Bass playing, like everything in life, is what you make it.
I started on upright when I was 12. Fancied myself a pretty accomplished player by the time I was in my early adult years. Classical, Soul, R&B, Bebop, Blues, ProgRock - nothing in music was beyond my ability to play it.
Along came 2014 and a stroke at age 59. Spent a few frightening hours completely paralyzed on the left side of my body and unable to speak intelligibly. But luckily some blood clot buster medication administered in the ER got most of it back for me. It left me with chronic headaches, occasional bouts of vertigo, messed up sleep cycles, bursts of severe depression, and a left hand (my fretting hand) with some residual stiffness that no amount of warming up could eliminate. There were also maddeningly random short but still noticeable losses of coordination between my left and right hands.
I was one of the lucky ones.
When I finally got back home the first thing I did was pick up a bass. I wanted to know if I could still play. And much to my relief I found I could. Not as well as I once did. Not by a long shot. But I could still sit in the pocket and get it done.
Going on six plus years of steady practice I’ve gotten better at it. I figure I’m now up to about 60% of where I was before. I had higher expectations originally. But I’ve gradually come to realize my days of lightning fast prog runs all over the neck are almost definitely a part of my past. But I still keep plugging away at it with high hopes. Music is who I am and what I do. And who knows? Maybe I will get it all back someday. Only way to find out is to keep working at it.
Bottom line is I’m still alive - and I can still play. And that’s plenty enough for me. Like Stevie Wonder so aptly said one year at the Grammy Awards: “I’d like to thank my Supreme Being. Because it really didn’t have to be this way.”
You betcha Stevie! You betcha.