The mistake that defined Carol Kaye’s genius: “He caught me”
When considering the most underrated musicians of all time, look no further than Carol Kaye.
One of the most recorded bassists of all time, Kaye became the ultimate connoisseur, a hitmaker who ran on pure instinct, turning the most boring, “nothing” songs of all time into timeless classics. But Kaye has also always exercised a certain humility that boasts expertise without ego, an impressive feat considering her extensive resume and the countless testimonials from her peers.
At one point, her name seemed to define it all, and not just because she was a woman who soared above the rest. As Ronnie Spector said in 2016, “I love that women have the power now. At my recording sessions in the 1960s, there was only one woman: Carol Kaye.” Thus, she didn’t just set the standard for guitarists and intuitive musical innovation; she led the way, smashing the mould where people like her weren’t always welcome.
But she also emerged like many other genuine innovators with an in-built know-how when it came to owning a space, even when things weren’t already laid out bare. In fact, it’s precisely those situations when real genius-level innovation can not just happen but thrive, and those situations proved the unmatched skillset of the one and only Carol Kaye. It would take a long while to go into all examples of Kaye’s prowess, but one that sits above the rest is undeniably Bob Lind’s ‘Elusive Butterfly’.
A prime example of a project boasting key LA-scene musical maestros, ‘Elusive Butterfly’ saw Kaye making a mistake that would accidentally become a signature sound, something she hadn’t intended to do but became a defining aspect of the entire track. Reflecting on the moment during a Songfacts interview, Kaye recalled, “It was at Sunset Sound. It was kind of a boring tune. I think it was D-flat or something, and it stays a long time in that chord and then it moves in a funny way to the next chord, it’s like a sidebar phrase or something like that.”
She continued, “I missed it and I went to go up to the G-flat or whatever, and I missed it and I came right back down. I did a slide up and down. And they stopped, and I thought, ‘Uh oh, he caught me.’ He said, ‘Do more of those!’ (laughing) So the slide was born, then. I’d stick that slide in here and there on the records I cut.”
What’s even more interesting is that Kaye alluded to this not being the first time this has happened, like often it was about the magic that occurred in the mishaps, and embracing a level of spontaneity that allowed the unexpected. But it likely also explained how she could consistently sprinkle her magic all over any track, even the ones that seemed boring or nondescript at first, like Sonny and Cher’s ‘The Beat Goes On’. Then comes that famed humility again, the one that shouldn’t be read as humble but is because of the genius that underscores it all: “About 95% of that stuff would not have been a hit without us, that’s true.”
Supposedly, that’s also why it comes across as anything but boasting, because the brag only becomes as such when there’s an emptiness to the claim. But everybody, from every corner of the industry, knows no one can come even remotely close to Kaye when thinking about all-time musical greats. And anyone with a fraction of the impact she’s had would no doubt reflect on many of these projects with just as much honesty, if not more.
