Drumming Up A Storm
That's what every cop says...ok, I'll try to be brief...
I went with a young drummer friend of mine (we were in a band together at the time, me on bass...) to a Steve Gadd drum clinic at the west side Holiday Inn in Denver in 1985...the place was packed with drummers, and Gadd was magnificent...great stories, great instruction, good question and answer stuff...and of course, the drumming was otherworldly. After an hour, he asked if he might take a short break and come back; the Zildjian rep who was travelling with him (and seemed to be in charge of the proceedings) okayed it. My buddy was a bit of a health freak and wasn't up for a beer, but I was ready for one, and didn't notice the small table in the corner of the room dispensing...so I wandered out into the hall and down to the main bar in the Lobby...which was deserted except for the bartender, the Zildjian guy, and Steve. I sat at the first seat at the bar, they were at the opposite end...I ordered a beer and told the bartender I wanted to buy Steve one of whatever he was having. When he got the drink (set next to his first one), he motioned for me to come down and sit with them and asked me if he knew me. I assured him no, that I was just a player who had come to learn something and just to be able to hear him play. We talked for a few minutes, and then they excused themselves and went back towards the clinic through another door. I finished my beer and got back to my seat in the big room. I told my buddy what had happened, and we settled down to wait for the clinic to resume...Minutes began to turn into, well a lot more minutes, until things began to get uncomfortable. Finally, Steve reappeared and sat back at the drums. He unleashed a fusillade that brought the room to awed silence, and then wild applause. When things quieted back down, he sat for a time staring into middle space, and then slowly began to speak. And he was utterly hammered, I mean blasted. He tortuously made his way through sentences that weren't sentences, really, and ranted a bit about how without knowing about this cat or that cat in New York you were probably never gonna get it, and at times seeming on the verge of an emotional breakdown and then going catatonic. Well, needless to say, the whole roomful of young wannabe's were quite put off and disgusted and the Zildjian rep looked none-too-pleased...a wierd time was had by all...I meant to go back and ask the bartender what Steve'd been drinking, but I thought that might be pushin' it. My young friend knew about my role and gave me hell about it for some time. The really amazing thing was that Gadd's drumming wasn't affected at all...ah, that ol' human brain...
So that's it, I promise...the only two famous musicians I ever bought drinks for were Steve Gadd and Jaco Pastorius...I swear to Dog.
I went with a young drummer friend of mine (we were in a band together at the time, me on bass...) to a Steve Gadd drum clinic at the west side Holiday Inn in Denver in 1985...the place was packed with drummers, and Gadd was magnificent...great stories, great instruction, good question and answer stuff...and of course, the drumming was otherworldly. After an hour, he asked if he might take a short break and come back; the Zildjian rep who was travelling with him (and seemed to be in charge of the proceedings) okayed it. My buddy was a bit of a health freak and wasn't up for a beer, but I was ready for one, and didn't notice the small table in the corner of the room dispensing...so I wandered out into the hall and down to the main bar in the Lobby...which was deserted except for the bartender, the Zildjian guy, and Steve. I sat at the first seat at the bar, they were at the opposite end...I ordered a beer and told the bartender I wanted to buy Steve one of whatever he was having. When he got the drink (set next to his first one), he motioned for me to come down and sit with them and asked me if he knew me. I assured him no, that I was just a player who had come to learn something and just to be able to hear him play. We talked for a few minutes, and then they excused themselves and went back towards the clinic through another door. I finished my beer and got back to my seat in the big room. I told my buddy what had happened, and we settled down to wait for the clinic to resume...Minutes began to turn into, well a lot more minutes, until things began to get uncomfortable. Finally, Steve reappeared and sat back at the drums. He unleashed a fusillade that brought the room to awed silence, and then wild applause. When things quieted back down, he sat for a time staring into middle space, and then slowly began to speak. And he was utterly hammered, I mean blasted. He tortuously made his way through sentences that weren't sentences, really, and ranted a bit about how without knowing about this cat or that cat in New York you were probably never gonna get it, and at times seeming on the verge of an emotional breakdown and then going catatonic. Well, needless to say, the whole roomful of young wannabe's were quite put off and disgusted and the Zildjian rep looked none-too-pleased...a wierd time was had by all...I meant to go back and ask the bartender what Steve'd been drinking, but I thought that might be pushin' it. My young friend knew about my role and gave me hell about it for some time. The really amazing thing was that Gadd's drumming wasn't affected at all...ah, that ol' human brain...
So that's it, I promise...the only two famous musicians I ever bought drinks for were Steve Gadd and Jaco Pastorius...I swear to Dog.
I didn't get where I am today by being on time...
-
revolver323
- Intermediate Member
- Posts: 997
- Joined: Mon Jul 04, 2005 5:48 am
- Contact:
Joe Morello. "Time Out" and "Time in Outer Space" LPs. I saw Morello do a clinic in 1965 at my high school. The local music store provided the trap set. Morello sat down, played a roll on the snare and the top head broke. Without missing a beat, he took the snare off the stand and threw it over his shoulder. Store rep crawled out with a replacement and Joe kept right on playing. They sold the first snare as a souvenier.