My Drumming
Recently I received a compliment on my drumming from an artist I have tremendous respect for. This meant a lot. I don't think about what I'm doing when I play. I just try and pound the hell out of the things. Here's an allegorical story to describe how I think I play.
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There's a guy at a party who's been acting weird, very nervous and fidgety. People around him are starting to wonder if he's "on something", and not just the standard fare. He's being saying weird shit all night, and it's getting weirder. The dude's kinda funny, actually.
Now he's running around a lot and he's really hyper. He's out of control, but people still find it funny. He tears up the stairs, onto the roof of the very tall building where the party is happening. A few curious onlookers follow him up. Might be good for a chuckle.
On the roof, his talk has become crazy. He's saying things like how he's the king of the world. How he killed God, and now he's the new God. How he's invincible, and was going to prove it by flying.
This is just an absolute lark to everyone around the guy. Until they notice that he's taken off all his clothes and is very near the edge of the building. Now it's starting to not be so funny. He's pacing around like a caged animal, taking bigger and bigger strides, talking louder and crazier like he's building toward some dangerous climax.
A couple of the watchers on the roof try and convince him to come back downstairs, but his violent reaction quickly convinces them that the situation is out of hand. Two guys try to lead him to safety, but he struggles as if they were trying to take his life. He seems to have acquired superhuman strength, and they're unable to subdue him. He's dragging them with him, closer and closer to the edge of the building.
A girl watching this scene is terrified and screams for help from the people downstairs. A number of guys appear on the scene and help subdue the frenzied party-goer. It takes no less than eight of them to drag him back down the stairs. He's screaming threats to destroy the universe with a swipe of his hand. How he's going to kill every one of them and rip out their entrails with his bare hands.
The captors are able to force him into a room with no windows. They throw him on the floor and quickly lock the door behind him. He is pounding frantically on the door, trying to get out. The people at the party feel afraid. They prop large pieces of furniture against the door.
For the next hour, the people hear from behind the door sounds of human misery they have not experienced. His screams are incoherent. He is obviously in tremendous physical and mental agony. It sounds as if he is smashing everything in the room.
Eventually the sounds stop. Some quiet sobbing is heard before the locked room goes silent. No one can sleep.
Morning comes. The people outside move the furniture and open the door to see if their friend is ok.
The room is a scene of complete destruction. Everything in it has been smashed. There are dozens of blood-smeared holes in the wall. The friend is alive, starting to come to. He is calm. His body is badly broken from what he had put himself through. He does not seem to be bleeding, yet there is blood everywhere. Shards of glass and porcelain protrude visibly from all parts of his body. There is a massive, oozing wound at the centre of his forehead. His feet are covered in blood. His hands are bloody and disfigured, and if he had punched a solid object long after the point of bones breaking. One of the girls starts to cry when she sees him.
He looks up at the group, unable to show much emotion.
"I guess I got kind of fucked up last night, huh?"
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Anyway, that's what I think my drumming is like. And it's a typical example of the type of thing I think about at work.
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There's a guy at a party who's been acting weird, very nervous and fidgety. People around him are starting to wonder if he's "on something", and not just the standard fare. He's being saying weird shit all night, and it's getting weirder. The dude's kinda funny, actually.
Now he's running around a lot and he's really hyper. He's out of control, but people still find it funny. He tears up the stairs, onto the roof of the very tall building where the party is happening. A few curious onlookers follow him up. Might be good for a chuckle.
On the roof, his talk has become crazy. He's saying things like how he's the king of the world. How he killed God, and now he's the new God. How he's invincible, and was going to prove it by flying.
This is just an absolute lark to everyone around the guy. Until they notice that he's taken off all his clothes and is very near the edge of the building. Now it's starting to not be so funny. He's pacing around like a caged animal, taking bigger and bigger strides, talking louder and crazier like he's building toward some dangerous climax.
A couple of the watchers on the roof try and convince him to come back downstairs, but his violent reaction quickly convinces them that the situation is out of hand. Two guys try to lead him to safety, but he struggles as if they were trying to take his life. He seems to have acquired superhuman strength, and they're unable to subdue him. He's dragging them with him, closer and closer to the edge of the building.
A girl watching this scene is terrified and screams for help from the people downstairs. A number of guys appear on the scene and help subdue the frenzied party-goer. It takes no less than eight of them to drag him back down the stairs. He's screaming threats to destroy the universe with a swipe of his hand. How he's going to kill every one of them and rip out their entrails with his bare hands.
The captors are able to force him into a room with no windows. They throw him on the floor and quickly lock the door behind him. He is pounding frantically on the door, trying to get out. The people at the party feel afraid. They prop large pieces of furniture against the door.
For the next hour, the people hear from behind the door sounds of human misery they have not experienced. His screams are incoherent. He is obviously in tremendous physical and mental agony. It sounds as if he is smashing everything in the room.
Eventually the sounds stop. Some quiet sobbing is heard before the locked room goes silent. No one can sleep.
Morning comes. The people outside move the furniture and open the door to see if their friend is ok.
The room is a scene of complete destruction. Everything in it has been smashed. There are dozens of blood-smeared holes in the wall. The friend is alive, starting to come to. He is calm. His body is badly broken from what he had put himself through. He does not seem to be bleeding, yet there is blood everywhere. Shards of glass and porcelain protrude visibly from all parts of his body. There is a massive, oozing wound at the centre of his forehead. His feet are covered in blood. His hands are bloody and disfigured, and if he had punched a solid object long after the point of bones breaking. One of the girls starts to cry when she sees him.
He looks up at the group, unable to show much emotion.
"I guess I got kind of fucked up last night, huh?"
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Anyway, that's what I think my drumming is like. And it's a typical example of the type of thing I think about at work.
posted by the baron ash von foolishness at 11:58 PM
1 Comments:
Sorry if that was a little gruesome. I guess I see playing music live as standing on the precipice of total insanity. You're close enough to imagine a situation like the above, but you know enough not to cross that line.
It's fun to walk close to it though. And liberating.
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