snorkie635

Waiting for Neeps to faaaaaaaaall.

Don't know if this helps your making a decision Robert, but here's a photo of my '75 AVRI bullet - the neck is arrow straight with this much of the bullet showing. Good luck.

Why not try it and see? Only cost a tenner a skull for a four-piece. If it works - yayyyyyy! If not - throw it away. Good luck to you on the night.

But I think our understanding of 'they could go to someone else who'll play them and enjoy them', will be the same. Go on, go on, go on. 🤗

Totally agree Neeps. Send them to me and I'll send you regular postycards. 😇

Whatever your final decision, I hope all goes well for you. Best wishes Snorkie

I wonder why both retailers are giving them a body-swerve? They're generally excellent basses and those two outfits are big players in guitar retail. Hope this isn't a sign of anything 'terminal' fir G&L? 🙁

Very impressive work from my perspective. Hope they end up being as good as they look K. Best wishes Snorkie

I'm Falling - The Bluebells

I've been playing mostly 5s since '91, although I have recently bought a couple of fours and am finding them fun. For gigs though, it still would be a pair of fives.

Rocket Man - Sir Elt.

Oh dear. Not good at all.

Never met the man, but always read his posts. He came across as a good person. Actually shed a tear when I read this. Condolences and best wishes to his family.

Cupid (draw back your bow) - Sam Cooke

Yelp! -the Beatles

Never mind Nilo. At least I turned up. 👍

African and White - China Crisis

I did warn you. 🤫

Yup - guilty as charged

Back around '78, we auditioned a singer as our geetarist at the time was going through a 'strong, silent' phase and decided to give up singing to practise his playing more (whatever!) At the time, we were playing standard pub-rock fare from The Stones, Eric C, Roxy Music, blah, blah. One local hero was a big noise in the cabaret and working men's club circuit and thought he was the next Tony Christie/Elvis. So, we rent a rehearsal space, send out a set list with half a dozen well-know 'standards (for that time) and await the arrival of the great man himself. We, in the band, all resembled drop-outs from Lynyrd Skynyrd at that time, and he rocks up looking like John Revolta (shirt collar outside wide-lapelled jacket, etc.). He firstly needed to spray something into his throat, as this allowed him to 'expand his range', and then he went through a vocal warm up of about ten minutes of scales. By the time all this had been accomplished, the guitarist was giving me looks to let me know he was going to crumple with restricted laughter, and to say not a word. Meanwhile, Mr Fabulous is now bu**ering about with the PA amp, attempting to find echo, reverb, treble and lord knows what else. This 'search' for settings unleashed feedback, rumbles, parping whoops, and sounds Ron Grainer would have been proud of. Perhaps, 25 minutes into the audition, Perry Combover was ready to rock and first up was Brown Sugar by the Stones. 1,2,3,4. Intro goes well. He proceeds to hit the wrong note as he joins in. Not only was he in the wrong key; he was singing the chorus. You simply must accept at this point, that he was approaching the number very much in the style of Harry Secombe, as 'Mr Bumble' in 'Oliver'. It was akin to Leonard Cohen auditioning for Greenday. Possible because he was unable to breathe, our guitarist was on his knees, pretending to be doing something with his amp-controls. Seeing this, I decided to face the wall, but to plough-on regardless. Suffice to say, I planted the top of my head flat against the wall, to provide some measure of pain, in the hope it might stop me having convulsions of mirth - I swear I couldn't see, for tears of laughter running down my face, and daren't breathe in case I atrophied. After what seemed like the 'director's cut'/'festival version' of the song -which passed for me in slow-motion, allowing me to re-live my entire life to that point - we road-crashed to a halt. The drummer looked like he had been tasered, and all blink-reflexes were gone; the guitarist was a sort of crimson-peuce colour and probably now boasted a new world record in holding breath, long enough to impress a south-seas pearl diver. I was, as I recall, almost managing to stand with a ninety degree bend from the waist, being held up olny by the pressure of my head on the supporting wall. "Well guys," quoth the great man,"that sounded pretty good to me, but I don't think you've got the solo quite right somehow!"

Pint or half-pint? Draught or bottled?

Music Ground in Doncaster would do that if you fancied a particular combination back in the '70s.