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Interviewing bassist stories
- Thread starter Arthritic_Tom
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This is really some amazing stuff. I really wish could have experienced what you have. Both the good and the bad. I think you should write the book on your experiences, even just for the Talk Bass community. I think it it would be wonderful. Keep them coming.
Here's another name I can mention: David Vincent, who played bass with Genitorturers at the time I interviewed him.
If you don't know about Genitorturers, they're an industrial metal band that has very, um, memorable live shows. They're part of the sadomasochistic Goth subculture, and they feature sex acts, torture, people having their eyelids sewn shut, people being cut with razors, etc. But when Vincent was with them, the music was truly powerful and different from anything I'd heard. It was really good music. The bass made it great. It was very subtle, often sounding like keyboards. It was a wall of sound.
Genitorturers - Level 3.wmv - YouTube
So I wanted to interview him. He was phenomenally articulate, personable, and extremely technically knowledgeable. He gave me all the specs about his equipment (he used totally revamped Gibson Thunderbirds, I think); he defined the genres he played in (industrial metal vs. death metal, etc.); and he had a great sense of humor. At one point, he asked me if I'd ever seen a Genitorturers show. I said I hadn't.
"Oh, you've got to come!" he said. "Let me send you some tickets."
"Look," I said, "you've given me one of the better interviews of my career, but I'm going to have to say no."
He was genuinely puzzled and asked me why. I told him that I can't bear to watch the infliction of pain.
"But it's all part of the act," he said. "These are all willing participants. It's part of their culture. The whole sadomasochistic thing is about trust. You're pushing trust to its furthest limits, that's all."
"It would give me nightmares for the rest of my life," I said.
And you know what? He said, "All right. I understand."
And that was that. He didn't try to push it on me anymore, and he continued with the interview, cheerfully and with the same amazing ability to express complex ideas, and I found myself liking him immensely. I couldn't figure out why I liked him so much until years later.
He respected my wishes. That's why. How many people have you met who genuinely respect your wishes and don't try to force their will on you or guilt trip you or manipulate you or criticize you for being a rube or laugh at you? I've met very few.
It's so ironic that a guy in the S&M milieu--a scene that chills me to the bone--turned out to be one of the most considerate people I've ever met. I got the impression that he wasn't into the S&M on a personal level, but just accepted it as a part of the show and something his wife Gen did.
Completely strange but somehow inspiring interview. It was a true pleasure to have interviewed him and learned how he made his music.
Great stories, Tom! The Scott Thunes and the Gene Simmons interviews that you did were two of the more memorable ones from Bass Player. In the Simmons one, it was obvious that he was playing it up, and you presented it in a way that did not call it out but the reader was able to see between the lines. Most readers, that is. If I recall there was a bit of an outcry in the letters section afterwards by people that took him too literally. In addition to the tone argument, I believe Gene even stated that it was genetically impossible for a woman to be a bass player as well!
JAUQO III-X
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I would love to see this man get his own forum and go back to some of these people to get permission to publish the stores. I ended my sub.. to bass player because I didn't need it with TB and this is a good example as to why.
Are we allowed to guess names? Capital of Germany.
Tom, thanks for filling in the blanks for us schlubs who aren't famous, and probably won't ever be famous, but still play for the sheer love of the music. I know I've read some of your articles in the past, but I haven't read the mag for a good number of years, because it HAS gone downhill. It used to have really good, informative articles, and I was a subscriber for a while, but it stopped being interesting, and was no longer informative, so I stopped wasting my money.
I too struggle with arthritis, RA in both hands, but it's in remission, and I can still play, although I had to adjust my technique a bit. I listen to recordings made 10-20 years ago, and feel a little sad that I can't really do some of the things I used to do. I used to play a little guitar, as well, even played lead and rhythm guitar in one band (a set's worth of material, the rest of the time I played bass), which was primarily keys, bass, and drums. I can barely play 6 string guitar anymore, due to the RA, and that was almost an overnight loss, one day I could play, and the next it was "***? Why don't my hands work?"
I'm 60, still slogging it out in a Classic Rock cover band for fun, and a few bucks. I am enjoying reading your postings here, and understand your frustration. All I can say is, take heart, Tom, there are many of us out here who appreciate you, and what you've done. You're among friends here...
Link Removed
Yeah, that's exactly how I felt for years. I used to do bass-and-drum-machine versions of tunes as practice after I no longer had time to be in a band. I made audio tapes which--I regret to say now--I threw away a few years ago because I was angry I couldn't play anymore. I wish I'd kept them. I never thought I'd reach a point where I could revisit my life as a musician and music journalist. There was just too much pain and anger and the overwhelming sense of failure.
But with age usually comes wisdom. Or maybe it's just that the waning levels of testosterone make you more mellow, like a happy, cud-chewing ox. Who knows? At any rate, I can deal with it all now, and it's fun to reminisce. It was a great period for me on so many levels.
I got to go to the homes and studios of very famous, successful musicians as a matter of course! It's hard to image that now. I met and interviewed several of the bassists who influenced me on the instrument, and I even became friends with one who had one of the scariest reputations in the industry.
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.
He gave me such a long interview that it was almost impossible to decide what to keep. I retained most of the controversial stuff because controversy sells, and because I felt there'd be enough people who could see that he was in persona. He did indeed say there was something ridiculous about women playing bass, because bass is all about testicles, and since women don't have them, they can't get a feeling for the instrument.
That interview and the Thunes interview received the most letters of any articles ever published, I believe. The difference was Thunes was dead serious about everything he said, and he was angry, the way I was angry after my gig at Bass Player fell apart.
Well, I'm no longer angry, and Scott Thunes is touring and recording again, so life is good. And I'm happy to report that he hasn't lost even a modicum of his awesome skill as a bassist.
Simmons, on the other hand, is still doing what he does best. At the press conference in which they announced the Kiss/Mötley Crüe tour, Simmons called Rihanna and other female singers fake because they use tapes. He said they should have disclaimers on their tickets that the shows are prerecorded. And thus he guaranteed a firestorm of publicity for himself and the two bands.
Here's what they used to do when they pulled out all the stops to try and persuade you to write about a new band:
I'd developed a close working relationship with an independent publicists' firm in L.A. that no longer exists. One time they invited me to a show by a band that also no longer exists. It was held at the House of Blues on Sunset Boulevard. I was given two all-access passes, which allowed me entrance into the VIP room of the club, where all the celebrities hung out. I took my Swedish photographer because he was a cynical so-and-so and loved observing ostentatious Hollywood show-offery, and he'd be the guy who'd photograph the bassist if the magazine okayed the interview.
In the VIP room, they had massive amounts of free food and free booze. There were tubs of fried chicken and fried catfish, gumbo, Cajun rice, crawfish, shrimp creole, bananas Foster, beignets, and whatever other cuisine Louisiana is famous for, because that's where the band was from. I had some chicken and gumbo; I'd already given up drinking, so I just had some soda. All around me were famous actors, singers, and stand-up comedians, cramming their gobs with food and swamping the bars with their demands for booze. As I was getting my chicken, a voice behind me said, "The best food is free food!"
I turned around, and there was a household-name actor, a guy long past his prime but still immensely famous, giving me a you-know-what-eating grin and clutching a plate piled high with grub. I was amazed that such a wealthy person would even think twice about the cost of one meal, of all things.
(I told that story to Gene Simmons, asking him, "Why would such a rich guy care about how much a meal costs"?
"That's how he got to be rich," Simmons said deadpan, although there was an unmistakable "Good for you!" in his eyes as he spoke.)
At some point the band began performing, so my photographer and I went out onto the large balcony overlooking the stage. The band was horrible. It was some kind of zydeco-rock that just didn't work. The bassist was about eight feet tall, with a massive paunch. He played his bass below his belly at arms' length, and he looked just like the Grade-Z celebrity Joey Buttafuoco, the guy who had an affair with the Long Island Lolita Amy Fisher, who shot Joey's wife. The only difference was this bassist had a spectacular curly blonde mullet, a Kentucky Waterfall, as it's called here. It looked as though it had been doused in baby oil, because it glittered with a million points of light.
My usually restrained Europoidal photographer gaped and said, "That? That? No. Absolutely not. I'm sorry. There isn't a thing I can do with that."
It didn't matter, because the band was going over like some tedious, incomprehensible Bulgarian performance-art troupe. The lead singer couldn't sing, and she was far too old to be sporting her tattoos and bracelets and Mardi Gras beads.
We went back into the VIP room just in time for the arrival of an ancient pornographer and his two 23-year-old blonde girlfriends, who were welcomed like royalty. The women were placid and eerily calm, like they were robots or heavily sedated. I was shocked that their boss-boyfriend had black teeth, as though he'd been chewing on charcoal. Maybe he had; it's an old folk remedy for settling an upset stomach.
We stayed and watched the celebrities drink and eat until two in the morning. By the end, there were unconscious people who had to be carried away by staffers. I met a filmmaker who was just starting out; he was a really nice, down-to-earth guy who was as horrified by everything as I was. He's become a successful producer, so God bless him. I can take a little credit for his success because we had a long conversation about theatrical portrayals of the Angel of Death, and I told him that one of the best was Robert Redford in a Twilight Zone episode called "Nothing in the Dark," which the filmmaker had never seen.
"The key is the ambiguity," I said. "He's compassionate yet dispassionate. The Angel of Death must be caring but businesslike, understanding but undeterred and not subject to influence by any argument or pleading from the person about to die."
I later saw a movie this guy did before he became a producer, and he captured the ambiguity of the main character perfectly. This filmmaker was another respectful, intelligent, funny person who actually listened, which is so rare it's like discovering a fantastic treasure.
In the end, I reported to my boss that the band was garbage, so there was no article written. The publicists understood. I think some A&R heads rolled after that debacle. For my part I got to witness firsthand that the more privileged some people become, the greedier they get and the more they feel entitled to take, take, take, and take, simply because of their celebrity. I have nothing against rich people; I met some really wonderful and responsible ones who are grateful for their fortunes and use them to do a lot of good.
But that night was just disgraceful. I try not to think about all the food they threw out after the celebrities were done gorging. I saw the staff tossing it into dumpsters as I was leaving.
I'd developed a close working relationship with an independent publicists' firm in L.A. that no longer exists. One time they invited me to a show by a band that also no longer exists. It was held at the House of Blues on Sunset Boulevard. I was given two all-access passes, which allowed me entrance into the VIP room of the club, where all the celebrities hung out. I took my Swedish photographer because he was a cynical so-and-so and loved observing ostentatious Hollywood show-offery, and he'd be the guy who'd photograph the bassist if the magazine okayed the interview.
In the VIP room, they had massive amounts of free food and free booze. There were tubs of fried chicken and fried catfish, gumbo, Cajun rice, crawfish, shrimp creole, bananas Foster, beignets, and whatever other cuisine Louisiana is famous for, because that's where the band was from. I had some chicken and gumbo; I'd already given up drinking, so I just had some soda. All around me were famous actors, singers, and stand-up comedians, cramming their gobs with food and swamping the bars with their demands for booze. As I was getting my chicken, a voice behind me said, "The best food is free food!"
I turned around, and there was a household-name actor, a guy long past his prime but still immensely famous, giving me a you-know-what-eating grin and clutching a plate piled high with grub. I was amazed that such a wealthy person would even think twice about the cost of one meal, of all things.
(I told that story to Gene Simmons, asking him, "Why would such a rich guy care about how much a meal costs"?
"That's how he got to be rich," Simmons said deadpan, although there was an unmistakable "Good for you!" in his eyes as he spoke.)
At some point the band began performing, so my photographer and I went out onto the large balcony overlooking the stage. The band was horrible. It was some kind of zydeco-rock that just didn't work. The bassist was about eight feet tall, with a massive paunch. He played his bass below his belly at arms' length, and he looked just like the Grade-Z celebrity Joey Buttafuoco, the guy who had an affair with the Long Island Lolita Amy Fisher, who shot Joey's wife. The only difference was this bassist had a spectacular curly blonde mullet, a Kentucky Waterfall, as it's called here. It looked as though it had been doused in baby oil, because it glittered with a million points of light.
My usually restrained Europoidal photographer gaped and said, "That? That? No. Absolutely not. I'm sorry. There isn't a thing I can do with that."
It didn't matter, because the band was going over like some tedious, incomprehensible Bulgarian performance-art troupe. The lead singer couldn't sing, and she was far too old to be sporting her tattoos and bracelets and Mardi Gras beads.
We went back into the VIP room just in time for the arrival of an ancient pornographer and his two 23-year-old blonde girlfriends, who were welcomed like royalty. The women were placid and eerily calm, like they were robots or heavily sedated. I was shocked that their boss-boyfriend had black teeth, as though he'd been chewing on charcoal. Maybe he had; it's an old folk remedy for settling an upset stomach.
We stayed and watched the celebrities drink and eat until two in the morning. By the end, there were unconscious people who had to be carried away by staffers. I met a filmmaker who was just starting out; he was a really nice, down-to-earth guy who was as horrified by everything as I was. He's become a successful producer, so God bless him. I can take a little credit for his success because we had a long conversation about theatrical portrayals of the Angel of Death, and I told him that one of the best was Robert Redford in a Twilight Zone episode called "Nothing in the Dark," which the filmmaker had never seen.
"The key is the ambiguity," I said. "He's compassionate yet dispassionate. The Angel of Death must be caring but businesslike, understanding but undeterred and not subject to influence by any argument or pleading from the person about to die."
I later saw a movie this guy did before he became a producer, and he captured the ambiguity of the main character perfectly. This filmmaker was another respectful, intelligent, funny person who actually listened, which is so rare it's like discovering a fantastic treasure.
In the end, I reported to my boss that the band was garbage, so there was no article written. The publicists understood. I think some A&R heads rolled after that debacle. For my part I got to witness firsthand that the more privileged some people become, the greedier they get and the more they feel entitled to take, take, take, and take, simply because of their celebrity. I have nothing against rich people; I met some really wonderful and responsible ones who are grateful for their fortunes and use them to do a lot of good.
But that night was just disgraceful. I try not to think about all the food they threw out after the celebrities were done gorging. I saw the staff tossing it into dumpsters as I was leaving.
priceless and bookworthy 
Maybe a TB sticky in Management or Humor, or even it's own Wiki if you don't want to publish this stuff. But you can't just sit on this stuff, it reads too well
Edit: even w/the names changed to protect the innocent
it's a great guessing game which is half the fun.
Nah, you should get it out in the general public, this appeals to more than bassists. Please?
Maybe a TB sticky in Management or Humor, or even it's own Wiki if you don't want to publish this stuff. But you can't just sit on this stuff, it reads too well
Edit: even w/the names changed to protect the innocent
it's a great guessing game which is half the fun. Nah, you should get it out in the general public, this appeals to more than bassists. Please?
I'll tell it to you here. You're the ones who deserve it the most. Besides, I'm not sitting on it anymore, am I?priceless and bookworthy
Maybe a TB sticky in Management or Humor, or even it's own Wiki if you don't want to publish this stuff. But you can't just sit on this stuff, it reads too well
Man,I wanna say the bassist is Roger Waters,and the guitarist you interviewed was David Gilmour. But, Roger was playing(?) on a recent tour of The Wall. Again! So,that's kinda throwing me off. Seems like I've read statements about Gilmour specifically talking about Waters NOT PLAYING fretless bass on some tracks. Am I correct?!?!
No, true dat, and look at all the interest and props, deservedly so.
I know, it's easy for me (and others) to urge this, but to be honest I've not seen or read anything this compelling and in such an original slant in a long time. The observations are worthy of a David Foster Wallace (may he RIP
)These ARE great stories Tom, keep them coming!
I remember the Jim Roberts version of Bass Player & I probably still have a stack of the early ones somewhere. But after a while it became irrelevant & I never bought another copy or subscribed again.
The repetitive Sheehan/Ament/Flea rotation got VERY tiresome.
I remember the Jim Roberts version of Bass Player & I probably still have a stack of the early ones somewhere. But after a while it became irrelevant & I never bought another copy or subscribed again.
The repetitive Sheehan/Ament/Flea rotation got VERY tiresome.
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