Drumming

For me, drumming is intimately tied with frustration and loneliness. The amount of time I spend drumming is inversely related with how happy I am. In other words, the worst times in my life have been the times I’ve spent drumming the most. I use drumming to express my vexation and isolation. For me, drumming is catharsis. During a self-illuminating conversation in 2004 with bandmates about what to do after another of the band members had quit, I said, “I don’t even like drumming- I just don’t know what else to do.”

It is no surprise that I’ve never been at all interested in communal drum circles, where the music is highly rhythmic, simple, repetitive, energetic, danceable and fun. If I’m in a mood to be silly, carefree and happy, I will definitely be doing something other than drumming.

I listen to music when I’m alone. The fact that few people I’ve ever hung out with like or can even tolerate the same music as me is only part of the reason why I don’t like to listen to music with others around. It takes a certain degree of concentration to be absorbed into music that eschews distractions which others necessarily provide. One unavoidable assumption worth mentioning is that when we are with others, our assumptions of those other’s opinions influence our experience. Most people consider sound something that goes on barely noticed in the background. Sound fascinates me. My curiosity of it sprung from my obsession to give myself something to practice on the drums that I didn’t already know how to do, because challenging oneself is a highly effective distraction.

Performing by drumming in public is a pain in the ass that only fellow musicians can understand. First, you have to convince a venue to let you play there. Then you have to try to coordinate a time and place to get other musicians together to practice. Then you have to hope a miracle happens and that those musicians show up in time to make use of practice, as musicians are seemingly always running late. Unless the practice is taking place at my home, I have to get to the practice space, which requires: packing up my drums; loading them in my car; driving to the place; unloading my drums; setting up; waiting for everyone else to show up, set their stuff up and probably stop drinking and/or smoking weed; practicing; tearing down my drums; loading them in the car; driving home and unloading my car. This all must be repeated for every practice as well as the gig itself. I’ve driven to venues up to 6 hours away on several occasions, and have had to haul my drums ¼ mile to get them to and from the gig. At the gig itself: the room generally sounds horrible and is filled with smoke; the soundman, if any, usually has no idea what they’re doing; you almost never get paid enough to cover the gas it cost to get there; if there is any audience (usually limited to the bartender and the other bands playing that night, although they often show up late for their set and leave immediately afterward. Not to mention they often are unbearable to listen to…), most seem to not care about what you’re doing whatsoever which really makes one ponder why waste all this time doing it. After the gig, you have to listen to everyone’s bullshit opinions (usually consisting of them lying to your face) about your music, which is probably the worst part of it all as far as I’m concerned.