Bass and Drums

"I like writing the songs because sometimes I want to be more than just a timekeeper."

—Hog Beatty

At dinner a few weeks ago with a few bloggers I mentioned that a certain Eminent Blogmistress was married to a bassist, and another web denizen at the table took this to be some sort of shot at her. Which of course it wasn't; in point of fact, the gentleman in question is a charming hottie. But, of course, someone then had to make the obligatory joke: "what do you call someone who knows lots of musicians?"

"Right, right; a drummer," I responded, rolling my eyes.

"A bassist," another blogger else replied.

"Like Paul McCartney?" I should have responded, but did not, because I'm socially inept and slow on the uptake.

As far as I'm concerned, however, it is those two elements—bass and drums—that make rock and roll what it is. And timekeeping is underrated; it undergirds Western Civilization, after all.

What songs rely most heavily on interesting drumwork or bass playing? I mean, beyond "In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida"? When do those two instruments transcend "timekeeping" and deepen the complexity of a musical composition? (Many anthropologists may have to sit this one out: both Count Linguist and Professor Musicology appear utterly indifferent to rock and roll, which strikes me as odd in the same way that I strike others as odd for not "getting" football.)

I listened to War Child on my way home from work last night. As usual, when I have an album in the CD player I let it run a couple of times in succession. (Food usually bores me after a few bites, but music retains its appeal for hours.)

"Queen and Country" was terrific, but "Bungle in the Jungle" still stands out. I mean, I understand that liking the song marks me as a second-rate Tull fan, but I cannot help it: there is certain perfection in the thing. As usual, the flute-playing thrills me, and the violin is exciting. But the bass guitar provides structure and spice.

(If my husband is reading this, I'd just like to request that we put off our argument about Ian Anderson's hatred of organized religion, manifested in the early Tull albums, until the weekend. Is Saturday afternoon good for you? I have to dust and do laundry in the morning, but I have time to squabble in the early afternoon.

P.S. Anderson's concerns, as I read them, had more to do with what he felt were the failures of organized religion to help "the least among us." He was not angry at God, per se, but rather bitterly disappointed at the unfairness of life, and unable to reconcile what he saw around him with orthodox conceptions of the Deity.)