Notes From an Old Rando Drummer
We are Legion. All of us can also draw and paint.
Rock ‘n roll became more interesting to me in the early 1970s for some of the wrong reasons. One being that it didn’t have much to do with becoming a “musician.”
What began at maybe age six or so — with CKLW and waiting for the 1910 Fruit Gum Company or the Archies — was by 13, the FM dial, record stores, the Stones, Aerosmith, KISS, the New York Dolls. A little later, David Bowie, maybe Slade. And fuck yes, Led Zeppelin. All a natural fit with the long hair, the floppy clothes, the big sunglasses. The minibikes, the sneaking out the window at night, the smoking in the boy’s room. The petty crimes and mischief with my little gang of smartass brats. In the eyes of most adults, a boy in a rock band (girls in bands was still almost unheard of) was still maybe a notch up from a criminal. And with hearing the under-his-breath snarl of “punk” or “queer” when swaggering past a 40-something geezer in the drugstore, came the awareness of my own, carefully crafted social disconnect.
But best of all, the girls seemed to like the boys at school with the guitar. Which I never attempted to play. It looked too complicated.
One summer afternoon in 1973, the older brother of a neighborhood buddy had his drums set up in their garage. I can’t remember all the details, but I had found myself alone, eyeing up the array. A couple sticks laid across the floor tom. I glanced around, took a seat, picked up the sticks. I think it was a four-piece. And never before attempting a set of drums, I almost instantly laid down fours on the hi-hat, snare drum on the two and four, bass drum on one and three. I had no idea what any of that meant, of course. I just sensed that they had to fit together for what is known as a groove. Soon came a Ringo-ish tom-tom fill.
I honestly couldn’t believe I could do this - it sounded like a record!
Or so I imagined.
Right about the time I got a little faster and louder, I heard a screen door slam, looked up, saw Daryl rushing through the garage door. Dude did not look happy.
”Who the fuck said you could play my drums?”
”Uh. . . Kevin.”
”Kevin’s at the store with my dad, whore bait. And they ain’t his drums. And no one goes into my garage to play my drums unless I say.”
”Well, is it okay if I . . . “
”No. Get the fuck outa here.”
For the next year or so I did not shut up until my mom found the used, four-piece set of Rogers. A couple Christmases later came the brand-new, Keith Moon-white Premiers (still have ‘em, they’re black now) with Zildjian cymbals.
A lot has happened with me over the last 52 years.
A lot has not.
Every 12-yr-old I see on YouTube with the technique and dexterity and rudiments and skill I will never accomplish if I live to a hundred, I want to tell them: Kid, you’re good. If you keep at it, you might one day look in the mirror and be able to say:
“Wow. I did it. I’m in a good, successful band. . . “
If that happens, you will also claim most or all of the following:
I have a life history of craving attention and adoration.
I had adults around me who were also creative types, educated, socially networked.
I had adults around me who did not hesitate to buy me an instrument.
I didn't always have it easy as a kid.
When I was young, my buddies and I were the weird ones, maybe even bullied or excluded.
I’m a musician. I’m also a public relations expert, a politician, a project manager, a lawyer. I’m up to date with all tech, can create and edit audio and video, can do some other arty stuff.
I’m not great with money.
I always had access to resources or money. Bands are expensive.
I’m thin-skinned with varying degrees of self-loathing and doubting, which wildly oscillate with my moments of insane levels of self-confidence and unrealistic optimism.
I’m pretty bright and can read people well.
I’m okay with not having much of a personal life - can take it or leave it.
I have a solid sense of humor and can be very open, flexible, generous, fun.
I am bi-polar, depressive, narcissistic, annoyingly self-centered, not always self-aware. I’m hot-tempered or moody.
I’m okay with using people at times to get what I want.
My music always came first.
I’m obsessive and was singularly focused on becoming successful.
I don’t care about being the best or what anyone thinks of me.
I am obsessed with being the best and sometimes lose sleep over what people might think of me.
I have made promises that were broken and occasionally hurt some feelings.
My band practiced almost every day for hours on end and nothing ever got in its way.
Until I became successful, my band played about 1,000 gigs over ten years with no or minimal personnel changes.
I had an uncanny ability to sleep in/on anything, anywhere.
I might be mildly sociopathic.
I’m a recovering or practicing alcoholic or addict.
I have relationship issues.
A point for each.
20-25: The sweet smell of success. If you can handle it.
15-19: You’ll always be a player. Maybe you were signed once.
Probably have a gig now and then. Some walking around money.
10-14: Started off pretty good. Life got in the way. You always have a couple for the beach fire or BBQ.
5-9: Karaoke at the office Christmas party that one year. But not since you quit drinking.