僕の知らない物語

Some bassist

He just stood there, idly plucking the E and A strings with a calm detachment unsuitable to the type of music he played. Dressed in black, with white face-paint laboriously applied, he diligently held down the mournful, ponderous drum beat.

Standing ramrod-straight, no swaying, just playing, ignoring the small vocalist growling on the mic, ignoring everyone. I didn’t even know if he had a shred of technical brilliance in him, beyond producing his impeccable low notes. It was a strange kind of zen, that moment when I realize that he was perfect. Nothing more was asked of him. Two, three, four different notes. That was all that the song asked from him.

His large belly thrummed with every pluck, seemingly giving its own weight to the paunchy tones his bass produced. It just seemed that way.