I have been playing bass for nearly 30 years now. I have collected and developed some principles over the years that now inform and guide my playing, and I would like to pass them along to those who haven't played so long with the hope that you can learn from what I've learned, maybe a little sooner than I did.
These principles are not just for kids - "newer players" means those who have been PLAYING for less time than I have, not just those younger in chronological age.
My philosophy: to be VISIBLE. I started on guitar as a kid, and got the taste for VISIBILITY while playing guitar. Everyone always knew what the guitar player was doing, and I liked that a lot. But my musical sensibilities switched to lower frequencies somewhere in high school, and a wonderful experience early in college with a patient and nurturing jazz pianist cemented my preference for bass. But having the guitar experience I did, I soon developed the philosophy that I wanted people in the audience not just to vaguely sense the bass as a piece of sonic wallpaper, but to be able to hear clearly exactly what I was playing, the same way they heard the guitar and the drums. I wanted to be SEEN as a contributing voice, not just felt as a supporting instrument. I wanted to be one of the actors, not just part of the stage!
Busy. This desire led me to play in a way I figured would be noticeable - lots of notes! I tended to play EVERYTHING - the rhythm guitar pattern, shadowing the drum fills, harmonies with the vocals, doubling the horn lines, rhythmically complex patterns - whatever I could think of to try to stand out. All of these things felt really cool - like I was expanding the vocabulary of what I was "allowed" to play.
Then - embarrassingly late in my development, I'm sad to say - a few specific things happened to me that really changed how I approached the instrument.
Bass without "bass". I heard a Phil Collins song called "No Reply At All", in which the electric bass frequently slithers up into the horn lines, doubling them a couple of octaves lower - exactly what I so liked to do. And after listening to it a few times, it dawned on me that I actually didn't like how it sounded! The "BASS" - not the instrument but the function - suddenly fell away, leaving the song without support, even though the bass - the instrument - was clearly audible. I was reminded of a quote I read from the great Abe Laboriel: "The bass is the house where all the other musicians come to play." He went on to say that if you stop playing bass, you leave everyone else without shelter, and you must choose VERY carefully when and for how long you do that. When you play the horn lick, you're departing from BASS, and it's much like simply stopping playing for that moment. If that's what you want, fine; but here's the test: try LAYING OUT for the exact period you're going to play the horn line. If it makes musical sense, keep it; but this simple test will let you know if it will be effective.
Song distinction. Well into my 30s, a buddy of mine was playing in a rockabilly band with the bassist who had been THE bass player back in high school. I got wind that this bassist was leaving the band, and my buddy told me to come listen to a gig so I'd be ready for an audition when the time came.
Now, this bassist had known his stuff way back in high school, so I was excited to imagine how he'd sound some 20 years later. I sat and listened at the gig and was quite impressed with his skill, weaving all sorts of little countermelodies into the music, playing impressive fills, and generally being noticeable. Song after song, he did what he felt, wailing away.
The weird thing I began to feel after a couple of sets of listening to this guy wail was that all of these different songs started to sound the same - they started to blur together so there wasn't much to distinguish one from the next. After some reflection, I came to this realization: Every song, to be distinguishable and special, needs its own character - and a big part of that is the bass line. Especially in that band, in which lots of rockabilly songs are similar in structure and tempo, it was even more important. When I finally got the call to join this band, I set about choosing different lines for each song and STICKING TO THEM, so that the evening would have plenty of variety and not just a drone of the same thing over and over.
The better part of valor. I once read a Nashville bass great say that the way to develop a good line is to pare the line down to the fewest notes you think you can play to get the idea across - and then play HALF that! While this is simply not a way I can live with playing - not enough fun for me - even I can see that at times, it makes more sense to play fewer notes. This is especially true when there is a lot going on in the other parts - a complex drum fill, a skritchity-scratchity guitar part, a horn solo climax. This is the time to let the OTHER guy shine - and when that's going on, someone else has to mind the store. That's the bass, especially when the momentary focus is the drummer. You mind the store - hold it down - by playing clear, firm, root-oriented, rhythmically simple, slow notes, so everyone knows EXACTLY where the time and the chord progression are.
Feel vs. sound. Another of my principles: Tape is a cruel master. You play something that you think is da BOMB - then you listen back to the tape, and somehow, it just ain't right. In the heat of the moment, some things FEEL great to play, but it turns out that they don't SOUND so great. This is why you should record practice and rehearsals as often as possible, and listen critically to how the bass is contributing - or detracting. If it didn't work, try something else and record that. Eventually, you will either develop or stumble upon something that works, but none of that process is possible unless you listen to what you're playing while you're not playing. The tape will tell you what you need to know - without pulling any punches or sugar-coating anything.
Contrast. As I said early on, I want to be NOTICED. I love it when people tell me they liked what I played, because that means they NOTICED what I played. But there's a strange paradox to getting noticed: It is not intensity, but CONTRAST that makes things stand out. If you wail ALL the time, you'll never sound "special" or "noticeable". Overdoing it, oddly enough, has the exact opposite effect that you intend: you just become a blur. If you want to get noticed, you have to stay OUT of the light most of the time, carefully choosing your moments to shine. It is when something DIFFERENT happens that people sit up and take notice.
A long time coming. I have had lots of musical experiences, but not all of them were instructional IN THE MOMENT. It was only after considerable reflection some time later - sometimes years later - that I was able to piece together why a certain habit or approach didn't always work the way I thought it should. I do get more compliments on my playing these days than I used to, so I'm figuring I must be headed in the right direction. After all, it's about the LISTENER - there is no art without an audience, no communication with out a listener.
Maturity. Maturity is NOT about chronological age. It is simply having the sense, and the fortitude, to step back and analyze in a cold light whether what you're doing is having the effect you intend. My goal is to make good music and have fun doing it. Musical nirvana is when those two come together, and that's what I always strive toward. Maybe what you're doing is fun and feels good; but if your intention is to make good music, and what you did fell short of that, then it is mature to try something different and perhaps not so fun in order to achieve the larger goal of creating music that sounds good, which in the end should be what music is about. This maturity does not have to wait until you are old, and I hope that it comes to you sooner that it did to me. And I hope these words help.
