From James Brown to J Dilla, understanding note placement is a key to rhythmic mastery.
There’s so much to discuss when it comes to bass playing. One of the most basic and valuable skills to be explored on bass—or any instrument for that matter—is placement, or where exactly to play relative to the beat. To a certain extent, this can be a cultural question, decided by where one was raised or what one was raised upon. However, some musicians are more intentional about their choice of placement, and thus choose to study feel and the multitude of possibilities within.
Rhythm is one of the most misunderstood subjects in music. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard “he’s got great rhythm,” or “she can play in 7,” I’d be much closer to being rich. In reality, playing in 7—or 23—will never make up for one’s lack of rhythm! As much as rhythm is misunderstood, feel is an infinitely more enigmatic subject. For most, music either feels good or it doesn’t. The why isn’t easy to put into words.
In some cultures, babies learn to instinctively nod their heads to the beat as young as 6 months old, while in others grown adults sit motionless whilst listening to grooves as deep as canyons. Yet, in our modern culture, rhythm, groove, and feel reign supreme. If there’s one thing that’s true of these elements, it’s that inconsistency sucks. A musician who is unable to be intentional about where they place things is about as much use as a brick layer who suffers the same affliction!
Nowhere is that truer than on the bass. Playing a reggae bass line such as Bob Marley’s “Buffalo Soldier” ahead of the beat would be considered a terrible sin. Playing bass way behind the beat on be-bop would be equally as egregious. Some people believe that one is either born with good feel or not. I, however, do not support this view. Great feel, that thing that nobody knows they’re missing until they do, can certainly be improved via osmosis, by spending as much time as possible around those who already have it—if they’ll have you!
The “fat” or “wide beat” may sound like something from a ’90s rap verse, but it’s actually a concept that comes from much older jazz musicians. To such musicians, the beats within a given bar—1-2-3-4, for instance—were not singular fixed entities, but rather ranges. They might intentionally choose to play in front of, right on, behind, or even way … behind the theoretical beat (or grid, as we’ve come to call this in our post-sequencer world). Playing far behind the beat might increase groove and sound relaxed, while playing far in front might sound rushed, urgent, or even uptight.
A musician who is unable to be intentional about where they place things is about as much use as a brick layer who suffers the same affliction!
But the real magic is in the combinations. Even a drummer who seems to be playing right in the pocket—like Clyde Stubblefield on James Brown’s “Funky Drummer,” for instance—can intentionally have each drum landing on a different part of the beat: kick a hair early, snare a hair late, hi-hats right down the middle. And then the bass player—Charles Sherrell on “Funky Drummer”—would play relatively behind all of that! To the listener it just sounds funky, but there are multitudes of microscopic timing complexities that make funk or swing what they actually are. These musicians understood that great feel required getting off the grid, or, rather, knowing where things should lie theoretically, but intentionally placing them where they felt good. They’re like time travelers, able to negotiate the past, present, or future at will.
The actual “grid” came decades later, with the invention of sequencers and quantization. As more music became sequenced the result was more uniformity until, by the mid ’80s, lots of pop music sounded as if it had been created by robots. Ironically, what brought feel back to popular music was hip-hop producers sampling old breaks, like “Funky Drummer!”
By the late ’90s, producers like J Dilla lived “off the grid,” which is why their productions (primarily created on drum machines and sequencers) sounded so alive. Rather than using preset quantization maps (Akai, Steinberg, or Emagic’s futile answers to their sequencers’ lack of feel), Dilla created his own, based on what he heard earlier drummers, like Clyde Stubblefield, doing. Dilla’s work with Slum Village and others created a whole generation of hip-hop inspired drummers and bassists who preferred their grooves wonky, and the rest is history!
So, what should all this mean to the modern bassist? We live in a world where time within music is a thing to be mastered. When you next sit down to transcribe Pettiford, Jameson, or Jaco, etc.—because you certainly should—don’t just listen for the notes and rhythms. Also pay attention to placement and feel. These are just as important. Pay attention to what drummers are doing and consider where you intentionally wish to play relative to them. Practice playing ahead, behind, or right on it, so that you can do any of these intentionally at will. Become a time traveler!
The steel pan orchestra proves that bass is more than an instrument. It’s an experience.
I’m here in Trinidad and Tobago, and I’ve been exploring the bass role from the perspective of my parents, grandparents, and great grandparents, who were bought here as slaves from Africa. Looking back, there is no doubt whatsoever that my Trini roots helped shape the bass player I became, because T&T is a bass-centric place. Trinidadians might sing the bass line or melody, when it comes to recalling a favorite song. As a child, I, too, found myself constantly fascinated by whatever the drums and bass were doing.
My family’s story is similar to many of African heritage from this hemisphere, whether from Jamaica, Haiti, Cuba, Guadeloupe, Brazil, St. Lucia, or the U.S. Throughout this collective history, the African diaspora, with little means or opportunity, they became accustomed to creating something from nothing. During slavery, our ancestors’ drums were not only used for ceremonies, but also as a form of covert communication, relaying messages to neighboring plantations about escapes and revolts. As a result, slave masters banned traditional drums. Thus began the quest to create homemade instruments from whatever they found: tools, kitchen utensils, bamboo trunks, washtubs, bottles, etc. Some musicians, such as the great Wilbur Ware, began their musical careers on homemade instruments—in his case, the gut-bucket-bass—and then transferred their unique approach to other instruments, like the double bass, as they became masters of metamorphosis.
Perhaps one of the most amazing examples of ingenuity is the steel pan. In Trinidad, descendants of emancipated slaves, without instruments or the means to acquire them, made music with tuned bamboo trunks, 24"–60" long, which players would bounce upon the ground and alternately strike with a stick. They formed Tamboo Bamboo orchestras to create rich tapestries of rhythm, similar to what would eventually become the classic calypso rhythm.
The pitch from a well-tuned bass pan set is clear, defined, and deep, with lots and lots of low end, almost as if the pans had been miked and put through a giant bass stack.
Later, orchestras slowly introduced more durable metal instruments, such as car brake drums, oil drums, kitchen pots, and biscuit tins. Around 1940, a musician named Winston Simon and some others had the innovative idea to repurpose 55-gallon oil drums—byproducts of T&T’s oil industry—by cutting and tuning them, thus creating the steel pan. This family of instruments would eventually cover the entire pitch gamut of a typical Western orchestra.
Many innovations followed: raising the metal in places to produce more defined pitches, tuning the drums in a “spider” lattice of 5ths, making the pan concave so that more pitches could be accommodated, wrapping the playing sticks in rubber to give a wider dynamic range and more melodic tone, hanging the drums from mechanically isolated stands that allow the free vibration of the pan, etc.
In 1951, the BBC broadcasted a concert featuring the Trinidad All Steel Percussion Orchestra (TASPO) that eventually reached millions across the globe, and the fascination with steel pan orchestras and Calypso music began. If you’ve ever heard a steel pan orchestra play, then you already understand just how awesome their sound can be. But, for me, it’s all about that bass!
Hanging the drums from mechanically isolated stands allows the free vibration of the pan.
Bass pans are the largest in the steel pan family, consisting of no fewer than six tuned 55-gallon full-depth oil drums per player and covering a range from Bb1 to Eb3—approximately two-and-a-half octaves. The sound bass pans produce is far too awesome to describe in words, but if I were to search for one, it would be … bombastic! The undertone is metallic, but the pitch from a well-tuned bass pan set is clear, defined, and deep, with lots and lots of low end, almost as if the pans had been miked and put through a giant bass stack. With four to six sets per orchestra, these are the 808 of the steel pan world. As children, my parents took my siblings and I to the London Notting Hill Carnival, annually. At age 6, I even got to hear orchestras play in T&T! The shuddering sound of the bass pans, as what seemed like hundreds of steel pans played, was always the highlight of those trips. There’s still nothing like it—and this is without discussing the amazing costumes and dancers!
Like the rest of the world, T&T was greatly impacted by the pandemic. This year will mark the third year that there will be few official carnival events. Understand that these orchestras set their clocks by the yearly occurrence of carnival: making new or repairing and tuning older instruments, training new players, selecting repertoire, and rehearsing. However, this trip may still have a slight silver lining. The word on the street is that some pan orchestras will be playing at “the Savannah” (a massive green field in the middle of downtown Port of Spain) tonight! It goes without saying that I will be there to bear witness.
Bass pans may have begun life as abandoned oil drums, but through the enduring desire of a people to express themselves musically, they have become uniquely Trinidadian instruments.
Trinidad All Stars - Woman On The Bass
As a member of the Roots, Leonard “Hub” Hubbard created a vocabulary for live hip-hop.
What’s in a name? How do names define us and the lives we live? Within my culture, everybody has both a given and “chosen name.” A hub is literally the central part of a wheel, but symbolically it’s that thing around which all motion happens. Hub, aka Leonard Hubbard, was the original bassist in the Roots, and one could argue that if hip-hop had a hub, it would be bass. Sadly, Hub lost his long battle with cancer in December 2021.
I first met Hub when the then-unknown, Philadelphia-based band randomly moved to London in the early ’90s. It turned out this move was a strategy suggested by jazz alto saxophonist Steve Coleman. “Move them to Europe and push them as a jazz act,” he is rumored to have told the band’s manager, the late great Richard Nichols. And so he did.
In those days, hip-hop (distinct from rap music) was a thing, but live hip-hop was certainly not. The creation of hip-hop was very much wrapped up in some unfortunate, shortsighted political decisions that affected U.S. inner-city high school education. This led to the removal of music and art programs from those schools, which many of hip-hop’s architects attended. Access to musical instruments became all the more rare, interrupting an important thread that stretched back to a period somewhere between the abolition of slavery and Louis Armstrong picking up a horn. That arrested development continues to this day.
The HuB (The Roots)
By the time the Roots came along, this thread/tradition that ran through all African American music had been almost completely severed. Fifteen years earlier, a mostly instrument-less generation created hip-hop out of their deep need to be heard and express themselves, eventually turning to alternative methods: rapping, turntables, scratching, breakbeats, drum machines, and, eventually, samplers. So, in some ways late-’80s/early-’90s hip-hop stood apart from—though it was still most definitely related to—what came before. Thus, drummers and bassists within hip-hop were an anomaly. In fact, hip-hop was actually a large part of the reason why they were out of work!
Later on, live hip-hop bands such as the Roots had to come up with a “new” language and approach that worked for instruments, while still retaining all the things that people loved about this music: the groove, graininess, and nostalgia of old funk breaks; the history, musical complexities, and sophistication of jazz samples; the low-end-heavy head-knocking grooves and rhythmic precision from drum machines; and, of course, the emcee’s lyrics and rhymes, which gave it all meaning.
The thought of a bass player being able to mimic 808 bass drums tuned completely down with decay all the way out was equally bizarre. However, the Roots achieved these and so many other sounds essential to hip-hop.
Rich Nichols played an architectural role in sculpting the Roots’ sound on record, but onstage this was the domain of the musicians—in particular, drummer Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson, keyboardist Scott Storch, and bassist Leonard “Hub” Hubbard. Before they came along, it could be argued that the instructions on how to really play hip-hop live didn’t exist. The thought of a ’90s drummer being able to sound like 7 seconds of looped Clyde Stubblefield from the ’70s on vinyl was bizarre. The thought of a bass player being able to mimic 808 bass drums tuned completely down with decay all the way out was equally bizarre. However, the Roots achieved these and so many other sounds essential to hip-hop.
Anybody fortunate enough to encounter a Roots show between 1992 and 2012 knew without a doubt that they had mastered hip-hop! They became as comfortable with recreating classic sounds/breaks from the ’50s, ’60s, ’and 70s as they were with creating their own iconic ’90s/’00s (and beyond) sound. The Roots eventually became the go-to “backing band” for almost every major live hip-hop show, beginning with their Okayplayer tours and maturing over the course of 10 years of Roots Picnics. Today, they push their skill for metamorphosis even further into the realms of rock, pop, country, and whatever else nightly on The Tonight Show.
For being a part of what made this all possible, Hub—the don of the black hoodie and chew stick—deserves an honorable mention and some credit. Hub’s approach to playing his ’90s blonde Fender Jazz (with the white pickguard) or completely battered upright was pretty different from what came before. It had to be.
Intro / There's Something Goin' On
Take a listen to the Do You Want More?!!!??! album, for example. Respect of Groove! When he wasn’t taking extended mid-set, PA-system-destroying bass solos, Hub never tried to be the most attention-grabbing or out-front bassist, like maybe Jaco in Weather Report. But what he did endeavor to do, as the wise Reggie Washington would say, is “keep the bottom.”
He succeeded. Who knows … maybe Fender will create a signature Hub model?