The Drum Theorist's Blog

I like Murray Gusseck. I don’t know the guy personally, only his work and reputation. I think he’s brought some interesting concepts to the world of drumline and I like some of the pieces he’s written for battery. I may not always agree with what he teaches, but I respect him and what he’s doing. So make no mistake: what I’m about to write is in no way intended to insult him or make him look bad.

You see, I watched part of the Santa Clara Vanguard audition DVD, namely the Push/Pull exercise, presented by Mr. Gusseck. And, I took some notes because what I observed made me think about a point I’d made in my original post regarding fulcrum theory.

The push/pull technique is a good technique. For me, it’s an alternative technique, and I use a variation of it when I need to accomplish something my default technique would not accomplish as well. Gusseck’s demonstration of his use of this technique was something I was very interested in watching.

He starts by demonstrating the technique with his right hand, holding the stick in a relaxed manner we’ve all come to know: thumb on the side of the stick, fingers gently wrapped around with the index finger across from the thumb. Note that the tip of the index finger is off the stick in a “dangle” position.

He starts by giving the viewer a stroke-by-stroke demonstration of the technique used to play the exercise, showing the reaction of the stick’s first stroke as it strikes the drumhead. During the downstroke, Gusseck’s thumb moves back so that it is no longer across from his index finger but instead across from his middle finger. Immediately, the stick rebounds and points up (see photo below). As he makes this demonstration, he talks about using the middle finger as the fulcrum. By moving the thumb back so that it is across from the middle finger he does, indeed, create a pivot point.

Note how the fingers are in a very straight, pointed position. They’re also all pointed in the same direction, including thumb.

As he “pulls” for the second stroke, the thumb moves back to its original position, across from the index finger. The hand is now around the stick in the original starting grip.

However, when he goes on to demonstrate the full exercise at a regular tempo, his thumb does not move back so that it rests across from the middle finger during the first stroke. Instead, it stays across from his index finger, which is loosely placed around the stick. His stick pivots at this thumb/index finger junction during the exercise. Thus, his fulcrum is not a middle finger-oriented fulcrum, but instead remains with the combination of the thumb and index finger.

What Gusseck is actually doing is moving the primary leverage control from the index finger to the middle finger by loosening the index finger’s wrap around the stick; you can see the index finger’s tip not in full contact with the stick, in “dangle” position, thus lessening its leverage control. This means the grip is very relaxed and loose. Also note how the position of all the fingers is different from the prior photos that show his stroke-by-stroke demonstration: they’re open but there is a bit of curvature. In the actual application of this exercise, his stroke is different from his demonstration.

As I said at the start of this post, I like Murray Gusseck. There are many things that can be learned from him. In the case of this video performance, however, we learn something different than what he’s telling us. From his physical demonstration of both the stroke-by-stroke example and his full exercise performance, we can extrapolate that the push/pull technique is a perfectly useful technique, but claiming that the technique uses a middle finger fulcrum is not correct. His performance shows us that the middle finger is used as the primary leverage control of the stroke but is not an actual fulcrum itself. Referring to my original essay, a fulcrum is a pivot point, and when the thumb and index finger are in contact with the stick across from each other, no matter how loose the index finger is on the stick, that is the pivot point.

Unfortunately, in this particular case, Gusseck’s vocal information about a “middle finger fulcrum” contradicts what he is playing. This is an important distinction because when instruction clashes with demonstration, students may not learn the correct lesson.

I had gotten together with some friends the other night to do a short rehearsal for an upcoming gig. I was playing drum set for several songs, one being a song I already knew but had previously played bass on instead.

Intellectually, I knew how to play the song on drum set, but I had yet to acquire the feel my friend – the song’s writer and bandleader – wanted for the end of the song. I chalked it up to having only played it three times that night and that the feel would come with a bit of practice, both mentally and physically. The fourth time through was a bit better, with the exception of a few odd experiments on my part.

As I went home, I began my usual thought-obsession with the songs I knew I needed to better be prepared for, and in this case it was the new song. As I thought about my rehearsal performances of the song, I thought perhaps I was trying to be too creative, something I know I am often guilty off. Give me an inch of freedom and I’ll want to experiment with trying to enhance music with percussion in my own way, playing rhythms and sounds that I think would sound good with the rest of the music.

But as I thought some more, I thought that perhaps I was just trying to be too clever.

What’s the difference? It’s probably a matter of semantics. From my point of view, it’s a fine line. Attempting to be too creative is to go through several possibilities of enhancements to find the things that work and don’t work, all for the sake of trying to bring out the best in the music (or whatever medium you’re working in). Attempting to be too clever is to go through several possibilities of enhancements to find the things that work and don’t work, all for the sake of trickiness, drawing attention to the enhancements, and being “cool”.

Sometimes both concepts cross over. Something clever can certainly be creative, and something creative can certainly be clever. However, the intention behind pure cleverness isn’t necessarily artistic, and that is the fine line.

Case in point: according to the definition of “clever” on my computer’s dictionary, to be clever is to be “superficially ingenious or witty.”

As a musician and a percussionist, I have noticed that when trying to be too clever on drum set, I’ve got to think more about what I want to try to do, and that thinking removes me from the fundamentals of the music being played which disallows me to fully take the music on its own terms. Also, being clever often involves trying to pull off licks that may make (my) drumming the center of attention, or add enhancements that would only really be noticed by other drummers, or add things that sound cool on their own but don’t necessarily accomplish the goals of the song.

I think this stems from my drum corps background, where being clever is often part of being creative, especially with the art of snare drumming where expression often comes in the form of “rudiments”*, tricky sticking, and odd licks when otherwise simple sticking would suffice. This is often the order of the day in advanced marching snare drumming. It’s a style of expression that I often employ when playing drum set because it’s part of who I am as a musician and percussionist, it’s part of how I hear and think about music, and it’s part of how I play.

However, I often take that style of expression and overuse it, or use it in the wrong context, and that is when being creative becomes being more on the side of clever.

The moral of the story: It is important to know the difference between creativeness and cleverness, to be able to spot that fine line. Being creative is part of the attempt to bring out something special in the music, to bring out hidden potentials, to bring out new ways to hear, to find new ways to interpret, all for the sake of the music. Yes, being clever can certainly be part of being creative, but to be clever for cleverness’ sake isn’t musical at all. Instead – at least in the case of drumming – it’s basically math.

I don’t get to play drum set much these days, though I really want to. That’s the problem with living in a condo: can’t be loud (tell that to some of my neighbors, though). But when I do, I try to take advantage of the situation by playing the drum set-related things I don’t always get to play.

I have a double bass pedal. I became interested in double bass because of drummers like Tim Alexander (Primus), Neil Peart (Rush), and Terry Bozzio (soloist). The double bass pedal and a drum bass drum setup carry a bit of a stigmata because of genres such as speed metal where, as Neil Peart likes to call them, “double bass drum onslaughts” deliver a continuous stream of consecutive beats like 16th notes, sextuplets, etc. But the aforementioned drummers demonstrated that playing a double bass pedal could be so much more.

Recently I played a gig for a friend’s birthday show. I decided to bring my own pedals and, just for kicks (no pun intended), I set up the double pedal. My friend, who is an incredible drum set player, comes from the school that considers playing double bass cheating (the other stigmata). In the last few years, his view on playing double bass has evolved and he understands why someone would want to play double bass. Not one to pass up a humorous opportunity, he and the other guy we were rehearsing with decided to give me a hard time for setting up the pedals.

This got me thinking about why drummers would consider playing a double bass setup cheating. Shouldn’t we be able play double and triple strokes on one foot? Shouldn’t we be able to combine those multiple strokes into linear patterns with our hands? Yes, definitely. Being able to do so demonstrates agility and technique. But playing double bass is more than just playing doubles and triples rapidly in a short amount of space.

Even intensity
With a double or triple stroke on a single pedal, the evenness of the beats can get sacrificed, starting with the first beat. For example, in a triple stroke, the first and second beats are typically less even than the last beat since it’s the last beat where the foot comes down to conclude the triple stroke. This happens a little less with a double stroke, as there are less beats subjected to the downward momentum of the foot, but the first beat can typically be played with a bit less intensity than the second.

Using a double pedal means that each beat can be played with even intensity.

Now, the question was posed to me: if you’re good, could all the beats using a single pedal be even? And the answer is: yes, if you’re good, theoretically you can play all even beats in a double and triple stroke using a single pedal. Keep in mind, however, the downward motion of the foot towards the pedal as it progresses through the stroke means that it can come down on pedal harder with each beat. This, of course, depends on your technique: are you playing heel up or down? Are you keeping the foot up until the final beat? Are you letting your foot climb the foot board during the stroke? Your single pedal technique will obviously factor into how even the beats are in double and triple strokes (and, if you’re really good, quadruple strokes!). Remember that not only do you have to work on the foot technique, but the technique must remain present once you add the other limbs, so you must factor independence and body balance into the equation.

In any case, if you can turn theory into actuality, why play double bass? If you can play even multiple-stroke patterns with a single pedal, why bother with two feet? This leads us to:

Feel
The way we feel while we keep time is the manner in which we will keep time. If we feel sluggish, our time will be sluggish. If we feel frantic, our time will feel frantic.

This also pertains to the physical aspect of what we play as well. To play hand-to-hand 16th notes feels different than playing 16th note paradiddles. To play an accent on one hand and a tap on the other feels different than playing an accent then a tap on the same hand.

Being able to play a double or triplet stroke using a single pedal does not have the same feel as playing the double or triple between the two feet, both alone and when combined with the hands. Dividing patterns up between the two feet and legs divides the energy used between them as opposed to concentrating the energy in a single limb. This can result in a much freer, relaxed sensation while playing. Using a single pedal is, from my analysis and experience, more aggressive due to the concentration of energy in that single limb. The single pedal can also be more efficient in terms of freeing up the other foot to play other things, such as the hi-hat or other pedaled instruments, and to use more complex rhythms, ie. Latin claves. Yes, you can use the other foot to play other pedaled instruments while simultaneously playing double bass (pedaling both pedals at once, or alternating between them), but you’re relegated to playing in between bass hits or in unison with bass hits, which can be complex enough to coordinate without playing complex rhythms. This isn’t to say complex rhythms can’t be played on another pedal while simulaneously playing double bass, but it is a whole other mode of independent coordination to practice.

Patterns
I think it’s pretty self-evident: aside from multiple stroke pickups, like a double 32nd note bass drum pickup into a crash on 1, longer rhythmic patterns can be played with the feet while keeping a constant groove with the hands. Of, if you’re more adventurous (and more coordinated), a double bass ostinato can be played while playing different hand patterns over the top.

Then, of course, there are linear patterns to be played in combination with the hands. A fast, 2-count quintuplet ditty like hand-hand-foot-foot-foot-hand-hand-hand-foot-foot can be played both with a single or double pedal. But the body also uses energy differently and balances differently in both situations, and or course the coordination between your limbs will be different, so ultimately it will come down to how you, the drummer, want to feel while playing such a pattern.

Play double bass patterns in unison with crash, china, or effect cymbals results in sharp, metallic stabs with a nice, bass “oomf” underneath. Intersperse these with snare or tom patterns and you create floating suspense in the middle of your fills or contrasting parts of a melody. Listen to Terry Bozzio, who makes great use of this technique.

Increase the ability of the weaker foot
Most drummers are right-footed. Want to increase the strength, agility, and coordination of your left foot? Play double bass! Left-footed instead? Play double bass! Work that right foot!

Yes, yes… I know. Making sure you’re working that hi-hat, or practicing those Afro-Cuban or Latin claves, will also get your left foot working. But the thing about double bass is that you’re using your weaker foot in very close to the same manner as your stronger foot – the one you usually play your bass drum with; it won’t be exactly the same unless you use your weaker foot instead of your stronger foot to play main bass drum patterns. The bass drum pedal requires a different set of techniques than a hi-hat pedal, so to use your weaker foot in the same manner as your stronger foot on a bass drum pedal means developing the same type of agility and strength as your regular bass foot. Using the hi-hat pedal requires a different type of finesse and control. Adding bass drum technique to the foot you’d normally play your hi-hat with only increases what that foot is able to do.

There’s more to double bass than a barrage of 16th or 32nd “onslaughts”. And there’s more to double bass than “cheating”. It’s a tool, and it’s there to be used in whatever manner you choose to use it. If you don’t want to be creative, that’s your choice. If you want to experiment with what the tool can do, then go for it.

But to dismiss the double bass just because you’ve got mad single pedal chops? First, consider the above points. Second, open your mind and ask yourself, “What if my other foot had the same chops?”

Think about what doors you can open for yourself in that situation.

On March 27, 2010, the Northern California Band Association (NCBA) held championships at Foothill High School in Pleasanton, CA.

And I was pissed for much of the day.

I always let my drumlines know that, at least for me, drumline isn’t just about drumming. It’s about class and responsibility, amongst other things. If a drumline has no class, if they act like rude, obnoxious idiots, I pretty much refuse to watch them. This falls in line with a philosophy I spout to every group–drumline or otherwise–I teach:

Make people want to watch you without playing a single note.

I think this is incredibly important. A musician should prove to be reliable, professional, and courteous when dealing with other musicians and his or her audience. Those traits can go a long way in both getting work and gaining a bigger audience. Acting rudely is not impressive, whereas acting with grace is impressive. Why? The former leaves a bad impression while the latter leaves a good impression. It’s that simple.

Unfortunately, at the Foothill show (no fault of Foothill, mind you), I contended with rude instructors and drumlines for much of the day.

Let’s take the parking lot, for example. If there’s plenty of room in the parking lot, don’t set up a mere yard or two away from another drumline if they were in that spot first! I cannot tell you how many times that has happened to my group this season, and from the same drumline, too. Yes, parking lot space can be tight, but unless you absolutely have to, you should set up in as isolated a spot as possible. As space gets tighter, then I understand a close setup, but in my experience space rarely gets so tight that extremely close proximity is necessary. Parking lots are already plenty loud without having an ensemble within arm’s reach playing right next to another. It’s rude. And rude instructors are responsible for this.

If you’re a drumline member, don’t walk around wearing group apparel or uniform, or handling your equipment, screaming and shouting like a two-year-old, and don’t cuss. Save that for the bus. Save that for the after party. Just don’t do it smack dab in the middle of the parking lot where everyone else can see you. Don’t do it when walking from one place to another: the lot to the competition area; the bus to the warm-up area. It shows a lack of class and disrespect for both the group and the people involved in helping the group operate. In the case of a school, it’s also disrespectful to the school.

Don’t walk through another drumline’s equipment or rehearsal area, especially when things are clearly sectioned off. For instance, if a drumline has laid out their floor (large tarp used for performing indoor shows), don’t walk on it! This has happened to my drumlines as well as others. It’s happened to colorguards. I heard that, during the Foothill show, even though the announcer asked the audience not to walk across the floor of the colorguard setting up for their performance, people did anyway, including a performing member from another group who allegedly ran across the floor to get to the other side of the gym. This is extremely disrespectful. It shows a lack of acknowledgment of another group’s space and the fact that they are working. In addition, walking through someone else’s equipment is cause for accidental damage.

It is the instructors that let this happen, either by allowing it, causing it, or not instilling in their members a sense of class and respect. Sometimes–maybe more often than not–it’s all three. And this is sad because these are the instructors that set the bad example for their members, members who may want to go on to become instructors themselves someday. It is these instructors that teach their members how to lead by their disrespectful example. It is these instructors that cause future instructors to teach others how to act in the same manner.

Everyone makes mistakes. I have made mistakes. In fact, at Foothill, the rudeness got to me and I vocalized my discontent to no one in particular (let’s leave it at that). I have apologized for that. But when instructors and drumlines make the same mistakes over and over, they can no longer be labeled mistakes. At that point, it’s just habit. I can forgive mistakes. I cannot forgive bad habits.

It makes me sad that my group, and a few others, are subjected to rudeness and a lack of class and respect because other drumlines care more about the drumming aspect of the activity and not the other aspects. This activity is more than that, and the lessons learned in this activity carry over to other aspects of life. For example, we often hear testimony of drum corps alumni that say they learned to work hard because of drum corps. But there are other lessons to be taught by instructors and learned by members. Working hard is a great trait, but I’m not sure many people want a hard working ass unless they need one to pull a carriage.

I apologize for the absence. I have a lot to blog about, but things have been pretty hectic lately, schedule-wise. Not an excuse, just a reason.

See, it’s indoor percussion competition season for me, and late February and all of March has been full of late rehearsals and busy, tiring weekends. West Campus, my only competitive school this year, has been putting together a very unique show (ever seen a drumline eat someone before?), and each week the goal was to have a different ending. There are technical, musical, visual, and overall design issues that need to be addressed, not to mention trying to make sure the abilities of the members continue to increase.

What makes the show unique isn’t just the shock value (did I mention eating someone during the show? I did? Alright, then). The caption head, Noah Clark, came up with an idea of doing a story-driven show about surviving in a deserted winter environment. There is a beginning, middle, and end to the story, with lots of acting.

That is the unique aspect of the show.

Most indoor percussion shows that I have seen in the past few years at the WGI level have been 6-minute drum feature, done in the vain of drum corps field shows. And that saddens me. Not that all indoor percussion shows have to have a story. In fact, done right, a simple theme and some visual interpretation of the music can make for a very good show. The problem is, a lot of the WGI shows consist of music that sounds like incidental score music for a movie, interspersed with several battery features.

Intro. Snare feature. Pit chords and runs. Tenor feature. Odd pit melody. Bass feature. Pit build. Battery impact. Ensemble music leading into the next snare feature. Etc.

You get the idea, right?

The problem with this is that it isn’t interesting to listen to or watch. When a show theme is present, say, medieval times, or “gone”, or computers, the theme is usually turned into a one-note gimmick that doesn’t get expanded on or developed. Instead, the audience is given several, similar reminders of the theme through the show to the point where the show repeats itself until the end. All set to forgettable (in many cases) music.

This isn’t the case for all shows. In fact, there are several non-WGI high school groups that have been trying to do interesting things in their shows. Not all are successful, but A for effort.

When putting together an indoor percussion show, I try to stick to some guidelines. Here are a relevant few:

1. It’s a show set to music, so the music had better be memorable, interesting, and captivating.
2. The show shouldn’t be repetitive. Motifs are one thing, but when the audience feels like they’re watching the same segment over and over for 6 minutes, it’s time to rethink the development of the show.
3. It’s not a frickin’ drum feature! If the show is an excuse to show off tricky licks and the monster chops of the line instead of the music and and its visual interpretation, then the show isn’t a show, it’s a drumline feature. This isn’t to say that the show can have those things, but unless the show is entitled, “Show Offs”, then it’s music first, cool licks second.
4. Never be afraid to experiment.

Noah pointed out that the talent and ability of present day drummers has come a long way since I first did a winter show (1994, folks. I have some students that were born that year). Unfortunately, show design hasn’t evolved into anything spectacular (don’t even get me started on electronics). Shows that are essentially field features don’t necessarily teach the members to be good musicians, just drummers with monster chops. And while chops are a good thing, they’re useless unless they are used to express via music.