“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!’”

Jennifer Finch, the influential L7 bassist who helped shape the LA punk scene, has died at the age of 59. The news comes days after Finch announced she was battling an aggressive form of brain cancer.

Finch’s L7 bandmates shared a statement on social media confirming the news, writing: “With a very heavy heart we announce that our beloved bandmate, friend, and fellow troublemaker Jennifer Finch has passed away today.

“She had a long courageous fight with brain cancer and was loved by many wonderful friends, musical peers and fans worldwide. We love you Jennifer.”

The band paid tribute to their bassist in a separate statement shared by their publicist, in which they say, “We are shattered by the loss of our beloved bandmate, sister and friend Jennifer Finch, whose fierce spirit, humor and boundless creativity helped shape L7 and changed all of our lives forever.

“Jennifer was a true original who lived entirely on her own terms, and the impact she made on music, art and everyone lucky enough to know her cannot be measured. We love her beyond words and will carry her with us always. Rest in power our dear friend.”

Earlier this month, Finch announced she had pulled out of L7’s Last Hurrah farewell tour as a result of her cancer battle, which had left her in need of extensive medical care and in-home support.

A GoFundMe page had been launched by family friends to cover medical costs, which arose as a result of unforeseen complications that led to “multiple surgeries and a string of difficult setbacks”.

It has raised almost $400,000 at the time of writing. Some of the proceeds will be directed towards an initiative to preserve Finch’s legacy “by creating an archive of her artistic and creative work”.

A distinct creative force that spanned the worlds of music, art, photography and bass guitar, Finch first joined L7 in 1987, shortly after the boundary-pushing band formed.

Musically, she became the backbone of the group’s classic lineup. With her iconic Ghost bass – which she loaned to Krist Novoselic and donated to the Punk Rock Museum – she propped up bandmates Donita Sparks, Suzi Gardner and Dee Plakas with a heavy, response-led bass ethos that defined the hard-edged L7 sound.

“One of my biggest fears is being revealed as not that great at bass. Technically, I know what I like – I want the bass to be explosive and hold down a bottom-end, but also to have overtone and drive,” Finch once told Bass Player of her style.

Culturally, she also became a force in the genre and the industry; a flagbearer who blended music with political commentary and activism to support women and queer rights in an often hostile, male-dominated space.

Her L7 days are just part of her legacy. Over the course of her career, Finch also played alongside a pre-Hole Courtney Love in Sugar Babydoll, founded the punk rock group The Shocker, produced a Ramones tribute album, opened for Nirvana on tour, and launched her own label, Little Pusher Records.

There has been an outpouring of love for Finch from across the music world, with the likes of Tom Morello, Garbage, Violet Grohl and Courtney Love all paying tribute.

“God bless her. An important fixture of the LA scene, a super cool person, a true artist with a kind and welcoming heart,” Morello wrote. “I loved, respected and admired her greatly. She will be missed.”

“This is so devastating, she was such a force,” Grohl added. “Made so many feel so seen. Rest in peace legend.”

Visit GoFundMe to continue donating the ongoing archive project.

With Mastodon officially announcing their long-awaited new album, Marrow Deep, months of speculation about the band's next chapter have finally come to an end. Yet for bassist Troy Sanders, a member of one of modern metal’s busiest bands, patience has always been part of the job.

“We genuinely viewed this as the most important record we’ve ever made,” says Sanders. “We nit-picked everything. We made sure every riff was the strongest it could be. We spent time figuring out who should sing what, whether parts were really serving the songs and whether everything fit together naturally.

“We’ve always challenged ourselves, and thankfully we still want to. We’ve never wanted to make the same album twice.”

Surrounded by Bill Kelliher’s intricate guitar riffs, the expressive lead work of new guitarist Nick Johnston, João Nogueira’s atmospheric keyboards, and Brann Dailor’s famously explosive drumming, Sanders viewed his role as providing the band's foundation rather than competing for the spotlight.

“I think I fit into the traditional rock bass-player model. That actually suits me perfectly because I’m not a flashy player and I’m not interested in forcing myself into the spotlight.

“If pulling something back makes the whole band sound bigger, that’s absolutely the right decision. It always comes back to keeping things simple.”

Sanders’ core bass arsenal has also remained unchanged, rotating between a Fender Jaguar Bass, his Fender Signature P-Bass, and a trusted Warwick that has featured on every Mastodon album and tour since 2009’s Crack the Skye.

“That Warwick just handles our low tunings better than anything else I’ve ever played. Those three basses are basically my entire world.”

One unexpected addition during sessions for the new album – their first since the departure of founding guitarist Brent Hinds – came courtesy of producer Kurt Ballou, who persuaded Sanders to abandon convention and run his bass through a Marshall guitar head and 4x12 cabinet.

“Kurt asked if I’d ever tried it and suddenly I’m running my bass through this old Marshall JMP guitar amp. It absolutely roared.

“It had this aggressive growl I’d never really heard before. That became part of the heavier blend throughout the album. It’s not sitting right on top of everything in the mix, but it’s there, adding another layer underneath.”

Despite being an enthusiastic pedal collector, for Sanders, years of experimentation almost always end in exactly the same place.

“Live it’s just a tuner and a Wren & Cuff Elephant Skin distortion, but I’ve probably got 50 pedals sitting on shelves in my practice space. Every time we make a record I’ll bring eight or 10 of them into the studio, but almost every time we finish by going, ‘Right… clean tone, dirty tone, done.’”

• Marrow Deep is available to preorder, out August 28 via Loma Vista

For all the discussion of Mastodon’s latest album, Marrow Deep – their first since the passing of guitarist Brent Hinds – Troy Sanders is quick to point out that the album’s biggest bass guitar moment doesn’t actually belong to him. Instead, it comes courtesy of one of his lifelong heroes.

“There’s definitely a bass highlight on this record,” Sanders tells Bass Player. “But it isn’t me.”

Following their appearance at Black Sabbath’s 2025 farewell celebration, the band decided to take a chance.

“We’d just played the Back to the Beginning show and I thought, ‘What’s the worst that can happen if we ask Geezer to guest on our album? He could say no?’

“We knew he was aware of us because he’d mentioned Mastodon in his autobiography as a band he enjoyed listening to. That blew our minds.”

Rather than asking for anything specific, the band sent Butler a handful of songs.

“We wanted him to hear where the record was going and see if anything inspired him, and he sent back this incredible bass solo that became the introduction to a song called The Vanishing. It’s a very Sabbath-inspired track. It’s definitely the bass highlight of the album. And I’m completely happy saying that.

“Everything went through management. We’ve never actually met face to face. At the Sabbath show at Villa Park, it was a madhouse in the Sabbath area, so the idea of trying to go back there just didn’t feel right.

“We’re hoping to finally meet when we’re touring the States later this year because he’ll be near one of our days off. If we can actually sit down together, that’ll complete the whole circle.”

Ask Sanders where any aspiring rock bass player should begin and his answer comes without hesitation.

“Black Sabbath. Everything we do traces back to those four guys. They created the genre that we call home.

“I tell my son the same thing. He’s started playing bass, so I said, ‘Just learn any Sabbath songs.’ They’re challenging enough to train your ears, and your fingers.”

For all the anticipation surrounding the new album, not to mention the accolades Mastodon have already accumulated – including a 2018 Grammy Award for Best Metal Performance – Sanders remains sceptical about buying into the mythology of rock stardom.

“You work incredibly hard to make records and tour the world, so when somebody genuinely connects with what you’ve created, that’s validating. So it’s okay to give yourself a little pat on the back occasionally, but it’s dangerous to start believing your own hype.

“When Mastodon started back in 2000, none of us sat around waiting for somebody to discover us. We got in a van and made things happen ourselves. That mentality has never changed.”

L7 bassist Jennifer Finch has been diagnosed with an aggressive form of brain cancer.

The news was shared publicly by her bandmates on social media yesterday (July 13), only two months after the band announced The Last Hurrah Tour – their farewell tour – which will be kicking off on October 6 in San Diego, California.

“Following multiple surgeries and serious complications, Jennifer now requires extensive medical care, rehabilitation and professional in-home support,” reads the statement.

“The Last Hurrah Tour was planned along with Jennifer when all four of us were in good health and spirits.” The band confirmed that, as per Finch’s wishes, the tour will continue as planned “while making her care and well-being our immediate priority.”

They also announced that her friends and family, along with the L7 members, have launched a GoFundMe to cover urgent medical expenses, professional in-home nursing care, physical and speech therapy, medical equipment, and legal fees.

As the GoFundMe page explains, “The cancer and everything that comes with it have left her with significant physical limitations, so she’s handling this the only way she knows how: one day at a time.”

The money raised will also help preserve Finch’s legacy by creating an archive of her artistic and creative work, as well as completing a “significant creative project” originally scheduled for release next year.

As of the time of writing, around $220,400 has been raised toward the fundraising goal of $350,000.

Garbage and R.E.M‘s Michael Stipe are among the fellow musicians supporting the GoFundMe effort, with Stipe posting on Bluesky, “Punk rock and alternative music would not be what it is or where it is without Jennifer Finch. We send loving energy to her. Please – if you can – every contribution helps.”

In an interview with Bass Player last year, Finch spoke about her and the pioneering band’s legacy, and insisted that “L7 ain’t over yet”.

“I’m in my 50s now, and we still get to be examples,” she said. “But also we get to fail publicly in a way that we couldn’t do in our 20s. I’ve never felt directly responsible for anyone picking up a guitar – pick up your own fucking guitar! It’s a thing you gotta do or do not.

“I’m very heart-warmed when particularly women say, ‘Because of you, I got into politics’ or ‘I got my medical degree because of you.’ You know, fighting for housing rights – that’s awesome.”

Head to GoFundMe to donate.

What happens when you mash up punk, funk and hard rock? The Red Hot Chili Peppers. The centrepiece of the band has always been Flea (aka Michael Balzary), whose early bass parts were high-powered slap explosions, influenced by the groove of Larry Graham and all-out aggression of the Ramones.

“My position in the Chili Peppers goes beyond that of just a bass player,” said Flea in the February ’92 issue of Bass Player. “I also consider myself an entertainer. As a bassist, my job is to kick ass!”

By the time the Chilis hit big with 1991’s Blood Sugar Sex Magik, funk had become the main ingredient in their genre-spanning mix. Of course, Flea's simple, song-serving basslines were pretty mind-blowing as well.

“I used to play too many damn notes, but I think we're releasing tension on Blood Sugar. The songs are all simple, but it's the intangibles that make them happen: like paying attention and getting inside the groove.

“Don't get me wrong – I love bass players such as Jaco, but the simple stuff is what I was listening to when we did this record.”

For the first time, Flea was able to demonstrate his taste and restraint on ballads such as Under The Bridge, and his deep groove on Give It Away.

“For Give It Away, I had written something and told the guys, ‘Aah, it's just another bassline – I don't really like it. But they said, ‘No, no, it's really good – we gotta do it.’ It ended up being the album's first single.

“I wrote a lot on my 4-track at home. I came up with the core riffs on If You Have to Ask, Suck My Kiss, Naked in the Rain, and Apache Rose Peacock.

“I wrote the Mellowship Slinky groove one night while I was sitting around feeling pretty good; I wanted to write something light and airy and spacious, with that jumpy, swinging James Brown feel.

“Another time, I was watching the movie Taxi Driver; a 5-string was sitting on my lap, and I was just hitting the strings – not even listening to what I was doing.

“A commercial came on, and I realized I had written an entire song – all the parts for The Righteous & the Wicked – without even thinking about it. It was nutty – that song came from Jodie Foster!”

Dedicated to boundary-pushing US jazz-punk bassist Mike Watt (of The Minutemen, fIREHOSE and Porno for Pyros amongst others), Blood Sugar Sex Magic mined a rich seam of bass guitar chaos.

The team assembled to produce the album was also unmatchable. Producer Rick Rubin, engineer Brendan O'Brien and the band's lineup at its peak.

“Our producer, Rick Rubin, encouraged me to play simply, and the more I did it, the more I liked it. Part of it was the sound I got this time; on previous albums, I didn't have a nice, big tone that sounded good with simple parts.

“Another big factor was that we toured so hard after Mother’s Milk, and every night I was up there jumping around, sweating my ass off, playing as hard as I could, beating the shit out of my bass. When I got home, I wanted to relax.

“I didn't play one note on Blood Sugar to prove I was ‘Mr. Bitchin’ Bass Player’. I'm sure there will be a time when I'll want to be a big bassopotomous again, but right now, I just want to be part of the band and make it happen correctly.

“It's important to remember that anyone who has good technique can, with just one note, imply a billion more. Louis Armstrong never needed to play fast.”

Keith Richards has reflected on the Rolling Stones' latest collaboration with Paul McCartney, revealing why he thinks it meant so much to the legendary Beatle.

Macca guested on the Stones’ rip-roaring 2023 track, Bite My Head Off, from Hackney Diamonds. And, on their latest album, Foreign Tongues, which releases today (July 10), McCartney guested on Covered In You.

Richards thinks he knows why McCartney, who has largely gone solo since the end of the Beatles, was so willing to get his hands dirty with the Stones.

“I’ve realized that Paul really misses being in a band,” he tells Zane Lowe for Apple Music. “His joy of just being in that context is great. So if there’s any more songs to do, I’ll let you know, Paul.

“I’ve known Paul for well, basically, since The Beatles started, since we started, but only on the periphery,” Richards continues. “John [Lennon] and Paul did a couple of backup vocals for us way back when on We Love You and Dandelion, I think way back in 1967.

“But otherwise, it’s also great to have somebody from your own era, from way back when. He’s a lovely player, and I’d like to do more with him.”

McCartney himself has spoken about the fun he had in the studio with Richards and the Stones for Foreign Tongues.

Speaking to the BBC for the release of his own latest solo album, The Boys of Dungeon Lane, McCartney confirms that recording with the Rolling Stones was the chance of a lifetime. And he loved every second of it.

“I showed up as a session player,” Macca said. “It was a really good feeling, because I wasn’t a star, I was just the bass player. I’m standing there playing, and I’m thinking, ‘I’m playing with the Stones!’ I should be blasé and say, ‘I’ve known them for years,’ but it was special.

“You better believe when I got home that evening, I said, ‘I’ve just played with the Stones. I loved it!’”

Though McCartney jumped at the opportunity, not all artists approached by the Stones were as forthcoming. Jeff Beck famously turned the band down, for instance.

But other music icons have readily accepted, and Foreign Tongues is proof. It's credits list includes the Cure’s Robert Smith and Red Hot Chili Peppers drummer Chad Smith, Bruno Mars, and more. It’s quite the cast list.

Foreign Tongues is out today via Polydor Records.

As an original member of Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers, bassist Ron Blair supplied distinctive basslines for the band’s classic first four albums – Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, You’re Gonna Get It!, Damn the Torpedoes, and Hard Promises.

But global success came at a cost: Blair learned quickly that rock-star life was anything but glamorous, being earmarked by a mind-numbing succession of one night stands, and exhaustive recording and touring commitments.

Burnt out from the grind of an unrelenting schedule and disillusioned by the record business, Blair split from the group in 1982 and was replaced by Howie Epstein. Two decades later, he came full circle and rejoined, as Epstein’s long battles with substance abuse tragically claimed his life.

Throughout his tenure, Blair powered such quintessential Petty tracks as Breakdown, American Girl, I Need to Know, Listen to Her Heart, Refugee, Here Comes My Girl, Shadow of a Doubt, Even the Losers, and many others.

Asked to revisit his beginnings as a bass player and, like so many others before him, Blair revealed that he switched from six strings to four out of necessity rather than choice.

Speaking to Bass Player in 2013, he explained: “When I was in high school in Jacksonville, my dad went on a tour of Japan with the Navy, and because I wanted to be a drummer, he was going to bring me back a set of drums.

“But he ran out of money buying everything from lamps to rosewood furniture, so he came back with a Guyatone guitar and a little amp. I figured I was going to be a guitar player, and learned all the surf music.

“I had some friends in a band, two brothers who didn’t get along, and one of the brothers had to go. So my friend asked me, ‘Would you be into playing bass?’

“I went down to Lipham’s Music Store – where we used to hang out – and I borrowed a bass guitar. Then I got a hold of a little psychedelic substance and tripped out all night. By morning, I said, ‘I’m a bass player!’

“Back in those days the bass wasn’t a romantic instrument. You really had to talk someone into playing bass.”

Pressed about his early years as a musician, Blair reveals an unusual starting point: “I was a military brat; my dad worked for the Navy. I lived in Jacksonville, Florida, and surf music was the big thing – this was pre-Beatles. Then my dad got stationed overseas. Next thing I knew, we were on a boat headed for Japan.

“When I got there it was like going back in time; it took a long time for music to get over to Japan, so they were somewhat behind.

“Around 1968, my dad got stationed in Hong Kong, but I needed to go to university, so I chose the University of Florida in Gainesville, Florida. There was such a good music scene there.”

Were you familiar at that time with Tom Petty’s band, Mudcrutch?

No, not then. A couple years later, I got into a band that did gigs at places where Mudcrutch would play. Around that time I met a great girl who turned out to be Tom’s wife’s best friend. We used to go over to his little apartment above a laundromat, so I became acquainted with Tom then.

How did you reconnect?

Sometime in 1974, drummer Stan Lynch called me and said, ‘I’ve got a session with the remnants of the Mudcrutch guys, but it’s for a songwriting demo.’ I said, ‘Sure I’ll come.’

It was going really well, and at some point Tom showed up in the control room and never left. Shortly after, we were asked to do some sessions for Tom.

At A&M Studio we were cutting the song Mystery Man, which appears on our first album. We ran through it, and producer Denny Cordell went, ‘Fucking ace!’ – we had cut a track before we even knew what we were doing.

I felt really home at home playing with the band. It must have something to do with our Florida roots. Maybe it’s the lifestyle, but if you grew up playing there with so many good bands, you were soulful whether you tried or not.

When did you realize the band had broken through?

We had our breakthrough first in England, and then America came a little later. Before we were in the position of being a headliner, we opened up for a lot of groups back then, everyone from the J. Geils Band to Kiss.

Breakdown did well in the U.S., but it was our second album, You’re Gonna Get It!, that pushed us over the top. It’s the first album of ours that went gold. When that happened, I was like, ‘Holy crap, I’m in a real band!’

Is there a Petty song that was particularly challenging for you to nail?

On Mojo, I Should Have Known It was really trippy. The demo had a bunch of stops in it and wasn’t to an exact meter. I was like, ‘Shit, I’m gonna have to take some notes.’ Somehow we deciphered that tune, but it was tricky just to make it through and nail one good take.

Another signature bassline of yours is the melodic figure introducing American Girl.

I don’t remember exactly how I came up with that part, but it’s a good one. Every time I pick up a bass and start noodling around, I always go to some kind of an open A string with a high 3rd or an open D string. I’m proud of that bass figure – it’s super-cool. We started off our halftime show at Super Bowl XLII with that.

How would you define your approach to playing bass?

I’ve always loved melody. In the early days of the band, I was consumed with jumping out with those melodies whenever I could. On one of our anthologies, there’s a live version of The Best of Everything, and every time it’s going to a transition I’m playing way up high, and then I come back down. You really need to be prudent with that kind of stuff.

A song of ours that conveys that sparseness is Fooled Again, from our first album. It’s got a pretty neat groove. Same goes for Mystery Man, which has this slow Bo Diddley beat that we hit before we even knew it.

When we started headlining and doing shows on our own, we had to be reminded: ‘Everybody’s paid their money to see you, so just slow down and give them what they want. Don’t overplay.’

A lot of bass players have a certain sound that’s great by itself, but that doesn’t mean much. How it blends with the song, how it’s sitting against the rhythm guitar, is more important.

How do you approach bass parts so you don’t step on the guitars’ frequencies?

A lot of times, you overplay a riff and execute the attack with more intensity than you need. If you’re playing high up the neck, you’ve already got it going on, so play a little easier and lay back, and those notes will ring a little better.

Can you offer any guidance in terms of sounding better as a player?

A lot of the gadgets you see on amps, the graphic EQs and strange boosts that sound really good when you push them in or crank them up – ditch all of that stuff, and just dial up your sound.

You’ve got three ways to dial it up: bass, mid, and treble. Keep it way simple. Try, with all the power you can muster up, to blend with all your bandmates and not get in the way of the frequencies.

What’s the most useful tip you ever received as a bass player?

There’s a great Phil Lesh quote that goes, ‘You’ve gotta have a damn good reason to play an open string on a bass.’ That’s good advice. I have one of my own: remain in contact with the neck at all times! Do not drop your left arm down to your side or point or do anything – don’t showboat.

From Pantera to Kill Devil Hill, bassist Rex Brown has come to personify the rock ’n’ roll lifestyle, and he's got the stories, the surgeries, and the scars – as well as the hard-won sobriety – to prove it.

“All I’ve ever known in life is bass,” Brown told Bass Player in 2017. “There’s not a lot else that l care to do, or be as good at, but I know the bass guitar. I know how to play them, how to fix them, how to build them, and how to break them.”

Standing toe to toe with Pantera guitarist Darrell “Dimebag” Abbott, wielder of one of rock’s most massive guitar tones, Brown asserted his own sonic identity while also keeping pace with drummer Vinnie Abbott’s jackhammer beats.

“With Pantera it was so hard because that guitar sound was so big, the reverb on the snare was so loud. Dime would hit at like, 3.5 to 4 kilohertz, and that's where I would try to get my bass attack.

“If it were up to Dime, he would have had me to play everything in unison. But being a bass player, I felt that there were certain variations I could play within the riff – and within the context of the riff – that made it unique.

“It would have been very easy for Dime to just pick up a bass and play along with his guitar tracks, but as a bass player who knows composition and how things fit together, I didn't want to do that all the time.

“I wanted to have a huge, monstrous sound underneath Dime, but we were flying at 188 beats a minute. I had to be articulate, and sometimes, you can't do that when you have a huge sound.”

What's the secret behind your distinctive tone?

I don't think I got my SVT until the first official Pantera record. But once I got my SVT stacks, that changed everything. For so many years, I had to play so hard to be overheard above the reverb of Vinnie’s snare and over Dime’s crazy guitars. That's probably where it culminated.

I also downstroke a lot, and I can play incredibly tight. I attack the bass; I don't just sit there and stumble around. When you hit a note, you gotta fucking hit it. That's your note – go get it, and don't pussyfoot around with it.

Has your bass playing changed over the years?

I still get up every morning and play the bass for 30 minutes. And if someone asked me to get onstage any open night, I would get up there and unleash it.

I’m not a Billy Sheehan type of player. I love Billy and he’s a good friend, but my mentality is more to push that bottom as much as I can and incorporate the riff into what I’m doing to lock it all down. However, at a point I got sick of being just the pocket guy, so l started stepping out and playing in different ranges, too.

What were the biggest things that sculpted you from your time in Pantera?

I don't have enough breath, and you don't have enough tape, for me to explain that even remotely. You have to all strive for a common goal, and eat, sleep, and breathe it until you reach that shit.

I was 17 when I joined the band in 1981, and it's been my life ever since. Vulgar Display of Power came out in 1992, which is probably my favorite record, and I remember finishing that album like it was yesterday.

How important are chops?

It's all about the song. It's not about ego or who's playing where. It's about knowing when to play, when not to play, and what's going to hold down that fort.

I can sit and play guitar all day long, but when it comes to bass playing, it's a totally different game. I have to keep that low-end so everything else can breathe and so that the vocals paint the picture.

But ‘The Riff’ is sacred, right?

When you're talking about very specific riffs – something like I'm Broken – you'd better believe it. But there's a certain way you can instil that main riff while still putting your mark on it.

It's all about knowing when to shine and knowing when not to. I definitely tried different things during the lead section, but not all over the song.

Some bass players these days play and play even when the vocalist is singing, and it just clouds everything up.

Did you guys work out how you'd support Darrell’s guitar solos?

Some of the Pantera basslines I'm proudest of happened underneath Dime’s solos. Sometimes l'd say, ‘Let me try a part for the solo,’ and we would just jam it; if it worked, it worked. Pretty much any time he’d go to the upper register, I'd keep it real solid on the bottom, down with the kick.

So if you notice in Rise, for example, it's me just playing straight 16ths or eighth-notes. And a lot of those times when he went in the upper register I would play eighth-notes or 16ths under him, and then when Dime came down, we would play everything in unison. But you know, we didn't even think about it back then. It was just second nature. It was magic.

In 1968, Jeff Beck released Truth, a pumped-up blues-rock album featuring Rod Stewart's grainy vocals, Mickey Waller on drums, and a recently “demoted” Ron Wood on bass guitar.

Originally the band's second guitarist, Wood took over the bass duties when original member Dave Ambrose missed a rehearsal.

As it turned out, Wood actually preferred letting Beck take the spotlight on guitar, and for two albums (the band put out Beck-Ola the following year), he laid the foundation for the future of hard-rock bass playing.

When you consider that Truth pre-dates Led Zeppelin's arrival on the scene by a year, Wood's bass playing takes on even greater significance.

In addition to a 1968 Telecaster Bass, he played a Fender Jazz Bass he “obtained” from a store near their rehearsal studio. In a 1975 interview, he told Guitar Player, “I had no money... I couldn't pay for it, so I borrowed it and never took it back. About five years later I paid for it, after they tracked me down.”

As a guitarist coming to the bass, Wood brought a melodic voice to the instrument (later exemplified by his playing on Rod Stewart's Maggie May), along with a rhythmic ferocity born of his well-honed chops, as heard on Let Me Love You, a straight-ahead 12-bar blues penned by blues legend Willie Dixon.

Let Me Love You is played here in F# with a swinging 16th-note rock feel. The blues scale (1-b3-4-#4-5-b7) in that key offers use of the open E and A strings, and Wood’s bassline takes full advantage of the position.

The first of nine choruses features an authoritative instrumental statement from Beck over the alternating I-IV progression for the first four bars of the blues form, and the bassline comes in blasting a prototypical riff with an accent off the ‘e’ of beat four that gets repeated throughout the tune.

At 00:32, Rod Stewart's vocals take the lead, and the alternating I-IV movement gives way to a standard ‘long I’ progression for the rest of the song.

At 00:41 Wood introduces a variation of the Shortening Bread lick (1-6-5), which is a recurring theme throughout. The answer phrase at 00:48 goes up an octave, with the slide up from the last F# causing the following lick (which sounds like Mountain's Mississippi Queen) to get hacked up.

This lick reappears many times, but this one has an unexpected visit from the open E string. It's a quick blip that doesn't cause any real problems, but it's typical of Wood's relaxed approach to the bass. Although he misses the intended destination note (F#), Wood nails it every other time.

Beck starts to solo at 01:33, and Wood calms it down with steady eighth-notes and a descending octave jump that serves as a motif for the next four bars.

The Shortening Bread lick at 02:19 gets transmuted into a blues riff that has a strong resemblance to the pre-chorus guitar riff from the Rolling Stones’ 19th Nervous Breakdown.

The solo ends with a short ‘three-against-four’ rhythm that creates adequate tension for the release into the next chorus where Stewart’s vocals return.

This time, Wood sets up the Mississippi Queen lick with a slide from the low F# and nails it at 02:42. On the IV, he ventures up to the G string and plays in the higher octave, bringing out a melodic vibe with the C# at 02:48.

The energy chills out again and Wood opens chorus seven with a quote from Duck Dunn's riff on Hip Hug-Her by Booker T. & the M.G.’s. It could be a simply happy accident, but most important is to notice how he uses space to work with the dynamic level of the arrangement.

Wood pokes his head up above the fray again by sliding up to the high C# at 03:17, but gets in a little trouble on the way down the lick by letting an open D and A slip through. Not a big problem really, but it was probably not intentional.

Just when it feels as if the energy is petering out a bit, the drums set up a fill at 04:00, and Wood unleashes a furious rapid-fire lick with a bluesy bend that brings back the fire for the final chorus.

Wood keeps up the dynamics, using the mid-register F# to give the line a lift. The song stops abruptly at 04:27, and Wood sets up the end with an unaccompanied descending blues scale that lets you hear the true tone of the bass.

Running it through a Marshall 100-watt stack and playing roundwound strings with a pick, dig the amp breakup on the E string!

Victor Wooten's incredible performances as a member of the Grammy-winning Béla Fleck and the Flecktones have long earned him the admiration of bass players and music fans worldwide.

In 1999 he won the Nashville Music Award for Bassist of the Year (his second), and in 1998 he received his third Bass Player of the Year award from Bass Player magazine, making him the only bassist to win the honor more than once. He was also ranked No. 14 on our list of the 100 greatest bass players of all time.

And yet, according to Wooten, one of his most remarkable achievements was the release of his groundbreaking debut album, A Show of Hands.

Originally recorded in 1993 and ’94, the project soon attained cult status through word-of-mouth and bootlegging before it was finally released. Wooten's concept was to perform all of his bass parts live, without any overdubs.

“I wanted to make a statement – more to myself than to the public – not to prove what I could do, but to show it could be done,” said Wooten in the Feb 2002 issue of Bass Player.

“I just didn’t quite know how to make the record listenable for the duration. It was kind of a challenge to myself, and I was quite happy with the outcome.”

“Back then, all I had were cassette tapes. I happened to be at Fodera Guitars in Brooklyn the day they were shipping a fretless bass to Marcus Miller, and so I grabbed a cassette of the album, slipped it into the case, and sent it off.

“I did the same thing with Stanley Clarke, and somehow managed to get cassettes into the hands of Chick Corea and Anthony Jackson, too. The coolest part is that every one of them got back to me. Somewhere I still have the voicemail Marcus left me.

“Anthony's reaction really stuck with me the most. For years, he'd been pretty vocal about not being a fan of tapping or thumbstyle playing. Then he called and gave me one of the highest compliments I've ever received.

“He said I was the first bassist who made him think about learning to tap himself because there was something on my record he couldn't figure out. Coming from Anthony Jackson, that was about as meaningful as it gets.”

Wooten describes his “open hammer pluck” technique as hitting an open string with your right thumb, hammering a note with your left hand, and then plucking a note with your right index finger, typically creating a triplet.

“My approach has always been to turn whatever I was working on into a piece of music. If I was developing a new technique, I'd write a song that forced me to use it. That way I wasn't just practicing exercises – I was making music.”

“The song Classical Thump is a great example of that because it started out as nothing more than a thumb exercise. It was a way to work through different thumb techniques. If you listen to the song from that perspective, you can actually hear the technique evolve as the piece progresses.”

Another example of how much music can be made with just four strings can be heard on Justice, Wooten's thought-provoking homage to life on the streets.

“I'd been messing with that bass groove for quite a while; it had a cool sound, which inspired the lyrics and the other sections. Don't ask me why I chose to solo over the chorus – it just seemed to work!”

As for the track’s wide-ranging vocals, Wooten revealed, “It’s all my voice overdubbed. Instead of singing in various ranges, I slowed down or sped up the tape so my actual voice quality would change. Prince does that.”

In keeping with the album's solo bass concept, Wooten performed all of his bass parts live, without overdubs. “Whenever I play – whether I'm by myself or not – always hear the rest of the band in my head. So I try to emulate the sound of a band, with all the rhythmic motion that occurs between the melody notes.”

On the bass side, Wooten played his Fodera 4-string in standard tuning; he used new strings and recorded direct through Demeter and ADA preamps into the board. “I also placed a live mic right in front of my bass to get the string attack.”

Few tracks from the album illustrate Wooten’s bass playing philosophy more than U Can’t Hold No Groove. “That’s still one of the songs that I get asked how to play the most.”

“The whole CD had been recorded for months when I decided to add the vocals to that song. I called Will Lee and he agreed to sing with me. I was not going to sing at all but he talked me into it. We did our best imitation of Larry Graham.”

Another standout track that has become a benchmark for bassists, and a crowd favourite at clinics and concerts, is the title track, A Show of Hands.

“A friend of mine named Steve Lowrey drew a picture of me that he titled A Show of Hands. I decided it would make a good title for the album. Once this song was recorded I found the title appropriate for it, too.

“I used my stereo bass guitar for this one – a four-string Fodera that has individual Piezo pickups for each string, along with magnetic pickups made by Bill Bartolini. The Piezo’s allow each string to be recorded on separate tracks. I then panned each string in a different place during mix down.

“Over the years, I have had to play this song repeatedly to prove to people that it can be played all at once!”

Since emerging alongside singer-songwriter Lyle Lovett in the 1990s, Viktor Krauss has forged a formidable reputation as a modern-day session player on both the electric and acoustic bass.

His intuitive bass work can be heard on Bill Frisell’s Gone, Just Like A Train and James Taylor’s American Standard, while his talent pool as a gifted multi-instrumentalist has been tapped by Alison Krauss in support of her collaborative work with Led Zeppelin frontman Robert Plant.

“Stuart Duncan and I became the utility players in that band,” says Krauss. “I played electric guitar, acoustic guitar, six-string Danelectro bass, tic-tac bass, keyboards – whatever was needed. Stuart was doing the same thing with banjo, mandolin, fiddle, and a whole range of instruments. It was a lot of fun.”

High points of his career are many, but working alongside Plant ranks among the highest. “The thing that struck me most is that he's exactly the person you'd hope he'd be. He's incredibly smart, gracious, and makes eye contact with everyone. Nobody feels left out of the conversation when he's around.

“Every now and then I’d see footage of Led Zeppelin from 1973 and suddenly remember, ‘Oh right – he actually lived all of that.’”

“Sometimes he'll instinctively create a little extra tension before a phrase resolves, and everybody has to react in real time. His intuition is incredible, and you have to stay on your toes because he's constantly improvising.

“As someone who grew up as a huge Led Zep fan, there were moments where he'd play a phrase that sounded like something straight out of a Zeppelin record.

“I remember one rehearsal Robert asked, ‘Do you know a Led Zeppelin song called The Ocean?’ I just casually answered, ‘Yeah, I think I know that song.’ Those moments were all pretty amazing.”

How did you get the gig with Lyle Lovett?

Even before I moved to Nashville, I'd heard The Large Band record and started thinking seriously about where I wanted my career to go.

I'd spent a lot of time playing big band music, but what Lyle was doing felt unique. He was blending swing, country, and a lot of other influences, and I remember thinking as early as 1989 that I'd like to play with him someday.

When I moved to Nashville in 1992, I started trying to figure out who was on his team. Through various connections, I eventually got to know some people around his management.

At the time, I was playing with Peter Rowan, who was connected to both the bluegrass world through Bill Monroe and the West Coast scene through Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead. Peter was this fascinating combination of influences, and through that network I met people who knew Lyle's camp.

Eventually I called, and introduced myself. The response was, ‘Lyle doesn't need anybody now, but I'll keep you in mind.’ So every once in a while I'd check in.

I had a really lean summer in 1994. Peter wasn't working much, and I just thought, ‘Let me call and see if there's anything going on.’ Before I could even finish my sentence, the manager said, ‘Oh yeah, Lyle might need a bass player.’

I didn't know if it was actually going to happen, but about ten days before the tour started, I got the call: ‘You've got the gig.’

This was around the I Love Everybody record, which had come out in 1994. It was a huge amount of material to learn. The band was essentially a trio with occasional horns, and the bass parts were pretty demanding. Fortunately, a lot of it featured upright bass, which played to my strengths.

I learned all the material, and from that point on I stayed with Lyle for most of the next 10 or 12 years. There were a few breaks when we were raising kids, but I worked with him regularly until 2022, when I started working more with Robert Plant and Alison. It was an incredible run. I still occasionally do shows with him. I played a couple this year, and every time it's just fun.

Can you share some insights on your recordings with Bill Frisell?

Working with Bill was amazing. It's funny – if people know me for anything, it often seems to be those records, especially Gone, Just Like A Train. That's the one that comes up most often.

I didn't know Bill before working with him. When he was making the Nashville record, a few people recommended me because I had experience in both jazz and bluegrass circles. They thought I might be a good fit.

I remember talking to him on the phone, then meeting in the studio in September 1995. We started playing together and I immediately thought, ‘Wow. What is this?’ We seemed to hit it off right away.

We made several records: Nashville, Gone, Just Like A Train, Good Dog, Happy Man, The Sweetest Punch, which was a collaboration involving Burt Bacharach and Elvis Costello. That's the most overtly jazz-oriented thing I did with Bill.

That record featured Brian Blade, Curtis Fowlkes, and Billy Drewes. I remember feeling like I was part of a very special group of musicians. We also did projects like Disfarmer and some soundtrack work.

Those records were all wonderful experiences because everything made sense to me. I had enough experience in the different musical worlds he was drawing from that I felt very comfortable in that environment.

What was your goal on Gone, Just Like A Train?

On that album, it was just Bill, Jim Keltner, and me. Jim could go way out, Bill could go way out, and I was perfectly happy being the thing that held it all together. That role was more enjoyable to me than playing lots of solos.

Some of the bass parts he wrote out very specifically, almost like piano music, with split staves showing melody and bass movement, but what I really enjoyed was being the anchor.

How about James Taylor?

I initially overdubbed on one or two songs for his American Standard album, but it eventually turned into nine tracks. Some of those overdubs were even recorded from a hotel room while I was out on the road.

I only spent one day with him in person, but he was everything you'd hope he'd be – kind, thoughtful, and easy to work with. He was another one of those people who completely lived up to the image you have of them.

I'd listened to him so much growing up that when I started playing on those tracks, I realized all I really needed to do was listen to the lowest note of his guitar part and support that. It was a really fun way to fit into the music.

Do you have a go-to bass tone?

My favorite bass sound is actually the live bass tone on No Quarter by Led Zeppelin. John Paul Jones was using those Fender bass pedals, and I have a set myself. They're organ-style pedals, which give you a huge, thick fundamental low-end. That's what I'm often chasing on upright bass.

For bass guitar, a lot depends on right-hand placement and how much attack you want. I tend to like flatwound strings with a strong lower-mid-range presence. Something warm and substantial that can be shaped easily in a mix.

How do you setup in the studio?

For upright bass, I have a default microphone position that I like, and I always run a direct signal at the same time. Then I leave it up to the engineer to decide how much of each source they want in the final mix.

I use a Fishman BP-100 pickup. It has a lot of upper-mids and top-end, which helps me hear the pitch more clearly. It's an insurance policy for playing in tune.

Electric bass is more variable. It depends on the project. Is it a modern record? Something vintage-sounding? Does it call for a short-scale bass? A Precision Bass? A Jazz Bass? Something active? Usually the song dictates the choice.

What skills do musicians need to be successful?

It's interesting because when you look at successful musicians versus incredibly talented musicians who never quite get the break they're hoping for, talent alone isn't usually the deciding factor.

In places like Nashville, it's almost assumed that you're a good musician. That's the minimum requirement. A lot of success comes down to professionalism. Being prepared. Being on time. Being pleasant to work with. Showing genuine enthusiasm for what other people are doing. People want to be around people who seem excited to be there.

Networking matters too. Years ago, I would regularly go through my address book and call people I hadn't spoken to in a while. I'd reconnect, catch up, and maintain those relationships. Today that often happens through texts and emails, but the principle is the same.

How about from a playing perspective?

From a playing perspective, I think it's important to stay open and listen to lots of different music. I don't really have a strict practice routine. I just enjoy playing.

Even if I'm playing guitar instead of bass, it's all connected. The more you're playing, the more alert and responsive you become musically.

I always felt my best after a long tour. It's like exercising a muscle. If you're in shape, you're always going to play better.

The Jam bassist, Bruce Foxton, has revealed he has been diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, following show cancellations and recent speculation about his health.

“It’s no secret that I’ve undergone treatment for cancer and am still having scans on a regular basis to keep an eye on that,” Foxton wrote on social media.

“However, what you don’t know is that the cancer treatment in itself caused some significant issues for me and investigations into all of that uncovered the fact that I’m now facing a future living with Parkinson’s Disease… and I’m determined to do that as well as I possibly can.”

Parkinson's Disease is a disorder of the nervous system that impacts movement and gets worse over time. Symptoms include problems with balance, uncontrollable shaking of the hands and fingers, and stiffness.

Foxton describes the diagnosis as “a huge shock” and it's “taking a long time to let that sink in and for me to accept that my body and mind are dealing with something completely out of my control.”

He says that he now has to face the mental and physical repercussions of the diagnosis daily and is taking the right medication in order to “carry on doing what I love and what I live for in a relaxed and supportive environment.”

While he’s been active for over 40 years, Foxton had to call off touring with From The Jam in May 2025 due to health issues, but is still touring under his own name, where the conditions are more under his control.

“With your help, I’m going to keep going and playing live for as long as I’m able to do it,” he concludes. “It’s good for me, my future health, and hopefully good for all of you.”

Back in 2023, Foxton spoke to Bass Player about writing with Paul Weller (and why the Beatles can't sue him for the Start! bassline).

A genuinely unique character, whose taste for Jack Daniel’s is only equalled by his love for classic rock ’n’ roll, Michael Anthony has earned a reputation as one of the most hard-rocking bassists of his generation.

He’s played in several now-legendary bands, with Van Halen alone selling upwards of 80 million albums worldwide, snagging a Grammy and entering the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame in 2007.

But long before the arena tours and platinum-selling albums, Anthony was just another Southern California kid hauling gear into backyards, playing fraternity parties and dreaming of making a living through music.

“Snake was the first power trio I ever played in,” said Anthony in the November ’95 issue of Bass Player. “I played bass guitar and sang lead; we did a lot of ZZ Top, Cream, Allman Brothers, and Doobie Brothers covers. We were playing backyard parties when I first became aware of the Van Halen brothers.

“I was going to Arcadia High School California, and we had a carnival on our field, and they played. Back then they were called Mammoth – it was Ed on guitar, Al on drums, and some bass player. Ed was singing lead.”

Anthony later attended Pasadena City College, where the Van Halen brothers and David Lee Roth were also enrolled.

“My father wouldn't let me major in music, so I was majoring in psychology – but I took a couple of music classes, like jazz improvisation, theory, and piano to learn how to read bass clef. After about a year, my father finally let me major in music, so I switched all my classes.

“Around that time, Snake opened up for Van Halen – Roth had just joined the band, and they asked me if they could borrow our PA. Theirs had blown up.

“I'd see Alex coming from his Jazz Improv class, and I remember Roth coming over to me; he was wearing this little vest, had a cane, and his hair was dyed like a skunk. He said, ‘How do you like my boys?’ I stepped back and thought, ‘Get the fuck away from me!’ Little did I know what it would lead up to!

"A while later, Ed told a friend of mine that the band was going to be getting rid of their bass player. My friend told Ed, ‘Hey, Mike might be interested in joining.’

“I had never played with musicians like Eddie and Al before, because Snake was straightforward 4/4 rock. I mean, these guys had played Gazzarri's in Hollywood, and the biggest thing I had done was a backyard party. They ran me through beat changes and different time signatures, and we just jammed.

“Afterwards, Ed and Al asked me if I wanted to join. I thought about it for half a second and said, ‘I'm in!’ I learned five cover tunes a day so we could play parties. We eventually started playing clubs, and we also did weddings.

“We played everything from the Ohio Players to K.C. & the Sunshine Band. You would love the sight of Van Halen doing Get Down Tonight! But by the third set, when everybody was good and tanked up – boy, we'd be blazin’!

“I soon realized that my two Acoustic 150 amps weren't cutting it, because by this time, Ed had found his 100-watt Marshall. So I bought my first SVT stack and retaliated. I remember thinking, ‘I'm in the big leagues now!’”

Anthony and the boys weren't in the big leagues yet, but they were close. In 1976, Kiss bassist Gene Simmons took the foursome under his wing and produced a five-song demo, but all it yielded, said Anthony, was “a good tape.”

One year later, at a Monday-night gig at Hollywood's Starwood Club, Warner Bros. chairman Mo Ostin and producer Ted Templeman saw the band and offered them a deal. In February 1978, Van Halen hit the stores; globe-circling tours, platinum records, and the usual rock ’n’ roll excesses followed, until the negative effects of stardom started taking their toll in 1984.

“During our '84 tour, there was a lot of tension – Ed had written Jump, and it turned out to be the biggest single Van Halen ever did. Dave never liked Ed playing keyboards, but Ed finally said, ‘Fuck you!’ Then he met Valerie Bertinelli, and I think that pissed Dave off more.

“At the end of that tour, we fired our tour manager because of some skeletons we found in his closet. So Ed, Al, and I were in the studio starting to work up some music, and Dave decided he wanted to record a solo EP with California Girls. We knew he was testing the water to see how he'd do on his own. All of a sudden, the dream was over and Dave had left.

“At that point, we didn't know if the band would continue, but we eventually realized that the music was coming from us, not Dave. A lot of people thought he was Van Halen – even our record company wanted us to change our name. When Dave left the rest of us hanging, we thought, ‘What do we do now?’”

What they did was hook up with ex-Montrose singer Sammy Hagar via a recommendation from Eddie Van Halen's car mechanic (as fate would have it, he was Hager’s mechanic, too).

Their first collaboration, 5150, became Van Halen's first #1 album, and it has since sold over six million copies.

Call it luck or serendipity, but growing up in Southwest Detroit alongside Jack White led Dominic Davis to an illustrious career playing bass on records by the crème de la crème of the pop world, including Pharrell Williams, Adele, and Beyoncé.

And, in what can only be described as a full-circle moment, over a decade ago, White invited his long-time friend to be the bassist for his solo band.

“I’d go to Jack’s house when we were 9 or 10, and we’d play in his attic with his brother Eddie,” Davis tells Bass Player.

“One day, since my guitar wouldn’t stay in tune, 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.”

Growing up with White also came with a couple of, well, quirks. “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.

He continues, “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.”

All these decades later, White and Davis have a mutual understanding of how the other works and fits into the puzzle.

“In high school, Jack would 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.”

Bass Player’s full interview with Dominic Davis will be published in the coming weeks.

In more recent news, White spoke about why he always shied away from your typical Les Pauls and Strats – and how he found his own voice by seeking out a different kind of guitar.

• Correction July 8, 2026: an earlier version of this article and headline stated that it was Jack White, not Eddie, that suggested Davis should take up bass. Davis has since been in contact to clarify that it was indeed Eddie who offered this advice.

In the late 1980s, bass guitar player Martyn LeNoble moved from the Netherlands to Los Angeles, where he spent time cutting his teeth playing for the likes of Thelonius Monster before eventually co-founding Porno for Pyros.

The move presented some insurmountable logistical problems concerning his bass gear, and when he arrived in the US he found himself without a bass amp. That proved to be a problem, since the gigs were coming thick and fast – and the bass shop LeNoble sought out couldn't supply him one in time.

Fortunately, as the bassist recalled in an interview with Guitar World, he was once rescued by an unexpected savior: John Entwistle of The Who.

Regarding his relocation and the problems it posed to his rig, LeNoble explains, “I ended up switching to Trace Elliott amps in the '80s. That's what I played when I first moved to the United States.

“The one I had in the Netherlands was too much to ship here, so I went to buy another at a place called The Bass Center in Los Angeles. I don't think it exists anymore. I walked in and had a gig that weekend, but they didn't have an amp in stock. They said, 'We can't get one before your gig.'

“Then, this gentleman walked up behind me and said, 'You can use mine for the gig if you want.' It was John Entwistle from The Who.”

True to his word, Entwistle had one of his techs deliver his personal Trace Elliott amp to LeNoble’s place, so the new-in-town bassist could continue with his gig.

“He asked me for my address, and he had one of his techs come and bring it to my place,” LeNoble goes on. “So, the first two gigs I played here were with John Entwistle's Trace Elliott amp. He was a complete stranger to me; I was a stranger to him.

“But he did say, 'If you blow it up, I'm going to take the one that's yours that's coming next week.' So, there was really no risk for him.”

Elsewhere in the same interview, LeNoble discussed his ill-fated stint in Jane’s Addiction, which he said came to an end after a clash with Perry Farrell.

Marla Kether's Congolese heritage and a musical upbringing in the University of Bristol's Jazz, Funk and Soul Society has given her a unique feel for blending Afro-Brazilian rhythms with dancefloor-inspired grooves.

“My approach is instinct-driven,” says Kether. “I play whatever feels right in the moment. Most of the time, consciously or not, my goal is to emulate James Jamerson. I truly prioritise feel and placement over all else.”

Kether found the outlet she was looking for when she was invited to play with rapper Little Simz, beginning an ongoing collaboration that has taken her on a world tour and to a standout performance at the 2024 Glastonbury Festival.

Asked how she got the gig with Little Simz, Kether tells us: “I used to play bass for a singer called Obongjayar, and there were a few London shows where Simz would come onstage. I think that's how she became aware of me.

“She asked if I could play some shows with her, but the dates clashed with a family holiday. Luckily, she asked again a few months later, and I ended up playing the Pyramid Stage at the Glastonbury Festival.

“Of the hour-plus set, the live band featured on five songs. So it was a combination of playing to the biggest crowd I'd ever performed for, only appearing on five songs, and feeling incredibly exposed – there's not much to hide behind on at Glastonbury!”

Do you enjoy that level of crowd interaction?

I actually feel there’s a weird phenomenon where the more people there are, the fewer interactions you end up having. With bigger crowds, it just looks like a sea of indistinguishable figures, so it’s sometimes easier to play to.

I prefer playing to smaller rooms where you can really interact with people – although seeing the audience that close can also be more nerve-wracking. If you’re playing your heart out to a 100 capacity room and you see someone yawn, you just take it to heart, even though it’s really not that deep.

What’s been the period of greatest growth for you as a bass player?

I’d say there’s been a noticeable development since I started playing for Little Simz in 2024. Something shifted for me in the run-up to that first show, and since then I’ve been pushing myself more than ever.

I also use a wireless setup onstage, so my performance has had to evolve. That includes my stage presence during solos, deciding which songs to roam on or stay put for, and what energy to bring to each moment.

These are all things I’ve carried through into my solo project. My confidence as a band leader and bass player is continuing to grow, and I’m constantly looking for ways to improve my live shows.

What drove you to start writing your own music?

It was a natural progression from being a session musician to wanting to establish my own musical identity and explore my own ideas. I’d been playing for other artists for just under two years when lockdown started.

I had developed my craft and suddenly had enough time to start experimenting with Logic, and to revisit a growing collection of voice note ideas, turning them into properly recorded tracks.

Has your career as a bass player influenced your DJ Set?

Absolutely. I’m drawn to bass-driven and percussion-led genres like batida, gqom, bubbling and UK funky. I’ve even developed a DJ/bass hybrid setup, which is what I used when supporting W.I.T.C.H around the UK, so my bass playing directly informs my sets in that sense too.

What was your biggest takeaway once you entered the gigging scene?

Be personable. There’s no point grinding to reach a standard you consider acceptable if you’re not pleasant to be around. When you’re on the road for weeks at a time, it’s important to be in the company of great people.

How have different cultures influenced your music?

My music is primarily influenced by Brazilian and West African music. A track like In My Corner ft. K.O.G has elements of soukous, a genre I grew up listening to through my Congolese parents. I also make Afro house tracks.

The African continent is so rich in music that it’s hard not to draw inspiration from it, and I’ve not encountered a Brazilian genre I dislike: baile funk, brega, baião, MPB, forró, samba, maracatu – I love them all. That love naturally feeds into my music.

Who were your early musical influences?

I was learning basslines from Nikolai Fraiture of The Strokes, Chris Baio of Vampire Weekend and Esperanza Spalding. I started uploading bass covers to YouTube about a year after I began, and they’re still up.

When I first started making my own music, I was heavily influenced by Deborah Scroggins of ESG. I’ve always been taken by how her basslines can say so little while saying so much.

Tracks like Step Off and Dance are prime examples of the power of a great riff: it doesn’t need to be overly complex. It’s an ethos I still carry into my production now, including on tracks like BTR2, which layers three different bass riffs.

What was the first bassline you ever learned?

I’m not sure if this was truly the first, but once I started bass lessons I remember being taught Money by Pink Floyd. It’s quite a bold choice for a beginner, giving them a tune in 7/4, but it definitely expanded my musical horizons.

Do you have a go-to bass or do you like to experiment?

My go-to is my Fender Squier 5-string Jazz Bass that I bought in 2017. The strings haven’t been changed since 2019!

What is your ideal bass tone?

I love the rich tone provided by flatwound strings; I use D’Addario XL Chromes.

Do you have any advice for aspiring bass players?

Be kind, be punctual, don’t get bogged down in comparing yourself to others and believe in the ubiquitous qualities that you bring!

• Blessing is out now.

From 1965 to 1972, Jack Casady stretched the art and technology of the electric bass faster and farther than anyone ever had before. Casady revolutionized the instrument and helped to create the ‘San Francisco sound’ with Jefferson Airplane, before forming Hot Tuna with guitarist Jorma Kaukonen.

“Jack had this roaring, growling thing that would start at the bottom and twine all the way up,” said singer Grace Slick, answering a question about why she joined Jefferson Airplane in 1966. (The quotation appears in the booklet for Jefferson Airplane Loves You). “I’d never heard bass like it.”

Casady began his career with an early-‘60s Fender Jazz Bass, which was soon stolen. By the time of Jefferson Airplane Takes Off, he was using another Jazz Bass, generally through a Fender Bassman amp.

Speaking to Bass Player in 2022, Casady explained: “I played the first three albums with that Jazz Bass with a P-pickup in it, so it was really a three-pickup instrument.”

Casady’s first bass amp was a 50-watt Fender Bassman. His dad built a 4x10 extension cabinet that was “loud as hell and looked like a coffin!” According to Casady, it was designed to fit precisely into the back seat of his 1950 Pontiac.

In 1967, during the sessions for After Bathing at Baxter's, amp designer Bob Hall came down to the RCA Studios with an amplifier he'd designed for acoustic bassists: a 40-watts-per-channel stereo tube amp called the Versatone. The outputs from the two channels were combined into one custom-made 12-inch Utah speaker.

Casady was quickly impressed by the Versatone's potential. “Jack turned the thing all the way up!” Hall told Bass Player in 1993. “I didn't know why you'd want to do that – but as long as he bought the amp, it was his business.”

Casady’s high-flying tone was complete with the addition of the Versatone. He soon discovered a more subtle approach to the volume control, and the Versatone turned up halfway – so it distorted only when he played harder – became a crucial part of his sound.

The Jazz Bass was still Casady’s main instrument on After Bathing at Baxter's, though towards the end of the sessions he tried his first Guild Starfire Bass.

This instrument began to evolve when Augustus Stanley Owsley and Ron Wickersham made some modifications to the electronics. Their circuit was a variable-Q resonance filter, with Darlington emitter-followers at the pickup to lower output impedance before the filter.

The modified Starfire – dubbed ‘Mission Control’ (not to be confused with Phil Lesh's Alembic) – was refinished by luthier Roy Noble and received an ornate headstock inlay, designed by Jorma Kaukonen’s wife and executed by luthier and inlay artist Chuck Erikson.

Casady used this bass for the next three Airplane albums. It was stolen shortly after Woodstock, leading to the purchase of another Guild, a sunburst 1968 or 1969. Casady shipped it back to Wickersham immediately.

There was no time for woodworking, so Wickersham sawed out the top around the lower f-hole and installed three magnesium channels for the controls.

“Back in those days we were chasing a hi-fi sound – we were trying to get better fidelity all the time. I learned all that from my father, who was a dentist, but as a hobby he was an audiophile. He loved to make amplifiers and put sound systems together to listen to records and get better fidelity. So, I was kind of trained in that – to always get something that sounded a little better.”

Casady used this bass until early 1972, when he got his first Alembic.

Casady's new bass was the first all-Alembic instrument. Built by Rick Turner, with pickups of his design, it had elaborate electronics by Wickersham. It featured different sets of pickups on sliding rails and interchangeable bridge saddles of different materials.

At some point during the next three years, the bass was dropped onto a concrete floor and returned to Alembic for repair of body cracks. According to Casady, “It never sounded the same after that.”

Casady replaced the Alembic with a Flying-V bass made from a mahogany body by luthier Glenn Quan, a short-scale Guild neck, and ’60s Guild pickups. He used this instrument during Hot Tuna's hard-rocking period.

During his tenure with SVT, Casady moved to a couple of Modulus Graphite P-style instruments, as well as a Stars Guitars P that was stolen after a show in West Hollywood.

With the downsizing of the reformed Hot Tuna in 1985, Casady opted for a Guild B-30 acoustic bass guitar with piezo pickups in the bridge. Then, while living in New York City in 1986, he found a 1971 Gibson Les Paul Signature bass at Chelsea Music. This long scale, semi-hollow instrument with a single low impedance pickup quickly became his main bass.

Casady’s admiration for semi-hollow basses culminated in the launch of an Epiphone signature model in 1997, which resembles his Gibson Les Paul from the ‘70s and has enjoyed consistent acclaim since.

“I love electric instruments with acoustic properties. And with the Les Paul, I finally found a bass that's responsive enough to capture all the subtleties of my sound and style, from the high-end to the low-end.

“I approached Gibson about reissuing that bass, and they turned me over to Jim Rosenberg at Epiphone. We duplicated the pickups as they were on the old Gibson model, but then I took the pickup and added more Alnico power to it – another three-quarters of an Alnico magnet on the other side.

“I also wanted a long-scale f-hole bass out there. The Guild f-hole guitar wasn't a true hollow body; it had a block down the centre. But this instrument still has an acoustic quality, and that's why I think it sounds so good along with the pickup.”

Metallica's third proper bass player after Cliff Burton and Jason Newsted deserves all of our praise. First, he's been in the world's biggest metal band since 2003, making him their longest-serving bassist.

Second, he's an absolute monster bass player, powering through funk, rock and metal styles with ease and panache. Third, he produced a documentary, Jaco, in 2012, telling the tragic story of Jaco Pastorius. Finally, he bought Jaco's famous ‘Bass Of Doom’ and restored it to the Pastorius family.

Robert Trujillo's story is one that began not long before the arrival of Metallica's self-titled 1991 album – in the very same city, in fact – when he joined skate-thrash mob Suicidal Tendencies near the end of the '80s.

In 1996, came an even bigger break – and quite possibly the ultimate dream for anyone who grew up listening to Black Sabbath. While Suicidal Tendencies certainly brought him success, joining Ozzy Osbourne's band was the move that enabled him to perform at the top level.

All of these influences and experiences brought Trujillo to the moment famously documented on Metallica's Some Kind Of Monster film, where he auditioned for the band, annihilated the competition and was given a cool million-dollar advance as a “welcome to the family.”

“One thing about being in Metallica is I've always felt challenged,” Trujillo told Bass Player. “It's a lot easier now than it used to be: when I first joined Metallica, I was kinda struggling! I had to learn over 20 years of catalog, plus the 12 songs from St. Anger which had never really been performed as a unit.

“Then there was that magnitude of press and everything else that goes with being in Metallica. I was juggling all of it.”

In this clip from the Beneath the Bassline documentary, Trujillo spoke about his 2003 audition to replace bassist Jason Newsted, as captured in the 2004 band documentary Some Kind of Monster.

“It was a two-day audition, but the first day was more fly-on-the-wall,” says Trujillo. “Bob Rock had already recorded bass guitar and he was also producing St Anger, so I’m just there at the studio watching guitar tracks go down.

“The evening rolls around and Lars says, ‘Hey, let’s go get a drink.’ I could hold my own with a few beers, but we end up drinking until 5 in the morning. I wake up with the worst hangover of my life, and now I’ve got to play with Metallica.”

“James is sober. He’s gone through rehab. So I decided I would connect with my bass tech and decide what bass I was going to use, and what amp.

“What I was really trying to do was get away from Hetfield because I didn’t want him to smell the alcohol on me. Lars was probably just testing me to see how much I could handle, but I just felt like a loser.”

Bassists Pepper Keenan, Jeordie White, Scott Reeder, Eric Avery, Danny Lohner and Chris Wyse – among others – also tried out for the role, but after three months of auditions, Trujillo was officially declared the new bassist.

Instead of squandering his advance on a blur of decadence, as – let's face it – many of us would be tempted to do, Trujillo chose to lock himself in a room, armed to the teeth with nothing but Metallica tablature books. He was the new guy, and in his eyes, he had everything to prove.

“Everyone else had the music figured out because they wrote or recorded it, but the new guy needs to do his homework. Any time a band has an archive, it's almost guaranteed that at some point they're going to play an obscure song. The fans are going to call for it, so once I was caught up, it felt easier to adapt.”

Ask any bass-playing great of the last 50 years who their heroes are, and you can bet that Jack Bruce will feature high up the list.

The driving force behind ’60s supergroup Cream – not to mention his stints with Alexis Korner, Graham Bond and the Bluesbreakers – Bruce was one of a very short list of pioneers who were challenging the traditional concept of what a bass guitarist could, and should, play, creating lines that linked the jazz-inspired drumming of Ginger Baker with the blues-inflected guitar of Eric Clapton.

“Clapton isn’t God. Jack Bruce is,” wrote Jeff Berlin in the October 2003 issue of Bass Player. “When I was 14, I sprayed his name on my bedroom wall with luminous paint to remind me who was the greatest bass player in the world.”

Bruce’s innovations – first with his Fender VI and then with his Gibson EB-3 – provided a cornerstone in the instrument's development. His playing in the trio’s legendary live jams liberated the bass for generations of players who followed.

“Jack's playing on these songs might be the first recorded example of an electric bass player with chops,” said Berlin. “I'm So Glad (Goodbye) is perhaps the most intense of the live jams, but for me the definitive Jack is on Sweet Wine from Live Cream. Jack's playing on that cut changed me forever.”

“For pure composition, listen to As You Said on Wheels of Fire, which features Jack on cello, acoustic guitar, and vocals accompanied only by Ginger Baker's hi-hat. Who else in all of rock could have come up with that priceless tune?”

As well known for his outspoken views on music, bass playing and… er… metronomes as he is for his unquestionable command of the bass guitar, Berlin remembered meeting his hero at Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club in London.

“We were introduced by the fine English drummer Jon Hiseman. I quickly discovered that Jack is one of the funniest guys l've ever met. He gave me a lift back to my hotel, and he had me laughing so hard I was crying.

“The next time we met, I was performing at the Music Fair in Frankfurt, Germany, and I was playing really well. It was one of those special nights that happens only once in a while for musicians. Then Jack walked in.

“My hands developed rheumatism in three seconds. I couldn't play a thing. I got nervous because I know that if Jack can do anything, he can hear everything that's going on – and that's why I played bass like Rocky Balboa when Jack sat down in the front row.

“Another time, Jack did a clinic at the Musicians Institute in L.A. Bruce Gary was on drums and I played guitar. I can't remember how we got into it, but Jack and I suddenly found ourselves singing White Room like Jerry Lewis would sing it.

“Through the laughter, I found myself thinking, ‘Here I am playing Cream tunes with the same guy whose name was spray-painted on the wall of my mother's home, the same guy who influenced me to buy a bass and spend the better part of 25 years trying to learn how to play it.’”

After Bruce's passing in 2014, Berlin released the tribute album Jack Songs, featuring contributions from a stellar line-up of guest musicians, including Alex Lifeson, Ron ‘Bumblefoot’ Thal and Eric Johnson.

“When he died, I immediately set out to choose some of my favourite songs of his and record them via my own musical vision. I wanted this record to be brilliant to honour his spirit. He really means this much to me.”

A former member of groups such as Blue Mink and Sky, the late Herbie Flowers toured with David Bowie and T. Rex, while his basslines, like the distinctive sliding line on Lou Reed's Walk On the Wild Side, are nothing short of legendary.

A veteran musician who started out playing the tuba and double bass in the Royal Air Force during the 1950s, Flowers recorded over 20,000 sessions, but, as he once told Bass Player, he wasn't always sure who the sessions were for.

“The rate was about £6 for a three-hour session, recording about 20 minutes of music. In those days, I spent more time with session drummer Barry Morgan than I did in bed with my wife! But you wouldn't necessarily know who it was for and the booker wouldn't give a shit who the band was.”

With two tracks simultaneously played on a bass guitar and a double bass, Flowers’ iconic bassline on Walk On the Wild Side is known the world over, adding a touch of class to one of the darkest pop songs ever written.

“I played that on my old English pine double bass and my Fender Jazz. There was no inspiration, just a bar of C and a bar of F going round and round. I'd put double bass on the bottom end, playing the bottom note, and then I asked to put bass guitar above because I wanted to try something else.

“But I'm sick of people saying, ‘Walk On The Wild Side is a classic, you must be rolling in it!’ I got paid £12, and Bowie – who was voted Producer of the Year – didn't even show up until all the tracks were down. That's good production, isn't it? Phone some clever people up, stay out of the way, then collect the award! It was just a lucky thing. I got paid £12 for the session, end of story.”

The following interview was first published in the October 2006 issue of Bass Player.

What are the golden rules for studio musicians?

“The first thing is that you can't ever be late. They play you the song or sling you a chord chart, and you come up with what you think are fancy basslines. You hang on to the click track, get your job done as quickly as you can, and as soon as they say, ‘Thanks very much’, get the hell out of there. Studio work is expensive. The producer doesn't want you hanging around, being in the way.”

Did you ever feel like you were in a band?

“A little bit. I was in T. Rex in the latter years, but T. Rex was Marc Bolan. Marc was the writer, performer, co-producer and publisher, and we were paid wages. It was all his, and I was perfectly comfortable with that.”

Did it bother you that you didn't own any part of a recording?

“I wouldn't want to own it. I don't want to own any part of Diamond Dogs or Transformer, because it could have been anybody. I had no involvement in the composition of Walk On The Wild Side, despite the fact that it's a pretty well-known bassline. It's only a bassline!”

What was the story behind Blue Mink?

“That began at Morgan Studios where six of us were booked for a two day session for a band called Family Dog. We finished in one day, so there was a day free. We decided to lay down some tracks as Roger Cook had this song called Melting Pot, and before we knew it, it was No. 2 in the charts. Two Little Boys by Rolf Harris stopped it getting to number one and I was playing on that too!”

And Sky?

“A hybrid band that sprang out of drummer Tristan Fry, Francis Monkman on keys and myself doing things for John Williams’ Travelling album. John was looking for another musical area so we put Sky together, made a few albums, did a few concerts, and were fortunate enough to get a hit with Toccata.

“Our diverse backgrounds gave us an advantage. We added Kevin Peek, who's really good at electric rock guitar. Francis was the original keyboard player with Curved Air and an early user of sequencers.”

What equipment did you take to sessions?

“If I was booked on bass guitar, I'd take my Jazz Bass and my little Wallace amp. The amp was only for my benefit as a monitor, and the engineer would say, ‘Can you turn your amp off for the take?’, so there’d be no spill. The speaker had wheels on it and if I played loud enough the speaker used to move across the floor! But we never played that loud in studios.

“I’ve also got a beautiful old English pine double bass that I bought in 1959 for £40, and an old tuba that I bought when I came out the Air Force for about £25. They're the only instruments I've ever had.”

Tell us about your Jazz Bass.

“I bought it in Manny's Music Store in New York, for $70 in 1959! To this day, it's got the same frets, pickups and dual pots, in Electric Blue sprayed over red, over the top of a white primer. I know because the paint's worn off the back.

“It's completely and utterly original, but it's never had a transfer on it, just the Fender 'F' on the bridge cover plate. I had to take the covers off because there was no room to play with a plectrum, but I've still got them in a drawer.”

So what else can you remember playing on?

“War Of The Worlds with Jeff Wayne, Brotherhood of Man, The Fortunes, every other Eurovision song, Love Affair, Sports Night and that Tony Hatch Crossroads theme, one of the hardest sessions I've ever done.

“A lot of the Pink Panther stuff, Dusty Springfield, Rock On by David Essex, a lot of the Nilsson Schmillson stuff. Elton John's early things, like Burn Down The Mission and Tumbleweed Connection. Eloise for the Ryan Brothers – that's got the longest bass gliss in the world.”

If you've never heard Scott Thunes play the bass guitar, you can’t appreciate how far the instrument can be taken. Thunes will dispute that notion, of course – he takes issue with the idea he’s a great bassist.

The former Frank Zappa sideman is a contrarian of the highest order. He disagrees with almost any statement of a declarative nature, at least when it concerns his role in music and his approach to the bass.

Thunes is of the opinion that much of the brilliant live work he recorded with Zappa is riddled with mistakes, each of which he’s apt to point out in detail.

Regardless of whether he concedes that he’s a great bassist, Thunes played an integral role in music that recognised few limitations.

In an interview with Thomas Wictor for his book In Cold Sweat: Interviews With Really Scary Musicians, which also appeared in the March ’97 issue of Bass Player, Thunes revealed the highs and lows of his seven-year tenure with Zappa.

“I’m a good bass player, fine. I’m a great bass player, great,” said Thunes. “Think whatever you want, but it’s unfair I should be given even slight credit for something I don’t feel pushed the boundaries of the instrument.”

Thunes first contacted Frank Zappa in 1981 at the behest of his brother, who had himself tried unsuccessfully to audition for Zappa’s group. Having recorded some tracks in L.A., he was summoned back for the formal audition a week later.

This session included improvising to arrhythmic tracks played on a drum machine, as well as performing the same song with two other auditioning bassists, the three of them competing face-to-face.

Once hired, Thunes played with Zappa up until the group’s notorious 1988 tour, the demise of which he is reputed to have caused.

“Once in Barcelona, someone in the band came up to me and screamed, ‘Don’t you know what a privilege it is to play with Frank? How can you ruin his music?’

“So at that particular moment I put my headphones on, and I started listening to classical music while this guy’s mouth was flapping. It was delicious.”

So what, in particular, caused tension between Thunes and the rest of the band?

“Onstage, stuff was turned into a negative only by those who didn’t want people to step out of their pre-determined roles. I play a lot of lines; I pick chunks out of the air, and instead of playing bass, I play my part in the orchestration. And of course the whole idea of being a bass player is not to overplay.

“But I dig tension in my music. For the people who perform it, music very rarely releases tension; it almost always increases tension, but I know from modern classical music that tension can coexist with normality. Frank was a fan of that.”

Thunes was put in the untenable position that the band wouldn’t tour unless he left. And yet Zappa loved how he played, allowed him the freedom to put his improvisational mark on the music, and even made him a ‘Clonemeister’, which essentially meant he was in charge of band rehearsals in Zappa’s absence.

Thunes offered to leave but Zappa didn’t want to begin the audition process all over again, and this coincided with his decision to quit touring altogether.

“At the end of the ’88 tour, Frank decided he wasn’t going to play anymore, because the rest of the band had told him they wouldn’t go out with me again.

“When he told me that, I said, ‘I’ll gladly quit.’ He said, ‘That’s not the answer. I like you, and I like what you do, except for all the mistakes you’ve been making.’

“Every night onstage, I was surrounded by daggers and would completely lose my concentration. I was a wreck, and the music suffered because of my mistakes. Frank’s only enjoyment was playing guitar solos, and those fell apart.”

“We also ended up not doing any more three-hour soundchecks. We’d play just two songs, and then he’d get out of there. He could not stand being in the same room with us. It was the worst possible combination of events for him.”

For Thunes, the musical experience of a lifetime became forever associated with extreme personal doubt and loneliness. It might have all been different had Thunes played for some less iconic figure, or some minor music star, but this was Frank Zappa, a true 20th-century icon.

Five years later, in December 1993, Frank Zappa died of prostate cancer, closing the door on a unique chapter of musical history.