A Tale Of Two Gigs
We sell the dream at DRUM! Magazine. Scattered throughout our artist interviews and career columns are suggestions that if you practice hard enough, network tirelessly, and keep a good attitude, you might be among the lucky few to climb to the top of the drumming game.
It really can happen. But even when it does, the glory can too often be short lived. Here’s a typical scenario – your band gets a recording deal, lands a manager and booking agent, and winds up on the Warped Tour playing for huge crowds and selling tons of merch at every stop. It’s the most fun you’ve ever had with a pair of sticks.
And yet, with rare exceptions, most bands – including yours – will break up sooner or later, often following a decline in record and ticket sales (i.e., you’re all starving!), or because of proverbial “creative differences” (aka, you hate each other!).
Lots of folks at this crossroad decide to move on, go back to college, and find a steady job. The rest, perhaps like you, who decide to remain in the music business and chase the dream, face a career that might very well be punctuated by ups and downs.
To illustrate: I recently played a pair of back-to-back gigs. The first was on a Friday night with an instrumental surf band at a wine bar in the affluent San Francisco Bay Area suburb of Danville.
I assessed the gig as soon as I walked into the place. Tall ceilings, brick and wood paneled walls, marble counters – the dimly lit room was elegant and half filled with a crowd of well-dressed couples who sipped wine as we set up our gear.
We played our first song as quietly as we could so as not to ruin the ambiance (thank God for dowel rods!), nailed the last chord and … nothing. No applause. The second and third songs landed with a similar thud.
It’s not that we sucked; the audience just didn’t care. They were so preoccupied with their dates they could barely even glance in our direction. We finished the night, collected our pay, and slunk home.
I was on the road relatively early the next day for a gig in Roseville, California, about a three-hour drive from my house. A hard-rocking band I play with was opening a show for Sammy Hagar And The Wabos at the legendary singer’s newly opened Cantina.
The city closed off three blocks of downtown Roseville for the larger-than-life bash. Our stage was set up with professional P.A. and lighting systems, a huge drum riser, great monitors, and stagehands to help us hump our gear.
A thousand people who had won tickets from a local radio station were ready to party by the time we hit the downbeat. The crowd erupted in wild applause after every song. Our 90-minute set flew by. I drove home buzzing with adrenaline, replaying the show in my head.
Sunday morning, when I considered the last two shows over my first cup of coffee, it felt like a great weekend. Who cares if one gig was better than the other? I played drums for 1,050 people and earned a healthy paycheck.
So if you plan to be a survivor in the music business, learn to bend with the breeze, and enjoy the roller coaster ride along the way.
5 Ways Bandleaders Drive Me Nuts
Bandleaders. You love them. You hate them. They flash you the stink eye for playing too loud, and then give you a big bro hug as they push a wad of cash into your hand at the end of the gig. After a lifetime spent trying to parse this peculiar yin and yang, I’ve compiled my list of pet peeves that are true of almost every bandleader I’ve worked with. See if you recognize any of them.
1. Bait And Switch
Your bandleader counts off a song too fast and the entire band dutifully comes in at his designated tempo. Within 16 bars or so he turns to you (instead of any other bandmate), and makes a big, histrionic production of telling you to slow down, as if the incorrect tempo was your fault in the first place. Bottom line: The song would have started at the right tempo if you counted it off – but that ain’t gonna happen.
2. Missed It By A Stone
Excruciatingly simple. Maddeningly common. Practically every six-stringer I’ve ever accompanied will quote the guitar melody from Hendrix’s “Third Stone From The Sun” during a solo, and yet remarkably few play it correctly. Hey, I can sing the line note-for-note, and I’m the drummer!
3. Stick A Fork In Me
If I’m lucky, I play one or two drum solos per night. So when I get the chance, I try to build a solo with a musical structure that often culminates in a climax of my flashiest chops. With blood vessels bulging in my temples, I cue the bandleader to bring the band back in, but instead he goads me on to keep soloing, as if he’s doing me a favor, which inevitably leads to a series of clumsy, ham-fisted fills that sound like basketballs falling down stairs. Major buzz killer.
4. Déjà Groove
For fear of sounding repetitive, bandleaders agonize over set lists to avoid playing two consecutive songs in the same key. But some don’t think twice about calling two, three, even four songs in a row that have identical grooves. I don’t know about you, but by the second iteration of a slow blues, I’ve plumbed the bottom of my trick bag twice, and begin nodding out.
5. Why God Created Drummers
You’re in the rehearsal studio to learn a new song from a demo your bandleader recorded using GarageBand. He tells you that he wants you to faithfully reproduce the programmed drum part verbatim, which not only is physically unfeasible to execute, but would be impossible to make groove if you had a gun to your head. It hardly matters – you’re obligated to make his robotic feel work, even if it means sprouting an extra arm.
The ABCs Of Things I Hate
A is for all the stuff that can go wrong when you play drums.
B is for blisters. It’s been a long time since I had one, but I haven’t forgotten.
C is for getting onstage cramps and still trying to keep playing.
D is for dented drumheads. There’s nothing worse than trying to pull tone out of a dead head.
E is for eating crap on the road. But how can you avoid it?
F is for freelancing. I like having a steady paycheck.
G is for gouging your knuckles on your hi-hat cymbals and bleeding all over your drums. Who hasn’t done that at least once?
H is for still having another 300 miles before you get to the motel.
I is for playing for a room full of drunken idiots.
J is for being jerked around for money by the club owner.
K is for when people call a bass drum a kick drum. I’ve never kicked a drum. Never will.
L is for linoleum floors. See M.
M is for bass drums and hi-hat stands that move all over the place on linoleum floors.
N is for never getting songwriting royalties. For the record, no one has ever written my drum part.
O is for opening a show with your band before the audience has even shown up.
P is for gear problems you can’t troubleshoot. Grin and bear it.
Q is for bandleaders who call three quick shuffles in a row. Give my left hand a break, dude!
R is for getting ripped off for recording royalties. I won’t name names.
S is for broken sticks. There’s no elegant way to deal with it onstage.
T is for not having the right tool to fix the problem.
U is for unimaginative soloing, whether it be from the guitarist, bassist, keyboardist, or me.
V is for playing to an empty venue.
W is for waiting to go onstage, on the road, to the next gig, and so on.
X is for xylophone sonatas, if there are such things. (Okay, so I had trouble thinking of an X.)
Y is for stifling a yawn onstage at 1:15 a.m. on a weeknight. It gets harder as you get older.
Z is for when the zipper gets stuck on your cymbal bag.
Why Do Lead Singers Pick On Drummers?
Drummers don’t just sit at the back of the stage because that’s where our drum riser happens to be. We tend to get shoved back there figuratively as well as literally. If you need evidence, do a web search for the phrase “drummer jokes,” and watch as the stereotypes pile one atop the other. Not convinced that they reveal a hidden prejudice against your drumming brethren? Okay. Try replacing the word drummer in any one of those jokes with an ethnic slur and see what happens the next time you repeat it in a crowded room. Better bring your boxing gloves.
If we only occasionally had to endure being the brunt of a joke, there really wouldn’t be any problem. But some musicians still feel that drummers are somehow less musical because we play rhythms and beats instead of chords and melodies. And nothing riles me more than a lead singer who likes to blame the drummer for everything – real and imagined – that goes wrong onstage while onstage.
I’ve seen this one far too many times. The lead singer counts off a song. You’ve got the tempo locked into your internal metronome a couple clicks before the first downbeat. The band comes in at precisely the tempo the singer specified, but by the eighth measure he or she demonstrably turns to you and yells, “Will you pick it up?” with a scowl – as if it was somehow your fault that the singer counted off the song too slowly.
So you bite your tongue and pick up the tempo. And for a verse – or even worse, half the song – the groove wobbles backward and forward while the band tries to guess the proper bpm and find a pocket to lock into. I’ve seen this throw off a band so badly that it can render an otherwise jumping dance number to an embarrassing train wreck.
The drummer did nothing wrong, but the singer definitely blew it. Counting off a song at the wrong tempo is like starting to play a solo before you tune up your instrument. Actually, in my opinion, if a song happens to start off a tad slower or faster than usual, professional musicians – and professional singers – should be able to make it work, especially without having an onstage hissy fit.
Here’s another great one that I recently saw. You’re in the middle of a song, and without turning around, the singer puts one hand down and makes some kind of circular motion toward the drummer, as if someone was running in front of you and wanted you to catch up. What exactly is the meaning of this inexplicable signal? Well, my first instinct tells me that the singer wants the song to speed up.
But it might also mean, “give me more.” But more of what? More volume? More ghost notes? More fills? It’s hard to say, so you know what I do? I give them more of everything while slightly picking up the tempo. I don’t do it to be malicious. I’m simply trying to fulfill the wishes of a singer whose mind I am unable to read.
Yet more reasons why we drummers must stick together.
Five Ways To Spot A Drummer
(Left) How could this guy be anything other than a drummer?
While nobody likes to be stereotyped, it’s hard to deny that drummers share certain character traits, and some are quite quirky. Even those of us whose demeanors have more in common with techies or dentists can reveal a unique tic that hints at a background in the percussive arts.
So imagine you’re at Starbucks sipping a latte. You spot someone across the room that seems familiar, even though you’re positive you’ve never seen that person before. Something tells you he or she is a drummer – you aren’t sure why.
But I know why. Here’s a list of things you might have seen that when personified within a single individual almost guarantees a drummer is in your midst.
1. Black T-Shirt
Many people enjoy wearing back t-shirts, but most wear other types of shirts and colors too. Drummers don’t want to think about fashion that much. They have other things on their minds: Practicing, gigs, more practicing. Plain black works, but printed shirts tell you something about the drummer’s preferences. Sometimes it’s scary. And if you see a sweat stain on the chest, be it fresh or salty dry … bingo. You found a drummer.
2. Rhythmic Tics
Marriages break up because of this one. The guy at Starbucks is sitting in a chair looking at his iPhone while his right leg is bouncing at about 160 bpm. Or he taps out single-stroke rolls on the tabletop with his fingers, or clicks his teeth together in time. He isn’t aware he’s doing it, doesn’t realize how weird he looks, and doesn’t care anyway. He’s working out a drum part in his head.
More abstract, harder to spot – it’s a certain kind of grandiosity that is both street and celeb. Many drummers have a big personality. We like to show off onstage under spotlights. We don’t blend into the background. We’re often loud even away from the drum set, although that also might have something to do with deafness.
4. Time-Zone Disconnect
Starbucks again. It’s 9:00 at night and everybody is ordering dessert and decaf, except the guy in the black T-shirt. He orders a triple espresso. Alternative scenario: It’s 11:30 a.m. He rolls in with his hair messed up, bleary eyes, and wearing sweatpants. Still orders a triple espresso.
5. A Logo
It can be on virtually any kind of personal item: a backpack, a wallet or keychain pulled out of a pocket. The ultimate is a T-shirt. Seriously. If the Starbucks guy is wearing a black t-shirt shirt with a big, hairy Zildjian logo – or Pearl or Pro-Mark or anything else – totally ignore the first four bullet points. Just walk up and introduce yourself. He’s a bro.