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Interviewing bassist stories
- Thread starter Arthritic_Tom
- Start date
- Status
You nailed it. It sounds like protective self-rationalization for me to say this, but I am now genuinely happy that I'm not like them, even with all their money. I met massively wealthy people who will survive any economic apocalypse because instead of $800 million they'll have $300 million.
My brother was friends with a woman whose father was a huge entertainment lawyer. He represented actors and musicians. We got invited to Thanksgiving dinner at their house in Beverly Hills, and we got lost. (We're a family with a genetic predisposition to a poor sense of direction.) When we finally got there, the meal was almost over. My brother's friend opened the door of the mall-sized mansion and we went into this gloomy dining room with a chandelier hanging down over the table. We were introduced to about a dozen guests, all decked out in evening gowns, jewelry, and dinner jackets. The men were all fat, and the women were all skeletal.
My brother's friend took us into the kitchen, where we were served our dinner on this giant wooden chopping block. Since we were late, we weren't allowed to join the other guests. We were trying not to laugh because it was so moronic, being forced to eat in the kitchen like the maids.
The lawyer came in and gave us this ha-cha-cha-cha-cha, Vaudevillian speech about being thankful for friends, family, all the important things. That family was a catastrophe, and all those friends in the dining room were hogs and mummies. He was paying lip service to values that he didn't actually believe in. It was just this stupid show for our benefit. I wanted to ask him, "Who do you think you're kidding? The only thing you're thankful for is money, fame, and power." But we toasted him back, and then he spun like Fred Astaire, this totally bizarre, abnormal dancer's pirouette, and marched out.
Since my brother's friend was visiting with the hogs and mummies in the dining room, my brother and I finished our maids' meal and left. The whole night was a surreal waste of time.
These days, if they told me I had to go eat in the kitchen like the hired help, I'd say, "You know what? Thanks anyway. G'night!" But it took a lot of failure and losses for me to get to this point.
I don't think it's protective self-rationalization, Tom. It might have been, if you had said it all those years ago. But to say it now is simply recognizing the fact that your sense of identity, your ethical framework...simply isn't as twisted as theirs was.
Your stories are marvelous for the notion that one person has had the opportunity to experience these vignettes; a daisy chain of unfortunate encounters with a myriad of characters, playing a vast array of roles: Some good, many villainous, most just plain sad.
You have to wonder: Exactly when did they lose their way?
These conversations are wonderful - thought provoking on many levels. Thank you for being here.
Tom, I'd like to sincerely request that you consider writing a book about your experiences in LA and the music/entertainment business. You could make it a memoir; that way you wouldn't have to use real names or even fact check. Kind of what Bruce Thomas did in his book "The Big Wheel". (From the book description on Amazon: "Thomas was bassist with Elvis Costello and The Attractions at the height of the bands success with hits like "Olivers Army" and "Accidents Will Happen." Though names are never mentioned, The Big Wheel paints a vivid and hilarious picture of exactly what it is like touring the US and the rest of the world with Costello and Company, sharing your life 24 hours a day with a moody egotistical singer, a crazed drummer and a host of hangers-on."). Besides, not mentioning names will drive readers crazy trying to guess who they are.
Now I know what you are thinking; "A memoir? Nobody wants to read about my life. I'm a nobody." Well, it wouldn't really be about you would it? It would about LA and the Business. You are just the camera, capturing everything. Just like you offered to do for Scott- record his experiences.
I know that you have a bad taste in your mouth from that period of time. You also may believe that your stories are not all that interesting. You may even think that your writing style is nothing special. I'm here to disagree with you on all these points. Firstly, as you've already discovered, thanks to the passage of time (and other things) writing about the old days has actually become cathartic for you. Secondly, like Scott Thunes said, he doesn't think his life is interesting because it happened to him. He/you have already lived it. But we haven't and never will. This is our only chance to experience the things the two or you have. I think you can feel the hunger of the people who are following this thread. People from all over the world, by the way. Finally, you can see from the reaction here that people enjoy your writing style. You have a great descriptive style for both places and people. The details of the actor spitting out "t*ts" is priceless.
I know you have other projects that you are working on but this does not have to be an all-or-nothing deal. There is no reason you can't work on your fiction and non-fiction books at the same time. Some writers actually use this as a trick to keep the creative juices flowing; when they get stuck on one project they "take a break" and work on another for a while. Besides, between your unpublished interviews and the stories you've told here, I'd say you probably have written a third of it already. Cut and paste, my friend, it's the computer age. A little editing, a little polishing and I think you'd be surprised at how much you've accomplished with not too much effort.
Now, I know from my limited writing experience that you are not going to write anything you feel uncomfortable with. Writing takes too much energy to spend it on something that you don't enjoy. I just hope that you will take some time and consider this humble request. I think it is something that would benefit all of us.
On another note, I also understand your desire for a comment from Scott about your playing. I'll never forget a Shaolin monk telling me that the way I performed Shaolin kung fu was "not bad for an American". I never solicited his opinion and it made no difference in my future practice of the art but it's given me a quiet satisfaction all these years. I hope Scott will eventually do the same for you.
Now I know what you are thinking; "A memoir? Nobody wants to read about my life. I'm a nobody." Well, it wouldn't really be about you would it? It would about LA and the Business. You are just the camera, capturing everything. Just like you offered to do for Scott- record his experiences.
I know that you have a bad taste in your mouth from that period of time. You also may believe that your stories are not all that interesting. You may even think that your writing style is nothing special. I'm here to disagree with you on all these points. Firstly, as you've already discovered, thanks to the passage of time (and other things) writing about the old days has actually become cathartic for you. Secondly, like Scott Thunes said, he doesn't think his life is interesting because it happened to him. He/you have already lived it. But we haven't and never will. This is our only chance to experience the things the two or you have. I think you can feel the hunger of the people who are following this thread. People from all over the world, by the way. Finally, you can see from the reaction here that people enjoy your writing style. You have a great descriptive style for both places and people. The details of the actor spitting out "t*ts" is priceless.
I know you have other projects that you are working on but this does not have to be an all-or-nothing deal. There is no reason you can't work on your fiction and non-fiction books at the same time. Some writers actually use this as a trick to keep the creative juices flowing; when they get stuck on one project they "take a break" and work on another for a while. Besides, between your unpublished interviews and the stories you've told here, I'd say you probably have written a third of it already. Cut and paste, my friend, it's the computer age. A little editing, a little polishing and I think you'd be surprised at how much you've accomplished with not too much effort.
Now, I know from my limited writing experience that you are not going to write anything you feel uncomfortable with. Writing takes too much energy to spend it on something that you don't enjoy. I just hope that you will take some time and consider this humble request. I think it is something that would benefit all of us.
On another note, I also understand your desire for a comment from Scott about your playing. I'll never forget a Shaolin monk telling me that the way I performed Shaolin kung fu was "not bad for an American". I never solicited his opinion and it made no difference in my future practice of the art but it's given me a quiet satisfaction all these years. I hope Scott will eventually do the same for you.
You're welcome. I enjoy it. It's nice to find like-minded people.I don't think it's protective self-rationalization, Tom. It might have been, if you had said it all those years ago. But to say it now is simply recognizing the fact that your sense of identity, your ethical framework...simply isn't as twisted as theirs was.
Your stories are marvelous for the notion that one person has had the opportunity to experience these vignettes; a daisy chain of unfortunate encounters with a myriad of characters, playing a vast array of roles: Some good, many villainous, most just plain sad.
You have to wonder: Exactly when did they lose their way?
These conversations are wonderful - thought provoking on many levels. Thank you for being here.
I'm convinced that childhood is crucial. My bassist friend Roy took me to the house of a hugely successful TV writer, and as always with Roy, there was a dinner screwup: We arrived as they were eating theirs.
They let us in, and we lied and said we'd already eaten. They had two little girls--and I mean little, like five and seven--who had styled hair, pierced ears, and were wearing makeup. The writer almost immediately asked me how much I earned and volunteered his own salary. I told him I was a magazine writer, so I could buy maybe one of his suits per year, if I lived on Cup-a-Noodle. He literally had no idea how to respond, but I wanted to embarrass him for being such a classless t*rd.
One of the little girls interrupted to say, "Daddy, may I have some more prosciutto?" It took every shred of willpower to not scream laughter in all their faces.
This writer then--in front of his wife and two little girls--described in detail how to access a special Internet-within-an-Internet that caters to men who like their sexual partners very, very young. Like, say, in kindergarten.
"Not that I ever would, of course," he said primly.
As far as I'm concerned, those two little girls never had a chance. I'm sure they're living terrible lives. The child advocate Andrew Vachss says, "We make our own monsters and build our own beasts." I think early childhood guidance is crucial to keeping people from going off the rails later in life.
Well, look: The current plan is to post here for a bit, where it'll stay. That way people can link to it and spread the word. Scott Thunes and Bryan Beller dropped in, after all, based on word of mouth.
Plans can change. I have to get my flamethrower Web site, Facebook account, and Flickr stream going so that'll be done, and then see if I can publish my already written novel. But we'll see.
And we may be getting a Thunesian coda here soon. I've known the man off and on for 15 years, but it really does make a difference when someone of that caliber says, "You were good, kid."
Scott might then flense me into quivering globs of ex-bassist for relying on the opinions of others, but even as a flensed-up pile of bass meat, it would still be worth it.
Hey, wanna see what the inside of a bassist's brain looks like? Here's an MRI of mine, from 2007. Pretty dark in there. Not too surprising to me.
Attachments
- Jan 27, 2010
- 4,141
- 471
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- Endorsing Artist: Genz Benz Amplification
Anybody else reminded of Hunter S. Thompson by some of Tom's LA stories?
I just keep picturing big greasy lizards in snakeskin cowboy boots and pinstripes.
I just keep picturing big greasy lizards in snakeskin cowboy boots and pinstripes.
What is Scott using to get that sound- its very clean and clear but seems to have something extra... Slight compression??
That would be great. I haven't finished the CDs yet... but it's awesome that there's Stravinsky and Bartok on there.. (I'm a classically trained bassist)... Zappa is actually respected in the 'art music' world as he did contribute a bit to that genre. His version of 4'33" is legendary.
And as far as Scott's playing - so tasty! the right note, the right grooves, (even some chords) all at the RIGHT time... now that's bass playing.
And as far as Scott's playing - so tasty! the right note, the right grooves, (even some chords) all at the RIGHT time... now that's bass playing.
In my interview Thunes compared his bass playing to the work of folk artist Howard Finster:
artnet Galleries: Baby Elvis by Howard Finster from Skot Foreman Fine Art
"From the way he paints, it looks like if he attempted to paint a chair, it would be un-sit-in-able. My bass playing is un-sit-in-able. It is not meant to functionalize the four legs of the bass-playing experience. It is folk art in the most extreme and financially remunerative fashion. Frank chose me as his local spoon player. All I did was rattle around on my strings and cross my fingers and hope I didn't get fired the next week."
An L.A. story from Scott Thunes, excerpted from my unpublished interview with him:
I parked cars, and then I got the job with Frank. It went directly from parking cars to working with Frank. Going down to L.A. and working with Frank, I was a puppy. I kept my mouth closed and my ears open. Being a puppy means you don't put yourself out there, because if you do, you'll get crushed. The older people who've been in the band for a while will p*ss on you, and Frank is a fair guy, but if you are stupid and say stupid things, he'll nail you immediately. So you either don’t say anything at all, or you are very tentative. You don't want to say anything that’s too drastic or opinionated.
According to lore, it was obvious that I was tweaked in some way, that I was a goofball. Even though I didn't put out anything in a huge way that could be construed to be really psycho, Frank could see that I had some energy that he wanted in his band. So when I went and actually started playing with him, I kept my mouth shut. I was just very happy to be in this experience and keep my mouth shut. Listen to music on my headphone, drive around L.A. and see things, and go about my business. There wasn't really much going on that I could change. I wasn't really affecting anybody yet. It was very good for me to just sit there and listen. So I did that in '81 and in the '82 tour.
By the time the '82 tour was over, I'd been in the band for about a year, and there was a video tape of me being obnoxious and annoying. When I was in high school, I invented a personality that got me attention. At the alternative school where I went, the hippies would go outside and smoke pot and cigarettes. If anybody smoked a cigarette and I spotted it, I'd grab it out of their mouth and smash it. I got beat up once and didn't do it ever again. But for three of four months, I was a scourge. None of the high-school girls would look at me twice. They were all older than me, and the ones I liked who were my age were going out with the older guys. The only way I could get any attention was by being over the top. Once I realized I could apply that personality perfectly in rock and roll, I just fell into it. I was with Frank Zappa, for God's sake.
So for a year and a half, I was what I considered to be a rock star. I had a boisterous personality that had been honed to a sinister perfection. I could use it to get what I wanted. Then nothing happened for a year and a half. I moved back to Marin County and got some cheesy jobs. I was a busboy; I worked in a liquor store; I taught guitar for a while. For a year and half I was completely and utterly poverty stricken. Frank then called in 1984, I went down again and that was the pinnacle of my obnoxiosity. I was really full on. I'd just had a year and a half of enthwartenment of my outgoingness, so in 1984 I was Frank Zappa's bass player again in L.A. I was 24, at the height of my powers, emotionally and musically and humorously, and Frank let me do anything I wanted.
It was maniacal. I was golden. I lived in Los Angeles; I had the most beautiful girlfriend in the world; I was 24; I had tons of money; and I was traveling the world. It was the ultimate expression of what and rock is all about.
I didn't know what I was doing. I was just a f*cking kid going with the flow.
I parked cars, and then I got the job with Frank. It went directly from parking cars to working with Frank. Going down to L.A. and working with Frank, I was a puppy. I kept my mouth closed and my ears open. Being a puppy means you don't put yourself out there, because if you do, you'll get crushed. The older people who've been in the band for a while will p*ss on you, and Frank is a fair guy, but if you are stupid and say stupid things, he'll nail you immediately. So you either don’t say anything at all, or you are very tentative. You don't want to say anything that’s too drastic or opinionated.
According to lore, it was obvious that I was tweaked in some way, that I was a goofball. Even though I didn't put out anything in a huge way that could be construed to be really psycho, Frank could see that I had some energy that he wanted in his band. So when I went and actually started playing with him, I kept my mouth shut. I was just very happy to be in this experience and keep my mouth shut. Listen to music on my headphone, drive around L.A. and see things, and go about my business. There wasn't really much going on that I could change. I wasn't really affecting anybody yet. It was very good for me to just sit there and listen. So I did that in '81 and in the '82 tour.
By the time the '82 tour was over, I'd been in the band for about a year, and there was a video tape of me being obnoxious and annoying. When I was in high school, I invented a personality that got me attention. At the alternative school where I went, the hippies would go outside and smoke pot and cigarettes. If anybody smoked a cigarette and I spotted it, I'd grab it out of their mouth and smash it. I got beat up once and didn't do it ever again. But for three of four months, I was a scourge. None of the high-school girls would look at me twice. They were all older than me, and the ones I liked who were my age were going out with the older guys. The only way I could get any attention was by being over the top. Once I realized I could apply that personality perfectly in rock and roll, I just fell into it. I was with Frank Zappa, for God's sake.
So for a year and a half, I was what I considered to be a rock star. I had a boisterous personality that had been honed to a sinister perfection. I could use it to get what I wanted. Then nothing happened for a year and a half. I moved back to Marin County and got some cheesy jobs. I was a busboy; I worked in a liquor store; I taught guitar for a while. For a year and half I was completely and utterly poverty stricken. Frank then called in 1984, I went down again and that was the pinnacle of my obnoxiosity. I was really full on. I'd just had a year and a half of enthwartenment of my outgoingness, so in 1984 I was Frank Zappa's bass player again in L.A. I was 24, at the height of my powers, emotionally and musically and humorously, and Frank let me do anything I wanted.
It was maniacal. I was golden. I lived in Los Angeles; I had the most beautiful girlfriend in the world; I was 24; I had tons of money; and I was traveling the world. It was the ultimate expression of what and rock is all about.
I didn't know what I was doing. I was just a f*cking kid going with the flow.
Tom, I'm still on page 7, just read the story in which you told the guy you were interviewing about when the manic tried to murder you at the book store (OMG, what a horrible experience, by the way). I can't tear myself away from this thread, but I've got to get ready for rehearsal. I have enjoyed a number of good threads on this site over the years, but NEVER have I been as riveted as this! Thank you so much for deciding to share your stories with us! Can't wait to get home and keep reading!
OH. MY. GOD.
When I got home last night (actually this morning at 5am) I had to unwind, so I sat down at the 'puter and as I so often do, hit up TB. Here's this thread I had seen but not read yet, so I click on it.
At 630, having been awake for 22 hours, I couldn't keep my eyes open, so I went to bed, leaving this open on the desktop. I woke up at 10, got a cup of coffee, and have been at this now for HOURS.
Tom, thank you so very much for sharing, for baring your soul to us. I have laughed, I have wept, fer chrissakes, and I can't tell you how much this has moved me. I couldn't stop reading until I got to the end. I have countless windows open, waiting for me to listen to stacked youtube videos for the NEXT innumerable hours, but I COULDN'T STOP READING!! Its almost 250 in the afternoon, and I haven't yet had breakfast.
I currently subscribe to BP (I hope this won't make me seem like a bad person in some people's eyes, not that I really care) and find it, for the most part, insipid, but sometimes there are a few rare gems. I lurk here, and toss in a few bits; I find much valuable info and a whole lot of opinion/entertainment here as well. However, this thread is by far the most wonderful, cogent thing I have ever seen on TB.
There is one thing you said: "Keep playing, and if--God forbid a million times--someday you can't play anymore, there will come a time in which you'll accept it and it won't enrage or sadden you anymore," that has totally, irrevocably moved me. With all due respect, would you mind if I used this quote for my sig? (I hope it will fit....)
I'm a crappy bassist playing in two bands with other old farts, and we are still having fun with it. I am incredibly lucky that, at almost 60 years of age, I have my health and my faculties still with me. I thank God for my good fortune, and know that I am truly blessed. My heart goes out to you, and I hope that when my time comes, I can have at least a fraction of the grace you display.
You write as though there is an end to the story. Please, don't let it be so.
When I got home last night (actually this morning at 5am) I had to unwind, so I sat down at the 'puter and as I so often do, hit up TB. Here's this thread I had seen but not read yet, so I click on it.
At 630, having been awake for 22 hours, I couldn't keep my eyes open, so I went to bed, leaving this open on the desktop. I woke up at 10, got a cup of coffee, and have been at this now for HOURS.
Tom, thank you so very much for sharing, for baring your soul to us. I have laughed, I have wept, fer chrissakes, and I can't tell you how much this has moved me. I couldn't stop reading until I got to the end. I have countless windows open, waiting for me to listen to stacked youtube videos for the NEXT innumerable hours, but I COULDN'T STOP READING!! Its almost 250 in the afternoon, and I haven't yet had breakfast.
I currently subscribe to BP (I hope this won't make me seem like a bad person in some people's eyes, not that I really care) and find it, for the most part, insipid, but sometimes there are a few rare gems. I lurk here, and toss in a few bits; I find much valuable info and a whole lot of opinion/entertainment here as well. However, this thread is by far the most wonderful, cogent thing I have ever seen on TB.
There is one thing you said: "Keep playing, and if--God forbid a million times--someday you can't play anymore, there will come a time in which you'll accept it and it won't enrage or sadden you anymore," that has totally, irrevocably moved me. With all due respect, would you mind if I used this quote for my sig? (I hope it will fit....)
I'm a crappy bassist playing in two bands with other old farts, and we are still having fun with it. I am incredibly lucky that, at almost 60 years of age, I have my health and my faculties still with me. I thank God for my good fortune, and know that I am truly blessed. My heart goes out to you, and I hope that when my time comes, I can have at least a fraction of the grace you display.
You write as though there is an end to the story. Please, don't let it be so.
Wow. What a flattering message. Thanks very much.
By all means, use whatever you want. This thread is for all the bassists who read it.
All things must come to an end eventually. I still have some some things to add that I think you'll enjoy. Nothing lasts forever, though. It's all a matter of timing, judging the right moment to call it a day.
I spent far too long applying CPR to so many dead things. I always felt in the back of my mind that it would be like that scene in The Abyss, where Ed Harris is trying to resuscitate his drowned ex-wife, and she's not responding, and the other crew members tell him, "She's gone, man."
But after a pause, Harris screams, "NO!" and doesn't give up, howling at her to come back and FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! Suddenly she coughs up water, and everyone weeps and laughs, and the happy ending is achieved.
It took me a long time to realize that movies are different than real life. Things die, and they can't be brought back. The difference now is that instead of being sad and angry at their death, I've learned to celebrate what they were when they were alive.
I'd have to say my greatest role model in terms of a philosophical approach to all this is Curt Smith of Tears for Fears. He's now back together with Roland Orzabal, despite what Orzabal said about him. Smith left doors open, but he didn't look back. Eventually his ex-partner contacted him, and Smith agreed to work with him again.
I'm open to anything, but I'm not looking back. I'm looking forward. What happens, happens. Eventually this thread will come to end, but it'll be here for all to read and enjoy.
I've certainly benefited from it, so thanks again.
A point about why people in L.A. do what they do:
Scott Thunes warned me about this in 1996 and 1997, but I didn't listen. As he says, I was a cute little muffin-cucumber with mush in my heart, instead of a grizzled warrior like he was. He was the veteran of North Africa, Anzio, Normandy, and the Battle of the Bulge trying to tell the new replacement what war is really like. Impossible.
What happens here is the result of two processes: One is that people adopt a lifestyle first, and then they grow into it. As my brother says, it's as though they move into a house where everything is already laid out for them: clothes, furniture, car, even spouses and children. It's a turn-key life.
In the recovery industry, they have a saying: "Fake it until you can make it," meaning you should act as though you're sober and functional, and soon you will be.
I never accepted this advice, because the opposite is true, too: "If you fake it, it can take you." You can't live a lifestyle without it beginning to alter your values. You can't exist in a milieu without it changing you, like in the 1963 movie Shock Corridor, about a journalist who poses as a mental patient in an asylum to get a story, and eventually he goes genuinely insane.
When the lifestyle takes over, there's no return. It's like that joke: "For breakfast, the chicken makes a contribution, but the pig makes a commitment."
What I didn't accept until virtually yesterday is once the commitment is made, that's it. People can't undo their commitment any more than that slice of bacon can become a live pig again.
People can and do throw away their minds and souls in pursuit of what they think is making them happy, and there's nothing you can do or say to reach them. Nothing. They're as committed as the pig, and as dead as fried-up bacon. They will continue along the same path, forever.
All you can do is disengage. Sometimes it's a godawful tragedy, painful beyond belief, but once you accept that they're committed, it's time to say goodbye.
Scott Thunes warned me about this in 1996 and 1997, but I didn't listen. As he says, I was a cute little muffin-cucumber with mush in my heart, instead of a grizzled warrior like he was. He was the veteran of North Africa, Anzio, Normandy, and the Battle of the Bulge trying to tell the new replacement what war is really like. Impossible.
What happens here is the result of two processes: One is that people adopt a lifestyle first, and then they grow into it. As my brother says, it's as though they move into a house where everything is already laid out for them: clothes, furniture, car, even spouses and children. It's a turn-key life.
In the recovery industry, they have a saying: "Fake it until you can make it," meaning you should act as though you're sober and functional, and soon you will be.
I never accepted this advice, because the opposite is true, too: "If you fake it, it can take you." You can't live a lifestyle without it beginning to alter your values. You can't exist in a milieu without it changing you, like in the 1963 movie Shock Corridor, about a journalist who poses as a mental patient in an asylum to get a story, and eventually he goes genuinely insane.
When the lifestyle takes over, there's no return. It's like that joke: "For breakfast, the chicken makes a contribution, but the pig makes a commitment."
What I didn't accept until virtually yesterday is once the commitment is made, that's it. People can't undo their commitment any more than that slice of bacon can become a live pig again.
People can and do throw away their minds and souls in pursuit of what they think is making them happy, and there's nothing you can do or say to reach them. Nothing. They're as committed as the pig, and as dead as fried-up bacon. They will continue along the same path, forever.
All you can do is disengage. Sometimes it's a godawful tragedy, painful beyond belief, but once you accept that they're committed, it's time to say goodbye.
Argh. The sig won't fit. I will save it, however, and make it a part of me, my musical self, and I.
Your epiphanies compare, in a strange but poignant way, to a failed marriage. I have looked back with shame, regret, and a sense of, finally, relief, that it was over. And then it is time to move on. It sounds like you are there. The stories you relate must at some level be cathartic to tell, else you probably wouldn't be telling them. Thank you, thank you!
I saw that a famous bassist commented on your youtube video. He's right. Well done.
Your epiphanies compare, in a strange but poignant way, to a failed marriage. I have looked back with shame, regret, and a sense of, finally, relief, that it was over. And then it is time to move on. It sounds like you are there. The stories you relate must at some level be cathartic to tell, else you probably wouldn't be telling them. Thank you, thank you!
I saw that a famous bassist commented on your youtube video. He's right. Well done.
I can't believe it. I've stopped coming to TB to troll for gear. I'm just coming to check this thread anymore.
Thanks Tom
Thanks Tom
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