There’s a joke in rock music circles that bass players never get the girls. Or maybe it’s not a joke, it could be a factual observation. The thinking goes that the vocalist and lead guitarist are out front strutting, posing, and emoting while the bassist is in the background being weird.

At the age of fifteen, I became a bass player. I wasn’t deep enough into music to have heard all the musician jokes, so I didn’t know the bass player stereotype. Besides, I had my own reasons for picking up the instrument.

I just always thought the bass was cool. That idea was driven home by the over-boosted bass tones in jukeboxes found everywhere from cheap restaurants to noisy pinball arcades to bowling alleys to pool halls. (And yes, I had frequented all of those fine establishments.)

I couldn’t help but nod my head in time with those throbbing notes, and I learned to hum the bass lines of nearly every Top 40 song.
There’s also another joke. Or proverb. That the worst guitarist in the bunch has to play bass.

I had to admit that I fit that description. When I took up guitar, I started hanging out with a few guys who could show me things and give me tips about playing. Before long I knew a handful of chords and could pick without getting my fingers tangled in the strings. However, when we decided to form a band, we didn’t need three or four guitarists, and we did need somebody on bass. After buying a no-name bass and a cheap, used amplifier, I became the bass player.

As time passed, we all got better. We were an acoustic-rock band, heavily influenced by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Seals & Crofts, and similar acts. Along the way, we developed quite a repertoire of original songs, and we were good enough to get a minor record deal while we were still in our teens.

Whenever we played in Amarillo, we had a loyal if not large following. We were booked at a small venue, and the usual friends started drifting in. One of the regular fans had someone new with her—a beautiful young lady. I went to greet them and found that the newcomer was her cousin Brenda visiting from New York for two weeks. We made small talk before the show, and I loved her accent. I hoped to get to know her better. I’m sure there were other guys with the same idea.

Suddenly, I got an idea. I asked Mickey, our acoustic guitarist and front man, if I could borrow his guitar. He asked why, and I said I’d like to perform a song solo, near the end of the set. (Through the years I had continued to play guitar, and I was almost proficient at it.) The band always ended shows with our most popular song, but I wanted to do a song right before that. All the guys were okay with it, if a bit confused.

The house lights went down, and we breezed through the set list. I made sure to look frequently in the direction I was pretty sure Brenda was standing. When we finished the next-to-last planned song, I nodded at the guys. I took Mickey’s guitar and moved to a stool at center stage.

I adjusted the microphone. I had tried to think of some words of introduction, but instead I just started to play. The sweet tones of the Guild guitar swept through the room with the opening notes of “How Can I Tell You” by Cat Stevens. The song came from Teaser and the Firecat, the album that also contained the hits “Peace Train” and “Morning has Broken,” so some of the people in the audience might be familiar with it.

“How Can I Tell You” is one of the most stirring and poignant love songs I have ever heard. I sang the longing, plaintive lyrics with all the heartbreak I could muster. When I finished, there was an appropriate amount of applause. Still in character, I softly said, “Thank you.”

I went back to my bass, and we performed our signature song. We got the usual enthusiastic ovation, and the show was over.
As I was packing up my gear, I scanned the audience looking for Brenda. There she was, walking toward me. “That song was beautiful,” she smiled, with what I hoped was still just a trace of sadness from being moved by my performance. “You sound just like Rod Stewart.”

What? My sensibilities were stunned. Rod…Stewart?…How?…Why?… I hoped my dismay didn’t show on my face. Does this girl even know who Cat Stevens is? Does she even appreciate good music? I mean, I like Rod Stewart as much as the next guy, but…really?

Oh well, she was still cute. And I still liked listening to her talk. And, I got to give her a ride home.

So technically the bass player did get the girl. It just helps if you have an acoustic guitar. And a Rod Stewart impression.

(Listen to “How Can I Tell You” here, performed by Cat Stevens. Not Rod Stewart.)