A potential career-ending injury became the wake-up call I needed to rebuild everything — not just my technique, but my sense of self behind the kit.
Reinvention #6 (Rebirth)
The words of Billy Ward did eventually find a gap through my stubborn resistance to let go of the past, but only after experiencing the excruciating pain of sciatica. A disc in my lower back had dislodged and trapped my sciatic nerve, with devastating results. After three days of limited mobility, I started to walk again to discover I could no longer stand on tiptoe on my right foot.
The sciatic nerve acts as a conduit for the brain to send instructional information to the leg muscles to make them do their job. Unfortunately, my injury had damaged the tibial nerve branch to the calf muscles in my right leg, which controls the plantar-flexion movement in the foot. Not only was I unable to stand on tip-toe, but any bass drum technique relying on motions using the ball of my foot was impossible to execute. Whilst I could control my ankle movement to make flat-footed strokes, the muscles running through my sole to my toes were completely incapacitated. I had essentially lost most of my bass drum technique in an instant.
I wasn’t completely out of the game though. I had already started the overdue process of improving my single-pedal technique with a mix of movements, including both ‘heel-up’ and ‘heel-down’. However, this sudden disability forced me into re-evaluating how I could continue playing. The only option I had, was to concentrate on developing my ‘heel-down’ technique and play flat-footed.
This turned out to be easier than I thought and my ability as a flat-footer advanced very quickly. In fact, the mysterious Freddie Gruber ‘floating’ technique (as used by Steve Smith) came very easily without reliance on the disconnected muscles. It would be months before my brain routed new pathways to hook up with the calf muscles and restore full strength to my foot.
When I finally regained full plantar-flexion ability, it became clear things had changed down below on a permanent basis. Whilst my pedal technique had adapted to a newer, more advanced heel-down style, my previous ability to play confident heel-up strokes had disappeared. Despite this, I figured I had come out the other side with a better foot technique than I had before the nerve damage. Perhaps, my temporary disability had been a blessing in disguise?
Learning to Accept my Own Uniqueness
It has taken nearly four decades for me to realise my role as a drummer has always been defined by the music I’m asked to play and by the musicians I play it with. This reasoning should have been the driving factor for my decision-making when choosing the tools for my craft – but it never was.
When we are young, we gravitate towards replicating our heroes without realising the value of developing our own sound. Very few of us harbour the idea of discovering our own uniqueness when there are icons to follow. Once you throw your lot in on a journey of emulation, obsession often takes over until you forget about your own identity. The idea of having your own identity becomes devalued because you create unnecessary benchmarks to reach, as defined by your heroes.
Whilst I chose a double-pedal to try and make me stand out from my local contemporaries, I spent too many years in denial about it being the wrong choice. It took at least 30 years to discover my true identity as a player and to have enough self-belief to stop following trends. However, I don’t think I could have done this without collaborating with other musicians who were enlightened enough to see me through different eyes.
2005 was a turning point for me. I started to work with an older bass player, Steve Brown (d. 2013). After our first couple of gigs together, Steve immediately saw in me, the qualities I was oblivious to. Our subsequent musical partnership spanned 8 years during which, I finally discovered what made me a drummer other musicians wanted to play with.
My ability to partner seamlessly with a bass player was second to none. In reality, I was aware of this many, many years ago – but what a boring skill to have when there were so many more outrageous drumming statements to get you noticed! Playing with Steve finally nailed down the coffin lid on those foolish diversions of the past.
Even more astonishing, was my new awareness of the space to be found in music and where I should exist within that space. I had developed the skill to be able to listen to everything being played by the other musicians and to know where I could tread without stepping on their toes. All of a sudden, I morphed into a selfless drummer with my own identity and the self-confidence not to care what other drummers might think. I was finally free to start letting go of the past.
[End of Part 5]
One comment