Sweaty B F’n Rocks Us

Ryan Williams IS The Bass Geek. That's not any kind of insult; it's a well earned title. The man runs, wait for it, TheBassGeek.net and is considered an authority on the Indianapolis music scene by no less than CNN, who interviewed during the Super Bowl run-up. Aside from playing in a number of bands and authoring books on subjects like learning to play bass, digital music, and MySpace, our man in Fountain Square co-hosted the IndianapolisMusic.net podcast for years, may or not have been Sweaty B in seminal Indy-scene band No*Star, and worked with Troy, Russ, Li, Oseye, Jonathan and others in the day. Today, he looks back, and he just might f'n rock us.

My first (and probably only, that I can remember) contribution to Shotgun Reviews involved a review of D'Angelo at the Murat Theater, notable both for the stellar live band backing him and for the woman of ALL ages (yes, Grandma, you too) trying to rip off his leather pants and finally see little D'Angelo.

13 years later, it's just like old times. Shotgun Reviews is helping launch a webcomic about music in Indianapolis in the early 2000s, and D'Angelo is just NOW starting to play shows again. Those were some fierce women.

He totally doesn't know I'm running this.  -- Troy

In the intervening years, I wrote a lot about local music and played a lot of music locally (and some elsewhere). Both Troy and I also left the hellhole where we worked and did some more meaningful and pleasurable things with our lives. So we've got that going for us. But it's the time for reminiscing, and that always involves weird stories that seem funny now, but may have taken a darker turn. So, I give you the story of this audition.

I'd just played a pickup rockabilly gig on a flatbed truck somewhere near Ravenswood for the 4th of July. I'm not saying I'll turn down a gig now, but I was new in town back then and certainly didn't have anything better to do, so my standards were ever so slightly lower.

That doesn't apply to the rockabilly gig, by the way, I'm just setting the stage.



A gentleman approaches me after said show is finished and wants to inquire about my bass-playing services. I get a time and place, agree to meet him there, and it all seems legit.

As legit as rehearsals in the back of formal wear shop could be, I suppose, but I didn't have to bring an amp. That's a bonus.

The shop is closed when I arrive, but the guy is waiting for me and lets me into the back room. Well, series of rooms. The front of the store belies the labyrinthine structure lying behind that nondescript door.

A narrow hallway splits off two ways, and the right leads to the rehearsal room. There's a set of drums, but no drummer. He's on his way, I'm told. In the meantime, I'm invited to look at the art in the rehearsal room.

Can you call stick figures art? I suppose the many, many illustrated stick figures tried to prove this fact through repetition, but I'm not sure it worked. And the slogans under the stick figures (such as "You Get the Pick, I'll Get The Shovel") didn't help much, either.

Having taken this in, we go look at the other rooms. The room on the left of the split holds . . . a wrestling ring. Not full-size, mind you, but certainly the quality of what you might see in a county fair or something. And in the middle of the wrestling ring? A tea set. Four chairs, dainty table, full service, the works. I'm sure this didn't fit into the first blood/strap match framework I was used to, but I didn't inquire further.

A door in this room led to bunks. The guy explained that this is where he was staying while he worked out some . . . unpleasant legal maters with his wife. His kids sometimes came over and stayed as well. Perhaps they enjoyed tea after working on their Scorpion Deathlocks.

Another door in this room led to a closet with the type of cosmic black-light scene you'd expect out of a Halloween haunted house, and it's presence in this place creeped me out. Especially when the guy tried to shut me in "for the full experience."

Did I mention that I haven't put my bass down yet? There was a scene in Spinal Tap where the manager lauded the benefits of holding a large, heavy slab of wood during negotiations, and that advice stuck with me. As much as I love my instruments, it was the only thing keeping that door as open as it could be.

The guy relented finally, and we moved back to the rehearsal room. The drummer's arrival signalled that this wasn't a fever dream, and we got the playing . . . what he called his songs. I'm wondering if CCR minded having their songs ripped off to recount a man's remembrances of past Cub Scout triumphs (seriously, that was the subject matter - frickin' badges!), but they probably had bigger things to argue about.

I excused myself after a few tunes and ran. Unfortunately, they would have to find another bassist.

Anyway, congrats to Shotgun Reviews and the continued success of all those involved. I'm glad we're no longer where we were.