I was obsessively chasing foot speed, worshipping the masters and convincing myself it all had purpose. But the deeper I went, the more I had to confront what I’d been avoiding.
I Will Never be Vinnie nor Have the Fastest Feet
Almost every drummer corrupted by the DCI Music Videos of the 1980s puts themselves through a Vinnie phase — a self-imposed rite of passage when they try to emulate the unique drumming of Signor Vincenzo Colaiuta (yes, it’s an Italian surname: col-aye-ooh-ta). I flirted with my Vinnie phase during the last half of the 1990s, after his tenure with Sting. Not only did I have the pedals he used, but I also managed to get hold of one of his limited-edition Yamaha signature snare drums, still in its box and factory wrapper.
I was also similarly in admiration of Steve Smith and going through a heavy transformational educational process with legendary Manchester guru, Dave Hassell. There was no teenage-style hero worship involved at this point in my life. It was more an underlying frustration trying to understand the greatness of certain musicians, driven by a hunger to decipher it. Today, I view it as an unfortunate fork in the road which briefly led me down yet another rabbit warren of technical diversions.
Thankfully, my intense studies with Dave Hassell made sure I was suitably distracted from delving too deeply into the conundrums of Smith and Colaiuta. The hard work under Dave’s tutelage was paying off and my hand technique had finally transformed into a state which secured my playing future. The better my hands got, the less important the double-bass wizardry became. I was reinventing myself again.
Reinvention #5 (Hard Lessons)
As the new millennium turned, my years as a professional musician ended and I joined the world of ‘normal’ people. In addition, I made the decision to step away from doing all gigs until I felt the need — if ever — to return. If I was going to gig again, it had to be because I wanted to do it. This career change also gave me the space I’d long needed to reflect on the ups and downs of the last decade. It was an opportunity to reflect on the hard lessons learned and to reset my creative compass.
Confronting and Owning My Mistakes
The next few years gave me ample opportunity to look back at some of the selfish decisions I’d made behind the kit, as a wannabe double-bass drummer. This period of self-reflection was necessary for me to acknowledge my juvenile mistakes before moving on to my next musical chapters. I had spent too many years putting my own needs first at the expense of the music I was being trusted to be a part of.
It was very much a liberating experience, looking back at my past life and cringing at the foolish attempts made trying to fit double-bass fills into songs which really didn’t need them. I recalled the feelings of absolute frustration when my feet would fail me, despite how much time I’d sacrificed practising for those moments of glory. I remembered the solitary post-gig journeys home when I’d cross-examine myself, dissecting my failures, vowing to get them right next time. Worst of all were the times on stage when I’d play a fill to perfection, only to undermine myself with another foot failure a few moments later. Every gig would become a fresh psychological roller-coaster with the music riding as the neglected passenger.
This circular behaviour repeated from gig to gig and at no time would I consider how my self-interest might be affecting the music for the rest of the players. I had no right to abuse my role on stage and should have known better.
Then there was the embarrassment of remembering my dirty little secret — an imported Virgil Donati instruction-video. God knows how much time I’d wasted delving into the Australian’s trick-bag, before trying to create my own mathematical riddles for the feet. It wasn’t like I was involved with any bands playing the sort of music which would benefit from such absurdity.
But worst of all were the indelible marks my ‘imaginative’ fills left on a handful of CD releases. These are by far the mistakes I still feel the most shame for. The songs deserved better.
Apart from a very short period when I was involved in music which required the sonic intensity two bass drums can bring, I never really had a valid reason to take a double-pedal outside of my practice room. Such extreme statements made behind the kit do not translate well into more subtle styles of songwriting.
Despite being very much aware of the mantra “less is more”, I would remain in denial of the truth until the new century had kicked in.
The Billy Ward Intervention
For those who don’t know who Billy Ward is (not the Sabs legend), he released a revolutionary drum instruction DVD in 2004 called Big Time. His concepts were very close to my own (especially about drum set ergonomics), and it was clear we had a lot in common in how we approached the role of ‘drummer’. He was of the game in every respect and like me, he played a DW 5000 double pedal. He also used to keep a great forum on his website and was personally involved with the discussions.
In 2006, I basically hijacked a thread from someone asking about Billy’s double-bass techniques. I waded in, expressing my own frustrations about whether I should have even bought a double-pedal. My post was long and rambling, but Billy saw a man in need and graciously replied:
Lose the second pedal. It will force you to be musical with one foot — you will build it up. If you (down the road) miss the second pedal, you can get it out and use it again. It will come back to you — IT’S NOT ABOUT ANYTHING OTHER THAN THE MUSIC! You will have fun again, I think. (FWIW, I don’t even BRING my 2nd pedal to most work — especially sessions.)
The man is a genius (even though he will deny the accolade).
Space – The Final Frontier
On a drum history note, by the start of the new millennium, double-bass drumming had taken on the qualities of an Olympic sport. The World’s Fastest Drummer event had been established and Tim Waterson was hitting speeds down below which no one would have comprehended during the time of Louis Bellson. In addition, puts themself throughthe metal music genres were becoming more and more extreme in terms of speed and subsonic frequencies. Due to the average bass drum register having to exist in the same space as tuned-down guitars, it became necessary to blend a triggered sample with an acoustic bass drum to achieve a ‘clicky’ high-end frequency for cutting through the mix.
To my ears, this had less to do with musical performance and more in common with producing a special effect. The barrage of machine-gunning 16ᵗʰ notes was an irritation to my ears, along with the spaceless soundscapes which accommodated them. A list of mental questions to myself followed:
- Was it impressive, technical execution? Yes.
- Could I do it? No.
- Did I want to do it? No.
In fact, the sound of fast ’n’ clicky double-bass drum licks really started to irritate and annoy me. I didn’t want to listen to myself doing them, let alone anyone else! I had moved on and my ears were entering a new stage of maturity; yet my underlying insecurities were still holding me back.
Despite the advice from Billy Ward, I still couldn’t quite let go of my self-imposed identity as a ‘double-bass drummer’. The years of forcing the double-pedal to be part of my individuality had become a psychological crutch, and I was trapped in my own echo chamber. A circular thought pattern of reasoning would continue to torment me:
“You’ve spent years learning it so you’ve got to seek opportunities to use it. If you don’t use it you’ll lose the skills and have wasted your time. And who cares if you don’t play any music needing two bass drums? You can still throw a few licks in every gig to prove you can still do it.”
This obsessive mantra would keep me from heeding the Billy Ward advice. Even when I retired my original US-made DW pedal as a permanent fixture on my electronic practice kit, my chosen replacement was the latest version of the same pedal. Without giving any consideration to the purchase, I blindly accepted DW’s latest Taiwanese-manufactured version of the 5000 double-pedal. It even came with design changes I would grow to dislike, including the new double-chain and the wider footboard.
I really needed something to drag me out of my self-imposed pedal purgatory.
[End of Part 4] Things are about to get better – but not before they get a little bit worse! Part 5 of this saga brings a dalliance with spinal injury to force some clarity into my direction of travel.
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