A'ight, I gotta get this off my chest because I know and you know I just gotta expose you for who you really are. I mean "really." Bass players, right? You guys have been the brunt of just about every joke known to man (kinda like dumb blonde jokes.) But let's get real now.
Do you remember Errol Flynn in that movie "Captain Blood?" That's the one where Errol crawls up the main mast to the crow's nest because he has a need to read his edict, the constitution that he's drawn up because they're going to join forces together with all these other pirates from around the world.
As soon as he ascends the mast, Flynn pulls the rope latter up behind him and he reads the edict, which says, "Desperate men in search of desperate fortune, all as one." Desperate men in search of, right? Let's just look at it from a bass player's perspective; They got four strings, hold down the bottom end and to what glory? To add insult to injury, get less kitty than a third rate guitarist, let alone (heaven help you) you've got a lead singer with, dare I say long flowing locks and is handy with a "mic stand" so to speak.
Yeah, that's right- "we" guitarists, with our pouting, posturing, pick flicking arrogance. Let us not forget the much-rehearsed, under the lights, overhyped musical masturbation session we call a solo, copped straight from Eddie himself.
You got the picture now? The bass player typically owned the PA and was the one who not only dropped it off at the gig but set it up while you and the boy's "convenient amnesia" placed you outside the backstage door with a Marlboro and a bottle of Jack as the "bass" player was left to languish.
As the bass player languished, let us not forget that when shit went down, who was the first one to hit you in the head with his black burner- a lesson taught to slow learners in the front row? You never see a guitarist throw their Les Paul to the ground and jump offstage to handle business now, do you? Why? Well, we gotta not only hold down the posturing part, but hell-to-da-naw breaking a $1200.00 dollar holy grail over spilled beer, right?
That's the job of Mongo. Yep, Mongo the Mauler, bass player, (insert name here) is always on the job, being a one man mob, the one that'll laugh at your funeral as they lower you down.
"We, men who sail under no flag, hereby design to sail under no flag together. Let it be the flag of blood."
Don't you see? Mongo the Destroyer deserves to ride off into the night seas onboard the "Arabella" with Olivia De Havilland. Or, are you the punk that ends up in the truck? Is that what you want? I didn't think so.
How do you get a bass player off your front porch? "Please don't Mongo, I was only"... chic chic. Sound of a shotgun blast...