Tony Levin

Tony Levin is, without a doubt, one of the most innovative and admired bassists working today. In addition to playing standard 4- and 5-string bass guitars and electric upright, Tony has recorded many a memorable bass line on Chapman Stick, a unique and versatile 10-string instrument played entirely by fingertapping. He's also invented a system of striking the strings with two small drumsticks attached to his fingers, which he often uses on his custom-made 3-string bass. The 49-year-old has played on countless records since the 1960s, he's worked closely with Peter Gabriel since 1977, and he's a core member of the envelope-pushing King Crimson, whose incredibly intricate rhythms and harmonic textures have made them a favorite of many musicians. So why has it taken us so long to feature Tony in BASS PLAYER?

"I get embarrassed talking about myself for more than five minutes," confesses the mild-mannered Upstate New Yorker. "Also, the fact that your words are printed makes it seem as though you know what you're talking about. But lately I've been trying to grow beyond those feelings, and now I feel as if I have some interesting things to talk about." Among them are his recently completed solo album, World Diary (see page 54 for ordering information), and the new King Crimson record, Thraak[Discipline]. World Diary is a series of duets and trios Tony played with various musicians around the world; he recorded the whole album while on the road with Gabriel, much of it in his hotel rooms. Thraak, meanwhile, heralds a new era for King Crimson. Levin, guitarist Robert Fripp, guitarist Adrian Belew, and drummer Bill Bruford have joined forces with Stick player Trey Gunn and drummer Pat Mastelotto, forming a unique "double trio": each of the three instruments is handled by a pair of players. "I'm really excited about Thraak," says Tony. "It surpassed our expectations concerning what we could do--and those were pretty high."

Despite his initial shyness, Tony was enthusiastic about talking to BASS PLAYER. We met one evening during the Winter NAMM show in Anaheim, California, where Tony had been fielding many of the same questions BP readers have been asking for years: what's that board-shaped instrument with all the extra strings, what's King Crimson been up to lately, and--of course--what in the world are those things on his fingers?

King Crimson covered an awful lot of musical ground with four players. What made you decide to add two more?

That's a good question, but you're asking the wrong guy--you'd have to ask Robert Fripp. Robert's vision guides the band, and he thought it was time to try this idea. Frankly, two Sticks makes things hard for me; it means both of us have to put in a lot of thought and effort--not only about playing less, but about finding a way to do something special, so that two Sticks are better than just two guys playing fewer notes. On top of that, we have two drummers working together, which is a problem in any band.

In the end, we didn't use two Sticks on the record; on every song, Trey played Stick and I played one type of bass. We recorded a Stick duet, but it didn't make it onto the album-- that's one of the areas we have hopes for but haven't reached yet. Another is the "double trio" idea, which sounded great in theory: we'd separate into two trios, we'd have interplay between the two trios, and then the two trios would play together. Unfortunately, that idea didn't come to fruition, either. We did do a version of the song "Vrooom" [from the band's recent EP, Vrooom, on Discipline] that was mixed with one trio on the far left and the other on the far right; with the balance knob you can choose either Robert, Trey, and Pat, or Adrian, Bill, and me. That tune is as far as we've gone with the "double trio" idea. If you're King Crimson, you can't accomplish everything you set out to accomplish in one album.

You also played electric upright on the new record.

Yes, although it wasn't my original plan. I used to play only upright, back in the ancient recesses of my past, but I hadn't played it in a very long time. Then, just as we were writing the new Crimson material, Ned Steinberger came to me with a prototype of a new instrument called the NS Electric Double Bass [see photo, page 19]. I was taken by the way that bass worked for me--especially with the bow. I didn't realize until the recording was over that I had played more upright than regular electric on the record.

What was it like returning to the upright after so many years?

It takes a terrific amount of strength compared to the electric, especially in your thumb; I didn't get that back, and I probably never will. In addition, my intonation--never the best to begin with--hasn't been helped by 20 years away from the instrument. But I did practice a great deal, and I wordlessly asked the other guys to indulge me about my pitch not being as good as it usually is.

Had you played any electric upright before the NS?

I played a Clevinger onstage for Peter Gabriel's song "Come Talk to Me." It was the first song of the show, and I would rise up from the bowels of the stage playing the upright in front of Peter, who was in a telephone booth. I also played upright on a song called "Across the River," which we used to make the transition from one of the stages to the next.

Have you worked out how you'll play the old Crimson material live with the double trio?

Yes--we've already done it, in Argentina. Some of the old stuff has two Sticks now, but it still sounds very similar. We all made compromises, as you have to in this kind of situation.

Considering how successful you've been with Crimson and Gabriel, what made you want to record a solo album?

My good friend Robbie Dupree came over to my house one day and said, "Tony, I know a kind of solo album you could do that wouldn't cut into your time at home." He knows that my home time is small and very precious to me. He said, "Why don't you get an ADAT [digital multitrack] and record with some of the players you meet around the world?" He didn't need to finish before I stopped him and said, "Consider it done."

How would you characterize the music on World Diary?

I'm at a slight loss to describe it; it's kind of a "small" instrumental record. There are two tracks with Brian Yamakoshi, a koto player; koto and Stick is a very interesting combination. There are two tracks with a doudouk player named Levon Minassian. I did two tunes with Bill Bruford; I asked him to play the melody on electric percussion while I backed him up on Stick. There's a piece with Shankar, the violinist/vocalist who was on Peter Gabriel's tour, and another piece features a wonderful percussion ensemble called Nexus. I also did a tune with a Norwegian tenor-sax player named Bendik.

I started recording World Diary more than a year ago. After recording the pieces, I compiled the material in the studio, and in a few cases I added another instrument--Manu Katchà and Jerry Marotta played drums on a couple of pieces. I think there's something interesting about recording in a hotel; each track, in a way, reflects where it's recorded. There's nothing slick about the music, and I like that.

Did you play only Stick on the record?

I played a little bass guitar and also a little electric upright. On the tune with Levon Minassian, I bowed the NS bass; it's "totally exposed" bowing, the first I've done since my last recital in music school many years ago.

Were the pieces composed, or were they spontaneous?

Nothing was composed. In each case I went in with an idea, just to be safe and to have something to present to the other player or players. We worked with that idea and also tried something else, and in every case the "something else" was better.

I didn't use a click track, which would have enabled me to cut between two takes; I didn't even count off the second take at the same tempo as the first. One of the things I love about music is the mystery of spontaneous things--the magic that can happen between two players. For this record I was determined there would be a lot of that magic, at the cost of slickness.

With World Diary, I really feel as though I'm doing what I do. If I had to write songs, assemble a band, and then record the songs in a studio, I could--but I'm not motivated to start such a project, and I probably wouldn't feel good enough about it to bother finishing it. I'm excited about the album; even though I've been playing all these years, I've never had the opportunity to be an artiste until now.

Do you have any idea how many records you've played on over the years?

No. I'm glad I've never counted them, because that would be a silly thing to do. The figure is certainly in the hundreds and definitely below 1,000.

What was the first record you played on?

I guess you could say it was a record. My dad was a radio engineer, and when I was five, he took me to the studio and I recorded a little piano-recital piece for my mother's birthday. Not only was that on vinyl, it was a 78! I think my first professional session was for [keyboardist] Gap Mangione; that was sometime during the '60s.

How did you get hooked on bass?

I played piano as a little kid, and when I was ten my parents suggested I choose another instrument. I chose the upright bass, although I don't know why. I studied classical from then on; I also played some folk music, which was popular back then, and some R&B as well, but no rock & roll. When the Beatles came around, I didn't say, "Oh, I must go out and get a Hofner"--I was quite happy doing what I did.

I went to the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York, and I played in the Rochester Philharmonic. I'm glad I did that; classical music is something I still love a lot. In fact, these days I listen mostly to classical and opera. I'm lucky that I played so much of it at an early age, because by the time I was 19 or 20, I was sick of it--even though I hadn't gone through a whole classical career, I knew I couldn't spend my life playing in an orchestra.

When I was in school, I was very lucky to meet [drummer] Steve Gadd, who didn't have a bassist to play gigs with him. He got some interesting club dates, and he proceeded to show me a few things. Poor Steve was very patient--at the time, I had plenty of technique, but I knew nothing about feel; I was a very straight classical musician who played inexorably on the beat. With his help I learned how to play jazz, and that's what I did for a few years. Then I made a decision to move on to rock; I grew more attracted to it, partly because I was attracted to the electric bass. I had to stop playing on top of the beat and learn to lay back a little, or at least be flexible about where to put the beat.

The location of the beat is a fascinating thing, and many drummers and bass players are experts at it. But I never learned anything specific about playing rhythm from a teacher or from reading, and I always feel funny when someone asks me about it. My experience in that realm doesn't lie in the part of my brain that expresses itself in words; it's something I learned from listening, and sometimes from the dirty looks I got from players who were better than me.

Is it something you don't like to think about?

There are many areas of music I don't want to think about-- and when I joined King Crimson, I learned how much I didn't want to talk. Robert and Bill are experts at talking and thinking; when I read their interviews or hear them discussing the principles of playing music, sometimes I find I can't listen for very long. It's as if I were dyslexic--I just can't stay with it. At the same time, I know a great deal about music, and I can analyze certain things to death. Over time, I realized there are some things I just don't feel like breaking down and analyzing, although I haven't thought about why. It's not that I'm afraid I'll lose the ability to play; I just think it's the location of those concepts in my brain. They're where they belong, and I want to leave them there untouched, so they'll stay the way they are.

What kind of teacher do you think you'd make?

I don't know. I'm the kind of guy who would want to make spaghetti sauce with you in order to teach you how to play. I once studied tai chi chuan with an old Chinese man who taught out of his one-room apartment. Just being around him and seeing how he lived--the way he talked, his choice of language- -taught me more about tai chi than the actual moves he showed me.

How did you meet Peter Gabriel?

I had worked with producer Bob Ezrin on Lou Reed's Berlin [RCA] as well as quite a few Alice Cooper records, so Bob called me when he was planning Peter's first solo album [Peter Gabriel, Atco]. When I got to the studio, I unpacked the Stick, which was kind of new for me at that time; Bob took one look at it and said, "Put that thing away!" [Laughs.] Fast forward about ten years to the sessions for Pink Floyd's A Momentary Lapse of Reason [Columbia], which Bob also produced; I started to unpack my bass, and Bob said, "No--I want you to play Stick on this!"

How were you first exposed to the Stick?

The instrument started to become popular in the mid '70s, and people began to tell me about it after seeing me play the bass. In those days I liked to fool around with tapping on the bass, and I'd often tap incessantly on the fingerboard between studio takes. Here was an instrument that was made to be fingertapped, and people said, "Tony, you should get a Chapman Stick." So I did, and indeed, I had quite an easy time learning to play it. It's a great instrument for playing both bass lines and melodies or chords, but I usually just use both hands to play bass lines. Technically, that's a little like using two fingers, one on each hand, to play a bass line on the piano. But I was attracted to the Stick's unique sound, and its unusual tuning helped me to come up with unusual lines. That's something I'm always trying to do, and I'll take whatever help I can get.

How do you tune the Stick?

You can tune it however you want; normally, the bass strings are tuned in fifths, backwards. The lowest string runs down the middle of the neck, with the thinnest bass string on the uppermost edge of the fingerboard. There are different versions of the instrument--the original version has ten strings, but there's also the 12-string Grand Stick, which you can divide into six strings on each side, or five bass strings and seven guitar strings. I have one regular Stick and one Grand Stick, plus a custom Stick with one fretted bass side and one fretless bass side.

Did you have any problems recording the Stick for your solo album?

I had to refine the sound I was getting from the top end. Normally that isn't a problem, because either the instrument is in the background or I'm playing live. But on World Diary the sound of the Stick was very exposed, so I had to work hard at getting a better top end than I usually get.

How did you do that?

I have no answers; the average Stick player knows more about recording the instrument than I do. I will say, though, that on one song where I was trying to get a particular fuzz sound, I ended up using an old Radio Shack amplifier that was about 3" by 2". I put the Stick through an old [Electro Harmonix] Big Muff fuzztone, which was bigger than the amp itself, and we put a microphone on the amp that was bigger than the fuzz box and the amplifier put together! [Laughs.] I did that in the studio; I didn't have the luxury of recording that way in my hotel room, of course. I just ran the original track through the fuzz box and amp, and I recorded it on a separate track.

When you're recording a song, what factors make you choose Stick over a regular bass?

That's one of those things I don't quite understand--although I've had to analyze it, because often I have to defend my opinion against that of the producer. The Stick is very good at certain things; it has a terrific attack down low, it has an unusual sound, and there's a way in which I can fade it in with a volume pedal to make it sound like a bowed instrument. However, there's only one method of attack--at least only one that I can do--and that's to hammer every note with a finger. On the bass, on the other hand, there are 20 different ways to pluck a string, including where you pluck it and what you use to pluck or strike it. I like to have a lot of options, so I just listen to the song and start getting an idea for the bass part.

I should say at this point that I'm quite heavily plugged into the Internet. I've learned a lot about what's going on with the Stick--as well as a lot about King Crimson!--from reading about it on the Net.

How did you first get involved with the Internet?

That has to do with Trey Gunn. Trey has a fascination to find out more about the Stick and to push the instrument's limits. I'm not like that; I prefer to see what the Stick does, determine how I can use it, and then use it in a way that works for me. But through watching Trey and seeing his dialogue with other boundary-pushing Stick players, I couldn't help getting a little interested. I don't want to talk about the subject endlessly; if I ran into three players talking about the Stick out on the street, I'd probably turn and leave. But on the Internet, I can deal with the information on my own time and within my own parameters.

Is it strange to read about King Crimson on the Internet?

It's interesting, because this is new territory for everyone. I first started getting into the Net only last November, when we were recording Thraak; I had a lot of free time, so one day I logged on. I read aloud to the band all the things people were saying about our EP Vrooom. The funny thing was, people were talking about some of the same songs we were currently re-recording for Thraak. I had gotten us into a situation we weren't supposed to be in--reading public reactions to songs as we were recording them!

Let's talk about your technique of striking the strings with sticks.

I call that "funk fingers." When I was working on Peter Gabriel's song "Big Time" [So, Geffen], I got the idea of asking Jerry Marotta to drum on the bass strings while I fingered the notes with my left hand. It took hours and hours for us to do, although in the end it came out very nicely; unfortunately, the track wasn't used in the final mix, except in one place. [Ed. Note: It's heard in the interlude after the first chorus.] I had grown very attached to that part, so imagine my surprise when I first heard the final mix. This is the experience of being a bass player--you think you played on a whole song, but then you get the record and find out you played on only eight bars!

I tried to reproduce the performance live, with a drumstick in one hand, but I was struggling. One day at soundcheck, Peter said, "Why don't you attach two sticks to your fingers?" I turned around to my tech, Andy Moore, and asked him, "Can we do that?"--meaning, of course, "Can you do that?" He pared down two drumsticks and found a piece of surgical tubing to attach them to my fingers. We gradually refined the system; now I use two percussion sticks, which are thinner than drumsticks, and they have scoops cut out of them to fit my fingers.

I used the funk fingers the most on the 1990-91 tour with Anderson, Bruford, Wakeman & Howe, where I was trying to find a way to imitate Chris Squire's sound with Yes. I was also trying to approximate his phenomenal technique, which I just don't have--especially with a pick. Since then, I've wrapped the ends of the sticks in various materials to soften their attack; the bright sound was appropriate for the old Yes material, but it's too much for most record producers. I try it a lot on records, and often I'm told to "put those things away."

Another memorable bass line on So is "Don't Give Up"-- especially that deep, throbbing reggae tone at the end.

When I went over to England to record that album, I took my two-month-old daughter along. For some reason, I thought I wouldn't be able to buy disposable diapers there, so I packed as many Pampers as I could fit into my bass case. When I was looking for dampening material for the second part of that song, I opened my case and found the Pampers--so I put one under the strings, between the pickup and the bridge. Indeed, it was the deepest bottom I've ever been able to get out of a Music Man. In England they call diapers "nappies," so we called that the "super wonder nappy bass."

Do you use Music Man basses exclusively?

Pretty much. I also have a Guild Ashbory, which Peter likes to call the "rubber bass." [Ed. Note: The Guild Ashbory is a small fretless bass with silicone-rubber strings.] It sounds like rubber, it feels like rubber, and its pitch is about the same as that of an inflated rubber tire--it's very hard to play in tune. I played the Ashbory on Peter Gabriel's "Lovetown" [Philadelphia soundtrack, Epic].

My main Music Man is a 5-string, because I consider it a necessity to be able to play low D's and C's nowadays. I use Ernie Ball strings; when I'm on the road, I tend to go with heavier and heavier gauges, because I dig in harder the longer I've been on tour. I play through a Trace Elliot AH600SMX head and two 1048H [4x10] cabinets. By the time Crimson hits the road in May or June, I'll be putting the top end of the Stick through a new Trace guitar amp called the Bonneville--it's very nice.

How did the 3-string Music Man come about?

It's the only bass I've ever had custom made; Ernie Ball was very kind to indulge me. It has only the E, A, and D strings, and there are no volume or tone controls. I can't say it's the most versatile instrument in the world, but I enjoy playing it, and since the strings are further apart, I have an easier time with the funk fingers.

Why don't you play a 4-string tuned BEAD?

I'm afraid I didn't think of that! [Laughs.] Actually, there's some hidden perversity that made me want a 3-string, because the rest of the world has 6- and 7-strings. Seven strings must be better than six, right?

Sometimes you play a keyboard attached to your bass.

I do that on Peter's songs that have a synth-bass part mixed in with the electric bass part; the keyboard triggers synths backstage via MIDI. That's a nice way to feel as though I'm playing a bass while getting synth sounds. Even though there are MIDI-equipped basses these days, I find it just as easy to play the part on a keyboard and hammer with my left hand on the bass at the same time. I also have some bass pedals, but I haven't been using them much lately.

Do you use a wireless?

With Peter I have to, because the stage is something like 100 meters across. My wireless is an ancient Yamaha unit--it works for me. I don't use a wireless with King Crimson, because there isn't a lot of mobility involved; we just stand still and play, and we ask the audience to try to have fun! [Laughs.]

On Gabriel tours we use an in-the-ear monitoring system, which is wonderful. I have a big concern with volume onstage, partly because I've lost a lot of my hearing. Like many musicians, I have tinnitus, and I'm very concerned with not losing the hearing I still have. There are two advantages to the in-the-ear monitoring system: First, all the amps get turned down, because we don't need them; we can get whatever we want in our ears. Also, the device that goes in your ear acts somewhat as an ear filter, protecting you from the sound outside. So if you're wise enough to keep the level low in your ears, you can hear fine--although you still have the capability of making yourself deaf with them.

Do you wish you had been more careful with your hearing when you were younger?

Actually, in every band situation I was in, I was always careful about my ears and about playing at a low level. I was wearing earplugs a long time ago, when nobody else was. The difference between me and guys who can hear better is that I've been doing it longer. I predict that all of us rock musicians will have some degree of major hearing loss, and I hope that other people do an even better job of protecting themselves than I did.

How many sessions do you do nowadays?

I'm uncomfortable with the term "sessions." That's what they are, and I probably shouldn't feel the way I do about the word. But there was a time when I really was a "session musician"-- and I felt okay about it. In those days there was a ton of work in New York, and if you left for a while, your work would be taken up by other musicians. It didn't involve playing with your own sound, technique, or style; any competent player could be used for any session. But at a certain point, I made a decision not to be a "session musician" anymore; I decided I wanted to be a rock musician and go out on the road. I subsequently got to play on albums by people who liked the way I play the bass, and ever since then, I've developed an aversion to being called a studio or session musician. My playing, too, has changed. I'm not the craftsman I was in the '70s; nowadays I try to come up with parts that express what I want to do with the music.

Does that mean you work less?

I do fewer and fewer albums as the years go by. When you do a Peter Gabriel tour that lasts a year and a half, that seriously cuts into the number of albums you can do; I would say that in the last year I must have done only three or four. I get fewer and fewer calls, too.

Peter Gabriel has called you "one of the world's best bass players, if not the best."

I find that whole subject embarrassing. I feel as though I'm a very lucky guy, because for my whole life I've been doing something I love to do: playing low notes. I feel as though I'm a good bassist, but I'm skittish about being compared to other players. In no way am I the "best" bass player; there is no such thing. Real success comes with feeling good about yourself and what you're trying to do--and if you make music, that means feeling good about the music you're able to make. We bass players are often forced to play parts that aren't the ones we'd like to play, but it's worth a bit of fighting. It's tremendously satisfying to get the right part onto a record--or even better, to get it out into the air in a live show, where people hear it and it's gone.

You've become something of a hero to a lot of players over the years. What wisdom would you like to share with your admirers?

Some of the beginners I've talked to in my travels think of me as someone who's very successful, and they have an idea about what it must be like to be in my position. They imagine that because of who I am, people hire me to play exactly the way I would like to play--but the reality is quite different.

I'd like to tell less-experienced bassists that sooner or later, you'll have to face discouragement. It could come in the form of being kicked out of a band, being told to play a part that isn't you, or being replaced in the middle of a project. It's important to understand that this happens to all of us--not just bassists, but all musicians. All the successful players I know have had to face a lot of adversity, and they've had to learn how not to take it personally. My advice, if I'm going to be caught giving advice, is to keep in mind that these things happen to Tony Levin, they happen to Steve Gadd, they happen to Manu Katch--and not just at the beginning of our careers, but pretty continually. Playing music is full of setbacks, but you just have to keep playing--to have success, you must learn to cope with the setbacks.