Sometimes people track me down online and ask me to "friend" them. I always make sure they are actual people and if they look okay I add them to my list. Sometimes people write a sentence or two above the request, normally a nice hello from another musician or a gear question. If someone takes the time to write I always jot back a quick thank you and answer any questions they may have asked. 

Every once in a while someone goes a step further and puts a full letter in my inbox. I give these a little more time and I try to keep my responses appropriate to the length and weight of the letter received. The other day I got message in my inbox that changed my life... a little... for a week. The letter was so complimentary and I had to re-read it a few times. This is what it said:

----------

Steve,

I have been a huge fan and follower of yours for quite some time now, and really appreciate what you’re doing with and for music and the drumming community. 

I collect used and signed drumsticks from amazing drummers all around the globe, and would love to include you in my collection. 

I was wondering if you might be able to send me a pair of drumsticks that you have used and possibly signed. I realize that you must get a million of these requests every day, but I would really appreciate it if we could work something out. 

Thank you so much for your time and God Bless,

Name*

----------

(*We'll just use "Name" in case he reads this.) 

I was kind of dazed after I read the letter. "A huge fan and follower" of mine had written me. I didn't know I had a huge fan and follower. That was very cool news. He said he appreciated what I was "doing with and for music and the drumming community." That seemed odd because I didn't realize I was actually doing that much. I mean, I wrote a book (which at this point remains somewhat under the radar), and I write on this forum, but... I tried to consider whether it was possible that I was doing more for the drumming community than I'd realized. Maybe I had underestimated my contribution?

The guy said he collected sticks from "amazing" drummers, which I read as "famous" drummers because I 'm sure he wouldn't ask a guy playing a Jazz Brunch in the corner of a restaurant for a stick, no matter how "amazing" the drumming was. But as I don't consider myself to be famous, I was flattered to be included in a collection of "famous" drummer's sticks. I wondered if it was possible that I was more famous than I thought? Was it possible that I was recognized in public all the time and didn't even know it? Maybe my "fans and followers" were too considerate to bother me? As I was swept away by the notion it slowly became imaginable. Suddenly my life was a little more interesting. 

The last line of his letter was my favorite because it's where he supposed I "get a million of these requests every day". I thought about informing him that on the day he wrote I didn't "get a million of these requests" but just one. From him. And that I couldn't even remember another time when someone had asked for a drum stick online. I also thought about having fun with his hoping we could "work something out" for the stick. I considered writing back with something like "Great. Tell me what assets you have to barter with and we'll see if we can come to an agreement." The praise had given me energy. I was feeling creative. But then the week got busy and instead of getting creative I just mailed him some sticks. 

Per his request I found a pair that that had been beaten up pretty badly and I signed them. Then I went to the post office and bought a little tube that fit the sticks perfectly and mailed them off. For less than 5 bucks and about 20 minutes time I had it done a deed that would make a person very happy. I figured that was the least I could do for someone who had made ME feel so good. 

A few days later I got a thank you back and this time I decided to look at his site. Maybe he was a great drummer? I couldn't get much info about him because his profile was set to private so I googled his name with the word "drummer". I don't know why I did this. I was just compelled to know more about my "huge fan and follower". The search only brought up one hit. I clicked on it and landed at Frankie Banali's web site forum. Apparently my "fan and follower" also liked Quiet Riot's drummer. I scrolled down the emails until I found his letter to Frankie, and here is what it said:

----------

Mr. Banali, 

I have been a huge fan and follower of yours for quite some time now, and really appreciate what you're doing with and for music and the drumming community. 

I was wondering if you might be able to send me a pair of drumsticks that you have used and possibly signed. I realize that you must get a million of these requests every day, but I would really appreciate it if we could work something out. 

Thank you so much for your time and God Bless. 

(His Name Again)

----------

I was shocked at first and then I had to chuckle, and that chuckle turned into a full belly laugh. It was a perfect circle. Not only had his letter allowed me to bask in my own shallowness, but in the end it gave me an opportunity to keep my ego in check as well. Win-win! 

Life is so funny. 

It wasn't easy learning to play drums when I was a kid. There were no instructional DVD's, videos, or internet, and the books didn't come with CD's in the back. For my first ten years as a drummer the only books I had were for snare drum. Hearing new drummers was also hard because I didn't have much money to buy records. I could afford two or three new albums a year, and occasionally I got a "Sound Supplement" from a music magazine. 

When I was around six I got an AM Radio. The only "radio" I'd ever heard were my parents talk shows and the country station my Grandma liked, but now that I had control of the dial I found a whole world of options, and it wasn't long before long I was hooked on the pop music of the 1970's. I soared with the choruses and ached with the ballads. I discovered the opposite sex by realizing I had a crush on "Mandy". (She came and she gave without taking. And he pushed her away.) Then I got a crush on "Brandy" (what a GOOD wife she would be). From there it ascended to the female artists of the time - women like Olivia Newton John, Karen Carpenter, Diana Ross, Kiki Dee... and on and on and on... 

There were great songs in that era and a lot of great drumming, too. I loved hearing the way different drummers played. I'd think about their beats and fill choices, and mentally note how their drums sounded. Since it was "Top-40" the stations played each song four or five times a day, which gave a drummer ample time to enjoy and analyze every note. Once in a while you'd hear something you liked and couldn't pull off, and then you'd have to figure it out. That was always great fun for me - until the day I heard something I couldn't figure out.

I can't remember the first time I listened to "Chuck E's In Love". I must have heard it at some point because I was singing along when I noticed "the fill". "Chuck E's In Love"is a great inner city love song by Rickie Lee Jones, about a girl who knows this boy "Chuck E." who she thinks is in love with her. The song is played at a tempo you'd have to call slowsexy - so slow and sexy that when it goes to double time on the chorus it's STILL slowsexy! The groove on the verse sulks along and the chorus lifts it up without losing the "pout". Then on the bridge Ricki Lee goes solo with a sobering straight feel. Acoustic. And as her vocals taper off and the bridge ends... "the fill". 

I'd never heard a fill like this and couldn't begin to figure it out. I didn't even know what the drummer had hit to make the sounds. But I knew it was gooooooood, and every time I heard the song provided another chance to make some headway on "the fill". So I'd lay on my bed with my feet on the wall for hours, hoping "Chuck E's In Love" was next. 

Like I said they played songs a lot back then, but I still only had four or five chances a day and there were things like eating and sleeping and soccer practice cutting into my possibilities. A couple of times I tuned in the middle of the song only to find I'd already missed the fill. In those cruel moments I'd howl like a soldier in a war movie. "Noooooooooo!" 

My anticipation would rise when the DJ came back from a commercial break or another song was ending. Now? Now! Now? Then they'd play "Afternoon Delight" or "Muskrat Love" and I'd have to wait again. "I'll listen until the next commercial." Okay, one more song set. All right, next song. Three in a row? Coming up? Okay, just those. The "Pina Colada" Song? I've heard that TWICE now. "Did I miss it?" But eventually my perseverance would pay off and it was on!

I'd snap to attention with the opening guitar line and try to find a position where I could hear well and sit comfortably. Then I'd attempt to clear my head of any thought so that when the fill drifted past I could better "sear" it into my memory. It's such a great tune I lost myself a couple times and ended up daydreaming through "the fill". What a waste! But most times I was ready. Sharp... focused... a little nervous. "This time I'll tap quarter notes through it."

And as the fill got closer I'd get edgy if people were around. "I need total silence in this car please!" Then Ricki Lee'd sing the last few notes and my eyes would bug, nose to the speaker as if to take in a smell. "If I can repeat it in my head I can learn it! but this fill is different! shut up here it comes! - " 

As the bridge ends the listener is lulled from a soft vocal to dead silence, at which point the feel switches from straight to swung. The fill has to span the feels and introduce a half time verse, and this is what happens: 

It starts with a couple defining notes to get your attention, then locks you into into a hazy series of snare/high-hat interplay, which is hard to define because it sounds just as random as it does steady. The playing is so delicate and exact you actually start to hear the minute pockets of silence between the notes, which causes you to lean closer and listen harder, so hard you go into a daze of musical oblivion. The sticking causes your eyes to shift wildly in their sockets as you try to pin down what's being played, and just as you realize you've lost your senses? A solid snare on "4", an open hat on the "and" - the final notes elongated deftly in the pocket - and you are back in reality. But before you can even shake off the cobwebs from it all, the drummer is into that "pouty" verse again, and he's playing it with such confidence and consistency you start to wonder if the fill was even possible, and if you really heard what you just heard. 

That's how I discovered Steve Gadd.

It was a long time before I knew who'd played on "Chuck E's In Love" but once I had the name I found it coming up again and again. I would eventually create a my own bastardized version of "Fifty Ways" and a learn as many other Gadd grooves as I could find. The only one I didn't work on was "Late in the Evening", because I thought there was more than one drummer on it so why try. It wasn't until I saw the video that I found out it was him alone, with four sticks! (Mozambique? What the-) I put a cowbell on my bass drum and wrapped it with tape until it matched his tone. I asked for Hydraulic heads for my birthday and tuned them loooooow. And I had an answer if anyone asked who my favorite drummer was. 

When I got out of high school I saved money and bought a Yamaha 6-piece. Two toms on the bass drum, two hanging toms on the floor. I'd stared at the posters enough to know what he played down to the size and model, and ripping off his set up seemed completely natural since I was already ripping off his sound and style. 

I've gone through a lot of phases in my drumming. I got into a latin phase for a while, and there was the David Garibaldi phrase, the a drum n' bass phase, Scottish drumming phase, linear phase... and on and on and on... Every time you go through a new phase it slightly alters your preferences and tendencies, and helps shape the ongoing evolution that is "your style". My "Gadd phase" was long and came at a time when I was looking for direction. It became the sound and style I adopted as a kid and the way I learned to play. So I tend to gravitate towards it. I've been influenced. 

Steve Gadd came through town on the "Mission From Gadd" tour and I decided to go. Despite my long infatuation with his drumming I'd never seen him live. The theater was packed but we found some seats in the back. I sat down and looked out, and there was that old familiar Yamaha 6-piece. I looked around the room. You could feel the anticipation. Steve Gadd is a legend. I thought about how many other drummers had gone through "Gadd phases". Maybe they were in the middle of one now. Maybe they were about to start. 

After a nice introduction the curtains parted and he walked out. Steve Gadd. Looking strong! He smiled at the crowd and was taken aback by the applause. But the applause made sense. Then he sat down at the drum set -

"And he blew that room a-way!"

He really did. He was just as sharp as ever on his many trademark grooves and feels. He played shuffles and brushes and did linear stuff and hi-hat technique. He played "the hits" and explained every sticking and pattern in a clear and patient way. At one point he asked the crowd to clap out a clave pattern and he solo'd over the top. I don't know if I was more impressed by his flailing staccato rythyms over the bar line, or the fact that the crowd kept the clave going the whole time. (I kept messing it up.) He was gracious and generous, and his playing was just as stunning as you'd imagine. Louis Bellson was in the crowd and Steve gave him a truly heartfelt tribute. It was a great moment. It was a great clinic.

After it was over we walked back past the tour bus to say goodbye to the Zildjian people. As we got there the bus door opened and Louis Bellson came off with Gadd and some others. They said their goodbyes and then Gadd was alone next to the bus. I didn't really know what to say to him. What do you say to someone you've spent so much time listening to, reading about, looking at? It's like what do you say to the person who pulled you from the burning car and saved your life? "Aaaaah, thanks!" There's really no way to convey the enormity of your feelings. You can't say enough for it to feel adequate, so you either go low key and later regret not "getting it off your chest", or you blow the person away with a "gush" of energy. 

As people came up for autographs they'd got wide-eyed when they met him and said things like "I can't believe I'm meeting Steve Gadd!" and "I'll never wash this hand again!" And everything Gadd said back was received with bright, hopeful, smiling faces - like they were watching a baby's first steps. But you can't blame people for getting weird. After all, they were face to face with "the face" that looked over his K Ride from the poster on their wall. They were meeting a legend, and having a conversation they would remember forever. I took it in for a while, then I went to talk to some other people. 

It was a great night and I was leaving when someone called me over and I walked through the crowd to the voice. I got there saw my friend John. He said "I want you to meet this guy." I looked and he was right there in front of me. Steve Gadd. What do you say to a person that's given you so much inspiration? What do you say to the guy who played the songs you were raised on? What do say to the guy from "Steve Gadd: Up Close"? What I said was, "Hi. My name is Steve, too." And then we had a great talk. He was calm and cool, and very comfortable to talk to. The kind of guy who looks you in the eye when he speaks and listens when you're talking. After a bit I thanked him for the clinic. We shook hands again and I walked away. 

I felt pretty good when I got to the car. Calm. Sated. Happy. Then I realized I'd just met Steve Gadd and I jumped up and kicked myself in the back of the head!

I was online and came across a Gadd site that had a bunch of his transcriptions. They had "the fill" from "Chuck E's In Love" so I checked it out. Still timeless. Right next to it was a button that played the original recording. (It's so easy to work on stuff now!) Then I checked out "50 Ways". And they had the solo from "Aja", and the groove from "Late In the Evening", and the groove from "Leprechaun", and the solo in Central Park... and on and on and on... 

Steve Bowman

I'm rarely noticed as a drummer in a band. I don't get people asking for my autograph on the street. It happens maybe once a year but I never have a pen so it usually just ends in a handshake. As a kid I used to practice my autograph so I'd be prepared if I became a "rock star". I tried to imagine how great it'd feel to be asked to sign something. (nervous voice) "Excuse me. Could you...?" 

Giving an autograph was always a pleasant exchange with a smiling person in my day dreams, an endless supply of gratitude and awe I could tap anytime I wanted. In the end, I was wrong about most of it. 

It was hard to give autographs at first. The first few times someone asked I didn't think they were serious. I would pause before writing in case they said "Just kidding" then hand it over half expecting them to laugh and rip it up. "Who do you think you are? Elvis?" But as I signed more often it became less stressful and soon I mine had the big loops and swishes of a well practiced autograph.

The first time Counting Crows signed something as a band we had no idea how to do it. We went to a music store to sign the wall display they'd made for our record. The display was about 4 x 6 feet and needed big signatures but we'd never signed anything and wrote our names like we were signing checks. The guy at the store said, "I can't see anything. Can you write bigger?" After that we tried to adjust our signature size more appropriately. 

I'm always nice when people ask me to sign something because the only two times I tried to get someone else's autograph are terrible memories for me. The first was when I was about seven. We went to an A's/Indians game at the Oakland Coliseum and got a foul ball from Cleveland's left fielder, Oscar Gamble. Because I was a kid and had a ball to sign, we were allowed into this underground concrete tunnel where the players come out after the game. The plan was to wait for Oscar Gamble and get him to sign the ball. But he threw me a change up and walked out in a three piece suit. I'm not sure what I expected him to look like off the field but with that suit on he froze me. A famous baseball player dressed like my school principal was too big a figure to interrupt, so I just watched him walk by.

The other autograph story is worse because it happened when I was an adult. We were playing Saturday Night Live and my mom asked if I could get Mike Myers autograph for a family friend. I wasn't thrilled about the idea but I liked the family friend so I said I'd try. It turned out to be no big deal and he was very nice, but the stupid way I asked him for it and the discomfort I felt while he was writing were terrible. To make it worse, I lost the autograph before I got home.

As Counting Crows became more successful people would wait for us after the shows between the backstage door and the bus. Most people wanted to see Adam, the singer, and when he came out the rest of us were often left standing together, watching him sign hats and shirts and ticket stubs in a circle of heads, like he was cutting back ivy one leaf at a time. There were a few times I had things ripped out of my hand mid-sign when he appeared. One time this happened and I actually chased the guy down, grabbed his ticket back and finished my signature. 

Another time a girl came up after a show and said "Excuse me? Do you have a pen?" I got one out and took the top off. I was about to ask her name when she grabbed it out of my hand and ran into the pack. A few minutes later she returned the pen with "Adam Duritz" scrawled across her forehead in two inch letters. 

The Crows fans were usually great but sometimes it got weird. When we were on the cover of Rolling Stone there was a guy waiting for us to get off the bus one time. He had about ten copies of the magazine for us to sign. (And this was before ebay!) The strange thing was you could tell he didn't even like the band. I was on about the eighth one when I introduced myself. He said "Watch the smudges"and pointed for me to continue. 

A few years later I went out with a band who's drummer got sick and couldn't finish the last month of their tour. In honor of the regular drummer, whose name is Phil, I used the alias "Phillis King" whenever I signed an autograph with them. Nobody seemed to care and before long I'd written "Phillis King, Phillis King, Phillis King," so many times the signature had become a indecipherable set of lumps and curls that started to resemble the word "Pink". And then I started writing that! "Pink, Pink, Pink" I'd write it really big and fast and it looked great.

This particular band had some big radio songs in their past so we were doing fan appreciation shows for radio stations where a bunch of acts play all day long in a big field or amphitheater or something. They're great shows to play because the crowds are wild and you get to see a lot of cool bands. The way they usually work is that you play your set and then go to an autograph tent and sign while the band after you is onstage. When you get to the tent you relieve the band that played before you and signing while you played. There were always long lines in the tent but people didn't seem to care when the band they'd been watching sign autographs for the last hour stood up and switched out with a new group of signers. I always thought someone would complain as we were changing over but it never happened. 

One "fan" on that tour wasn't as blown away by me as I had been by Oscar Gamble. I was talking to a woman at the signing table and he pointed at me from the line, "Hey you! Hurry up!" When he got to the table I thanked him for keeping me in check and signed "Joey Travolta" on his shirt. He walked away without caring who I was anyway.

In Luce we used to sign CD's and posters after our shows, too. One night this guy came up and said he was MAD at me. He was a big guy and he looked a little "boozy" so I asked him sincerely what was wrong. He said "I am the band's biggest fan and I didn't get a drum stick!" He spoke with true anger in his voice, as if he'd been jipped! Rather than explaining that people don't automatically get a drum stick for attending a show I went around the building, back on stage and got a drum stick. I went to hand it to him and he pushed it away. "What! You ain't gonna sign it? I gotta have it signed to show my bro's!" I was annoyed with him so I wrote: "Dave, Thanks for the sexy kiss. Steve" Then I took off before he read it. I saw him just before I left, scowling at the stick and trying to rub the ink off.

I've never been "famous" enough to be bothered by fans asking for autographs. It happens so infrequently it's never been a hassle, and anyway, I really enjoy making connections with fans of the band. Signing an autograph isn't the way I imagined it to be as a kid but it's an honor to be asked and has allowed me to meet lots of really cool people. 

If you see me hanging around somewhere introduce yourself and tell me what to write. Bring a pen though, or we'll probably just end up shaking hands.

Steve Bowman 

There's an old joke about the way to make a small fortune in the restaurant biz... "Start with a large fortune!" That joke applies nicely to record labels too, because starting your own can be a big money drainer. Considering how many facets are involved in creating the infastructure necessary to find artists, sign them, and make money selling their records I don't feel qualified to speak on that subject. There's too many sides of the business I have no experience with. There's another option I have some history with, however, and that is creating a label just for your own releases. 

Doing it yourself is a hard way to go, too, but is becoming more popular with computer savvy musicians. The artists that do well on their own tend to be sort that have had success already and can rely on an established fan base. Annie DeFranco was the first artist I ever remember to release her own records, but she did so after years and years of successful touring. Aimee Mann puts out her own records, too, and there's Prince, but they both had prior major label careers and hit the ground running so it's hard to say how they would've done starting from scratch.

For artists without a sold foundation there are many things you must have in place to begin a label, like contacts in publicity, radio, and TV.... distribution, manufacturing, and marketing... and a base of operation to oversee everything. Of course you need a good amount of capital to create merchandise and keep the band on the road while you're trying to "break" the record. Did I mention accountants, lawyers, and interns? Putting all this together, writing great songs, AND having a good band to play them are too much to ask from most people, and understandably so. That being said, I was once part of a band that was in a perfect situation to put out their own record. 

Adam Rossi, a great producer and friend, called me to play on a record he was producing for an artist named Tom Luce. Tom had written some good songs and was recording his debut album. We tracked the drums in just a few days and I didn't hear anything for a long time. About a year later I got a CD in the mail from a band called "Blue Sage Poets". I hadn't heard the name and put the CD on thinking it was a local band looking for a drummer. From the first song I realized I liked it. I said to my wife "You know what I like about this drummer? He doesn't accent the horn lines. Just sticks to the groove." I liked the next song, too, and went to see who had played on it. Only then did I realize it was the record we'd made the year before. 

Tom got a manager named Joe Schuld who happens to be a great radio promoter. Joe had helped break "Toad the Wet Sprocket" and "Train", among others, and was very excited about Tom's record. Tom put a band together and started playing out and before long Joe had a song ("Good Day") getting adds at some nice stations. "Good Day" continued to get adds and became a hit song in many markets. The song would eventually get placed in two major motion pictures. ("13 Going On 30" and "How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days") By this time the ball was rolling nicely and the band signed with Nettwerk Records and rereleased the record. "Luce", as it was called, had additional airplay from a second single called "Long Way Down". They toured extensively and enjoyed moderate success. 

I got a call from Tom in 2004 saying he was ready to start demoing songs for the second record. We tracked three of the songs and they were really good. Then we tracked three more and they were even better than the first batch. By the time we'd finished demoing all the material I was thinking this could be a huge record. Nettwerk hadn't done as good a job with the debut so Tom got out of the deal and found private investors to finance the new recording. With Adam Rossi at the helm again, we recorded Luce's sophomore release, "Neverending". The sessions went really well and the record sounded incredible. Tom asked me to be in the band and I jumped on it. As a married father of two with a mortgage I really had no business getting into a van with a band and trying to break a record with no label support, but I couldn't get the songs out of my head... and so we went for it. 

Here's what happened with Luce.

We got the band together and began rehearsing the live show. Red Eye distribution was signed on to get the record out. "Neverending" was released and started getting radio spins on our local AAA station, KFOG. We did some shows in the bay area and then hit the road. There was enough private financing to tour for a while and, if we could do well in tickets and merch, we had a great chance of staying out long enough to break the record. Some of the stations that had played the first record were slow to get involved. It was frustrating but we kept at it and toured all over the country.

Sure enough, a song called "Buy A Dog" started doing well in many big markets. It wasn't a national smash but it allowed us to get a good booking agent and continue to press on. One of the problems was that while we did well in San Francisco, Chicago, Kansas City, Philadelphia, (and a few other major markets), we were dying in between these cities. The cost of non paying nights and travel days were expensive. We stayed on the road, hoping that the record would take off in more secondary markets or get added to a really big, influential station that might create greater momentum, and these hopes continued for a year as we slowly went through the money we'd secured for touring.

Luce was a heartbreaker because it made no sense. All the pieces were there. Tom is a great singer. He's good looking and charming in interviews. The band sounded great. There was a nice foundation set up from the first record. We had an awesome radio promoter and money to tour with. We had distribution. And the record itself was amazing. Not only were the songs great but the track order followed the cycle of a relationship from looking for someone to meeting to breaking up to looking again. It was ART! I know I'm biased but every person I gave the record to came back saying how much they loved it. And they would go on and on! I started saying "Here's your new favorite record." when I gave it out and sure enough they'd call and say it WAS their new favorite record. Every time! I was sitting at a stop light once and looked in the car next to me to see a woman in her late 20's/early 30's. She was wearing a DMB hat and listening to Maroon 5 and I thought to myself "She would LOVE our record if she just heard it! Aaaaaaaaaa!" 

In May of 2006, however, Luce received a knock out punch. We woke up in Philadelphia to find our van and trailer had been stolen while we slept. Everything was gone. There was a show in NYC a week away that we really needed to play. It was at the Knitting Factory, where we would be showcasing for Steve Lillywhite, who, besides being a top tier producer, was also working as a rep for a huge major label. We had tried to do it on our own but were now willing to sacrifice our royalties in order to get the record out.

We borrowed more money and bought/rented enough equipment to get us through the New York show. We had been paying $600 a month for the van we'd owned. Now, on top of that, we had to budget an extra $1000 a week to rent one. And since our trailer was gone we had to sit on the new gear. It was expensive and uncomfortable but we made it to New York and to the showcase we were banking on. We played well that night but Steve Lillywhite never showed up. The next day we flew home with the last of the money.

Being your own label is the ultimate way to go if it works but there are many things to put in place and there's no guarantee of success even if the pieces come together. For solo touring artists it is a good idea to have something to sell at shows, but trying to support a band on tour is very expensive and the odds of breaking through the other 80,000 records released every year are low.

Reasons to do it yourself:

Full artistic control

You make more per record sold

You are your own boss

The downside:

It takes a lot more work

There is no financial help

You need to tour constantly to get anywhere 

When I started playing the SF clubs in the late 80's there were a lot of great bands in town. Back then major labels ran the music business and everyone in San Francisco was trying to "get signed". It was around that time an independent label formed in SF called Heyday records. Heyday took on bands that didn't really have aspirations of getting major deals and before long they had about ten acts on their roster. The label promoted itself by taking out adds in BAM (Bay Area Music) magazine, booking "Heyday Record" nights, where their bands would share a bill, and by asking each band they signed to add "Heyday Recording Artist" to their name in interviews or print. 

A friend of mine was in a Heyday band. I asked him about the label and was surprised to hear they received no financial backing from Heyday at all. The artists paid for the recording, the manufacturing of their CD's and merchandise, and were offered no advances or tour support. I couldn't figure it out at the time. What was the advantage of being on a record label if they didn't do anything for you? What I didn't realize was that Heyday WAS doing something for their artists. Something I couldn't see. The label wasn't there to finance the projects, but to associate like minded musicians and bands and build a reputation for quality music that would eventually create credibility and success for everyone. Though they got no money, being a Heyday band squeezed you though a tiny filter onto a level just above the fifty other bands that were trying to get booked in SF on a weekend night. Heyday Records was an early Indy and still exists today. 

As time went on many more Indy labels emerged and there are dozens now. Some are low on the ladder and some have been started by ex-major label vets and given instant credibility. Some have been put together on a shoestring budget while others have started with lots of capital. No matter what the origin of the label, the thing all Indy's have in common is that they are passionate about music. While the major labels create and sell "product", Indy labels are seen as the place for true music lovers.

Instead of taking 80-85% of record sales like major labels do, Indy labels typically split the money with the artist 50-50. In return for the generous royalty rate, though, Indy labels don't give huge recording advances and don't provide much (if any) tour support. This is good because the band has less to "recoup" but it also makes it hard because the expense of touring can sink you quickly if you're not drawing well and selling merchandise at shows. For that reason it's important that an Indy band be somewhat self sufficient coming in to the deal. Where majors spend money (and time) grooming a band for success, Indy labels sign artists that have already learned how to record and tour on their own and are at a point where they can capitalize on the distribution, publicity, and contacts an Indy label can provide.

Like Heyday in the 80's, another advantage of an Indy deal is the association you get from being on a particular label. While major labels represent many artists and many different styles of music, Indy labels have less signings and tend to stick with one kind of music. Indy labels might focus on Rock, Americana, Celtic, Bluegrass, etc. but they rarely do it all. Being on a label that has a focused roster of similar bands helps define the artist with the public. 

When my band, The Bittersweets, finished recording our debut album we were offered a deal from Virt Records in Seattle. We liked Virt's artists, among them Vienna Teng, who had released two great records on the label. Vienna had been featured on NPR and Late Night with David Letterman and, though neither of her records sold more than 40,000 copies, Virt's low overhead allowed both the label and artist to make money. Using a more band friendly, low budget approach, Virt and Vienna did well with sales figures that would have been considered a failure at a major label.

Here's how it happened with the Bittersweets:

We signed with Virt Records to release "The Life You Always Wanted". The label paid us some of what we'd spent making the record and financed the mixing and manufacturing. All told, our debt was around $10,000 when the record came out. (Much better than the $600,000 tab Counting Crows was staring down at the same point in the process.) Of course, the Bittersweets had no aspirations of selling millions and millions of records like Counting Crows. Millions sold would have been great but the beauty of this situation was that if we sold just a few thousand copies we could make enough to support ourselves and do another record. 

Virt's distribution was set up well and they were able to get us press in some great magazines. We weren't going to crack Rolling Stone without a big hit but we did get on Paste magazine's compilation, which, in our opinion, is a more interesting magazine anyway. Virt was also able to get us on the radio in many markets. Many were college adds but our single "Long Day" was also added to a lot of well respected AAA stations. Besides radio, we also had songs from the record placed on ABC's "Men In Trees", TNT's "Saving Grace", and we were able to open shows for Rosanne Cash, Train, and the Cowboy Junkies. 

In the end, the record did well enough to justify another recording but we lost money because the cost of touring killed us. Touring is always hard financially, but especially when you are from the West Coast and trying to pull it off during a gas crunch. We have since relocated to Nashville, where the proximity to other major markets will give us a great leg up on the next touring cycle.

Indy labels are now recognized as a legitimate segment of the record business. Their reinvented model of how a record label can work has had time to mature and shape, and now has better odds of making a profit on a release than a major label does. For a while, after Nirvana (Sub Pop) and Green Day (Lookout!) had big Indy records, the majors started buying them up and it became common for bands to use an Indy label as a step up to a major. But this concept has changed as Indy labels have caught up and passed the majors in terms of relevance. Now solid Indys will turn down a major label buy out, and astute musicians are no longer banking on "Hit" records. As albums continue to be made and played the procedures and strategies must continually change to meet the times and, for now, Indy labels are an excellent way to try to sell records.

Reasons to sign with an Indy:

They have distribution and publicity you don't have

They give you more money per record sold

You will be on a roster with like minded artists

You won't get "dropped" if you don't sell a million records

The downside:

There is less financial help

You need to tour a lot (on your dime)

You probably won't have a national or international "hit" 

Next time: Starting your own label. 

When Counting Crows got signed to Geffen records in 1992 I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. The first thing they did was give us $26,000 each so we could write and rehearse without any work related excuses. Then they gave us $40,000 more to buy new gear so we'd sound our best. I ordered a new drum set and bought nine new Zildjian cymbals. All we had to do in return was have a hit record. "No problem." we thought, with the same stupid confidence that had helped us land a major label deal in the first place. What followed was an eye opening look at how the industry works on it's highest level. 

It started with the courting process. The first class plane flights and lobster dinners I'd heard of were true. Another fabled perk was getting a tour of "the Vault", which was the room filled with every record on the company's catalog. A vault tour meant you got to take your pick of anything you wanted for free and at the time Geffen had Nirvana, Peter Gabriel, Aerosmith, Hole, Gun N' Roses, Joni Mitchell, and much more. All free! I picked up Peter Gabriel's entire collection! One of the albums in the Vault was stacked a little higher than the rest. It was a CD from a hair band called "Roxy Blue" Their logo had a lipstick kiss for the 'O' in Roxy, and the picture of the band on the back, with their hair and scarves and fringe... They looked, well, flammable! We used them to temper our excitement and to remind us that not everyone on this level makes it in the end. "Don't want to be Roxy Blue'd" we'd say.

With a huge budget we were able to secure T-Bone Burnett as our producer and the label's deep pockets allowed us to take our time and record without worrying about how much we spent or how long it took. Then when the record was finished we were given a big push by the company to radio and press, and put out to tour until the record took off and we were successful. And we did become successful. Our first record went the way every band dreams it will with a major label, with a big hit song out of the gate and a nice long stay in the Billboard top ten. But without great luck and timing things could have been very different. It could have gone the way so many other record deals went back then and devolved into a slow, gut-wrenching waste of time. We could have ended up in the same spot many of our friends were in; cursing the day they signed their "Major Label Deal".

We had friends in a band called The Green Things who had signed a major deal before us. When it happened they got a bunch of local press and had a big party at a nightclub in town. But in between the time they recorded their record and the time it was released Nirvana's Nevermind came out, and suddenly the people at their label wanted the Green Thing's record to be a little dirtier and more passionate. Nirvana was a hit after all and these were "new times"! So they spent a whole bunch of money remixing the record. Then they asked them for more songs and recorded them. They shot new pictures and badgered them into changing the artwork on the disc. And in the end, after waiting and watching and redo-ing, the Green Things record was shelved. The band was stuck without money to tour, without a record in the stores, and without any control of their destiny. They couldn't get another record deal because they were still signed to the label that wouldn't (and didn't) release their record. Soon the label was hot on newer signings and was willing to take The Green Things as a tax write off. The members of the band were forced to hang in there and hope something changed (not likely), or give up their name and songs and start again from the beginning. 

When you sign a deal one of the things a band negotiates for is "Points". Points are short for percentage points and you try to get as many as possible. For "August and Everything After" we got 18 points. Since most bands were topping out at 16 points back then it was a big deal at the time. Of course the points you negotiate get reduced as different people are cut in. The producer gets 2-4 points depending on how big he/she is, and other people like writers, managers, agents, etc. can get cut in as well depending on what you agree to. When we were in the middle of negotiating we heard that Salt N Pepa had agreed to 8 points on their deal (what?) and were now both hugely successful and dead broke at the same time.

You are entitled to your points only after the band breaks even on all the advancement/recording/touring/promotion costs. When a band reaches this break through it is called Recouping. Recouping is a magical time because it means you can finally start making record royalties. It's also an amazing feat in that it is rarely accomplished - even by some bands you would consider successful. Here's how it happened with Counting Crows.

"August and Everything After" was recorded for an astounding $600,000. The cost of the radio promotion was another couple hundred thousand. The video for the first single, Mr.Jones, came in at $125,0000 and the video for the second song, Round Here, was $180,000. On our first tour we opened for the Cranberries. They had a hit song and didn't need our help filling venues so they paid us $250 per night for the band. We paid ourselves $400 dollars a week each to tour. (A salary so low I moved back in with my parents.) Six band members and three crew. 9 times $400. $3,600 a week in salaries and we were only making a little over $1000 a week total. Now add to that the expense of gas, food, and hotels on the road and you can see we were losing lots and lots of money. Fortunately we had Geffen to pick up the difference. Of course, the "tour support" was added to the money we already owed them. 

Our record did well thanks to some lucky breaks and great timing. We were in the Mtv "Buzz Bin", which meant they played our video almost every hour of the day. We also got onto Saturday Night Live and Letterman. We got the cover of Rolling Stone. These things helped get the ball rolling and we were able to "move a lot of units" as they said downtown. But even when our record was a "hit" we still hadn't recouped. 

We stopped through L.A. to play some shows and the record company put on a nice party at a swanky restaurant to celebrate the fact that our record had gone gold. A gold record represents 500,000 copies sold and was a huge deal. The party would have been even more enjoyable if we weren't still a long way from recouping. Even with a gold record, we still had to sell over 330,000 MORE copies before we could start making royalties. But here's the kicker. Remember the "points"? After we'd paid off all the debt to the record company (including the party they threw for us) we would only be receiving 18 percent of our sales for the record, minus the points that had gone to different other people in the process. Whew!

"August and Everything After" went on to sell very well and everything worked out in the end. The record peaked at number four and sold over 7 million copies. The major label experience was great to me, but I'm still amazed at how lucky the whole thing was and how fortunate I was to be there for the ride.

Today major labels are teetering on the brink of extinction and I may have been in one of the last generations to enjoy the excesses of "getting signed". Two things happened that changed things drastically. First was computer downloading. Once people learned they didn't have to pay for music many chose not to and it cost the labels hundreds of millions of dollars. The second thing, though, was a blow that hurt them even further, and that was the way the industry reacted to computer downloading. Rather than look for an angle of opportunity in the new era. Rather than observe the medium and figure out how to capitalize. Rather than reinvent themselves in some capacity, the label execs showed their age by fighting and suing and trying to crush the new standard. Record labels had been fat and drunk with wealth for so long that they couldn't react to the changes. And so, like the dinosaur, we will move on without them.

Most of the labels that courted Counting Crows in the early nineties have merged or gone out of business, and the ones that are left are still trying to play a modern game with old ideas. Labels are still suing random downloaders for example, to "send a message" they say. But the message getting to the teenagers, who used to be the largest record buying demographic, is threatening and is making the labels even less relevant. People can make records in their bedrooms now, and Mtv doesn't play videos anymore. And in the last twenty years the perception of major labels has gone from "the cool older brother who showed you the latest bands" to "Principal Skinner from the Simpsons". 

Reasons to sign with a Major:

They have lots of money to record your music and keep you on the road

They have big connections to radio, TV, and press

They have great distribution to get your record in the stores

The possibilities are, well... MAJOR!

The downside:

You make a pittance per record sold

You give up sole creative control 

You will be dropped if you don't get a "hit" 

Your odds of success are better with an Indy label 

Next time: Independent Labels 

A couple years ago I was looking for a way to improve my grooving in the studio. I had been analyzing my recorded tracks and noticed spots where the groove seemed to ebb or flow just a little. Sometimes it happened going into a new section, or a note or two in a fill, or in the measure before or after a fill, etc. Sometimes I wouldn't hear anything weird at first and then a little hiccup would sneak in after a few plays. It began to drive me crazy. So I wrote a series of exercises designed to increase the precision of the volume and placement of my notes; studies that would force me to become more consistent. I went through the exercises at fast, medium, and slow tempos and ended up very satisfied with the results. My playing got more consistent and groovy. There were less pushes or pulls in the feel and time. I was cutting better tracks. This inspired me to write more exercises and practice those, too. I continued the process of writing and practicing and after a few months I had almost 150 pages of material. So I took everything I'd written and organized it into a book called Groove Control. 

I really enjoyed the process of thinking up the possibilities, working through the patterns on the drums, and putting the ideas into a logical, effective order. I liked it so much that I've already written a follow up to Groove Control and outlined two other titles as well. I learned new things with each project and discovered some shortcuts along the way. Here are the steps I have found to be most effective for me, and some ideas that can save you a little time and pain if you decide to write your own instructional book.

1. Picking a topic. 

When thinking about possible book topics focus on ideas that interest you because you'll be spending a lot of time on the subject. Your topic should be about something you are already good at or something you want to be good at, and should be broad enough to make an interesting, varied book out of its possibilities without being so vast that you can't cover it thoroughly. "Drum Beats of All Kinds" might be too much to cover in one book, for example, while "Jazz Brushes in 13/8" might be too small. There are many good books out there already and you want something original, so when you've found a topic you like do a google search to make sure someone hasn't already written the book you are planning to write.

2. Writing. 

Once you have a topic (and a music software program for your computer - I use Encore but there are other good ones, too) start thinking up and writing out every application you might use that fits the title. Say you have decided on a book called "Sidestick and the Drum Set"... How do you get a good sidestick sound? What are the different ways to play a sidestick? When did it start? How is it used? Sidestick in Reggae"? Bossa Nova? Latin? Jazz? Blues? Sidestick in 80's Rock Ballads? Try to write every combination, pattern, or exercise that uses the sidestick in a drum set application. "Sidestick and the Drum Set" would probably be a lousy book but you get the idea. 

At some point during the writing process you'll likely spend a bunch of time working out an idea that won't fit with the rest of the information when you're done. Other times you'll wonder if there's a better way to write an exercise while you're in the middle of doing it. And sometimes better ways will hit you after you've already finished and idea (or whole section) and you'll feel compelled to do it over. You might get an idea that opens up a huge amount of work and have to decide if it's worth it or not. In these times it's important to keep working.

During the process of transferring the patterns/exercises into your computer you can save time by saving each page you set up, then clearing it and saving it again (with a different name) as a blank template. Often times new ideas will fit a page set up from a prior lesson. Also, create a "junk file" where you can store any completed ideas that you start to think won't fit with the rest of the material. You may find ways later to incorporate some of these ideas or their templates, and its just as easy to throw everything away at the end when you're sure what you want to keep.

3. Organizing the ideas. 

Once you have a good, thorough body of work, arrange the lessons into a logical, effective order. The ideas should build on each other in difficulty and not replicate themselves anywhere in the book. A few years ago I printed up a book of stickings, beats, fills, rudiments and rolls I thought were important for a beginner. I jokingly called it "How To Rock" and used it to teach out of when I started giving lessons. The first time I went through the book with a student, however, I discovered that "triplets" occurred in an exercise four pages before "Triplets" were introduced. I also had the same beat written two times in a row on one page, and once again in a later chapter! Fortunately, I only printed out twenty copies of "How To Rock" at a time, so I could correct new mistakes/typos every couple months as I discovered them. 

4. Making a rough draft. 

When you have the lessons together print it all out in order and put it in a binder with clear plastic sheet holders. Be sure to leave a couple empty sheets between each chapter or section for title pages, explanations, and directions. Now you can go through the book and play through everything. This a time to check the flow and look for any mistakes in the notes or text. You can also figure out the best tempos for each exercise and add those to the pages. If you imagine trying to teach out of the book you'll find the wordage to explain each chapter or page. In writing an instructional book you want to err on the side of "too much direction" because you never know the educational level of your reader and you'd hate to have a student play something incorrectly or get stuck on how to proceed. Don't worry about offending advanced players with too much explanation. Nobody minds reading something they already know.

This is the part of the process where you get to play a lot. It takes time to go through all the patterns. But it's important to feel the flow of the lessons and it's also nice to get another typo check. And this is the time when you start to see an improvement in your playing, which is always very exciting.

5. Making a master copy. 

When everything seems to be in a good order print out a final copy complete with any other text pages that will facilitate the book's use: cover page, introduction, chapter number pages, (or however you choose to break down the material. Part 1, 2 3? Section A, B, C?). Maybe a page about the author, or any further studies the student can check out, recordings to listen to, conclusion, quotes, etc. You can include as much or as little as you like, and this will be your final copy, which can be given to a printer or publisher (on paper or disc) for duplication. 

6. What about a CD? 

Most books today come with a CD so the reader can hear the exercises. If you choose to include a CD with your book go through the rough draft and figure out what you think might be important for the student to hear, then choose the exercises you'll record and put track numbers next to them. You might also want to include a page that lists all the tracks and the exercises they correspond to. Recording a CD can be cheap if you have a studio at your access but you'll also have to have it mixed, mastered, and manufactured, so it can add up. 

Once you know what you want to record be sure and put in some extra practice time on those exercises so you won't waste any time in the studio. It's good to start every track with a four beat click so the student can play along. After that you can do each pattern as many times as you want. CD's can have up to 99 tracks but you don't need to use them all. Groove Control is a long book so I decided to go with all 99. Word of advice: since most of the tracks on the Groove Control CD were only 5-10 seconds long I thought I could do it all in one day. Big mistake. By the time we got the tones and had recorded all day I was starting to get shaky. (Just as the hardest examples were coming up.) I got it all done but it wasn't easy. I recommend allowing yourself two sessions. Get as much as you can on the first day (you may even finish!) but stop when you're tired. Then you can start fresh on the second day and make sure everything sounds great. A badly played CD isn't as effective for the student, and it won't do much for your credibility either. 

7. Getting it published.

There are many options for publishing. One is to seek out a major publishing house. (Mel Bay, Alfred, Manhattan, Belwin Mills...) Major publishers will print up real nice copies and sometimes subsidize your CD recording costs. They will also give you distribution on a national and sometimes international level. Major publishing companies usually give the author 10% of retail for each book which comes to around $2.50 per sale. They will also sell you as many copies of your book as you want for cost (half price) so you can make about $12.50 per book if you sell them yourself. This works well if you have a lot of students. The down side of a big publishing company is that they often have too many other titles to push your book for you, so most of the orders you get will have to be self generated.

Another route is finding an independent publisher. If you have a good idea and some energy you may be able to find a small company that will work with you. For Groove Control, I went with a small company called "Oakland House Press". They covered the recording and printing costs and we wrote up a contract detailing our goals, responsibilities, and profit splits. If your publisher has some money they can also provide an advertising budget (which will go against future book sales.) The distribution with indys might not be as vast as a major publisher but it can get the ball rolling. And indy publishers usually have less titles so there's more time for them to market your book and try to get it reviewed in magazined and websites.

The last possibility is to print the book yourself. You can take the material to a local printer and have them bind it in any way you choose. I like spiral ring bindings because they lay flat and also keep costs down. "How To Rock" was 96 pages and cost $12.80 per copy to print. I didn't have a CD with it so I sold it for $20. Since I was only selling it to my new students I was never going to make a huge profit. But it helped a little, and the book made my teaching easier because the lessons were set up in the order and priority I chose. 

Printing it up yourself isn't a bad start. Without the distribution, you will have to contact each store yourself and convince them to carry your title, but even if no one takes it on, you can sell and teach out of it, and you'll have a nice, clear version of your book when/if you decide to pitch it to a publisher later. 

Writing a drum instruction book is fun, gives you another form of income, improves your playing, allows you to teach whatever you think is important to know, with the exercises you choose, in the order you want. All it takes is time and enthusiasm. 

My freind John plays in the big Broadway style shows that come to town and when The Lion King hit San Francisco he was hired as the drummer. Because of the show's demanding schedule John decided to scale back on his student load and drop a couple days a week. He wanted to retain his teaching nights at the store though, in case the show closed early, so he asked me if I'd sub for him during the show's run. I would be walking into a schedule of 20 students paying $25 each for weekly half hour lessons and he would get his spot back when the show was over. I considered an extra $500 a week for 10 hours work (with a built in escape hatch when he came back) and agreed to become the Tuesday and Wednesday drum instructor at "Ingram and Braun's Musik" in Pleasanton, CA. 

I had a few weeks to prepare myself before starting the job but it ended up being too much time, because as my takeover day grew closer I started wondering if I'd made a mistake. John is a great drum instructor and I hadn't taught much. What if I got some 15 year old kid who was burning through be-bop charts? What if the parents noticed my lack of experience and started asked questions? 

Kid: "Mr. Bowman? Can we work on playing a left foot clave?" 

Me: "Sorry. I don't know how to do that." 

Kid: "JOHN does!"

Dad: "How much do you charge again?" 

Creeping doubt... What if I forgot to show a student something really important? Or taught them something incorrectly - something they would hate me for later. I imagined a man walking up to me in ten years as I'm putting groceries in the car.

Man: "Remember me? I studied with you when John was doing the Lion King." 

Me: "Oh yeah. You still playing?"

Man: "No. Actually, I can't play anymore. Doc says that grip you showed me was THE CAUSE OF MY

CARPAL TUNNEL!! YOU SONAFA-" 

Me: "Roll em' up, kids!" 

My biggest fear, though, was that I'd have a student that just couldn't do anything I asked and that I'd be lost on how to proceed... and they'd be bored... and I'd be stuck... and have to accept money without making progress for thirty long minutes a week - until John got back and found no improvement at all. And what if they were ALL like that??? What if I was "stuck" with every one of them? I was afraid my cover would be blown and I'd slip from being a decent drummer to a lousy drum instructor. Being "lousy" was something I was staring at and I wasn't sure how I'd handle it. 

When the first day came I was pleased to find the students weren't as threatening as I'd feared. Their skill level ranged from beginner to low intermediate and they were all young enough to see me as an authority figure. The students were polite for the most part and the only thing I had to overcome was the shyness of some of the younger ones and the apathy some of the teenagers. The first few weeks went pretty well. I was still nervous but I could overcome it by physically shaking my head into a positive attitude and hitting it every lesson with full energy. 

The first problem I discovered was my own fear of teaching. Despite the fact that I was being paid to instruct I had a hard time telling people when they were doing something wrong. I was reluctant to point out a student holding their stick in a weird way or misreading the notes for fear it would hurt their feelings and cause tension between us. I was scared to teach! My desire for acceptance also made me too easy on students that hadn't practiced and too easy on last minute cancellations. I didn't want to seem hard so I let stuff go. But once the students realized they didn't have to practice many chose not to. And they knew if they weren't prepared they could simply cancel at the last minute and avoid any embarrassment. Big mistake.

The Lion King's run was extended and I agreed to stay on for a few more months. As I kept at it I started to see progress in my student's drumming, and progress in my teaching as well. I was slowly developing a collection of concepts and ideas that seemed to work. I was recognizing problems easier and figuring out better ways to explain things. Many of the students and their parents were becoming friends that I looked forward to seeing. 

I came to the store week after week, working as hard as I could to be a great teacher, but eventually the standards I was trying to reach started to wear me down. To make up for my lack of experience I tried to give the student their money's worth and then some. I wanted them to have best half hour of their week when they came to see me. I wanted them to emerge from the drum room bursting with inspiration, bobbing their heads with their fists in the air. It must have been my ego that made me aspire to teach the "perfect lesson" every time, but it was hard to do that twenty times a week and the self-induced pressure was tiring me out. Eventually I started to resent going to the store and began dreading my teaching days. 

Then one week a kid came in and I could tell he hadn't practiced. He wasn't concentrating either. I started to feel that heat in my chest that swelled up whenever I was afraid of getting "stuck", and as we sat there getting nowhere my phone buzzed and I saw it was the student's Dad calling. I figured this would be a perfect time to have a little three-way chat about practice habits so I took the call. 

The father was speaking softly and I could hardly hear him at first but as his words came into focus I realized he was drunk. He said something about being kicked out of their house and a restraining order against contacting the kids. I didn't know what to say. He knew it was his son's lesson time and he asked me how the boy looked. The kid stared straight ahead. As the call went on the father got louder and I had to interrupt him to say I was hanging up and then he started him crying. Between sobs and chokes, he asked me to tell his son he loved him. I told him I'd pass the message on and got off the phone. 

The kid was still staring at the wall. He'd heard everything and was really embarrassed. After a while I asked him if he wanted to talk about anything. He said "No." and so I let it go, and as I sat there wondering what to do next he started talking. "I'm living with my grandma for a while and I can't practice there." I told him that I understood and tried to give him some ideas on practicing without a drum set, but he wasn't listening and I could tell the lesson was over. I gave him my cell number and told him to call me if he ever wanted to talk. I told him his Dad loved him and he thanked me over his shoulder as he left the room. He didn't come the next two weeks and when I called his Mom she said they were getting too busy and would have to stop drum lessons for a while. 

After a long, successful run the Lion King ended, John returned to the store full time, and I went back to hustling sessions and tours. I'd taught for over a year at the music store and after it was over I realized how much I'd learned during the process. Teaching was great for my reading and rudiments, and helped with my communication and organizational skills. It also taught me a lot about others and a lot about myself. I used to tell my students that all I could ask of them was that they try hard and do their best, and eventually I saw the same was true for me. I don't have to be perfect. I just have to do try hard and do my best, and, in reality, people have bigger issues in their lives than how good or bad my drumming/teaching is anyway. Teaching taught me that I'm not as important as I thought, which was a great relief. Much less pressure. Much less heat in my chest. 

Rock and Roll, like Jazz, Blues, Country, and even classical music, started as a boys club that men participated in and women were relegated to watching, and as the style progressed the definition of a "rock" drummer would eventually be shaped by the power of Jon Bonham, the chaos of Keith Moon, and the lazy perfection of Ringo Starr and Charlie Watts. Back then the ultimate drummer was a hard hitting psychopath with perfect time, and since it wasn't well thought of for women to be aggressive, crazy, or smug, they weren't expected to play in a band, let alone be the drummer for one. So just how was a woman to "rock"? Well, she wasn't. And it took a long time for female drummers to break down the barriers and gain acceptance behind a drum set. As time went on, though, female drummers started emerging, and many were just too good to deny. Some of the drummers I grew up listening to were women, and many of them helped shape the player I am today as much as any man ever did. 

The first woman I ever saw play was Karen Carpenter, hitting a whole stage full of drum gear on TV. She had a set of Vistalites in the corner and a full set up of concert toms on a riser above that. And there was a little cocktail kit, and a huge latin percussion rig... and she ran around the room until she'd played everything on stage. Karen Carpenter was good! She was tight and fast and accurate, and did it all with a casual smile on her face. As a beginning drummer, the idea of being able to run around a room playing any set up I wanted gave me a sense of awe, the way the kids in "Willy Wonka" must have felt when they realized whole garden was edible. 

I was so young I didn't know it was unusual for a woman to play drums. I was probably too young to even notice her gender. All I saw was drums (lots of them) and somebody drumming. Karen Carpenter had a great feel for songs  because by supporting the vocal that came out of her own mouth it was only natural she locked into the groove. But as tasty as her parts were, it was her chops that caught me! 

In the TV show she wailed on each of the set ups, and went through different instruments, styles, and tempos like there was nothing she couldn't do. Karen Carpenter was one of the first drummers I ever saw, and her performance on that TV show opened up a world of possibilities in my young mind. 

"I just judged Guitar Center’s Drum-Off contest, and afterwards one of the contestants - a guy - came up to me and said, 'So you play drums?' Like, Duh! "No, I’m just here to judge the stage presence portion.” 

- Dawn Richardson (Four Non Blondes)

When I was in Junior High I heard the Go-Go's on the radio. I loved the energy and the simplicity of the drumming and was a fan of Gina Shock before I even knew she was a woman. My friend Scott had a younger sister who owned a Go-Go's record. I'd never seen them. I stared at the picture, matching the faces to the instruments, and listened to the whole album. Now I had two reasons to like Gina Shock. She was a bitchin' drummer - and she was "hella fine." I'm sure Gina Shock never wanted drummers to like her because she was cute, but hey - I was a hormonal 12 yr. old boy and she was in a bath towel on the record cover. 

I bought every Go-Go's record after that and learned a lot about playing less and still rocking. Gina Shock created excitement in the song by playing right on or a little in front of the beat, and she did so with amazing consistency. In the Go Go's, her parts were carefully constructed and always locked with the bassist, and her drums and cymbals always sounded great. 

I met Gina a few years ago at a club in L.A. It was very cool. I wanted to be in a band with her and I told her so. She didn't think it would be possible for us to be in a band together, though, because, well, she's a drummer, too. (Oh yeah!) 

"One of the clerks in a music store once said to me, 'Are these sticks for your husband?' I said 'No'. He said, 'Are they a gift for someone?' And I said, 'N-o-o-o.'"

- Debra Dobkin (Bonnie Raitt)

Just after high school I heard about a band that producer Michael Narada Walden had put together out of the best female musicians in the Bay Area. I went to see them and they were really great. Every woman on stage was a virtuoso on her respective instrument. Unfortunately, the name of their band was "Girlfriend". Half way through the show the drummer went into a solo. She played the craziest, wildest, HARDest, most technical stuff I'd ever seen, and in the middle of it she stood up on her throne, took out a compact, and slowly applied lipstick to her pouting mouth. I was stunned.

When everyone cleared out after the show I went backstage to tell her how much I enjoyed her playing. I came around a corner and there she was... crying. A couple of people were comforting her but she was still miserable. After a minute I said "Great drumming." and she looked up and thanked me apologetically. It hit me then that this drummer, who was so much better than me, was in a band called "Girlfriend", and that the gig required she interrupt her solo to put on lipstick. (The drummer I saw that night went on to do just fine. The next time I saw her was on an instructional DVD playing in the drum department at Guitar Center.)

"...when we got to high school we thought the guys might be a little more mature, but they were actually LESS mature." 

- Torry Castellano (The Donnas) 

When I was in my early twenties I toured Canada with a band from San Francisco. The band was great but it just wasn't right for me and I didn't know why. We had an night off in Victoria and I decided to go see another SF band that happened to be playing in town. "Sister Double Happiness" was a great rock band, and though we were all from San Francisco I'd never seen them live. They had a drummer named Lynn Perko (formerly of the Dicks) and I was hoping she'd be good. Little did I know I was about to have another growth spurt. They hit the stage and rocked paint chips off the ceiling. Lynn P. came out hitting hard and didn't let up for the entire set. She beat the crap out of her drums, spit and arms flying, hair stuck to the sweat on her face, and proceeded to show me "the rock!" I'd been missing in my band. I wanted to hang out with her, listen to what she was listening to, see the shows she was going to, live like she lived... so I got her number and called but we never got together. She probably thought I was looking for a "girlfriend". (Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?) Served me right for all the time I spent staring at Gina Shock in her bath towel.

"I always have people coming up to me and saying, 'Wow, you actually play really well', and you know that what they’re thinking is, 'for a girl'.” 

- Kate Schellenbach (Original Beastie Boy)

Sometimes things transcend gender. Sometimes people do things that are so good they up the ante for everyone in the field, man or woman. I used to tell my female students to go rent Prince's concert film "Sign O' The Times" and check out Sheila E's drum solo. The solo in that movie shocked me when I first saw it. The speed and precision! It never lets up. It starts as a blistering display of hand and foot speed and just gets faster. The hands. The double bass. The facility. The SPEED! I saw it again a few years later and realized I had to make my male students watch it as well. I saw it recently, and it was somehow faster than I'd remembered! The capper is, she does the whole thing in stiletto heels. I know. Sexism trumping talent again. In Sheila's defence, I think the heels were Prince's idea. (He was wearing some, too!) 

Like most men I never set out to be sexist. I just processed and accepted the information I was given. Back then men were doctors and women were nurses. It's not true now, but it was then. Men were the drummers and the women were just around to scream for the successful ones and financially support the failures. It took more than guts for women to break into the scene. It also took a kind of apathy for "the scene" in general. Being a female in rock and roll gets easier with every generation, as more and more women emerge to show young girls just what's possible, but it wasn't always that way. 

The times they are a changin'. Women are racing Formula One cars now! Maybe when my 5 year old daughter grows up she won't even know the term "female drummer". She'll just know "drummer", and if they're good, "ROCKing drummer". Maybe she'll BE a rocking drummer. Maybe she'll be the President of the United States. 

Steve Bowman

***This post was written for a great website devoted to women drummers called chix-with-stix. You can check them out at:

http://www.chix-with-stix.com

Thanks to Drum! magazine for the quotes. 

There are many ways to get different meanings from the same sentence. A simple four word introduction, for example, can be changed by accenting any one of the words. "MY name is Steve." conveys a different meaning than "My NAME is Steve." And you can also accent the other words to get two more meanings still. Now repeat the words in a quick, chopped manner. Then slowly with a drawl. Every different way you can get the words out will change the way your sentence is interpreted, and this is an important concept for drummers because - just as your body language and speaking voice convey your moods when you talk - so does the placement and volume of your notes when you drum. The "feel" you use will accentuate the lyrics, help the band groove more deeper, and often define the mood of the song. The right feel will create an easier connection between the musicians and a more intense experience for the listening audience.

So what is feel exactly and how can you practice it? To better understand feel, start by playing a mid tempo rock beat. Now play it again, only sadder. Normally when someone is asked to play a beat "sadder" they will play it slower. Slower might be sadder but not necessarily. Sometimes slow beats are triumphant, or heavy, or sinister, etc. 

So, what, besides tempo, can make a beat sad? To answer this question, think of how you convey sadness when you speak? When you're sad you might talk softer, with bigger gaps between phrases. Your voice may tail off at the end of a sentence, or slow to a halt before you even finish the sentence. Try acting sad and your voice will naturally take on these manifestations. Now try playing sad. How does it sound? How does sadness affect the parts you choose and the way you play them? What tones do you choose? What volume? Where do you hit the snare and with what do you hit it?

Then there are other emotions. What does excitement sound like? (Remember, you can't just play faster!) For this feel, imagine your best friend just won a million dollars and you get to be the one to tell him. Imagine the feeling you'd have between the time you saw your friend's face and the time you got the news out. Now, with that same feeling, play a groove at 105 beats per minute. How does the feeling affect your energy level? How does it affect your parts and your playing?

Sad and Happy are two examples but there are as many different feels as there are emotions. Take "Love songs" alone and you've got lots of intense feelings. New love, lost love, spurned love, breaking up, making up, moving in, kicking out, moving on (reluctantly, defiantly, sneakily) etc. There are many ways to approach a song.

It's important that the feel you choose match the songwriter's notion of what the song is about. Most songs are pretty easy to figure out but if you still aren't sure after considering the lyric, tempo, and chord progression, ask the songwriter what the song means to them. Not only will the information help you play the song more appropriately, but you'll be appreciated for asking.

Besides common moods like happy, sad, angry, confident, etc., it's also possible to mix and match characteristics of different moods to create deeper and more interesting feels. One feel I love to sink into is inspired by a Hunter S. Thompson novel called "The Rum Diary". In the book the lead character is a young, cocky journalist who spends most of his time drinking Rum at a tropical hamburger stand in San Juan. He is a lush and a genius, successful despite a self destructive nature. 

You can imagine what it would it sound like if the band called this character up to play a tune. His playing would be simple and a little stilted because he's not a drummer, yet confident and loud because that's who he is. He would be a little reckless because of the booze, and a little lazy because of the sun and sand, but ultimately he would hold it together because of an intense vanity that would never allow him to make a fool of himself. Now take this character and add a little sadness? Or excitement? Maybe the character is also feeling nervous, vengeful, sick, sullen, or guilty? What do you get then?

After you have decided upon the appropriate feel (or character), it is important that it remain consistent for the duration of the song and that you not let anything push or pull you out of the feel you've established. Sometimes a dynamic change will cause a novice player to forget the mood they've created and slide out of the feel. This can also happen after a big fill or a long break. But consistency is vital, because to unintentionally switch the feel will take the band members out of the spell you've created and will confuse the listeners, both parties who have not only recognized your mood, but allowed themselves to be taken in by it, and if you switch the feel you have to win everyone back all over again. Good luck.

One trick to staying with the feel is to imagine what your character would look like if they felt a certain way. Would they be hunched over? Sitting up proudly? Holding the sticks backwards or with an improper grip? Try it. Not only will a physical difference remind you to "stay in character" but it may add something to the sound or timing of the feel. Don't worry about how it looks. Successful players glorify the music and put the song's needs over their own. 

Passion without order is just noise, and technique without heart is just math and excercise. What makes a drummer really great is his/her ability to play with an appropriate and consistent feel. Good feel creates a deeper, more satisfying experience for everyone involved. 

I got a call a couple months ago from the band Train. They were finishing their latest tour and had a problem. It seems their drummer's wife was nine months pregnant and the tour wasn't over yet. Someone hadn't done the math properly and now they had a week left with two shows landing just days before her due date. Scott Underwood, the drummer, had decided he wasn't going to miss the birth of his baby, even if it meant jumping off stage during a show and peeling out to the nearest airport. So they chose to get an understudy; someone who could learn the songs, learn the show, and be there in case "nature called". And I was hired for the job.

Scott phoned me at home and we talked about the songs and worked out the dates. He was on the road and said they could record a couple live gigs and mail them to me. Great! There was two and a half weeks to get the stuff together and I had two of their CD's already, so I listened to their music and tried to get familiar with the beats and arrangements while waiting for the live stuff to arrive. I made little charts for the hit songs, figuring they'd be in the live show, and I listened to the records two or three times a day as I did stuff around the house. 

It occurred to me that I didn't know where these two shows were taking place so I went to Train's website and looked at their schedule. The first show was in central California at a big fair, and the second was... oh my! The second was at the Greek Theater in Berkeley! 

The Greek Theater is a beautiful 8000 seat bowl cut into a mountain above the Cal campus. I was raised near it and used to dream about playing there as a kid. When my brother and I were young, and too poor to go to concerts, we used to lay in the soccer field next to the Greek and listen to shows by Santana, REM, the B-52's, etc. Then when I was a little older I got to see some shows from the inside, and it was always a great experience. I'd almost played there once. Counting Crows was booked at the Greek in 1994. I had forty people on the guest list and couldn't wait for the night to come. Unfortunately, I was fired two weeks before the show, and instead of "rocking the Greek" I spent that night "sulking the house". But now I had another chance, and I couldn't wait to get to work on the songs.

The recordings didn't show up for a few days and when another week went by and I started to get nervous. Finally a Fed-Ex envelope showed up. I ripped it open and there were two CD's of shows they'd played the week before. I took one out and put it on. The first CD started half way through a song I'd never heard before. "Oh boy." I thought. "Three second in and I already have questions." But as the show went on I heard some of the songs I'd worked on and a few more that I was familiar with from listening to the radio so I started to relax.

Train is a very engaging live band and there were lots of stops, starts, and crowd participation moments that I would have to be aware of. There was also a long drum solo in the middle of the set. But I got really nervous when I found the second CD had four or five songs that weren't in the first show. I had a lot of work to do and only seven days left to do it.

I had a fairly free week so I was able to immerse myself in the music. I listened at home and in the car, and worked on getting the live arrangements written out whenever I had free time. I compared the set lists and found that between the two shows there were seventeen songs total, so I wrote charts for all of them and played along to the CD's a couple times a day. 

When I started to feel like I was getting it down I tried playing to the CD's without the charts. I was still missing some of the beats and breaks so I made specific notes of anything that surprised me during my run throughs and played to the CD's some more. On the day before I was to fly to L.A. for the first show I wrote a list of every song I'd learned. I made two copies; one to give to the band, and one to keep. On the copy I kept I wrote the tempos, beats, and who started the song next to each title. I felt ready. In fact, after all the work I'd done I was hoping the baby would come early.

I flew to L.A. in the morning. The tour manager met me at the airport and we drove to a really nice hotel. He gave me a key and told me the van was leaving for the venue in an hour, so I went up to the room to relax a little before we left. I didn't know if I had a room mate or not so I opened the door just a little and said "Hello?", but despite the immense size of the room there was only one bed. "Thank you, Train." I was used to doubling up and sometimes having a third person on a roll away but these guys were doing pretty well and there was none of that.

After an hour I went downstairs and saw the guys and we were driven to the venue. We drove for about an hour and had a good talk. The guys were a little road weary but overcame it with great senses of humor. After a while we pulled off the freeway and into a backstage area. It was a outdoor venue with a huge stage and about 5000 seats. A big country act had played there the night before and Kelly Clarkson would be there the next night. I did the sound check with the band so we could get a little rehearsing in in case Scott got the call, and I was pleased to get through all the songs we played without a hitch. Then we had dinner and I went to the fair while they relaxed before the show.

The plan was for me to stay close enough to know if Scott needed to leave. I could sit side stage, back stage, or watch the show from the house. I decided to watch the show from one of the back rows. I played along on my legs at first but then just enjoyed the performance. They were great and the crowd was really loving it. 

Halfway through there was a three song acoustic section Scott didn't play on and he went off stage to check his messages. I went back as well to see if there was any word from his wife. "Everythings cool." He said, hanging up the phone. So I went back to my seat and watched the rest of the show. When it was over they did a "meet and greet" with some of the fans, then we went back to the hotel and crashed early. The next day we were flying to Berkeley - and the Greek Theater...

The show's call time was 5:00 but I got there at 4:00. I wanted to soak it all in. I walked onto the stage and looked at all the seats. It was the first time I'd seen the Greek from that vantage point and it looked spectacular. I checked out the back stage area, too. Very cool. The opening act was a guy I knew from the bay area and we were talking as the rest of the band got there. Then we did a sound check and I was able to play the Greek for the first time. Kind of. We went through four or five songs and everything seemed to be in order. 

After the check was dinner and then, while the guys got ready, I explored all the confines of the venue. I sat in the very front row and looked at the stage. Then the doors opened and the crowd started coming in so I walked around for a while and ended up in the very last row on top of the bowl. They were playing Abbey Road and it was a beautiful night. Train was kind enough to put tickets at the door for my wife and kids so I met them when they got there and helped them find their seats. I checked in with Scott one more time. Still no word from his wife, so I watched the opener with my family.

I went back when later and Scott was on the phone again. Could this be the call? He hung up and smiled. "No change." he said. "Damn." I thought. A few minutes later the lights went down, the crowd went nuts, and Train started the show. I sat in the crowd and played along on my knees. The acoustic break came and I shot backstage one more time. "Last chance to play the Greek", I thought. Scott was checking his wife's progress. There was still half a show left. He hung up. "Guess we're okay." 

My wife had to get the kids to bed before the band was off so I watched the end of the show from the wings by myself. On the last song they blew off confetti cannons and it came down all around me as the crowd went wild. They finished the encore and walked past me, sweaty and tired. They'd played a great show. I sat there on the side of the stage for a while watching the people file out. It had been the best gig I'd never had. 

Scott's wife had the baby a couple days later and everything worked out for the best. I didn't get to play live with Train but I had a good time and it was an exciting couple of days. Of course, if Scott gets his wife pregnant again next year I'm pretty sure I'll get the call. As Bill Murray said in Caddyshack, "I got that going for me - which is nice." 

Steve Bowman

I was at the NAMM show a couple of years ago looking for a place to take a nap. It was Day Three, which is when you realize you're saturated with the NAMM experience and ready to go home. By that point you've talked to everyone you came to talk to, ogled every product display you wanted to see, and met so many famous drummers it doesn't perk you up anymore. Just that morning I'd accidentally knocked into a guy who looked like Omar Hakim. As I apologized I realized it WAS Omar Hakim - and I didn't care! If I'd seen Omar Hakim at a grocery store or a bowling alley it would have been very cool, but after three days at NAMM I was having a hard time getting excited about anything. I was NAMMED out. Then all of a sudden Mick Fleetwood walked into the frame and my whole world blurred into slow motion. 

He walked up and went right past me towards a beautiful drum display. "Sit down and play, Mick." I thought. He spoke to the drum maker for a couple minutes and then, as if I'd willed it myself, sat down at one of the drum sets and was handed a pair of sticks. I looked around the room to see who was catching this. There were only a few other people on hand but they all had the same wide eyed, open mouth gawk I was sporting. We were prepared to see something incredible. Maybe the drum solo from TUSK? 

Mick tapped the toms. He hit the bass drum. And then... some bruiser in the booth next door went into a frenzied double bass spectacular. Mick sat at the drums waiting. He spoke into the ear of the drum maker while the racket continued. After a minute it ended and Mick paused to gather himself. He hit the floor tom a couple times. Then he smiled and lifted his left stick high into the air. The stick was falling when the drums next door exploded back to life again like a panic attack. It was the Aflac Duck of drumming! The offender was concealed behind a tall but thin display wall and had no idea he was ruining our chance to see Mick Fleetwood play, so I decided to run around the other side and see if I could get him to stop. 

I came around the corner and was surprised to see a kid about ten years old sitting behind a huge drum set, wailing all four limbs like he was on fire. His Dad stood next to him with a narcissistic glaze on his face. I didn't know whether to yell at the kid or the Dad and while I considered my options a guy ran up from behind me and barked "Hey you! Cut it! Fleetwood Mac is next door!" Then he turned and ran back around the wall. The last thing I saw was the father's face draw in with confusion as I bolted back around too, so as to not miss a note. But when I got there Mick was... standing! 

I tried to use my new found powers of mind control. "Sit down Mick. It's ok." I concentrated intensely but respectfully. "Maybe you could favor us with, say, the solo from TUSK?" The moment had apparently passed for Mick, though, because after a second he shook hands with the drum maker and walked away, leaving a small group of us in a collective slump as we watched him go. 

When I got home I pulled out Fleetwood Mac's greatest hits CD. Growing up my brother and I had worn out a copy of "Rumours". Besides listening and playing to it we'd racked up hours and hours just staring at the pictures on the album. I started analyzing Mick's drumming to see if I could pin point what makes him so great, and as I did this I was reminded of just how much he'd influenced my playing. The songs went by and I heard the tones I'm always trying to get and the parts I tend to go for. I heard the little quirky things I'd thought were part of my own unique style, only to find he'd played them twenty-five years prior. I discovered how much my own playing owes to his ideas. Turns out I've been ripping off Mick Fleetwood for years!

One of the things that sets Mick's drumming apart from the rest is his use of unorthodox parts that sound normal. He does this on an unorthodox drum set that looks normal. "It's a regular five piece set up, right?" you squint from the audience. Except something's not the same. The ride toms over the bass drum are switched so the small tom is on the "wrong" side of the big tom. (Huh?) Then you hear him play and it all starts to make sense. Everything about his playing is a little skewed, changing the definition of "normal". 

The beat on "Rhiannon" for example. What sounds like a regular four on the floor groove has a tom on beat four instead of a snare hit. No big deal, except that the tom hit changes to beat two with a snare on four later in the song, and then ends up going back and forth between the two beats almost randomly after that. And this is easy to hear because - get this - he doesn't play any HI HATS on the song! (Huh- Huh?!?) I'd heard "Rhiannon" a hundred times and had no idea this happened until I focused on the drumming alone.

"Gypsy" is another song in which the groove changes randomly. The kick pattern is on one and three and the "ands" of one and three, but after a while he changes it to the "ands" of two and four. And then back again! And this time the hats are as consistent as a Linn drum machine, as if stability is important after all. 

On "Dreams" he chooses to put crashes on beat two instead of beat one of the measure. (Huh huh - WHAT!?) Again, you might think he's off until the hi hat notes remind you how solid and undeviating his playing can be. 

Want to hear an airtight shuffle? Listen to the groove in "Don't Stop". But before the beat even starts, check out the perfect triplet crescendo that introduces the drums. In "Don't Stop" he puts crashes on beat two as well, then later chooses to skip crashes altogether in some really big changes like the 2nd verse, solo, and the chorus out. (Daaaaaaaa- Huh?)

There are many great Mick Fleetwood drum tracks but the playing on "Sara" is my favorite. This song is played with brushes. One hand does eighth notes on the snare while the other plays two descending tom notes after the "two and four" snare hits. The thing about this groove is that the three drum hits decrease in volume as they pass. "DAP Doom doom, DAP Doom doom, DAP Doom doom" The effect gives the track a tone of distant sadness, as if the drummer is too wiped out to play three notes in a row and lapses into a stagger after each snare hit. Add the slow, even fade of the beautiful sizzle cymbal and the drum track alone is enough to sink you into a coma of despair.

Growing up with Fleetwood Mac was one of the lucky breaks of being a child of the 70's and I'm happy to say I took full advantage of it. Mick Fleetwood's playing ignored the rules of drumming in pop music and allowed him to create from a boundless palette of ideas. His musicality seeped into my playing style and I'm far better for it. If you're not familiar with Fleetwood Mac you might want to log on to iTunes and listen to some song samples. You may end up buying a few. I know I did. I even bought Mick's book and read it. And one time I almost saw him play TUSK at the NAMM show. If only I could have concentrated harder... 

Steve Bowman

My name is Steve Bowman and I am a "wanker". I'm not proud of this and have worked hard to be better, but I was drawn to "the wank" at an early age and have battled it on and off for years. The way it started was innocent enough, yet before I knew it I was ruining songs and destroying shows. Here is my story.

When I was in my late teens I worked for three years as a drummer at a theme park. It was a big indoor show with eight singer/dancers and a stage director and lighting and sound crews. It felt like a big gig at the time. The shows we performed featured contemporary top-40 hits and "up with people" style medleys from the 50's, 60's and 70'. The shows at the park had safe, snappy names like "Hot Hits" and "Billboard Bonanza". The arrangements sounded like they were written in a corporate meeting room under florescent lights while standing at attention, but the idea of a musical "day gig" was exciting to me - as was the idea of hanging out with beautiful dancers, and though we only made $8 dollars an hour, you could still get home in time to rehearse with your original band or even play a paying gig at night. 

It was a great job except for one problem... because the show only changed once a year we had to play the exact same music six times a day, six days a week, for seven months - same songs, tempos, and set. One year we played a show called "Brand New Beat" 876 times. 

The theme park recruited musicians from the local colleges and there were some really good players around, but this kind of gig required a different set of skills than we'd worked on in our school practice rooms. This job required consistency, maturity, and professionalism on stage. We had none of these qualities and often did really stupid things to "keep ourselves sane" during the long season. Once, I had the bassist lead me on stage with my eyes closed and I won a bet by not opening them throughout the entire performance. (Never mind those cues.) Another time two band members switched pants onstage during a darkly lit ballad. 

Eventually we would even be reduced to intentionally messing up the other performers for laughs - actually sabotaging our own show. Sometimes we'd start the a song down a key and go up for the first verse, forcing the unsuspecting soloist to come in a full key flat. Sometimes the band would all eye each other and, on a nod, slip in a bar of 5, then howl as the dancers stumbled back into their parts. 

But as unprofessional as those things were we eventually did something even more horrible. We went on to commit the worst crime against pop music you can commit. What we did... well... we "wanked." We blew unforgivable chops over the songs to feed our own egos. We sacrificed the music for our own glory. We "wanked". 

Imagine the guys in Dream Theater playing "Wind Beneath My Wings'. It began with a little lick here and there. No big deal, right? Just a little something to fight the boredom? But one thing led to another, and soon we were trying to "outwank" eachother. We became some of the wankingist wankers to ever wank! As a drummer I should have been the voice of reason. I should have stopped it in the name of good music everywhere... in the name of grooving! Something! But no. Instead I led the pack. I was Wankenstein. A serial wanker. The Uniwanker! And it would take years to recover. 

What developed at the theme park was a kind of "perfect storm" of wankification. You had young, cocky college players who were very excited about music, yet forced to play the same silly set all day, every day, week-in week-out. Something had to give, and eventually we bagged the parts we'd rehearsed at the beginning of the season and soothed our "inner hams" with blistering odd-time stupidity. Didn't matter what the song was about or who was singing. These songs were merely canvases for us to paint over, and we painted some real Wanka Lisas! I would superimpose things I was practicing at home over the top regardless of it's relevance to the style or feel, and I thought nothing of going over the bar line for a few measures whenever it occurred to me to do so. After all, I was practicing Garibaldi's linear studies and wanted to show it off! 

Because of our greed and youth we didn't consider the needs of the singer/dancers onstage with us, and sometimes there were train wrecks even the smiling seniors and children in the audience couldn't ignore. When you saw an old woman throw her hand over her mouth you could be sure "they heard it". Sometimes the show would end and instead of clapping the crowd would just file out with confused looks on their faces. But the saddest part was that the whole time this was happening we actually thought we were being great musicians! 

Drummers in pop music are always subject to wanking because in order to best fit the music you need to play less notes, and this becomes a problem if the drummer isn't listening to the song. If the drummer is just thinking about how the drums sound (or worse, how he/she looks while playing!) there's a good chance you'll get wanktious activity. 

Here's a classic sighting: I went to see this great singer a while back and the drummer was wanking all night. This guy was like "Count Wankula". It was driving me crazy. Besides overplaying he was twirling his sticks, waving to people while he was playing, standing up after songs, etc. I mean, if you're Tommy Lee or something fine, but this guy was backing up a really great singer/songwriter. The show went on and it was getting worse when all of a sudden "The Count" got real serious in the face, reared up, and busted out this double bass/16th note/triplet fill - only it kinked up on him half way through and the whole groove fell apart. He shook his head as the band recovered, but before long he got that look on his face again. I was hoping I wasn't going to see the worst offence of wankitude possible, but sure enough it happened. He did - "the make up fill". (Wanker thinking here is: If you eventually nail the fill, all previous attempts are erased!) This time he DID nail it, and he celebrated by throwing his head back and and enjoying a long, lazy smile - resulting in the loss of about 5 beats per minute. When it was all over I yelled, "Hey drummer! You missed a great song!" He gave me a "thumb's up", assuming I must have yelled praise.

And here's another one from the front: Once I was doing a recording session with a wanky bassist. His crime was playing "Flight of the Bumble Bee" while we were tracking. I don't know how he played "Flight of the Bumble Bee" on a bass but he did. Problem was we were in between takes of a song. You can imagine finishing a take and wondering how you can make it better on the next pass... "How's the build on the bridge?" Is the feel consistent? Gotta remember to hit that cue the producer wanted. Alright. What's the temp-" FLIGHT OF THE BUMBLE BEE IS NOW IN MY HEADPHONES!!! HE'S PLAYING IT ON A BASS, EVERYONE. EVERYONE LOOK HOW FAST HE PLAYS! "Man! Oh!... Stop that! Okay, what's the feel? Jeez, would you stop that? Okay, think! What's this song abou-" HE'S STILL PLAYING IT! HE'S PLAYING "FLIGHT OF THE BUMBLE BEE" ON HIS BASS! "I can't believe this guy! Man! Shut the- Ohhhh! Okay! Concentrate! I need to remember to open the hats more on the pre-chor-..." HE APPARENTLY LEARNED AND PRACTICED THE WHOLE DAMN THING AND IS GOING TO FINISH!!! I GUESS WE'LL ALL HAVE TO STOP AND LISTEN!!! The producer leaned into us while we were eating lunch and said, (confident whisper) "We'll have a new bassist tomorrow." And that was that.

When more than one wanker get together it's called a "flam". One wanker in a band is enough but when you have a whole "flam of wankers" the results are always bad. This is because when there's no one with taste to speak up the wanking goes unchecked. Even worse, when a flam get together wanking is actually encouraged and rewarded, with knowing smiles and "funk frowns". (In these situations the wankature gets progressively worse until the band either breaks up or becomes a "Tower of Power" tribute band.) 

Because of the psychological nature of the affliction the wanker is often the last to know there's a problem. This is because, ironically, the wanker thinks they're doing a BETTER job than a non-wanker would do. They actually think they are going beyond the call of duty by putting such "incredible drumming" in (or should I say "on") the song. No matter what your crime, there can be no worse offense than putting your own interests ahead of a great song. It's even worse than sabotage because while both crimes ultimately achieve the same result, sabotage is self-destructive and wanking is self-indulgent, and self-destructive music is always better than self-indulgent stuff. (I think.)

Are you a wanker? Do you know? Here are some ways you can tell if you have a problem.

1. Do you ever look for drummers in the crowd while playing?

2. Have you ever tried to slip "bitchin' Latin stuff" into a sad song?

3. Do you ever think about how you look while playing live - while playing live?

4. Does your set up have more than one splash cymbal?

5. Do you get frustrated waiting for the verse to end so you can do the fill into the chorus?

6. Have you ever done a "make up fill"?

If you think you have a problem don't worry because there is help. The first step is admitting you have a problem. Then, just follow this simple rule. It's easier than you think. When you play pop music all you have to do is: 

Play what the singer would play if the singer were playing drums. 

If the singer were in the middle of a vocal phrase they probably wouldn't do a fill. If the vocals were soft and sad the singer probably wouldn't play 32nd notes between the hi-hats and splash cymbals. The singer wouldn't do a china crash/double bass run into a verse about "loneliness". And the singer would never do a "make up fill" because they'd be too busy delivering the song to know there was a NEED for one. See? If you aren't sure what the singer would play on drums listen to the lyrics, tempo, and arrangement. What's the song about? What's the vibe of the music? How does the mood of the song affect the way you play your parts? 

I've been "solid" for years now but I still fall prey to the draw of an occasional wank. It's something I'll have to keep in check for the rest of my life. Even though I've had help I still catch myself thinking bad thoughts sometimes. Like, "I bet I could fit triplets into that." Or, "I wonder what a nine stroke roll would sound like on these hi-hats." At times like this I have to remind myself that the temporary glory and guilty pleasure I receive from wanking are ultimately hollow, and that the best feeling you can have playing music comes from the satisfaction you get when you play a song so unselfishly and true to the song that the room goes into a trance. 

We aren't just drummers, after all. We're musicians! And when you're packing up to go home after the show and you get a high five from a sweaty, satisfied singer? Well, there isn't a flam of wankers anywhere that can replace that - no matter how funky their frowns.

Steve Bowman