the best bass player in canada
it is a friday nite in the village. i don’t need to worry about parking because i rode in with the drummer who also lives in my brooklyn neighborhood. he’s a chatty fellow and on the way he told me all about the new bass player. how he’s the best bass player in canada and has won canadian national music awards and plays in this mahavishnu cover band. this doesn’t impress me because i also know this new bass player has been helping the drummer with his computer and said drummer is trying to do him a solid by getting him in this band – a roots, americana, blues band in the style of mose alison or taj mahal. so i’m also thinking the mahvishnu experience might actually be a liability.
i’m setting up the electric piano and i look over to see the bass player pull out a nine string bass.
‘what are you going to do with that?’ i ask him.
‘eh?’ he says.
‘i said, is that the bass you’re going to use on this gig?’
‘um, yeah.’
‘well if that low string’s a b, you can just forget about that and there’s no bass soloing so you’re not going to need those top strings either.’
and that was the first time i met chris tarry.
‘goddammit!! stay on the one chord!’ the band leader screamed back at us.
we were playing a tune that for the sax solo the band just vamps on the one chord but chris couldn’t have known that. it wasn’t in the chart.
‘what the fuck! help the greenhorn out you mother fuckers!’ this particular bandleader communicates his intentions by yelling them in a condescending tone back at his sidemen.
‘aye aye, cap’n!’ i shout. ‘she’s taking on water but we’ll be able to fire another volley when we come about!’
i reach into my bag, pull out a wire cutter, lean over and cut through 5 of chris’ strings.
‘that should keep us afloat till the end of the set, sir!’
‘well allright, then!’ the captain replies.
on the set break i buy chris a drink and try to get him to tell me about his roommate who is there and is a dead ringer for my wife. i ask him if he’s heard her getting it on with anyone and if she’s loud about it.
‘we’re just friends,’ he says.
‘i didn’t ask if you were fucking her. i just want to hear some salacious details. get a cheap vicarious thrill. you know?’
‘well, i couldn’t really….uh….’
‘fine. you’re no help.’ and my voyeuristic fantasy gets shot down like a migrating canadian goose.
‘i don’t think my bass is going to play in tune without those strings you cut off.’
‘just stay in first position. you’ll be fine.’ and we get ready to play the second set.
‘goddammit!! now let’s stop fucking everything up!’ the band leader gives us a pre set pep talk.
i pull chris aside.
‘dude, do you have a pick?’
‘what for?’
‘it’s hard to play too much bass with a pick. you might try that.’
‘well i know geddy lee used to use a quarter sometimes.’
‘never mind.’
chris lasted a few more gigs with that band and even showed up with a proper four string bass after that. but he just didn’t have the grease you need for that style of music. it takes years of getting inside a particular way of playing. just like it takes years to feel comfortable playing mahavishnu time signatures and playing lightning fast fusion lines. and it’s experiences like this that make all of us musicians who we are and if there’s a musician who doesn’t have stories like this one with him in the role of chris, i guarantee they suck and don’t even know it. and chris doesn’t suck. he’s a damn fine musician.
