I admit it—I have a strange
fascination for cheap decorations
on my wall. It all started
when I was pricing a framed art
print for my office, and found
out just how expensive it was to
decorate with conventional art.
About the same time, I’d
stumbled upon an odd Explorer-style
electric bass—more like a
pile of parts, really—in a local
shop. I paid all of $15 for it, tried
to fix it up and gig with it, but
it was a hopeless instrument and
best relegated to becoming a wall
hanger. That’s when it hit me
that basses can be art, too. My
office walls now sport four basses,
plus a framed print (of a bassist,
of course). Here’s the rundown.
Wall Hanger #1: The
Explorer Boat Anchor (pictured above). When the fire department
rescued this bass from
an abandoned house, it was
painted yellow with black electrical
tape stripes. The neck
plate is stamped “Japan,” and
despite the short, 30.5" scale, it
is the heaviest bass I have ever
hoisted—about 15 pounds.
When I stripped the yellow
finish, I found an ugly piece
of wood with a couple of big
knots and bark-like lines running
through the top. Despite
the cheap wood, its makers
spared no expense when it came
to hardware. It has a hefty and
complicated Schaller chrome
bridge with a flat plate that slides
into a slot on the back. The three
control knobs are solid brass, as
is the switch-plate ring, which is
labeled “Rhythm” and “Treble.”
The neck is set up with a
brass nut and super-fat frets,
and there are three inlaid position
dots at the octave, as if two
weren’t enough. Using this bass
as art is what it truly deserves,
as long as it doesn’t fall down
some day and break something.
Wall Hanger #2: A Box of
Univox. A few months later,
the same shop was bestowed
with a box of Univox parts that
could conceivably make one
whole Univox Coily bass. In
case you’re not familiar with
the Coily, this model resembles
an ES-335 except that it’s fully
hollow. Ironically, one of the
humbucker’s coils had unraveled
and I didn’t think it was worth
getting it rewound. I recall paying
$40 for this one.
The Coily was made in Japan
through the mid ’80s. Both
the body and neck are bound,
and Univox took an unusual
approach to position markers
by sliding them up and placing
them between the E and A
strings. The two octave dots are
paired closely together, so that
the second dot sits between the A
and D strings. Of all the clunker
basses I’ve owned, this is the one
I wished actually played better
and had two working pickups.
Wall Hanger #3: The Eagle-
Has-Not-Flown Bass. A few
years ago, I was strolling through
a local music shop’s clearance sale
and spotted what appeared to
be a P-bass clone at first glance.
And happily, it actually had a
chipboard case that latched.
The light-maple headstock
bore a scrunched-up, thickly
scrawled gold logo that read
“Eagle”—I think. A quick web
search revealed that there is a
Norwegian company putting
out guitars and basses under the
Eagle brand, and they’re made in
Korea—just like my wall hanger.
The plywood body on my
Eagle has a sunburst finish, with
a chrome bridge ashtray that’s
reminiscent of an old P bass’.
Holes in the pickguard suggest
it once wore a chrome pickup
cover, as well. However, its
humbucking pickup strays from
P-bass conventions and, sadly,
only the left half of it works. The
neck is a rough grade of maple
with a grain pattern that could
be considered unconventional,
though not in a good way. If you
like doing neck whammies, this
is the bass for you—but to call
it limber would be too kind. At
least all the position dots are in
conventional locations.
Unlike my other wall hangers,
this bass has enough faults
that it has never seen a single
gig or rehearsal—this Eagle has
not flown on my watch! But for
the princely sum of $10 (case
included), it was all mine. Once
again, I think the best place for
a bass of this caliber is—you
guessed it—on the wall.
Wall Hanger #4: Nearly a
Höfner. Once the Fab Four hit
the scene, faux Höfners were
everywhere. Some of them even
had the same design details.
Not mine, though. This non-fabulous
fake bears nary a single
letter on the headstock, and
it’s most likely a ’60s or ’70s
Japanese clone. An authentic
Höfner never had f-holes (mine
has one), and they
always had a
white control plate with a few
switches (mine has neither).
I got it from a friend of
a friend, whose friend had
recently died. When I saw it,
I immediately thought “wall
hanger,” although I wasn’t really
using that term yet. He asked
how much it was worth to me
and I told him $50, because I
planned to use it for another
cheap decoration. He caught
my drift and countered, “A wall
hanger, huh?” The bass even
came with a cool, brown, semi-formfitting
chipboard case.
Clearly, the neck of this bass
is its most astounding feature.
You may have heard of the term
“hippie sandwich” to describe a
neck made of several pieces of
contrasting wood. My no-name
beats the conventional hippie
sandwich hands down—this
neck is made of about 30 layers
of skinny plies that can be seen
easily from the backside. Adding
a classy touch that’s common on
most of these Japanese copies,
the body, f-holes, and neck all
have full cream binding, and the
fretboard bears pearl block markers
with rounded corners.
I’m starting to wonder if I’m
the only one with this strange
fascination for cheap decorations.
These four dysfunctional
basses cost me a total of $115.
Given the choice between yet
another framed print and a
bunch of basses, I think I made
a good decision to surround
myself each workday with the
instrument I play.
Dan Berkowitz
is a professor by day and
a bassist when the sun
goes down. He plays
upright and electric bass
for blues, jazz, orchestra,
and musical theater.
Contact him at
profdanb@gmail.com.