My bass is delectable. My bass is delicious. My Warwick Double $ is a splendid little piece of hardware. I bought said 'hot piece' about a month ago for a cool K and change and I haven't regretted it one bit.
For those of you who don't know what bass is -- bass is the sound of thump. Bass is the feeling of groove. Bass is all that controls the rhythm and sway of soul. It's in all of us. The groove. The funk. That feeling you get when you're drunk and you're dancing (I did it for over an hour at Bones last night--thank you very much). That taste in your mouth when something is too spicy but you keep on shoveling forkfull after forkfull into your mouth. That smirk you get and you know you got it and you want to flaunt it? That's 'it'. It's everywhere. It's that glue that holds it all together. Bass is that magic salt that sets the world on fire. It's liquid sour--but that good sour that you can't put down. Hell, it's liquid molten magma. It's dirty filthy quickness--and you want to bathe in it. It is constantly shifting and changing and dancing and shaking. It's the fire that pumps endlessly from the heart.
Anyhows, bass is an integral part of everyone's everyday life--i likes to thinks. And my bass is wicked sweetness. I was going to try and name it when I got it but it names itself. Like bass itself it's constantly shifting and gyrating and grooving. The name changes from use to use and I've called it a veritable sea of hot dirty names. Here are just a few:
Woodson L Jammer
Randolph J Woodeski
K. Wood McHotstop
John G Wood (raped and murdered my wife)
Woody J Groover
P Wankoff Woodenheimer
Good Wood McShould
You've probably noticed a pattern. And that pattern is 'wood'. That bass is carved from exotic woods and intricately carved into the growling perpetual beast it is today. The damn instrument came with an instruction guide and a brochure. Best of all was the bass case and the booklet that read: "Warwick: The Sound of Wood"
Wood indeed. When I 'get down' I can feel the weight of wood in my hands. I can taste that filthy woodgrain in my mouth. I can play something and know the essence of wood is flowing out into my amplifier. The wood pervades everything about it. It's something natural. Something primal. I can feel my bass growing and swaying and turning like some crazed wooded creature. And that it is. It is wood. It is shifting, burning, filthy, delicious, resourceful, shining, grainy, healthy wood.
God bless that bass. And God bless the funk for which this blog is named. What other instrument can you smack and expect pure poetry?