"Question: What do you call a drummer who breaks up with his girlfriend?
Answer: Homeless."
- Winston Churchill
So, here it is, a poorly, poorly kept secret:
I don’t really know how to play drums.
Okay, I do – but not really well.
Luckily, playing the drums is something that you don’t really have to know how to do in order to do it. It’s one of the few instruments (along with the noble kazoo) where you can just sort of fake your way through it and if it sounds good, then congrats, you’re a drummer.
But, Andy! You were in a college band called Math Camp (and, later, Exploder One) which got you laid so very few times! Correct, but Math Camp only had three songs, only performed twice and, even in the face of that, I still managed to fuck up an improbable number of times throughout.
But, Andy! Your Rock Band skills are awesome and you wow lots of people and it has gotten you laid so very few times! Correct, but Rock Band is pretty much like those cut out footprints that help you dance (the ones you put on the floor in front of you, with the L or R on each; the ones that you’ve seen in cartoons and no where else). It tells you what to hit and when and if you fuck up, nobody really notices.
So, no, I don’t really, actually, matter-of-factually know how to play drums, even though I’ve been playing for eight years, but I’ve always wanted to learn.
When I was young (I don’t remember exactly how young, but not young enough… you’ll understand in a minute) my brother took drum lessons at our church and I was able to tag along. I have since blocked out a great deal of this experience except for a few brief flashes:
I remember the first class, and realizing that everyone there was much older.
I remember being taught a perididdle (sp?) and a basic drum roll and not being good at either.
I remember not practicing much at home.
I remember having to demonstrate something that I was supposed to have practiced at home, and not being able to and crying in front of everyone.
I remember my brother saying (rather flippantly) “Yeah… he’s kind of sensitive,” to the rest of the class as I sobbed.
I remember being thereafter assigned to tympani (that big kettle drum looking mofo that you’ll remember from the 2001 song and nowhere else) and having the tympani “dumbed down” for my performance during our recital.
I remember my tympani part in the recital being so free from responsibility that I had time to find my mother in the audience and wave to her several times without fear of missing one of the maybe three times I had to hit the stupid fucking tympani.
This has been my secret shame for all too many years. My Math Camp contribution was a fraud! My Rock Band performances are a sham! So, I decided to finally do something about it and enrolled myself in the basic “Drum Kit” class offered by Old Town School of Folk Music.
Saturday Afternoon
Radiohead Ensemble
Old Town School of Folk Music
4544 N. Lincoln Ave
Chicago, IL
4544 N. Lincoln Ave
Chicago, IL
Time: 2:30 - 4:00
COST: The reliving of childhood nightmares, the over-exaggeration of the reliving of childhood nightmares, $150
Old Town School of Folk Music is an awesome institution here in Chicago that offers classes and hosts some pretty incredible concerts. I saw good ole’ U. Utah Phillips there a few years ago, which was awesome. “Drum Kit” was described as an introduction to the basic rhythms and technique of using a drum kit, so I figured even without any actual ability, that my experience would surely put me slightly ahead of the game, right? Right. So, I was psyched to start class last Saturday and certain that I wouldn’t end up crying or being relegated to the f’n tympani or anything… at all… for sure…
Then I got an email on Wednesday informing me that the class was cancelled because not enough people had signed up.
I maybe should have left well enough alone, but I had a master plan here. Old Town also offers ensemble classes, which (to my understanding) were classes wherein they would instruct members of a band to play songs of one specific group. Even better, they offer one of (if not my all time) favorite bands as an ensemble class: Radiohead. I loves me some Radiohead, y’all. My plan was to brush up with some Drum Kit class and then sign right up for Radiohead Ensemble next term. After some back and forth with Old Town (wherein they assured me that my experience wasn’t going to be a problem and that I should just “go for it!” and what would turn out to be an ominous “sometimes those without experience make the best drummers!”) I decided to go ahead and jump into the ensemble class and maybe with a little extra practice and some good old gumption I could get by.
Not so much.
The ensemble classes are for people who already know what the fuck they’re doing but want to learn how to apply that knowledge of what the fuck they’re doing to a band setting. I figured this out about halfway through class, when I was in real danger of both crying and being assigned to the fucking tympani.
It’s the first week of classes, so the first 10 minutes of class is taken up by Bass VI students thinking that they’re in our classroom, then a Rock Ensemble woman standing in the doorway looking around for about three minutes. Then the Radiohead Ensemble class forms with six or seven folks (all with acoustic guitars) and little old me with my two humble drumsticks. And then Archie enters and he’s got a whole goddamn bag of drumsticks and his own drum seat. While I’ve quietly introduced myself to a few of the people there (the names have almost completely escaped me, though), Archie is greeted universally in a sort of Norm-from-Cheers way, he immediately heads over to the scattered pieces of the drum kit and starts putting them together.
Our instructor arrives; looking as though he has to concentrate very hard at all times just to remember where he is. He checks his notebook and looks at Archie, and then looks at me and then has that look on your face when you get home and set down all your groceries and remember that you meant to buy butter. And maybe also you remember that you left your baby in the car seat in the parking lot. We’re already running late but he calls Archie and me out into the hallway.
He says that usually the ensemble classes only have one drummer in them, but that they’ll figure out what to do as they go along. I take a moment to mention that I have no idea of what I’m doing and that I’m only there because Drum Kit class got cancelled and that I’d like to stick around, but not if I’m just going to watch and not if I’m going to gum up the works by needing extra time to understand everything. The instructor (Mike, maybe?) says that it shouldn’t be a problem and, worse comes to worse, that maybe they can assign me to ancillary percussion for some of the songs.
Ancillary?
Like, oh, say, maybe, just for example, cuz I’m just spit-balling here, and just off the top of my head, oh, I don’t know: The fucking tympani?
Dammit.
So I spend the rest of class sitting next to Archie, who is a nicer person that I thought. He comes off as brash and a little imposing before you actually talk to him and that might be, in part because from moment one I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth about the class. From moment one, I’m unironically wondering what the hell I am doing there whilst noting that I don’t belong there (twice at the very end). Archie tells me a thing or two about drumming and about the song we’re working on, and he’s really nice, but it’s uncomfortable. I keep getting looks from people that I’m sure are mostly innocuous, but seem to have a hint of what could be confusion or pity, but I don’t know. Oh, and the song that we’re working on that day, the very first song on the very first day, in the Radiohead class where I’m not playing the drums. It’s “Let Down,” which is my favorite Radiohead song.
Good grief, people. Seriously: The very best of grief. I usually try to find the silver lining in all of the awkward situations and ironical whatnots that life throws at me, and I try to power through uncomfortable situations and find a way to learn from them. But, come the fuck on. Does it have to mirror my previous unfortunate drum class experience quite so much? And do I have to basically call myself out for not being good at drums whilst being shown up all in front of a cute girl (Vanessa, she’s French, and has a quirky Lisa Loeb-y vibe, and she likes Radiohead, so… just sayin’). And do we have to be doing my favorite Radiohead song and maybe favorite song of all time? The instructor should have, by now, just said “this class isn’t right for you, try to find something else.” In fact, everyone’s attitude could’ve been less all-inclusive and a bit more realistic for my taste.
So, bottom line, I can take a lot, but the combination of all of this stuff, I honestly almost throw up my hands a dozen times and quit (literally, I would have thrown up my hands, and maybe do that thing that Vegas dealers do when they’re leaving a table, who knows… heat of the moment kind of thing, I suppose).
But I don’t. And there’s some good and some bad in that choice.
First, there’s no way to walk out of a class without being a douchebag, especially if I did the Vegas dealer thing, which I’d probably have to stop and explain to everyone.
Second, everyone is being cool. The professor has like nine or ten people to deal with, and complex Radiohead music to teach and he’s making his job harder by trying to incorporate me.
Third, Archie keeps talking to me, keeps teaching me things, about the song and what sticks I should be using and on and on. He keeps saying that he’ll make room for me to be in the class if I want to be there and he keeps giving me examples of how my playing auxiliary instruments could be cool, really. Again, he’s a genuinely nice guy.
But then, right there in the middle of class, Mike the instructor is teaching the girl part of The European Power Couple (they show up a couple of minutes late, everyone knows them, and I think that his name is Max, maybe; they have similar accents of a confusing origin) how to play the bridge on the keyboard and everyone else is noodling around on their guitars and Archie is tapping the cymbals in a quiet, pleasant way, and all of the sudden everyone is playing this part. And eight people with eight different instruments, playing this confusing, airy, beautiful part of this great Radiohead song, all of them suddenly coming together; it is worth having paid to see. But it’s also pretty much the worst to sit by and just watch.
Class ends and I catch up with Mike to talk, and he’s on the run to do some planning for one of his, no lie, 13 classes and 24 private lessons (in one week), and we have the same conversation that we’d had at the beginning of class. And here’s me throughout, really: The class makes me a little uncomfortable but I’d like to stay if I can learn something but not if I’m going to slow down the process because I’m out of my depth which would make me uncomfortable and on and on working into a lather, and rinse, and repeat.
Mike tells me not to think about it for two days, which is an odd thing to say, it even makes me laugh a little in spite of myself. Specifically, two days: Don’t think about it. I agree, thank him and shake his hand and leave. And right here in this entry is where I’d really like to say that today (after my thought probation (or prohibition, whatever)) I thought about it and I’m totally going to go for it because nothing ventured and the sun’ll come out and unicorn poop and wishes and sparkles and elves. But I’m still not sure.
There are the facts of the situation, which is that yes, I’ll probably learn something and talk to people and be in a musical environment, and it’s technically a start. But then there’s how the class made me feel that I keep considering. It’s this impertinent, childish feeling of ‘it’s not fair’ that things didn’t turn out in the best possible way and why do I have to be this uncomfortable to learn to play the drum, huh life? And I wish I could have shaken that feeling off. But I didn’t. And I carried it out of Old Town, listening to grumpy music on my iPod, and onto the train platform where I pretended not to see Vanessa, even as she looked over at me several times. And home. Being out of my depth in so many ways, I just don’t know if I can positively spin that.
But today isn’t over yet, and I’m still trying to think it through in whatever objective way I can muster.
And the next song that they’re working on is “Knives Out,” which is pretty much the easiest song ever.
But, we’ll see.
Then I got an email on Wednesday informing me that the class was cancelled because not enough people had signed up.
I maybe should have left well enough alone, but I had a master plan here. Old Town also offers ensemble classes, which (to my understanding) were classes wherein they would instruct members of a band to play songs of one specific group. Even better, they offer one of (if not my all time) favorite bands as an ensemble class: Radiohead. I loves me some Radiohead, y’all. My plan was to brush up with some Drum Kit class and then sign right up for Radiohead Ensemble next term. After some back and forth with Old Town (wherein they assured me that my experience wasn’t going to be a problem and that I should just “go for it!” and what would turn out to be an ominous “sometimes those without experience make the best drummers!”) I decided to go ahead and jump into the ensemble class and maybe with a little extra practice and some good old gumption I could get by.
Not so much.
The ensemble classes are for people who already know what the fuck they’re doing but want to learn how to apply that knowledge of what the fuck they’re doing to a band setting. I figured this out about halfway through class, when I was in real danger of both crying and being assigned to the fucking tympani.
It’s the first week of classes, so the first 10 minutes of class is taken up by Bass VI students thinking that they’re in our classroom, then a Rock Ensemble woman standing in the doorway looking around for about three minutes. Then the Radiohead Ensemble class forms with six or seven folks (all with acoustic guitars) and little old me with my two humble drumsticks. And then Archie enters and he’s got a whole goddamn bag of drumsticks and his own drum seat. While I’ve quietly introduced myself to a few of the people there (the names have almost completely escaped me, though), Archie is greeted universally in a sort of Norm-from-Cheers way, he immediately heads over to the scattered pieces of the drum kit and starts putting them together.
Our instructor arrives; looking as though he has to concentrate very hard at all times just to remember where he is. He checks his notebook and looks at Archie, and then looks at me and then has that look on your face when you get home and set down all your groceries and remember that you meant to buy butter. And maybe also you remember that you left your baby in the car seat in the parking lot. We’re already running late but he calls Archie and me out into the hallway.
He says that usually the ensemble classes only have one drummer in them, but that they’ll figure out what to do as they go along. I take a moment to mention that I have no idea of what I’m doing and that I’m only there because Drum Kit class got cancelled and that I’d like to stick around, but not if I’m just going to watch and not if I’m going to gum up the works by needing extra time to understand everything. The instructor (Mike, maybe?) says that it shouldn’t be a problem and, worse comes to worse, that maybe they can assign me to ancillary percussion for some of the songs.
Ancillary?
Like, oh, say, maybe, just for example, cuz I’m just spit-balling here, and just off the top of my head, oh, I don’t know: The fucking tympani?
Dammit.
So I spend the rest of class sitting next to Archie, who is a nicer person that I thought. He comes off as brash and a little imposing before you actually talk to him and that might be, in part because from moment one I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth about the class. From moment one, I’m unironically wondering what the hell I am doing there whilst noting that I don’t belong there (twice at the very end). Archie tells me a thing or two about drumming and about the song we’re working on, and he’s really nice, but it’s uncomfortable. I keep getting looks from people that I’m sure are mostly innocuous, but seem to have a hint of what could be confusion or pity, but I don’t know. Oh, and the song that we’re working on that day, the very first song on the very first day, in the Radiohead class where I’m not playing the drums. It’s “Let Down,” which is my favorite Radiohead song.
Good grief, people. Seriously: The very best of grief. I usually try to find the silver lining in all of the awkward situations and ironical whatnots that life throws at me, and I try to power through uncomfortable situations and find a way to learn from them. But, come the fuck on. Does it have to mirror my previous unfortunate drum class experience quite so much? And do I have to basically call myself out for not being good at drums whilst being shown up all in front of a cute girl (Vanessa, she’s French, and has a quirky Lisa Loeb-y vibe, and she likes Radiohead, so… just sayin’). And do we have to be doing my favorite Radiohead song and maybe favorite song of all time? The instructor should have, by now, just said “this class isn’t right for you, try to find something else.” In fact, everyone’s attitude could’ve been less all-inclusive and a bit more realistic for my taste.
So, bottom line, I can take a lot, but the combination of all of this stuff, I honestly almost throw up my hands a dozen times and quit (literally, I would have thrown up my hands, and maybe do that thing that Vegas dealers do when they’re leaving a table, who knows… heat of the moment kind of thing, I suppose).
But I don’t. And there’s some good and some bad in that choice.
First, there’s no way to walk out of a class without being a douchebag, especially if I did the Vegas dealer thing, which I’d probably have to stop and explain to everyone.
Second, everyone is being cool. The professor has like nine or ten people to deal with, and complex Radiohead music to teach and he’s making his job harder by trying to incorporate me.
Third, Archie keeps talking to me, keeps teaching me things, about the song and what sticks I should be using and on and on. He keeps saying that he’ll make room for me to be in the class if I want to be there and he keeps giving me examples of how my playing auxiliary instruments could be cool, really. Again, he’s a genuinely nice guy.
But then, right there in the middle of class, Mike the instructor is teaching the girl part of The European Power Couple (they show up a couple of minutes late, everyone knows them, and I think that his name is Max, maybe; they have similar accents of a confusing origin) how to play the bridge on the keyboard and everyone else is noodling around on their guitars and Archie is tapping the cymbals in a quiet, pleasant way, and all of the sudden everyone is playing this part. And eight people with eight different instruments, playing this confusing, airy, beautiful part of this great Radiohead song, all of them suddenly coming together; it is worth having paid to see. But it’s also pretty much the worst to sit by and just watch.
Class ends and I catch up with Mike to talk, and he’s on the run to do some planning for one of his, no lie, 13 classes and 24 private lessons (in one week), and we have the same conversation that we’d had at the beginning of class. And here’s me throughout, really: The class makes me a little uncomfortable but I’d like to stay if I can learn something but not if I’m going to slow down the process because I’m out of my depth which would make me uncomfortable and on and on working into a lather, and rinse, and repeat.
Mike tells me not to think about it for two days, which is an odd thing to say, it even makes me laugh a little in spite of myself. Specifically, two days: Don’t think about it. I agree, thank him and shake his hand and leave. And right here in this entry is where I’d really like to say that today (after my thought probation (or prohibition, whatever)) I thought about it and I’m totally going to go for it because nothing ventured and the sun’ll come out and unicorn poop and wishes and sparkles and elves. But I’m still not sure.
There are the facts of the situation, which is that yes, I’ll probably learn something and talk to people and be in a musical environment, and it’s technically a start. But then there’s how the class made me feel that I keep considering. It’s this impertinent, childish feeling of ‘it’s not fair’ that things didn’t turn out in the best possible way and why do I have to be this uncomfortable to learn to play the drum, huh life? And I wish I could have shaken that feeling off. But I didn’t. And I carried it out of Old Town, listening to grumpy music on my iPod, and onto the train platform where I pretended not to see Vanessa, even as she looked over at me several times. And home. Being out of my depth in so many ways, I just don’t know if I can positively spin that.
But today isn’t over yet, and I’m still trying to think it through in whatever objective way I can muster.
And the next song that they’re working on is “Knives Out,” which is pretty much the easiest song ever.
But, we’ll see.
I'm only giving you advice that I give myself. Really, all of it could apply to me.
ReplyDeleteGo to the class. If you pay attention enough, you'll at least learn something about yourself (if not how to play the drums). Pay attention to the uncomfortable bits. Or, you know, just repeat them throughout life. <that part is sarcasm.
Oh, and for the love of...I mean...REALLY...don't ignore cute girls. Especially if they look at you. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Talk. To. Vanessa. My goodness.
You're Welcome. Oh, and this is just a big payback-Thank-You for all the times you helped me. Well, I didn't follow your advice most of the times it was given, but I did at least learn about me. So, there.