I’ve written often about the generosity of drummers when it comes to sharing their knowledge. What I haven’t emphasized, perhaps (until now), is that the greatest gifts we can receive from other musicians rarely have to do with matters of musical technique. In fact, the topic of drumming per se was a total conversation-stopper whenever I would chat with the late, great Tony Williams. On a couple of occasions when I went out to see and hear Tony play, I was blown away by his drumming (of course), and felt compelled to compliment and thank him — the best way, I thought, to show my respect for him. Tony would always be warm and welcoming (we met when I had first joined Weather Report, and he was friendly and supportive towards me) whenever we would encounter each other. For whatever reason, however, his eyes would dim immediately as soon as I brought up any mention of his drumming. He simply wasn’t interested in hearing anything about that. (Matt Wilson told me a wonderful story about a friend of his who went up to Tony after a set that Tony played, and began his question to Tony with the usual “thank you for the music” expression of gratitude and respect, along with the appropriate accolades, etc., but then followed with the question “Tony, how can I play those fast tempos like you do?” Looking up in exasperation from whatever he was doing, Tony bellowed: “PRACTICE!”)
Back to my last encounter with Tony: I had read an interview with Tony in Modern Drummer magazine where he spoke at length about taking time off from drumming so that he could study musical composition and orchestration. Tony was very proud of this, and with excellent reason: his composing and orchestrating skills were in full blossom, the result of all of his earlier musical training, experiences, and recent dedication to those art forms. And so I began my conversation after his set with a comment about how inspiring it was to read that he (Tony) was so earnestly studying composition. His eyes lit up, and we got into a wonderful conversation about counterpoint, orchestration, film scores (Tony and I shared an enthusiastic appreciation for the music of Hollywood composers Max Steiner and Erich Wolfgang Korngold), etc. We were chattering away like two enthusiastic kids until I made the mistake of somehow bringing up his drumming, and he immediately got that far away look in his eyes. I excused myself to give him some between-set space and never saw him again after that.
I don’t know why Tony was like this with me; former Williams group trumpeter Wallace Roney seemed surprised when I mentioned this to him, claiming that Tony was always eager to talk drumming with other drummers. Perhaps we all seek out in others what our instincts tell us to. In any event, I do know that if Tony and I had exchanged small talk about the drums, it would have been pleasant and memorable, simply by virtue of the legend he was. But to have enjoyed his attention, speaking about matters that carried him away from the — dare I say it? — humdrum of drumming, well, I’ll always be grateful for his confidence and enthusiasm about this other side of his artistry and humanity. Tony’s first orchestral endeavor and final album is titled Wilderness. Tony was dedicated to music, and the drumming world lost its conscience, the guiding light that was to carry us onward after Max Roach and the like. Tony was beyond genius and his drumming is beyond time.
Little-known fact: Tony was not happy with the way he played on the original Weather Report tracking sessions for Mr. Gone. According to Zawinul, Tony flew back to L.A. with his drums at his own expense and went back into the studio to play the tracks that are now heard on that album.
51. More Talk About Life and Art
FROM AN INTERVIEW WITH HUNGARIAN JOURNALIST MARCZELL KATALIN
Cegléd, Hungary
Best Western Aquarel Hotel
16 May 2010
P.E.: John Abercrombie was one of the most instructive musicians, and the time period spent with him one of the most valuable for me. Learning how to let go more and become a more fluid player became job number one because the devices I was used to using didn’t work with him. So I began to learn not to play out of muscle habit, and to change my touch, even my awareness of time. A lot of the music we played — John, Marc Johnson, and myself — had very flexible time: we would speed up and slow down and do all sorts of things to stretch the fabric of the music. But the only way this would work, from my point of view, was if we had a strong core of understanding about time. The most expressive poets have a good understanding of how language works on a basic level, even though their approach may not be formal or even abstract. Any work of art relies on an inherent structure or structural integrity. A Zen painting with just two or three lines, simple though it may be, is a complex series of forces at work that make the Zen piece of art beautiful compared to when just anyone puts two lines on a piece of canvas.
[I’m pausing a lot between thoughts here.]
M.K.: It’s not easy to talk about!
P.E.: Yes, it’s like the old joke: talking about music is like someone trying to dance about architecture.
In terms of teaching, much of what I’m doing with my students with requiring them to approach their drumming in the most basic of terms and getting them to think about time is meant to be a process. When you strengthen your inner clock, you learn to respect the spaces between notes.
I do a demonstration in my classes, an exercise from theatre director Peter Brook that he writes about in one of his books. You get ten people, and you give each one of them a single word from the most famous speech in Hamlet: “To be or not to be, that is the question.” So one person says “To,” the next one “be,” the third “or,” and so on. All words come out like this without fail when you say “Action!”: “To…be…or…not…to…be…that…is…the …question.” And you say: “Okay, there was a steady rhythm there, but it’s not at all musical. “To be…or not to be…” So, real musical rhythm comes when you listen to the note that’s been played before you, and you know when and where to place your note — and you listen to the note that comes after! This is how ensembles swing or rock or funk or whatever. It’s really all about listening and having a strong enough understanding of where the beat is. You can intentionally pull on the fabric of time, pushing at the edge of the tempo. This could be achieved even harmonically: Ron Carter was a very good example, the way he played with Miles (Davis); that’s what he would do: push the pitch of a note, and depending on where he placed it — and the way Tony Williams responded — this all contributes to creating a lot of surface tension. And it is tension that requires resolution of some sort: tension – release – tension – release… Almost like a heartbeat! This is why poetic music is ultimately much more satisfying than marching bands or disco, because in most of that music there’s no syncopation, it’s just (beating on the table: beat — beat — beat — beat). There’s not a whole lot there besides the pounding pulse. Music requires a steady beat, but it also needs flexibility. Time awareness is not about trying to play like a metronome. If I play precisely, it’s because I try to play with clarity and I try to choose my notes very well. Some players do it other ways — I’m not saying that my way is the right way or the only way, it’s just the way I like to do it — and the way, I think, a lot of other musicians like. The most common compliment or comment that I get from other musicians is, “Wow, you made that very easy for us to play!”
M.K.: I talked to a bass player you played with when you were in Hungary last time: Viktor Hárs. He told me when you played with the Budapest Jazz Orchestra, you prepared everything so well that it was almost impossible to make a mistake. And I asked him: What can Peter Erskine do that other drummers don’t? And he said: “He does what others do, but what he does is in its place.”
P.E.: All I’m trying to do is to listen, but it’s also an architectural approach, let me put it that way. And some drummers don’t do this, and it’s fantastic that they don’t. They play very expressively in their own way.
I always try to be aware of the arc, or shape of the piece of music, and I think this is why, ultimately, I have some of the most fun playing in a large ensemble. It’s a nice playhouse to be in. Trios are great, I love trios. I’m one of
the few drummers who like to go so much back and forth between these two vastly different-sized ensembles. Another drummer who does both is Jeff Hamilton. He has his big band and his trio. His trio thing is very much like the Ray Brown Trio — great stuff but not really my cup of tea. I like trios that have a lot more mystery, and are not so — what’s the word? — so obvious or arranged. I like what we don’t say, that’s more interesting to me. So it’s almost anti-drumming in that context. Which again takes us back to the whole time awareness thing. It’s what you don’t play that makes everything else work. If you play everything, supply every bit of information, there’s nothing left for the imagination of the audience! You’re playing a form of musical pornography at that point, right?
M.K.: Is there a willing audience for that kind of music?
P.E.: For pornography? Sure. For poetry? That, too!
M.K.: But it’s not easy for everyone to listen to that kind of music, to be in it!
P.E.: No, no, but you’re inviting them into the discussion. You’re respecting their intelligence. You know, in jazz clubs where people want to have a drink or eat dinner, or talk [all of the time], it’s tough. You’re spending time selling the music or ignoring the audience as much as possible. But we do have some clubs, actually one or two in Los Angeles, where people really come to listen. And it’s always the most fun to play there. Unfortunately, one of them is situated on the second floor of the building, so I have to carry my drums upstairs. But it’s worth it, because people really come to listen, so you all become part of the evening.
However: if you want to hear good Puccini, you go to Milan — and, if you want to hear really good jazz, you go to New York! When I was in Weather Report, I said to Joe that an opportunity has come up for me to move to New York, and I realized that this would probably put an end to my being in Weather Report, and Joe said: “Hey, man, if you really want to be a jazz musician, you have to go to New York, so this has to happen at some point for you.” And so our parting was quite amicable in that way. He was very happy that I went to New York, because he knew it was going to be good for me.
M.K.: So you decided to become a jazz musician after Weather Report?
P.E.: Well, I think I’ve always wanted to be one, but I realized when I was in Weather Report and I was also doing other session work, that I was unable to play the way I wanted to, the way my hope or imagination wished or heard inside my brain. And I had to get out of playing in such a loud band, and had to start working with musicians who were presenting different challenges, and also more of an invitation to write music and to make those kinds of mistakes I felt I couldn’t make onstage with Weather Report. WR was a very improvised thing but also a big show. And it was difficult to play this music that had so much flexibility but also had so much volume; the old Weather Report wasn’t that loud. So basically, I had to get myself in a situation where I wasn’t playing with so much muscle. And because the level of competition is so intense in New York, if you survive, you have to become a better player. And it was my good luck getting to work with John Abercrombie; I felt he really was the gateway for me. Becoming part of the ECM family for a few years, working with Kenny Wheeler, Dave Holland, John Taylor, Palle Danielson, and Marc Johnson, of course — they really became the essential part of the process for me trying to learn how to listen.
I remember one recording session with Manfred Eicher; Manfred could be a very demanding producer. We just finished an album with the band Bass Desires, and we came into the studio after a tour and were playing really well, we knew all the music — you know, we sounded quite good. And then I stayed in Oslo to do an album with Gary Peacock, Jan Garbarek, and Palle Mikkelborg the next day. So we begin and recorded the first tune, and when we listened to it, the drumming sounded terrible to me! And I couldn’t figure out why, only knowing that it sounded like someone doing a really bad imitation of Jack DeJohnette or Jon Christensen. Manfred saw my reaction and he came over to me, pulled me aside, and said, “It’s going to be okay, just listen. All you have to do is listen, and you’ll know what to do.” So that was one of those great lessons: I can’t play what I think I’m supposed to play; I should just play what the music tells me to play. There’s a big difference. And of course, many drummers play what they think they’re supposed to play. Especially at these drum events; I find myself doing it, too. […] take a deep breath: what do I really want to hear if I listen to this back? So it makes it easy to give good advice to my students: It’s simple: play what you would like to hear. Don’t worry about someone else’s expectation. Some of my colleague professors say: “Play more like this or that drummer!” My approach is quite different from that.
M.K.: No imitation?
P.E.: Imitation is an important part of it. And you have to listen to these guys, but I say, “I don’t want to hear you play like Jeff Watts or whoever. I want to hear you play like you. So what vocabulary will you use, and what choices will you make, what is the song telling you to do?” Now, if you’re doing repertory, playing a Basie chart or something from the ’30s, like a Fletcher Henderson chart, then you play it in that style and try to use that vocabulary — and you’ll learn a lot by doing that. But listening will bring any musician his or her own voice quicker than anything else — listening and playing.
I was touring with Palle Danielson and the great British pianist John Taylor, and in the midst of our concert tour we played at a so-called “drum meeting” in Prague. The other musicians there were all drum clinic soloists. John and Palle had never seen anything like this, and it made absolutely no sense to them. “Why are these people playing like this?” Good question: I don’t know — I guess to show off.
M.K.: But at least it wasn’t pornographic…
P.E.: Yeah, it wasn’t pornographic, but it’s not much different from going to a shopping center and there’s someone demonstrating a karate move, where he can break nine bricks at one time. That’s really amazing, but — who cares?
The reason for my visit to Hungary was to be present for the opening of the Peter Erskine Lifetime Achievement exhibit at the famed Drum Museum that is located in the city of Cegléd. Here is a portion of the press release:
The Drum Museum in Cegléd, Hungary recently unveiled a lifetime achievement exhibition honoring the work of drummer Peter Erskine, titled “40 Years at the Top.” Present at the gala opening on May 14 were Peter Erskine, museum founder and curator Sándor Kármán, the Cultural Attaché for the U.S. Embassy John O. Balian, plus a crowd of 200 persons in the City Hall of Cegléd, which is located outside of Budapest. Cegléd is often referred to as the Mecca of drummers due to the fact that it has hosted Europe's only drum museum since 1992, and the International Drum and Percussion Gala that has been organized in its sports arena since 1993.
Erskine donated a large collection of instruments and memorabilia, spanning his entire career as drummer, recording artist, record producer, musical instrument innovator, composer and educator. Erskine is also the founder of Fuzzy Music, a CD label that has come to represent what an artist-owned label may achieve.
It was nice to not be dead for something like this. Seriously, it was all very humbling and quite nice.
52. USC
I have been teaching drums at the University of Southern California’s Thornton School of Music since 2002. The big news now at USC is that we are teaching beginning drumset as part of a new degree requirement: all popular music performance majors are REQUIRED to master basic drumming techniques and drumset beats. We teach eight students at a time in a drum lab setup, much like an electronic keyboard lab where the instructor will have a headset and communicate with students individually or collectively. This class is fast becoming one of the most popular music courses at USC. In one semester’s time enrollment grew from 16 to 64 students, and we’re adding more sections or class times every year. My books Drumset Essentials, Volume 1 and Time Awareness for All Musicians are the textbooks for the class. The history of contemporary music is so intertwined with the
development of the drumset and drumbeats, and we’re teaching all of that.
My private students are all great — excellent players and inquisitive students. The school’s jazz department is a strong magnet, and it has been attracting some terrific players. I asked one of them once why a particular recording was so good; the recording in question was Keith Jarrett’s “Common Mama” on the album Expectations with Paul Motian playing drums in a hypnotic and compellingly modern way; “uncommon” would be a word for it. But my student does me one better: “It’s great because Paul Motian is letting the music do all of the work.”
I’m getting paid to teach, but I feel as though I’m the one who’s learning.
However, I can get impatient with some of my students. I’ll say, “Yeah, your drumming is fine; you’re doing all the right drumming stuff. And I’m sick of drumming like that. Let’s make some music, and don’t just play what you’re used to playing. Don’t keep reacting the way you always react because when any instrumentalist — drummers, especially — start feeling uncomfortable, they start sounding very much like the way they did in high school. You know, ‘Oh man, what am I going to do?’ And you can get beyond that: you don’t have to fall back on the stuff you know. Don’t play what you know; play what you don’t know.”
I am proud to teach with my colleagues Ndugu Chancler, Roy McCurdy, Alan Pasqua, Bob Mintzer, Patrice Rushen, Alphonso Johnson, and drummer and percussionist Aaron Serfaty. We have a great dean who supports us, and a better-than-ever jazz school.
53. Whither Jazz Goest?
On a recent morning I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the kitchen of our home, my wife sitting across the table from me, also with cup in hand. We were about to walk our dog, but somehow the conversation underway steered itself towards matters of musical aesthetics, and your faithful correspondent was off and running in the talking department. When my wife asked, “What’s so bad about an artist like Kenny G if he manages to get people more curious or interested about jazz?” I replied, “Fair enough, but shall we brew another pot of coffee while we’re at it?”
No Beethoven: An Autobiography & Chronicle of Weather Report Page 18