Count Bass D
Dwight Spitz (Day By Daya Entertainment)
Count Bass D’s career is an example of what an artist can accomplish when he or she isn’t fettered by self-consciousness. That’s certainly evident in the lyrics and creative choices the rapper and multi-instrumentalist makes on his new CD, Dwight Spitz. The record not only employs risky samples from unlikely sources, it eschews thug posturing in favor of candor and vulnerability.
It isn’t that Dwight Farrell—father, husband, musician, producer and HTML guru—is ignorant of the demands of being an artist in a capitalist society. He’s had a major-label record deal. He’s also been where the pimps and playas dread, releasing one critically heralded disc, only to watch Sony, his label, fail to promote the record and subsequently drop him from its roster. The title of his 1998 album, Art for Sale, crystallizes that conflict, one that all musicians face when they step up to the mic.
Count, who was born Dwight Farrell in the Bronx in 1973, grew up in a home where popular music was forbidden. His father was a clergyman; his parents encouraged him to study piano and appreciate the joys of gospel music. “We weren’t allowed to listen to secular radio,” Count says.
Nevertheless, his youth was not devoid of funk. His older sister would sneak music by artists like The Gap Band and Roger Troutman and Zapp into the house. Count’s most vivid recollection of early rap, the music that would become a significant part of his life, was the time he accidentally heard a snippet of Boogie Down Productions on the radio. “Whenever my father would switch the stations, we’d always get a taste of some hot urban music for just a second as he got to the other [Christian] station,” he recalls. “ 'Criminal Minded’ was on and it was going berserk, and all of us are in the car, trying to keep our cool in the back like, 'What the hell is that?’ ”
Count moved to the area in 1994 after reading an article about the music program at Middle Tennessee State University in a copy of Mix magazine. Take 6, one of his favorite groups, were also breaking out of Nashville at the time. Count thought he could do so as well; he wasn’t so interested in college as he was in getting into the recording studio. “MTSU was good for room and board,” he says.
Count didn’t need music theory anyway; after his first year, he signed with Sony, for which he made his debut album, Pre-Life Crisis. He played most of the instruments on the record, on which he also rapped and sang over beats. The critics caught the vapors as Count received glowing reviews from most of the major music publications. But then, who wouldn’t like a man who rhymes “You’re a groupie” with “Word to Snoopy”? Nevertheless, all of this was before The Roots made it cool for rap acts to bring a live band; being pre-neo-soul, Pre-Life Crisis might have been too forward-thinking for the day. Whatever the case, no one bought the album and Count found himself without a record label.
Count says he doesn’t regret the experience, although on “Seven Years,” a track from his new album, he does talk about “better choices” he might have made. He continued to make music his way, fitting in where he could, such as contributing tracks to compilation albums or co-hosting a show on Vanderbilt’s WRVU-91.1 FM. He also helped support his family working odd jobs at the likes of Dodge Cleaners and the old New York Bagel in Hillsboro Village.
The people Count met at the time provided him with the lyrical inspiration for Art for Sale, the album he made for Spongebath, the now defunct Murfreesboro label, in 1997. At times, the record sounds like a hip-hop reworking of Stevie Wonder’s Innervisions; unlikely as it might seem, another critic compared Count to Momus, the Scottish musician, cultural critic and Japan-ophile. As with his debut, Art for Sale drew heady praise but sold poorly, perhaps another case of a label not knowing what to do with a hard-to-peg talent.
With Dwight Spitz, Count set out to create a more traditional hip-hop recording, replacing the instrumentation that was a hallmark of his early career with samples and beats. It wasn’t as if he was trying something new. He’s always been hip-hop; he just isn’t what people in the mainstream commonly associate with the music. “I love the principles, the lifestyle,” he says of hip-hop culture. “[But] let these guys have a good time, wear the jewelry. I have to disassociate myself from that.” As he says on “Sanctuary,” a trippy track from Dwight Spitz, “I’m a studio musician, not a studio gangster.”
In a kind of farewell party to the old days, Count invited a bunch of friends to appear on Dwight Spitz, including Dionne Farris, MF Grimm, Doom and current underground hip-hop sensation Edan. Count also brought along his real crew—his wife Oriana Lee and their children Cana and Hezekiah. (The couple also have a 1-year-old son named Kush.) “It was a real family affair,” Count says of the record, which is getting love everywhere from Tasmania to Tokyo. “My inspiration is the people around me, man, and good shit. 'Seven Years’ is influenced by my family. 'No Time for Fakin’ ’ is about my family.”
With family being such a priority in his life, Count has lately found himself rethinking the career plans he had when he first moved to Middle Tennessee. He’s also done some reflecting on his tenure as a hip-hop artist in Music City. “They usually treat me like shit in Nashville; hell, that’s OK,” he says. “I couldn’t even get into the Nashville Music Awards—they thought I was trying to crash, and I won [an] award that year!” Count also says that clerks at Tower Records rebuffed him when he tried to get them to carry his new record. “I’ve been in a few magazines in my life, like Spin,” he quips. “It’s really weird to me.”
Count understands that this kind of talk might lead people to believe he’s bitter about the past, something he insists isn’t the case. “Contrary to everyone’s belief, I’m not jaded; I’m not a cynic,” he says. “I just see things as they are. The pimp game is the pimp game, and I’m tired of being a whore. As long as my art is not suffering and my family is not suffering, I’m cool with that.”
