Don't Worry, Be Happy
Bass Player Magazine Soapbox
By Bryan Beller
Published February, 2004

Ever wonder how those people do it? You're not alone. I wonder myself. I'm talking about people who leave a good impression on everyone they meet. We all know someone like this: He (or she) shows up at a party, workspace, or gig. He's outgoing, warm, and funny all at once. Shortly after he leaves, heads nod in unwavering agreement: What a great guy.

This person-type (let's call him Happy Outgoing), who by my estimate makes up no more than three percent of the total population, has an advantage over the other 97 percent. Through either compulsion or fanatic effort, Happy Outgoing has consistently presented a positive image to so many people on so many different occasions, he's cemented his own brand within his circle of influence. Great guy. Very cool. Easy to be around. Smells good, too. Whether or not he knows it, Happy is successfully marketing himself every time he opens his mouth. Is he happy on the inside? Doesn't matter. Not in marketing.

In our capitalistic society, we bassists have much to learn from Mr. Happy Outgoing. First of all, we're bassists. Some of us are bassists because the only Happy Outgoing in the band is either singing lead or playing guitar. That's to be expected in most steady band situations. You're a bassist; if you want people to notice and appreciate you, play the blues harmonica. People love that.

But what about working freelance bassists? You need money, you need gigs. You need people to like you. Chances are you don't like everyone you meet. Sometimes the world bothers you. Things like car alarms and drunk drummers and traffic before soundcheck and people in supermarkets, on the wrong day, cause you to pound your right hand into the passenger seat with force sufficient to send your charts flying into the windshield.

On a really bad day, you show up to the gig, and you're in the place I call Angry Outgoing. Within seconds the bandleader knows that you jumped out of your car and throttled an old Bulgarian woman within inches of her life because she cut into your lane without using her turn signal. You're satisfied now that you got it off your chest. Bandleader nods, then walks away. Meanwhile, Happy Outgoing (in this case, the guitarist) shows up, talks up a few other band members, they laugh, Happy walks away, and you can see the band members all doing the what a great guy nod and smile.

Happy probably earned his "Outgoing" surname by talking up everyone he met, asking their name, what they did, where they live, what kind of gear they use, what breed of dog they have—and he might have even remembered enough of it to bring it up the next time. Meanwhile, when he's onstage, he wears a special vest with golden sequins and pants to match. Every time. His hips shake in a funny but catchy way while he plays. He smiles throughout the gigs—except during ballads, when he switches to a more pensive visage. The other band members give him the "you just did something cool" look at least four times in a 45-minute set. When the gig ends, Happy Outgoing gets offstage, greets a few people, and leaves them smiling and nodding.

Does this Happy Outgoing guy really exist? Sure. All it took him was persistent positive communication with those around him, a couple of cosnsiten quirks that people could remember, and - voila! - he created a reputation. A style. A brand.

The rest of us aren't Happy or Outgoing all the time. We're human; Mr. Happy Outgoing, to us, is not. So how do we make up for that? Allow me to rpesent some tips _ two for those with problems being "Happy," and two for "Outgoing."

Happy Rule No. 1: Don't start off any conversation with the words, "You won't believe what happened to me today." Unload your emotional baggage on your instrument, not your bandmates.

Happy Rule No. 2: Don't curse your gear during soundcheck. A bad cable won't straighten up and fly right if you give it a dressing-down a drill sergeant would be proud of.

Outgoing Rule No. 1: Buy the band a round of drinks. You wouldn't believe how consistently effective this is. Get yourself a double for being so happy. (If you're a teetotaler who works out, have a Diet Vanilla Coke and a smile.)

Outgoing Rule No. 2 (this one's important): Talk to a few people after the gig. Even though you're tired and have a long drive home, leaving ASAP may cost you the opportunity to make good impressions on the public when they're easiest to make—right after they've been stunned by the show they paid to see. They're hungry to see your Happy Outgoing side; a little of it will go along way. Bonus: If it's your gig, this helps immensely in selling merchandise, getting asked back, and just achieving remembrance for being something other than a bass player.

Do I follow these simple-sounding rules for positive self-marketing? Usually, no. In fact, I'm horrible at it. I tell everyone within earshot exactly what's bothering me, and I get so worked up that after gig I'm on my way home while Happy Outgoing is still back at the venue making friends. But I'm working on it. It's nice to see you. Thanks for coming out to the show. That's a cool shirt, man. Let's hang out soon. I'm so glad you read my column.

See? That (I'm) wasn't (really) so (tired and just) difficult (want to), now (go home), was it?

By Bryan Beller, copyright 2004 United Entertainment Media. Reprinted from the February, 2004 issue of BASS PLAYER. Reprinted with permission from BASS PLAYER. For subscription information, please call (850) 682-7644 or visit www.bassplayer.com