I did an album back in the mid-seventies with an outfit called Millard and Dyce. Recently I heard the album has become a collector’s item which is kind of nice. I’m still poor though. We played out a lot in the area PA, MD and VA. Finding myself in that happy circumstance was not exactly straight forward...
I’d had a few drinks in a pub on Greenmount Ave. in Baltimore and was bragging about how snazzy I was on bass. I had a Hofner Beatle bass back at the house and had been playing around the neighborhood in the neighborhood bands in Charles Village.
Truth be told at that time I was actually playing a bit of lead guitar backing up a blues artist who managed to get really low paying gigs, occasionally. It was something I guess.
The bartender was a singer in a cover band that was probably the third best in the area then – very hot. I’d seen him perform in Judge’s up on the avenue. A silk scarf tied around his microphone. He told me he was putting together an original band and would I like to audition on bass.
Hell yeah!
I got home and opened the case for a little practice and to my dismay, the neck had not just warped - it had snapped. Did I mention that like the bass I too was broke? I had an audition the following evening – even if I had money I couldn’t get it fixed in time. This was my dream gig and I was hosed!
I took my Les Paul Junior Guitar (my all-time loudest guitar!), slung it over my shoulder, put a 'for sale' sign on a string around my neck, and walked down Park Heights Ave downtown were I’d used to sell bootleg albums.
I sold the guitar in record time and headed over to Livingston’s Pawn Shhop which was the biggest music store in Baltimore then, oddly enough. I looked at roughly twenty basses and nah….
So finally this old boy says, “All right. Let’s see if you’re really a bass player…” He went into the back room and came back with a guitar case approximately the size of a coffin.
He opened the case and there was this tragically beaten up bass guitar. The finish was ruined. A nail was driven into the body to hold the strap. I’d never seen one like it – it looked like an electric version of a classical acoustic instrument. It was so beaten up that it looked terrible.
I picked it up and nearly started weeping; it such a mind bending instrument and felt so perfect. The salesman had a satisfied look on his face. He’d wanted it to go to someone who’d appreciate it.
It was an Ampeg with the scroll at the top like an upright bass, and two F-Holes. It felt so very good and just seemed to be the bass I was to play; and so it was.
I aced the audition and the boys loved the bass. I think they felt it added a certain element of style to our look and yeah, I did too. Of all the gigs we did the one that sticks in my mind was at the Maryland House of Correction (Jessup’s Cut). A very scary prison.
I played the Ampeg through a Kustom head with three fifteens. An inmate hollered,” Let that bass man do his thing!” For some reason, that was immensely satisfying. I felt it had something to do with the bass I was playing.
Afterwards, the prison guards offered us a plate of Oreo cookies and glasses of milk. It was surreal.
Later on I scraped together a few bucks and had the bass refinished. I took out the nail my predecessor had used to hold his strap and replaced all the metal with first class parts. It was a beauty.
The Ampeg and I traveled through PA, MD, and VA playing gigs – and we had a blast doing it.
Talbot
I’d had a few drinks in a pub on Greenmount Ave. in Baltimore and was bragging about how snazzy I was on bass. I had a Hofner Beatle bass back at the house and had been playing around the neighborhood in the neighborhood bands in Charles Village.
Truth be told at that time I was actually playing a bit of lead guitar backing up a blues artist who managed to get really low paying gigs, occasionally. It was something I guess.
The bartender was a singer in a cover band that was probably the third best in the area then – very hot. I’d seen him perform in Judge’s up on the avenue. A silk scarf tied around his microphone. He told me he was putting together an original band and would I like to audition on bass.
Hell yeah!
I got home and opened the case for a little practice and to my dismay, the neck had not just warped - it had snapped. Did I mention that like the bass I too was broke? I had an audition the following evening – even if I had money I couldn’t get it fixed in time. This was my dream gig and I was hosed!
I took my Les Paul Junior Guitar (my all-time loudest guitar!), slung it over my shoulder, put a 'for sale' sign on a string around my neck, and walked down Park Heights Ave downtown were I’d used to sell bootleg albums.
I sold the guitar in record time and headed over to Livingston’s Pawn Shhop which was the biggest music store in Baltimore then, oddly enough. I looked at roughly twenty basses and nah….
So finally this old boy says, “All right. Let’s see if you’re really a bass player…” He went into the back room and came back with a guitar case approximately the size of a coffin.
He opened the case and there was this tragically beaten up bass guitar. The finish was ruined. A nail was driven into the body to hold the strap. I’d never seen one like it – it looked like an electric version of a classical acoustic instrument. It was so beaten up that it looked terrible.
I picked it up and nearly started weeping; it such a mind bending instrument and felt so perfect. The salesman had a satisfied look on his face. He’d wanted it to go to someone who’d appreciate it.
It was an Ampeg with the scroll at the top like an upright bass, and two F-Holes. It felt so very good and just seemed to be the bass I was to play; and so it was.
I aced the audition and the boys loved the bass. I think they felt it added a certain element of style to our look and yeah, I did too. Of all the gigs we did the one that sticks in my mind was at the Maryland House of Correction (Jessup’s Cut). A very scary prison.
I played the Ampeg through a Kustom head with three fifteens. An inmate hollered,” Let that bass man do his thing!” For some reason, that was immensely satisfying. I felt it had something to do with the bass I was playing.
Afterwards, the prison guards offered us a plate of Oreo cookies and glasses of milk. It was surreal.
Later on I scraped together a few bucks and had the bass refinished. I took out the nail my predecessor had used to hold his strap and replaced all the metal with first class parts. It was a beauty.
The Ampeg and I traveled through PA, MD, and VA playing gigs – and we had a blast doing it.
Talbot
