Billy Sheehan: Greatest Bass Player in the World

This essay appeared at ENTROPY in May 2017. ENTROPY is no longer with us, so I'm moving all my writing from there to here. I hope you enjoy!

 

In the middle of his live solo “7718(3A17)” on the Talas album Live Speed On Ice, after some tapping and scale-running pyrotechnics, Billy Sheehan cuts the distortion and, still tapping but using chords and all four strings, creates the sound of a small brook in the woods—a real contrast and compliment to his other playing, and to me the best example of what all of his playing sounds like: water music. Even when holding down an eighth-note groove on one note, there's a fluidity, a sense of flow. This coming in large part from his playing technique, rather than amplifier sound, distorted or not, but also, somehow, the overall way he thinks about music.

Sheehan was initially known as 'the Eddie Van Halen of the bass,' and to understand that you'd have to know who Eddie Van Halen was and what he did: as the guitar player for the super group Van Halen, he was innovator of what's called 'tapping'—bringing the right hand over to the fretboard and 'tapping' a finger (or two) which on an amplified guitar ring just as loud as plucked notes, though without the slight percussive pluck. In addition, once you tap, you can, and usually do, 'pull off'—in effect sort of plucking the string with the tapping finger to sound a note fingered with the left hand farther down. Using both hands, Van Halen would (and still does) tap out combinations of unusual, and unusual-sounding, patterns. Nowadays, tapping is a fairly standard part of any rock or metal guitarist's repertoire (even in jazz: Stanley Jordan plays exclusively tapping, chords and solos) but back then, late 70s, when Eddie Van Halen came out with his solo “Eruption” on their first album, the reaction, at least from guitar players, was a little like that of Crispin Glover's 1950s character McFly from the first Back To The Future movie, when Michael J. Fox puts the Walkman earphones on while he's sleeping, and plays another Eddie Van Halen solo: shock and awe awakening to sounds thereunto inconceivable.

Which is how people (mostly I mean other bass players, though other musicians and fans, too) reacted when they heard and saw Billy Sheehan. Sheehan, a huge fan of the group Van Halen, took the unusual step to emulate Eddie Van Halen, on the bass. Seems somewhat plausible now that there are thousands of Billy Sheehan emulators out there (including me) but that was a huge step, a huge innovation: up until then, bass solos during rock songs were rare. A bassist soloing sans band was unheard of. As my first bass teacher (who was a guitar player) told me long ago, guitar players don't like bass players getting up above the twelfth fret: “That's guitar territory.” That's still how most guitar players think today.

Sheehan is self-taught, and so developed an odd playing style. Most bass players who play with their fingers—that is, 'pluck' the strings with (usually, unless you're Paul McCartney) the right hand—use the pointing and middle fingers. Sheehan uses the ring finger as well, running scales and doing fills with it and the pointer. The reason, he said in an appearance in a music store in Detroit one time, is because those two fingers are the same length, so it made sense to him to use them instead of bending the hand at the wrist like when using the middle finger. But, oddly, when he's pumping out a steady thumb-thump-thump bass line, riding the root note, he uses all three, so that in a rhythm that tends to have an even number of eighth or sixteenth notes per measure, he's playing notes in groups of three, which boggles my mind a little (and I've tried it) because that means starting the beginning of each measure with a different finger. I suspect this is partly where the fluid sound comes from. It also allows for really fast steady playing, though it's possible to get two fingers going pretty fast too (à la Steve Harris from Iron Maiden, one of my other heroes and influences).

Sheehan plays his bass unconventionally too. Most bass player pluck the strings either midway between the neck and the bridge, or towards the bridge, and most basses have pickups positioned in those two spots (or, as in the case of the Fender Precision and others, just one pickup in the middle.) Sheehan though tends to play right up by the neck, where the strings are looser and give a thicker sound. Playing there is so important to him that he modifies all his basses, putting the second pickup there, requiring a lot of drilling and rewiring. He plays there for his 'rhythm' bass parts, switching to the middle pickup for solos. He also runs two separate outputs from his bass—two different jacks and two different cords—instead of switching between pickups with a switch (like most two-pickup basses are designed) and actually runs each pickup to a different amplifiers, at the same time.

Sheehan likes a distorted sound, just like a rock guitar player—distortion adding sustain (to hold notes longer) as well as a grungy rock sound. The problem with distorting a bass (and I've tried it, using a distortion pedal) is that the bottom drops out—you lose the power, the thump, the percussive sound that's key to bass, and the overall sound of a band. This is why (again, another innovation) Sheehan uses two different amplifiers and runs them in parallel—one distorted, the other 'clean,' so he can have the thump and the sustain at the same time, so that, even, and especially, on regular songs (where he's in traditional support and non-solo-y mode) his bass sounds legato, smooth, versus staccato (like say especially bass players who play with a pick). It's still bass-y and powerful, though tending to be more mid-range-y than most, and there's still a thump feel, but it can sound more like a low drone than a series of thumps. When he does a solo, just by himself, not with a band or in a song, he'll switch between the two amplifiers, just distortion for the pyrotechnic Van Halen stuff, but sometimes switching the clean sound.

Developing his sound and style took Sheehan years to develop, lots of practicing by himself, learning songs, and lots of playing live in bands. And that was possible because back then, musicians in the 70s and early 80s could actually make a living in cover bands—those were the last days of live music being common in all the small clubs and bars all over America, before DJs took over and people could just dance to the original recordings of songs. More than once Sheehan has said in interviews that he played live, all the time. Once 21 nights in a row! At four 50-minute sets a night, that's a lot of playing, a lot of time to experiment and learn. Sheehan bragged, and I believe him, that he knows every rock song from the 60s and 70s, and that his favorite thing to do in cover bands was to play 'Stump The Band': getting an audience member to call out songs, and if they couldn't play it, they'd buy that person a beer. But usually someone in the band knew the song, which was enough—with good musicians—for the rest of the band to fake their way through. Sheehan kept this tradition, sort of, much later in Mr. Big. In fact, when Sheehan formed Mr. Big, he specifically picked musicians that had all been in cover bands and played 'in the trenches,' honing their chops on rock classics. At the end of the night, for the encore, someone in the band would choose a cover song and, unrehearsed, the rest of the band would join in. I saw them do this twice: One night they ended with “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas, vocals spot-on and everything, and another night they did The Who's “Baba O'Reiley”—Paul Gilbert played the keyboard part on the guitar. Fricking awesome.

If Sheehan has a weakness, it's one shared by many rock virtuoso musicians: he isn't that great of a songwriter. The Talas songs are ok, but they're not Van Halen. Their best song, “The Farandole,” a classical-influenced, medieval dance kind of thing (only metal) is an instrumental, and most rock fans just don't really care for instrumentals. Musicians do, and that's the thing: Talas, in good part because of Sheehan, was more of a musicians' band. But regular folks want something to sing along to. This would be the problem for Sheehan his whole career: his best playing (and the favorites of other musicians) has always been on instrumental songs, while his most popular playing (not that people knew who he was necessarily, but the songs and bands were known) was as a more traditional supportive bassist for David Lee Roth and in Mr. Big.

Because yes, when singer David Lee Roth quit/was kicked out of Van Halen, the first person he called to be part of his solo supergroup was Sheehan. Sheehan said in that appearance in Detroit that back then he only would have left Talas for Van Halen, but when David Lee Roth called, well, “Close enough.”And, although leaving Talas had to have been a tough decision for Sheehan—it was his baby, he was the band leader—that decision changed his life, both in his popularity and, in the long run, as a bass player. If he'd stayed in Talas, he only ever would have been known as the Eddie Van Halen of bass and probably never achieved rock stardom and international fame. The David Lee Roth band was exactly what he needed, with a guitarist more amazing even than Eddie Van Halen (blaspheme!) in Steve Vai, who could write guitar-oriented rock songs (though Vai too always had problems in writing accessible-to-public songs). And with a charismatic front man who could write great rock lyrics (although, to be fair, about half the songs on that first album are covers, including “Shy Boy” actually written by Sheehan himself). I saw them on that first tour—headlining stadiums, a first for Sheehan—and they were amazing. Roth, say what you will about him and his lifestyle, was at that time maybe the best rock performer in the world. Not because he had a great voice, but because he was funny, flamboyant, sexy, and could keep a crowd of 15,000 on its feet all night and having fun, without any big stage effects.

Did it last? Nah. Sheehan was diplomatic on why: “Musical differences.” Which is ridiculous, because Van Halen was what he aspired to his whole life. No, I can speculate though: Despite both of their reputations, neither Vai nor Sheehan was ever allowed to do any long extended solos with Roth: It was Roth's show. I think Sheehan was used to being in charge, and being in a band of equals, but I think that was a great lesson, and opportunity for him: He learned how to be a good sideman, and develop himself, and show himself as a bass player in the more traditional role in a rock band. He could lay down a groove, play pumping rock and also old-school covers like “Tobacco Road,” and, if needed, come in and do a tapping harmony with Vai real quick (many people/musicians didn't realize it was both of them—they assumed Vai was using some kind of effect to duplicate notes an octave or two lower!). This was where Sheehan shifted from being just the Eddie Van Halen of bass to being a really good bass player, overall, modeling for me and others that being well-rounded counts more in the long run than being an expert at any one thing.

My favorite playing by Sheehan is on an album most people have never heard of: Edge of Insanity, by a guitarist most people have never heard of: Tony MacAlpine, who was, is, actually up there on par with Steve Vai or Paul Gilbert or any of the other great guitarists Sheehan has played with. MacAlpine was part of the Shrapnel Records phenomenon, a small indie label run by Mike Varney, who also featured up-and-coming virtuosos in a column in Guitar Magazine (where Sheehan appeared early on). The Shrapnel guitarists were part of the 'neo-classical' phenomenon of the 80s—guitar playing heavily influenced by classical music virtuosos, like Paganini—lots of notes. Again, mostly all instrumental, musicians' music mostly, though you might have heard of the biggest star to rise from that group, Yngwie J. Malmsteen.¹

I don't know how he did it, but Varney got Steve Smith, the drummer from Journey, to play on that first MacAlpine album. A surprising though great choice. I think this was around the time when Journey basically broke up, losing most of its original members. Listening to Journey, although Smith does some tasteful stuff, you wouldn't expect what happens on Edge of Insanity, though he was also a fairly known jazz drummer. Here though, he's amazing, all over the place. Sheehan later said, and I agree, “It's Steve Smith's best playing ever.” It's MacAlpine's too: his later albums never achieved the energy, never had the combo of Sheehan/Smith backing him up.

The amazing thing is, Sheehan came in later, after Smith had recorded the drum parts. He didn't even bring amplifiers with him, just plugged direct into the sound board of the recording studio, and without much rehearsal (he said that MacAlpine was sitting next to him while recording, calling out the chord changes) he ends up sounding like he was there making eye-contact with Smith, because they sound tight, even doing fills together. The best song on the album, “Agrionia,” a mid-tempo riding-through-the desert-on-a-camel head-bob, with an eery, and airy, harmonized melody on the guitar(s) has the best part of the whole album when MacAlpine drops out and Smith and Sheehan go into...not quite a solo, but an interlude, grooving on the root note and doing snazzy fills together, before the MacAlpine comes in with a nice melodic solo that's almost a new melody.

Generally, when an artist I like does or believes in unpleasant things in his or her personal life, I can, like the song says, “keep'em separated,” and just like them for their art. Depends on the artist, and how assholey they actually act, of course. I still like Slayer and Bob Marley, but boycott Guns & Roses and Ted Nugent. Religious beliefs in particular though tend to make me uneasy, even without the asshole factor. Any musician—or sports figure—that gets too into christianity (especially to the point of thanking God for their success, rather than, say, themselves for putting all the practice in, or even their parents and friends)(you know, I'm not christian, but in the 'God helps those who help themselves' kind of idea) makes me roll my eyes and move on to someone else. I also have this problem with Billy Sheehan. It's not that he's an asshole (the opposite, he's about the nicest guy in rock) and it's not even christianity—it's that he belongs to a modern-day religion, which shall remain nameless here because they tend to sue and harass anyone who criticizes them, that has some odd beliefs, and odd mythology, which of course they believe to be factually true though, to be fair, most religions do (Mary was a virgin? Really?). Though the beliefs of this group are to my mind even more unbelievable, involving, like, aliens. And if it were just their beliefs, I might be able to handle it, but this group—again, like many religious organizations—seems to have some unethical ways of treating its members behind the scenes, especially children. I understand why Sheehan, and many other creative types, might want to belong to a 'church,' or group, or organization: it offers a sense of community. And, like most people in most churches, I don't think the members really care or think about the organization's inner beliefs and mythologies too much. Belonging to a place, like in Cheers, “where everybody knows your name,” is enough. Sheehan's 'church' though, offers something more to creatives, especially in the Los Angeles area where they have a lot of money and influence: a network, connections. They can get people gigs and auditions. Hard not to like, and be thankful to, a group that could help you that way. Is that entirely bad? All groups function that way, formally or informally. Allen Ginsberg was the one really responsible for getting William S. Burroughs and Jack Kerouac published.

But Sheehan had been such a great influence on me, on my bass playing, and he continues to be involved with other great projects—I just could not ignore him, uneasily deciding to ignore his supposed beliefs and just revel in his awesomeness as a bass player. So was excited to see him part of a new band, exploring a new direction in music, no guitar involved, just bass, drums and keyboards. All amazing players, and no sense of wanting to be commercially viable: they seemed a return to the 70s idea of jazz fusion: some rock influence, and a showing off of chops, with solos for bass and drums included in almost every song (Yes!) though also some funkiness and catchy riffs. Still, it was 'music for musicians,' and I found myself—now not an active musician—preferring to listen to other kinds of music, with actual lyrics. Also, an odd name for the group: Niacin? But oh: turns out niacin is considered a super supplement by this religious group of Sheehan's—all members apparently take mass quantities of it. Surprise: all the members of Niacin are members of that 'church.' So, oy, that just seemed a little too much. It felt like I was supporting a group of fundamentalist christian musicians. Or supporting their religious group itself. As William Shatner and Henry Rollins teamed up to say: I can't get behind that.

Mr. Big is, of course, where Sheehan finally gained success, and recognition, on his terms, with Top 40 hits (“Shine”) and world tours. The band is named after a Free song from the 70s, and I had hoped that their music would be a return to a 70s-style rock. But, they ended up being more of a 'hair metal' band, with cheezeball lyrics. Still, they had the chops, which put them way above, say, Poison or Warrant, and they were a band in which all four musicians contributing equally, no one musician dominating, not even Sheehan. Yes, there are some bass solos, but always in the context of songs, and always tasteful. Although I was never was the biggest Mr. Big fan, I was happy that Sheehan, and Gilbert, who I also liked in his other project, Racer X, were finally being given their due. They might even have been the last great (big)(stadium) rock band. And it was during this time that Sheehan started getting called The Greatest Bass Player In The World, by fans, musicians and critics.

Mr. Big has had its ups and downs, but last time I checked they were now, still, again, back together, as of 2017. There was some controversy thirteen years ago(ish) about Sheehan getting kicked out (of the band he founded!) due in part to his interest in other projects, including recording and touring with Steve Vai. Which is great pairing, though Vai seems to want to write accessible rock songs that contain positive, uplifting, new-agey kinds of messages, and, surprise, they are kind of forgettable. But, the instrumental songs they do—again and again, music for musicians that I keep thinking regular people might like—some of that is just amazing, like “Freak Show Excess,” which has both chops, intensity, odd time signatures (my personal favorite) and a wee bit of the Frank Zappa sense of humor (Vai was Zappa's guitarist for a while).

I'm not mentioning all the great little projects Sheehan has played on in the past two decades. Check out his website for a not-even complete list. Most recently Sheehan has joined forces with drummer extraordinaire Mike Portnoy of Dream Theater, and guitarist/singer Richie Kotzen, another Shrapnel alum who has played with everyone, from Poison to Stanley Clarke (and plays without a pick! nice!) to form The Winery Dogs. They're a little more heavy than Mr. Big, and maybe what I'd hoped Mr. Big might be, with Kotzen's vocals Soundgarden-ish, though still a mix of both accessible rockish songs, and licks and riffs galore to please the musician prog-rock snobs (I can say that, I am one). The band toured all through 2016 supporting their second album, Hot Streak. But most recently Sheehan has gotten back together with Mr. Big for another album tour. A busy man.

My hope would be, since it seems to be the trend in publishing lately, that Sheehan will write (or have someone, ahem, ghost write) an autobiography, especially if it were a real tell-all involving his spiritual beliefs. I would find it fascinating, but I belong to those two subsets of weird people who play bass and read books. I also feel too, that we're approaching the point in pop/rock music where bands, and highly skilled musicians, don't seem to matter. Just like poets. But to me, musicians like Billy Sheehan are akin to sports stars somehow, that seeing them (and listening to them) is an inspiration to be....more human. To strive to good at something, everything, both in oneself, and with a group of like-minded people. And that those two things, those two ways of growing, inform, require, each other. In addition to learning from other bassists, he was learning Van Halen licks, and Bach keyboard parts, seeking outside what was expected of him by others, emulating and learning from extremely different artists, bringing what they did back to his own instrument to expand its, and his own, and our, possibilities.

Billy Sheehan's website:
http://www.billysheehan.com/

1 As Nigel Tufnel from Spinal Tap said, the 'J' is to distinguish him from all the other Yngwie Malmsteens in the world.

When You Play The Electric Bass—poem

"When You Play The Electric Bass." Psalms of the Alien Buddha, part 2. Anthology of music-themed writing. ALIEN BUDDHA PRESS. pp. 175. Summer 2022. Buy the paperback version here.

 

when you play the electric bass

play it hard

let the sound come from your fingers

not the amplifier

let the band follow you

set the pace

set the groove

take fills

but never let the bottom drop out

lead into the next section or movement

sometimes it doesnt take much

a note or two

which most people wont even hear

its not hard

to be better than most

but remember there/s always someone better than you—
be like them

play every day

listen every day

learn to read

learn to improvise

learn to trust yourself

if a song isn’t good

make it better w/yr contribution

but dont waste time w/beginners

unless its a paying gig

develop calluses

wash yr hands

remember a fifth string wont make

a better player

practice scales

chords

but make sure you can lay down

a steady eight-note groove

dont lock yourself in one style

explore your curiosities

listen to other instruments

especially the cello

listen to Bach Hendrix

Jaco Billy Geddy

take bass solos

demand them

but support others

even stop playing sometimes—

the silence between notes is important

during sound check keep yr volume knob

set at half

for the gig turn it to full

let the guitar players and singers

enjoy the spotlight

but go ahead

dont be afraid to walk to the front of the stage

 

Billy Sheehan: The Greatest Bass Player In The World

My essay "Billy Sheehan: The Greatest Bass Player In The World" now up at ENTROPY:

BASS SOLO—novel excerpt

First 16 pages of my novel BASS SOLO. Full manuscript available on request!

Jimi motherfucking Hendrix. That’s who inspired me to play bass. See, I didn’t want to be him—he was so cool I’d never even dare—I just wanted to be in a band with him. My mom’s boyfriend at the time, this white dude Dave, had a huge old record collection, and he’d play them at night, and these sounds would come out of the speakers, crazy shit. Feedback, like when the preacher at church would get too close to the microphone, only this was music. Controlled noise. And when I looked at the records, there was a black guy like my father, like me, except with this big crazy afro, with a cool white glowing guitar, the expression on his face all contorted like it was almost hurting him to play, either hurting him physically, or hurting him that he was causing his guitar pain by making it scream like that. I wanted to be that, I wanted to be with him, be his friend and be in his band. And though his drummer, Mitch Mitchell, was white (and British I later learned), on some albums (the later Band of Gypsies ones, though I didn’t know that until later) there were pictures of this other black guy, who looked like me, playing this other instrument. This was Billy Cox, and the instrument looked like a guitar, but it only had four, thicker, strings, and was bigger. I asked Dave what it was and he said, —That’s a bass guitar!

—What’s a bass guitar? What does bass mean?

He smiled and thought about it, and said, —It’s the low end, the part you feel in your chest. The thumpy part.

We got right next to the speakers. “Red House” was playing, and he said, —Listen. You hear that low part going dum-da dum-da dum-da dum-da, going up and down like that?

I nodded. —Yeah.

He smiled. —That’s the bass. That’s the part that makes people dance.

—That’s what I want to do! I want to play bass with Jimi Hendrix!

When my momma got home from the hospital that night I ran up to her before she even got her coat off and almost yelled, —I want to play bass!

She looked at me like I’d gone crazy. I think I had. —You want to play what?

—Bass! With Jimi Hendrix!

—Oh Lord....

But on my birthday a week later, there it was. Momma had Dave go out and buy me one. I didn’t know it at the time, and Dave probably didn’t know it either, but it was a cheap thing, by a company called Univox, and smaller than a regular bass, more the size of a guitar, I guess designed for beginners like me. I didn’t mind though. I liked it. It was white, kinda like Jimi Hendrix’s guitar and I was already picturing myself up on stage with him—us and our matching white guitars.

I also got a small amplifier, and a cord to plug my bass into it. I think back now on it and laugh, it was pathetic, the speaker in it was shot, making the sound that came out fuzzy, but I didn’t care, in fact I liked the fuzziness. It sounded Hendrix-ish. And it was loud enough that Momma yelled at me from downstairs to turn it down. Yes! That was rock ‘n roll!

That would also in some way make up for in fifth grade, when a woman came into our class and gave us a music aptitude test. I don’t remember the specifics, but it required her playing recordings of sets of tones, and us answering multiple guess questions about the differences or similarities between them. Like, was the first note higher than the second, or lower? After we took the test, she vanished with our answers and we all forgot about her, until she came back a week later and asked everyone whose name she called off to come with her. One by one, a few of the other kids names were called, all of them white. She took them out and up to the library. When they got back an hour later, I asked one of the girls what happened. She said that, based on how well they’d done on the music aptitude test, they had been given the opportunity to join the middle school orchestra, and choose the instrument they might like to learn. And: —Oh yeah Anthony, that lady said she forgot to call your name because Young was so far down the list.

Which, was it that, or because I was black? Because the woman never came back to get me. Nobody did. Nada. Nothing. I sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if I’d been able to go with that group. Like, maybe I would’ve learned to play the cello and be playing in some orchestra now. Or hell, maybe I would’ve ended up playing the double bass, I probably would’ve picked something huge like that, and played in an orchestra, or become an old school Charles Mingus type jazz dude. Or maybe that wouldn’t have changed anything, that I would’ve felt the pull of rock anyways. But I kinda think it would’ve changed everything.

The problem was, of course, that Jimi Hendrix was long dead by that time, which Dave eventually, reluctantly, had to tell me. My drooped down to my chest and I slumped up to my room and sat on my bed. I didn't cry, but neither did life seem fair at that point. I looked at my bass, laying in its case. I went over to it and put it on, looping the strap over my left shoulder, and looked at myself in my mirror, something I still do to this day actually, and imagined myself on stage with him, imagined him standing behind me nodding, like a father I did not have. But I would make him proud, or try, and I knew, the way children know, that if I made him proud he'd somehow look after me. And he has.

Friday night in Portland. Stumptown. Third night of the tour. Always good crowds here. I've even years ago played over across the river in the stadium, with Ozzy, tens thousand people. Now I'm downtown in a place than can hold maybe 300. If we get that. Started in LA, hit San Fran last night, Seattle tomorrow night. Bam bam bam. Knocking them out up the coast, then we go inland to Boise and who the fuck knows after that. Minneapolis? Then Chicago Detroit Cleveland and on to New York. I think. Or maybe we go down to Memphis and Louisville first. I'm already losing track of time. Or place. Or both.

I'm hungry. Being on tour there's no lack of food, just that it ain't that good, junk that doesn't really fill you up, at least not in a good way. The club we're playing at, Dante's, has a little to-go pizza place in the corner, and the band gets free pizza. Hard to resist that, but I'm holding off getting dinner with the guys to have something with my sister Jenna a little later, before the show. But hungry, sitting around, standing around, doing soundcheck, waiting to go through all the soundchecks with each group. Or each grouping, I should say: We've got us a sort of magical mystery tour of three total bands, but I'm playing bass for all of them, as is this young kid Sean playing keyboards, and Chris is singing in the first and third, but we've got three different drummers, and three different guitar players. It's a mess, messy, but a messy room is a sign of creativity, right? And it's the new economics of bands and touring, cutting down on personnel to save money, though I'm doing alright on pay, at least, every night we play, and when I got the offer to do the tour, under these circumstances, after the money was negotiated, I said, I'm getting my own hotel room for this. Which was actually the bigger grumble than the money, but touring, big- or small-time, kills me: 24/7 with a bunch of dudes on the bus, sharing meals, playing gigs, I needs me some alone time some time.

This german guitarist dude's the headliner. Udo Johann Rot. Old white hippie-looking dude with long hair, gotta be in his sixties by now though I never asked. But wears a psychedelic bandana when he plays, kinda to cover up his bald spot, but also has his 'thing,' his look, with an Indian dreamcatcher hanging off his guitar. I don't know, rock and metal musicians from Europe are always a little bit more eccentric, whereas us americans just go out with jeans and a t-shirt.

Udo's the one who founded The Scorpions, way back in the seventies, when they were more of the next step beyond Jimi Hendrix, that is to say when they were good, and why I knew about them. But either they kicked him out, or he quit, or who knows, but they then of course went on to be huge, if not good, with their pop song sing along choruses. Udo kinda dropped out, did some solo records, was still popular in Europe, and amongst the guitar god wanna-bes here. With good reason: he is a guitar god. He's a hella good guitarist. I've played with some other hella good guitar players in my career, and most of them were influenced by this guy. So I'm honored to be on this tour, honored he picked me, and the best part is we get to jam out on a couple Hendrix tunes every night. That's how I got the gig: I was recommended, he'd heard my solo album, and called me himself from Germany, and like the first question he asked was, 'Do you like Jimi Hendrix?'

And I was like, Man, hell yes, I know everything.

—You know Castles Made of Sand?

—Yes.

—Red House?

—Hell yeah. Everyone knows that. Yes.

—Hear My Train A Comin'?

—Yes, even that.

—Ok, let's do it.

—I got the gig?

—You got the gig.

Something like that. First time we got together, just him and me and Jimmy Butcher, his wiz kid south african/british drummer, we just jammed on Hendrix tunes, with Udo singing. He sings english way better than he speaks it, and for a white guy, he sounds like Hendrix.

The rest of the songs we're doing are old Scorpions songs, the early greatest hits. He's coming out with a new album of re-recordings of those songs. Which, if the first two nights are an indication, fans already know. I was a little surprised, I admit, to see young dudes singing along to something like "Coins For Charon," recorded before they were born.

The problem with playing the bass back then in Michigan was that I had no idea how to play the damn thing. But my momma, and to this I give her eternal credit and my eternal thanks, made me take lessons, and paid for them, saying, —Well if you gonna have an instrument, you better damn well learn how to play it right.

She walked into Playland Music one day, without my knowing, and signed me up, once a week, every Friday after school. She’d pick me up, drive me home to get my bass, drive me over to Playland, wait outside in the car for the half hour lesson, drive me home and drop me off, then head to work at the hospital for the second shift.

My teacher was Gary Glass, this older slightly overweight white guy. Gary made his living as a musician, back when that was still possible, even in a small town like Jackson. He’d gig at night and teach during the day, and lived in an apartment with his wife on the north side by I-94. He had thin short light brown hair, parted on the side, and a small bald spot in back. He wore thin rim glasses and kinda nerdy plaid shirts, the kind that were maybe in style back in the fifties. In fact, he looked like an accountant, but he spoke like a total musician, like I’ve heard both white guys and black guys speak, especially in jazz, dropping words like ‘cat’ and ‘cool’. As in, —Yeah, Hendrix was a cool cat.

I was nervous walking in that first day. The guy behind the counter at Playland was white (the owner I learned later) and the other people in the store where white, and they all looked at me, though to be fair, I think they would’ve all looked at anyone coming in, and the owner smiled and said hello. Gary came out smiling and shook my hand and led back to his little room in back. There was a desk, with a stereo on it, and two filing cabinets that I later learned were filled with sheet music transcriptions of all kinds of songs. There was also a Fender guitar amp, with dual plugs for us to both plug into. The coolest thing was that Gary played a Fender Stratocaster, just like Hendrix. It wasn’t quite white, more like a pale yellow, but that was what I focused on, the Strat.

My momma hadn’t quite explained everything exactly. When I pulled my instrument out of its case, Gary said, —Oh, you play bass. Let me check it out.

I think at the time Playland had a separate bass instructor, but Gary knew how to play. He did some kind of bluesy line, plucking the strings with his right thumb, something I’d never seen before, then with his two fingers. He sounded good. He handed it back to me and asked me what I was interested in, why I wanted to play. I of course told him about Hendrix, and he smiled and nodded. —Ok, that’s cool. I dig it. Here’s the deal. We’ll learn some basics, but also get into learning some actual songs soon too, ok? And one thing you’re gonna need to do, is learn how to read music, dig?

I nodded. I didn’t know. Sounded good. Sounded logical. I knew about reading music, had seen the music in the hymnals at church, and seen how some people to sign along to the music just by looking at that fly shit on the black lines. Only much later did I learn that Hendrix never learned to read music.

Gary went out into the store and returned with two books, The Complete Electric Bass Player, and Chuck Rainey, and a book of blank sheet music. He also pulled out a piece of paper from one of his file cabinets with a diagram of the fret board of a bass, with letters, A, B, C, etcetera, scattered what looked like at first kind of randomly all over. But he explained how there were really only seven notes, A to G, which made up a scale, and the eighth note, or the ‘octave.’ For that first lesson, and the first month, he patiently explained what those letters meant, and how each letter corresponded a note on the fret board, and to one of those black lines on sheet music. There was a basic logic to it, even if some things were weird, like that there were two frets between most notes, like C and D, but only one between B and C, and E and F. When I asked why, Gary shrugged and smiled, —It’s just the way music works. If it was totally logical, it wouldn’t be that interesting.

He also showed me the beginnings of rhythm, and how songs are broken down into ‘measures’ with each measure being broken down into, usually, four ‘beats’, or quarter notes, which themselves can be broken down into eight notes, and then sixteenth notes. Sounds complicated, and it was then, but I got the basic idea, especially when he reminded me of how some of those old songs you can here on the radio start with the drummer actually counting off ‘One, two, three, four!’ The trick, or what makes music music is how, and more importantly when notes come in, so that for example even though there’s four beats to a measure, the actual notes played may or may not be on the beat, and some instruments may be playing notes in different parts of the measure than others. I’m making it way more complicated than it is, and just at the beginning Gary only had me working on basic stuff.

Once I had a basic concept of rhythm, and the notes, Gary showed me what’s called a 12 bar blues, one of the most basic chord progressions. —This will serve you well. Once you know the 12 bar, you’ll be able to play anything from blues, to rock, to country. Hell, they use it in bluegrass sometimes!

He drew out the basic chord progression on a sheet of blank sheet music. —There’s only three chords. That first one, the ‘one chord’ is the root. So whatever key you’re in, you start on that note. After four measures on the root chord, you go up to the four for two measures. So, if you’re in C for example, you count up the scale to the fourth note. C, one, D, two, E, three, F, four. You go up to F. Get it?

I nodded. That made sense.

—Then it goes back to the one chord for two more measures. Then is goes up to the five. If we’re still in C, what’s the five chord going to be?

I counted up. —C, D, E, F, G. G?

He nodded. —That’s right. Now where’s G on your bass?

I found C and counted up to G. Which was also the highest open string on the bass.

—Now where else can you play G?

I didn’t get it.

—Go down. Is there another G below C?

There was. At the third fret on the lowest string. —Oh. Here.

He nodded again. —That’s right. And that’s part of the art of bass playing. You got choices sometimes. You can play notes an octave up, or an octave down.

—How do you know which to play?

—You just figure it out after a while. Usually you’d want to play the lower note, because that’s what a bass player does, is hold to low end down, but sometimes, for effect, or a change, or for variety, you might want to slip up higher. It adds tension and intensity. It happens in all types of a music. Bach, Mingus, all them cats did stuff like that.

I thought about that, looking at my fret board. I knew by then that each fret was one note, and that there were twelve actual notes between every octave, so that the twelfth fret was the same note at the open string, just an octave up, so I went up to the E at the twelfth fret and counted up, F at the thirteenth, F sharp at the fourteenth, to G at the fifteenth, which was that same actual G as the open G string, just played at a different part of the neck. And from there, at the seventeenth fret on the D string, was a G note another octave up from that. —So I could be playing up here too?

—Well, no. You don’t want to ever go up above the twelfth fret. That’s guitar territory. A bass player needs to hold down the bottom.

I didn’t ask him, but at the time I thought, then why does the bass have those notes? Why are there notes above the twelfth fret? But something about the way he said it, the way he acted, he seemed almost angry about the idea, which seemed crazy to me, but that has been the reaction of most guitar players I’ve ever known: they just do not like the idea of a bass player playing up high, taking a solo.

Every week Gary would teach me some new stuff and send me home with something to practice. Like when he showed me where all the basic notes on the fret board where, he told me to practice playing them, memorize them. And I did. It didn’t even feel like work, or homework. It was like he’d opened up a room full of treasure and told me, Explore this room all week. Every day, after school I’d sit down with his diagrams and go over what we’d talked about in the lesson. I think about it now and it’s amazing. I’d memorize the four open strings, E, A, D, G, then find the notes, slowly, on each string. Like I’d find the C note on the third fret of the A string, on the diagram, then spend what seems like minutes in my memory now finding the C note on my bass, counting up the frets. Then the D note, which could be played either on the open D string, or at the fifth fret of the A string. They were the same note, the same amount of vibrations, and that’s how you can tune an instrument: pluck the D note on the fifth fret, and pluck the open string, and adjust the open string until they both sound the same. Nowadays there’s electric tuners that are super accurate, but they weren’t around at the time, and tuning my bass like that (because same thing for the other strings, find the G on the fifth fret of the D string, and it’s the same note at the open G string) helped me develop of sense for even hearing notes, especially down on the lower range like that,

I would spend hours going over this, all on my own up in my room. Hours just going back and forth from Gary’s diagrams to my bass fretboard, gradually memorizing where each note was, and being able to go from one, up to the next, crossing over to next string. So, starting with the open E string, then one fret up to the F, then two frets up to the G, up to the open A string, two frets up to B, one fret up to C, to the open D string, two frets up to E, one fret to F, to the open G, and two frets up to A. And then back down. It took me so long to be able to even do that, play all those notes up and down, without looking at Gary’s diagram. I swear it was hours. And it was not work. It was play. Or, not even that, it was just intensity, concentration. I wanted to be there figuring those notes out. I wanted to be learning them. I don’t know how or why. There were frustrations, but I think there were enough little accomplishments along the way that felt like rewards, that I constantly felt like I was improving, getting better, even though I know now how almost pitiful my growth would seem to me. On the other hand, Gary told Momma one time when she came into the store to pick me up, —Anthony’s my best student. He actually practices at home. Most people don’t.

It never would have occurred to me not to practice. My point is, I’m not saying I was born with some innate talent. I practiced my ass off. Though there were some certain circumstances that made practicing my ass off interesting. Having a room of my own. Having free time. Being an introvert and ok with being alone. Having a good teacher like Gary, both experienced and patient and a good explainer. Having a mother willing to spend money for lessons. Having Dave there with his record collection, being exposed to music at a young age. Seeing a picture of Hendrix.

Though some stuff seemed, or seems, unique to me, like my love of music, something I was born with, especially when I met my father later on. Like it was in my blood. But then I wonder if music isn’t in everyone’s blood and it’s just that the way our society is set up, for both blacks and whites and everybody, that it not only doesn’t encourage music, but discourages it in some way. I love music so much, it’s been such a vital part of my life, I can’t conceive of someone not liking it as much as I do, but some people don’t. I guess. I mean, everyone seemed to love music in college, people defined themselves by it, even non-musicians, but later on, people I knew, once they got into the real world, with jobs and families and shit, they listen to it less and less. I’ve seen it with my family and I’ve seen it with my friends. My momma had all those Motown records, still has them somewhere, or else Dave took them, but she just doesn’t listen to music much anymore. Just whatever’s on the radio. If that.

Or my sister Jenna. Back then, she just listened to hip-hop, which was still called rap back then, and what’s called R&B on the radio. She eventually did become a dancer, but the exotic kind. Not to say though, that that choice (if it was a choice, and not economic necessity) wasn't somehow relevant. But, I sometimes think that my friends, not that I have a lot, are my friends because we all still like to listen to music.

I’m not saying parents should force music on their children. Any time children are forced to do anything they’ll usually grow up to hate it. But if their children show any inclination, like singing or anything, which most children do, they should offer music lessons up as something fun to try, like, Hey, do you want to try this? Or, that goes with anything. Like, if you’re son is dancing around the house, show him a video of people dancing, different styles, and ask him if he’d like to try it. I think the key is being an observant parent and picking up on cues, on interests, and encouraging instead of forcing them. Easy for me to say, I never had kids. That I know of.

It's Udo's tour, his name, he's the headliner. We've got two busses and a truck, and the one bus is basically his, with his actual real bed in back, and computer with internet, and hot german girlfriend half his age. Whereas the rest of us get the bunkbeds and/or just hang out up front.

The two opening acts are older guitarists too, though not quite as old, more my age. The first group is made up of the drummer and guitarist who played with Dio before he died. And if you don't know who he is, well, he sang with Rainbow then Black Sabbath, then had a successful solo career with multiple albums. They've stayed together as a kind of tribute band, still playing Dio's songs, though they did a solo album and tour, which didn't do much. But somehow they got tagged on the tour, with me playing bass, and Sean and Chris playing keys and singing. It kind of feels like I'm playing in a cover band again, since we're doing Dio songs, but also they like to just do older classic rock/metal songs, something like "Highway Star" by Deep Purple. Why not though? The crowd seems to like it, everybody knows the songs, and actually, based on what I've seen these first two nights, the biggest crowds came to see them, or at least the drummer, Vinnie Appice, who played with Dio in Black Sabbath too. Of name recognition for any of us, he's got it. I'm not quite sure how Udo feels about the opening act getting the biggest crowd, but I'm not sure he knows, since he hasn't come out to watch them, so far. Or maybe he knows, or his management company knows, and Vinnie and Jason are actually doing their job: drawing folks in who might actually stay and check out Udo Johann Rot. But it's strange, seeing a 'god', someone I've seen in arenas, with a huge drumset surrounding so he had to crawl into it, now playing with a basic set, not even on a drum riser, on the fucking stage floor. Is it for the money? Yeah, probably. Us drummers and bass players don't get songwriting credits most of the time, so we don't get the residuals. And nobody pays for music anymore, so one of the main ways for a musician to earn a living is to tour. But, also, gotta give Vinnie credit for getting out and playing, and enjoying it, because he does, I've seen him, looked over while we're playing, and he's got that light in his eyes. Doesn't matter how big the crowd (well, as long as there is a crowd and not an empty hall) every musician loves to just play. Me too. I've played stadiums and festivals, and had a row of amps behind me. Now I'm back to one.

The second 'band' is really Robbie Less, an instrumental guitarist (at least for his own stuff—he played in Alice Cooper's touring band), one of the shredders from Shrapnel Records. I played on his first album, which in itself was a crazy story, since he recorded it just him and drummer (Steve Seard, from the pop band Voyager—I know I know, but he's actually a great drummer and that album is, in my humble opinion, his best drumming ever) and they brought me in after to record the bass. So I'm like, sitting there in the studio, plugged directly into the console, with Vinnie sitting next to me calling out chord changes as they come. It was crazy, but it worked, and I'm really proud of my playing on that album. Vinnie's the one, or one of the one's, who recommended me for the tour, and so it's been cool to actually play those songs, for reals, with him. Though I gotta say, I'm not sure the dynamic of instrumental metal/rock songs works in a place like this, for a crowd like this. Maybe for one song, but for a whole set? Fans need some kind of focal point. That is, lyrics, and a singer. I say this from experience. I've done jazz gigs, all kinds, where the expectations are different, people expect instrumentals, but they're more mellow affairs. With rock though, you need that singer to unite everyone, and to have those sing-along choruses, something that you can basically memorize by the second time around without too much difficulty.

Still though, this is a crowd that's come to hear Udo Johann Rot, so there's a bunch of a musicians, guitarists, in the audience, and Vinnie shreds, so he has some appreciators. He's a good guy too, real Bronx accent, showing his age like all of us, a little more stockier than when I first met him, way back in the early 90s. He's not much of a front man, just asking everyone between songs if they're having a good time, then back into another song. But hey, this is the only part of the night where I get any bass solos, so I'm happy.

It's a long night for me, true. Even when I was playing with Ozzy, headlining, we'd only do about two hours, tops. This is like three hours. More, including the waiting around between sets. So I'm trying to pace myself. I dig playing with Chris and Jason, and with Vinnie, but my main priority is to be 'on' for Udo, so while Jason and Vinnie are trying to give their all, I gotta hold back a little, which I think they don't like, but like I said, having me play bass for all three acts gives them a little bit more of a bigger cut.

Everyone is still rough around the edges. We had about a week to rehearse down in LA, and we've all made it through all the songs without flubbing anything too bad. I don't think most fans even notice, though Udo does have a little bit of the evil eye if you fuck up. He's a rock star and expects perfection, and the dude is good, and a legend, so it's hard to deny him that. But for example, Chris is still reading some of the lyrics for both sets off of an iPad, which he sets up on a stand at the back of the stage, but still visible to everybody. Kinda unprofessional, but he got the gig even later than I did, and memorizing two sets' worth of lyrics is hard. I also feel bad for him because even though he's the singer and supposed to be the focus on stage, he's not, nobody's ever heard of him, and they came to see the guitarists (and Vinnie the drummer) and though he's got a certain charisma, and can do the jive-talking between songs, Udo just dominates the stage, dominates all of us really, and literally last night in San Fran, when we were about to go into the two Hendrix songs of the night, Udo just pointed at Chris, then gave him the thumb, like, get off stage, right in front of everybody. Which, how is a singer supposed to work with that dynamic? How's he supposed to come back after those two kickass songs with Udo singing, and try and reassert himself? I personally think Udo should have him sing the Hendrix tunes, except Chris doesn't sound anything like Hendrix, he's got the high metal band voice, and Udo is Udo and wants to sing his Hendrix.

But, with all these dynamics, and all older dudes getting paid more than the younger ones, and people coming to see the Dio drummer more than Udo, who knows if this band of gypsies will stay together the whole tour. I'm just trying to enjoy myself, and am, getting to play with some legends. Getting to play, period. Gotta pay the bills just like everyone else. Touring is hopefully a better deal financially for me right now, though I'm giving up three months (maybe more) of potential, though not for sure, studio work back in LA. Those gigs are hit and miss, at least for tour I know how much I'll make ahead of time, which is enough afford the mortgage payments on the house I 'bought' there while I was with Ozzy. Because yeah, I'm working to afford a house I'm not even living in while I'm working. The life of a working musician. Everyone seems to think all musicians are millionaires, like Ozzy, but most of us unknowns, the back-up musicians, even the band backing up Ozzy in those stadiums, we're just trying to make some kind of middle-class living. And even Ozzy had to downgrade and sell his mansion in LA.

JACO

My essay "Jaco" about the mindbending jazz bassist Jaco Pastorius, up now at SLOW TRAINS:

Just Got Back From Baby's—bass and vocals

Me playing bass and singing at Trail's End Saloon, 2012.