Well it’s been a cool week out here in the little workshops in the woods, in the mornings at least. It’s been August days with late September mornings – I’ll take it. I remember the first summer out here in the woods of south-central Texas – like, REALLY out here with nowhere else to be or go – that was 2000, and that August hit 114 and averaged 99 degrees. That’s overall – day and night average was 99. I was in a van, learning how wood turns into a shelter. It was quite a chapter. This? It’s hot, but it’s not HOT. I’ll take it. I’ll take it all, actually. I’ll take 114. I hear it stays nice and cool in the dirt; I’m not ready for that. Too much wood to turn into basses first, among other things to do.
Speaking of basses, I got to thinking about a handful of landmark basses I’ve had and what they brought to the Birdsong. These all happened pre-Birdsong company (pre-2004) and most were pre-2000. Once I started with short scale basses in about ’98, the prototypes became my main basses; I went all-in and just about everything else was sold. But these… these were some dances along the way.
My first bass was a cheap red Mako P-bass I engraved a huge cobra snake onto, then rubbed blue paint into the engraving. It was vivid. I bought it not long after I got my Tascam Porta One 4-track in ’85 to record bass parts. When I sold it, it sold FAST.
Lesson: A daring visual element will keep from being ignored.
Memory analogy: Sometimes a wild tattoo makes all the difference.
One of my first really good basses was a used Alembic Persuader, maple neck through, with zebrawood topped mahogany wings – ebony fretboard – brass logo, nut, and bridge. Active P/J setup. I took it on the road for my trip with a rockabilly band in ‘88, from Boston on down through the south, Texas, up to Columbus OH and back over. It was a different bass every time I pulled it out of the case.
Lesson: To expect a Ferrari not to be finicky is foolish.
Memory analogy: The wonderful studio singer that gets a little sloppy under the grind of the road.
Music Man Stingray from the ‘70s with a later Music Man replacement neck on it. Un-contoured ash body in natural. Weighed about as much as I did and was almost as big as I was. But I’d play an entire gig with it and not have to tune it, put it in the case, and pull it out at the next gig and do it again. Unbelievable. It was a ROCK.
Lesson: Sometimes it doesn’t take overthinking and state of the art systems. Sometimes it really does just need a BFH. (Big F’n Hammer… as in “Hey D, hand me the BFH.”) The other parameter of the “tool suitability” scale defined.
Memory analogy: The old pickup truck you couldn’t believe you sold your Ferrari for until it helped you build your house.
Fender Musicmaster bass, late ‘70s. Not technically mine… but I owned the music shop. This was in the late ‘90s. Black, single pickup. It wasn’t that everything was right about that bass to me, but the couple of things that WERE right - the size and where things were in relation to my body – greatly influenced what was to come. I want you to look at one, imagine the fretboard continuing toward the pickup to the imaginary 24th fret, then imagine scooping out the contours inside the horns to work… you’ll see an embryonic Cortobass vision. At some point I put it back on the rack and it sold. It’s out there now knowing nothing of what it influenced; our best is to be shared. The results and ripples do not belong to us.
Lesson: Design tomorrow from the little parts of the past that DID work. Build from there. It all might fit together into something you know how to line up and design the rest of. I mean, isn’t that life, too?
Memory analogy: The bass equivalent of a mysterious, momentary meeting where the stranger confirms key elements of your path.
Parts Fender Jazz-style bass. The last full scale bass I owned as mine; I didn’t put it together, I think I traded stuff for it. The greatest J bass I’d ever had. Dark brown stain, including neck & headstock; ebony board. Gold hardware. It was light, resonant, natural, organic sounding, everything that could be great about it was. But at that weight it was imbalanced and neck-heavy, and was still uncomfortable to my 5’3” frame ergonomically.
Lesson: When it’s time to change, it’s time to change. That, and a big lesson in elegance.
Memory analogy: I can’t think of one for this bass. It was just as far as I was ever going to get with a 34” scale Fender-based assembly.
Gibson EB3, 1969. I told its story here not long ago. As with other bass dances, the things that didn’t work about it were as valuable to me as the things I liked. This came along in 2000. It’s not stock, it’s the most beat functional bass I’ve ever seen. It neither plays, sounds, nor feels nicely. That said, it has been gigged and seen jam and studio time because it has character and a woody voice.
Lesson: A neck can be rounded and fill the hand without feeling like a baseball bat; too much of a good ingredient is too much; and if 5 things about a design accentuate the midrange, maybe pick two.
Memory analogy: The rock you pick up on a path with a friend. Then the friend’s gone… then the path is a distant dream. Then it becomes more than a rock.
There have been others, and of course a visual influence from old SD Curlee ads as to what simple, natural instruments “look like.” But these I danced with and that’s what I learned. I hope they’re all helping good grooves to happen out there. Here are a few pics. That’s me in a Texas bar in ’91 or so with the Sting Ray, maybe ‘07 with a Birdsong, ‘06 (?) and 2015 with the Gibson.
Some tools, some teachers, some talismans… some more than one.
Have a great weekend! Start something good.
Scott Beckwith
www.birdsongguitars.com
www.sbeckwith.com
www.feelbetteranyway.com
Listening to: Richie Havens Grace of The Sun; Hot Tuna (1st album); John Scofield Bump.