Welcome to the third part of the series celebrating one of the most influential and inspiring bassists to call Nashville, Tennessee home. Michael Rhodes’ recording credits include Dolly Parton, Rosanne Cash, Randy Travis, Kenny Rogers, Vince Gill, and Rodney Crowell (to name just a few). And, while many of his recording credits involve country music, his work with Elton John, Larry Carlton, Peter Cetera, Mark Knopfler, Shawn Colvin, and Joe Bonnamassa prove that his talents on the bass transcended any single genre. We lost Michael to cancer in March of 2023, and this series is dedicated to exploring his impact through the eyes of a variety of musicians he supported throughout his lifetime.
Joe Bonamassa
When he’s not tearing it up on the road, you can find Joe out supporting his non-profit, Keeping the Blues Alive, which donates resources (including instruments, sheet music, and recording equipment) that further the growth and impact of music education to schools in need. You might also find him at a local music shop searching for the next vintage guitar, amp, or pedal to add to his extensive collection of instruments, and enjoying his Nerdville East home in Nashville.
On first meeting Michael:
I first met Michael in 2010 when my producer, Kevin Shirley, and I came to Nashville to record a few songs for an album that would later become Dustbowl [J&R Adventures, 2011]. We had recorded half or more of the album in Greece, but we needed a few extra songs, and we thought we’d try our luck here in Nashville. I was starting to work with some of the great songwriters here, like the James Houses and Jeffrey Steeles of this world. The session call was Chad Cromwell on drums, who I’d known prior to that because I toured with Peter Frampton when Chad was in Peter’s band. So, I was like, “Oh yeah, Chad! I love Chad!” And next thing I know, all these cartage guys show up, and it was Chad, Michael Rhodes, and Reese Wynans, of all people. And that was the group for this two-day session at the RCA Studio. And I just remember hearing the bass and then hearing my song and thinking, “Man, if that isn’t the right shit for this!” It wasn’t like well-worn deer trails either, right? It was sophisticated. The ideas were coming in real time.
I was like, “Man, it sounds like these guys have been playing these songs for 20 years,” you know? And the tone was killer, and the fluidity of what he was doing—how he would build each section from the beginning of the song to the end of the song. He would add a little bit of something each verse, each chorus, the solo, and out. We had a good hang and then the two-day session was over. We then started using Michael for all our bass sessions on any of the records we were doing, like those with Beth Hart. He would come in and play with Anton Fig, but Anton was still on Letterman, and, of course, Michael was entrenched in doing three or four sessions a day in Nashville, so we weren’t able to all tour together at that point.
It was never a job for him. He’d always start at zero. And I think that’s a testament to his professionalism. But it was also a testament to his love for music. For some people, by the time they get 40 years in the game, they just check out and it’s just a job for them. Not with Michael. He always played with the best intentions.
-Joe Bonamassa
On touring with Michael:
The tour thing all started to formulate around 2015, when Letterman announced his retirement. I just happened to reach out to Michael and said, “Listen, we’re going to change the band. We’ve had the same group for a while. If you’d ever be interested in coming on the road, just let me know.” And he goes, “Well, who’s playing drums?” I said, “Fig,” and he goes, “Oh, I love Fig!” Michael was ready for a bit of a sea change in his life. I think he had grown weary of the “9 to 5” nature of what Nashville can sometimes turn into, and he wanted to rock. So, that started an almost eight-year adventure, where he and I probably played 600, 700 shows together, all over the globe.
On his role as an “MD”:
He always had the high-water barometer, know what I mean? I would always ping ideas off him. I’d be like, “Michael, am I fucking crazy here?” And he would look at me and go, “Yes.” But then sometimes he would say, “No, that makes sense.” So he was the de facto MD of the group because I trusted his ear so much. And he had great instincts and made a great case for not only bass but the musical big picture.
On Michael’s well-roundedness:
Michael was extremely well-read and could converse intelligently and brilliantly on just about any subject, music or not. I remember one time we were all hanging out in a house in Saint Petersburg, Russia, doing this corporate gig. It was Greg Morrow, Michael, Reese Wynans, and me in this weird kind of government complex. And it was like some of the weirdest shit. But we literally stayed up all night just talking about everything—philosophy, the world around us. I think we solved all the world’s problems that night.
A lot of people might not know it, but he was a fashion model in Japan. At some point when he was over there, I think with Larry Carlton, some fashion line just loved the way he looked, and he was perfect for this thing they had going on. So, he actually did some modeling for of some Japanese inspired jeans and clothes, and stuff like that. I asked him one time, “Where do you get all these cool clothes?” And he said, “Well, I did an ad campaign for this company in Japan.” He was extremely intelligent beyond music. He wasn’t just a bass player; he was consummate musician. And it’s a testament that you can pick up the phone and get everybody from Amy Grant to Vince Gill for this article. It’s a tribute to him, you know, because of who he was.
On their best gig:
Michael was involved with the greatest gig I ever played, and I always say that was the 2014 Red Rocks show. That was our first time at Red Rocks. It was me, Michael, Reese Wynans [keys], Mike Henderson [harmonica], Anton Fig [drums], Kirk Fletcher [guitar], Lee Thornburg [trumpet], Ron Dziubla [sax], and Nick Lane [trombone]. Just to have that engine behind you, especially on the bass. We were doing trad blues, so he had like this Kay bass, and at some point I was going, “Man, it sounds like that could be Willie Dixon back there.” And then he grabbed a P-bass, and that was killer. He just played the right shit for everything, and it was all traditional blues. I was just going, “Wow. What a band.” Michael really stood out on that gig for me. I mean, yeah, we rehearsed, but you can’t rehearse that kind of seasoning, know what I mean? And he would play Peoria, Illinois like he played New York City. There was no “off night” for him.
You can purchase a recording of that famous Red Rocks gig here: Joe Bonamassa: Muddy Wolf at Red Rocks DVD).
On Michael’s professionalism and impact:
The thing about Michael was that he was the ultimate “If you know, you know” guy. He wasn’t in it to be a rock star bass player. You know, the kind of player where in any situation they try and dominate the scene. If he was playing with Rosanne Cash, or if he was playing with me, he was always gig appropriate. He was a consummate professional like that. With Michael, he knew how to play the right shit at the right time, for a plethora of different musical styles—from straight country to modern country to blues, jazz, and rock. He knew how to get all the sounds.
And he never lost his love for music. It was never a job for him. He’d always start at zero. And I think that’s a testament to his professionalism. But it was also a testament to his love for music. For some people, by the time they get 40 years in the game, they just check out and it’s just a job for them. Not with Michael. He always played with the best intentions. I miss him. I miss him every day because he was such a powerful influence on me, not only as a musician but as a friend.
Tully Kennedy
Tully has been playing bass for Jason Aldean for over two decades. He’s also a studio bassist, producer, and songwriter, having written hits for artists like Carrie Underwood and Dierks Bentley. Originally just planning on stopping in Nashville on his way from New York to Los Angeles during the mid-’90s, Tully quickly met Michael Rhodes and Mike Brignardello and decided to settle into the Nashville scene. If you listen closely, you can hear the influence of both session aces in Tully’s bass lines.
On first discovering the music of Michael Rhodes:
I was around 12 years old when I first discovered Michael playing with Rosanne Cash on Austin City Limits, in 1987. I had been playing bass for a few years by then, and when I saw him on that show I was really turned on to his style of playing. It was so great! I recorded it on a VHS tape and watched it over and over. I also started buying any records he played on. It was always him, Brignardello, and Glenn Worf. I met him in person later when I moved to Nashville.
*Check out a clip from the same concert Tully saw back in 1987 here: Rosanne Cash—“Seven Year Ache.”
On Michael’s kindness:
At the end of 1998, I had been out on the road with Mindy McCready and came back in on a Sunday night. At that time, I only had one bass, one amp, and one speaker cabinet. I was really tired because we got in so late, so I only took my bass in and left my gear in my truck. The next morning, I discovered everything else—my amp, my cabs, my pedalboard—all had been stolen. And I had a session that very morning at Warner Chappell. Michael heard about it early that morning from my producer that day and within minutes of learning about it called me and told me to meet him at SoundCheck. When I met him there, he pulls out an amp head and two 12-inch cabs and says, “Here ya go.” He just gave it to me. That became my main rig for the next several years. His generosity in that moment left a mark on me.
From early on, I tried to be Michael Rhodes, and in trying to be him, I created my own style. To this day, though, I am still trying to be Michael, and it’s a driving force. I still ask myself, ‘What would Michael do here?’ I don’t know if there is anyone on the planet who can play like he did, though.
-Tully Kennedy
On Michael’s influence:
As our friendship grew, he would call me with lots of encouragement. For example, sometimes he would watch me play on an awards show and later call me and say, “Mr. Kennedy, I wouldn’t change a note.” He always told me to be myself and to not change my style. When someone you’ve looked up to since you were a kid tells you that, it carries a lot of weight. We would talk about life on the road and doing sessions, and the balance between them, and he was always supportive and encouraging.
On Michael’s style:
He was a master of all styles. I mean, I do my thing, and I do it well, but Michael did everything well. If you saw him play the blues, you’d think that’s all he did. The same for other styles. From early on, I tried to be Michael Rhodes, and in trying to be him, I created my own style. To this day, though, I am still trying to be Michael, and it’s a driving force. I still ask myself, “What would Michael do here?” I don’t know if there is anyone on the planet who can play like he did, though. I’ll miss seeing him play live, and miss our conversations, but I feel fortunate to have known him in the way I did.
Originally from Cape Town, South Africa, Anton is perhaps most well-known for his role as the drummer for David’s Letterman famous house band, Paul Schaffer and the World’s Most Dangerous Band (and later the CBS Orchestra). Beyond that, he’s played for a variety of artists, including KISS, Ace Freely, Bob Dylan, Cindi Lauper, and Joe Bonamassa. Anton continues to live in New York City, and is currently producing, writing, recording, and touring with a variety of artists.
On meeting Michael:
I first met Michael in 1986 when he came up to record a song with Rodney Crowell called “Let Freedom Ring.” That was the first time I played with him. Shortly after that, I wrote a song with saxophonist, Jim Horn. I sent the song to Jim, and he took it and added horns and bass on it. And it ended being Michael playing bass on the recording. And I loved the bass. I thought it was great, but I didn’t know that he was a big-time Nashville guy. At the time, I didn’t really know much about him, except that he was great on bass.
So, we had that connection early on. But we got more involved later due to my work with Joe Bonamassa. I had been playing drums for most of Joe’s records since 2006, and Michael played bass on some of them, but I couldn’t start touring with Joe until Letterman retired. When Joe and Kevin Shirley were putting the touring band together around 2015, Michael, actually called me and said that one of the reasons he was interested in doing it was to play with me. I was highly flattered to hear that.
On touring with Michael:
First of all, we were pretty much road brothers, in that we hung a lot on the tour. We ate most meals together. We’d go for walks together almost every day. We were drums and bass, you know, the “engine room,” as Michael would say, so we were like our own little island within that whole sea of whatever it was. And so we were very tight on the road. As a result, I got to know him quite a bit.
We toured together for six years, and we would take ourselves out to nice restaurants on days off most of the time, or at least interesting looking places. Most days off on the tour consisted of a minimum of a two-mile walk and then meeting up for dinner and going to a very nice place. When we were on the road, he would say to me, “You know, we’re just like show ponies. They kind of set up with a gig, trot us out, we do our little dance, and then they put us back on the bus and send us off to the next place.” So, it was fun on both counts, playing and hanging with him, because if you’re on the road all the time, it can be a lonely place, and it can make you a bit nuts—the repetition of it, the impermanence of it. And, and so we kind of had each other, and that very much benefited both of us.
For example, I remember we once took a walk, and he told me a lot of stuff about him growing up and his life. And I was thinking to myself, “I can’t believe he just told me that.” He was very honest with me, you know? And he shared some stuff with me, and I thought, “Wow, he must trust me a lot, and he must really feel comfortable with me to tell me what he told me.” That strengthened our bond, and it went both ways.
On respectful disagreements:
Michael was also very direct, and he was the kind of guy you couldn’t change his mind necessarily. We would have discussions where we would be on opposite sides of the topic, and we sort of agreed to disagree, but it didn’t stop us from actually arguing it up, you know? But it never made us not friends. We would just take opposite sides on certain subjects, and we both felt very strongly. And I would say to him, “No matter how much you say, you’re not going to change my mind.” And vice versa. And we were okay with it, because we both saw in each other, or I certainly saw in him, a very intelligent, very warm person.
One of the things that I especially loved was that he was a self-made man. He lifted himself up from pretty trying circumstances and made it, and I admired that and gravitated towards that. What you got from him was his truth, so you could trust him because you knew what he was saying was exactly what he meant.
One of the things that I especially loved was that he was a self-made man. He lifted himself up from pretty trying circumstances and made it, and I admired that and gravitated towards that. What you got from him was his truth, so you could trust him because you knew what he was saying was exactly what he meant.
-Anton Fig
On playing together:
We never discussed much of what to play when we played together. Sometimes people like the bass drum and the bass sort of together because it’s a real powerful sound, and sometimes it is necessary, but it’s not always necessary. The bass drum doesn’t have to follow the bass. So, I would listen to his part, and I would kind of find where we could deviate and where we would hit at the same time. And one of the nice things when you’re playing the same show night after night, or a similar show, you can learn the contours of the whole thing. And so our songs would evolve over a period of nights, and then it would kind of hit a sweet spot and it would stay like that for a while, and then it would kind of maybe move from that a little bit, and then you’d find it again.
So, I was constantly listening to him to make the music more focused and better, and because I trusted his bass playing, I could take that as a given. That then helped me kind of craft my own part within the contours of the song. For a drummer to have a good bass player to play with is a true gift. I don’t mean just good though, Michael was exceptional, right? I’d been playing with Will Lee for 29 years, and then I got Michael for six years or so, you know what I mean? I’m like the luckiest drummer around.
I’m very happy to have gotten the opportunity to work with Michael and glad that we got to be close friends. It was a gift, and I feel especially grateful for having that opportunity. He was a special guy, a real one-of-a-kind guy, and I feel lucky for having known him, for making music with him, and having a wonderful friendship.
A recent recipient of the Kennedy Center Honor Award (2022), Amy’s musical career spans multiple genres and generations, and her far reach as an artist and songwriter is made evident in the numerous accolades she’s received—from her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame to her induction into the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame. Ask anyone who knows her, though, and they’ll speak as much about her benevolent spirt and actions as her musical prowess. When’s not finding new ways to give back to her local community, you’ll find Amy out on tour (with Mike Brignardello on bass), playing her fans’ favorite tunes all over the US.
On their connection:
It’s funny, because I’ve been on sessions with Michael, and Michael’s toured with Vince for decades, and I’ve been out on those tours. And he’s always been so lovely. But our connection really came in the last few years over a health matter, and I felt so honored by it. Maybe he made everybody feel that way—just a deep sense of connection, which felt like the culmination of a lot of visiting each other with our guards all the way down. You know, we both had open heart surgery, and we connected over that and shared some similar struggles because of that, and there were some specific reasons we needed to connect that made our connection unique.
For example, a couple years back, he had heard from a friend about this acoustic brain mirroring therapy that I am licensed to do. It’s called Cereset, and someday I think this will take the medical community by storm. But because it cannot be made into a pill, it requires one-on-one time, care, and attention. Anyway, Michael had heard that I am involved with this company, and he called and asked if I would do these sessions on him. I agreed, so he drove out to my farm and sat in an anti-gravity reclining chair, and I spent several hours with my hands on his head, putting sensors on him and laying him back, putting a weighted blanket on his legs, and waiting while his brain listened to itself and made different corrections.
There’s just something about the time requirement of a process that requires hands-on care. It’s different, you know, and I would be standing behind him, using alcohol to clean spots on his scalp, and then putting sensors on him with conductive paste. It creates a beautiful landscape for just talking about life, and that’s one of the most rewarding things I’ve done with my time working with Cereset. These sessions provided a lot of time for us to talk, to share ideas, and it was a very caring environment, so we established a close connection. I think this experience enabled us to cross into another dimension, friendship-wise.
Michael’s curiosity made him fascinating in so many different areas. That constant curiosity he had, like ‘What if we did this, or what if we tried that?’ I mean, I think it affected his music, the way he lived his life, and the way he toured. And I think overall most people imagine him that way—curious, with a smile on his face, an easy laugh, and an engaging personality.
-Amy Grant
On Michael’s curiosity:
Michael’s curiosity made him fascinating in so many different areas. That constant curiosity he had, like “What if we did this, or what if we tried that?” I mean, I think it affected his music, the way he lived his life, and the way he toured. And I think overall most people imagine him that way—curious, with a smile on his face, an easy laugh, and an engaging personality.
On Michael’s passing:
Michael called me eight days before his passing and left a message. I was in a hotel room in L.A., and he said, “Hey, call me when you can.” I called him back, and I remember he said, “This is bad. Would you pray for me?” And I said, “Yes, I’ll pray for you, but the first thing that comes to my mind is to pray for you to be unafraid. And that you feel loved.” And he said, “I feel absolutely held by love.” I said, “Well, that’s good.” We talked for some time that day, and then he was gone a week later. In the end, goodness goes both ways, and I know I was forever changed by our interactions.
Author’s Note: Putting this series together has been an amazing journey—one that started out simply, with just an idea for interviewing a few people about Michael. Soon, however, it had me sitting down with some of my favorite musicians in the world—from bassists, to drummers, to guitarists, to singers. All knew Michael well, and many spent hours and hours with him in the studio and on the road. Along the way, I was struck by just how much each of these individuals admired and spoke to Michael’s authenticity, curiosity, and penchant for living life to the fullest in every situation. Unquestionably, he was an amazing bass player, but that fact, however impressive, fails to wholly describe who Michael was to his close friends and family. Even in my few interactions with Michael over the years, what stands out in my memory was his kindness, compassion, and love of life, and that truth has been born out via the reflections in this very series.
I want to thank all the musicians I talked to about Michael over this last year, and especially his wife, Lindsay, for further insight into his extraordinary life and for allowing us to use some of her personal photographs in the piece. In the end, Michael leaves behind a legacy too expansive to sum up in a few articles, but even what we see here has encouraged me, and I hope it encourages you, to continue to reflect on how we must stay curious, open, and positive as we work as artists of all kinds in hopes to make the world better for those around us.
Rod C. Taylor, Ph.D., is an award-winning educator, author, and musician who has been active in playing and teaching music for over thirty years. He’s taught at Stanford, Indiana University, and the Honors College at Tennessee State University and has served as an Artist-in-Residence and Director of Commercial Music Ensembles in the School of Music at Lipscomb University in Nashville, TN. He’s also the founder and CEO of Performance Learning Concepts.
Over the years, he’s written for a number of music magazines, including Bass Player Magazine, and Bass Guitar Magazine. He’s published a textbook, Etunes, which explores the effects of digital technology on the music industry and continues to write for magazines and journals on new ways to approach music education. For years, Rod has also led interactive music workshops and classes on a variety of topics, from songwriting to song charting to creativity to ensemble training. As a performer, he’s has been fortunate enough to play with Krista Detor, Victor Wooten, Chuck Rainey, Jenee Fleenor, Leigh Nash, the Warren Brothers, and a variety of other great musicians. He’s proud to call Nashville, TN his home, and he’s thrilled to be part of the amazing group of players and writers that make up Bass Magazine.
By: Rod Taylor