![Chicago bassist Peter Cetera reflects on performing as the opening act for Jimi Hendrix.]](https://backingtracksfullcollection.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/03/Chicago-bassist-Peter-Cetera-reflects-on-performing-as-the-opening-758x426.jpg "Chicago bassist Peter Cetera reflects on performing as the opening act for Jimi Hendrix.] 1")
Named for the town’s transportation system, Chicago Transit Authority – soon shortened to Chicago – began in 1968 as a savvy septet with a propensity for pioneering jazz-tinged rock suites, as well as perfectly crafted pop gems.
It was the latter that quickly established their northerly flow on the charts, via smash singles like Saturday in the Park, 25 or 6 to 4, Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?, and Colour My World.
Peter Cetera’s lively-yet-locked basslines and melodic upper-fret forays influenced a generation of privy peers and subsequent budding bassists, including Will Lee, of The Late Show and hundreds of New York sessions.
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“Peter had an R&B-rooted style marked by great taste and tone, plus a real McCartney-esque quality,” Lee told Bass Player. “He was the polish in the whole Chicago picture, adding sweetness to the vocal harmonies, while providing a gorgeous sound on the top and bottom. Very few days go by that I’m not thinking about him somewhere in my playing.”
A few years later, some older friends took him to a teenage nightclub outside of town. “I walked in and a band called the Rebel Rockers was playing,” said Cetera in the December 2007 issue of Bass Player. “I remember the guitarist and bass player were standing on their amps, rocking back and forth. I thought it was the coolest thing l’d ever seen – I was hooked.”
Eventually, he joined the Exceptions, staying six years with the Chicago area’s “best sound-alike” band. The group gained invaluable experience as a rare white band on the chitlin’ circuit, opening for and becoming the Dells backup band, and signing with a Chess subsidiary, Tollie Records.
For the opening of a new club in December 1967, the Exceptions were booked opposite the Big Thing – a six-piece horn band that played some original music, but relied on organ pedals for basslines. The unit was looking to add a singing bass player, and Cetera accepted the role.
In 1968, The Big Thing changed their name to Chicago Transit Authority, relocated to Los Angeles and signed to Columbia Records.
“We discovered we couldn’t make it in Chicago because radio wouldn’t play you unless you were famous, but the only way to get famous was to be on the radio!
“Our manager, Jimmy Guercio, who was a producer at CBS, moved us out to L.A. It was an amazing time; Jimmy got us steady Tuesdays at the Whiskey-A-Go-Go.
“One night Jimi Hendrix came in, and word spread across the stage. After the set he came knocking on the dressing room door and said, ‘You guys are motherfuckers! I want you to come on tour with me,’ which we did. The same thing happened with Janis Joplin.”
What do you recall about your initial bass experience?
It was pretty funny; I got my Danelectro Short Horn bass guitar and I asked somebody in our band how to tune it. He said, ‘I think it’s tuned like the first four strings of a guitar.’ So, that’s what I did.
I started playing, and I’m thinking, ’It doesn’t sound real bassy.’ A few weeks later, a local bassist came and sat in at our club gig. He put the bass on and went, ‘What the hell?’! He quickly tuned it down the right way and I had to learn it all over again; I was lucky the neck hadn’t snapped!
From there, I went on to a Fender Precision, with an Ampeg B-15 flip-top. That was a big step up, sound-wise. Another bad habit I developed was fingering some notes on the E string over the top of the neck, with my left thumb.
Who were your early influences?
Well, the guitarist in my band taught me some Bo Diddley and Jimmy Reed tunes, and I was still playing with a pick, having come right from the guitar. Then R&B and soul took a more modern turn, and Motown was all over the radio.
I didn’t know who James Jamerson was, but when I heard his parts I knew I needed to start playing with my fingers. My Girl really solidified that for me; I would anchor my thumb on the P-Bass thumbrest and alternate my index and middle fingers, but I also kept a pick wedged in behind the pickguard, and I’d switch between styles.
Seeing James Brown and his band a few times influenced my technique and approach, too, as did the bassists we played opposite on the chitlin’ circuit.
Your move from the Exceptions to what would become Chicago seems like a pivotal time.
It really was part of an awakening for me. The Beatles had come along and changed everything. I realized I was playing other people’s music, from a different era, and didn’t have my own voice yet. The Beatles showed that it could be done; it was music of my generation. And Paul McCartney‘s basslines were pure genius; it was almost like he was playing a whole different instrument.
I bought a ’64 Hofner right away to use in the Exceptions, but it just wasn’t bassy and ballsy enough for Chicago, so I got a ’63 P-Bass and had it painted paisley. I was aware of other great rock bassists, like Jack Bruce and John Entwistle, but besides Jamerson and McCartney, the guy whose playing really spoke to me for its uniqueness was Andy Fraser of Free.
How did you come up with your bass parts in Chicago?
My primary goal was to be melodic; McCartney was so in my head then that I’d try to think a little out of the box – like picking my spots for the upper-register stuff. Plus, Jamerson and my R&B roots were in my subconscious, so keeping a strong groove went without saying.
Coming up with parts varied by who wrote the songs. Bobby’s tunes were fun to play; they were melodic, they had meaning, and he wouldn’t give you too much of a parameter – you would just play what you felt and he’d say, ‘Cool.’
Terry was more defined and opinionated as to what he wanted and didn’t want. And Jimmy was really specific about what to play. But, as I say, I always tried to be melodic when the time in the track allowed for it. The only song that was given to all of us note-for-note by Jimmy was Colour My World.
How was your hookup with drummer Danny Seraphine?
I first met Danny during my club days, and he subbed with the Exceptions. He was a great, funky, raw ‘street’ drummer, with a small kit, and we locked well together from the start.
In Chicago, I was a pushing kind of player, as was Terry, but Danny was laid back a bit and Robert leaned back, so we had the pocket covered from both sides!
Eventually, Danny started taking lessons and his approach changed; Terry called it ‘lead drums,’ so having Laudir De Oliveira, and later, my brother Kenny, on percussion helped solidify the overall groove.
How did you approach singing while playing on various Chicago tunes?
I didn’t put singing and playing together conceptually in Chicago because the bass parts were important and they were constant, so if I had to sing lead on a tune it was something separate. I’d been doing it since my club days.
My first sing-and-play for Chicago was Questions 67 and 68, which, like 25 or 6 to 4, was really high. I remember getting nervous and blowing the top notes one night at the Fillmore East because Leonard Bernstein was in the audience!
Overall, I found the key to singing while playing bass is to learn both parts separately and then slowly work them together though the tune, section by section. The more you perform the song the more comfortable you’ll become, to the point where you can loosen up and expand on both parts.
Apparently, there was a period of adjustment when the band first went into the studio.
That’s true. We were the greatest live band; we would blow anyone off the stage, but we didn’t have experience in the studio. When we went to Columbia Studios in New York City, the pressure was on.
We had limited time, so it was decided to record live. Well, we soon realized we had to do it separately: rhythm section, then horns, and then vocals. In those days, we couldn’t punch, so if someone made a mistake we’d have to start over.
This was especially frustrating for me; I was a live player, with two of three good takes in me. We were doing up to 50 takes! We’d get to the end of take 49 and someone would make a mistake and we’d have to go back and do it all again.
It got better, but I never really felt comfortable playing in the stadio, where you’re under the microscope. Even our live Carnegie Hall album had a studio-like atmosphere; the best example of us live was the bootleg of the show in Japan.
