I’m not your typical luthier.

I didn’t inherit a family workshop, and I didn’t grow up surrounded by music.

For over ten years, I worked in a pharmaceutical company. 9 to 5, five days a week, year after year. Life was predictable, stable, and respectable; but over time, it lost its feeling.

Then, in 2019, the pandemic hit. China went into lockdown, and like everyone else, I was stuck at home. That unexpected stillness gave me time to ask myself, for the first time in decades: “Is this really how I want to spend the rest of my life?”

That question cut deep. I realized I had spent my whole life doing what I was supposed to, never what I truly wanted. So at age 40, I made the most impulsive, and maybe the most honest decision I’ve ever made: “From today on, I want to live for myself.”

I started teaching myself woodworking online. I studied how bass guitars are built, read obsessively about vintage Fender designs, and spent my savings on tools and materials. I set up a makeshift workshop on my balcony, and with no formal training, began shaping my first bass by hand.

I’ve always loved the warm, thick, soulful tone of ’70s Fender basses. But traditional basses are heavy, and after every rehearsal, my shoulders would ask for mercy.

“If only I could lose the weight without losing the tone.”

That thought led me to explore headless bass designs. But as I dug deeper, I realized something strange: almost all headless basses were cold and clinical, focused on modern looks and modern tone. Nobody seemed interested in combining vintage character with headless practicality.

So I decided to do it myself. Not just lightweight. Not just vintage tone. But a bass that could do both and cover an entire setlist of retro sounds: funk, disco, soul, classic rock, neo soul, and more.

That’s when the first Baboomin prototype was born: headless, active electronics, coil split, and a wide tonal range. Was it perfect? Not even close. Some parts were clunky, some designs still immature. But I didn’t hide it. I launched it in the Chinese market because I wanted real feedback from real players.

In 2020, I enrolled in Hong Kong Baptist University to study accounting. It was a safe choice: a practical major, a track people trusted.

But I quickly realized I was just going through the motions. What actually kept me up at night, what made me feel alive, was music.

I started an original band with a few friends. We rehearsed constantly, played gigs, and even organized a campus music festival with over 400 people in attendance. After that show, I knew: music is something I’d take responsibility for. Not just a hobby; it’s part of who I am.

One day, I remembered a custom headless bass I had ordered two years ago. It was light, vintage-sounding, and felt great to play, but had some obvious design flaws. I wondered: “What if I could improve it? What if it could become something more?”

So I booked a solo flight to Jinan to meet the luthier who had made that bass: Yang. We talked for hours about wood, tone, vintage Fender designs, and the headless market. Yang pointed out that most headless basses looked futuristic and sounded sterile. Nobody, he said, was seriously exploring vintage plus headless.

People often ask us: “What makes Baboomin different?”

We don’t try to be different for the sake of it. From the beginning, our only goal was to build the bass we always wished existed: something we’d actually want to play every day, something we’d trust on stage, in studio, and on tour.

Every Baboomin bass weighs under 4kg. We design them with real musicians in mind: players who care about feel, balance, and reliability as much as tone.

We obsess over feedback. Neck shape. Fret edges. Preamp layout. Weight distribution. Output clarity.

We’re the first brand in the world to truly build “Vintage + Headless + Versatile” into a single instrument philosophy. Most people think vintage means heavy, headless means modern, and versatility means compromise. We proved they were wrong.

Baboomin is not just a product. It is what happens when two people, in totally different stages of life, decide to choose again.

I don’t have a name. They just call me “Meow,” like that means anything.

I’ve been here longer than some of the basses. Probably longer than the intern. Every morning, I walk across the workbench. They act annoyed. Pretend I’m in the way. But no one moves me. They just wipe the lacquer and sigh.

Midday, I rest. Usually in the pickup bin. It’s not for me. But it fits. If they can’t find what they’re looking for, that’s their problem.

The wood pile is decent. Especially when the sun lands on it. Spray booth? Off-limits, apparently. Every time I approach, it’s the same chorus: “Hey! No! Out!” Very dramatic.

Afternoons are mostly noise. Sometimes music. Sometimes arguing. Hard to tell. Last week they lost a tuning peg. I took it. It rolled well. Then it disappeared. Things happen.

At night, I sleep on the neck rack. They panic when they can’t find a finished neck. I don’t move. They’ll figure it out eventually.