CHRISTIAN HAIT

A childhood friend of Erik’s and talented bassist who played in many competing groups throughout their youth, Christian was always the obvious choice to step up to the plate in a pinch. During LeBree’s more erratic phases Hait was frequently on call for gigs and photo shoots, sometimes subbing in for extended periods. More than just a hired gun, Christian was considered a friend and colleague, and was often invited to recording sessions to help or hang out. His assistance and influence were easily assimilated and, in the absence of LeBree, his presence became an integral piece of the puzzle.

Phantom Bassman of the Psychedelic Undercurrent

Christian Hait was never in the band — not in the traditional, ink-on-contract, name-in-bright-lights sort of way. He was the spectral bass pulse, the fifth Beatle of a parallel universe, always lurking just behind the curtain, cigarette in hand, Hofner slung low, eyes sharp as a taxman at a love-in.

A childhood mate of Erik’s, Hait had the sort of unshakable rhythm that only comes from endless nights in garages and basements, playing to empty rooms and buzzed cousins. Back then he floated through rival bands like a jazz assassin, dropping in, tightening the screws, and vanishing before the encore. But when The Get Quick started wobbling — when Coco flew off to Bangkok or barricaded herself in a flat with only canned peaches and a four-track recorder — Christian was the emergency parachute they always packed but never quite admitted needing.

He was not a rock star — he was the rock star’s stunt double, the guy who showed up with his boots zipped and amp humming, just in time to keep the whole circus from collapsing into a puddle of neurosis and feedback. He filled in at gigs, stood in for photos, pantomimed rebellion while Coco was off chasing Venusian frequencies, enchanted talismans, or beauty queens. And somehow, Hait never blinked. Never buckled. Always grinned like he was in on the joke, but it was too weird to explain.

But don’t mistake him for some session hack. No, no. Christian Hait was glue and ghost, part of the sonic DNA, whispering his influence into mixes even when he wasn’t officially “on the track.” You could hear him in the low-end swagger, the carefully measured chaos. In a band built on magnetic ego collisions and chemical flirtations with the abyss, Hait was the guy who kept the groove grounded and the madness in tune.

He was always there — a little offstage, a little out of frame, a lot more important than anyone ever gave him credit for. The integral phantom, the steady hand in a world spinning too fast, the guy you’d call when the lead singer was howling at the moon and the drummer was locked in the van with three cream tarts, a cobra, and no trousers.

Christian Hait. Not the frontman. Not the legend. Just the bloke who made sure the legends didn’t completely self-destruct. And in a band like The Get Quick — that made him essential.

— Mark Question, 2007