – in his later years, he told UNCUT that “I always thought we had more in common with punk than with anything else, but we had long hair so we didn’t fit in that box.

“But that’s the embassy talking, not the bands. We did a show at the Roundhouse, which was The Damned and us supporting The Adverts – you can’t get more of a mixed media show than that.”

The exhibition opens on October 2. For more information, visit the Punk Rock Museum’s official website.

Violet Lea’s journey to the bass guitar wasn’t shaped by formal lessons or years of regimented practice. As a self-taught player, she found her own way around the instrument – developing a distinctive approach built on curiosity and a willingness to figure things out for herself.

“I might be lazy about practicing,” says Lea. “But I try not to stress about becoming a mind-blowing badass. I will always do my homework, and I’ve found my own methods of learning new things that work for me.”

That DIY mindset has taken her a long way. As bassist for American rock band Madam Radar, she’s gone from teaching herself how to play to sharing stages with some of rock’s biggest names – including opening for Bon Jovi.

“Our guitarist, Kelly, saw an online ad where Bon Jovi was looking for a local band to open for them in Austin. She didn’t even tell us she’d applied! When they reached out to us, we totally thought it couldn’t be true, but it was!

“The Moody Center wasn’t even completely finished being built! But just watching Bon Jovi soundcheck was an experience. The whole team was so kind.”

As one of three vocalists in Madam Radar, Lea’s role goes far beyond simply holding down the low-end. Her transition from singer-songwriter to bass and vocals has become an important part of the band’s dynamic.

“When I started my journey as a gigging musician, I was primarily a singer-songwriter and acoustic rhythm guitar player, but I always had mad respect for a good bass player. It’s such an important and underrated instrument. And now I’ve assumed the position, I know how hard it is!

“Especially being a singing bass player, it can feel like a juggling act from song to song. Not to mention the never-ending dance with the drummer. My basslines almost always come together through trial and error.”

Are you a bass player who approaches a song from the rhythm section first, or do vocals often take priority?

Vocals take priority 90 percent of the time, but there have been a few songs where the groove wrote the song. Friend of a Friend is a great example.

Do you have any warm-up routines or practice habits? Particularly with regard to singing and playing bass at the same time?

I don’t warm up nearly as much as I probably should, but my biggest secret weapon is just slowing the song down to a crawl. It’s super-helpful. Then I gradually speed it up and get it to where it needs to be.

Since switching to bass, which bassists have influenced your playing the most? And what did you take from them?

Early on I was tasked with learning a full show’s worth of Stevie Ray Vaughan tunes, so Tommy Shannon definitely laid a lot of the foundation for me as far as blues and rock riffs go.

I am always surprised by how fun and intricate Paul McCartney’s basslines are. I feel like he’s someone I always underestimate as a bass player because I put his legendary Beatles status first but damn… he is such a good bass player!

What records do you return to when you need inspiration?

Bleed American by Jimmy Eat World for when I want to sing my head off. 1000 Kisses by Patty Griffin for when I’m looking to write something that will break my own heart. Toxicity by System of a Down for when I’m in the mood to kick down some doors.

Anything by Zero 7 and Fleet Foxes – I probably throw on one of their albums more than anything else when I’m looking to just zone out.

Name a song that you wish more musicians talked about?

It’s My Life by Talk Talk is a work of art. I dare you to try and play it and sing it at the same time.

Are you someone who chases new gear, or do you prefer to get everything possible out of one trusted instrument?

100 percent the latter – I actually don’t like shopping for new things, it gives me anxiety. I have my comfort zones and I like to stay in them.

What bass has been the biggest “keeper” in your collection?

Definitely my Godin Passion RG-4 bass. They sent it to me several years ago and it’s been my primary instrument ever since. I absolutely love it.

What’s the story behind your ’72 P Bass?

A sweet friend of mine gifted me a budget for a backup bass and so I scouted out some guitars at South Austin Music and Austin Vintage Guitars.

After trying out several options I was beginning to wrap my mind around getting something more modern and flashy – but a ’72 P Bass was put into my hands and my heart broke because it was a bit out of my price range and I knew I was going to have to figure out which organ I could live without to get it!

With the help of Nick James Boettcher, a great guitar player and friend, we were able to convince my charitable donor that I needed this guitar and it is now a part of my life. I named it Gus, after Augustus McCrae from Lonesome Dove.

Is there a particular moment onstage where you felt the band truly clicked?

We had a really powerful performance when we recorded our sold-out Live at Antone’s album. Listening back to it you can really hear the magic that was in the air that night.

If you could sit down and jam with any bassist from history, who would it be and what would you ask them?

I guess my answer would have to be Flea because he just seems like such a good hang. I would have to ask him what it feels like to go au naturel in front of 200,000 people.

What advice would you give your younger self as a musician.

I would look myself square in the eyes and say, “Wear sunscreen. You’re not as good as you think you are. Keep practicing!”

Every musician is faced with a moment, or, if they’re lucky, moments, that can change the trajectory of their entire career.

For full-scale multi-hyphenate musician (but perhaps best known as a bass wielder) Tony Levin, one decision had a real, long-term impact.

“I harken back to 1976 in July when I was called to play on an album in Toronto with Peter Gabriel, whom I didn’t know, or know of,” he tells Bass Player. “I hadn’t even heard of Genesis!

“One of the guitar players was Robert Fripp, so I met the two of them that day. Now, there’s a craft to studio work. I loved doing it, and I’d just fallen into it. I’d started playing on rock albums, like Lou Reed's and Alice Cooper’s, and then Peter gave me the choice to go on the road with him, or I could continue to be a New York studio player.”

Levin chose the touring life, or, as he puts it, “I chose to be musically kicked in the butt.”

That fateful day led to his contribution to Fripp's solo album, Exposure. A few years later, precisely in 1980, he was asked to join King Crimson, “where business as usual is not even considered. It’s out of the question. We wanted to truly be progressive”.

It all started from a simple invitation. “Robert Fripp asked me to get together with some guys he knew and think about forming a band,” Levin recalls. “I went to Downtown New York, and in the studio were Adrian Belew, Bill Bruford, and Robert Fripp.

“I hadn’t even heard the music of Bill and Adrian, but I knew Robert’s playing… And I’d also played on the road with him with Peter Gabriel. I vividly remember the first few minutes of them playing, and my jaw dropped.”

He continues, “Adrian was a completely unique guitar player, Bill was the same on drums, and then there’s Robert Fripp, who, obviously, was completely unique. My thoughts while looking down at my bass and Chapman Stick were, ‘I’m not even going to touch the bass… in this band I’m going to be super-challenged to just belong in the room.’”

Levin became a key part of the 1981 to 1984 incarnation of King Crimson, holding down the low-end and occasionally wielding the Chapman Stick on Discipline (1981), Beat (1982), Three of a Perfect Pair (1984), and THRAK (1995).

He would join at several other points in the project’s lifetime, including between 1994 and 1998, 2003 and 2008, and finally, 2013 and 2021.

However, that wasn’t the end of his career with the King Crimson repertoire. In 2024, he was announced as the bassist for the Crimson touring spinoff BEAT, alongside Belew, Steve Vai, and drummers Terry Bozzio and Danny Carey.

One thing is for sure: his initial encounter with Fripp – thanks to Peter Gabriel – proved to be more than fruitful.

Bass Player's full interview with Tony Levin will be published in the coming weeks.

Black Sabbath’s self-titled debut blew minds when it emerged in 1970, fusing blues-based psychedelia, mystical imagery, and slow, heavy riffs to create a template for stoner rock.

By Sabbath’s second album, Paranoid, bassist Geezer Butler had begun to codify his bass sound. And there’s no better window into his radical playing style than War Pigs/Luke's Wall.

The eight-minute opus is stuffed with all the great Geezer hallmarks: a dark tone, brutal right-hand attack, deep string bends, and bluesy pentatonic licks.

To get Butler’s sound, the first step is nailing his right-hand technique. Plucking his Fender Precision over the fingerboard, he really hammered hard. As Geezer told Bass Player in 2004, his ears were drawn to that kind of high-end clatter.

“I remember trying to sound like Chris Squire. Ozzy’s reaction was, ‘What the hell is that?’ I was attempting to get a bass sound I liked to listen to, but it didn’t really fit my playing style.

“I also used to love watching Jack Bruce play. He was the first bassist I’d ever seen bending the strings – that's where I picked up that technique. I bend the strings on practically everything I’ve done.”

Before you snap a string trying to cop Geezer’s deeper bends, keep in mind that he would also tune down a step or more to accommodate guitarist Tony lommi’s technique, modified after he lost two of his fingertips in an industrial accident.

To try it, tune your bass down a full step to DGCF, and play everything two frets higher. It's a big part of what makes the records sound so heavy.

War Pigs kicks off with an unhurried 12/8 shuffle. Listen to the bend at 00:16: Pulling on the string just enough to approach the chord’s major 3rd, Butler plays the ‘neutral 3rd’ – that microtonal interval between the major and minor 3rds.

Once Geezer, lommi, and drummer Bill Ward have set the scene with the song’s churning intro, the feel and tempo shift at 00:53, the signature verse riff.

In the instrumental response that follows the verse’s call, Butler and lommi dig into a riff built around one of Sabbath’s harmonic trademarks: the flatted 2nd, in this case the F that arrives at 01:49.

At 02:07, intensity builds as Geezer instigates a chugging 16th-note rhythm spiced with syncopation and more bluesy runs. After another verse, the band launches into the solo section at 03:31.

Butler pedals on octaves for the first three bars of the solo, and then really cuts loose, laying down stream-of-consciousness blues riffs that wind around lommi’s spindly solo.

“Because our music was so uncluttered, there was space for the bass to riff. The first three Sabbath albums were done quickly, and you can hear the spontaneity. If the music is all polished and technically brilliant, you’ve lost the soul.”

At 06:34, the band begins its protracted playout, a two-chord vamp that sees more of lommi and Butler’s riff interplay. Here Geezer’s groove hinges on the way he ties across beat four every other bar, under the D chord.

At the track's bitter end, no, that's not the sound of your brain melting; engineers sped up the tape to create that swirling acceleration.

Clearly, Geezer had chops even back in his early days, but he's rather modest about the whole thing: “You don't need a degree in music to play our stuff – it’s not brain surgery.”

Detroit-born Ralphe Armstrong was a 17-year-old classical upright bassist, weaned on the jazz and R&B ways of his Motown surroundings, when John McLaughlin selected him to anchor the second edition of the Mahavishnu Orchestra and play on the group’s landmark 1974 orchestral record, Apocalypse.

Armstrong would record on two more Mahavishnu albums, play with Carlos Santana, and tour with Frank Zappa and Herbie Hancock before keeping his promise to Mahavishnu violinist Jean-Luc Ponty and joining his band in 1975.

Ponty, who pioneered the electric violin (augmented with effects), quickly became a fusion figurehead, known for his Euro-melodic compositions over repetitive rhythmic forms that helped him reach the Top 5 on the Billboard Jazz charts for 12 consecutive albums.

Armstrong's five-disc stay with Ponty included his most critically acclaimed release in 1977, Enigmatic Ocean.

“That album was about long pieces,” said Ponty in the November 2013 issue of Bass Player. “I had come up with the title-track suite in four parts, and I developed a second suite, which became The Struggle of the Turtle to the Sea. I wrote Part I while I was with Mahavishnu in 1974.”

Armstrong’s groove-turned-solo on The Struggle of the Turtle to the Sea, Part III is perhaps the ultimate showcase of his unbridled energy – forged through three years of intensive fusion study with Mahavishnu.

“I would distribute solos to band members based on their affinity with the style of the piece, and this seemed like a great spot for Ralphe.

“I gave him a chart with written basslines for Part I and some of Part II, and just chord changes for most of Part III. There, l asked him to come up with a funky groove that would lead into his bass solo.”

The track begins with Steve Smith’s one-bar drum fill into Armstrong's bassline for what is a repeating three-bar chord sequence (Cm-E, F7-Ab7, F7-Db7), with an eighth-note anticipation of all three beat one downbeats.

“I remember Jean-Luc asking me to make it funky,” said Armstrong. “So I started with a Bb-C, to be bluesy. From there I tried to come up with a fluid line by putting notes between the accents on the roots of the chords.”

At 01:05, the second half of the solo takes a sharp turn, adopting an entirely different mindset.

“I wanted to use effects halfway through, and go for a Hendrix vibe: rockin’ out with a sense of freedom.

“I had a Morley Wah pedal and a Maestro Bass Brassmaster BB-1. It was a pedal designed to make your bass sound like a trombone, but I found that by turning the sensitivity knob all the way up, I could sound like Hendrix.”

Armstrong basically abandons the harmony and jams on a C blues scale for the ensuing 36 bars. Turning the effects off, he returns to bass mode for one three-bar phrase before Daryl Stuermer begins his guitar solo.

“The solo is a combination of my R&B roots, my classical training, and the way John McLaughlin was playing guitar in Mahavishnu. He played a lot of rapid passages made up of connected chord arppegios.

“My classical training was crucial because it taught me how to do just that: play arpeggios and connect fast passages.

“I used my Gibson Grabber, with D’Addario Half Rounds, and we recorded it direct.”

Back in October 2017, shortly after celebrating the 25th anniversary of their 1992 debut, Core – and having launched an online search for a new singer that brought in more than 15,000 demos – Stone Temple Pilots went silent.

The band had coped with the deaths of both original singer Scott Weiland in 2015 and his replacement, Linkin Park’s Chester Bennington, and fans were uncertain whether the alternative rockers had simply given up.

That changed, however, when cryptic messages began surfacing online, eventually revealing a surprise show in Los Angeles for a lucky batch of fans.

On November 14, 2017, fans packed the historic Troubadour in West Hollywood. As the band finally walked onstage, new singer Jeff Gutt grabbed the mic in a way that conjured flashbacks to the band's ’90s heyday. It appeared that Stone Temple Pilots’ hunt was over, and that they’d finally found their new singer.

“You know, for us it’s always been about the power of song,” said bassist Robert DeLeo in the July 2018 issue of Bass Player. “So I didn't know what to expect, but we had already changed the formula with Chester, so we kind of had an idea of what it would be like jumping into that unknown.”

“I can certainly speak for Scott and Chester, too, in saying that the power and longevity of song is why they did it and why we’re still driven to do it. There aren't a lot of things that are more special than the everlasting quality of music. It's part of our soul as humans. And I always just wanted to be a part of that.”

You’ve experienced the death of your lead singer twice. What’s that been like?

I still think about them both, every single day. I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you if it wasn’t for Scott’s contribution to Stone Temple Pilots. We were such an important part of each other’s lives, and I think about him constantly.

Somewhere down the line, he lost his way, and there was nothing we could do about it anymore. As anyone will attest who has dealt with someone with severe addiction, you just wish you could have done more. It’s sad the way he went, and it’s sad to think about him not being here.

I think about Chester every day, too. He was such a talented artist and just a beautiful human. Him not being around anymore still hurts.

A few hours before Chester passed, I sent out a tweet that asked, ‘What do you listen to when it’s dark and late and quiet?’ I wrote that my midnight meditation was a Wes Montgomery song called I Wish I Knew.

A few hours later, I got word that he was gone, and it just hit me so hard. I never listen to that song the same anymore. Those two guys were huge parts of my life, and I miss them dearly.

What was it like working with Chester?

It was such a great experience. He came in with a real understanding of what we wanted to do. When you're with people who do that, you get things done.

Chester jumped right in musically with what we were doing, and he made it clear that he was a fan of the band. For him to come in and lay down what he laid down, I’m really proud of it and very proud of him.

You went on an arduous, open-call hunt to find a new singer. How did you finally find Jeff?

It’s funny, because he wasn’t even one of the 15,000 submissions we got. We tried some great singers, but there were a lot of boxes to check off for us to be happy; we didn’t even know if we could find that person.

Then we heard about a singer in Detroit who we were told would be perfect. Sure enough, he was. And on top of it all, Jeff is a great person, which is one of the most important qualifications for us.

How is Jeff’s chemistry with the band?

I’d know what it was like if it wasn’t going to work out, as I’ve been in that situation before, so I’m not worried about it. With Jeff, it’s a great continuation of what we’ve always been doing, and it’s our way of moving forward.

You’ve played with Johnny Depp in Hollywood Vampires and Joe Perry.

Man, I love Johnny. He’s a brother to me. I think Johnny looks at acting more like his day job. In his heart, he’s a musician first. He’s super-creative, and he’s got music running through his veins all the time. It’s inspiring to be around.

And Aerosmith is one of those bands that’s beyond the sum of it’s individuals; they’re awesome players, musicians, writers and performers.

To a lot of us, hearing Aerosmith was like sex ed. Now, when I play with someone like Joe, it’s like kissing that first girl again.

Lately you’ve been recording with a vintage Fender?

I have a friend who had a guitar shop that closed, and he had about 800 instruments for sale. I asked him if he had any vintage Jazz Basses, and he had this 1967 model that was very inspiring, even just holding it.

I also have a 1965 Fender Precision. Not a lot of people know, but Fender was messing with padauk fingerboards on their ’65 P-Basses, and because of that, this bass has a fingerboard like a Rickenbacker – it has this midrange snot to it.

What advice would you give to a fellow bass player?

Listen to as much music as you can. Growing up, I would listen to Tito Puente as much as I would listen to the Beatles. That's what takes you in entirely new directions. Absorb it all – however much you can get your hands on.

“I don’t play bass,” claimed Rick Danko in his December 1976 Guitar Player interview. “I just fill space.”

While Danko’s declaration is puzzling at the surface, he went on to clarify: “It's not really what you play, but what you leave out, that counts. When you leave space, it’s easier to hear everybody; if everyone is just up there churning, it's going to sound like buttermilk.”

Born December 29, 1942 in rural Ontario, Danko got an early start in music. He was still in his teen years when he was hired – first, as a rhythm guitarist – for rockabilly singer Ronnie Hawkins’ backing band, the Hawks.

Together with guitarist Robbie Robertson, drummer Levon Helm, pianist Richard Manuel, and organist/saxman Garth Hudson, Danko and the Hawks built their reputation as a powerful live act in the early ‘60s, earning an invitation by Bob Dylan to tour as his backing band in 1965.

The group, now known as The Band, settled down in Saugerties, New York in 1967, and hit a creative mainline in the basement studio of Big Pink, the house Danko shared with Hudson and Manuel.

In 1971, The Band booked a week-long residency at New York's Academy of Music. Released the following year as the live double album Rock of Ages, recordings from those performances capture some of Danko’s best bass work.

“Rick showed something during this period that I still don't understand,” wrote Robbie Robertson in the liner notes to Live at the Academy of Music 1971, a 2014 box set that features outtakes from Rock of Ages. “While singing like a bird, he played a fretless bass in an unorthodox style that worked against reason.”

Adds New Orleans R&B legend Allen Toussaint, who arranged the horns for the Academy shows, “His approach – there's nothing like it.”

“Some people, you can tell what school of thought they come from on the bass or the guitar. I don't know where Rick Danko comes from. I don't know his source of reference on the bass. I couldn't put my finger on anything there. It just was his very own thing, and I think it was perfect.”

Manning a fretless Ampeg AUB-1, Danko’s focus on intonation and groove was laser-sharp on the December 30, 1971 performance of The Weight.

Along with Bill Wyman of the Rolling Stones and Boz Burrell of Bad Company, he was one of the earliest players to take fretless bass guitar into the mainstream.

“I was infatuated with the sound of the slide guitar, and I also played the violin,” Danko told Guitar Player in 1995, four years before passing from heart failure.

“I'd use a comparable motion on my Ampeg fretless bass by sliding up to the note and then muting at the bridge. Edgar Willis’ work on the acoustic bass with Ray Charles also influenced my fretless playing. It was another way of making me really listen. It forced me to concentrate on the pitch and being in tune.”

As for his Ampeg AUB-1, as the world’s first production fretless only about 1,100 of these crazy basses were ever built, with the newest now over 50 years old.

A bizarre pickup system permitted the bass to be played with gut strings; this was pure snobbism on the part of Ampeg, who assumed that these so-called newfangled ‘frets’ would die out before too long and players would return to playing their instruments like ‘real’ double basses (hence the scroll headstock).

They were wrong, but they did create these pioneering instruments, so we’ll let them off with a warning this time.

When Coheed and Cambria were looking for a new bassist back in 2011, Zach Cooper’s name came up through a studio connection – leading to an audition that would change the course of his career.

“This was back when they were recording The Afterman record,” says Cooper. “They’d already held auditions in Los Angeles and in New York, but they were recording the album in Woodstock.

“I lived not far from there, and I’d already had some sessions at the studio where they were working. The producer on the record basically said, ‘Hey, we’ve got this guy who’s been here before. Maybe give him a shot?’”

Cooper’s audition was anything but conventional, with a stripped-back demo giving way to a baptism of fire in the studio.

“They sent me a one-minute audio file – two songs, 30 seconds of each. One was scratch guitar and vocal, and the other was acoustic guitar and vocal. It was the weirdest audition ever, but it was wild!”

Cooper later found himself thrown into one of band’s most demanding songs – with a room full of people watching.

“They pulled up the session for a song called Domino the Destitute, which is eight minutes long and has a ridiculous amount of changes. They plugged the bass guitar in, got a sound and said, ‘All right, go.’ It was insane.

“The room was full with people. Claudio’s wife, Chondra, was there, and she asked if she could film it. I was like, ‘Yeah, sure, I guess.’”

Despite the surreal nature of the audition, Cooper had no reason to think it would lead anywhere – at least not yet.

“I remember walking out to my car, calling my wife, and thinking it would be a cool story to tell people, but I’m never going to hear from those guys again.

“Sure enough, they called me the next day. Their manager said, ‘The guys liked what you were doing. Could you come in tomorrow and play with the band?’

“So I went back the next day and tracked two new songs! It went on like that for a little while before they finally said, ‘Yeah, you’re the guy we want.’”

More than a decade later, Cooper has become an integral part of the Coheed machine, bringing an aggressive yet articulate approach to the band’s low-end.

You’re currently on tour in North America, with a run of UK and European dates coming up. Do you enjoy life on the road?

I love it. It’s cool to go to different places and see different things, but I also like living in this Groundhog Day where you’re doing the same thing every day – repeat, repeat, repeat – just in a different place. It’s kind of cool.

Your go-to bass is a Yamaha BB?

Those basses are fantastic. I was playing a P-Bass, and this has that P-Bass thing with some modern upgrades. It’s got the multi-bolt neck joint and a really sturdy neck. I can’t say enough good things about them.

You’ve also been spotted with a 6-string Dingwall for part of the set?

That bass is super-fun, although it still throws me. With a regular four-string bass, I can shift around without really having to look. On this bass, I have to make sure I’m landing in the right place, but I love the multi-scale setup and I’ve never heard a B string that’s so clear. It’s really focused.

The guys in the band love it, and my tech is always super-excited whenever I play it. It’s like a different side of my brain that I have to access, but it’s really fun.

What was the process like going from a four-string to a six-string?

It’s another way of scratching that itch for technical facility. With a six-string, you have the range to explore different voicings and play chords in ways that you can’t really do on a four-string. It’s been fun exploring that extra space.

There’s a whole mythology surrounding Coheed and Cambria, particularly with The Amory Wars comic book series. How much does that storytelling element influence the music?

It’s a huge part of the band. Claudio writes the comics, and there’s an overarching concept and story that ties into the records. The last three albums have each had their own storyline within the larger world of The Amory Wars.

With the deluxe editions, you get a book with concept art and the story. It’s wild how it’s all tied together. The whole idea of the band is art and storytelling.

The cool thing is that you can listen to the band and have no idea about any of that stuff and it doesn’t take anything away from the music. But if you really get into it and want to go a little deeper, you can.

How do you approach writing a bassline that contributes without overplaying?

It’s interesting because from the start they wanted me to play a more active role. So I try to find moments where I can add a little bit of colour to whatever’s happening, whether that’s a melodic idea or a rhythmic idea. It’s about keeping things interesting without getting in the way.

Sometimes I’ll try to play with the vocal melody, but in a supportive way. It’s a weird, delicate balance, but there’s a lot of room for interpretation. I don’t have to just hammer eighth-notes.

I might try something and think, ‘This isn’t going to work.’ Then Claudio will say, ‘Yes, that’s it.’ And I’m like, ‘Oh, I went a little further than I expected.’ So I guess I have a long leash. It’s like, ‘Don’t go crazy, but go wherever you want.’

There’s a real discipline to that. Having the technical ability to play a lot doesn’t mean you should always do it.

I have a great appreciation for technical facility, but I also have this deep appreciation for playing half-notes and making them feel really good. There’s this split in my brain: have the tools to do whatever you need to do, but also have the restraint to make it feel good.

What are your favourite Coheed and Cambria basslines to play?

The first record I did with the band was The Afterman, and there’s a song called Evagria the Faithful. That song has a funky, different kind of line for Coheed.

The other thing about that song is that John Medeski played keys on it. I’m a huge Medeski Martin & Wood fan, so that was a really cool moment for me.

On this tour, we’re playing The Running Free, and I love the verse bassline on that song. It’s funky and groovy, and it’s so much fun to lock in with. There’s this great little melodic turn that gets you into the pre-chorus.

The Liars Club is another one I really enjoy. It’s a pretty straightforward pop-rock song, but the bassline is deceptively complicated. If you’re not tuned into it, you can completely miss how much is going on.

That one was tough when we started playing it live, too, because I had come up with all these cool bass parts and then Claudio said, ‘I need you to sing this part, and I need you to sing that.’ I was like, ‘Oh, I didn’t think about having to sing while I play this!’

Is there a song on the new album that people should check out?

I’d say Searching for Tomorrow. There are some really interesting little parts in there, too. There’s a big bridge with that diminished arpeggio line that happens, which is fun. It’s just a super fun song. There’s a lot of energy in it.

How do you maintain the endurance and technique required for the more demanding parts, particularly with all the string crossing you do?

I’ve spent a lot of time studying upright bass, so sometimes I’ll bring etude books on the road and work through them on electric bass. Some of that music forces you to skip strings depending on where the line is going.

I was also lucky when I was young to have some really good teachers who got me started with those things at an early age. Some of it is almost subconscious now because I spent so many years hammering away at it.

Who are some of the bass players you’re listening to at the moment?

Troy from Mastodon is one of my favourite bass players in the world. He’s such a wonderful guy and such a great player. He straddles that line between playing these nasty riffs and then suddenly playing something completely crazy.

Tim Lefebvre is another one of my favourite bassists. I love the way he moves between all these different genres and always makes the music feel great.

Do you tend to favor fingerstyle playing, or are you more of a pick player?

Fingerstyle for sure. I love playing with a pick, but I’m really bad at it! I’ve been practicing a lot at home, and I’ve grown to really love the sound of a pick in certain situations, but I’d say I play fingerstyle 90 percent of the time.

What’s next for you as a bass player?

There are always things I’m working on. That’s what I love about playing bass. There’s always another thing to learn, another player to listen to, another technique to work on. You can always find another way into the instrument.

Bassist Rachel Bolan has co-authored six records with Skid Row, dating back to 1989’s mega-successful self-titled release. Now 62, with the band in search of their next lead singer, he’s stepping out solo with Gargoyle of the Garden State. But if you’re expecting Bolan solo to sound like Skid Row, you’d be wrong. “This is me,” Bolan tells Bass Player. “This is raw, unfiltered me.”

He grew up idolizing song-first – but still accomplished – players like Paul McCartney and Gene Simmons, which led to him helping write hit songs like 18 and Life, Youth Gone Wild, I Remember You, and Monkey Business. “We didn’t really sit down and think about it,” he says of Skid Row’s early creative process. “We had no formula. We just worked completely off of feel.

“Snake Sabo is like the master of the riff. I’ll never forget when he played me 18 and Life for the first time: it was haunting and so cool. We were like, ‘Is this as good as we think it is?’ That kind of stuff – you know, creating – is a process that I love.”

He continues: “I love getting into a flow where you can’t stop writing songs and your whole day just revolves around it. You forget bills – you forget to feed the cats… Actually, I never forget to feed the cats! But you forget everything else when you’re in that bubble.”

Skid Row are still searching for a singer – no, it won’t be Sebastian Bach – but Bolan says they have “four or five” people they’re keen on. They’re writing as a group while he continues to write solo. “It’s not freeing,” he says of his own work. “But it’s cool.

“Now people are hearing my contribution to the songwriting of Skid Row, but without the contribution of Skid Row. I don’t mean that in a bad way; it’s another chapter of my songwriting history.”

After picking up bass, when did you clock what sort of player you wanted to be?

My biggest influences were Paul McCartney, Dennis Dunaway, Gene Simmons, and Roger Glover – guys that could really dictate the feel of the song. That’s really all I knew. They knew when to shine and when to get the hell out of the way.

What techniques were toughest to harness?

Using my pinky! But watching Gene Simmons play – he’s so overlooked as a bass player, and an all-around musician – and learning to sing and play bass at the same time was something I was blown away by. Guys like Paul McCartney and Gene Simmons have these little idiosyncrasies.

But I think the main thing was using my pinky and not overusing an octave. Those guys seemed so good at just poking the octave in the perfect spot, so I had to learn that.

Paul and Gene are also great songwriters, a role you grabbed by the horns with Skid Row.

Even as a little kid I felt like that was a natural thing to do. All the guys I looked up to were also songwriters, and I thought, ‘Maybe I could piece together some music.’ And once I got into intermediate and high school, any chance I had, I would write lyrics.

When you formed Skid Row, were you bothered much with the typical hair metal tropes going around?

I wasn’t really worried about labels. I was worried about how we were perceived. We loved Aerosmith and the Stones, who were so bluesy. That’s the stuff we were into. And when Snake and I wrote, it was about a great groove and a cool riff.

What gear did you use on classic tracks like 18 and Life, I Remember You, and Monkey Business?

What amp did I have? I don’t even remember! But before I could afford a good amp or had an endorsement, I used a ’78 mocha-colored P-Bass. I used that on a lot of the recordings, and I still have it.

And I had a ’70 P-Bass from when they came out with that colored series. They made the red, turquoise, and yellow, and I had the red. I still have that too. Then I had an old Peavey head, and an 8x10 cabinet that was homemade – with no handles!

At first I was broke as a joke, so I couldn’t afford anything. But eventually I moved toward a small company out of New Jersey called Dyne Acoustics, who used 4x10 cabinets. Then, I got my endorsement with Spector, which I’ve used live and in the studio.

What do you remember about writing those early songs? Did you have a sense you were really on to something?

When you write a song, you always hope. You have these dreams and aspirations that your songs will become timeless – but you don’t know. We were 23 when we wrote them; we were just full of ourselves, like, ‘Yeah, we’re going to be a huge band!’

What was the secret sauce?

The thing about Snake was I knew we had the same work ethic. I had a feeling we were on a collision course with something successful and special. I remember coming up with the bassline for Youth Gone Wild; that odd pattern, where I play behind the riff, which came from that weird pattern from Yes’ Roundabout popping into my head.

I’d been playing it straight in rehearsal and at gigs, but when we recorded the demo, I came up with that. So, sometimes I’d work it out before, and sometimes I’d do a quick rewrite on the spot.

Has your inspiration changed much between those early days compared to working on Gargoyle of the Garden State?

I’ll be sitting on my couch watching a Yankees game, and something will pop into my head. I’ll pick up a bass or a guitar, and maybe come up with a riff during the commercial. Then I’ll come down into my studio, and in a couple of days – or even quicker – something comes together.

Skid Row are looking for a singer. Is that why you pivoted to a solo record?

Yeah; we had some downtime. We said we were going to take our time, because we have the luxury of time. We weren’t going to rush into the first person who came in, saying, ‘You can hit the notes – you’re in!’ We’re not in the middle of a record, or a tour, like last time [2022’s The Gang’s All Here], so we had time.

You have an established sound with Skid Row. Did you feel beholden to that with the solo album?

No; I didn’t feel I should try to sound like Skid Row, because it’s made up of a bunch of influences. I was just trying to be me. I think people want to hear something different. Skid Row have been around for the better part of four decades, so you know what fans expect to hear.

Do you have solo shows planned?

I’d love to. [Skid Row drummer] Rob Hammersmith is on board since we have the same schedule. I’d like to get out there.

What’s the latest on Skid Row’s lead singer search?

It’s going, man. We’re pretty keen on a couple of people right now. We received about 400 video submissions that we’ve gone through, and there have been 25 outside of the Sweetwater campaign, you know, just word-of-mouth kind of things. We’ve come across four or five people we thought might work.

For the most part, no one knew Erik [Gronwall, singer from 2022 to 2024], but it worked out great. We’re not worried about or looking for someone with celebrity or history. But sure, if Steven Tyler came along and said, “Hey, let me sing!” we’d be like, “Okay!”

Of course, you have to contend with fans clamoring for a reunion with Sebastian Bach…

It doesn’t last long. Maybe a few days and it’s gone. It’s just one of those non-issues.

Where do you go from here?

I’m already writing to put out a second solo record at some point. We’ll just keep checking singers out; and Skid Row have been writing as well, so that’s cool.

• Gargoyle of the Garden State is on sale now.

Robert ‘Bubby’ Lewis remembers his first Winter NAMM Show like it was yesterday. It was 2003, he was 17 going on 18, and he had been playing bass for a couple years. He was there with his older sister, the drummer Benita Lewis.

“I was at the Ken Smith booth playing with Etienne Mappé, and I had my eyes closed,” Lewis told Bass Player back in July 2017. “I didn't know anybody – I'm from Flint, Michigan, so I just knew names. I didn't know what people looked like. I opened my eyes, and I saw this big security-guard-looking dude staring at me.

When I put the bass down, he grabbed me by the shoulder and said, ‘Come with me.’ I’m trying to text my sister, like, ‘Help!’

“So he walks me down to the Mike Tobias booth and makes me sit down and play. When I finish, Mike says that if I ever wanted a bass guitar, he'd be happy to build me one. The security guard tells me I sound great. I thank him, and then he says, ‘I'm Andrew Gouche.’

“I was like, ‘Wait... freakin’ Andrew Gouché?’”

Thanks to Gouché, Lewis landed the bass chair with Snoop Dogg in 2007. Shortly after he moved to LA. for good.

Now a familiar MTD-booth presence at the annual NAMM Show, Lewis spends most of his time on the road and in the studio, having also worked with the likes of Jhené Aiko, Dr. Dre, Lupe Fiasco, The Game, Warren G, and Kurupt.

Lewis may have built his reputation as a gospel/hip-hop/R&B bassist, but he’s also constantly refining his knowledge of soloing over complex changes, and every facet of being a working bassist in the 21st century.

“Every time I plug in my bass, I start soloing. With no music behind it, it sounds like a bunch of rubbish. But I hear chords in my mind and I try to solo over them. I explain that to people, and they're like, ‘You don't practice songs?’ Nah. Sometimes I just sit down and start playing whatever I'm hearing.”

You don't warm up over chord progressions?

No. If it sounds like random notes, well, that’s because it is random notes.

I've seen the crazy fingerboard stretches you do.

Somebody wrote me and asked me why I do all those stretches if they can't ever be used, and I was like, ‘Speak for yourself!’ Maybe you can't use them, but I do, and so do lots of my friends, like Hadrien Feraud and Federico Malaman.

Do you prioritize playing what you hear instead of muscle memory?

Muscle memory is one thing, but knowing what you want to play, and executing it, is another. Some guys play scales or modes when they start soloing; everyone has their own method, and there's no right or wrong way.

Personally, I get a rush from trying to create melodies as chords go by. It's much easier to think, ’We’re in E minor, so let me slide up on the G string to the 12th fret and play some E minor pentatonic licks.’ But I like the challenge of coming up with a melody on the fly.

What inspired that connection between your ear and your fingers?

When we were growing up in Flint, I used to be in awe of my boy Eddie Brown. He would be looking at the celling and playing all this stuff on organ. I couldn't figure out what scales he was using, but it wasn't a matter of scales – he was hearing stuff and just playing it.

And Allan Holdsworth, may he rest in peace, he saw dots on his guitar neck that represented all the notes he could play over a particular chord.

Frank Gambale, my other hero, said the same thing. If you know where the notes are, you can play whatever you want.

What’s the best way to feed your mind new ideas?

If you listen to the same stuff, you’ll hear the same stuff. I grew up in church, and I was listening to a lot of gospel, funk, R&B and hip-hop, but when I started checking out rock and country, it changed how I heard things. Listening to Indian music really affected me.

How did you get into Indian music?

When I discovered there was so much outside of Western music theory, I began listening to a bunch of raga, qawwali, and sufi music, and after that, I went on this tangent, studying classical Indian music and classical Arabic music.

How did it influence your playing?

It changed the way I hear stuff. Somebody will ask me to play on a jazz tune, and yeah, I could give it a Charlie Parker approach, but instead I might hear what Bade Ghulam Ali Khan would do. That's how it happened it for me.

How important is it to stay open to different types of music?

If you want to progress and expand, you have to have an open mind. A lot of my homies diss punk rock and metal, but try playing those classic Robert Trujillo basslines while jumping around onstage with Suicidal Tendencies. Thundercat had Mike Muir call me for a couple of gigs in Japan, and it was a workout!

For most bands, life on the road is a carefully choreographed operation: soundchecks, hotels, venues, tour buses and the occasional late-night scramble to find something resembling dinner.

For The Last Dinner Party, however, the reality has often been somewhat more chaotic – and bassist Georgia Davies wouldn’t have it any other way.

Since the band’s rapid ascent to fame, Davies and her bandmates have found themselves navigating sold-out shows, international tours and the strange logistics of keeping five musicians functioning on the road.

Along the way, she’s taken on roles that extend well beyond playing bass guitar, from unofficial “food and vibe technician” to participant in the band’s “Roadie Friday” tradition.

And then there was Kansas when a hospital stay offered a stark reminder that even the most glamorous rock ’n’ roll adventures can sometimes go sideways.

“Touring asks a lot of you – physically and mentally,” says Davies. “Musicians get injured all the time, whether it’s falls, repetitive strain, exhaustion or the psychological toll of constantly being on the road.

“I could have fallen down the bus stairs anywhere, but the fact it happened halfway through a huge American tour and I ended up in hospital in Kansas somehow feels symbolic.

“Emily [Roberts], our guitarist, was amazed I was happy to get back on a tour bus so soon afterwards. She said if it had happened to her, she’d never have stepped on one again. I was just desperate to get back out there. Looking back, though, it is a reminder of how much of yourself you give to this job.

“It’s an all-consuming way to live. But I'd still choose it every time because I absolutely love it.”

So much so, in fact, that Davies turned her experiences into The Hunger and the Road, her own Substack chronicling the food, travel, chaos and camaraderie that come with life in a touring band.

“Everyone expects stories about getting signed or making records, but the blog is about the in-between moments that nobody ever sees.

“People imagine you disappear backstage and materialize in another city the next day. They don't think about the reality of living on a tour bus, wandering around motorway services in your pyjamas, buying bottled water and whatever food you can find before climbing back on for another eight-hour drive.

How did the band meet?

We all met at university, so in the early days it was the classic routine of studying, working jobs, rehearsing with barely any gear, and playing gigs around London’s independent venues.

Then everything changed thanks to Lou Smith, who documents unsigned bands. He shot a video of us that somehow made its way around the industry, and suddenly we were getting emails from managers, labels… and, weirdly, lawyers.

Our reaction was, ‘We're just a rock band. Why do we need a lawyer?’ As it turns out, we definitely needed one!

From there, things moved incredibly quickly. We found ourselves in the middle of a label bidding war, which was surreal. We got to meet everyone, hear what they had to offer and, admittedly, enjoy a few very fancy dinners.

About a year later, our debut album came out, and roughly 18 months after that we released the second. So while it hasn’t been a long career in terms of years, we’ve packed a huge amount into that time.

Going from playing clubs to having lawyers knocking on your door sounds exciting, but also pretty intimidating.

The funny thing is that lawyers seem to be the first people who approach a band. You’d expect it to be labels or managers, but it wasn’t. Before we'd even decided to pursue this professionally, we had three different lawyers asking if we needed representation.

What was your goal when you started out?

We came up through the London scene when post-punk was everywhere. There were so many brilliant, dark, atmospheric bands, and we wanted to be part of that world because they were the coolest people in London. But we also realised pretty quickly that we were complete nerds.

We weren't very good at pretending not to care. Plenty of bands have that effortless, ‘we just threw this together’ energy, but we were the opposite. We cared about every detail, and we embraced that.

Before we'd even rehearsed properly, we'd already imagined this little universe built around ideas of decadence, euphoria and excess. We wanted everything to feel huge – visually and musically.

On the first record it was almost a running joke. If someone asked, ‘Should we add more strings?’ the answer was always yes.

Where did that mindset come from?

Looking back, I think it was probably a reaction to coming out of COVID. We’d all lived through this period of restriction, isolation and constant caution. Once that was over, our instinct was just to throw ourselves into everything.

How would you describe your approach to bass?

I've always loved melodic bass players like Peter Hook – people whose basslines have real character. I think it was on the second record that I really started to hear my own voice coming through.

On the first album I was still figuring out how the bass could fit into these really busy arrangements. In a funny way, being a less experienced bass player actually helped. I wasn't trying to show off – I was trying to make the songs work. Now I feel like the basslines I write actually sound like me.

What's your current bass rig?

My main bass for years has been a red Fender Mustang that I bought when I was 18. More recently I've been playing an Epiphone Jack Casady hollow-body with flatwound strings, which has become a real favorite. It's probably the bass people comment on most because it looks so distinctive, but I also used it quite a bit in the studio and it sounds fantastic.

Do you get attached to particular instruments?

Absolutely. My red Mustang is named Cassandra after Cassandra Wong from Wayne’s World. My parents showed me Wayne's World when I was pretty young, and I remember thinking, ‘That’s the coolest person I've ever seen. I want to do that.’ She was a huge influence, so my bass became Cassandra.

Recently the electronics started playing up and Fender very kindly sent me two replacement Mustangs, one gold and one cream. But I wasn't interested. I just kept saying, ‘No – we’re fixing Casandra. I'm not playing the cream one.’

Some instruments just become part of who you are. Once you’ve built that relationship, replacing them isn't really an option.

I wanted to ask about your Substack post titled Service Stations of the World.

I've spent far too much time hungover in service stations, and they can be bleak. When you're exhausted, and you've got another eight hours on the bus, stopping somewhere genuinely nice can completely change your day. Those little stops become a much bigger part of tour life than people probably realize.

Another post to look out for is titled Hangover Inferno. Can you explain Roadie Friday?

Roadie Friday is the day before a day off – whatever day of the week that happens to be. For most people, Friday has that feeling of, ‘Work's over, let's go out.’ On tour, that feeling could happen on a Monday, a Thursday or whenever you’ve got a rare day off coming up. The final show before that break instantly becomes Roadie Friday.

‘Should we go out? Should we do shots? Should we stay out until four in the morning? Well... it’s Roadie Friday!’ It’s completely ridiculous – but also brilliant.

You also mention a drink called The Hammer?

My tour manager – who is genuinely excellent, despite what I'm about to say – came up with that after we'd had this chaotic crew dinner in America.

We’d spent forever trying to split the bill, everyone got increasingly drunk, and eventually he announced that I needed a Hammer. It turned out to be a double gin and tonic poured into a pint of lager.

Another thing I loved from the blog was discovering that you're effectively the band’s food coordinator. How seriously do you take that responsibility?

Far more seriously than I probably should! I’ve basically become the band’s food and vibe technician. Before every trip I’ll research the hotel, look up the best restaurants nearby, ask fans on Instagram for recommendations and then build a shared Google Maps list for the whole band. By the time we arrive in a city, everyone has this carefully curated guide to the best places to eat.

Your Substack posts also talk about the strange feeling of coming off tour.

For me, it takes at least 24 hours while my brain adjusts. Even if I haven't seen my fiancée for months, I’ll be unbelievably excited to see him... but I’ll also need a bit of space.

One thing I realised while writing the blog is that cooking has become my way of reclaiming a bit of control after tour. On the road, everything is scheduled for you – when you wake up, when you eat, when catering opens, when you leave. Cooking a few dinners at home is my way of resetting. After that, I’m usually fit for human interaction again.

Is it the same within the band?

Completely. At the airport we’re all hugging each other, saying, ‘That was the best tour ever – I love you all.’ Then nobody hears from anyone for about a week.

It’s not personal. We all understand that’s just part of the process. Everyone needs a little cooling-off period before we remember how to be normal people again. Then we’re ready to start talking about the next thing.

What advice would you give to aspiring musicians?

The biggest mistake people make is convincing themselves they can’t do it before they’ve even tried. They think they need more lessons, another qualification, a music degree or years more experience before they're allowed to join a band.

But some of the most interesting musicians I know came at their instrument from completely unconventional backgrounds. They developed their own voice precisely because they weren’t following a rulebook.

If I’d listened to that voice telling me I wasn’t good enough, I never would’ve joined a band – even though it was all I wanted to do.

So my advice is simple: just do it. Start a band. Go to as many gigs as you possibly can. Immerse yourself in music and learn by doing. That’s how I did it.

• To read more from The Hunger and The Road head to Georgia Davies’ Substack.

Shortlisted for the 2026 Mercury Prize, up-and-coming jazz outfit Knats have carved out a sound that feels as much about storytelling as it does sheer musicality.

Their latest album, A Great Day In Newcastle, brings together contemporary jazz and hip-hop, capturing the energy and character of their home city in the North East of England.

At the low-end is bassist and frontman Stan Woodward, who, alongside drummer King David Ike-Elechi and trumpeter Ferg Kilsby, has pushed the group’s identity further than ever.

“When I was writing this record I really wanted to tell stories,” says Woodward. “We’d never used spoken word before, so I had this idea of bringing Cooper Robson in to do an opening monologue.

“Cooper wrote some incredible words for a track called War Jackie, and after that we just thought, ‘Fuck it, let's get him on the whole record.’ It's completely transformed the band.”

Evidence of that transformation was brought home by a memorable TV appearance on Later... with Jools Holland.

“I remember my bass was slightly out of tune, which was driving me mad, but the nerves were the biggest thing. We thought we were on second, then every time another act finished we’d think, ‘Right, we’re next.’ Then somebody else would walk on, so the nerves built and built.

“Before we knew it, Shania Twain was on playing You're Still the One, but as soon as we started playing, the nerves disappeared. It ended up being one of the most surreal experiences of my life.”

For Woodward, finding the right bass wasn’t simply a case of choosing an instrument – it was about finding something that felt genuinely his. The answer came in the form of a Gibson SG, a bass he’d previously dismissed as “a bit ugly.”

After hearing about vintage Gibson basses from Black Midi frontman Geordie Greep, who also produced their debut album, Woodward decided to take a chance on a 1968 model he found on eBay. What began as an unlikely purchase quickly became a revelation.

“I’d never really considered them, but then I found a ‘68 Gibson SG on eBay for about £1,500. The neck has snapped three times on tour, but it's still the best bass I've ever played. It's been repaired, and somehow it still sounds incredible.

“You’ve got the Mudbucker pickup at the neck, which has this huge, almost piano-like low-end, then the bridge pickup gives you all the clarity you could want for solos. I tend to roll in the bridge pickup almost like it's a built-in boost.

“I've since picked up a 1972 SG as well, although the late-'60s ones are definitely my favourites. The necks are incredibly thin, they're ridiculously comfortable to play, and they've just got this character that I haven't found in anything else.”

Was bass always your first instrument?

I actually started on guitar when I was about 10 or 11. I was completely obsessed with Arctic Monkeys. My mum bought me this cheap little acoustic for Christmas – I think it was about 60 quid – and that was it.

I was about 16 when I started taking it seriously. I got obsessed with jazz, walking basslines and transcribing bebop. I remember trying to learn Donna Lee at that age and absolutely butchering it. But I just kept at it and improved pretty quickly.

How much thought do you put into your bass tone?

Less than people think. The biggest part of my sound is still the SG. That said, I don't think the instrument is what makes the player. You can hand somebody the greatest bass in the world, but your sound is still in your fingers.

Lately I’ve been playing through Orange amps with just a touch of grit, because the band’s getting a bit heavier and rockier. That slight crunch sounds amazing.

Is that what I'm hearing on War Jackie?

That’s actually this cheap Ibanez I bought as an experiment. I completely gutted it – new pickups, new bridge, new tuners – the lot.

I stuck a set of flatwounds on it and ended up recording with it. It’s a bit of a weird-sounding bass, if I’m honest, but that’s kind of why I like it.

The War Jackie bass solo was almost an afterthought. We’d recorded the song on the first day, but I wasn’t happy with the solo, then completely forgot about it.

Right at the end of the final session, after we’d had a couple of drinks, Geordie just turned to me and said, ‘You need to do that solo again.’ I went in, played two takes, and that was it.

It sounds like you’ve got some effects on your solo on Azure Blues.

There’s a phaser on that one, and halfway through we kick in a chorus effect as the band gets louder, just to help the bass push through the mix. I was still using that cheap Ibanez with flatwounds, so I really had to dig in to make it speak.

I was improvising during that solo, but there's quite a lot of Messiaen in there. There's one point where I'm basically superimposing an E-flat minor triad over C major. It's incredibly nerdy, but I remember thinking it sounded cool.

A lot of the material on this record actually started from Olivier Messiaen's modes. The main riff in Carpet Doctor is built almost entirely from Mode 3. War Jackie is the same – the melody stays in Mode 3 almost until the very end.

Do you worry that talking about all that theory makes people see you as the music theory guy?

Not really. I don’t actually talk about it that much unless someone asks. The theory is just part of my process. It isn’t the point of the music. If people are interested, I’m happy to explain it, but I don’t expect listeners to hear a tune and think, ‘Oh, that's Messiaen Mode 3.’ I just want them to feel something.

What advice would you give to bass players who want to build the kind of career you’ve built?

I think writing is one of the most overlooked skills a musician can develop. You can spend years transcribing, practising and becoming an incredible player, but if you want your own artistic identity you have to write your own music.

Green Day’s Mike Dirnt has just announced that he’s selling a selection of iconic basses and amps – as well as clothes and accessories – used on tour and in the studio via his official Reverb shop.

Among the instruments up for grabs are several basses that were burned on stage during the late ’90s and early 2000s Nimrod and Warning tours. For Green Day fans, this was the era when Tré Cool would famously set fire to his drum set.

“Tré Cool is our resident pyromaniac,” says Dirnt. “There’d be a 20-foot fire going, and my bass and Tré’s kit are burning while Billie’s playing Time of Your Life. It was pretty awesome, actually.”

Other collectibles include two American Idiot-era Fender Mike Dirnt signature Precision basses and one of the first Ampeg SVT-810 cabinets that he purchased with his first Green Day paycheck – also used on the Dookie tour.

There’s a signed Fender bass used on the Nimrod album, an “unintentionally smashed” Gibson Grabber bass, and a Yamaha G100-II amp head from the band’s early days.

The 1962 Fender P-Bass in Fiesta Red, once part of Dirnt’s “studio quiver,” will also be available for purchase, along with several Mesa/Boogie amps and speaker cabinets that have racked up thousands of touring miles.

“They’re just bulletproof, incredible cabinets. I should probably keep one and use it as a coffee table because they’re really cool,” he quips, “but I could also plug stuff into it at the same time.”

Aside from the gear, Dirnt’s official Reverb shop is set to include dozens of pieces of clothing that MTV aficionados will surely recognize from music videos like Wake Me Up When September Ends and Oh Yeah, as well as outfits worn on the 21st Century Breakdown, American Idiot, and ¡UNO! tours.

“I’ve found some amazing guitars and basses over the years,” says Dirnt. “When you’re on tour for a long time, you’re always looking for cool gear. You’re always thinking about what could be on the next record, or what do I need to play tonight, or what can I find that sparks inspiration.

“Every guitar, every bass, every amp has something different. You pick up a guitar and strum it, and you think, there’s songs in this thing and I’m going to extract those songs. Then, once you feel like you’ve gotten the songs or the recording out of it, it’s time to let it go and give it to the next person.”

Dirnt’s official Reverb shop goes live on September 9.

For more information, visit Reverb.

Raphael Saadiq has been a torchbearer for organic bass grooves in contemporary R&B since his early-’90s breakout as Tony Toni Toné’s frontman.

Since then, he has provided basslines for East and West Coast rappers such as A Tribe Called Quest, Snoop Dogg, and Q-Tip, and he's played a key role on D’Angelo’s critically acclaimed neo-soul albums.

When asked in the May 2004 issue of Bass Player about the loose, way-back-in-the-pocket feel that he and groove masters such as Pino Palladino brought to ’90s R&B, Saadiq simply replied: “We call it the grease.”

“It’s a way of laying behind and then jumping right back on top of the beat when you feel you’re pulling back too much, sort of like a rubber band.”

And while the feel may be rooted in the pocket, Saadiq’s approach to tone is decidedly old-school. “I use old flatwound strings, backing off the treble and doing some thumb plucking. It gives me a tone somewhere between a kick drum and vintage James Jamerson.”

It was Jamerson's work on Marvin Gaye's How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved by You) that first sparked Saadiq’s interest in bass at age seven.

“My father and my uncle played guitar, so I was around a lot of music, but when I heard Jamerson on that song I told my dad, ’Whatever instrument that is, that's what I want to play.’”

Little did he know at the time, but family connections would bring Saadiq a lesson from one of the greatest players to have ever picked up the electric bass.

“My godfather, James Levi, played drums with Herbie Hancock’s Headhunters. He always had musicians over at his house, and one day he asked this bass player to help me out.

“The guy drove me home, came up on my porch, pulled out his bass, and started playing and giving me pointers. Years later I found out it was Jaco Pastorius.”

With additional inspiration from local hero Larry Graham, Saadiq earned his calluses in every musical setting and venue imaginable.

“I'd get on stage and play solo bass, or play with a drummer behind a rapper all night, changing my bassline every 16 bars or so.”

That diversity has stayed with Saadiq, who loves to jump from project to project, sometimes spontaneously contributing to an artist in an adjoining studio.

“The original greats on my instrument, like Jamerson and Chuck Rainey, played music that was for everybody, young and old, of all races. I’ve always wanted to make music that can touch that many people.”

Kasim Sulton didn’t fancy himself as a session musician – but that hasn’t stopped him from appearing on dozens of iconic records.

He’s worked with everyone from Steve Stevens to Richie Sambora, but it’s his relationship with Todd Rundgren and Meat Loaf that he’s remembered most for – especially Meat Loaf’s Bat Out of Hell. “I had no idea the album would become one of the top-selling records of all time,” Sulton tells Bass Player.

“Jim Steinman was shy and reserved; Meat Loaf was loud and boisterous. Together they bottled lightning. Of course, the musicians involved – myself, Todd Rundgren, Roy Bittan, and Max Weinberg – took our performances seriously.

“But for the most part, the music and the sessions were quite funny. You couldn’t help but laugh at the content of most of the songs!”

Sulton was also a member of Rundgren’s Utopia, and tours with the guitarist’s solo band today. “Todd is demanding, but he trusts the people he surrounds himself with. We just celebrated 50 years working together, and I feel we have a pretty good understanding of each other.

“As long as you’re working hard and not slacking off or dialing it in, Todd is easy. If you ask him what you should be playing, he’ll probably tell you, ‘I don’t know! Figure it out – that’s why I hired you!’”

Now 70, Sulton remains very inspired. When he’s not working with Rundgren, he’s writing solo music. Looking back, he says: “What kept me working with Meat Loaf was a true sense of what Jim Steinman’s original idea was and how best to perform those songs.

“Not too many people were in the room when that record was being made. I was. I’ll remember Meat as a big teddy bear who loved performing in front of an audience. And Todd is the consummate artist – one of the best lyricists in the second half of the 20th century. I’m proud to have worked with them both.”

How did you break into session work?

I never really considered myself a session musician. I cut my teeth in live situations. I was always happy to be in a recording session or going into the studio to work on my own music; and I always looked forward to performing in front of an audience. I think I became pretty popular on the studio call list because of my work with Todd and Utopia.

What led to your landing the gig with Utopia?

I was close with [orchestrator and pianist] Michael Kamen, who was friends with John Siegler and Roger Powell, both in Utopia at the time. John was leaving the band and asked Michael if he knew anyone who might take his place. He recommended me.

After borrowing $20 from my uncle, I took a bus up to Woodstock, where the band was based, and auditioned. Utopia were a prog rock band at the time and my bass playing was adequate – but my real selling point was the fact that I could sing.

Tell us about Meat Loaf’s Bat Out of Hell sessions.

About six months after I joined Utopia, I was sitting in a rented home in Woodstock, New York. Todd called and asked if I wanted to play bass on a record he was producing. I said, “Sure,” and asked what the artist’s name was. When he said, “Meat Loaf,” I thought he was joking, and I said as much. He said, “Just show up at the studio tomorrow!”

Next day, I witnessed Jim Steinman sitting at a small upright piano and Meat Loaf, Ellen Foley, and Rory Dodd performed the entire record. There was no demo tape – just these four people belting out the seven songs for Bat Out of Hell.

What was it like working on songs like Bat Out of Hell and Paradise by the Dashboard Light?

No one gave me any direction. I had free rein to come up with any bass lines I thought would be good. In retrospect, I took liberties that might be frowned on in today’s sessions – what I mean is, I played a lot! I riffed and stuck in little ad-libs all over the place that, to this day, I’m extremely proud of.

Todd has been critical of Meat Loaf and how people view the project on the whole. What were your thoughts then compared to now?

After we finished the record, I honestly thought I would never hear it again. It was great to have a hand in that music, working with Jim, Roy Bittan, Max, and Todd.

But at the time it didn’t strike me as a landmark record. In hindsight I can see that it spoke to a segment of youth that connected with the brilliance of Jim’s lyrics.

Elsewhere, you played a big role in Utopia’s only top 40 hit, Set Me Free.

I was signed as a solo artist to Bearsville Records during Utopia’s time on that label. I was given 100 hours a year to work on demos, and I used every minute recording what I hoped would be my first solo album. I went in to see Albert Grossman to tell him I was ready to officially start on that record, but he didn’t think I was, and that I needed to write more and record more demos.

I disagreed. As a hot-headed 21-year-old, I told him I wanted out of my contract. He said, “Sure thing, that’ll be $50,000 and 5 points on whatever you record. Welcome to the real world!”

That’s when I took out my frustration in a song. I wrote Set Me Free in 20 minutes. It became the only top 40 hit Utopia would ever have – thanks in no small part to the contributions of Todd and the band.

In the ’80s you worked with Steve Stevens and, later on, Richie Sambora. What was that like?

Steve is a brilliant guitarist, and I had the pleasure of working on his solo album along with my childhood friend, drummer Thommy Price. His influences span a pretty wide spectrum, from Segovia to Robert Fripp.

I toured for a year with Richie, and it was one of my most memorable experiences. Richie is an exceptional guitarist and was so generous and kind to me that I wrote his mother a letter at the end of the tour, telling her what a great son she raised.

You were also a member of Joan Jett’s band.

I played with Joan from 1986 to 1989. Thommy Price was her drummer – we grew up together. When her bass player left Thommy thought to call me. Like most successful artists, Joan knows exactly what she wants. Not so much demanding, but confident.

I’ve found that people hire me not only because of what I bring to the table, but because I’m clear on who I’m working with. Doesn’t matter if it’s Joan Jett or Celine Dion, I’m there for them, not for myself.

Meat Loaf had a big rebound with Bat Out of Hell II, which you were a part of. Did you see that coming?

Who could have predicted lightning striking twice in the same place? When Todd and I recorded all the background vocals on Bat II, we had an idea that it was going to be a decent-selling record. We didn’t expect it to sell 17 million copies! Kudos to Alan Kovac, who managed Meat Loaf at the time and was integral to the success of that record.

Later you were a member of The New Cars. What did you make of Benjamin Orr’s playing style?

The beauty of Ben’s playing was in its simplicity. The New Cars was a pretty cool project. I know Ric Ocasek didn’t like it! We were writing new music and hoping that we could continue. Were it not for an unfortunate accident involving Elliot Easton, it could have survived much longer.

How has your rig changed from your early days to now?

I like to keep it as simple as possible, whether with Utopia, my solo band, or anyone – an amp and a bass. Unless, of course, the gig requires a pedalboard with some effects on it, in which case an Eventide H9 and a couple of Keeley stompboxes do everything I’ll need.

Any regrets?

I’ve met three Beatles and worked with one. I wish I could have shaken George’s hand and thanked him. I’m proud of the fact that I’m known and respected by musicians I grew up listening to and admiring. What more can a kid from Staten Island ask for?

2026 marks four decades since U2 entered the bona fide rock-star club. But while other top-drawer rockers learned their craft in bedrooms and bars – playing for friends and forgiving fans – Adam Clayton’s evolution as a bassist took place on the world’s biggest stages.

“Even up through our first few records we got by on very little, at least musically,” he told Bass Player back in December 2000. “But we were always able to make something of it, just in the way we played together.”

Of course, superstardom was never the point. The three Dublin schoolboys who answered drummer Larry Mullen’s ad for bandmates simply wanted to find out what it was like to stand onstage and bash out three-minute songs – and, at first, they were terrible. That all changed when they began writing their own material.

“On the early records, it was really just a case of Edge and Larry struggling to keep the whole thing together. We were all surviving on minimal technique, and the formula in those early days was 4/4 bass over a relatively complex beat from Larry, with Edge doing his arpeggios over the top.

“But by the time we got to War, the songs were more structured, and the bass sound was featured more. Also, I suppose by then I could actually play things in time – and in tune – so I was able to be a bit more melodic.”

As elemental basslines like With or Without You and New Year's Day gave way to the Jamerson-style bounce of Angel of Harlem and Sweetest Thing, Clayton went from struggling to hold together simple eighth-note grooves to incorporating bass influences from Motown to reggae into his ever-evolving style.

“It's always depended on the tune with us, so as our songwriting became more developed and there were better chord progressions, I found I would fall into more interesting things.

“I wouldn't literally know where I was headed when I started out, but Larry’s drums have always told me what to play, and then the chords tell me where to go. Because of this, my parts are very much created as the song is evolving.”

Does the whole band compose this way?

We do write in an unconventional way, I suppose. If we try to arrange a song that's already been worked out on acoustic guitar, it's hard for us. But if we start with a few bits and then work around each other to develop the song, we seem to go to more interesting places.

Bullet the Blue Sky is a great example; it’s really just one musical moment, extended in time. Larry started playing that beat, and I started to play across it – as opposed to with it – while Edge was playing something else entirely.

Bono said, ‘Whatever you’re doing, don't stop!’ So we kept playing, and he improvised that melody.

Is it true you were U2's musical leader in the beginning, back in the late ‘70s?

Perhaps – but that's only because punk rock had just happened, so it wasn't really important that you knew how to play so long as you had some equipment!

I’d simply decided I was going to be a musician, so I got this Ibanez copy of a Gibson EB-3 and a Marshall head, and I guess those crucial ingredients made the others figure I knew a bit more about music. I did know a thing or two about my equipment, but I certainly didn't know anything about playing.

What were the band's goals in those days?

The ambition was just to end the song together! We had these interminable rehearsals where we would never actually get to the end of the song. But we also wanted to be a part of what we felt was going on.

It was a time of throwing off the idea that people who played guitars in bands were these rock gods who were to be obeyed and saluted. We got off on the idea that you could play a three-minute song with a few basic chords as fast as you possibly could, and that was a good enough reason to be onstage.

It meant that you had a life right now – that you didn't have to spend three years in your bedroom trying to figure out how to play Stairway to Heaven.

Pearl Jam bassist Jeff Ament has owned plenty of memorable bass guitars, but few have a story as wild as the “NBA” basses built by renowned Seattle builder Mike Lull. The distinctive custom basses became some of Ament’s most recognizable instruments – and some of his most spectacularly ill-fated.

On a special edition of NBA Soundsystem, Ament explained: “I wanted to be inspired 100 percent of the time I was playing music. And by putting the names of my most inspirational pro basketball players on the bass, at any given time, if I felt like the mojo was slipping I would look down at the bass and see Nate Archibald’s name and get fired up.”

When Ament first approached Lull, the two Seattle bass veterans had a shared understanding of what Ament needed from an instrument: something distinctive enough to stand out onstage, but rugged enough to survive the rigors of Pearl Jam’s increasingly unpredictable live shows – including one particularly chaotic night that would leave it in pieces.

“The first NBA bass was probably the first really nice bass I ever had. It had good electronics and played great,” said Ament in the December 2011 issue of Bass Player. “I had two of those basses. Both met their demise on the road.”

The “NBA” bass was a particularly ambitious build for Lull, both in terms of its electronics and its design. It also marked the first time he had combined several Bartolini pickups in this particular configuration.

“It was the first time we had used a big Bartolini humbucker in the neck position and a pair of Bartolini J-Bass pickups,” said Lull. “It had a J-style alder body, a maple neck, and a rosewood fingerboard. Jeff did all the graphics on it. It was pretty extreme.

“It also had high-end hardware – I think it had Gotoh tuners and a Ken Smith bridge, since they were the big high-mass bridges of the day. That first one was a pretty tremendous sounding bass.”

Both basses would ultimately meet brutal ends. “I think that one got destroyed in Vancouver,” said Ament. “It was right at the end of the main set, somebody in the audience threw a full 7-Up can at the stage and it hit me right between the eyes. I remember being stunned for 10 or 15 seconds, and then looked down to see 7-Up spraying out of the dented can. Then I got super-pissed!

“Back then we were pretty loose – I'd throw basses across the stage to my tech George Webb. But that time I just threw it back towards my amp and went back to the dressing room. I was really upset. I didn't mean to break that bass, but we don't play music to get full cans of soda thrown at us.

“I wasn't going to return to the show, but the guys talked me into coming back out. When I did, George handed me my crappy backup bass and said, ‘You broke your bass.’ It was horrible – a double whammy.

“Mike built another one, and that one broke at the first Lollapalooza show in San Francisco. For the first four songs there were about 200 photographers up front and my rig wasn't working. By the second or third song it started coming back.

“I went back out, but then it died. So I chucked my bass straight up in the air. As it was up in the air, I walked over to George and said, ‘I'm not going back out there until you get this rig running.’ But the bass didn't make it. Unfortunately, being young and stupid can ruin some good things.”

For bass players, stepping into the spotlight can be daunting enough. Take away the rest of the band, and suddenly there’s nowhere to hide – just four strings, an amp and the challenge of carrying an entire performance on your shoulders.

That’s the premise behind the first annual Solo Bass Guitar contest, which is inviting bassists to put their creativity, technique and musicality front and centre.

“The goal is to celebrate bass musicianship and bring the bass community together,” says Phil Jones, founder of Phil Jones Bass and sponsor of the event. “We already have contestants planning to attend from across the UK, Europe and the United States, making this a truly international gathering of bassists.”

The finalists will compete for a haul of prizes including Phil Jones Bass amps, basses, effects and other bass gear, with the competition offering a chance to showcase just how far the instrument can be pushed beyond its traditional role.

Few bass players understand that challenge better than Michael Manring. A pioneer of the solo bass guitar, Manring has spent decades exploring the instrument’s melodic, harmonic and textural possibilities, proving that a bass can be far more than the foundation of a band.

With the countdown to the contest now underway, Manring has offered some advice to the players brave enough to step out on their own.

“You have to get used to being the only one onstage,” says Manring. “But there's real beauty in solo bass guitar if you're not afraid to look for it.

“For most of us, it's kind of a shock to find yourself having to create all of the entertainment, especially if there's not even a drummer to fall back on. But once you get past that, I think the challenge is to create interesting and engaging music with the tools available to you.”

What are the common pitfalls of solo bass guitar?

I find there’s a danger in that once you learn to make relatively full-sounding music by yourself, there can be a tendency to think you’ve reached peak badassery, but there's always more to learn.

In my opinion, it's a good idea to strive for structural and expressive elements that make your music compelling regardless of format, as opposed to just a collection of cool sounding random tropes.

What first inspired you to start approaching the bass as a solo instrument?

As a teenager I started getting interested in a particular way of thinking about music that, in addition to orthodox aspects like functional harmony, orchestration and counterpoint, incorporates concepts such as resonance, spectralism, ethnomusicology, music cognition and just intonation.

Solo bass, especially fretless, is a really good tool for exploring these ideas as opposed to, say, piano, which tends to lead you down more conventional paths. For me, it's always been about trying to find a language that can communicate something meaningful in this time and place.

Why do you think it’s still relevant for today’s bass players.?

In addition to conventional playing I always encourage my students to work on a few solo bass pieces. I think it teaches us a lot about harmony, melody, composition, groove and how to create complete musical statements. I'm convinced that doing a bit of solo bass makes you a better ensemble player.

Are you still finding it as inspiring?

Absolutely. It's as much an obsession as always.

Are there players still taking it in new directions?

Yes, I think so. Everyone who gives it a go is going to add their own particular spin. In a context as exposed as solo bass, your individual personality is going to be pretty conspicuous, and there's not much to hide behind. I think that kind of situation offers a good opportunity for expressive individuality.

• The UK's first-ever dedicated solo bass guitar competition takes place on September 5 in Penarth, Cardiff, Wales. For more details, head to Phil Jones Bass.

After making a name for himself as a teenager with East Coast funk outfit Wood, Brass & Steel in the mid-’70s, bassist Doug Wimbish helped shape the sound of early hip-hop.

Working for producer Sylvia Robinson at All Platinum and Sugar Hill, he laid down basslines on classics including Grandmaster Flash & Melle Mel’s White Lines, before bringing his unmistakable groove to Unity, the landmark 1984 collaboration between James Brown and Afrika Bambaataa.

By his 35th birthday, he was juggling sessions with Mick Jagger, Madonna, Seal, Annie Lennox, Joe Satriani, and Ronnie Wood while mulling an offer from Bruce Springsteen. Then came the call that would define the next chapter of his career.

When Living Colour needed a replacement for founding bassist Muzz Skillings, Wimbish was an obvious contender. He’d first met guitarist Vernon Reid in the early ’80s, and in 1991 he was invited to audition.

Flying through a hurricane on his way into New York, Wimbish arrived at the band’s Brooklyn rehearsal space. Reid, drummer Will Calhoun, and frontman Corey Glover asked what he wanted to play first, and Wimbish suggested Time’s Up, the blazing title track from the band’s second album. The room got so quiet that Wimbish wondered if he’d said something wrong.

“I’m looking around, and I can feel the vibe,” said Wimbish in the October 2017 issue of Bass Player. “They’re looking at each other and not saying anything. Finally, they said, ‘We've auditioned a lot of people, and you're the only bass player who wants to play that song.’”

Wimbish nailed the audition, and officially joined Living Colour in early 1992.

Although 1993’s Stain didn’t match the commercial success of its predecessors, it produced some of the band’s most adventurous material.

“Go Away was the opening track of Stain and I’ll never forget it, because Will and I were so tight. We locked in perfectly. Some of those songs had a lot of twists and turns, and we had to watch each other’s body language to make it happen.”

Tensions within the band led to a hiatus in 1995, which saw Wimbish move to London, adding Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, Little Annie, Brooklyn Funk Essentials, Nitzer Ebb, Bomb The Bass, Depeche Mode, and a dozen other credits to his resumé.

Since Living Colour reunited in 2000, Wimbish still approaches songwriting as a collaborative process rather than a fixed formula. Drawing on ideas developed across a wide-ranging career, every project seemingly feeds into the next.

“I’ve worked with different bands for quite some time like TackHead, Little Axe, Bad Dog, Mark Stewart and the Mafia, and there are different layers of all these things that are part of the ingredients I use to assemble ideas for Living Colour.

“I might start off with some chords and I will present it to Will, or maybe I will just track everything – bass, guitar, drums – and build the song from there.

“Vern might come in with a riff or another way of approaching the line, and you just use the resources that are there and get everybody involved in what’s happening so you can really make the music for the band. That’s how I like to work with Living Colour.”

Alongside drummer Will Calhoun, Wimbish has built one of modern rock’s most intuitive creative partnerships.

“When you play with a drummer and you listen to each other it’s always a very rewarding and healthy environment to be in. I could play four notes and a rhythm and be already knows where to go with it, and vice-versa.

“I know his swagger and when he's going to speed up or slow down. I sound better with him on drums, and he sounds better with me on bass. Period.”

For most bassists, getting the call to play alongside Black Sabbath guitar legend Tony Iommi would rank somewhere between fantasy and impossibility. For Becky Baldwin, it became reality after a single email snowballed into one of the biggest opportunities of her career.

What began as an invitation to record a couple of songs soon turned into playing bass guitar across Iommi’s new solo album – despite Baldwin spending the first studio session convinced she'd blown it.

“When I got to the studio they played me one of the songs – I think it was World Alone,” says Baldwin. “They asked what I thought, and I loved it immediately. Great riff, great melody, and the vocals sounded fantastic.

“Then they rewound the track and said: ‘Okay... now play along.’ That was terrifying. They were expecting me to perform in front of someone I admire enormously, with absolutely no preparation time.

“They said we could do as many takes as we needed, but they wanted to capture my first instincts. I asked whether they wanted me simply to double Tony’s riffs or whether they wanted something different.

“Tony just said, ‘Play whatever you think you'd naturally record if we weren’t here.’ So I thought, ‘Right... what would Geezer Butler do?’ I've studied Geezer’s bass playing for years, and I know Tony loves Geezer’s style, so I started there.

“Working songs out instantly isn't my strongest skill – I like to analyse things carefully, go back over sections, make notes and really learn them properly, so having all of that taken away, combined with the pressure of the situation, made me feel like I was falling apart.

“The whole time I was convinced I wasn't playing well, but they kept calling me back! Before I knew it I was playing bass on the entire album. And that first performance ended up being the take they used for World Alone.”

What do you think made you the right person for this album?

The producer, Mike Exeter, had seen my videos online and followed some of the touring work I’d been doing. I suppose he could tell I was heavily influenced by classic metal bass players, especially Geezer Butler, and thought I’d be a good fit.

They were also looking for a bass player who was local enough to get to the studio easily and fit into the recording schedule. The album had already been in the works for a while, but the Back to the Beginning show took up a lot of Tony’s time and pushed his schedule back a little.

By the time I arrived, most of the record was already done. The band was already in place, including Jørn Lande on vocals and Karl Brazil on drums, so I think I was the last piece of the puzzle.

How did they get in touch?

I first got an email from Tony’s manager. You know when you see the preview in your inbox and it mentions Tony Iommi? I thought, ‘Hang on... what's this?’ As I read more it said Tony was working on new music and wanted me to come to the studio. My first thought was that it couldn’t possibly be real.

Do you remember where you were when you got the email?

I was sitting on my sofa when it came through. I checked the sender, researched the website, confirmed it really was Tony’s management, and realized it was genuine. I immediately sent over my number, and Tony’s manager called me.

What was that phone call like?

He was incredibly casual about the whole thing. He just asked if I’d be interested in coming to the studio. Of course I was interested! I’ve been a fan for more than 20 years, and I’ve spent a huge amount of time learning about the history of heavy metal and how much of the genre exists because of Black Sabbath.

There was never going to be any answer other than yes. We arranged for me to visit Tony’s studio a couple of weeks later.

What happened when you got there?

Tony asked what I’d been up to, and I wanted to ask him loads of questions too, but it’s strange when you're talking to someone you feel like you already know because you’ve read every interview and every article they’ve ever done!

What was the first thing you did after you walked out of the studio?

I drove away from Tony’s house, pulled the car over and just sat there for a minute trying to process everything that had happened. I remember filming a short video on my phone, just talking about what I was thinking. I’ve never watched it back, but I wanted to capture that moment while it was still fresh!

Did you prepare any differently before going back?

One thing that actually worked in my favour after that first session was that I apologized for how underprepared I felt. I told them that, normally, I'd spend time living with the songs first. I'd chart them out, work through different ideas and arrive with everything properly prepared.

They completely understood because they’d thrown me in at the deep end. Their concern was that they didn’t want any music leaking before the album was ready, so they hadn’t wanted to send anything out in advance.

Eventually they decided to send me a couple of demo tracks at a time so I could prepare before each session. The later sessions felt much less intimidating.

Now that the album’s finished, what can people expect?

Naturally, there's a lot of Geezer in my bass playing because he’s always been one of my biggest influences. That's simply how I play bass, so I think listeners will hear that influence, but they’ll also notice that the bass isn’t quite as prominent in the mix as it was on classic Black Sabbath records.

That's partly just the way modern productions are. Bass guitar tends to sit differently in today's mixes compared to albums from the 1970s. So I’d say it’s a more modern interpretation of what people might expect from a Tony Iommi record.

Did you think much about the gear you were going to use?

I assumed I’d take my Rickenbacker 4001 because I use that for almost everything. Then I realized I had no idea what tunings Tony would be using.

For the later sessions I took two Rickenbackers – one set up for E-flat standard and another set up for D standard – which covered everything we needed. In the end I recorded the whole album using those two basses.

It felt appropriate because they’re very ’70s-style instruments, but they’re also simply the instruments I use all the time. That's my sound. The team already knew how I sounded from my previous work, so I figured they wanted me to sound like me rather than imitate someone else. Thankfully, it all worked out.

This all sounds like an overnight success story, but you've worked hard to get to this position.

I suppose it seems unusual that someone from Tony’s generation discovered me online, because when Black Sabbath started there obviously wasn’t the internet. But that's one of the positives of today's world – you can discover musicians you would never otherwise come across.

Growing up in Wiltshire, I didn't have loads of venues nearby bringing through the bands I wanted to see. There wasn't really a pathway to playing with those kinds of musicians. The internet changed that.

I started posting classic metal bass covers online while also playing every tiny venue I could across the UK and Europe. Over time people realized I genuinely loved this music. I wasn't just an internet personality – I was also out there playing real shows. Those two worlds started feeding into each other.

Getting the Mercyful Fate gig was already a huge step forward in my career, and I think once people saw how well that worked – and how accepting the fans were – it opened more doors. It showed that bringing a younger musician into a legendary band could actually work.

What's next for you?

I've got a few festivals with my band Fury and with Delilah Bon. We'll be working on a new Fury album, and it's looking quite likely that Mercyful Fate will be touring next year as well. So there are lots of exciting things on the horizon.

Melissa Auf der Maur took fans of ’90s alt-rock connoisseurs Smashing Pumpkins by surprise in June last year when she re-emerged on stage in her native Montréal. Wielding her trusty P-Bass, she joined Billy Corgan and the Machines to hold down the low-end on The Everlasting Gaze.

Fittingly, the track – from the Smashing Pumpkins' 2000 release, Machina/The Machines of God – was the first to feature Auf der Maur in the music video following the departure of original bassist D'arcy Wretzky.

It marked the beginning of Auf der Maur’s tenure with the band, which she described as her “‘Master’s in Music’… just phenomenal music training” in a recent Bass Player interview.

Last year’s brief reunion with Corgan wasn’t a one-off, however. Auf der Maur’s memoir, Even the Good Girls Will Cry, released earlier this year, kicked off a conversation that led to the bassist joining the Pumpkins on stage at Lollapalooza this past weekend.

It wasn’t just any other show, either. It was their first appearance at the festival – which, coincidentally, takes place in the Pumpkins’ hometown of Chicago – since 1994.

“It was a natural, healing and gorgeous reconnection that happened around the release of my ’90s rock memoir,” Auf der Maur says in an exclusive interview with Bass Player.

“This past spring, I was scheduled to do a memoir event in Los Angeles, with Jennifer Finch (rest in peace) as my conversation partner. She called in sick that morning. Billy was planning on popping in as a friend to support me and my book.”

Auf der Maur ended up asking him – at the last minute – to be her conversation partner. “This led to one of the most meaningful conversations between my mentor and me, and was really exciting for the diehard music fans in the audience that night.”

This soon led to another opportunity altogether. “Just before we went on stage, he shared with me that the Pumpkins had confirmed headlining Lollapalooza in their hometown and said sweetly, ‘If you wanna join us for a song, please do.’”

Around the same time, Auf der Maur’s daughter was checking out this year’s Lollapalooza lineup, giving her the nudge she needed to join the Pumpkins on stage.

“I casually mentioned that Billy had invited me to join for a song and she said, ‘You better do it so we can go for the weekend,’ and we did, and it was awesome.”

Thankfully, Auf der Maur wasn’t thrown in the deep end as the Pumpkins had organized a warm-up show at Chicago’s iconic Riviera Theatre on July 29.

“I arrived in Chicago the day of the Riviera warm-up show so we could soundcheck together. Billy showed me the new twist on the ending lick, which took a couple minutes. We ran through the song one-and-a-half times. That was it.”

She continues, “Part of me accepting the invitation was testing the theory that music is like riding a bike... the heartbeat and rhythmic feel is eternal. The fingers need a little awakening and refreshing, but otherwise I am ready.”

The next day, Auf der Maur was fully prepared, or, as she puts it, “It felt like putting on my favorite leather boots, very comfortable and at home, but an omnipresent powerful feeling of karmic past lives being played through music.

“Playing on that stage, connecting with the band and the fans, is a way of kindling that magic, and it felt incredible. The Riviera, glorious, gorgeous theater, felt romantic, whereas Lollapalooza felt momentous, not only in scale, but in the return to those stages which the Pumpkins graced in 1994 and Hole in 1995.”

And if that doesn’t quite set the scene, Auf der Maur added, “As Billy introduced me, my favorite Charlie XCX song, SS 26, was wafting through the breeze from the other main stage a mile away, which was hilarious.”

Choosing The Everlasting Gaze was also a “no-brainer.” Aside from being one of her favorite Pumpkins songs of all time, she notes that, while it’s in some ways overlooked, “judging by the crowd's response, it is being well received as one of their great riffs.”

True to her ’90s sensibilities, Auf der Maur opted for her “trusted black Precision bass with the mirror pickguard that I used during the Machina tour, but for ease, I plugged into their bass player Jack [Bates]’ rig. Ask him what it was!”

“I would’ve preferred my overdriven tube Ampeg stacks,” she admits. “I’m pretty hard on the attack, so I need a pretty saturated, smooth sound. There is no way for me to lighten my hits; the moment I get on that bass, I hit hard. I guess it’s my style.”

The Pumpkins also leveraged their Lollapalooza set as an intergenerational bridge to a younger crop of rock artists, inviting Yungblud and Olivia Rodrigo as special guests.

“I didn’t get a chance to meet that charismatic Yungblud, but saw his set and loved his tribute to Ozzy,” says Auf der Maur. “He’s filling a void of emotional, heavy rock males – I was moved.

“Olivia, on the other hand, was a total bonus track! I love her new record, and I’ve been following her thanks to my music-obsessed teenage daughter.”

Rodigo’s ascent to the top – and her admiration for the female rock icons who came before her – is also something that Auf der Maur is keen to point out.

“My daughter’s first giant concert was the Guts tour at Madison Square Garden almost two years ago,” she recalls.

“I managed to get backstage passes. I was honored and floored when Olivia told her, ‘Without your mother this would not be possible…’ I think it might’ve been the first time that cross-generational affirmation was said out loud to me. It made me proud, but most of all grateful that ‘we’ have arrived.

“I said yes to joining Hole in 1994 as a commitment to put women on the male-dominated landscape of rock music. And look where we are now.”

Glenn Hughes has been forced to retire from touring due to ongoing health issues.

The former Deep Purple bassist and singer announced his retirement in a post on social media, and revealed he is set to undergo open heart surgery.

“This past year, I’ve had some health issues,” Hughes says. “The results from numerous MRIs, CT scans, and an echocardiogram have alerted my medical team, that I need another open-heart surgery.

“I really have no option and no choice as health is my number one priority. Grateful to have been chosen with a life full with the gift of music… Thank you for walking beside me.”

Joe Satriani, Richie Kotzen, Nuno Bettencourt and other music heroes offered their support in the comments.

Hughes’ retirement brings the curtain down on a decorated and prolific career that has seen him front Trapeze, Black Sabbath and the Dead Daisies. He played his most recent show over the weekend during a Kings of Chaos covers band gig in California.

The retirement comes off the back of Hughes’ latest health setback, after he was forced to cancel plans for a US tour back in January. His management at the time put this down to “a minor health issue that requires his attention over the upcoming months”.

He was able to return to the stage for a Dead Daisies show in St Charles, Illinois, back in May, but plans to perform later this year in Agoura Hills, California, have been cancelled.

Hughes also has a history of heart-related health problems, having been diagnosed with a heart murmur as a child and undergoing heart surgery in 2013.

“Having the operation with my heart and the new aorta has really changed my psychology about life and people and love itself,” Hughes said of the operation in a 2016 Classic Rock interview. “It’s really quite simple. I surround myself with loving, nurturing people.”

Hughes has played with a pantheon of rock guitar greats over his career, from Ritchie Blackmore and Tommy Bolin to Pat Thrall and Mel Galley. Speaking to Classic Rock last year, he named the best guitarist he ever worked with.

Bassist Tim Bogert first came to prominence via Vanilla Fudge’s eponymous debut in 1967. His virtuosic style helped define that band’s sound during a prolific five-album stint that lasted up until 1969.

“Vanilla Fudge were an amazing band,” said Billy Sheehan. “Tim was all over the place on bass – but everything he did worked. He was a huge influence on me.”

Bogert and Fudge drummer Carmine Appice went on to create Cactus, which churned out four studio albums before dissolving in 1972, when the duo teamed up with guitarist Jeff Beck to form the power trio Beck, Bogert & Appice.

But despite boasting the kind of explosive musicianship not heard since Cream, the trio never found the chemistry to match its collective talent.

“The nights that BBA were on, we were frightening,” said Bogert in the March 2011 issue of Bass Player. “But we were only on maybe one of three nights.

“That group was like a dragster when it does a burnout: you get a lot of smoke and a lot of noise, but it doesn't go anywhere. But when it hooks up, my God, it's amazing. That's what that band was like. I lived for those moments when it all hooked up; they're some of the best musical memories I have.”

Lady, the second song on the group’s only studio album, exemplified Bogert’s freewheeling inventiveness on the bass guitar.

“For Lady, I played whatever flopped out of my head at the time, trying to be appropriate, flashy, or both. We did the basics in one take, and then everything else was over-dubbed.

“No-one taught me to play the bass; I just picked it up and did my thing. So it was out of ignorance of the rules that my style developed.”

To record the track, Bogert played a Fender Precision Bass with a Telecaster neck and La Bella flatwound strings through a Sunn Coliseum head and custom cabinet made by Tony Frank of Univox.

“I'd mic the cabinet, which had two 15-inch speakers, and play the bass hard – you had to with the flatwound strings, so it would distort and break up.”

The guitar and drums set the mood in the first three bars with a gritty stop-start riff, joined by the bass in the second half of bar 4, as Bogert enters with an echo of the track’s defining E minor pentatonic figure.

At 00:07, Bogert – who employs a two-finger plucking technique and occasional rakes – settles into a simmering groove that makes full use of the open E string.

Note how he matches the rising intensity of the drums with a high staccato root-note figure at 00:22, which he contrasts with flowing, chromatic 16ths through beats three and four.

Bogert opts for a simpler riff under the first 12 bars of the 16-bar verse, sticking to root notes while the vocals sketch out harmonies atop his basic foundation. Appice and Bogert both sing on the track: Bogert is the higher of the two voices.

As the promise of a guitar solo unfolds at 02:05, Bogert navigates Beck's dense, multi-layered guitar work with fearless creativity, injecting the music with fluid chromatic runs and rich, Jamerson-influenced syncopation.

The low-end excitement continues as Bogert soars up to a high B on the G string under the B major chord at 02:47 before working his way down to the open E, leading to a period of quiet E7-based reflection.

This is followed by two more verses, during which Bogert’s on-the-fly development continues: Highlights include a cool descending D Mixolydian run at 04:08, and some wide-ranging skips at 04:14.

After a semi-false ending, followed by a drum solo, the final section pivots around bass-heavy reiterations of the track's E-minor pentatonic theme.

Dominic Davis has known Jack White since they were kids growing up in Detroit. The two jammed together for years and caught a vibe – but Davis didn’t realize how strong their chemistry was until later. “After a couple of years of not finding anybody to play with in college, I was like, ‘Wow… the guy was special,’” he tells Bass Player.

Eventually he did find others to play with. He formed Steppin’ In It before moving into a session career, working with everyone from Pharrell Williams to Adele to Beyoncé. “It’s always interesting,” he says. “Everybody does something different.

“Pharrell sent me a finished album and wanted me to do exactly what he’d done. But with pop songs there’s a lot of ear candy. You hear about trying to ‘have a moment,’ – maybe there can be a bass moment there. If I’m forced to do that, I will, but I don’t usually think like that.”

His understated yet virtuosic approach works so well that it led to old pal White inviting him to join his band over a decade ago. Since then Davis has appeared on five of White’s solo records, the latest of which is 2026’s Frozen Charlotte, and he’s about to tour the globe with White again.

Davis has other projects too. “I’ve been doing a bunch of soundtrack work,” he says. “I moved to Nashville 14 years ago, and there’s lots of sessions, lots of producing records, and lots of hanging with friends in the studio. In Nashville you never know who’s gonna call or where you’re gonna wind up.”

What inspired you to take up the bass?

I was always interested in music. Growing up, there was a cardboard Kay guitar in the house. I grew up in Detroit with a single mom, and we were pretty poor, but she always encouraged me. She bought me a crappy pointed headstock guitar with a fake Floyd Rose – it just would not stay in tune!

I’d go to Jack’s house when we were 9 or 10 and we’d play in his attic with his brother Eddie. One day, since my guitar wouldn’t stay in tune, Jack’s brother Eddie said, “You know what? I bet you’re a bass player.” He put a bass in my hands, and that was the beginning of it all. I still play guitar, but I’ve always felt like a bass player.

What was it like growing up with Jack in Detroit?

I don’t know that I was terribly receptive. He was into some things that kids our age weren’t. He was always making things, like cutting up Dr. Pepper cans and making trains, planes or whatever.

One time he was listening to one of those big Lifetime classical music box sets. No one else was really listening to that. But when I moved to college, it took me forever to find people to play with, and that’s when it dawned on me that Jack had something special; he was motivated in a way that other people weren’t.

Eventually you transitioned into a healthy session career.

Yeah, I got pretty lucky. The band I started in college, Steepin’ In It, was kind of like Americana before Americana had a term. We got a reputation for backing folks up around Michigan.

We ended up playing with the actor Jeff Daniels a bunch, and with Greg Brown. That was a natural step into session work – we were already backing half of the singer-songwriters in Michigan.

What’s been your typical bass rig during sessions?

I’m a Jazz Bass guy, so I usually bring a J and a P-Bass. And I usually bring something short and weird, like a Kay or a [Teisco]. And whether they want it or not, I always bring the upright, because it seems like it’ll get used if I bring it!

I have a pretty giant session pedalboard. It’s everything you could want – a bunch of octaves, synthy things, and a couple of compressors. Not everybody wants to use amps, especially in Nashville, so I rarely use an amp on a session, unless it’s a rock session like with Jack.

What led you to become a mainstay in his solo band?

For years he dealt with his bands The White Stripes, The Raconteurs and all that. He was only doing that, aside from the Loretta Lynn album [Van Lear Rose], but when he moved to Nashville he started producing more.

I started coming down and playing on tons of stuff, like for Wanda Jackson and Tom Jones. It was a natural progression. I think for Jack, assembling bands was about him calling all his old pals.

What’s it generally like recording with Jack?

In high school he’d call and say, “Hey, come over – I wanna record!” and that’s how it still goes now. He’s pretty fearless in the studio. He doesn’t necessarily need a plan; he kind of chases it a lot. You just gotta trust him and know it’s gonna work, ‘cause there’s a lot of experimentation.

There’s a lot of pulling things from thin air, more so than a typical Nashville session where you get demos ahead of time, and you have a session leader who sends you all the charts.

Put us in the room with the band and Jack during a typical session for his latest, Frozen Charlotte.

It used to be half and half where there were finished songs, and he’d sit down and play you the whole thing, then the other half were experiments. But with the last couple of records, it’s more him just playing you riffs, and we connect parts.

We’ll say, “Maybe this should be longer,” or, “This should be shorter,” when there’s not a lot of lyrics yet. He’s an old-school guy but he’s also futuristic; he kind of walks between those worlds. He’ll be very specific about what he wants you to do, but he’ll let you be yourself somehow.

He’ll be like, “Big picture – octaves,” then he’ll say, “How about a higher octave or a lower octave?” instead of telling you exactly what to play. For this record I was trying not to do exactly what he did. You can hear the riffs aren’t exactly the same.

Like with Derecho Demonico, I’m keeping it all in one octave so it sounds a little tougher. I was sort of dissecting trios and hearing that a lot. In Led Zeppelin tunes, John Paul Jones is often playing a harmony, or not playing exactly the same riff. That was sort of theme for me. It doesn’t always sound right for me to do exactly what he’s doing.

I’ve learned from arranging White Stripes songs that you don’t have to play all the time. When we do Ball and Biscuit I play like 50 notes the whole song! It’s just roots on the one. On the album there’s a rhythm guitar that’s barely there. So, it’s like, “Okay, I’ll do that.” If we start playing it like a regular 12-bar blues song, it would go into a territory The White Stripes never would have gone to.

When we did My Doorbell a couple of tours ago, I just played tambourine! Sometimes a tambourine or a shaker will be more impactful than playing bass. But then there are some where you can really play the riff with Jack and be like his thumb.

What do you need as a part of your bass rig, no matter what?

I don’t need a whole lot, really – maybe a pick and my palm mute would be what I need most. But I use octaves pretty often, so that’s always part of my rig.

For my whole career it’s basically been octaves, fuzz and some sort of saturation distortion. I’ve also got an EHX POG, a MXR Poly Octave, and an MXR Bass Synth. I like octaves with presets; on mine I have four different octave settings.

What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned from Jack?

I used to be a “bass on 10 and everything else on 0” guy, but Jack’s changed that. It’s so drastically different than the way I used to do it. Maybe it’s the bigger rooms, but now I’m bass on 2 and mid on 10. Jack’s really hammered home that the mid is kind of deeper than bass, or that you’ll hear it more.

And I play too hard! I can’t help it when I’m up there, but I wish I could have a lighter touch, especially with the pick. I’m really trying to play behind the beat, but it’s hard with him because he gets so excited, and it’s so energetic tempo-wise. But I’m trying to learn how to keep things back a bit.

• Frozen Charlotte is out now on Third Man Records.

Known for his seismic basslines with punk rock outfit Bad Brains, Darryl Jenifer has spent the last few years exploring a very different musical landscape. His latest project, The Weather Channel, swaps hardcore intensity for psychedelic grooves – but the philosophy underpinning it all remains exactly the same.

“People ask me to describe the new record, but to me it's just another part of what I've always done,” says Jenifer. “I've been making riffs and chasing ideas since I was a teenager. I'm just trying to keep that dream alive.”

As a kid growing up in Washington D.C., Jenifer’s career direction was decided by one of the early pioneers of the bass guitar.

“When I was young, Stanley Clarke was my hero. I went to see him at the Capital Center in D.C in 1978, and after the show, I got his autograph on a dollar bill.

“I loved his speed and technique, but eventually I became more interested in vibration instead of notes. The pulse became more important than showing people what I could play.”

In the years since, Jenifer has remained remarkably unfussy about his bass setup, relying on the same instrument for decades.

“Too many musicians get trapped chasing equipment, but my advice is always to forget gear. Forget pedals, and forget trying to sound like somebody else.

“I've been playing the same Modulus since the ’80s. I bought it because it had a graphite neck. It’s the only one that could survive a Bad Brains show! Give me that bass, a cable, and an Ampeg SVT and I'm ready for anything.”

What’s the concept behind The Weather Channel?

The title came from the feeling of the music. Whenever I’d hear music playing behind weather forecasts, it always had this smooth, calming groove. One day somebody asked what I'd been working on and I said, “I've been writing some smoothed-out shit.”

My stuff with Bad Brains is hard music. This is just smooth music. So I thought, The Weather Channel. That's exactly what it is.

Was it a conscious decision to move in that direction?

I've never believed you're supposed to play a certain style because of where you're from. If you're Jamaican, people expect reggae. If you're from Washington, D.C., you're supposed to play go-go. But that never made sense to me.

If I'm into punk, I'll make punk. If I'm listening to Roy Ayers or Lonnie Liston Smith, I'll make something inspired by that. I just play what I love.

A jazz musician might hear it and say, ‘That's some punk Weather Channel music,’ but I don't consider myself a musician, so I've never thought that way.

Musicians study theory. They learn the language of music. I never had the patience for that. I think of myself as a riff maker – a guy who loves instruments and has a knack for creating music.

You've said you think differently about writing music these days.

When I was younger I used to force it. I'd sit down and tell myself, “I'm going to write a riff that feels like this.” Sometimes I'd even imagine pictures. I'd think, ‘This riff should sound like a brick wall falling over.’ That was how I translated ideas because I couldn't talk in musical language.

Now it's different. I believe in true inspiration. I'll come into my studio, meditate, smoke a little, play for 20 minutes without trying to write anything – and suddenly something appears. That's when I quietly hit record.

So I don't go looking for riffs anymore. I create the conditions where they can find me. The music starts telling me what it wants to be. That's the difference.

Do you analyse those moments afterwards?

Only enough to shape them. I've realized over the years that music almost has a life of its own. Sometimes an idea keeps coming back, even if it annoys me. The same thing happens with my artwork. I'll make something and think, “I don't even like this,” but other people connect with it. That's when I think maybe it wanted to exist more than I wanted to make it.

Music is a spiritual force. Sometimes it just wants to happen.

There's something hypnotic about The Weather Channel. It works as background music, but there's always enough happening to pull you back in.

That's exactly how I wanted it. Growing up in D.C. there was a radio show called The Quiet Storm. That music was everywhere. Roy Ayers. Lonnie Liston Smith. Smokey Robinson. Kool & The Gang when they got smooth.

My friends used to laugh because that's what I listened to. I've always had that side in me. So this album is really my Quiet Storm record.

You assembled a fantastic band, too.

The beautiful thing is none of it was planned. Everybody lives around here. One person would say, “Call John Medeski.” Someone else would say, “You've got to get Ben Perowsky.” It all happened naturally.

That's another reason this record feels honest. Nobody was chosen because of their résumé. It was just people making music together.

How much direction do you give players of that calibre?

I'll show them the basic idea. Maybe there's a verse and a B section. That's it. Then they bring themselves into it. It's like cooking. Everybody throws a little something into the pot and suddenly you've got something nobody expected.

Afterwards I go through everything and shape it. I call it combing the music. Like getting a haircut before you leave the barber shop. The music is already there. I'm just cleaning it up.

You've always seemed creatively fearless.

That's probably the biggest gift I've been given. When Bad Brains suddenly switched from hardcore into reggae, we weren't trying to surprise anybody. It just felt right. When Sailin' On suddenly turns into something that sounds like Stevie Wonder, that wasn't calculated. That's just where the music wanted to go.

I've always trusted that instinct. Sometimes musicians tell me something I've written is harmonically wrong. Maybe it is. If it feels good, I'm keeping it.

What advice would you give young bass players?

Learn to love a simple four-string bass, and pay attention to your touch. People won't remember how many notes you played, but they remember how you made them feel.

Sam Dixon’s talent pool as a gifted bassist, writer and producer has been tapped by the likes of Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds, David Holmes, and Corrine Bailey Rae. Beyond his session work, he’s also maintained a long-standing songwriting partnership with fellow Australian Sia Furler.

Together, they co-wrote and produced Christina Aguilera's Bound to You, which earned a Best Original Song nomination at the 2011 Golden Globe Awards. He also received a Grammy Award for his contribution to Adele's 25, which won Album of the Year in 2017.

When Bass Player last caught up with Dixon in March 2021, he attributed his success as a session player to an ability to leave his musical ego at the door.

“As a bass player, it’s rarely about you. You’re there to do what’s right for the artist and the material. It’s like being an actor, knowing how to play that role.”

Having arrived in London with just his mainstay Fender Jazz Bass, Dixon now has a studio’s worth of vintage gear, including a Silvertone, and a Harmony H2.

“I’ve always wanted to have a selection of basses to be able to recreate different sounds from records or players I love. I always say, ‘Look, you’re a musician and this is your craft, it’s what you do! You need to have good instruments to do your job.’ That’s always been my justification anyway!

“I’ve been lucky to be in the right place at the right time and I’ve been able to snag some great basses at reasonable prices. So it’s just kind of happened.”

Going back to his main bass, a 1969 Fender Jazz … “The original owner was a schoolteacher and it had been under her bed for 15 years in its case!”

“I’d started out on some cheaper Japanese-made basses, but was going out in Sydney and hearing other gigs and knowing that my sound wasn’t anywhere near as nice as some of the other players.

“I was really into Bootsy Collins when he was playing with James Brown and the sound of his Jazz Bass on those recordings was just awesome. I was lucky enough to have a friend who worked in a bass guitar store in Sydney – this was 1994 – and he found this bass guitar for me.

“It’s so versatile. You can make it sound like a P-Bass if you want, or really zingy. It responds to different playing styles. It sounds great with flatwounds too – like on this track called Little Black Sandals.

“There’s just something about that bass: it can sound really modern and clean and new, but at the same time it can sound like what it actually is, an instrument that’s been around since the late ’60s.”

Despite the Precision Bass having earned iconic status, Dixon believes the Jazz Bass remains the go-to choice for generations of recording bassists.

“Sometimes I get the impression that a Jazz Bass isn’t as cool as a Precision and that it’s sneered at a little, but it’s such a versatile instrument and there’s a lot more of them on record than people think.

“I’m pretty sure it’s what McCartney played on almost all The White Album, and there’s Joe Osborn who played on all those great records. He did all of his playing with a Jazz with the back pickup and tone control rolled off – that was his sound.

“I played my ‘69 on Sia’s Clap Your Hands and Put Your Records On by Corinne Bailey Rae.

“It’s funny because it’s the one bass I keep coming back to all the time. I’ll have periods away from it, and it might not always be the most appropriate bass for a track recording-wise, but I always find myself playing it again.”

That said, there are sessions where only a P-Bass will get the job done. In those moments, Dixon reaches for a pre-CBS 1960 Precision.

‘It’s beat to death but has that amazing played-in feeling that only beat-to-death Fenders can seem to get – especially the worn-down back of the neck. It’s not a pristine collector’s guitar, but it’s perfect for life on the road. It’s also blessed with the thick slab rosewood fretboard which Fender used from 1959 till mid 1962.”

Other firm favourites in Dixon’s collection include a 1969 Fender Mustang, a 1967 Silvertone Dolphin Bass and his 1964 Harmony H22.

“That’s a fantastic bass. There’s some ridiculous statistic that in the ’60s the company behind Harmony made more guitars than Fender and Gibson combined. They were made to be sold in supermarkets and department stores, and when you pick them up they kind of feel like that.

“Compared to a Fender or a Gibson from that period, they feel a bit flimsy and really light, but it’s great to have something that’s not your typical Fender or Music Man tone, something really different.

“I used it on tracks like Ludlow Street by Suzanne Vega and Sing Me To Sleep by Fran Healy.

“The Silvertone brand was used by the Sears chain for their line of instruments, amps and hi-fis from the 1930s through to the early ’70s. Harmony, Kay, National, Teisco and Danelectro all made instruments for Sears, which would be then badged ‘Silvertone.’

“My one was made by Danelectro and its semi-hollow masonite body, wood saddled bridge and lipstick pickup give it a really honky, resonant tone. It’s also short-scale and I’ve got reasonably light strings on there, making the tension quite slack, so it’s great fun to play.”

Few recordings have achieved the mythical status of the 15-minute Voodoo Child jam from the Jimi Hendrix Experience’s Electric Ladyland.

Cut in the early hours of May 2nd, 1968, with an all-star cast that included Steve Winwood and Jefferson Airplane bassist Jack Casady, the sprawling blues workout was the product of a spontaneous late-night studio session at New York City’s Record Plant Studios.

For Casady, the invitation came after years of crossing paths with Hendrix on the late-‘60s touring circuit, where a friendship with drummer Mitch Mitchell led to one of rock's most celebrated recordings.

“In the late ‘60s Bill Graham was managing us, and we would suggest other artists to him for our shows,” explained Casady in the October ’93 issue of Bass Player. “Jimi was one of them.

“The first concert we did together was Monterey Pop, and we became friends. In fact, Mitch Mitchell and I really hit it off, both musically and personally.

“Later, when Jimi was recording Electric Ladyland, we came through New York, and a bunch of musicians, including Steve Winwood, went down to see him.

“Around 4am, Jimi decided we should do some playing – fortunately, I had my Guild with me. He broke out a blues tune that we ran through three or four times and then recorded; it ended up on the album as the long version of Voodoo Child.

“I'm also on a couple of tracks from the Live at Winterland tapes that Rykodisc later released.”

Unlike his more melodic work with Jefferson Airplane, here Casady locks tightly with drummer Mitch Mitchell, letting Hendrix and Winwood take the spotlight.

His bass tone is unmistakably late-‘60s – rich in low-mids, lightly overdriven, and full of the kind of natural bloom that comes from a cranked amp in a live studio environment.

“After hearing bands like Cream and the Jimi Hendrix Experience, I became really interested in overdriving my amp. I'd been using the semi-hollow Guild Starfire along with my Jazz Bass, and I noticed that the Fender didn't distort well, but when I played overdriven chords and moved up the neck on the Guild, it had a sweet sustain with a lot of interesting overtones.”

Reflecting on his almost telepathic lock with drummer Mitch Mitchell, Casady said: “When I work with drummers, we often have a hard time seeing eye-to-eye because I don't play patterns with them. It's still a marriage rhythmically, but playing together does not mean just playing the same notes.

“Fortunately most of the drummers I play with understand this, so we're able to support each other while still exploring new ideas.”

The Rolling Stones didn't just tour America in 1969 – they rewrote the rules for stadium rock, playing to unprecedented crowds with towering PA systems, a purpose-built stage production and a volume level that pushed contemporary equipment to its limits.

At the same time, their search for a stage-worthy guitar and bass rig had become a logistical headache. The British amps they'd relied on at home weren't always practical overseas, and the band's ever-growing live setup demanded more power than most manufacturers could comfortably supply.

Andy Babiuk, who published Rolling Stones Gear: All the Stones' Instruments From Stage to Studio, explained in the May 2014 issue of Bass Player: “When the Stones came to the States, they got some Fender amps, but Bill Wyman stuck with his Vox. He said he really liked the tone, and he didn’t want to change it.

“Brian Jones and Keith Richards both got a pair of Sheldon amps, so they were using those. At that point, Vox also started making other things that they kept on giving them – the 760 cabinets, the heads, and the Supremes. But for their 1969 Hyde Park performance in London, they each had stacks of Hiwatts.

“The intent was to bring those to the United States for the ’69 tour. The problem was, they weren't set up for the right voltage.

“When they got over to rehearse, at Stephen Stills’ place, Stills had a bunch of small Ampeg combo amps, and they liked them. So Stephen was instructed to ask, ‘Hey, you got any bigger amps? We're going to be doing a tour.’”

The events that followed would see the Stones abandon their original plans, and unwittingly help launch one of the most legendary amp lines in rock history.

“Rich Mandella, who was with Ampeg at the time, said, ‘We’d designed the SVT, but we’d only built a handful of them.’ So they never really tested them out – 300-watt heads with two cabinets per head.

“But they put them on a truck that belonged to the Stones and hoped for the best. The Stones were the guinea pigs for those amps.”

The gamble transformed the Stones’ live sound, helping lay the foundations for the modern high-powered bass rig. But revolutionary gear has a habit of revealing its limits in spectacular fashion.

“I talked to some of the guys from Ampeg that went on that tour. Every night they were terrified. They didn't know if the stuff was going to work. They were working on them at night after each show, and trying to fix it to make it better.

“I think the show was Oakland. Second song in, the amps blew up. You can hear Jagger apologizing to the crowd: ‘We're trying to get it together up here. Maybe we'll do a couple acoustic ones.’

“By the time they did Madison Square Garden, they had so many amps because they just wanted to have backups. There were 17 SVTs onstage. That's far out to me – who in their right mind would have the balls to use the Stones as guinea pigs for beta testing SVTs? But it sounded great.”

With Keith Richards plugging his guitar into a 300-watt bass amp and refusing to ease off the volume knob, the band's stage levels became the stuff of legend.

“Here was Keith Richards playing guitar through an SVT – and Keith's not one to turn down. Bill told me that when you see videos of Mick running across the stage and sprinting when he’s near Keith, he's not running because he wants calisthenics. He's doing it because he's trying to get away from the volume!

“Bill told me he didn't really want to play loud, but had to just to compete. He said one night when he was standing in front of Keith’s amp, ‘I looked down and my trousers were moving!’”