BRIAN FOXWHEN I FIRST GOT TO BASS PLAYER BACK IN 2004, I WAS FRESH OFF THE ROAD WITH A touring band that had been my main gig for a number of years. Eager to keep up my chops—such as they were—I’d spend hours scanning sites like craigslist.org, looking for like-minded folks in need of a bass player. Before I knew it, my evenings and weekends were booked solid. I’d take pretty much anything: classic rock with a bunch of crusty dudes twice my age? Sure. Funk and R&B with players way out of my league? I’d try to hang. Jazz casuals? Well, I suppose I knew my limits. Point is, I was hungry.
Fast-forward a few years and add family to the mix, and priorities began to change. Long-haul gigs out of state, weeks-long tours, and a cramped rehearsal schedule became a burden, and I needed to cut back. I remember a time when gigging once a week—with whomever—was a pretty light load. Next week, I play my first show in months.
I suppose it’s a natural progression for any pseudo-professional player. I mean, much as I like to think of myself as at least aspiring to be the kind of player you might read about in, say, BASS PLAYER, I have just enough sense of self to know I’m just not that guy anymore. Honestly, I don’t really want to be that guy. Though I confess a younger me had designs on rock & roll subsistence (if not fame and fortune), I’m happy as a clam settling in with local club dates and a slower pace. Consider it a preemptive retirement where I get to work at my own pace. No more hustle, no more chasing the dragon. We’ll see how long I can go before I need that fix—that rush you get from fielding (and pitching) calls for gigs. I give myself another month.