Dave Butler
bass

He was known in the town as 15 Hz Dave. The man with the low D string. Farmers would call him on those wet spring nights - the kind where the mud is knee deep and the moon is just an empty hole in the sky. “Please come, Dave. Please come with your bass guitar and help my cow who’s calf is stuck. The cow will die if we don’t get the calf out!”

And Dave, like the super hero that he is, would leap aboard his motorbike with his guitar and amp on a custom-made trailer, and away to the distressed farmer’s paddocks he would ride. Once there, Dave would unroll his power cord from the kitchen window and out into the darkened paddocks with only the sound of the dying cow to guide him. “Moo, moo” he could hear, and Dave would move closer and closer until he found the grateful farmer and his imperilled prize stock. “Quickly Dave!” said the farmer and Dave shot him a glance that silenced the farmer and told him not to hurry him any further.

Methodically, Dave connected his amp to the power cord, his tuner and volume pedals to the amp, rubbed down the fat strings on his bass and finally connected the lead from his guitar to the pedals. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as the cow moo-ed once more as if to say “Dave, my life and the life of my calf is in your hands”. The farmers hands calmed the cow while his eyes fixed on Dave. He knew better than to say anything right now. Dave, having satisfied himself that the strings were clean, carefully, painstakingly tuned his strings because he had learned through tragedy that if the D is not exactly right, the outcome would be disastrous.

Dave, was ready. The farmer gulped even though his mouth was dry. He knew it was the moment of truth – they only had one crack at this to get the calf out.

Dave set the dials on his amp to full, his foot depressed the volume pedal as far as it would go, he closed his eyes and mediatated. “May the note be true, may the note be true..” he resonated over and over. With a blow as swift as an eagle to it’s prey, Dave’s index finger struck the lowest string. The sonic boom that followed caused the dying cow’s stomach muscles to contract, pushing the calf with a force that she could not have done alone. The slimy calf shot out from it’s mother and fell to the muddy ground with a bleating moan. It was alive! The cow, inspired at the sight of her newborn, struggled to her belly to lick it clean. She was going to be alright, she was going to be alright.

Tears streamed down the farmer’s face as he tore himself between watching the animals and thanking over and over the work of 15Hz Dave. “How can I repay you?” the farmer begged to know. Dave, who was quietly and efficiently packing up his equipment replied, “I’ll have white with one thanks cobber.”