TWO Thomann ABS bass cases £80 London

[biro]

I am selling two lightly used Thomann E-Bass Case ABS hard cases. They are not brand new, but they are well kept and, if anything, gently seasoned by travel. They look like this: https://www.thomann.co.uk/thomann_ebasscase.htm

 

They are objects of a certain quiet seriousness: rectangular, black, unpretentious, built not to impress but to endure. They have travelled London to Dublin, Dublin to Liverpool, back again, and eventually home to London – companions to the small upheavals of rented flats and changing postcodes. They have waited in hallways while keys were located, leaned against unfamiliar walls, and rested in the polite half-light of rehearsal rooms. They have crossed thresholds more often than stages, and have done so without complaint.

 

What they have not known is neglect. No airline conveyor belts, no rain-lashed festival fields, no catastrophic encounters with gravity. They have been carried, not thrown. They have been closed with intention, never slammed. They have performed the humble but essential task of containment.

 

Cosmetically, they are in very good condition. I cannot see any scratches on the shells. Along the seam – where the two halves meet – I may have placed a strip of paper tape as a precaution, simply to avoid cosmetic rubbing over time. It was a preventative gesture rather than a response to damage, and it has done its quiet job. Underneath, all is as it should be.

 

Inside, the plush black lining is soft and reassuring, the padded neck support steady, the internal compartment ready for cables, tuners, and the small debris of musical life. They fit most standard electric bass shapes (and then some) comfortably and offer that rare and civilised sensation of closure – the knowledge that something fragile has been properly enclosed, making their bearer slightly less anxious about gravity and door frames

 

Retail is around £69 each; I am asking £80 (somewhat negotiable) for the pair, which strikes me as fair.

 

I now possess all the cases I require – indeed, according to my partner, I have surpassed that threshold and entered surplus. These two stand in the corner like retired sentinels: still capable, faintly dignified, waiting for reassignment. There is something almost unjust in their idleness. Tools such as these are meant to move, to accompany, to guard.

 

They deserve another instrument to protect, another set of hands to lift them, another series of staircases and train platforms to traverse. They deserve to close once more around wood and wire and quiet intention. Ideally, they will be spared the frequency of house moves that marked their first chapter, though they have proven themselves equal to the task.

 

If your bass is currently entrusted to a soft gig bag and optimism, this is your moment to upgrade its existential security.

 

[floFC]

Beautiful full history of those receptacles. I could be interested, PM’d.

[StingRayBoy42]

This is the most wonderfully poetic listing I've ever seen on Basschat.

If you don't write for a living, you should!

[Skybone]

Though to be fair, they are good cases...

[Sparky Mark]

Beautiful prose, but for some reason, I'm reminded of the adage "a picture is worth a thousand words."

[biro]

Ah – entirely fair.

 

You are, of course, correct. A picture is worth a thousand words. And words, however dutiful, can only gesture toward polymer and plush. So here they are in their natural habitat: mid-migration, flanked by their more extroverted cousins, maintaining their usual rectangular composure while the rest of life rearranges itself around them.

 

Observe the setting: cardboard parapets, straps in mild disarray, the faint atmosphere of transition. And there they stand. Unperturbed. Rectangular. Matte. Emotionally stable.

 

They are not staged beneath flattering studio lights. No velvet backdrops. No strategic houseplants. No attempts at seduction through lens flare. Documentary realism, bass-case vérité.

 

You will notice something immediately: they do not compete for attention. They are above leaning theatrically, or mimic rock-and-roll excess. They simply exist with a certain utilitarian dignity. Their surfaces are clean. Their edges remain honest. The latches, though unphotographed in close-up here, retain the satisfying, almost municipal authority of well-made hardware. 

 

And yes, they are pictured among other cases. They have lived in the company of instruments. They have known wood and wire, and they discriminate against neither fellow ABS items nor wood and tweed.

 

The attached images, however, should be understood as archival material. They date from their most recent documented journey (a house move of moderate logistical complexity) and captures them in situ, among fellow cases, cables, and cardboard ephemera.

 

The reason they are archival is simple and humbling: they currently reside at the top of a closet, elevated beyond casual reach, in that high domestic stratum reserved for objects that are both useful and not immediately required. Retrieving them would involve a ladder, minor planning, and a level of initiative which, this morning, has not prevailed. But I hasten to add that bring their current altitude to your attention, as it means that they have are not strewn across floor or languishing in a damp basement.

 

This reminds me that, many years ago, I purchased a bass that arrived encased not merely in plywood and plush, but in what can only be described as a self-governing biome.

 

At first glance, the case appeared ordinary: tidy exterior, reasonably well-kept corners, the satisfaction of a bargain. Upon opening it – gently, with anticipation – there emerged not just the scent of nitro, but a humid declaration of sovereignty. The interior lining had developed a clear topography. There were pale constellations along the seams. A soft, speculative fuzz tracing the contours of the padding. In one corner, an ambitious colony had established what I can only assume was a capital city. The plush had taken on a faintly maritime fragrance – not, mind you, the romantic salt-spray of coastal air, but the resigned dampness of a forgotten cellar in late November. There was, unmistakably, life. Microscopic, industrious, collaborative life. 

 

I closed it.

 

I reopened it, hoping the ecosystem might have reconsidered its tenancy.

 

It had not.

 

What followed was a period of quarantine, ventilation, and existential reflection. The bass survived. The case did not. Ever since, I have been vigilant.

 

These two Thomann cases have known no such colonisation. Their interiors remain plush rather than tundra. No spores. No mycelial diplomacy. No soft, creeping frontier along the hinge line.

 

If a prospective buyer requires contemporary verification, I can, with sufficient notice and encouragment, attempt to summit the wardrobe. I will then gather fresh close-ups of latches and plush.

 

Until then, please accept this archival evidence, if not as a faithful representation of their condition, at least as a character reference.

 

 

 

 

[Sparky Mark]

6 minutes ago, biro said:

Ah – entirely fair.

 

You are, of course, correct. A picture is worth a thousand words. And words, however dutiful, can only gesture toward polymer and plush. So here they are in their natural habitat: mid-migration, flanked by their more extroverted cousins, maintaining their usual rectangular composure while the rest of life rearranges itself around them.

 

Observe the setting: cardboard parapets, straps in mild disarray, the faint atmosphere of transition. And there they stand. Unperturbed. Rectangular. Matte. Emotionally stable.

 

They are not staged beneath flattering studio lights. No velvet backdrops. No strategic houseplants. No attempts at seduction through lens flare. Documentary realism, bass-case vérité.

 

You will notice something immediately: they do not compete for attention. They are above leaning theatrically, or mimic rock-and-roll excess. They simply exist with a certain utilitarian dignity. Their surfaces are clean. Their edges remain honest. The latches, though unphotographed in close-up here, retain the satisfying, almost municipal authority of well-made hardware. 

 

And yes, they are pictured among other cases. They have lived in the company of instruments. They have known wood and wire, and they discriminate against neither fellow ABS items nor wood and tweed.

 

The attached images, however, should be understood as archival material. They date from their most recent documented journey (a house move of moderate logistical complexity) and captures them in situ, among fellow cases, cables, and cardboard ephemera.

 

The reason they are archival is simple and humbling: they currently reside at the top of a closet, elevated beyond casual reach, in that high domestic stratum reserved for objects that are both useful and not immediately required. Retrieving them would involve a ladder, minor planning, and a level of initiative which, this morning, has not prevailed. But I hasten to add that bring their current altitude to your attention, as it means that they have are not strewn across floor or languishing in a damp basement.

 

This reminds me that, many years ago, I purchased a bass that arrived encased not merely in plywood and plush, but in what can only be described as a self-governing biome.

 

At first glance, the case appeared ordinary: tidy exterior, reasonably well-kept corners, the satisfaction of a bargain. Upon opening it – gently, with anticipation – there emerged not just the scent of nitro, but a humid declaration of sovereignty. The interior lining had developed a clear topography. There were pale constellations along the seams. A soft, speculative fuzz tracing the contours of the padding. In one corner, an ambitious colony had established what I can only assume was a capital city. The plush had taken on a faintly maritime fragrance – not, mind you, the romantic salt-spray of coastal air, but the resigned dampness of a forgotten cellar in late November. There was, unmistakably, life. Microscopic, industrious, collaborative life. 

 

I closed it.

 

I reopened it, hoping the ecosystem might have reconsidered its tenancy.

 

It had not.

 

What followed was a period of quarantine, ventilation, and existential reflection. The bass survived. The case did not. Ever since, I have been vigilant.

 

These two Thomann cases have known no such colonisation. Their interiors remain plush rather than tundra. No spores. No mycelial diplomacy. No soft, creeping frontier along the hinge line.

 

If a prospective buyer requires contemporary verification, I can, with sufficient notice and encouragment, attempt to summit the wardrobe. I will then gather fresh close-ups of latches and plush.

 

Until then, please accept this archival evidence, if not as a faithful representation of their condition, at least as a character reference.

 

 

 

 

Thank you, I couldn't have said it better myself. 

[StingRayBoy42]

2 hours ago, biro said:

Ah – entirely fair.

 

You are, of course, correct. A picture is worth a thousand words. And words, however dutiful, can only gesture toward polymer and plush. So here they are in their natural habitat: mid-migration, flanked by their more extroverted cousins, maintaining their usual rectangular composure while the rest of life rearranges itself around them.

 

Observe the setting: cardboard parapets, straps in mild disarray, the faint atmosphere of transition. And there they stand. Unperturbed. Rectangular. Matte. Emotionally stable.

 

They are not staged beneath flattering studio lights. No velvet backdrops. No strategic houseplants. No attempts at seduction through lens flare. Documentary realism, bass-case vérité.

 

You will notice something immediately: they do not compete for attention. They are above leaning theatrically, or mimic rock-and-roll excess. They simply exist with a certain utilitarian dignity. Their surfaces are clean. Their edges remain honest. The latches, though unphotographed in close-up here, retain the satisfying, almost municipal authority of well-made hardware. 

 

And yes, they are pictured among other cases. They have lived in the company of instruments. They have known wood and wire, and they discriminate against neither fellow ABS items nor wood and tweed.

 

The attached images, however, should be understood as archival material. They date from their most recent documented journey (a house move of moderate logistical complexity) and captures them in situ, among fellow cases, cables, and cardboard ephemera.

 

The reason they are archival is simple and humbling: they currently reside at the top of a closet, elevated beyond casual reach, in that high domestic stratum reserved for objects that are both useful and not immediately required. Retrieving them would involve a ladder, minor planning, and a level of initiative which, this morning, has not prevailed. But I hasten to add that bring their current altitude to your attention, as it means that they have are not strewn across floor or languishing in a damp basement.

 

This reminds me that, many years ago, I purchased a bass that arrived encased not merely in plywood and plush, but in what can only be described as a self-governing biome.

 

At first glance, the case appeared ordinary: tidy exterior, reasonably well-kept corners, the satisfaction of a bargain. Upon opening it – gently, with anticipation – there emerged not just the scent of nitro, but a humid declaration of sovereignty. The interior lining had developed a clear topography. There were pale constellations along the seams. A soft, speculative fuzz tracing the contours of the padding. In one corner, an ambitious colony had established what I can only assume was a capital city. The plush had taken on a faintly maritime fragrance – not, mind you, the romantic salt-spray of coastal air, but the resigned dampness of a forgotten cellar in late November. There was, unmistakably, life. Microscopic, industrious, collaborative life. 

 

I closed it.

 

I reopened it, hoping the ecosystem might have reconsidered its tenancy.

 

It had not.

 

What followed was a period of quarantine, ventilation, and existential reflection. The bass survived. The case did not. Ever since, I have been vigilant.

 

These two Thomann cases have known no such colonisation. Their interiors remain plush rather than tundra. No spores. No mycelial diplomacy. No soft, creeping frontier along the hinge line.

 

If a prospective buyer requires contemporary verification, I can, with sufficient notice and encouragment, attempt to summit the wardrobe. I will then gather fresh close-ups of latches and plush.

 

Until then, please accept this archival evidence, if not as a faithful representation of their condition, at least as a character reference.

 

 

 

 

 

👌

[Paul S]

And English isn't even Nicco's first language.  We should all read and learn.