Some bassists are one-trick ponies: they become successful with a single pop hit, a classic jazz recording, an epic YouTube video—you know, the clip of the cat chasing the dog through the room with the baby in the high chair and the rocker doing an epic bass-spinning fail.
Can we all agree? tubes are cool, no? i mean, even if you know nothing of what they do, there’s something objectively appealing about glass bottles that get warm, glow in a soothing amber, and (at least anecdotally) seem to contribute positively to tone in ways that engender lust and long-winded geekery.
It seems that my personal musical situation is retracing the path taken by many stalwart upright bassists who chased the High Volume Dragon through music history.
As a bassist, you can play the right notes, hit the groove, know every possible version of a song—even wear a hat and sunglasses—but if you don’t get “the sound,” the music doesn’t fully happen.
It’s the mother of all scales, the crown jewel of melodic movement, the WD-40 of logical bass lines—the chromatic scale.