Even in this age of power duos and synth-led rhythm section, the bassist remains a central figure of just about every rock’n’roll band, but most bandleaders can’t help thinking the position endlessly replaceable – until, at least, the time comes to find the replacement. Read below, if you dare, for a spine-chilling triptych of all-too-true horror stories (He's noodling from inside the house!) told by real bands really ruined fishing for bass in the deepest of waters.

•  “A rock band looking for bassist isn’t really a rock band.”

How much trouble can looking for a bass player be? San Diego pop-punkers Russkie tried avoiding the instrument entirely for fear of the process, but, as singer/songwriter Bobbi Wilson explains, “you never miss the bassist til he's gone. Not the actual bassist himself, we got rid of that guy and never looked back, but the whole experience was so one-hundred-percent sucky that I think we kinda convinced ourselves we could maybe just do away with the bass altogether?

“A while back, we had covered 'When Doves Cry' for a label's Prince compilation. That worked really, really, really well and became, like, a staple of our live shows. So, maybe, the twentieth time after playing a show, I was talking with our guitarist, Megan, about how much fun we had with that song and how that was always the highlight even though we weren't that fond of Prince. All of a sudden, we both realize … maybe it's because that song's the only time that asshole playing the bass gets off the stage. We fired him, like, an hour later.

“Turns out, though, a rock band looking for bassist isn’t really a rock band. There's tons of exceptions, sure, sure, but, for us, for our sound, we just needed that low register oomph, you know? Every song that wasn't 'When Doves Cry' was totally missing something, and we could all tell. We played a couple friends and family gigs without the bass, and people thought we had the flu.

“So! Start of spring, right around the time where we'd ordinarily have been starting bass player auditions and just basically subjecting ourselves to the month-long non-stop bitch-fest that inevitably entails, we get an offer from a friend of ours. This guy who used to open for us was getting some traction on the whole heartthrob troubador thing – brilliant musician, all deserved, just saying. He's scheduling out this quickie European tour and wants us to play support.”

“Great, GREAT, opportunity, but, you know, he's taking off in a few weeks, right? No way we'll even be able to agree on somebody by then, much less expect them to learn all the parts. No problem, he says. I know all your songs, he says, and I'll just play bass during your sets. We'll save money on touring! We won't need to bother with an extra hotel room! It'll be like when Elliott Smith played bass for Quasi way back when! You know, the whole song and dance, and it did make total sense … if he'd been even remotely sober. Not that it mattered during his own shows, mad respect on that front, but he couldn't even manage to find the right key for any songs he hadn't written himself. I think we sold, maybe, twenty albums that whole tour. And, fifteen of those we charged to the headliner's hotel room after he passed out in San Sebastian.”

• “Signed bands looking for bassists aren’t haunting open mics.”

Jan Levine, frontwoman for hardcore trio Caramel, had run through three bassists in the two years her band had been rocking the stages of Portland, Oregon, and she'd grown tired of honoring increasingly outdated traditions only to be successively more disappointed. "There’s, like, a million rules about how to join a band in Portland. You’re supposed to all meet up at once, start jamming, and get this epic origin story. Or, get somebody's boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Or bartender/crush. We tried all of that. The bartender didn't even have his own instrument."

If the old rules aren’t working, she wondered, why not pluck a likely prospect from the internet? "I mean, that’s how I found my rehearsal space. We chose our producer from the web. Doesn't that sound more professional? Signed bands looking for bassists aren’t haunting open mics, you know? We figured we were being smart for once."

Alas, despite continually narrowing avenues of web outreach, she found the options just as unappetizing. "Pervs. Creeps. Super creeps. Amateurs. We finally found this girl who knew all our songs, jammed along with us via Skype, but something always came up whenever we wanted to meet. When this opening gig came up for big BIG band on tour, friend of a friend, we didn't even consider that we hadn't actually met her, til, like, sound check -- where we see she can't play, like, AT ALL and keeps looking to super perv boyfriend in the back of the room miming all the notes.

“Maybe nobody really knows how to join a band in Portland or anywhere else these days,” Levinson sighed, “but, if you’re a rock band looking for bassist help, at least be damned sure you hear AND SEE them play before climbing on stage.”

• “Everybody wants to join a band. Nobody wants to practice.”

When a family tragedy forced the bass player for Chicago taste-maker fave Potassium to leave the instrumental post-rock quintet, lead guitarist Jim Morton seriously thought about throwing in the towel. “It wasn't because we didn't have any options. There were tons of people – tons, literally, of people – just salivating at the chance to play bass with us, and every single one wasn't worth a damn, which we knew from the start. Just the idea of telling each one no was more than we could bear. That was one of the reasons we'd been together for so long. We all trusted each other and no one else. Every-goddamn-body wants to join a band, and nobody wants to practice -- which, fine. Way of the world, you know? As blame the sun for setting.

“Thing is, the type of music we play, our band can't just hit the stage and quote unquote rock out. A lot of the songs demand this really intricate rhythmic interplay in order for them to work, but, now that we're all getting older, it was just impossible to find a window where everyone was available. The drummer has two jobs plus a wedding band for cash gigs. The other guitarist just had a kid. We were offered a last-minute spot in this label showcase at a pretty big festival last summer and had to turn it down just because, basically, he couldn't find a sitter.

“So, with that going on, the idea of just getting everyone together to hold bass player auditions just seemed impossible, never mind the whole slog of incorporating a new member and teaching all of our set list from scratch. We were just on the cusp of scrapping the entire band when Davey, our drummer, sends this text about a new accountant hired on to handle the books at a club he works at. The guy's supposed to be a bass prodigy just in town from New York, and he's played with absolutely everyone – like, literally, a dozen of our favorite bands.

“Now, at the time, we're so excited about the names of the bands that we don't stop to ask why there were so goddamn many of them, but whatever. We throw the guy a copy of our album and somehow manage to get all of us together to try him out, and … I mean, I have no words, he BLOWS us away. No matter how complicated the part, he nails it like he's been playing with us for a decade. And, pretty quick, we all start looking at each other – 'are you thinking what I'm thinking?' Guy picks things up this quick, we don't even need to worry about practicing. In my mind, I was booking our next gig before we even finished the first song.”

That gig, a plum opening slot for a nationally touring act selling out the 1,000-seat Vic Theater, arrived only ten days later. “We'd played together, maybe, two more times, but, honestly, nobody was worried. I mean, the opposite, really. If anything, and no disrespect to our first bassist, this guy was an utter pro. He knew the tunes, literally, LITERALLY, backwards and forwards. So, we're rolling through the set – just kiling it. We know the press is there. Instrumental bands tend to get lost in the shuffle, we're supposed to be too boring for regular coverage, and it's not like The Vic is exactly made for rocking the rafters. People are digging it, though. There's a buzz. Again, we're all looking at each other. Maybe this can be a thing, you know?

“We're near the end, and Davey starts up the intro that leads into 'Panther' – last song from our debut. There's, maybe, twenty seconds of drum fill escalating until the bass kicks in – when the bass should kick in – but … thirty seconds, forty seconds, a minute, two minutes. We're looking at Davey, he's looking at the bassist, trying best as he can to signal that something was seriously f'd up. Thing was, the way the lights were situated, we couldn't exactly see the new guy propped up next to the amps so Davey just keeps going, sweating like all hell, and it's three minutes, four minutes. Finally Davey just, like, explodes, kicking the drum kit off the stage, heading over to tear into the new guy except … the new guy's asleep. Not, like, passed out. Asleep. Narcoleptic, I guess, which would've been nice to know ahead of time.

“We get back to the green room, and Brian, our original bassist, is there hanging out, drinking our booze. He asks how the show went, we tell him, and Brian gets this real broad grin, saying 'that sounds like a nightmare!' I broke his jaw in three places that night. Last time we were ever allowed back at The Vic.”