ALL THAT JAZZ
The amazing story of Jaco’s 1962 Jazz – the so-called ‘Bass Of Doom’ – and how it came back to the Pastorius family after two decades of absence
You may have seen the 2014 documentary Jaco, produced by Metallica bassist Robert Trujillo, which enjoyed its European premiere at the London Bass Guitar Show. It’s an astonishing tale, following Jaco from his early life through to stardom with Weather Report and as a solo artist, before his struggle with bipolar disorder and his tragically early death in 1987 at the hands of a nightclub bouncer.
Along the way, the most commonly-seen bass guitar is the famous 1962 Fender Jazz, which Jaco defretted and used to devastating effect on many seminal recordings. Stolen from him in 1982, the bass vanished from the public eye until 2006 or thereabouts, when it resurfaced in a New York music store. Asked for a huge sum to repurchase it, the Pastorius family were aided greatly by Trujillo, who purchased it on their behalf. Although he’s the technical owner of the bass, his stated intention was for the Bass Of Doom to reside with Jaco’s family, where it remains to this day.
Tell us the story of how your family reconnected with the Bass Of Doom, Felix. First of all, when I finally got to see the bass, it was not under normal circumstances. This bass was like a lost relative, in some senses. It was something I had been around all my life in terms of listening to and hearing stories about it, but I had never met this ‘thing’, you know? So I didn’t know if there would be a proper scenario, or how it would work out. But the way it happened, it was during the process of litigation. My brother and I were in New York – this was before I moved up there – and we were given the opportunity to see the bass in person. The person that had it
wanted verification from the family, and the luthier who refurbished the bass. They wanted us to put the stamp of approval on it so they could get a bit more bang out of it.
This must have been incredibly emotional for you.
It was a very tumultuous experience. Here we were, with the opportunity to finally see this instrument, with me as a bassist, and the rest of my family all musicians. We were able to touch it, plug it in and experience this instrument for the first time in 30-plus years. At the same time, it wasn’t ours – at this point it was in someone else’s possession.
Were you aware of its history between it being stolen from Jaco and turning up at a store in New York?
That whole process, from my father to these guys who had it... Who knows? There’s no real log of what happened. There are stories that have been told, and there are people who were around, but there’s no definitive receipt of sale. So my brother and I show up to see the bass, and the owner is there. The guy who brought the bass in the first time didn’t believe it was ‘The Bass’ when he saw it, so they sent him away – or that’s what they tell us. Then the guy comes back, and then they get a little more curious about it, because now he’s mentioning a few things that make a little more sense – naming some people who are locals, who have been in New York for a while. They ended up purchasing the bass. The guy who owns the store, his brother is a bassist, and he apparently started bodyguarding it. It was in his apartment and he wouldn’t let it go anywhere. So we walk into this music store, and the owner is there and he’s making sure that we didn’t turn up with a lawyer – or some kind of backup, ha ha!
What happened next?
He makes a phone call and Chris Jisi [Bass Player magazine writer] turns up, he makes another call and the store owner’s brother turns up with a gigbag. I know it’s in the bag, and it’s 100 feet away from me, and then it’s 50 feet, then 10, then five... And then it’s right next to me. The guy pulls the bass out, looks around and tells me I have five minutes, which was a completely weird situation – like finding a lost relative, but only having five minutes with them. I played it and I was shaking. I didn’t know what to play on it, I was so dumbfounded. The five minutes passed and that was it – the owner’s brother took the bass away again, and we continued to talk to the owner.
So when did it come back to the family? I didn’t see it again for a few months, because we were going through litigation – and then Robert Trujillo came in and saved the day. We went to the office of the lawyers who were representing the music store, and they had the bass there. We signed a few things, I took the bass and we went to our own lawyer’s office and had a little party. We brought in an amp, I plugged it in and played a bunch of stuff.
How did it feel?
It felt amazing. I was awe-struck by the energy that surrounded this instrument, and the way it still sang – notes were pouring out of it. Any early-60s Jazz already has its own character, and even though this one had been refurbished, it still had stories, like an old sailor. It was a great party, and it felt awesome. From then it’s gone back and forth between him and me. Robert played it at a Metallica show in Yankee Stadium in September 2011, and we went to see it, which was amazing. I used it to record a Yellowjackets album [A Rise In The Road, 2013].
That’s great to hear.
From day one, Robert has always said ‘This is your bass as much as it is mine’. He believes in it the same way I believe in it. The only reason this bass has any value, aside from it being a Fender Jazz, is because of one person. If it wasn’t still being shared by that person’s family, it would be sacrilegious. It was a really unusual experience, even more so from the perspective of being a bassist. I think of everything we went through as a family, working towards making sure our father’s estate is protected, which was not an easy thing, because there was a lot of turmoil in the family. To go through all that stuff and find ‘The Bass’ was the icing on the cake.
“The way it still sang... It had stories, like an old sailor”
that I still have parts of today. My second go-to bass in my collection has the body of that Jazz, because it’s one of the first four bodies of my father’s signature basses. When Fender started mass-producing it in 1999, they gave one to each of my dad’s four children. I guess the most important bass at my house at the moment is my father’s fretless, though.
Did you study music?
I never went to music school and never had a proper teacher – so I’ve always tried to approach my teaching as the way that I taught myself and I continue to teach myself. That can be detrimental to my profession as a teacher, because I tend to say way too much information straight off the bat, but that’s because I really do enjoy sharing information. I don’t think about music all the time: I like sports, and I have responsibilities, but I do it because I enjoy learning music and practising as well as it being my profession. Luckily, I’ve been able to survive in New York as a musician. I’ve done other gigs along the way but I’ve been very fortunate to play music for most of my life.
How did you get into playing bass? Was it inevitable, given your heritage?
No, I think bass is a by-product of the encouragement that my mother gave my brother and me to play music. I don’t think she specifically wanted us to play bass. We took up violin first, which didn’t last very long, and then we played piano. After that, my brother switched to guitar and then to drums, while I went to bass. As 11-yearolds, jamming on guitar and piano wasn’t half as much fun as jamming on bass and drums, especially with our lack of theory and music knowledge.
What was it about bass that spoke to you? It was just an instrument that I gravitated towards. I knew that I had the bug when I started teaching myself music theory on the bass, and I loved the way the bass looked and sounded. I’m very visual. My brother and I were encouraged to be artistic all the time, and most of my stuff was fairly angular, whereas my brother’s art was free-flowing. We’re twins, but polar opposites – similar in many ways, but opposites too. I just remember having a lot more fun playing bass, although I loved figuring music out on piano.
What kind of music did you play in the early days?
There’s a cassette tape of my grandfather Jack, who was Jaco’s father, on drums, my older brother John on piano, and me on bass. That’s one of my very earliest memories of playing bass. I don’t think I’d ever had as much fun in my life before that.
Who were your inspirations when you were growing up?
We obviously listened to our father a lot, but also Stevie Wonder and Earth, Wind & Fire, because R&B and soul were huge for us, growing up in our house. I’m an early80s kid, though, so I was introduced to post-punk, which then became alternative rock and then grunge. Primus was huge for me: the first two albums I bought with my own money, when I was 11 years old, were Sailing The Seas Of Cheese and Blood Sugar Sex Magik by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I listened to them over and over and over again. They were huge for me. I was constantly blown away by what both of those guys were doing.
It was a great time to be learning bass. Definitely. The early 90s was also the progression of the ‘bass personality’. You had a whole slew of kids who were now creating new sounds and new ideas – the Michael Manrings and Victor Wootens of this world. I started getting introduced to these guys through other musicians who said I should check them out. That was a rabbit hole that I definitely fell into, getting Bass Player magazines for the first time, and checking out what was going on out there.
Do you find there is a weight of expectation from people when they meet you, because of who your father was?
If there’s ever pressure on me to be a musician, I don’t think anyone could put more on me than I do myself. It’s not even based on who my father was. Even if he wasn’t my father, I’d still be comparing myself to other bassists. I think it’s more difficult for the person who is expecting something than it is for me; my role as a musician is to fulfil my obligations as a bassist in the band I’m in. The last thing
I want to do is to fuck up a tune: I’m way more concerned with who I’m playing with in the band. That’s what I love about live performance and live music, being in that moment and having that opportunity to step up and do what is necessary.
Your father’s legacy is huge – perhaps the biggest legacy of any bass player.
I get that. My father wasn’t around for a very long time, so a lot of people didn’t get the opportunity to see him live. Maybe people think it’s their chance to see a ‘Pastorius’ when they come to see me, but maybe they’re robbing themselves of the opportunity to experience new things. I’m not going to be my father.
I don’t pretend to be my father, and I don’t intend to be him. There are other bassists that would like to be in my position – not necessarily to play like him, although there are a lot that try to – but because they want to carry on what he was doing. I don’t know if they grasp the importance of being an individual.
How do you pursue that goal?
I just do my best to have a good time and put on a great show and play great music. To me, my father could have been an astronaut or a basketball player, and he would have had the same impact – because he was a unique individual and carried himself in a unique way. He ‘felt’ in ways that were different to how people normally do – so if you’re coming to my show, I hope you don’t expect to see my dad, because he’s not here any more. But I don’t hold that against anybody. He was ‘The One’. You love him, and I love him.
“I DON’T PRETEND TO BE MY FATHER AND I DON’T INTEND TO BE HIM”