Do you remember the first time you thumped and plucked?
Y’know, the first time I played bass I didn’t immediately start thumpin’ and pluckin.’ Before then, in my mother’s group [the Dell Graham Trio, which Graham joined at age 15], I was on guitar and my mother was on piano and we had a drummer. So when I would take a solo, she would be playing the bass lines with her left hand on the piano, and when she would solo, then I would play bass lines on the guitar. So the biggest influence for me, in terms of bass patterns, at that time, would be her left hand. Later, when my mother decided to no longer use drums—and I still don’t know if that was mostly for economic reasons—that’s when I started to thump the strings to get that groove going.

But the way I started playing bass in the first place was that I had been playing the bass pedals of an organ with my feet at the same time as I was playing the guitar. We were getting used to having that extra bottom there, but at some point the organ broke down, so we missed the bottom. That’s why I went out and rented this St. George electric bass, and I rented it because I was going to take it back as soon as the organ was repaired! My first love was still the guitar! But it turned out that the organ couldn’t be repaired, and that’s how I got stuck on the bass. When my mom decided she was no longer going to have a drummer, that’s when I started thumping the strings—to make up for not having that bass drum—and plucking the strings to make up for not having the backbeat on the snare drum. I was basically trying to play drums on the bass to compensate for not having a drummer.

Larry Graham plays his signature Moon J-style bass with Graham Central Station at the B.B. King Blues Club & Grill in New York City on June 16, 2010. Photo by Adam Sands (Frank White Photo Agency)

Do you recall getting a strong reaction from people when you started playing that way?
I don’t remember any strong reaction to it at the time, though I remembering thinking that if any professional musicians heard me, they’d think, “What is he doing? He’s not playing the correct way.” Meaning, y’know, the correct overhand style of bass playing. But the people at the club were just enjoying what they were hearing. When I look back, I wonder if my style would have ever meant anything to anybody if Sly [Stone] hadn’t come down and heard me at the club, loved what he heard, and asked me to join this new band that didn’t even have a name yet.

But because of all those hit records we had, and because of other bass players seeing me on TV and wondering, “What is that guy doing?” it really caught on. Even in the ’70s, if you were in a cover band playing those Sly songs, you really had to play them the way I was playing them. So as a result of our success, other original bands started writing stuff that required their bass players to start thumpin’ and pluckin’ on their original songs. Of course, from there it spread even further. But until it became something famous, I really didn’t see anybody trippin’ on it. I never got that sort of “Wow, look what he’s doing!” People just seemed to enjoy my mother and I as a duo, with both of us singing and playing.

So where exactly does your right hand thumb contact the string?
Most of the time, it hits the string just ahead of the back [J-style] pickup—between the two pickups, but much closer to the bridge pickup. You get a slightly different tone back there than you do if you thump the string closer to the edge of the fretboard—which I also do, depending on the sound I’m after. If you’re hitting it closer to the pickup, it’s like the difference between singing up right on the microphone or standing back a little bit. Now, I do play overhand style as well, but most of the songs I’ve created incorporate the thumpin,’ so that’s how I tend to play. And this might sound funny, but most of the songs that other people have written with me in mind also incorporate that style, so it becomes even harder to do things overhand- style—other people have sort of helped me to lock into what I do even more.

And the popping or plucking is always your index finger?
Yeah, it’s mostly the index finger for popping—it’s the strongest finger, and the one naturally closest to the string.

So where do the ghost notes come from—the percussive stuff that’s often non-harmonic?
A lot of that actually comes from the left hand. You can hit a ghost note with your left hand that you can actually attack with your right hand. And you can accent notes just by how hard you press down with your left hand, even if you’re just playing one note. Take, for example, on “Everyday People”: That’s just one note, but that rhythm— that BIM-dup, BIM-dup, BIMdup— comes about by how hard you hit the string with your right [plucking] hand. Harder and softer, harder and softer. But it also comes from how hard you press down on the notes with your left [fretting] hand. That’s how you create that sort of galloping rhythm thing, even on just one note. So both right and left hands have a part to play in that.

The one change in your playing over the years seems to be that you’ve added more melodic information, such as in bass lines like “It Ain’t No Fun to Me.”
Well, again, that comes from growth within yourself. You can know how to do something pretty well, but as time goes on you keep doing it over and over, and that fundamental technique just gets better and better. I have to say that, these days, I don’t think about playing that much—I think a lot more about the overall performance, and that includes singing and dancing, and communicating with the audience. Of course, in the studio, working on a record, that’s a time to focus in 100 percent on your playing and your parts and your technique. It’s easier to focus in when you’re concentrating on one thing, and there’s no audience, no distractions. In front of an audience, though, I can’t just stand there and play bass—well, I could, but I’d get in trouble!

What are the biggest lessons you’ve learned from being both a legendary sideman and a well-known bandleader?
All those years with Sly, and with my mother before that, I was quite comfortable following the leader. I’ve always felt that, though I’m in a contributing role, I’m constantly learning. With Prince, for example, very often I’m in the background role, just being the bass player. Of course, with GCS, I’m out front as the bandleader. So I’m very comfortable and content in either role. In other words, I don’t have to be the leader. In fact, I became a bandleader out of necessity—I wasn’t seeking the role! I was working with Hot Chocolate as a producer, and I was writing all the tunes as well, so when I suddenly found myself also in the band, bandleader was the role I naturally assumed.

Obviously, I had great training and great role models, and I’ve seen a few bad examples— how not to treat band members. Sly was a great songwriter and producer, but one thing that was a part of Sly’s genius—and, I think, part of the band’s success—was that he allowed each person in the band to be themselves. He asked me to be in the band because of what he heard me do. So, if he’s going to write “Thank You (Falletinme Be Mice Elf Agin),” and he’s going to bring that to the table, why change up the way I play the bass? Just let me do my thumpin’ and pluckin’, like he heard in the beginning! Freddie Stone is a great guitar player— one of the greatest rhythm-pattern players—and though Sly is a guitar player, too, he wasn’t going to try to change up the way Freddie played. So I may play drums, but I’m not telling anyone they need to play it my way. Just bring the song to the people, and have them contribute what they do.

It’s the same thing with Prince: When we play together, I can be in the background playing bass on his stuff, or I can jump out front and be myself. He’s not trying to say, “Do it like this” or “Do it like that.” As a player and as a bandleader, that’s the way to enjoy what you’re doing.