I think very little of physical objects as being imbibed with spirit. I have learned the hard way in life not to get too attached to things and, to a much more painful degree, people.

We all have physical objects in our lives that mean something. A ceramic coffee mug that leaks but was made by your child in pottery class, that says “Mom” may be something you treasure. Maybe it is a piece of jewelry or grandpa’s heart valve. It doesn’t matter what it is, there are “things” that hold some sort of sentimental value for all of us. Maybe it is a rug that ties the room together. It is different things to different people.

Personally, I have never been that sentimental about “things”. When I was 10 years old a firestorm raced through the parched hills of then semi–rural Orange County and blazed within a few feet of our home. For hours before the fire virtually surrounded our house and 80 mile an hour Santa Ana winds shot burning embers through the air like flaming bullets, I was told to round up my little brothers and sisters and ask them to decide what two or three “things” they wanted to take with them as we evacuated. For the record, I took my baseball glove (Rawlings Sandy Koufax signature model), a first basemen’s mitt and a baseball.

We all made it out alive and without injury. We were quite shocked to find out several hours later that despite extensive smoke damage our home and belongings were spared.

What one or two items would you grab if you were faced with that decision? Is there any one single possession that means significantly more than any other?

Over the past twenty five years, now roughly half my lifetime, there has been one “thing” that I valued above all others. The interesting aspect of this is that I have never even seen this "thing". I didn't even know where it was or if it still existed at all. The only reason I cared about it is because someone I love cares about it. It is The Red Bass.

Musical instruments are “things” they are not people, but if a “thing” can be imbibed by a spirit, it would be a musical instrument. The mystique surrounding The Red Bass has grown through the years. I have told the story to every woman I have ever loved. I have told the story to a handful of friends who I trusted with my soul. Last March I told everybody.

The Red Bass was now my version of “Rosebud”. Up until just three weeks ago, as far as I knew it went up in smoke. If I never saw The Red Bass it would still be a valued item. I still haven’t seen The Red Bass but it has been found. It was played last night by my brother Michael in front of our mother, Janaan, his son Max and a sold out Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Morrison, Colorado.

This “Hollywood” ending to the story of The Red Bass is the culmination of a surreal series of events put into motion by one man.

After the article entitled “The Red Bass” hit the streets (went on-line) last March, I heard from a bass player who lives in the bay area named Kennan Shaw. He was moved by the story and took a particular interest in it. Kennan and I exchanged correspondences and spoke on the phone. He took the time and effort to re-post The Red Bass article in bass players’ forums on line. I was very grateful for his efforts.

Nothing came up but as I stated in the article, I was not delusional about the prospects of finding the instrument. It had been 25 plus years since anyone in my family had seen it. It was a long shot at best. What the article did do was put a very personal tragedy back on the front burner. Every time I went to a gig, someone I didn’t know would come up to me and say, “Sorry about your brother.” I would say something like, “He isn’t that bad… oh you mean my youngest brother, John who died twenty five years ago.” Then I would hear something to the effect, “Yea, that really sucks.” The, “dude sorry about your brother” died down about twenty years ago. I really didn’t need this to flare up again. I guess it is the price of doing business. What business? I had no expectations of finding the instrument anyway and certainly never even considered the emotional toll all of this would bring to me. It after all is just a “thing”. Nothing is going to bring my brother back. I never even thought of how I would come to grips with actually finding The Red Bass itself.

At 5:37pm on May17, 2011, I was on the phone with a record producer and scrolling through my inbox, when I opened an email from Kennan Shaw. I practically dropped the phone. I couldn’t breathe. It was a detailed “Craig’s List” ad for The Red Bass, that included photos. It was from a seller in Alameda, CA (very near San Francisco, the instrument’s last known whereabouts). I immediately forwarded the email to my brother Michael. I then re-posted The Red Bass article as an archived item on this website. Michael called the person who posted the ad the next day. After a lengthy discussion with the seller, whose story of acquiring the instrument comports with what we know about the bass’s history, Michael determined it was our brother’s very long lost bass. Michael then contacted our nephew Andrew Soss who lives only an hour or so away in San Jose, to see if he could pick up the instrument sometime in the next day or so. When the call was placed to Andy he was coincidently driving by the little town of Alameda. He flipped a “U” turn, hit an ATM and at 11:12 am PDT, May 18^th, he took possession of the instrument within five minutes of talking to Michael. A text message went out that read, “The Eagle has landed.”

After twenty five years, but within only 17 hours after opening the email from Kennan, our brother John’s bass was in the possession of our family once again. I was in shock. The mystery of The Red Bass had been solved and more importantly it would be in the hands of my brother within a few days. It was a dream, come true. It is the only “thing” I ever cared about. How would the actual “thing” compare to the existential mythology of The Red Bass? It was a rhetorical question that was answered last night as the setting sun’s glow illuminated the massive rock formations that lay at the foot of the Rocky Mountains.

As it turns out my brother Michael’s band, The Informants had a gig last night. The band had been on hiatus for almost a year, while individual members of the ensemble pursued side projects. They were asked to reunite for one show at one of the most famous, historical and without a doubt the most spectacular musical venue anywhere, Red Rocks.

Part way through The Informants set, the bass player in the band set down one of his custom made Fender P basses and grabbed a “Fullerton Red” 1980 scratched up, G&L bass and kicked off the song Ukele Johnny with a bass riff that had the spirit of another four string, bad boy bouncing off the giant red rock formations and into that place where “things” mean nothing.

- David Mac