The Field Guide

Basses in Strange Places is a visual archive that documents bass guitars in unconventional locations. Started as a personal photography project, it combines my passion for vintage and rare basses with location-based art photography. Each “journey” places iconic instruments – from 1970s Fenders to rare Gibsons – in environments that create narrative tension: abandoned buildings, vintage car collections, natural landscapes, even rapeseed fields in full bloom.

The project isn’t about gear reviews or playing techniques – it’s about elevating the bass guitar from functional tool to art object, capturing the sculptural beauty of these instruments in contexts that make you see them differently. Explore through Bass Journeys for the photography, The Bass Vault for instrument histories, or Bass Stories for the personal narratives behind the collection.

The bass thrives in collaboration. It doesn’t dominate: it supports, it listens, it responds to what’s happening around it. That’s what drew me to the instrument decades ago, and it’s the energy that shapes this entire project.

The foundation no one notices (Until it’s gone) Bass is humble and essential. Remove it from a mix and the entire structure collapses, but when it’s there, it’s often invisible to casual listeners. We don’t get the spotlight solos or the flashy techniques – we hold down the groove, we make everyone else sound better, we create the space where music happens.

Collaboration over dominance A great bass player listens first. You respond to the drummer’s feel, you support the vocalist’s phrasing, you adapt to what the song needs. This project applies that same philosophy to photography: the bass doesn’t overpower the location, and the strange place doesn’t diminish the instrument. They’re in conversation – a 1978 Antigua in a brickworks or Gibson Thunderbirds among vintage cars creates dialogue, not competition.

Workhorses, not show ponies Basses are built to be used. We’re not the fragile, fussy ones. We get dinged, worn, played hard, and become more interesting because of it. A bass that’s lived – that’s been on stages, in studios, transported to strange places – has more soul than one kept pristine behind glass. That’s why every instrument in The Bass Vault is a working bass, not a closet queen.

Deeply underestimated The low-end is often overlooked until you remove it and realize the entire foundation just disappeared. This project gives basses the protagonist role they rarely get while honoring what makes them basses: they’re beautiful in context, not in isolation. They reveal themselves through relationship – with the player, the song, the band, or in this case, the environment.

That’s why I document these instruments the way I do. It’s not just about specifications or rarity – it’s about celebrating the collaborative, essential, unpretentious spirit of the bass guitar itself. Read more about this philosophy in Bass Stories or see it in action through Bass Journeys.

The site is organized around three core sections, each offering a different lens into the project:

Bass Journeys This is the visual heart of the project. Location-based photography sessions where basses meet unexpected environments. Start here if you want to see what happens when a Gibson Thunderbird encounters a vintage car collection or a Geddy Lee Jazz Bass inhabits a vinyl record store.

The Bass Vault This is where you dive deep into individual instruments. Every bass gets detailed specifications, authentication notes, and its story. Browse by brand (Fender basses, Gibson basses), by era (Fender Japan archive), or by model (Jazz Bass archive, Precision Bass archive).

Bass Stories Behind-the-scenes narratives, personal reflections, and the human side of collecting. Read about how it all started, explore comparisons like the Antigua evolution, or discover the old soul of the vault.

Each section interconnects – clicking a bass in a journey often leads to its detailed vault entry, which links back to stories where it appears.

I’m Henrik Bonde Hanfgarn, a bass player and passionate collector based in Denmark. This site is my creative outlet – every photograph, every instrument documentation, every location scout is a personal obsession made public. I’ve been playing bass for decades and collecting for almost as long, always drawn to the instruments others overlook: the polarizing finishes, the Japanese reissues that rival American originals, the signature models that tell a story.

This isn’t a business or a media company – it’s one person’s mission to document the low-end in a way that celebrates both the instruments and the spaces they inhabit. Follow the journey on Instagram or read more about the origins in Bass Stories.

Most bass sites focus on reviews, playing techniques, or marketplace listings. I focus on context and narrative. A 1978 Antigua Precision Bass isn’t just specifications and resale value – it’s a polarizing 1970s CBS-era design decision, a finish born from factory necessity, photographed in a Danish brickworks where the smoky gradient matches industrial decay.

The instrument becomes art object, protagonist, time capsule. I’m not telling you what to buy or how to play – I’m showing you how to see these basses differently. The photography elevates them from tools to sculptures, and the documentation preserves their stories before they’re lost to time. See this philosophy in action through Bass Journeys.

Personal use and sharing on social media is absolutely fine – just credit “Basses in Strange Places” and tag @bassesinstrangeplaces when possible. If you’re writing a blog post about vintage Fenders or creating educational content, feel free to use images with proper attribution.

For commercial licensing, editorial use in publications, high-resolution files for print, or any usage where the images generate revenue, please reach out through Get in Touch with your project details. I’m reasonable and supportive of fellow creators – I just need to know how the work is being used.

Most instruments in The Bass Vault are part of my permanent working collection. These are basses I play regularly, photograph constantly, and have no intention of parting with – they’re collaborators in the project, not inventory.

That said, collections evolve. Occasionally I’ll release specific basses to fellow collectors when the right home emerges, or when I acquire something new that fills a similar role. There’s no shop page or inventory list. If a bass is available, it’s clearly noted in its vault entry with pricing and details.

If you’re interested in a specific instrument or want early notice when something becomes available, reach out via Get in Touch.

Authentication is a multi-point process combining serial number research, physical inspection, and component dating:

Serial numbers & stamps I cross-reference neck plate serials with production databases, check neck pocket stamps for factory codes, and verify heel stamps on bolt-on necks. For Fender Japan instruments, the transition between Made in Japan (MIJ) and Crafted in Japan (CIJ) eras is crucial for dating – I’ve documented this in Navigating the MIJ & CIJ eras.

Component Dating Potentiometer date codes, pickup windings, bridge hardware, and tuner styles all tell a story. A 1975 Fender should have pots dated late 1974 or early 1975. Mismatched components indicate repairs or modifications, which I document in each Vault entry.

Physical Inspection Neck profiles, body wood grain, finish application methods, and hardware patina reveal authenticity. A genuine 1970s CBS-era Fender has specific construction quirks – thick poly finishes, three-bolt neck plates, bullet truss rods – that are difficult to replicate convincingly.

See examples of this authentication process in action with basses like the 1974 Fender Jazz Bass or the 1978 Antigua Precision.

The Bass Vault spans several collecting philosophies that intersect:

Fender Japan Excellence MIJ and CIJ instruments from the 1980s-90s that rival American originals. I maintain dedicated archives of PB70 Precision Bass reissues and JB62 Jazz Bass reissues.

American Vintage Fenders 1970s-80s instruments from the CBS era, often undervalued but sonically distinctive. The 1975 Olympic White Precision Bass, 1980 Precision Bass, and 1974 Jazz Bass represent this era.

Rare Gibson Models Offset body designs and unconventional finishes. The Silverburst “V” Bass, Non-Reverse Thunderbird in Sparkling Burgundy, and Gibson Grabber G3 showcase Gibson’s experimental side.

Artist Signatures Models designed by players who influenced my approach. The Geddy Lee Jazz Bass, Flea Road Worn Jazz, and Hama Okamoto Precision represent this category.

Polarizing Finishes Colors that divide opinion but photograph beautifully. The Antigua finish is the ultimate example – read about its evolution from factory mistake to cult classic.

Browse the full collection: Fender electric basses | Gibson electric basses | Signature basses

Japanese Fenders from the 1980s-90s represent exceptional craftsmanship at prices that were (and in some cases still are) accessible. The Fujigen and Dyna Gakki factories in Japan produced instruments that often exceeded American counterparts in fit, finish, and attention to detail during an era when US Fender quality was inconsistent.

The distinction between Made in Japan (MIJ) and Crafted in Japan (CIJ) eras matters – it reflects factory transitions, export regulations, and subtle specification changes. An early 1980s MIJ bass built at Fujigen has different neck carving, fretwork, and electronics than a late 1990s CIJ bass from Dyna Gakki, even if both are marketed as “JB62 reissues.”

I’ve documented these distinctions extensively in Navigating the MIJ & CIJ eras and maintain the web’s most comprehensive visual archive of these instruments. Browse the full Fender Japan bass guitar collection to see the evolution across decades.

Specific deep-dives: Fender Japan PB70 Precision Bass archive | Fender Japan JB62 Jazz Bass archive

No, rarely! I’m a player, collector, and documenter, not a luthier or repair tech. My expertise is in identifying, authenticating, and photographing these instruments, not in the technical expert work of setup, fretwork, or electronics modification.

That said, Bass Stories occasionally covers maintenance tips, vintage hardware quirks I’ve encountered, and general care for aging instruments. These are observations from decades of playing and collecting, not professional advice.

For actual technical work – setups, repairs, modifications – I rely on specialized techs and luthiers. If you’re in Denmark and need recommendations, feel free to ask via Get in Touch. I’m happy to point you toward people I trust with my instruments and gear.

Location scouting is equal parts research and instinct. I look for spaces that create narrative contrast or visual tension with the instrument itself:

Industrial Decay Abandoned factories, brickworks, and infrastructure where the weathered textures complement aged finishes and worn hardware. See this in The Old Orchard Basement where the project conceptually began.

Curated Collections Private spaces with their own stories. The Strøjer Car Collection was perfect for Gibson Thunderbirds because Raymond Dietrich designed both the basses and classic American automobiles – the instruments came home to their design lineage.

Cultural Context Environments that reinforce the instrument’s purpose. A Geddy Lee Jazz Bass in a record store connects the bass to vinyl culture and the physical spaces where music was discovered.

Natural Juxtaposition Placing manufactured objects in organic landscapes. The Fields of Gold series puts basses in Danish rapeseed fields, creating an unexpected visual dialogue between crafted wood and living crops.

The goal is never “weird for weird’s sake” – it’s about finding locations that make you reconsider what you know about the instrument. Where would a 1970s Antigua feel at home? What environment honors a Gibson V Bass heritage? These questions drive the scouting process.

Absolutely. If you know an unusual space that would serve the project – abandoned architecture, private collections, brutalist structures, natural landscapes with visual drama – I’m interested.

The best locations offer:

• Visual tension Contrast between the instrument and environment
• Texture and depth Surfaces that photograph well and complement aged finishes
• Narrative potential A story about why this bass or the basses belongs in this place
• Access and safety Structural integrity and legal permission to shoot

Reach out through Get in Touch with location details, photos if possible, and your connection to the space. I’ve discovered some of the best locations through suggestions from people who understand the project’s vision.

I keep it deliberately simple – most of these shots are captured with a smartphone. No heavy camera rigs, no complex lighting setups, no equipment that gets between me and the moment.

The Philosophy: Less Gear, More Vision By stripping away technical complexity, I can focus entirely on what matters: the relationship between the bass and its environment. A smartphone forces you to work with what’s there – the existing light, the natural atmosphere, the authentic feel of the location.

Light Dictates Everything I don’t fight the location; I adapt to it. Factory windows casting hard shadows? That becomes part of the story. Soft overcast light in a rapeseed field? Perfect for capturing finish depth without harsh reflections. Golden hour in an abandoned space? The bass glows naturally. The light tells me what’s possible, and I work within those conditions rather than trying to control them.

Mobility and Spontaneity With just a phone, I can scout, shoot, and respond to unexpected opportunities without being weighed down by gear. If I find the perfect angle but it requires climbing something or shooting from an awkward position, I’m not limited by equipment. This approach keeps the process organic and exploratory.

The results speak for themselves throughout Bass Journeys – whether it’s the vintage car collection, the record store, or the rapeseed fields. The best camera is the one that gets out of the way and lets you capture what you see.

I don’t over-protect them. These are working instruments, not museum pieces. They’re made to be played, photographed, and used – none of them are closet queens gathering dust behind glass.

Philosophy: Basses Are Built to Live Every bass in The Bass Vault has a job: to be played and documented. A few dings, some natural wear, honest patina – that’s not damage, that’s character. I’m not precious about keeping them pristine because pristine isn’t interesting. The 1978 Antigua has lived 45+ years; it’s earned every scratch.

Practical Care, Not Paranoia I use common sense. I don’t place a bass directly on sharp metal or in standing water, but I’m also not treating these like they’ll shatter if you breathe on them wrong. If a location has good bones – stable surfaces, reasonable conditions – the bass goes there. Period.

Respect Without Fear Pre-scouting locations is about finding good shots, not running safety audits. If a floor looks sketchy or a structure feels unstable, I skip it – but that’s for my safety as much as the instrument’s. The basses can handle far more than most collectors think.

The instruments you see in Bass Journeys are the same ones I play at rehearsals and gigs. They’re transported normally, handled naturally, and used the way Leo Fender and the folks at Gibson intended: as tools for making music and, in this case, art. The Epiphone Jack Casady Signature Bass sitting in a rapeseed field? It went to a session later that week.

Basses are made to be used. I’m just using them in more interesting places.