This interview was conducted in February of 2024, before Bass’ Nowhere in Between album release.
Khulan Erdenechimeg: Cool. So, I was thinking of making this more like a personal interview that also includes advice. I’ve known you for years as my professor – I’m interested in learning your story as a person and a musician.
John Bass: Sure!
KE: Great. Let’s start with your first musical memory.
JB: My first musical memory... that's a good question. I guess my first memory would have to be my dad playing the banjo. He was a physician, but he was also an excellent banjo player. He played every night, and the thing about banjos is that they’re loud. So if you’re in the house, you can’t escape the sound. I grew up surrounded by that. He played bluegrass, specifically Earl Scruggs-style banjo, and he was really good at it. That’s probably why I never picked up that style myself; it felt like his thing.
KE: Did you get into music when you were young?
JB: Not initially. My mom did put me in Suzuki violin lessons when I was three, though. She thought it was good for the brain, even though she wasn’t a musician herself. She was a nurse and worked until my younger sister was born, after which she stayed at home to take care of us.
KE: So, you grew up in a healthcare professional household?
JB: Oh, definitely. I’m actually the first in five generations not to go to medical school. My dad, my grandfather—there’s a long line of medical professionals. I was the first one to break that chain. My sister didn’t go into healthcare either. My mom wanted us to become doctors or healthcare professionals, but she ended up with me, a jazz guitarist, and my sister, who is a high school art teacher and painter.
KE: That’s interesting! So there was an artsy side in your family.
JB: My dad definitely had a love for music and literature. He could play the banjo beautifully and even recite Shakespeare. He also worked as a professor and helped find a medical school in Mobile, Alabama. But I knew him as a banjo player first and foremost. He loved what he did and worked up until just a few days before he passed away. I learned early on that I didn’t have the same passion for science or medicine. I would’ve been doing it just for the sake of a job.
KE: Did your parents push you toward medicine?
JB: Not really. My dad never pressured me. My mom, on the other hand, worried a lot. She grew up poor, so having a stable job was very important to her. She had a hard time understanding why someone would choose a path that didn’t have a clear trajectory towards financial stability. And honestly, I get it; I worry about that too sometimes.
KE: That makes sense. Music is most definitely one of the trickiest industries in that regard. Do you think you're someone who likes having a certain control over things, like the future?
JB: Not at all! I’m not a planner, and I’ve come to learn that about myself. My wife, on the other hand, is great at planning. We’ve figured out our strengths over time – I tend to get lost in the moment, which can even make me late to things sometimes.
KE: Explain that more. What do you mean by “in the moment”?
JB: Well, it’s like something Jason Isbell said in the event we had the other day: the past is just a memory. It's not really there anymore. The future is uncertain. The only thing we truly know is the present moment. I plan ahead and schedule things, but I’m not a good multitasker. When I'm with someone, I really try to be present. I can't focus on what's coming next. When people ask about past decisions, I think I can reflect on them, but I wouldn't necessarily say it's regret. A different choice would have just led me down a different path, and that’s where I would be now. The future is uncertain, but I'm hopeful. I plan, but nothing is guaranteed.
KE: Do you think you've always been that way?
JB: I’ve always been like that, but I didn’t let myself be because I thought I was supposed to have a clear plan. There’s a pressure to know what your path is supposed to be.
KE: So, when you were 22, what was your supposed plan?
JB: At 22, I was about to graduate from college with a degree in jazz guitar. I didn’t really know what my next step was. There aren’t many jobs for jazz guitarists, so I played in a band, worked at a music store, and did regional tours. I met my wife during that time. She had a degree in education and wanted to get a Masters in Audiology. We applied to graduate schools and ended up at the University of Memphis because we both got assistantships. At the time, we didn’t expect to stay here long, but things just kept happening, and now we’ve been here for 24 years.
KE: When you got to Memphis, did you have any idea of what to expect?
JB: Not really. I knew about some of the music that came from here, but I didn’t know much about Memphis’s music scene. I was focused on jazz, so I thought about other cities that were more known for jazz. I knew about Elvis and some of the local music, but I didn’t pay much attention to it until I got here.
KE: What was the cool city for jazz?
JB: New York, Miami—they had vibrant jazz scenes. I thought I’d end up there, not Memphis. But once I got here, things changed. I started getting into my master's program and realized I could make a life here. I also decided to pursue a PhD because at that point, I didn’t know what else to do. My wife was working, so I had the flexibility to keep studying. I met Ken Kreitner, a professor at the University of Memphis, and he was the one who made me feel like I could write. Before that, I didn’t think I had the ability to write academically. He told me that I had potential. That was a turning point for me. Before that, I just wanted to be a guitarist.
KE: What did you love about the guitar? Was it the technical aspect or something else?
JB: I love the sound of the guitar. I could sit with it for hours, just enjoying how each note sounds and how two notes interact. It’s not about playing fast or complex, but about the pure sound. I’ve always been drawn to that. I got good at it in high school, and it was just a way to connect with music. But I never thought I’d be able to make a career out of it, and that’s why I eventually shifted to academic music studies.
KE: Interesting. Explain what “sounding good” means to you.
JB: That's a good question. There are a lot of guitar tones that are common, which I don't use much. With an acoustic guitar, it has a nice, strong lower register, but there's a sparkle to it as well, a warmth that feels good. With an electric guitar, I want it to sound clean, though sometimes I add some overdrive. When I hear a record, sometimes I think, "I just love the way that sounds," not even because of what they're playing but because of the tone.
KE: Do you think music is more magical or human?
JB: I think it's more human. Music itself is complex; if you break it down, it's just vibrations in the air. But certain combinations of these vibrations affect us profoundly, which is kind of magical. There are pieces of music, even instrumentals, that evoke emotions without any words. For example, a violin solo by Stéphane Grappelli on a Django Reinhardt album always makes me tear up. It’s not a sad song, but its beauty overwhelms me. I look for those moments of beauty, whether it's music, a sunset, or the contrast of the sky against the trees. Those moments are special and make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
KE: Do you think that's the point of life? Those moments?
JB: Yeah, I think that's one of them. In between all the questions and challenges, there are moments of real beauty that don't always make sense. I play music to find those moments. And while it might sound superficial to talk about seeking beauty, there is work involved in creating it. The people who create beautiful things aren't magical; they put in the effort. It’s often the hard work that allows them to consistently produce meaningful art.
KE: Has your relationship with music changed over the years?
JB: Definitely. It's hard for me to separate music from my relationship with myself, which has also changed. As I've grown more comfortable with who I am, I've accepted that there are things I struggle with musically. Those struggles used to bother me a lot, but now I’m more at ease with not knowing. This comfort helps me move past those struggles more quickly because I’m not stuck in my head.
KE: For many musicians, life is measured in music and those goose-bump moments. Is that still the case for you?
JB: Yes, and I hope it stays that way. Even if I’m not actively working in music or performing, I want to keep that connection. But I've also learned that my self-worth isn't tied to my musical achievements. It used to be; I would equate my value as a person to how well I played a guitar solo. But that mindset can be counterproductive. When you worry too much about what others think, it affects your performance and becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. But when I let go of that worry, I play better, and as a result, people are more likely to resonate with it. Audiences want to see artists express themselves without being overly self-conscious.
KE: I also wonder, do you think there’s a persona that you’ve created by being a professor and having to interact with many people, almost like being a public figure?
JB: That’s true. It’s interesting moving between those worlds. There are people who are surprised to learn that I play guitar, or that I still play guitar. Being a professor is more about creating opportunities for others to step into the space. It’s about checking your own ego, and I’m very conscious of that. There’s a power dynamic, and I don’t want to use it to just have a captive audience for my own work. I want to share my experiences and teach through them, not to say, “Do what I did,” but to offer my perspective. Some people are surprised that I’m still an active musician. Some of my musician friends don’t know what I do at Rhodes.
KE: Do you like keeping those parts of your life separate?
JB: I do. It’s different work. I like going to a gig and not being “the professor” or “the director of the Curb Institute.” I enjoy just being on the bandstand, making music with other musicians.
KE: Would you have liked it if music were your full-time job?
JB: That’s a good question. It’s hard to say. I don’t regret where I am now, but if I measured success by what I thought at 22, I probably wouldn’t consider myself successful. Back then, I imagined touring and maybe being well-known. But now, I really love teaching. It’s a gift to be around young people because it keeps me honest and constantly re-evaluating what I do. I think if I didn’t have that, I could fall into certain habits or patterns. I like that this job keeps changing. The students are different, making me think differently, which I find interesting. Plus, I get to be a guitar player in Memphis, hang out with friends, be a dad, go to basketball games, take college tours with my daughter, and be a husband. My wife is a scientist, so we see things differently sometimes. It’s great to have her give me feedback from a different perspective.
KE: It’s interesting. Some people don’t want to marry someone in the same field.
JB: With music, it’s especially tricky because it’s not just a job—it’s my passion. It challenges me to consider whether I am more than just my passion. I do want to be more, but it’s something I work on.
KE: I agree. Music can feel mystical, almost like a religion. Some people are okay with—or pretend to be okay with—giving all of themselves to it.
JB: Yes, and I like breaking down that mysticism. There’s a bias that musicians are the only ones who understand music, and if you don’t play, you won’t get it. I love listening to complex jazz, but that doesn’t mean it’s better. It’s just what I’m into because I’ve been studying it for so long.
KE: Does knowing how it works take away the fun?
JB: No, not at all. I love exploring how it works. When I listen, I’m often thinking, “What are they doing?” because I want to learn and do it myself. It’s fun for me to break down the magic and show others how it’s done. I love figuring out the magic trick while still appreciating the show.
KE: I see. For me, sometimes knowing ruins the moment. I like mysticism and not knowing everything because I think it’s tied to a desire for control.
JB: That’s fascinating. It’s a different perspective, and I get that.
KE: Going back to the goosebump stuff. I was talking to a friend about it, and I'm so interested in the concept of time. I think music moments that make you feel the beauty of life, or the ones that make your hair stand on end, are the ones that seem to stretch the linearity of time. It shakes that line and makes you realize you’re just as clueless in life. So, I wondered, I mean, you’re older than us—how does that play out? Is it still the same? Do you still feel like you don’t know things?
JB: Yeah, every day. And I'm comfortable with the idea that I will always not know everything. The more you learn, the more you realize how much you don’t know. It’s a constant pursuit of knowledge. And that's great because I don't want to know everything about music. I want to always discover something new, something that makes me think, “What is that?”
Time is such a relative concept. We all feel it. Sometimes time moves fast, sometimes slow. There's research showing that as we get older, time feels like it moves faster. This period from now until the end of the semester will feel longer to you than it does to me because it represents a bigger percentage of your life experience than mine. For me, it’s just another two-month segment among many I’ve experienced.
KE: It's almost exponential growth, right?
JB: Yes, exactly. It’s scary, but there’s also comfort in it. I play a lot of rhythm guitar in jazz, and I’ll spend most of a gig playing simple quarter notes—just joom, joom, joom, joom. That used to feel limiting until I realized I wasn’t just marking time, but actually creating it. You can think about time as fast or slow, and it changes how you process it. If you approach something fast with anxiety, you get tense. But thinking of it as slow can make it more manageable.
KE: Right, it’s all about perception.
JB: Yes, and there’s space between the beats of a metronome. You can play with how those intervals feel. This ability to control time perception is why great musicians—Hendrix, Armstrong—can sound like they’re floating above the music. They’re in sync but thinking of time differently. And while the exponential nature of time can be intimidating, there’s peace in that acceptance. Lately, I've thought about this more because of losses in my family—people passing suddenly or in hospice care. I’ve noticed how some find peace with their remaining time, which I don’t fully understand but think I’ll only get once I’m there.
KE: Having kids must make that more intense, seeing them grow up and feeling more protective of time.
JB: Definitely. I remember turning 18. It felt significant, like a shift—no longer legally a child. Internally, I don’t feel that different now compared to when I was younger. There are changes, of course, but my core feels similar. I'll be 47 soon, and that’s okay. When I was in my 20s, being nearly 50 seemed so daunting, like you’re counting down. But now, I understand it’s something you have to experience firsthand. And it’s okay not to fully understand it until you’re there.
KE: Do you think being in your 20s is way different than being in your 30s or 40s?
JB: Yes, it is, and I don’t want to be pedantic or anything like that. You know so much more in your 30s and then 40s. I mean, you do know some things, you don’t know some other things. But you know that this is just where we are. I mean, none of us can control when or where we were born or things like that. We’re just on this journey in different spots, you know.
KE: And... the journey – what is the end? I wonder. Metaphorically speaking.
JB I think it’s like a train, you know. And we all just get on at different points. And over the course of it, you can sort of work your way up to some cabins in the front or whatever. You just ride the train, and then there’ll be a point where you have to get off the train. And other people are still on the train. The train just keeps going. It's a metaphor that’s used in so many blues songs – the train ride. And I think the reason it’s such a strong metaphor is that you’re riding it, and we, as passengers, don’t really control where the train is going. We’re just on it, and we ride it. You just have to be comfortable getting off it. You have to enjoy the journey. That’s why you take a train ride—because you want to enjoy the journey in a different way than driving.
KE: Yeah, it’s really interesting because when you’re on the train, you usually know where you’re going.
JB: Yes, that’s true. So the metaphor breaks down at some level.
KE: It is a good metaphor, though.
JB: Yeah, my train is more like a toy train that just goes in a circle.
This interview was conducted in February of 2024, before Bass’ Nowhere in Between album release, which was in April. Having had the great pleasure of knowing Professor John Bass for four years during my time at Rhodes, I anticipated his signature on-point metaphors and thoughtful life stories – and he did not disappoint.
Now, as I’m pen this reflection paragraph about nine months after our conversation, I realize I’m still on that train, occasionally rushing toward the front cabin, other times stopping abruptly to frantically search for my ticket. And what do you do when your ticket has no destination? You sit down. You settle in.
Order a finely made cappuccino with your last dime, savor the scenery, and if you can, claim the window seat. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.
By Khulan Erdenechimeg, Nov 2024.