The bass guitar, with its four strings, is low-frequency and steady.
In a band, the bassist doesn't stand in the spotlight like the lead singer, doesn't have the rapid strumming of a guitarist, nor the flashy moves of a keyboardist. Even the drummer, hidden in the shadows, can easily stir emotions with the pounding of their beats.
Because of this, the bassist often lacks presence, doesn't show off, and struggles to ignite the crowd. Even under the spotlight, they fail to connect with the audience, leading to the bass's role being severely underrated.
In many bands, no one wants to be the bassist, and it's often left to the keyboardist or guitarist to fill the spot. But this is a misunderstanding.
In a band, the bass is the true heart of the rhythm.
Pink Floyd's drummer, Nick Mason, once said that a band is essentially just a drummer and a bassist, with some fancy performances added in.
In modern music, the drums are crucial, especially in bands, where they control the song's tempo and rhythm. The drums are bold, producing both high and low frequencies with impressive impact, making them the ultimate instrument for rhythm.
So why do professionals often say that drums and bass are inseparable partners?
Because the drum's flaw is obvious:
It has no fixed pitch and cannot play sustained notes.
The bass, on the other hand, provides pitch and fills in those extended notes, working with the drums to create beautiful rhythmic lines.
In a band, the guitar is the skeleton, the drums are the muscles, the keyboard is the skin, and the bass is the blood—
It may not be visible, but that doesn't make it any less important.
And that's exactly the case here.
After the cello-driven opening of "Wake Me Up" stunned everyone, this band now daringly began with a fretless bass.
All eyes fell on Connor.
Connor, with his eyes lowered, focused entirely on the bass. His fingertips gently plucked the strings, and the deep, rich notes spread like ancient echoes, warm as moonlight flooding the ground.
Unconsciously, everyone held their breath.
From afar, a light, clear guitar sound chimed in.
It was Anson.
With a guitar pick between his lips, Anson's eyes were fixed on the strings. The crisp sound of his fingers striking the strings flowed like a cold stream, dancing around the bass's steady pull, intertwining different tones that tugged at the heartstrings.
A deep hum followed.
Wait, was that... a cello?
Miles's bow glided across the G string, releasing a delicate, nuanced sound that was tender yet tinged with a hint of melancholy, filling every corner of the auditory space with layers of emotion. Unknowingly, hearts were filled with a bittersweet sadness.
Then came the soft tinkling of chimes, gently bouncing between the notes.
Lily had joined the performance quietly, like a breeze, without fanfare.
Closing your eyes, you could almost soar on the wings of the music—
Sitting in a pickup truck, driving straight down Route 66, with the windows rolled down, letting the wind carry in the world's green trees, soil, rivers, hawks, blue skies, and cornfields. Life's sorrows and troubles slowly faded with the rolling of the wheels, and you couldn't help but reach out to catch the wind, feeling the years slide through your fingertips, as your scarred heart began to unfold.
People often think life is fine, rushing through each day, too busy to feel sadness or pain or to even think. But then, one afternoon, with a cup of tea in hand, lost in thought, you get hit unexpectedly by the music—
Realizing that you're not okay.
Those pains, those struggles, those scars haven't disappeared. They've just been hiding in the corners of your memory, slowly seeping in and eroding your soul.
Only you can understand what you've been through.
And so, you fall into the cracks of time.
The flowing melody. So simple, so light, yet so rich.
The layers, the images, the raw reality softly envelop the heart, gently pulling it down. Before you realize it, you've already fallen, fallen into the river of time, into the pit of memory, with the bitterness spreading across your tongue.
Blair froze, completely stunned.
Caught off guard, helpless.
Her eyes grew warm, as if she could see golden notes soaring from the instruments, fluttering their wings, and finally landing softly on her eyelashes.
She couldn't help but hold her breath.
Gradually, the performance came to a gentle close. The entire studio was silent, as if even breathing and heartbeats had ceased.
The singing hadn't even begun, yet everyone had already been captivated.
A spotlight fell on Anson, serene and radiant, slowly outlining his face. His long, thick lashes cast shadows, hiding his gaze within.
Ting.
Anson lightly plucked a string, and the other instruments quietly focused on him—
Just as they had promised before the performance began.
It was just the guitar now, a single guitar. The clear, pure notes stripped away all distractions, returning music to its simplest, most essential form. The entire world's attention was on Anson.
He began to hum softly.
"Let me go."
The breeze came, carrying the moisture of streams, the warmth of sunshine, and the fresh scent of grass. And just like that, the journey began—running full speed toward the unknown.
"I don't want to be your hero. I don't want to be some big shot. I just want to live life sincerely, like an ordinary person." *(Note 1)*
The singing was light and effortless, without any fancy technique—just a guitar and a voice. You could almost hear the slight smile in the song, a smile that came from having weathered life's storms, now calm and unburdened. Yet, hidden in the brightness of his voice was a quiet, broken sadness.
His fingers danced across the guitar strings.
Anson hoped the boy in New York would watch this episode, hoped the boy would hear this song. And then, with courage, turn around and walk away, step forward into the unknown. He didn't want the boy to be tied down by the pain and darkness of the past, slowly suffocating in the repetition of daily life.
He didn't need to be a hero. He didn't need to become a hero to save himself.
He could still have a simple, ordinary life.
Run, Jack.
Anson lifted his eyes and looked into the camera, a smile spreading across his face. His eyes were a little misty, but he bravely held the camera's gaze, softly singing.
"At your masquerade, I don't want to be part of the show. Everyone should have the chance to grow on their own."
Run, Anson.
He sang.
*(Note 1: "Hero" by Family of the Year)*