Sexy Curvy Bass

‘You’ve got to be joking’ she said, not so much a question as a statement, as she opened the living room door and clocked the shiny six foot bass obstructing the feature wall. ‘It’s sexy...’ I offered up, ‘...it brings the room to life!’ Commentary on home style never failed to rile Hayley up. I had a knack for delivering it right after she’d spent an hour reorganising a shelf, changing it up to include ‘more negative space’ between the books and trinkets. ‘Ben, you can’t play the bass?’ Now this one was a question, she was genuinely confused. The answer was obvious. ‘I’ll learn’.

As a self-taught drummer and pianist, the prospect of learning something new never phases me. The only thing standing between me and my vision of delivering a smooth, jazzy bass line was a steady stream of work. Accept that fact and the rest is not so bad. I grabbed the bass and walked it up the garden path. A few minutes later I’d succeeded in squeezing it through the music room doors, double doors may I add. I marvelled at my new companion and its autumn coloured glow. I especially loved the snail shell at the top, carved from a fist of wood that held on tightly to the strings. I noticed how close it all was to the ceiling, and remembered this bass was on loan.

Over the weeks that followed I tried my hand at writing and playing simple parts. Some days I’d notice heat in my fingertips, a rawness setting in, and I’d stop and take a break. Other days I ignored the tingling sensation, and paid the price in blisters all that night. Gradually the positions of many different notes became second nature; that and I got better at bending them in tune whenever I initially missed the mark. I challenged myself to finish writing one of the pieces I had on the go for voice, keys and bass. Then I got a phone call from a friend who was putting on a gig online, an evening of music to raise money for the NHS. It was the second national lockdown since the outbreak of Covid-19. Could my piece be ready in time?

I twisted Hayley’s arm. The whole thing made her nervous but she let me sign us up; a duo with Hayley on voice and keys, and my debut on bass. Practice was a tense affair. Hayley’s a perfectionist and I was still off-key, yet somehow I was sure I’d get there by the night. Deadlines are the rocket fuel we sometimes need, I truly believe this. One time running through, I noticed how patterns I’d ingrained over years spent playing drums were influencing my bass lines. Bubbling, driving rhythms baked into my tissues came flowing through the hourglass shaped box. It was this moment that birthed my spirited enquiry into multi-instrumentalism, essays on the theme, and the rapid expansion of my instrument collection - across every room in the house.

On the night of the gig we moved a sweetheart plant from the bathroom to the music room, followed by a yukka and a palm. Next we shook the pretty woven rug and moved it into view, took our seats and counted ourselves in: ‘one’, ‘two’, silent three and four. At the end of our performance Hayley smiled and I watched her shoulders drop an inch or two. We waved into the camera and registered the clapping coming through back at us. Afterwards my stepdad sent a text, a few short lines in praise of my technique. It took me by surprise, he’s a tough nut to crack. I popped a nice prosecco, caught the cork and marked it with the date. ‘Let’s treat ourselves...’ said Hayley, ‘...that went well!’ My thoughts began to wander, minutes passed. Something about a vase and post-pandemic spa day drifted through the air between us. ‘I’ve got it!’ I proclaimed. ‘Let’s buy a xaphoon.’