Every once and a while, the music community is blessed with an individual who not only represents the best on their instrument but also the best of what the art of music has to offer the world at large. These rare individuals do more than establish their playing reputation. They influence the world around them—musically and otherwise—subtly shaping and impacting every artist they record with, every band they tour with, and every audience lucky enough to get to see them live. 

On March 4, 2023, we lost one such individual in the extraordinary and irreplaceable person of Michael Rhodes. Long recognized as one of the best bass players on the planet, Rhodes forged his own path with the instrument, as he did with his life. A Nashville staple since the late ’70s, his 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.

Michael was bigger than life—in terms of his personality, stage presence, and his bass compositions—and anyone who knew him loved him for it. His untimely death rocked the world of music, and his loss still impacts daily those who knew and loved him. By definition, that would encompass just about anyone Michael played with during his 50-plus years as a professional musician.

In fact, as I began putting together this special feature to celebrate Michael’s life, I quickly realized it would need more space to include reflections from even a small percentage of those whose lives he impacted. As I dug into the project, my interview list expanded well beyond bass players and grew to include some of the world’s foremost artists, guitarists, producers, and drummers. As such, this article represents the first of three installments to celebrate the life and legacy of Michael Rhodes. The series will be broken into three segments, each containing the thoughts of a handful of different musicians who knew Michael well and who deeply felt the loss of his passing. In this way, this series represents more than a celebration of the life Michael lived; it’s also an acknowledgment of the love he engendered from those who knew him best, as well as the grief his passing caused. As you’ll also see, Michael lived life large, and although he left us all too soon, he leaves behind a legacy that inspires those of us who knew him to not take our time on this earth for granted and to live life to its fullest.

We’ll begin with reflections from a few of those who knew Michael from his early days in Nashville, such as Glenn Worf, Vince Gill, Mike Brignardello, and Rodney Crowell.

Glenn Worf

For decades, Glenn has enjoyed being a first-call session player in Nashville, laying down bass tracks for artists like Bryan Adams, Tim McGraw, Kenny Rogers, and Shania Twain. He’s also well-known for his work with Dire Straits’ front man, Mark Knopfler (Catch a clip of that here). A beast on both upright and electic bass, you can find Glenn maintaining his session work in Nashville, as well as playing locally as his schedule allows.

On establishing a strong friendship:

I moved to Nashville in1979. I didn’t know anybody, so I made a habit of going out as much as I could to hear live bands and attend songwriter events—just to meet people and see and hear them do their thing. I remember one week hearing about Mike and that he was going to be playing a little club with a band. I went and remember being very impressed, thinking, “Man, this guy is bringing it!” Then, not so many nights later, I heard him in another band, in another little club, and that kind of thing happened numerous times. I had no idea who he was, but I had no idea who anybody was, really. But I heard him in different situations, and every time I heard him, he sounded great. And the bands that he was playing in all sounded great. That went on for quite a while, and it was probably a couple years before I actually met him.

By that time, I had begun to play with some local folks here and there, and I remember playing at a club here in town with a particularly great group of musicians. It was kind of a singer/songwriter thing. We were playing original music with a great band. Mike happened to be in the audience that night, and I don’t remember whether I was aware of him being in the club or not. What I do remember very distinctly was that our band had a particularly strong night, and I think I took a couple solos during the evening. When we finished the gig, I turned around to step down from the stage, and there was Mike, standing there with his arms stretched out, ready to give me a hug. And I thought, “Well, I guess this is when I meet one of my heroes.” He gave me a big hug, and we kind of introduced ourselves to each other, and it was kind of love at first sight as friends.

We really dug what each other was up to, even though I don’t think we ever played particularly like each other. He had his thing, and I was in pursuit of whatever mine was, but we had a lot of respect right out of the gate for each other, which kind of gave us the foundation to go on and have a great friendship as a result. As we began to run into each other more frequently and get to know each other, it became a strong friendship.

On Michael’s approach to music:

It’s funny, because I recently realized that I don’t ever remember talking to Michael about who his heroes were, who his role models were, where his inspiration came from, or such. I don’t think that we ever had that conversation. I just innately, right from the very beginning, recognized that this is a guy who has something to say when he is playing. He’s not here to try to emulate the latest style or trend. He’s not somebody who has copiously built his vocabulary on top of one of his musical heroes who preceded him. He simply seemed to be a guy that had found his own path and was bound and determined to follow it. And that’s kind of how I tried to approach music, too.

One of the personal losses that I feel with him being gone is on a purely selfish level: I don’t have my ally anymore. I don’t have the guy that I could reach out to and talk about this and that. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I took comfort in the fact that all those years he was there I knew I could pick up the phone and say, “Man, I’m struggling with this.”

Glenn Worf

On competing for the same work:

I was grateful to have our friendship, because I don’t think I would have found that kind of camaraderie with another bass player in L.A., or anywhere else at that time. My guess is it might have been much more cutthroat than Nashville, less mutually supportive, you know, than the way Mike and I were able to be there for each other.

As the years went by, he and I had no choice but to compete with one another because we worked for so many of the same producers and so many of the same artists. It would often be a situation where he’d play on one half an album, and I’d play on the other half. It certainly grew into the kind of thing where if somebody called me and I was already booked I would always start by recommending Michael. And I think he did his own form of reciprocation. I got a lot of calls from people who said, “Well, you know, Mike’s my guy, but he can’t do this project, and he said I should call you.” We did that for decades for each other, and I will always be very grateful because I know a lot of other players that do not get along with each other, or at least not well enough to enjoy an actual friendship.

On their support for each other:

He was my go-to-guy because I trusted him, and I had a relationship with him that was deeply rooted in playing music, and hopefully at a very high level. That’s what we were both trying to do. I knew I could call him and tell him that I was struggling with an individual producer, but more than likely it would be a trend of what we were being asked to do as bass players that we didn’t find enjoyable, or sometimes we felt occasionally violated by some of the things that the record community was asking us to do. He was a guy I could reach out to, and he would understand instantly, and he would say, “Yeah, well, we gotta deal with it. We got to do this, and we got to put this kind of helmet on to get through this thing.” And I would do the same thing for him. We offered each other more spiritual or philosophical insight than music advice.

On his meaning in Glenn’s life:

One of the personal losses that I feel with him being gone is on a purely selfish level: I don’t have my ally anymore. I don’t have the guy that I could reach out to and talk about this and that. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I took comfort in the fact that all those years he was there I knew I could pick up the phone and say, “Man, I’m struggling with this.” Or, “How do you deal with this circumstance?” And I knew I would get a straight, unvarnished, honest answer from the man. I will always have that regret on a long list of regrets tied to Michael no longer being with us, but chief among them is that I feel like I lost my fellow comrade—somebody that understood what I might be going through on any given day, and vice versa.

Michael made a difference in every situation that he was invited to be part of.

He was Mike. There wasn’t any laying back in the weeds, when he was onstage, you knew he was onstage. You heard it, you felt it, and you saw it. He was not a fading flower. He brought everything he had to every gig that I ever saw him on. I can’t say that about everybody I know. He was fearless, too. He would stick it out there and if somebody didn’t like it, too bad. His attitude was, “This is what I’m running with. This is what I’m bringing here,” and I really admired that about him.

*Glenn Worf playing on a song written and performed by Rodney Crowell and Alison Prestwood about Michael Rhodes: 

Mike Brignardello

For those bass players who have long been tuned into the Nashville studio scene, it doesn’t get much better than Michael Brignardello. A staple in Nashville since the ’80s, he’s appeared on a host of hit songs from country artists like Blake Shelton to CCM artists like Amy Grant. He’s also a founding member of the rock band, Giant. Michael continues to spend most of his time laying down tracks for top tier artists in Nashville studios, while also generating new material for Giant and continuing to tour with Amy Grant.

On getting to know Michael:

I don’t remember the exact first meeting I had with Michael. I just kind of remember him being around back then, in the early-’80s. I met him along the way as another bass player and, of course, as you know, we bass players barely see each other, right? So it was always a little bit in passing. Back then, we were young and very focused on our careers. So, it took a minute before we finally had enough time to get to know each other better. 

When we did, I often used Michael as a sort of sounding board. He had a Zen sort of approach to his outlook on the music business. In all the nuttiness and crazy stuff that goes on in your early career, where everybody’s chasing and working as hard as they possibly can, he was able to sit back and take a calm, philosophical outlook on the biz. Sometimes, when I would get all wound up and kind of up my own butt, so to speak, I would consult with him. Even not seeing him that often, he was a good touchstone for me. He would always take my call or get back to me and hear me out and basically sort of talk me down off a ledge.

He’d advise me to take a step back, take a breath, and take a more philosophical approach to the business, which helped me deal with much of the stuff that goes on that seems very capricious and illogical in this business. He was able to sort of take that stuff in stride. He helped me codify and solidify the idea in my mind that there’s no such thing as “my account.” There’s no such thing as this is “my artist.” It’s just business. That that was one of the things I most admired. I mean, he never seemed to get wrapped up in musical politics, and those sorts of things. He just cruised a little above that.

On Michael’s style:

When I first came to town in the early-’80s, I had to study country music. And because I had never played that genre before, I would often listen to country radio. When there would be a cool bass part on a song, I’d find out who played it, and invariably it was Michael. He played country music so authentically, but I don’t think he ever felt handcuffed by the old country rules. He always played it with a freedom and all this joyfulness. 

That came through even in the early years, when all the musicians were sort of in harness, at least more so than they are now. He was always able to find something there, some little turn, that was interesting. I mean, I stole a ton of stuff from him. His pocket was always great. So choice. He covered all the nuts and bolts, but he had a freedom and a musicality that very much appealed to me. And, and of course, any time I saw him live, he had that mighty presence on stage. He just had that thing. He was extremely confident, but also truly into the moment, and he always had those sly smiles for people around the stage. It was lovely to watch him, to see all that stuff going on. Watching him, you felt like you were on the inside of something.

He had a Zen sort of approach to his outlook on the music business. In all the nuttiness and crazy stuff that goes on in your early career, where everybody’s chasing and working as hard as they possibly can, he was able to sit back and take a calm, philosophical outlook on the biz.

Mike Brignardello

On Michael’s wide-ranging interest:

It always struck me when I had a chance to spend a little bit of time with Michael just how broad he was. So many musicians, we’re just the one note samba, right? We can talk about music, our instrument, ourselves, and whatever. But he was so interested in the arts broadly. He had all sorts of art in his home. He collected photographs that he liked. He was widely read and traveled. He had a tremendous book collection. He was interested in the world. He was interested in fashion. And he was interested in music outside the typical wheelhouse. He listened to a lot of traditional jazz. He was an avid gardener. His home was so artsy and bohemian. There was art and sculptures and books and turntables. His mind went far beyond music. I think maybe that was one of the things that helped ground him and help him retain his sense of balance, because the music business, as you know, can be all encompassing, all absorbing. He was just broader than that.

On Michael’s legacy:

Michael mentored so many young players, and so many up-and-coming players. And I would say, in his own way, he mentored me. We were peers age-wise, but, as I mentioned, he was my sounding board. I think young players looked at him as a Buddha-like figure who could give them sage advice, and I think that’s probably going to be one of his larger legacies. There are so many people, so many players, a generation or two after him, who will keep his legacy alive.

Rodney Crowell

Rodney is a Grammy Award-winning country music artist/producer who has written and performed numerous #1 hits on country music radio. Apart from his incredibly successful solo career, he’s played in a variety of “super groups,” including Emmylou Harris’ famous Hot Band, in the ’70s. Rodney continues to record and tour as a solo artist.

On first meeting Michael:

I moved back to Nashville in 1981, but it would be 1983 before I met Michael. He had a band called the Nerve that I had been hearing about that was really creative—kind of a funk/jazz band. They were playing at the Exit/In one night, so I went down to hear them. The music was very good, but I was entirely focused on the bass player. It was his body language that caught my attention. Michael was a good dancer. I immediately felt like we knew each other. It had to be that he was just so damn good, and I love good musicians, but I also noticed that his music matched his body language. His compositions were amazing. I waited until they were through and then pushed myself to the back and went up to him and said, “Who are you, and can we be friends?” He said, “I know who you are,” and that started a conversation between us that moved well beyond bass playing.

Shortly after, I asked Michael to join me on tour for my upcoming album Street Language[Columbia, 1986], which was co-produced with Booker T. Jones. He said yes, and added that he also wanted to be involved in the creative process. That started us on a creative relationship, which soon developed into a close friendship.

With Michael onstage, you didn’t have to worry too much about whether the band was going to perform well. Michael did it without making anyone else feel that he was watching them closely. He was the band leader.

Rodney Crowell

On playing in bands together:

We were involved in several bands together, like the Cicadas and the Notorious Cherry Bombs (with Vince Gill), which was a fulfillment of our original conversation regarding Michael’s desire to be involved with me creatively. Again, he insisted that he be involved creatively on my projects, and he was. He stayed involved with my solo work, too. In fact, he and I talked about his “peak” playing with me, and we both agreed it was on Fate’s Right Hand [Epic, 2003]. He was very proud of that record. He said, “I’ve kind of reached what I’ve been going after for a long time on this record.” [Check out “Earthbound” for a taste of what Michael was so proud of on this album]. 

With Michael onstage, you didn’t have to worry too much about whether the band was going to perform well. Michael did it without making anyone else feel that he was watching them closely. I feel like the drummers who worked with him loved playing with him because they knew their job was to move things and give the music power and subtlety where it needed it. And for all of that,  they’d look to Michael. He was the band leader.

In whatever band I was in with him, he pushed me to be better. It was his body language. On stage, sometimes things would be getting bogged down and he would come waltzing up to me, playing, looking at me, and moving around. He was letting me know I needed to come up with my energy, and it worked. He would always do it with a grin. Sometimes he was more subtle. For instance, one time we were playing in Belfast, covering the Chuck Berry tune, “C’est la vie,” and for some reason I’m playing in A, but the song is in B. I hear his bass part not matching my guitar, so I walk over to Michael and say, “Michael, it’s in B!” He just smiles, looks at me, and says, “I know,” and kept playing. Of course, I immediately realized I was the one that was playing in the wrong key!

I consider Michael one of my best friends, more like a brother than a friend, in fact. He spoke truth to power, and would call me out on shit, but I was never angry with him, and he never hurt my feelings. I don’t think I ever hurt his either. He was a self-made man, rightfully stubborn when he needed to be. He lived his life his way, and I miss him every day.

Vince Gill

A superstar in country music, Vince Gill has amassed a stunning collection of awards, including 22 Grammys. As a vocalist, songwriter, and guitarist, he’s contributed to a massive amount of music coming out of Nashville, not including his own solo repertoire. More recently, he’s been out on the road playing and singing with the Eagles. Outside of music, Vince stays involved in a variety of local charity events in Nashville, as well as and you can often supporting local musicians in a myriad ways.

On first meeting Michael:

I first met Michael in the early-’80s, when he was playing with the Nerve. I was coming to Nashville now and then, doing sessions with Rodney Crowell, Guy Clark, and different people. When I was in town, I would always go hear that band. I loved them. I was drawn to “outside the lines” kinds of bands, and his band was like that. Michael was obviously entertaining to watch. I mean, he was all in. I once said that if a praying mantis could play bass, that’s what it would look like. When you have someone like that with you, there’s nothing you can’t do. You have a brother-in-arms there. So, we started playing together back then, with Rodney and Rosanne Cash, after I moved here. Whenever you got a chance to have him play with you, you’d call him. He toured on and off with me in the ’80s and ’90s.

On playing in bands together:

I don’t have a ton of regrets in my life, but one of them concerns Michael. He was on tour with me and I had a big band, like a 17-piece band. In my mind, I didn’t think he was enjoying the gig, and that he was too good of a friend to let me know he didn’t want to be there. I wanted to be a good friend to him, too, so after a short break I Iet him stay home as we continued the tour. At some point, he approached me and said, “Why’d you replace me?” And I said, “I thought I was doing you a favor.” He said, “No kidding?” And I said, “Yea! I would never have wanted you to go, but I honestly thought you didn’t want to be out with us, but just loved me too much to tell me.” We laughed and laughed about that. We both had a funny saying we would use on each other: “You can’t fire me; you can only free me.”

He was astounding on the bandstand. He could take the whole band and just lead them around the song. He was an unbelievable talent. When I go back and look at my records, I see he played on a ton of them. I admired his sense of melody. You don’t think of that often when you think of bass player, sadly, but he had great arc of melody and played things most guys wouldn’t. He was willing to step out there. It was always awesome to have him on my songs and to be on a stage with him.

The bass is so invaluable and important, and Michael was not afraid of that mantle. He was not afraid to say, “Hey, jump onboard and I’ll lead you to where we’re supposed to get to.” It was pretty impactful to play with someone like that.

Vince Gill

On Michael’s style:

I think a great example of his unique approach and creativity is his playing on “Sunny Came Home,” by Shawn Colvin. He played on my last record, called Okie [MCA, 2019] because I knew how musical he would be. And he played tic-tac bass on my new album with Paul Franklin, Sweet Memories [MCA, 2023]. We had Dennis Crouch on upright and I brought Michael in on electric to make it swing like a bigger moose. That was the last thing I got to do with him, the last time I got to spend a lot of time with him.

The bass is the most important instrument in the band. If it’s not there, you have no weight, you have nothing to leap off the page from. That was what was so beautiful about him. I’ve gotten to play with a handful of the greatest bass players that maybe ever played the instrument, Michael being one of them, but also Willie Weeks, Emory Gordy, David Hungate, and it’s just astounding when you have someone there that puts it where everything feels right. It’s amazing. Everyone else can make a mistake on their own, but when the bass player makes a mistake, everyone does.

The bass is so invaluable and important, and Michael was not afraid of that mantle. He was not afraid to say, “Hey, jump onboard and I’ll lead you to where we’re supposed to get to.” It was pretty impactful to play with someone like that. Even with a big band, he could take the whole thing on his shoulders and lead it to where it ought to go. It was fun getting to experience his gift in the moment. Records are fun, and you get to correct things, but when you play live, you really have to show up. He always did.

On an enduring friendship:

The great bass player Emory Gordy, Jr. once told me, “Never be the best musician in the band. You’ll never learn anything.” So, I’ve spent my whole life trying to surround myself with people who would make me rise to their level. Michael was that kind of player. At the end of all of it, though, when you’ve travelled and played for fifty-plus years, you’re more grateful for the friends you’ve made than the success you’ve had. You look back over time and there are lots of folks you are grateful you were close to. That’s how I feel about Michael. I’m grateful I knew that boy. He was crazy about me, and I was crazy about him. Nothing can replace that, and nothing’s better than that.

Up Next for Part 2 of 3: Gregg Morrow, Victor Wooten, Josh Leo, Brent Mason, and Shawn Pelton

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.