Hellow Enders!
Glad to finally be here, and finally be myself!
I'm finally coming out of the shed! I'm not ashamed to say that; I AM A BASS PLAYER!
I spent years of my life dedicated to being a student of the guitar. Music school, studio work, touring, and thousands and thousands (and thousands more) hours of strenuous and challenging practice. Classical guitar studies gave me the best knowledge base and understanding. Classical guitar is the most naked instrument out there. Sustain? Nah, the note dies almost instantly. Strings? The quietest possible. Tone woods? Irrelevant. Perfect, manicured nails? Part of your overall grade. I intentionally went to school for music in service of my electrified, personal band. After school and a sink or swim studio experience, I was referred to as a 'virtuoso'. {Cut to tragedy, alcoholism, and denouncing music. ~fades to black~}
[an anonymous dawn breaks... there's a thrum from below the bedrock, the birds scatter - murmurations twirl and flow... the mass starts to pulse, pulse, pulse. The pulses form a circle above... the air is alive. The wings move rushes of air, the intensity of the staccato wings slowly builds until the atoms are dizzy. Physical reality is bending to the thrum that's moving closer to the surface... everything is now buzzing, booming, blowing, MOVING.]
(from nowhere):
☆THUS SPOKE ZARATHUSTRA☆
*as the tone poem builds, the major scale rises, holds, then screams the maj7th --- ROOT NOTE RUMBLES*
A crag has broken through the mantle, the crust is cleaved away in monumental boulders and dust obscures a glint of light at the tip of the promethan pillar of earth...
It's the lollipop tuning keys catching the sunrise. A shape emerges. It is a man! A man with a BASS...
(a heavenly voice beckons; "what is the sound of one hand slapping? If a bass is slapped in the aether, does it groove?")
<cut to my face: YESSSSSS!>
...and scene!
Glad to finally be here, and finally be myself!
I'm finally coming out of the shed! I'm not ashamed to say that; I AM A BASS PLAYER!
I spent years of my life dedicated to being a student of the guitar. Music school, studio work, touring, and thousands and thousands (and thousands more) hours of strenuous and challenging practice. Classical guitar studies gave me the best knowledge base and understanding. Classical guitar is the most naked instrument out there. Sustain? Nah, the note dies almost instantly. Strings? The quietest possible. Tone woods? Irrelevant. Perfect, manicured nails? Part of your overall grade. I intentionally went to school for music in service of my electrified, personal band. After school and a sink or swim studio experience, I was referred to as a 'virtuoso'. {Cut to tragedy, alcoholism, and denouncing music. ~fades to black~}
[an anonymous dawn breaks... there's a thrum from below the bedrock, the birds scatter - murmurations twirl and flow... the mass starts to pulse, pulse, pulse. The pulses form a circle above... the air is alive. The wings move rushes of air, the intensity of the staccato wings slowly builds until the atoms are dizzy. Physical reality is bending to the thrum that's moving closer to the surface... everything is now buzzing, booming, blowing, MOVING.]
(from nowhere):
☆THUS SPOKE ZARATHUSTRA☆
*as the tone poem builds, the major scale rises, holds, then screams the maj7th --- ROOT NOTE RUMBLES*
A crag has broken through the mantle, the crust is cleaved away in monumental boulders and dust obscures a glint of light at the tip of the promethan pillar of earth...
It's the lollipop tuning keys catching the sunrise. A shape emerges. It is a man! A man with a BASS...
(a heavenly voice beckons; "what is the sound of one hand slapping? If a bass is slapped in the aether, does it groove?")
<cut to my face: YESSSSSS!>
...and scene!
