I'm glad after all these years I can still keep you guys guessing. On a humid summer evening in the Eastern Townships of Québec, my bass, myself, a slightly mad aspiring luthier, and a small contingent of onlookers made our way out to a gravel parking lot. Indeed, there were no CCTV's in the area. Possibly because of the remote location, possibly because of the naive Canadian sentiment of "nothing going to happen here" and were we ever wrong.
While second guessing myself at the last minute as any sensible person would be in a parking lot with their bass, a guy they just met a few days ago and a hacksaw, the bass was propped up against a wooden chair. Questions like "shouldn't we take the bridge off the bass?" "is this safe?" "you're sure you've done this before?" started coming out of my mouth as I was instructed to hold the bass steady and whatever happens, don't let go.
As it began, "Oh no...." and my heart stopped. I was convinced this was the end, I had made a horrible mistake, why oh why did this seem like a remotely good idea? I had never heard such a ghastly noise come forth from my instrument, almost as if the very soul of the bass was being ripped out in some sort of exorcism. "... that's going to leave a mark" will forever be burnt into my memory. With a grin and a chuckle like a mad scientist the sawing continued, and in what seemed like hours but happened in seconds, the wing fell to the ground and joined the sawdust of its shoulder among the black gravel. I started to breath again, only to realize that this was only the beginning.
The second wing fell in much the same way, with all the agonizing rumbles of the first and no fewer shot nerves on my behalf. Still in shock but assuming the scary parts were over, I was confronted with another choice to make. "Kneecaps? You've come this far, you might as well keep going." And so it happened. Still clutching on to my instrument for dear life, more anatomy fell to the earth. Sensing that my heart was in my chest, I was reassured with words like "at least you didn't pass out" and "don't worry, we're almost there". The file came out next to smooth over the edges and I discovered that yes, my bass could make more horrific noises than when a hack saw is taken to the bridge.
The next few minutes are a bit foggy as is often the case following such trauma that is burned into memory, but the bass made it back into the bag and I was informed "the bar's open" and I went and made good on our agreed upon payment: a bottle of Maudite for both hands as I sat in a corner with a Blanche de Chambly numb and in shock.
The next morning we all gathered round for breakfast and variations of "you should have seen his face" and "he handled it better than so-and-so did" were exchanged, and then we went about the morning ritual of free improvisation followed by 2.5 hours of technique. The bass spoke in ways it never had, as my transition to the dark side was completed much to the amusement and pleasure of those present.
Long story short: Was told my bass would be a good candidate for "the procedure". I assumed this would be a trip to a luthier and I'd have a week to warm up to the idea, instead of some parking lot affair right then and there. The vivid memory has stuck with me ever since, but I'm a believer in a wingless/low mass bridge
for this particular instrument. Not every bass is.
As for photo(s) of my current bridge, it isn't all that remarkable and without the reference of a similar bridge blank, it doesn't look out of the ordinary. The kidneys and heart have been opened up slightly, the kneecaps are quite slender, and some extra weight has been removed where possible. While it is a cello bridge, the photo I am including has had the right side of the bridge carved where the left side is has been untouched, to give an indication as to how much wood is removed in the process.
https://trianglestrings.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/IMG_1016-e1436560988319.jpg
