When asked about the inspiration behind her latest album, the enigmatically titled The World Has Made Me the Man of My Dreams, Meshell answers matter-of-factly, “I wanted to try to complete the thoughts that were in my head. When I started this record, I’d been living in different places and exposed to different kinds of music. What you hear is just a morphing and blending of all those experiences. It’s the most direct channel into what I was feeling.”
With a slew of guests that include sax legend Oliver Lake, Malian singer Oumou Sangare, drummer Deantoni Parks, and axe magus Pat Metheny, the album is a far cry from 2005’s Dance of the Infidel, steering largely clear of jazz-fueled improv and more toward the hard funk and hip-hop that have been Meshell’s bread and butter on past albums like 2002’s Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape and 1996’s Peace Beyond Passion. But where Man of My Dreams really takes a left turn is in the music’s sonic diversity—a way-out signal-processed universe where rock, punk, dub, synth-orchestral, and electro-psychedelic textures all coexist on equal footing.
Tying it all together, of course, is Meshell’s anchoring presence on bass. Her incomparably fluid two-finger stroke propels the funky, infectious lope of “Lovely Lovely,” but she can also hug a distorted edge reminiscent of the Stranglers’ Jean-Jacques Burnel or New Order’s Peter Hook, as heard in the acid-punk anthem “The Sloganeer: Paradise” and the frenetic “Article 3.” Meshell explores a cottony warmth and weird interstellar tonalities on “Virgo,” and plumbs the low-end depths even further on the dub-laced intro and outro to “Michelle Johnson,” which finds her soaking the bass in a tripped-out Hendrixian wash (an effect abetted by guest mix engineer Bob Power, who has worked with Meshell since 1993 and is known for giving a velvety analog spread to sessions by the Roots, D’Angelo, and others).
“I was definitely the parent and the child when I was making this album,” Meshell quips, referring to the arduous two-year writing and recording process. “Unlike when I worked with other producers, sometimes I had to be my own editor or my own cheerleader—and I needed to trust myself. And I must admit I’d never do it again; it’s nice to have other people who you trust to shoot ideas off of.”
Seven albums into a 15-year career (and with a dozen new songs already in the can for her next project), Meshell has established herself as a bassist and composer who’s long on ideas and creativity—no mean feat considering the odds she overcame growing up in gritty Washington, D.C. When she later emerged on New York’s downtown music scene in the early ’90s, she was one of the few women in what was largely a man’s world, but her incredible funk chops—rooted in D.C.’s go-go school, which required strength, stamina, and a fight-or-die ability to improvise—placed her at the forefront of a coterie of progressive bassists that included Doug Wimbish, Melvin Gibbs, Tina Weymouth, Defunkt’s Kim Clarke, and the Screaming Headless Torsos’ Fima Ephron.
“One of the first songs I learned as a kid was ’Til Tuesday’s ‘Voices Carry,’” Meshell recalls, touching on her perspective as a woman bassist. “And of course Aimee Mann is playing bass on that. Talking Heads and Tina Weymouth—I definitely think I’ve got that spirit in me. But I don’t hang around boys who make me feel oppressed. I’m just trying to be a good bass player. That’s why I like music, because when you’re playing with other people, you’re all just trying to vibrate clearly on one idea. Those other things—what sex I was born or whatever—become meaningless when you’re playing music.”
As she was gearing up for more U.S. dates before concluding her 2007 tour in Paris, Meshell took time to ruminate over the essence of her technique, her approach to recording bass, and her long and deliberate migration into the producer’s chair.
You’ve probably started many past interviews by answering this question, but what first brought you to the bass?
Complementing and camaraderie—those would be the words. The reason I liked music is it’s a collective thing. My brother played the guitar and his friend would come over and play the bass. He’d leave it there, so I had it around, and I took to it. I liked the sound and the position it plays in the music, and I could play with my brother. Those are the real simple reasons.
You’ve often talked about how your sound comes from your hands.
Yeah—just my hands and my ears. That’s why I don’t consider myself a bass player, like with lightning licks. What I concentrate on mostly is tone—the sound and how it fits with the music, especially when I’m playing with a drummer. Some drummers have a really tight, high-pitched sound, so sometimes I feel it fits the music better if you’re a little rounder. And then some cats have got a real fat drum sound, and you just change the tone to articulate it best with the tone of the drums. That’s what I go for, and that’s in my hands and my ear. I just dial in. I tell my bass player—I hate to say my, but my friend Mark Kelley, who plays bass with me live—I try to tell him more about tone and how you hear things. It’s just as important as being a great player.
Can you describe the basis of your technique?
I play like a pop bass player who has listened to a lot of Family Man [Barrett], but who is also a Jaco-head and wants to be melodic, but in a different way. I could never be as solo-oriented as Jaco, but if I’m at the bottom, it definitely does feel good when I’m going along with the melody. And I’m like Prince and Sting—if they all had a baby, that’s my style. I’ve got a pop vibe, but I try to be funky and have a good feel. And like James Brown, I want to make it percolate. I want to be able to play well with the drummer and be languid and make it feel pretty.
You mentioned concentrating on tone when you’re playing with a drummer, but how do you lock it in rhythmically?
Well, every drummer is different. Gene Lake [who played on Peace Beyond Passion and Dance of the Infidel] is so musical, it’s like he orchestrates on the drums. He carries you along and allows you to see song forms in your mind. And his timing is so tight that you’re able to shift and move around him. I always joke that playing with him is like playing with someone who can see through the Matrix [laughs]. It’s like the one is always there, but he can play somewhere in the inner workings of it and still be funky and still killing.
I think Chris Dave [who played on 2003’s Comfort Woman] and I have a very similar groove graft. It’s like things are shifting. He and I hear the music not on a grid; I guess it’s like time becomes relative when you play with him. We’re able to float through space with no gravity, but we seem to be able to read each other’s minds. So I like playing with him because it’s just very creative. You don’t know what he’s gonna do next. The song is always there, but he just changes ideas constantly, so it’s always a challenge just to maintain your grooviness and float with him. He’s great to play with while other people are soloing. He’s totally interacting, and it allows me to do what I do well, which is to stay solid and groove.
I play live now with a guy named Charles Haynes—I don’t know how to describe him. He’s a giant. He’s a king among men. My girlfriend says he’s a mantronome [laughs]. He’s just a solid drummer and incredible. He’s got chops, he’s funky, and he’s the best person to work with—just the kindest, gentlest soul.
And then I play on the new album with Deantoni Parks [on “Sloganeer” and “Article 3”]. With him, you might as well just put on a spacesuit and hold on. It’s the funkiest, weirdest experience and groove that I’ve ever played within. He makes me a better bass player.
You’ve also played a lot with sampled or programmed beats, which you seem to take to pretty naturally.
Oh yeah, because I did a lot of time as a kid playing along to beats by myself—just playing with a metronome or a drum machine and making my own things. So I’m used to it. In my mind, that’s what’s going on. I mean, everything is “one” to me: I just hear, One, one, one, one. I think more about the tempo than I do bar divisions, so I just float on the constant pulse of the music. It’s actually a lot easier when I play with a drum machine, because I can shift in my mind and play around in the matrix, because I know “one” is gonna be there.
My favorite bass player is Prince when it comes to that. I love how he made “Controversy” [from 1981’s Controversy, Warner Bros.]. It’s a straight beat, but his bass is moving and shifting and feeling good, and it makes you dance. Gene Lake was always telling me, ‘The moment you start counting bars, you’ll lose the groove.’ So I just find myself grafting to the pulse, and I try to make the bass line—which is a separate thought—float along that grid. That’s what works for me for now.
Is the ’64 Fender Jazz still your main bass?
That’s always a different story. I don’t have a main bass—I mean, that one is my favorite, and it’s the one I love and adore and probably play better on—or the tone fits me better. But different music calls for different things. Even going back to my first album, I had a few different basses. One was a ’65 Fender Jazz that had old first-series EMG bass pickups in it. That was a nice bass, but I gave that to Melvin Gibbs because he let me borrow a bass and I lost it [laughs]. I also used a ’74 Jazz I had, and a red Music Man StingRay, on that album.
Now I have a Fodera that has a shorter neck. It’s the only one like it, and it’s passive, so it has a unique sound. I also play a Modulus J series, and another Fender Jazz that’s a ’74 with all original innards, and a Japanese Yamaha that gets a crazy dub sound. I just play whatever I can get my hands on.
What have you picked up over the years from Bob Power, who mixed a couple of tracks on the new album?
He is the grand influence on how I hear, especially with getting a clean sound and making sure your tracks aren’t distorted. He’s helped me learn to balance the bass response so it’s not so fat that it drowns out everything else. He can hear things that I’m not as keyed into, but he also has a great ear for soulful, warm music. He mixed “Evolution” to make that 808 [drum machine], the bass, and the vocals all work together. You can hear everything, yet it’s still warm.
In the second half of “Evolution,” you’re doing some really sensitive plucking and harmonics. How do you dial up a tone like that?
That was my engineer Erik Dyba’s P-Bass. Usually I just turn up all the knobs and then adjust the tone accordingly. Sometimes it takes me a minute to explain to people that I work on getting a good tone so it’s clean when I’m playing by myself—you hear it and it’s cool, right? And then once I start playing with a track, I’m gonna adjust so I can see how the bass fits in the song. Then I have the engineer bring some of the track down so I can sit on top and I don’t have to play that hard. I have the drums and everything there, but I’m not fighting to play. Then when you turn up the overall volume in playback, I’m cranked up and sitting in the mix.
Right. If the other elements are too loud when you’re recording, it’ll change how you play.
Exactly. And then live, I do the same thing, but the thing is I like to be energetic. I like to play loud, but I’m trying to find that medium because I’ve got an amp, and I have more hand strength if I can play lighter. I can play longer and more fluidly the lighter I play, so usually I’m letting the amp do all the work.
Sometimes you have to make a decision about which instrument will have the most bottom. Either it’s your kick drum or your bass guitar—they can’t compete with each other. The bass may sound better with the subby low end, or some tunes may need a less boomy bass and a real boomy kick. So that’s how I make the decision. But basically, it’s turn up your bass and start with the tone, and if you have two pickups, just slowly roll off the back one until it feels natural yet speaks to you. It’s fat, but you’re still maintaining clarity and pitch.
How did “Lovely Lovely” come about?
That was just a fun tune. I wrote that when I was living in London, and I love the music over there. There’s a lot of good reggae and ska, and I’m the biggest Family Man fan ever. I love his style—he’s incredible. He has definitely aided me in differentiating tone. When I hear him, I’m like, “That’s a great tone.” I’m trying to get to that place and sound like him.
What’s the main thing you listen for as a producer, especially when getting ready to mix?
That there’s a complete song there, and that the listener gets taken on a journey. But that’s all relative. I try to make sure that the mix reflects the vibration of the song. I found out with this record that the mix is very important to the song’s character. You may not get it the first time, and you’ve gotta be all right with that. At the end of it, when you listen to it all together, it’s got to be a good sonic journey and experience. To me, a producer is someone who helps an artist execute their vision and helps them achieve the sound they’re hearing in their heads. When they don’t know what they want to hear, you help keep them focused so that something will reveal itself.
When it came to recording bass, what were some of the different configurations you used?
Sometimes at my house, it was just going straight into the Roland 24-track, or I’d go through the Hiwatt [DR103 guitar amp]. Erik uses Manley outboard gear and an Avalon 737 preamp. And that’s pretty much it. Our bass thing was very simple—nothing complex. I like the Avalon [preamp] a lot, but—no offense—it’s all in my hands. Not to sound arrogant, but it’s in my hands and my head.
When you made your early albums, what did you learn about recording the bass?
I definitely wasn’t technical then; I could care less. The energy on that record is like, ‘I just wanna play the bass, and I like to play the bass.’ I guess it wasn’t until Cookie that I started getting more into how it came across. But that record was just straight direct—nothing fancy. We had an early version of Pro Tools, but we would record 24 tracks on two-inch tape, so this was a whole other process. We did all that in Bob Power’s house, too. We’d get up, have breakfast, play. We’d throw everything on tape, then he would edit on the computer, and put it back on tape.
Now that you’ve had experience, what’s the main thing you try to make sure of when you record bass?
Technically and sonically, I have no method. The first thing I make sure of is that the bass is in tune. Then that there’s no distortion—unless you want it—but no digital clipping. I make sure I’m not hitting the tape so hard that it sounds like splat and has no body to it. But those are my only things. When I record bass and I’m not playing, I’m always particular to ask the player, “Are you hearing it the way you need to hear it?” Those are my only technical things. Like I said, each song or track requires a different sound. I’m not an absolutist. Just clean, in tune, and then take it from there.
Is there one effect or technique you’ve discovered recently that you really dig working with?
What I like to do now is jack up the gain on my Ampeg SVT until I get a little hair on it. I like playing the bass now with a little dirt so it has a bit more bite. I think that’s my trick now [laughs]. And I love the Prunes & Custard pedal—that’s off the chain. They’re so hard to find, but it’s the only distortion pedal that maintains the low end and roundness on the bass. It doesn’t sound at all metallic, like you’re playing through a guitar pedal.
What did you learn coming up in D.C., and from go-go music in particular?
Go-go is about stamina and space. You’ve got to be able to play for a while, but it’s also about knowing how to make space for percussion breaks. It’s also about being a good bandleader; the bass player is often the one giving all the cues. D.C. also had the Bar-Kays and a lot of Parliament stuff, so that funk influence is definitely there, but for me, I’m more impressed by Roberta Flack, Donny Hathaway, and Marvin Gaye—they all come from D.C. And my time there was hard, so it made me buckle down and learn to take things. It’s got a grit to it, so a lot of the music’s really gritty. I grew up with the radio station WOL, and there’s a movie out about the guy now.
Petey Green, right? Don Cheadle’s playing him in Talk to Me.
Yeah, see? I have a song in there. The thing is though, he would play all that classic funk stuff—just really obscure—and to me, funk is about making people move their bodies. It’s very sexual music. People want to get freed out of their minds and bodies, and I definitely think that has had a big influence on me. I wanted to be the kind of bass player or have the vibe that makes you want to party.
Crushing To Digital
When it comes to tracking bass for Meshell Ndegeocello, you have to be ready for anything. Just ask recording engineer Erik Dyba, who worked on most of The World Has Made Me the Man of My Dreams and has collaborated with Meshell for the last six years.
“We went direct for most of the record,” Dyba explains. “I used a Manley SLAM [stereo limiter and mic pre] going straight into [Digidesign] Pro Tools. The SLAM was key for recording Meshell because it has two compressors in it; before I got it, I had to chain compressors and ride the fader like crazy, and I was still never happy. The Manley ELOP [stereo electric optical limiter] is a bit slower, so it’s nice for soft compression—stuff that’s just touching the meters. It rides along with the general peaks in the groove, and it’s a nice way to deal with bass when you’re not going to tape.”
Instinctive as she is when playing live, Meshell also never leaves anything to formula when she’s tracking in the studio, preferring instead to let the music lead her mind on its own journey. “Obviously, Meshell plays with great dynamics,” Dyba says, “and I didn’t want to miss anything, because she has ideas constantly flowing from her and can switch from smooth Motown to heavy metal in the same take. The FET [field effect transistor] compressor in the SLAM is fast enough to respond to changes like that, so I used it to grab any unexpected burst of enthusiasm. We also used a Universal Audio LA610 [tube preamp and compressor] if we wanted to layer bass sounds or create something dirty.”
For those occasions when the direct sound lacked a certain punch, Meshell plugged into a 100-watt Hiwatt DR103 guitar amplifier and cut loose. “We miked it with a Royer 122 and a Sennheiser E602, and ran the signal through Vintec 1073 preamps. We didn’t use the amp that much, but Meshell really liked it.” Keen to elaborate, Meshell points to the Hiwatt’s versatility as a big advantage. “They’re bright and warm,” she says, “yet you still feel bottom from them. Plus I switch from bass to guitar, so it’s a good amp to use for that. My goal is that one day Hiwatt will call and allow me to have one [laughs]. I’d give it back when I’m done, but I would love to go on tour with it.”
Can Be Heard On
Meshell Ndegeocello, The World Has Made Me the Man of My Dreams, Emarcy/UGMD, 2007; The Spirit Music Jamia: Dance of the Infidel, Shanachie, 2006.
In addition to her solo albums, Meshell has also recorded or performed with Alanis Morrisette, Citizen Cope, Scritti Politti, the Rolling Stones, Holly Palmer, John Mellencamp, Chaka Khan, Chocolate Genius, RH Factor, Santana, Madonna, Boney James, Joshua Redman, Joan Osborne, Basement Jaxx, Mike Stern, and many others.
GEAR
Basses ’64 Fender Jazz Bass with medium flatwounds (strings never changed), ’74 Fender Jazz, Modulus Vintage J, custom Fodera (33” scale with 20 frets and custom Seymour Duncan dual-coil pickups, all passive), Yamaha BB5000, Silvertone (model unknown)
Strings La Bella medium-gauge Quarter Rounds
Rig Ampeg SVT-4PRO heads with two SVT-410HLF 4x10 cabinets
Effects Crowther Audio Prunes & Custard harmonic generator/intermodulator
For writing and demoing new songs, Meshell uses a Yamaha RS7000 desktop studio and a Roland VS-2480 digital audio workstation.
Essential Listening From Meshell’s Catalog
Talk to Me: Music from the Motion Picture [Atlantic, 2007]
Meshell’s Washington, D.C. upbringing makes her contribution to the Petey Greene biopic Talk to Me a poignant one, considering Greene’s tenure at D.C. radio station WOL exerted such an influence on her as a youngster. Here she’s joined by Mark Kelley on upright bass to cover soul iconoclast Eugene McDaniels’s “Compared to What” (which, also fittingly, first appeared on the 1969 debut of another D.C. native—Roberta Flack). As Kelley cops Ron Carter’s rapid-walking acoustic line from Flack’s original with a strong-fingered funk attack—no easy undertaking—Meshell stretches out in a luxurious pocket for the song’s psychedelic bridge.
Comfort Woman [Maverick, 2003]
“Come Smoke My Herb” should be a dead giveaway as to where this tripped-out set is headed, but “Andromeda & the Milky Way” tears it wide open. Meshell’s playing is heavy, hard, and largely dub-influenced, with the spirits of Aston “Family Man” Barrett (one of her avowed idols) and even Miles Davis-era Michael Henderson hovering with benevolent warmth over the proceedings. The highlight is “Fellowship”—a straightahead reggae groove that seems to undulate with sensuous lanquidity (to quote Sun Ra) on the back of Meshell’s jazzy and serpentine bass stylings.
Cookie: The Anthropological Mixtape [Maverick, 2002]
Greasy and low-down, the under-recognized Cookie is probably Meshell’s most overt slab of true-to-the-old-school funkentelechy. True to form, she covers Funkadelic’s early classic “Better by the Pound,” slowing it down to a Sly Stone-era, Rusty Allen-like shimmy-squirm (quite unlike Bootsy Collins’s more aggressive take on the original). Original P-Funk guitarist Mike Hampton guest solos on the dark lament “Dead Nigga Blvd. (Pt. 2),” while Missy Elliott propels a hydraulic remix of “Pocketbook”—the studio version of which pops up earlier in the set in all its hypnotic, subsonic glory.
Bitter [Maverick, 1999]
Mournful—almost baleful—in its overall tone, Bitter was not well received by the more groove-hungry faction of Meshell’s fanbase, but remains a daring expression of her creative urge to explore unusual musical directions without compromise. “Satisfy,” with its uplifting gospel and neo-classical leanings, is a prime example of her ability to claim a simple bass line as her own (in a seamless and crafty phrasing of hammer-ons, vibratos, and roll-offs), while “Wasted Time” is likely the sparest—and perhaps most vulnerable—she’s ever sounded on the bass.
Plantation Lullabies [Maverick, 1993]
As one of the more boombastic debuts of the early ’90s, Lullabies was significant for the hip-hop and funk styles it fused, and for the fuse it lit in the minds of those who were hip to what Village Voice writer Greg Tate identified as “dope-know-logy” in the album’s liner notes. From a bassist’s perspective, almost every song is a clinic, but the standouts include the slap-and-pop single “If That’s Your Boyfriend (He Wasn’t Last Night)” and the bone-chilling “Shoot’n Up and Gett’n High,” which firmly established Meshell not only as an incomparably fluid player, but as a compelling singer and songwriter to boot.