Dad’s wine red lefty Fender Jazz Bass. Not sure the exact Pedigree, though I imagine it was MIM, as he’s always been a guitarist first. I recall firmly being a wee little thing, running my fingers over the strings and noting how discordant they were when all strummed at once. I didn’t understand how fretting worked until way later in life, so I wondered how in the world anyone was supposed to play a whole song with just four notes. Still, the thick strings were fun to pluck.
I wouldn’t feel the faintest urge to actually devote myself to *playing* anything with strings until maybe about two decades later. But they were always there.
--^@
I wouldn’t feel the faintest urge to actually devote myself to *playing* anything with strings until maybe about two decades later. But they were always there.
--^@
