In 1997, I bought a late-’70s Rickenbacker 4001 bass from a friend for the princely sum of $250.

That bass and I became inseparable. All over the country, from LA to NYC and everywhere in between, it was my travel companion and tool of the trade.

It was with me for performances in small clubs for dozens, larger venues for hundreds, and a handful of times, stadiums for thousands. I used it to record on 2 different albums.

It became an intrinsic part of my identity and shaped how I approached music. At the time, it was my most prized possession.

Within two years it was stolen from outside a club in Richmond, Virginia, right before a gig.

That was a miserable night.

I've long since moved on – with a different career and family to take care of. No longer playing professionally, music is still my creative outlet in my downtime. I now own a lot of really nice instruments my younger self could never afford. I've always regretted losing my Ric but never had the heart to replace it.

Yesterday, that changed. I was lucky enough to find this nearly pristine 1999 4003 from its original owner. Built the same year mine was stolen, it almost seems like it’s been waiting all this time for me to come find it.

The moment I started playing it, it felt like home. Songs I hadn’t touched in 25+ years came right back to my fingers, as if no time had passed at all.

The old idiom that you can never go back is certainly true, but it still feels deeply satisfying to reclaim this little corner of my past.

NBD: 1999 Ricenbacker 4003