Back in March of 2007, I was having dinner at a Hare Krishna restaurant with Phi Yaan-Zek, a guitarist from Wales. Phi was visiting Los Angeles to record an album with Bryan Beller, Mike Keneally, and Marco Minnemann.
Phi had heard from a reliable source that Steve Vai would soon be holding auditions for a bassist. It was quite obvious (and I immediately said) that it would be a perfect gig for Bryan Beller. Bryan had auditioned years ago but didn’t get the gig. I thought it was great potential news, and we went on to talk about other topics, such as Steve’s guitar tones on early recordings and other random political topics.
It didn’t cross my mind that *I* would audition. I don’t know why, but it never occurred to me until one morning, months later. I woke up early with the thought in my mind that I should look into it. I grabbed my laptop and fired off an email to his manager, asking what was up. She confirmed that Steve was indeed going to be doing private, invite-only auditions, not open to the public. If I was interested, I was told that I should submit a couple of video clips to an email address. So I did. I sent a couple of clips from Sir Millard Mulch’s Ibanez Instructional DVD.
Shortly after that, I heard back and was told that Steve was interested in auditioning me. I was selected for a private audition at a North Hollywood studio. I had about a week to learn 3 songs and try to get my hands back in shape after not practicing for years. I had just picked up a graphic design contract gig in Glendale, so I would have very little time to get things together. I rented a car, burned a CDR of the songs, and listened to them on repeat during the hellish drive in traffic every day. At night, I focused on playing through those songs, over and over. I tried my best not to kill my hands, as I have had some issues in the past with straining the nerves in them. If I practiced too much, I wouldn’t even be able to play at the audition.
One of the songs I was asked to learn was called Building The Church. This is quite possibly the simplest song in the world. But I enjoyed playing it. It was probably just so Steve could see how a player could, “rock.”
Another song was The Crying Machine, which was all slap and pop. Since I play with a pick, I did a combination of picking and popping with my middle finger. It came out pretty good, but I am not at all a funk bassist. While practicing, it definitely took a while to get nearly into a groove. I am the stiffest, whitest player in the world, and I am just not into that style. Without a pick, I’m useless.
Another song was Freak Show Excess. This one presented a challenge during one particular section that I called The Bulgarian Runs. This is a technique that Steve does by bending notes with his pointer finger and matching it with notes on his ring finger. It’s basically the opposite of that cliché blues bend that everyone does between the G and B string on a guitar. It sounded very strange, as does most of Steve’s playing. It’s one of those techniques you don’t get into your fingers very easily. Anyway, I took that section and slowed it way down with a click. It was something like 7/16, played very quickly. And each time it looped around, it added a section to the BEGINNING of the riff, not to the end. It’s as if everything was just phrased totally backwards. After a night of wrestling with it, I gave up. There was no way I was going to be able to get it into my muscle memory in time.
I decided to gamble on my strengths in odd rhythms and my aggressive style of playing with a pick. There was no telling what Steve would be interested in, and it seemed he was pretty open-minded in finding a new player. I figured I had as good of a shot as anyone, considering the spectrum of musicians Steve has hired for his band over the years.
A couple of days before the audition, Steve announced there would be a second day of open-auditions. A cattle-call. I was still scheduled for the first day, luckily.
On the day of the audition, I had to take an extended lunch from the graphic design client’s office and drive over to North Hollywood. I found the place pretty quickly and hung around for a while. I got out my bass and practiced, sitting on a bench. There was no one around, except for the occasional bassist going in to audition. At one point, Steve came out and recognized me and greeted me, shaking my hand and thanking me for coming over. We had lunch together in the Valley about 6 months previous to that, but I looked totally different then — long hair and a full beard. This time around, I had a shaved face, short hair, a baseball hat, and these vanity frames I bought somewhere. He said, “Man, I barely recognized you, you look so much different!” I told him it’s because I have to travel incognito in this town, and keep changing my identity so no one will be able to follow me.
A few other bassists showed up and some of them sounded fantastic. A lot of them seemed to be European. I don’t know if they came all the way from overseas or not. It was interesting, getting to hear a few other players go in and audition. I can’t imagine how tense it must have been the day after that, during the cattle-call.
When it came to my turn, I went in and plugged into a huge Ampeg amp and cabinet. The position I was standing in was an awkward spot behind one of Steve’s guitar cabinets. Steve was situated in the center of the room, perched on a stool. The lighting and vibe was very dramatic, like you were in a concert. He had the rugs all over the place, et cetera. The backup band was Jeremy Colson on drums and this kid that I had seen performing at John Avila’s birthday party on rhythm guitar.
I can’t remember what we started out with, but it was a very strange vibe to be in there. It felt like being in a high school dance, with lights and glitter everywhere. Steve was noodling with some chords and instructed us to back him up so he could solo. He said the chord names and I completely forgot them after 2 seconds. It was an obtuse change that was not something that made sense to me. The vibe of the piece was very Celine Dion. I had no clue what to do. I fumbled around somewhere on the low strings, doing my best to follow the rhythm guitarist. It just felt very uncomfortable. I screwed it up pretty bad. All the while, Steve was in his own little world over there, soloing away. He eventually got up from his stool and it occurred to me that when he’s on stage, he’s not putting on a show. He always plays like that. It was pretty much the Jack Butler stuff.
After that, we started into The Crying Machine, the funk song. This one I did alright on, during the main run-through. Steve even turned around and smiled at me during this one — the first eye contact he made with me through all of the playing. I was trying to non-verbally communicate with (and lock in with) Jeremy Colson. But since it wasn’t his audition and he had probably played the same song 30 times that day, it wasn’t happening. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well that day.
Anyway, at one point in the song, Steve gave me and Jeremy a hand signal to do some kind of interactive solo. It pretty much turned into a pentatonic heavy-blues jam. Steve sat and watched for a minute, then he started playing along. It turned into this big crescendo grand finale of train-wrecked triplets which we didn’t recover from.
At that point I was really feeling like I did not belong there. I’m not a trained session musician, so I am not versed in a variety of stylistic vocabularies. I can’t play jazz or blues or reggae. I’ve been an anti-social solo artist for 15 years, focusing primarily on my own, weird original material. I’ve rarely played live and haven’t even owned an amp in many years.
It was strange to find myself in a situation where I was expected to know these standard things. It shouldn’t be surprising that I was totally lost when it came to being a normal bassist.
Up next, Steve asked me if I learned Freak Show Excess. I told him I knew the whole song except for the Bulgarian Runs. He said, “Sorry, but I am looking for someone who knows the material.” I answered that I could surely play it, but that I did not have time to learn that specific section. I could certainly at least understand it. So he offered to show it to me, note by note. As the other guys in the band stared at my hands, I tried my best to take a quick guitar lesson from Steve Vai. In the moment, my nerves took over and I blanked out. I got frustrated and asked Steve, “Is this taking too long?”
At that, he extended his hand and thanked me for coming. As I packed up my bass, he told me that he really respects what I do with my own music and that I should continue to focus on my own vision. I really respect Steve for having the courage to do what he does. He believes in himself and respects his own ideas and plans. He takes what he does very seriously. While it could have been devastating to have failed an audition with my favorite musician in the world, I definitely didn’t choose to frame it that way, and learned a more important lesson. What I learned that day was that I have to have that same confidence in my own creativity.
A few days later, Steve emailed me a very thoughtful personal letter with a million thoughts on everything. Among other things, he told me that he wishes I could have gotten a chance to meet Frank Zappa.
In the end, I was glad to hear that Bryan Beller got the gig. I think he is a great bassist who does some very creative and interesting things with his technique. I have enjoyed Bryan’s work with Keneally in years past, and have gotten the chance to see him live several times. Bryan seems like one of those guys who has learned the standards as a session musician, but has also expanded into a lot of complex outsider music. It’s great that someone can focus so much on their instrument and develop it to an extraordinary level. When I was a little kid, way before I was a musician, I wanted to be George Lucas. I think putting together a big-picture concept using every medium is really where the good stuff is.
I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think I would have been happy playing bass in Steve’s band. It would have been incredible to see the entire machine functioning on the road, and to get to be around other people who are highly-motivated and successful and artistic.
With a creative career, you have to “follow your bliss,” so that is what I am doing. Music occupies a sacred little scientific area in my life and I keep it as pure as I can, away from the adolescent popularity contest that is the music industry.