Sitting In At The Old Princeton Landing

By Andy Doerschuk Published August 26, 2010

This clip was recorded last year at a jam session in Princeton By The Sea, California -- a coastal town on a tiny inlet a few miles north of Half Moon Bay. My girlfriend and I spent the early afternoon touring the artwork at San Francisco’s incredible DeYoung Museum. Then we drove south on Highway 1, hugging the coastline as the sun set over the horizon, until we pulled into Nick’s Restaurant in Pacifica early in the evening, and feasted on some seafood as we overlooked the beach. After paying the bill, we jumped back in the car and drove another 20 minutes until we arrived at The Old Princeton Landing. I played what you see in the video above almost as soon as we walked in. It was a perfect day!

Mistakes Happen And Sometimes It’s Your Own Damn Fault

By Andy Doerschuk Published August 10, 2010

Nobody’s perfect, but there are moments when our flaws are a bit more glaring than usual. I recently had a wake-up call about my own fallibility.

Months ago, I was playing with the host band at a local jam session. After finishing the first set, we opened up the stage to the jammers waiting patiently for their chance to play. Now, it’s important to keep in mind that the level of musicianship at a jam can swing wildly from amateur to professional. As the host drummer, you have to be prepared to see some hotdog flailing on your kit who clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing.

So after toweling off, I headed up to the balcony to check out the action. I watched as the first drummer sat behind my drums and began adjusting the heights and angles of my stands to suit his style. I don’t have a problem with that, but to my horror, he grabbed my mounted tom and twisted it without loosening the wing nut, which was only a mere inch or so from his hand. I couldn’t believe how rude he was to treat my gear with such disregard. When I finally got the chance to take a close look, I was relived to see that he hadn’t done any damage. Crisis averted.

Flash forward to a couple of weeks ago. A bandleader I occasionally play with invited me to an all-star jam featuring many top musicians from around the San Francisco Bay Area. Almost as soon as I walked in the door he invited me to come up on stage. I shook hands with the drummer, Dennis Dove — a good guy who I have known for years — and sat down behind his drums.

His kit was set up very much like mine, except for the mounted tom, which was tilted at an odd angle toward the crash cymbal. With no forethought and feeling some pressure under the circumstances, I grabbed the tom and twisted it toward me without loosening the wing nut. In the heat of the moment, I did the exact same thing that the thoughtless jammer had done to my tom months before.

Obviously, Dennis had been watching from the wings, because only seconds after I forcibly adjusted his stand, he walked right up to me and said in a very friendly voice, “You know, you have to be careful with these old stands. You’re the only guy I would let do something like that.” I felt like a complete idiot and apologized.

Later that night, as I unwound at home, I realized that I had more than one lesson to learn. Of course, it’s never cool to manhandle another drummer’s gear, but I also need to work on my empathy toward other drummers who, like me, can make mistakes under pressure without meaning any harm.

To be honest, it’s a lifelong lesson that I’ve grappled with, which I have learned and relearned over and over throughout my life. Every last one of us is human, and occasionally, we just need to give each other a break.

Drumming. What’s It All Mean?

By Andy Doerschuk Published August 10, 2010

If you’re trying to discover the meaning of life, you’ve definitely come to the wrong place. I gave up on that one long ago, but I do know a thing or two about drumming, and recently found myself pondering what it means to be a drummer. Now brace yourself for some profound philosophizing. My synopsis is that it’s not all fun and games … although the best part is. Okay, here’s a bit more detail.

It’s About Dedication. Nondrummers think it looks easy. Of course, they’re wrong. No instant gratification here. Being a drummer means you invest hours of practice every day to become the best you can be. If you’re brutally honest with yourself, even after doing everything right, you’ll keep working on chops long after your abilities reach a professional level. No, we aren’t masochists (at least not all of us). We want to remain competitive and find work. We love the artistry, the creative expression, and the way our bodies feel when those sounds and rhythms flow out of us. We’re a little obsessive about it. We’re drum nerds.

It’s About Sacrifice. Other kids are out playing baseball. You’re alone in your room trying to nail a Danny Carey lick – over and over ¬ before your lesson tomorrow night. Ten years later, you’re working part-time at a drum shop, sharing a practice studio with three other drummers (you get Tuesday nights and Sunday mornings), and your band practices five nights a week. Another ten years and you teach students five days a week, perform masterclasses in high school auditoriums with your jazz band, and play five to ten gigs a month to earn half as much money as you would have if you had sold insurance all these years. Ouch.

It’s About Stamina. Take it from me. It gets harder and harder to carry that trap case up a flight of stairs as the years go by. It also takes a couple more seconds to catch your breath after a fast number. And if your bass drum leg cramps up halfway through the third set, you play through it. That’s just the way it works.

It’s About Discipline. In other words, it’s exactly the opposite of the stereotype most people seem to have of drummers. Every one of us is a freelancer, even if you are a member of a band. That means that you are in charge of finding work, doing taxes, paying expenses, juggling your gig schedule, showing up to gigs and rehearsals on time and with the right gear, knowing the songs, keeping in shape – in short, everything involved with running your own business. Yes, your business is drumming, but you and your talent constitute the product that is for sale.

Luckiest People On Earth. That’s right. I’m talking about us. Despite all the hard work, low pay, and sacrifice that our jobs demand, we in fact are the luckiest people on Earth. Just look around you, at all the people who have jobs they don’t care about. They go to their offices or factories and perform their duties in order to make enough money to do things that they actually do care about.

But every single time we climb behind our drum kit – whether its on stage, in the studio, or in the practice room – we know that we are about to have a peak life experience that feeds our souls and unleashes our creativity. Other people have to pay for a chance to have the kinds of experiences that we not only have every day but also get paid to do. We’re the luckiest people on Earth.

Showing Up Is Half The Battle

By Andy Doerschuk Published August 4, 2010

Man, was I ever in bad shape a few years ago. I smoked cigarettes, was dangerously overweight, and never, ever worked up a sweat anywhere else but from behind the drum kit. It’s hard to pinpoint the catalyst that finally motivated me to get off my butt, except for a nagging feeling of disgust every time I looked in the mirror. The bottom line is that I finally began to take better care of myself a few years back, and couldn’t be happier about it.

My first step was to quit smoking. After a couple months, when it became clear that I had successfully kicked the habit, I began dieting. Around 20 fewer pounds later, I finally got up the nerve to join a health club. And the funny thing is that after a lifetime of procrastinating, once I made the commitment I dove in headfirst. Within weeks I was going to the gym practically every day.

It seemed as if the more I put into it, the more I got out of it. Inches dropped from my waistline, prompting me to buy new clothes every couple of months – and I didn’t have to go to the big and tall clothing stores anymore. To maximize my efforts, I subscribed to a weightlifting magazine and hired a personal trainer who tightened up my workout techniques.

I was on a roll and felt incredible – better than I ever had. So about a year and a half ago I decided to push the envelope and went on a high protein diet combined with a challenging three-times-a-day workout routine to quickly build muscle and drop more fat. I was cruising along, making great progress, until I pushed my middle-aged body too far and damaged the rotator cuff in my right shoulder. Suddenly, I could barely lift a newspaper, let alone a couple hundred pounds. My doctor advised me to stay away from weightlifting and ice down my shoulder until the pain subsided.

It took a full year, during which time I lost momentum and motivation. Instead of going to the gym every day I was lucky if I stumbled in once a week. Maddeningly, I regained some of the weight I had worked so hard to lose. But finally, in the past few months, I’ve managed to return to a regular schedule primarily of cardiovascular work with very light weightlifting, and am once again beginning to enjoy the results.

I was at the gym last Saturday, and ran into a friend who is a serious bodybuilder. We talked about my slow recovery from the rotator cuff injury, and I expressed my frustration about having to lift such measly weights.

“Oh Andy, that doesn’t really matter,” he replied. “The important thing is that you’re here, working on your health. Just showing up is at least half of the battle.”

Ka-boom! It was one of those illuminating moments when I realized that this little life lesson applies to almost everything. So do you want to be a better drummer? Then you’d better show up at your practice studio every day. And do you want a good reputation within the music community? Then show up to your gigs and recording session on time.

And if you decide that either of those things are too much of a hassle, then you’d better not complain if your drumming career comes to a standstill. You’ll have no one to blame but yourself.

The DRUM! Magazine Manifesto

By Andy Doerschuk Published July 28, 2010

This isn’t just a job to us. We actually believe in a few things.

We believe that drummers are extremely cool people. Every day in the office reinforces that notion as we conduct interviews with pros and read letters from readers. I’m not the first to suggest that drummers have a special bond when compared to our fellow musicians. We love to hang together. I mean, when was the last time you heard about anyone going to a tuba circle?

We believe in communication — in print, online, by carrier pigeon, if need be. Whatever the vehicle, we are compelled to exchange ideas, encourage debate, share knowledge, cautions, tips, jokes. But that’s not enough. Communication must travel in both directions — from us to you, and you to us. There’s so much to learn. We’re as hungry as you are.

We believe in community. It’s a natural outgrowth of open dialog. It happens whenever two drummers lean elbows on the counter of a drum shop, or share trade secrets backstage before a show, or sit shoulder-to-shoulder at a clinic. We believe it’s important for all of us to remember that others have come before us. Still more will follow. We’re in this together.

We believe — no, we insist — in quality. We believe that quality should be embedded in the entire package. We believe in good writing. We believe in powerful graphics. We believe in accurate transcriptions. Loud colors. Punchy copy. Editorial detail. Smart editing. We believe in precision, sharp edges, packing value into every paragraph.

We believe that this job is a privilege. We are drummers and journalists who get to write about drumming full time, every day. It’s the perfect marriage of our passions. We don’t squeeze magazine work between tours and recording sessions — we do just the opposite. While we play drums whenever possible, our focus remains trained on every article that will ultimately wind up before your eyes. Because of that, we don’t take lightly our commitment to you, our readers. You come first.

We believe drumming can save the world. No kidding. We believe that as more people play drums, the closer they grow to each other. How else can you explain the team building that occurs organically at drum circles? Every drummer wants to play drums with other people. Even those practicing right now in the solitude of a rehearsal studio are preparing to collaborate with other musicians. The more the world comes together, the more quickly we understand that we are all just people, trying our best.

We believe that DRUM! Magazine isn’t about us — the people who create it. We aren’t in publishing to raise profiles or become household names. We believe that DRUM! Magazine is about you, our readers and drumming partners. That’s what we have believed for the past 19 years, and it will never change.