
From Mission of Burma to one-man guitar orchestra, Roger Clark Miller remains one of the most quietly influential guitarists of the post-punk era, working to the calendar of his own creative impulses.
The post-punk 6-string hero takes a deep dive into sonic surrealism with his new album, a loop-driven collection of riveting soundscapes called Eight Dream Interpretations for Solo Electric Guitar Ensemble.
If you ever find the opening to ask a composer or producer what it means to “paint with sound,” be prepared to frame the question in as many different ways as there are colors in the visible spectrum. Inspired by synaesthesis? Could be. Maybe a deep dive into abstract free-form improv? Sure, always worth a shot. What if you commit to exotic tunings or unconventional music theory? Or how about a mash-up of prepared instruments with some radical effects processing and tape manipulation?
We can do this all day, but before we lean into an “all of the above” approach, consider this: The only limit, really, is your imagination—or, more suggestively, your dreams. “There’s a way to get to that psychedelic state without actually taking psychedelics, which is useful,” Roger Clark Miller explains, with just a glint of conspiratorial humor. Given his illustrious history as a post-rock guitar guru and multi-instrumentalist with influences that range from ’60s acid rock to avant-shred to modern classical, Miller is intimately familiar with what it takes to push any and all boundaries in search of the music he hears in his head.
“The first time that I actually did something interesting with it was back in art school,” he recalls, paying tribute to his teacher Denman Maroney, a legendary jazz outsider known for his work with prepared piano. “He saw my interests and thought I’d probably like surrealism. Up until then, my idea of surrealism was taking acid [laughs].”
After reading André Breton’s surrealist manifestos (the second one, in particular, which touches on dreams as a creative reservoir), he set about applying the techniques to making music—and ran into a roadblock. “Breton actually said because music isn’t so specific, it can’t be surrealistic. And that kind of pissed me off. I was looking for a way to compose, and I didn’t want to use what had come before. I thought, well, if I make music based on dreams, then I can create a surrealistic music, and bypass Breton’s megalomania—as much as I respect him! This gave me access to a very organic structure. Everybody dreams, and there are forms to it.”
Miller’s jauntily titled Eight Dream Interpretations for Solo Electric Guitar Ensemble, released earlier this year on the Cuneiform label, is in many ways the culmination of the technique he started developing back in 1975, when he created his first piece for solo violin. Miller has kept dream journals for decades, and uses them primarily as a non-linear source for ideas that he fleshes out into musical compositions. (“I don’t actually hear music unless it was part of the dream,” he points out.)
“This kind of music rewards attentive listening because it’s really composed and thought-out, so you’re not gonna be bored.”
If all that sounds a bit abstract and even esoteric, keep in mind this is the very same guy who co-founded Mission of Burma, one of the most viscerally immediate post-punk bands to come out of Boston’s raucous underground scene in the late ’70s and early ’80s. Back then, Miller adopted the much reviled Fender Lead I as his axe of choice, figuring he could put his personal stamp on it. As it turned out, the guitar’s cheaper construction and single split humbucker was perfect for sculpting an angular, aggressively jagged, but still bluesy sound through a vintage Marshall JMP-50 combo.
Miller was also a founding member of the somewhat kinder and gentler group Birdsongs of the Mesozoic, in which he played piano. (Due to his early struggles with tinnitus, he had to bow out of Burma in 1983, but the band reunited in 2002 for four more albums.) All this history and plenty more feeds back into the making of the Dream Interpretations, for reasons that Miller loves to elucidate.
Miller’s goal for his new album was to bring his surrealistic dreams in sound to life. His most recent tools for this task include three Rogue RLS-1 lap steel guitars and a Boomerang III looping system, which he uses in tandem with the Side Car controller footswitch.
“With my friend Martin Swope,” he says, name-checking Mission of Burma’s resident sound technician and live-tape-looping scientist, “like everybody, we were pretty fascinated with Brian Eno’s work at that time. Martin wanted to do a Robert Fripp and Eno style thing, so he had me play this amorphic, modal piano piece that I wrote, and he made these guitar loops going around and around. That was for Birdsongs, but he and I had worked like that on the song ‘New Disco’ [for Burma]. That’s how he became part of the band.”
Over the years, Miller folded what he learned from Swope into the sound he was chasing. In the early ’80s, he acquired an Electro-Harmonix 16-second digital delay. “It’s truly one of the most unique devices ever made,” he says. “It’s so unique that I used it as my pivot for quite a few years. I still have it, but its biggest drawback is the memory. If you make something longer than a two-second loop, the fidelity degrades. Back in 1983, memory was not cheap.”
“With looping, you can hear a sound and you don’t know when it happened or what instrument did it.”
The effect figured prominently in the making of his 1995 solo slab, Elemental Guitar, which he tracked using what was then a recently acquired ’62 Strat reissue. The album also features two pieces, “Dream Interpretation No. 7” and “Dream Interpretation No. 8,” that Miller considers to be successful precursors to his current album.
More than 25 years later, Eight Dream Interpretations opens with “Dream Interpretation No. 16,” a chilling excursion that suggests a serpentine path being resumed, although much has changed in the interim. For starters, Miller has added three Rogue RLS-1 lap steel guitars to his arsenal: one tuned to unison E and used exclusively for slide parts, and the other two prepared with alligator clips and strung with different gauges to capture a wider palette of tones. He’s also mothballed the Electro-Harmonix in favor of a Boomerang III looping system, which he uses in tandem with the Side Car controller footswitch.
Roger Clark Miller’s Gear
Besides looping and other effects, plus his trusty Stratocaster, Miller relies on a trio of lap steels to create his celestial soundscapes—in three different tunings.
Photo by Roger Clark Miller
Guitars
- 1990 Fender Stratocaster ST62 reissue (made in Japan)
- Rogue RLS-1 lap steel (three: one tuned to unison E and used as a slide guitar, two others prepared with alligator clips)
Amps
- Fender Deluxe Reverb (two)
- Sunn bass head with 610L cabinet
- Peavey Classic 50 410 combo
- Walrus Audio MAKO Series ACS1 Amp and Cab Simulator
Effects
- Electro-Harmonix 16-Second Digital Delay
- Boomerang III Phrase Sampler with Side Car controller
- TC Electronic Brainwaves Pitch Shifter
- TC Electronics Rush Booster
- Electro-Harmonix East River Drive
- Source Audio Kingmaker Fuzz
- Ernie Ball stereo volume pedal
Strings & Picks
- Ernie Ball Regular Slinky (.010–.46; Strat)
- D’Addario EXL 157 (.014–.069; lap steel)
- D’Addario Medium EXL 160 (.050–.105; lap steel)
- Dunlop Max-Grip .73 mm
Along with his trusty Strat, when Miller seats himself behind the Rogues it’s as though he’s strapping in for an interstellar journey at the helm of a homemade time machine. And the music comes across that way, from the dueling dive-bombing waves and high-pitched jet washes of “No. 19” to the softly percussive melodies and clean, pitch-shifted guitar lines of “No. 18.” (The tracks are sequenced as any album would be, not in numerical order, but according to the listening experience Miller wants to establish.) Outfitted with various effects that he dials in with the precision of a surgeon, Miller literally choreographs each move he makes to create the music. It’s mesmerizing to watch him in the video, directed by filmmaker Jesse Kreitzer, that accompanies “No. 17”—a wildly cinematic and soundscape-y piece that’s driven by a persistent, pulsating rhythm and a haunting sci-fi melody straight out of vintage Doctor Who.
When asked about influential recordings that have inspired him, Miller’s tastes run eclectic, to say the least. Fred Frith’s groundbreaking Guitar Solos album, an experimental classic, is “just an amazing work. I learned about using alligator clips from that album.” And then there’s the 1982 minimalist epic Descending Moonshine Dervishes by Terry Riley (“the first honest looper,” he says). But when it comes to specific guitar players, there are two in particular who move him to rapture.
The reunited Mission of Burma—guitarist Roger Miller, drummer Peter Prescott, and bassist Clint Conley—at the All Tomorrow’s Parties festival in London, England, in 2004.
Photo by Neonwar/Courtesy of Wikipedia Commons
“See, I’m a little older than some of your readers here,” he warns, “but I came to my creative start during psychedelia and the British Invasion, so my heroes were Syd Barrett and Jimi Hendrix. I mean, Jimi was like a bolt of electricity from who knows where. He embraced the electric guitar as an instrument that could explain all sorts of alternate realities, and he wasn’t the first to use feedback, but he walked into it with complete conviction and cut a path for others to follow.
“And whereas Hendrix was a true guitar master, Barrett was considerably less skilled, but his vision, when operating on all cylinders, just transcended the limitations. For him, sound and vision were more important than technique. He was also a painter, and that may well have had something to do with it—painting with sound indeed! His solo on ‘Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk’ was once described to me as the ugliest guitar playing anyone had ever heard. Not for me!”
“I came to my creative start during psychedelia and the British Invasion, so my heroes were Syd Barrett and Jimi Hendrix.”
With ears wide open, Miller is constantly exploring new directions. His most recent composition, the nearly self-explanatory Music for String Quartet and Two Turntables, has just been recorded with members of Boston’s Ludovico Ensemble. He also has a new album in the can with Trinary System, the rock trio he founded in 2013, planned for release next year. Whether he’s painting with sound or testing the very elasticity of time, his multidisciplinary method of mining his dreams and looping the sonic events of his waking life continues to yield dividends.
“I don’t really think about it per se,” he clarifies, “but certainly with looping, you can hear a sound and you don’t know when it happened or what instrument did it. That’s when looping messes with time. And then in dreams, time is elastic, too. So perhaps it’s a mixture of those things. To me, this kind of music rewards attentive listening because it’s really composed and thought-out, so you’re not gonna be bored. But it does also work for me as an atmospheric, swirling clouds-in-the-room kind of thing. That makes me happy.”
Mission of Burma - Laugh The World Away (Live on KEXP)
Stripped down to their punk rock essentials, this 2009 in-studio performance finds the reunited Mission of Burma line-up of Roger Miller, Clint Conley, and Peter Prescott giving the next generation a hard act to follow. Miller carves out a relentlessly knife-edged distortion with a battle-tested Fender Lead II.
An ’80s legend returns in a modern stompbox that lives up to the hype.
A well-designed recreation of one of the most classic tone tools of the ’80s. Sounds exactly like the tones you know from the original. Looks very cool.
If you don’t like ’80s sounds, this isn’t for you.
$229
MXR Rockman X100
Was Tom Scholz’s Rockman the high-water mark of guitar-tone convenience? The very fact that this headphone amp, intended primarily as a consumer-grade practice tool, ended up on some of the biggest rock records of the ’80s definitely makes a case. And much like Sony’s Walkman revolutionized the personal listening experience, it’s easy to argue the Rockman line of headphone amps did the same for guitarists.
MXR Rockman X100 Recreates Tom Scholz's Iconic Boston Guitar Sound | First Look
Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube.But just as decades of advances in listening technology make the Walkman now seem clunky and dated, modern guitar tech makes the Rockman look like old news. Multi-effects units, modelers, and portable interfaces all surpass the convenience of the Rockman in form factor as well as in sheer number of sonic options. But while there are any number of ways to dial up an ’80s-style guitar tone these days, nothing’s better than the real thing. The Rockman’s analog tones are still as legit as it gets. Though Dunlop continues to produce the Guitar Ace, Metal Ace, and Bass Ace headphone amps (for a cool $99 street), a pedal version with the functionality of the original would be the ultimate modern package for ’80s fetishists, right? Enter the MXR Rockman X100.
With Tones Like These, Who Needs Options
After the release of the original Rockman, Scholz continued to develop the product, spawning a whole line. But for its pedal resurrection, the MXR team set their sights on the Rockman X100, which used hard-clipping LED diodes for its two distorted settings. The new stompbox version recreates all four modes from the original: cln2 is the default setting, cln1 in the second position is EQ’d with a mid-boost, edge delivers moderate clipping, and dist is high-gain. All are switchable via a small LED-lit mode button, and a control input allows for external mode switching. Another button activates an analog chorus circuit using MN3007 bucket brigade chips, as in the original.
To drive home the ’80s aesthetic, MXR used sliders for volume and input gain controls. Volume determines output, while input gain is tied to compression. Higher input gain means more compression, which is tuned for slower release on the two clean modes, and a fast release on both dirty modes. The X100 works in both mono and stereo, but to change between them, you have to pop off the back to access an internal switch. Just make sure a TRS cable is used for stereo mode, or else the output will be muted while the pedal is bypassed.
The only things I noticed that are missing from the original’s simple set of features is the headphone output and the echo settings. I don’t know how many players would find value in the headphone jack, and considering that would add circuitry, it’s probably best for cost and space savings that it was excluded. As for the echo, you can argue that it’s canon, but I find it to be the least essential feature and don’t miss it, personally.
(Much) More Than a Feeling
Since I do not have an original Scholz X100 sitting on my desk, I’m using YouTube videos and records—Def Leppard’s Hysteria, Huey Lewis and the News’ Sports, and Joe Satriani’s Surfing with the Alien, for example—as my reference points. Those are high bars to clear, and the MXR gets there.
The default cln2 setting delivers instant gratification, with a full-bodied, sparkly tone, no matter what guitar I played through it. And though it provides loads of ’80s fun, it’s much more versatile than that, offering a great all-round clean tone that requires no additional processing. Though it might seem odd that cln2 is the default, switching to cln1’s thinner, more mid-focused sound makes the design decision clear. I can imagine situations where I’d need to cut through a mix and cln1 would be preferred, but I found myself sticking with the default mode for all my clean needs.
The distorted modes are differentiated mostly by how much gain they offer. Edge tones live just beyond the point of overdrive, and the input gain control adds a range of extra texture. The dist mode is full-on, pick-squeal-inducing high-gain saturation, with loads of everlasting sustain. These modes lean into the aesthetic much harder than the clean modes, making it a less versatile tool, but for ’80s rock excess, I can’t imagine a better option.
On a couple recording sessions, I plugged the X100 right into an interface and board to deliver spanky direct clean tones as well as tight, saturated distortion. In doing so, I discovered that direct recording is my preferred use for the X100. That’s not to say it doesn’t sound great through an amp—it does. But plugging into a front end of an amp yields less classic and authentic Rockman sounds, as the amplifier’s preamp colors the tone. Plugged through a few Fenders, I found that the treble needed taming, a problem I didn’t have when forgoing the amp. For live playing, I might explore plugging the X100 into the return input on an amp’s effects loop or right into a powered speaker to deliver an unadulterated Rockman sound more in line with the original.
The Verdict
MXR nailed it with the Rockman X100 pedal by focusing on the limited options of the original unit and getting them just right. For $229, you not only get a great ’80s rock tone, you get what is arguably the ’80s rock tone, with no other gear required, unless you want to add a little ’80s-vintage reverb too. As a performance tool, it’s probably best to think less like you’re using a pedal and more like you’re using the original in a different form, which is to say that plugging straight into an amp isn’t the only way to get the sound you want—and, in fact, it’s probably not even the best way. For recording, it’s a perfect tool. PG
Warm Audio introduces the Fen-tone, a modern ribbon microphone inspired by a classic 50s Danish design.
Warm Audio, the industry-leading manufacturer of classic-inspired professional recording products, microphones, and guitar pedals, today introduces the Fen-tone, an instrument ribbon microphone inspired by a classic 50s Danish design, but built with modern components to deliver powerful bass & rich midrange, true to the sound profile of the most sought-after small-format ribbon microphone. Premium components, including a custom Japanese ribbon, Neodymium magnet, and CineMag USA transformer, along with a 26 dB JFET in-line preamp that enables active use with low-gain preamps ensure that the Fen-tone captures the most popular tones heard on guitars, overheads, horns, and more. The Fen-tone is available as a single mic ($699 | 749 € incl. VAT | £639 incl. VAT) and stereo pair ($1199 | 1349 € incl. VAT | £1159 incl. VAT), available now at authorized retailers worldwide.
“This style of microphone has been around for a long time and the tone has evolved since the original, we're excited to deliver an affordable version of its most contemporary tones,” said Bryce Young, founder and President of Warm Audio. “We’re all familiar with the body style of this mic, but not everyone knows it originally comes from a design from the 1950s. While other B&O-inspired designs have used upgraded ribbons & components like ours to deliver that guitar tone we all know & love, we’ve also upgraded the original switch that cycled between various modes for “Talk”, "Music", and “Orchestra”, to now being an active inline preamp to offer even more value. We revived the trademark to keep it authentic to its history while bringing the Warm formula of premium components to the build to deliver today’s most sought-after guitar & instrument tones.”
Like the original design, the Warm Audio Fen-tone recreates the popular, pencil-style design with ventilated sides that can easily be placed in crowded recording environments. Unlike the original 1950s mic, the Warm Audio Fen-tone features modern upgrades including a custom Japanese ribbon, rare-earth Neodymium magnet, and custom CineMag USA transformer to deliver the iconic ribbon tones made popular in contemporary music.
The Fen-tone, with its Figure-8 polar pattern, excels on loud sources that require detail while handling high SPLs, like electric guitar cabs, overheads, and horns. The upgraded components in Fen-tone deliver intricate midrange detail that helps guitars shine in dense mixes. In addition to the bass and midrange emphasis, Fen-tone shows off its warm “forgiving” tone by taming top-end harshness above 15 kHz for smooth presence without exaggerated sibilance or harshness.
The Warm Audio Fen-tone takes the value a step further by adding an all-analog 26 dB JFET in-line preamp, allowing for active use. This feature is critical for those users who plan on plugging their ribbons directly into audio interfaces or inferior preamps without volume, tone, and frequency loss. This active circuit is true bypass and does not impact the integrity of the passive ribbon mic circuit.
The Fen-tone is available as a single mic ($699 | 749 € incl. VAT | £639 incl. VAT) and stereo pair ($1199 | 1349 € incl. VAT | £1159 incl. VAT), available now at authorized retailers worldwide.
For more information, visit warmaudio.com.
AI, which generated this image in seconds, can obviously do amazing things. But can it actually replace human creativity?
Technology has always disrupted the music biz, but we’ve never seen anything like this.
AI has me deeply thinking: Is guitar (or any instrument) still valid? Are musicians still valid? I don’t think the answer is as obvious as I’d like it to be.
As a professional musician, I’ve spent the vast majority of my days immersed in the tones of tube amps, the resistance of steel strings under my fingers, and the endless pursuit of musical expression. Each day, I strive to tap into the Source, channel something new into the world (however small), and share it. Yet, lately, a new presence has entered the room—artificial intelligence. It is an interloper unlike any I’ve ever encountered. If you’re thinking that AI is something off in the “not-too-distant future,” you’re exponentially wrong. So, this month I’m going to ask that we sit and meditate on this technology, and hopefully gain some insight into how we are just beginning to use it.
AI: Friend or Foe?
In the last 12 months, I’ve heard quite a bit of AI-generated music. Algorithms can now “compose,” “perform” (with vocals of your choosing), and “produce” entire songs in minutes, with prompts as flippant as, “Write a song about__in the style of__.” AI never misses a note and can mimic the finer details of almost any genre with unnerving precision. For those who are merely curious about music, or those easily distracted by novelty, this might seem exciting … a shortcut to creating “professional” sounding music without years of practice. But for those of us who are deeply passionate about music, it raises some profound existential questions.
When you play an instrument, you engage in something deeply human. Each musician carries their life experiences into their playing. The pain of heartbreak, the joy of new beginnings, or the struggle to find a voice in an increasingly noisy and artificial online world dominated by algorithms. Sweat, tears, and callouses develop from your efforts and repetition. Your mistakes can lead to new creative vistas and shape the evolution of your style.
Emotions shape the music we create. While an algorithm can only infer and assign a “value” to the vast variety of our experience, it is ruthlessly proficient at analyzing and recording the entire corpus of human existence, and further, cataloging every known human behavioral action and response in mere fractions of a second.
Pardon the Disruption
Technology has always disrupted the music industry. The invention of musical notation provided unprecedented access to compositions. The advent of records allowed performances of music to be captured and shared. When radio brought music into every home, there was fear that no one would buy records. Television added visual spectacle, sparking fears that it would kill live performance. MIDI revolutionized music production but raised concerns about replacing human players. The internet, paired with the MP3 format, democratized music distribution, shattered traditional revenue models, and shifted power from labels to artists. Each of these innovations was met with resistance and uncertainty, but ultimately, they expanded the ways music could be created, shared, and experienced.
Every revolution in art and technology forces us to rediscover what is uniquely human about creativity. To me, though, this is different. AI isn’t a tool that requires a significant amount of human input in order to work. It’s already analyzed the minutia of all of humanity’s greatest creations—from the most esoteric to the ubiquitous, and it is wholly capable of creating entire works of art that are as commercially competitive as anything you’ve ever heard. This will force us to recalibrate our definition of art and push us to dig deeper into our personal truths.
“In an age where performed perfection is casually synthesized into existence, does our human expression still hold value? Especially if the average listener can’t tell the difference?”
Advantage: Humans
What if we don’t want to, though? In an age where performed perfection is casually synthesized into existence, does our human expression still hold value? Especially if the average listener can’t tell the difference?
Of course, the answer is still emphatically “Yes!” But caveat emptor. I believe that the value of the tool depends entirely on the way in which it is used—and this one in particular is a very, very powerful tool. We all need to read the manual and handle with care.
AI cannot replicate the experience of creating music in the moment. It cannot capture the energy of a living room jam session with friends or the adrenaline of playing a less-than-perfect set in front of a crowd who cheers because they feel your passion. It cannot replace the personal journey you take each time you push through frustration to master a riff that once seemed impossible. So, my fellow musicians, I say this: Your music is valid. Your guitar is valid. What you create with your hands and heart will always stand apart from what an algorithm can generate.
Our audience, on the other hand, is quite a different matter. And that’s the subject for next month’s Dojo. Until then, namaste.
Our columnist’s bass, built by Anders Mattisson.
Would your instrumental preconceptions hold up if you don a blindfold and take them for a test drive?
I used to think that stereotypes and preconceived notions about what is right and wrong when it comes to bass were things that other people dealt with—not me. I was past all that. Unfazed by opinion, immune to classification. Or so I thought, tucked away in my jazz-hermit-like existence.
That belief was shattered the day Ian Martin Allison handed me a Fender Coronado while I was blindfolded in his basement. (Don’t ask—it’s a long story and an even longer YouTube video if you have time to kill.) For years, I had been a single-cut, 5-string, high-C-string player. That was my world. So, you can imagine my shock when I connected almost instantly with something that felt like it was orbiting a different solar system.
Less than 5 minutes with the instrument, and it was all over. The bass stayed in Ian’s basement. (I did not.) I returned home to Los Angeles, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I kept playing my beloved semi-chambered single-cut 5-string, but I sent its builder, Anders Mattisson, a message about my recent discovery. I asked if there was any way we could create something with the essence of a Coronado while still suiting my playing and my music.
That’s when everything I thought I knew about bass—and the personal boundaries I had set for myself—came crashing down.
When we started talking about building a bass with a fully chambered body, much like the Coronado, I was adamant about two things: It needed to have active electronics, and I would never play a headless bass.
Fast-forward three months to the winterNAMM show in California. Anders arrived for dinner at my house, along with a group of incredible bass players, includingHenrik Linder. I was literally in a chef’s apron, trying to get course after course of food on the table, when Henrik said, “Hey, let’s bring the new bass in.”
He came down the stairs carrying something that looked suspiciously like a guitar case—not a bass case. I figured there had been some kind of mistake or maybe even a prank. When I finally got a break from the chaos in the kitchen, I sat down with the new bass for the first time. And, of course, it was both headless and passive.
I should mention that even though I had made my requests clear—no headless bass, active electronics—I had also told Anders that I trusted him completely. And I’m so glad I did. He disintegrated my assumptions about what a bass “has to” or “should” be, and in doing so, changed my life as a musician in an instant. The weight reduction from the fully chambered body made it essential for the instrument to be headless to maintain perfect balance. And the passive nature of the pickups gave me the most honest representation of my sound that I’ve ever heard in over 30 years of playing bass.
I’m 46 years old. It took me this long to let go of certain fundamental beliefs about my instrument and allow them to evolve naturally, without interference. Updating my understanding of what works for me as a bass player required perspective, whereas some of my most deeply held beliefs about the instrument were based on perception. I don’t want to disregard my experiences or instincts, but I do want to make sure I’m always open to the bigger picture—to other people’s insights and expertise.
Trusting my bass builder’s vision opened musical doors that would have otherwise stayed bolted shut for years to come. The more I improve my awareness of where the line between perception and perspective falls, the more I can apply it to all aspects of my world of bass.
Maybe this month, it’s playing an instrument I never would have previously considered. Next month, it might be incorporating MIDI into my pedalboard, or transcribing bass lines from spaghetti Westerns.
No matter what challenges or evolutions I take on in my music and bass playing, I want to remain open—open to change, open to new ideas, and open to being proven wrong. Because sometimes, the instrument you never thought you’d play ends up being the one that changes everything.