Goodbye Ol Pal...

When you've known someone for ten years, they become one of the family. It becomes hard to imagine life without them. Last night, I lost a member of the family.

The full size upright bass I had just finished performing with, fell to the ground unexpectedly, and broke into several pieces.

About ten years ago, my siblings and I had just discovered bluegrass and had just received our brand new banjo, mandolin, and guitar for Christmas. Now we needed a bass. Having owned several violins, we knew of only one shop that sold acoustic upright basses. The owner of the shop, known to my siblings and I as "Mr. Joseph", pulled one out of the rows of classical instruments, played it a little, gave it a spin, and returned it to the case. We started renting it from his store, but shortly after, we bought it. Oh how we loved that bass! It recorded two bluegrass albums with the Wimberley Bluegrass Band (not to mention a cassette we made for our Grammy shortly after we got it and before we ever performed bluegrass publicly), it has performed on many stages with us, including Greg Laurie's church, and appeared in some of my vlogs.

Just before it's last show, I remain blissfully ignorant of it's impending fate.

Little did I know that last night would be our last night together. We were performing with legendary guitarist Dennis Agajanian, and rocket scientist/guitar picker extraordinaire Dr. Takahiro Morishita. As I pulled that instrument out of its case for the last time, Dr. Tak noted how beautiful of an instrument it was. As our fantastic sound guys conducted a sound check, I enjoyed how the deep, throbbing sound filled the entire room. Little did I know that it's beautiful wooden face would no longer be whole and that it's powerful, rich voice would soon be silenced.

Here's a clip from sound check:

It's last show was a great one. Excellent sound mix, excellent set lists, and a great audience, all gathered for a great cause. After the final notes of our last set finished ringing, I put the bass in its case, and took it with me down the hall to the CD tables. Propped up in a corner out of harm's way, I turned my back and began talking with all the folks who came. After a little while, I heard a sickening cranch from behind me. A "cranch" is a crash and a crunch simultaneously. The bass had fallen out of it's corner and lay face down on the ground. As I tried to pick it up, something was rattling big time. Then I noticed the lack of support the neck offered. It was completely detached. I opened the case up, and the carnage was gruesome. The entire neck and fingerboard had snapped off, the bridge was at the bottom of the case, and the face of the instrument had two, long, parallel fractures running down toward the sound holes. People started crowding around, looking on in horror.

"You must be so devastated!" one lady said as she put her arm around me to comfort me.

"Oh no!" said another man standing next to her, "I'm sure an instrument like that isn't cheap, I hope that's repairable!"

"I'm afraid it's totaled," I told them as my heart shattered like the giant instrument laying on the ground.

There used to be a neck attached here.

This is actually a bass, not a nesting doll.

Two parallel cracks on the face. Not a desirable quality. 

During the drive home, we started talking about luthiers who might be able to fix it if they are up for a challenge. We also contemplated the possibility of getting a new one. As it stands now, the bass is in it's usual corner of our living room, but not standing as tall as it once did. It's future is unknown. So many questions to be answered: Will it be the center of our next bonfire party? Will the king's horses and men put it together again? Will Gilligan ever get off the island? I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
Until then, enjoy this video of it's last concert, and this video of it's final curtain call.