Baron was so low key I worked with him for years before learning he was on albums I’d had, on vinyl, in college (a fact I’d missed because I was never the type to know all the sidemen on a record). His playing was stunning and flavorful, playful and sparse. He could be picky about his vocal monitor (he only sang a little backup, why such a diva?) but sound checking his bass usually took literally under 10 seconds. His sound was that consistent & on point. Certainly no diva about his bass rig - the world class dude came on stage with just a mini GK cube.

Sometimes a party guest approached me asking, “Is that really Baron Browne?”. Part of my job: warn Baron if he had a fan around, so he could duck out & avoid them. He hated talking to aspiring bassists. He could see when an audience member recognized him, and would literally dash off stage after the last note, rather than chat with admirers.

Even to the band, his friends, he didn’t linger socially, say over our dinner break. He’d usually slip away. Someone once asked, whispering, “where do you think Baron goes during dinner?” Leyna piped up, “I bet he’s off fighting crime!” Superhero - no one counted that out.

If B needed a sound adjustment in his monitor and hadn’t flagged my attention, he’d text me. During a song. While playing bass.

And If I missed the text, at some point I’d notice him, stage right, eyeballing me, holding up his phone, while playing bass one-handed. read my message dude.

At first he gave me a hard time, about sound, my ponytail, anything. It was like - he let me know that his respect was earned, not given, and over the years, I’d like to say I did gain his respect.

I bumped myself up to management & had one of my employees engineer for that band. But when I swung by a gig, there was the easy, warm ‘reunion’ vibe. He’d smile & be glad to see me - in the way you get more warmth from someone in your past than someone in your present.

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One night in Newport, I check in on their gig - my ace Jeff is running sound for the night. Just a few minutes before start, the keyboard player gets vertigo and can barely sit up. He’s carted off to an emergency room.

The keyboards are all set up. There’s a hole in the lineup. I’m finished for the day and available. Do the math. I’m looking at the keyboards, looking at the band, they’re looking at me… nothing to lose? Someone says “Do it, Avi”. It reads like a corny screenplay, but it happened.

It’s a cliche that audio engineers are frustrated musicians, who would rather be the ones on stage. A true cliche in my case. In the years I ran their sound, there wasn’t a night I didn’t envy them.

So I go to the keyboard station and sit in with the band.

I played a gig, riding, gliding along on the immaculate grooves of Baron & Vinny, backing up a singer who won The Voice. It was like being handed the keys to a high performance luxury sports car. It all just purred. I’d never rated a spot along with world class players like this.

They had never heard me play & were mostly grinning & wide-eyed. “You know all the songs!? All the arrangements!”.

Of course I did. I’d mixed their sets on hundreds of nights. I knew the custom licks, the medley transitions. That band had been my steady, day in day out gig for years. “I didn’t know Avi could play”, someone said.

It was a nice callback on a sound gig that began many years before with a failed piano audition. Baron said “You even knew the right voicings”. Best sound gig ever.

https://bassmagazine.com/remembering-baron-browne/