Column #14: The Legend Of Lightning Mac
Published April, 2002

It doesn't happen often, but when I sat down to write this month's Bass Player column, I drew a total blank. So I called my friend and musical partner-in-crime Mike Keneally and asked him for suggestions. After all, Mike's a walking encyclopedia of music and has probably forgotten about more records than I've ever heard of. His idea startled me: "Why don't you write about Ansford McQuarters?"

"Who?"

"You don't know about Ansford 'Lightning' McQuarters? The best bassist no one's ever heard of?"

"Uh, no. How did you hear about him?"

"I heard from the guys in Zappa's 1988 touring band that Frank auditioned him back in 1980. That he sight-read the 'Black Page' in one pass-and that he was the one who added the melody to it. On the spot!"

"If he was so great," I asked, "how come he didn't get the gig?"

"He disappeared after the audition. They said he went back to Florida or something. You should look into him."

How come I had never heard of this guy? I made it my mission to find out who he was.

  * * * * *  

Maybe someone at the University of Miami would know about him. Jaco went there, and it was a heavy scene back then, right? I eventually got someone on the phone, an older-sounding man who recognized the name. "Man, Lightning Mac was the baddest cat around. Back in '73, he could play Charlie Parker heads on his bass with his eyes closed. He was the one who ripped the frets off Jaco's bass and showed him all those harmonics. Then Mac took off for New York City in a hurry. Wait a minute-who are you?"

"My name is Bryan Beller. I'm a Bass Player columnist ." The line went dead. This was getting interesting. Now I had to know more.

I got on a plane and headed for the East Coast. It took a few days, but I finally found someone who knew what I was talking about. A doorman at a famous New York jazz club took me aside and spoke in a hushed, reverent tone, on condition of anonymity. "They called him 'Hands of Lightning.' He could play faster than anybody-even the horn players. Word was he used to practice 16th-note scales at 250 beats per minute. He had this instrument no one had ever seen before-had six strings. This was back in the '70s, you know? He was slapping and popping on it, playing chords, comping jazz changes, playing the melodies on the heads, everything. But the cats didn't dig where he was coming from, and they chased him out of town. They just weren't ready for that sort of thing. I heard a rumor that he showed Anthony Jackson how to play a 6-string. Anyway, that's what I heard."

"Are there any recordings? Any pictures of him? Anything at all? I've got to hear this guy play! I don't even know what he looks like!"

"You're in for a tough ride, son. He was really strict about people not taping the shows, and especially about pictures. Kind of a weird guy, honestly. It was like he was afraid of being known."

"Where's he from? Someone has got to know more about him."

The doorman looked around, then whispered into my ear. "Detroit. That's what I heard. Hitsville. You know what I mean?"

  * * * * *

Detroit was a big strikeout. I went to every club I could find, asked every bartender, gave my cell-phone number to every doorman, booking agent, and musician over age 40-no one had ever heard of Ansford "Lightning" McQuarters. I was about to give up and go home when my cell phone rang.

"You the guy who's lookin' for Lightnin' Mac?"

"Yes, yes! Who are you?"

A heavy breath. "That's not important. You just need to know two things. One, there ain't no tapes of him, because he wouldn't record for nobody. And two, because of that, he met a guy named Jamerson, and he passed along what he knew so people could hear it."

"This is ridiculous! You're telling me he taught James Jamerson how to play?"

"That's what I said. You got a hearin' problem?"

"What's next-he showed Leo Fender how to make a P-Bass? And why has no one ever heard of this guy? Where the hell is he from? What's with all the mystery?"

"You go down to Pecks Mill, West Virginia," the man said quietly, "and you'll find out." Then he hung up.

  * * * * *

Pecks Mill is a town of maybe 1,000 people, hidden away in the Appalachian Mountains. One road in, one road out, no stoplights, one general store. It didn't take long to find someone who pointed me in the right direction. There was a house, up an unpaved road, where an old lady named Annie lived. Annie McQuarters. She was wrapped in blankets and sitting outside on the porch, as if she were waiting for me.

"You're not here to see me, are you?" she asked. "You're here to ask about my son, Ansford."

She took me inside and showed me the only picture she had of him. He was tall and gangly, with tremendous hands and feet, wild eyes, and short, scraggly hair. He was half Irish, a quarter black, and a quarter American Indian, she said. I couldn't take the picture with me-it was her only one. According to Mrs. McQuarters, his uncle was the best banjo player in the state, but Ansford wouldn't take to it. Didn't have the talent.

"Then one day, he went out to meet someone, and he came back with that bass in his hands." Her eyes lit up as she spoke. "And he could play the devil out of it. He never was the same after that. He rushed out in a huff one day and never came home again. He did send me this."

It was an old cassette tape, labeled Ansford McQuarters, 4/1/84. "Have you ever listened to it, ma'am?"

"Once," she said, "and it was the most beautiful music I ever heard."

I thanked her and ran out to the car, my mind racing. No pictures. No recordings. Didn't have the talent. Went out to meet someone . came back . and could play the devil out of it.

My rental car didn't have a tape player, so I raced back to the nearest city and bought a cassette Walkman. I slammed the tape into the player . and it was blank.

* * * * *

I returned home, exhilarated but frustrated, with a story in my head that I knew needed to be told. Now you know what I know. That tape must have come from somewhere. All those people couldn't talk because of-well, I'm not sure I even want to say it. The music-and the answer to the mystery-of Ansford "Lightning" McQuarters, original pioneer of the bass guitar, teacher to the masters, is out there. Waiting to be discovered.

Maybe even by you.

By Bryan Beller, copyright 2002 United Entertainment Media. Reprinted from the April, 2002 issue of BASS PLAYER. Reprinted with permission from BASS PLAYER. For subscription information, please call (850) 682-7644 or visit www.bassplayer.com