I wasn’t very familiar with the Rush catalogue, but because of the Fifty Something tour and Annika Nilles being chosen as the drummer for that tour, it piqued my interest. And I’d better get this out of the way up front: I am not a prog-rock devotee. Some of that genre I dig, and some…
I’m not a doom-and-gloom guy. Hell, I’m not even a skeptic. I’m a run-of-the-mill drummer. That comes with a certain amount of common sense. A little realism. You learn things. You watch things happen. You figure out eventually that some things are going to work and some things aren’t. And when something’s over, it’s over.…
I’ve got a hypothesis. Three kinds of performers. The first kind loves the before. Rehearsal. Exploration. Discovery. Tightening the screws. Finding the flaw. Fixing the flaw. Running it again. And again. Getting the thing damn near perfect before anybody sees it. The second kind lives for the show. That’s where the juice is. The lights.…
You lose people. That’s the deal. Over a lifetime, they go. Relatives. Friends. Parents. People welded into the architecture of your life. Then strangers. People you never met. Never spoke to. Never knew. And somehow they hit you. You don’t know why. When you’re young, death is somebody else’s problem. You’re bulletproof. Immortal by default.…
Be a little feral with the kit. Not loud for loud’s sake — nah, that was for the posers who thought volume equaled soul. Play like the drum like it owes you money and you were there to collect with interest. Your right foot lives on the bass drum pedal like it was born there,…
Drumming is brutal. It’s physical as hell — shoulders, wrists, back, legs, ankles all grinding through hours of repetitive impact. You push for that groove, that speed, that power. But when something tears, strains, or just plain breaks? Whether from slamming the kit too hard or some dumb accident off the stool, the decision hits…
The lights dim. Smoke hangs low like bad conscience. Gavin Harrison steps up, sticks in hand, kit gleaming like a loaded .45. No flash. No apology. Just purpose. Cold. Hard. Unfuckingbreakable. I saw him live. Twice. The room pulsed. Air thick with sweat and expectation. He didn’t play for applause. He didn’t chase notes like…
Start simple. Stay consistent. Quality trumps quantity. 10–20 minutes daily. No marathon slogs. No excuses. Focus on the essentials first. Master the big four. Before you chase the full 40 PAS rudiments. Single Stroke Roll. Double Stroke Roll. Flams Paradiddle. Inversions. All of ’em. These three stalk every style. Jazz. Rock. Metal. Funk. They unlock…
You’re practicing like crazy. Rudiments. Funny licks. Repeats on loop. Faster. Faster. Hell, stick flip. Show-off shit. Stage lights hit. Someone calls it. Blues. Shuffle. God forbid. Polio hands. Stiff. Spastic. Sound like a cripple. What the fuck? Wrong practice. All wrong. Drum shit. Forget it. Practice music. Time. Pocket. Feel. Before the beat. On…
