Sound

Sanctuary

Count Bass D carves out a musical niche

Since his debut Pre-Life Crisis dropped via Sony in 1995, Count Bass D has shown that he is an artist of individual ilk. Born Dwight Farrell, the Nashville native got his chops playing in the church while receiving a formal music education. A multi-instrumentalist in the truest sense (he played nearly every instrument on Pre-Life Crisis), Count would later expand his range and cut his teeth on computer sequencers and, later, a borrowed MPC from MF DOOM, spawning his seminal 2002 release Dwight Spitz. Hip-hop heads who were confused by his previous alternative approach took heed to the loops, layers, and lyrical stylings of Dwight Spitz and have ever since been drawn to the music that can only be described as his own.

With truly a collage of a catalog, Count Bass has maintained by remaining loyal and dedicated to the beats. “In sickness and in health, baby,” he says with a smile of love. Blessed with a rare quality only a few can inherently affirm, he is the embodiment of music.

Among the record talk, we’re here to celebrate your sixth album. Why did you title it L7?

Well, there were a lot of sevens around my life at the time. I was recording mostly in 2007. I’m thirty-four, so three plus four equals seven. I have seven members in my family right now, my wife and I and our five kids. But mostly it’s the whole thing of trying to make a decision of whether or not it’s right to be a traditional musician, or could I provide a better life for my children by living a life that is square. That’s the basic premise, that fight of being a musician as opposed to a regular person, trading in my five to five for a nine to five. Your story is a unique one in hip-hop. Well, I’ve been making music before I heard “Rapper’s Delight.” It wasn’t a situation where I got into this as a hip-hop- per. Music was my main focus, but hip-hop was something I did when I was at home or with my friends. I was more of a church musician. I didn’t grow up with turntables; I got my first drum set when I was four years old. Hip-hop, to me, I loved it, because I was a young Black male growing up in America, but as far as that being my life passion, it wasn’t until I saw that there was only a certain level I was going to be able to achieve musically because of some choices I had made in high school. I had to figure out a way to get into the music world the nontraditional way, since chances were I wasn’t going to be able to do it the traditional way of getting a degree and then being called for jobs and auditions. This was when I was seventeen, and I gave myself the name Count Bass D and fused my musical knowledge with my hip-hop knowledge. It was a huge gamble, and that’s half my life ago. [laughs] It has seemed to pay off, and you’ve done it your way. I believe there is a place for everybody. I don’t want anyone to take me out of my place. Just allow me to have this little corner over here for those who may like this kind of thing. They can be boutique records—I don’t care. I think everybody should be just trying to be themselves, be more of an individual, so you can claim your place even harder. You won’t have to worry about somebody swagger-jacking [laughs] if you have your own thing that you’re doing. I don’t have to worry about anyone trying to be like Count Bass, because they can’t. They can’t! I could give you everything in my life, except the drawers I got on, and you could never be Count Bass D, not even close. If I try to be somebody else, I can’t do that as well.

I sell me broke, I sell me paid. I sell me high, I sell me sober. Acting bad, or acting positive. I just have to be myself, and I believe that is enough for people to try to wrap their heads around, because I’m trying to wrap my head around this shit too. [laughs]

I can respect that. And now to wrap things up: the records. Is there a theme or means that defines these ten records for you?

These are ten records that when I heard them, I asked myself whether or not I should still be making music. I could never tell you my ten favorite records or most important records to me, but I can tell you one thing: when I heard these ten records, I had to ask myself, “Will I ever be able to get to a level in my discipline where I would feel comfortable now that I’ve heard this?” These records just made me check myself and say yo, there are standards and rules to this shit! They kept me in line and made me see that there is a bar you have to reach in order to call yourself a recording artist, or musician, period.

Marvin Gaye I Want You (Motown) 1976

I thought this record was only okay for about four years. My parents didn’t play secular music growing up, so I had to discover each artist on my own. I put this record on a ninety-minute cassette tape with [my album] BEGBORROWSTEEL on the flip. I would listen to both records back-to-back-to-back. Both were the soundtrack to my life for a few years.

Bill Evans and Toots Thielemans Affinity (Warner

Bros.) 1978

“Jesus’ Last Ballad” was played on Bob Parlocha’s syndicated broadcast. I was driving home from my third-shift job early. I heard the chords and began to cry. I had no clue who the artist was or why I was crying, but it was too beautiful for me handle. When he announced the artists, I made the connections and got schooled on a sleeper album of a jazz giant.

Andraé Crouch I’ll Be Thinking of You (Platinum) 1979

All my memories have music in them. This record sounded like heaven to me when I was six and seven years old. I know there is still a lot for me to reach for musically, because this record has it all.

The Imperials One More Song for You (Day Spring/Word) 1979

I sat on a panel with [producer/arranger] Michael Omartian in Nashville once. I told him how much this album had an impact on me. It didn’t seem as if he believed me, but I was being very sincere.

The Clark Sisters Is My Living in Vain (New Birth) 1980

I have most respect for gospel music. Most churches were trying to learn the songs on this album, and most organ players were trying to sound like Twinkie Clark. Plus, she added the Juno [synthesizer], and this record is just so raw. This record is what it feels like, man. This is exactly what it feels like.

The Winans Introducing the Winans

(Light) 1981

Secular and contemporary gospel just didn’t sit well in the house I grew up in. [This] was contemporary for the time, but now it’s considered traditional as time has gone by. Marvin Winans writes incredible songs. I still listen to this album a lot.

Take 6 Take 6

(Reprise) 1988

I’ve listened to this album more than any other album that I’ve ever owned. Mervyn Warren has a gift that I haven’t seen in any other musician. I wondered if I should give up ever making music again after I heard this record. I had no desire to work hard, because I felt it wasn’t worth trying to reach this level of arranging. This record is my Michael Jordan of albums.

Main Source Breaking Atoms

(Wild Pitch) 1991

I bought two cassettes with a gift certificate that Jamie Weiler’s mother gave he and I for Easter 1991. I remember seeing Large Professor on Rap City in a brown leather jacket and an Afro, and I didn’t cut my hair for years after that. I couldn’t believe how much flavor he had, and it wasn’t until I started learning about records when this record became nearly perfect to me.

MF DOOM Operation: Doomsday

(Fondle ’Em) 1999

One day, I had it on shuffle and I heard “Rhymes Like Dimes,” and it completely made sense to me. Each time I saw him after that, I asked him about lines in that song, and he would just say, “You’re giving me too much credit, Count,” as if he was just going through the motions. He’s been my favorite lyricist in all forms of music for about five years.

J Dilla Donuts

(Stones Throw) 2006

I preordered this album. The way he went out just sealed him being number one in my book. This record was a kick in my behind.

Van

Hunt Popular

(Blue Note) 2008 [unreleased]

Van is one of my main influences right now. This album wasn’t released, but it’s his current masterpiece. Van writes great songs. .