A few weeks ago, I received an email from a friend I used to march with in the Mandarins Drum and Bugle Corps:

I wanted to ask you to think about it another way — instead of black and white index and middle finger, what about a shared fulcrum? I have students in San Jose who have had a lot of Santa Clara Vanguard-based instruction on technique (one of my kids even marched in the A corps) so there have been several explanations about relaxing the index finger. When I do it, it feels to me like there’s more of a triangulation between the index and middle finger with the thumb, almost like the fulcrum feels like it’s between the the two fingers and the thumb and not directly on either finger (solely). I understand you’re coming from a scientific standpoint with the lever and fulcrum discussion; that said, I think it would be interesting to hear your take about that “middle fulcrum” that I’m talking about, if you deem it worthy to explore that is. Just food for thought. Thanks for sharing your in depth examination of the mechanics, it was a good read!

Update: 9-6-2010: revised upon request

My friend brings up a concept I actually used to teach. Back in the late 90’s, and probably early into the new millennium, I was teaching my students that the fulcrum we use isn’t at the thumb/index finger combo but it actually a triangle: thumb, index, and middle finger. My reasoning was that it alleviated the work the forefinger would have to do, thus helping the hand to be more balanced which in turn helps the player to use the whole hand while playing instead just the front (at the thumb and forefinger).

After a while, I began to abandon the triangular concept in favor of a more literal explanation, the one I’ve examined here and here. This isn’t to say I abandoned the reasoning behind the triangular concept, just that I wanted to have my students think of the fulcrum and the role of the middle finger a little more exactly than what the notion of a triangle fulcrum had to offer.

My friend explains it well: by relaxing the index finger, it feels like there’s a triangle of the thumb, index, and middle with the fulcrum being in the middle of that triangle. This, in a nutshell, is why I taught the triangular concept oh so many years ago. But what this really is is a description of how it feels and, from my point of view, not exactly what’s happening. It’s literal versus figurative.

Confusing? Let’s put it this way: ever hear someone say, “Man, it feels like I’ve been stabbed in the chest.”

“Dude, my head feels like someone dropped an anvil on it.”

“Boy, I feel like a million bucks!”

Those are figurative statements that describe how one feels. Chance are, the person hasn’t been stabbed in the chest, he or she just hurts really bad and stabbing is the best way to describe it. Same thing with the person whose head feels like an anvil dropped on it: no, an anvil didn’t dropped on it, otherwise he or she wouldn’t be able to tell you about the pain in their head. And what does a million bucks feel like? We assume it’s a pretty happy feeling, but being that we’re human and not inanimate objects manufactured from processed wood that’s been run through a specialized printing press, we don’t know for sure.

The fulcrum may feel like it’s in between the index and middle, in combination with the thumb, but that’s because they’re working together to help pivot the stick. The stick, being the “load” of the lever, is moved by the wrist (another lever acting as the “effort”) and aided in control by the fingers. I’ve taken to calling the middle finger the “primary leverage control”, especially when the index finger is looser on the stick. The index finger also aids in leverage control during times the player opens and closes it along with the rest of the fingers (depending on the application), but the middle finger always opens and closes when the player choses to utilize finger movement. Also, the middle finger is in a stronger position to be the primary since it doesn’t have to worry about the stick pivoting in its location. The stick pivots – literally pivots – at the front end of the hand, and when the index finger is on the stick, the stick will pivot there. The stick pivots near the middle finger, which isn’t the same thing.

These are details. Important details, but details nonetheless. What I’m after with these examinations is that students are taught with as much correctness as possible. In the case of the fulcrum – a case that, with proper understanding, use will help drummer gain control and relaxation while playing – I think it’s important to explain and demonstrate it properly. However, my friend’s question brings up a good point: feel.

When explaining to a student (one who can handle the information) how a fulcrum works, I think it’s also okay to inform him or her that even the though the fulcrum works “this” way, it can feel “this” way. There’s nothing wrong with that because the way it feels it can be a truth. Maybe not a universal truth (we all feel different things differently), but a truth. And it’s important to note the difference because we, as teachers, don’t want to give our students the wrong idea. Some students can certainly handle the implications of the “middle finger fulcrum” explanation: in conjunction with a proper demonstration, the concept can show students how to use a loose index finger while letting the middle finger take on the primary leverage control, thus relaxing the hand and making use of the whole hand. But some students are going to have trouble using the index finger properly with this technique. In some cases, like drum corps, instructors can select who they teach. But many teachers have to teach whoever walks in the door, and some students who really want to play drums don’t have a natural knack for it, physically, mentally, or both.

Therefore, as a general rule, I’d rather be as specific and correct as possible. Scientifically, I don’t think the middle finger fulcrum or the triangular fulcrum concepts are correct, although I understand their intent. I don’t think it’s that much more effort to explain the actual roles of the index finger (the fulcrum) and the middle finger (primary leverage control). But I also don’t think it’s wrong to explain to a student what something feels like provided teachers make the distinction.

 
(UPDATE: 4-19-2012 – grammatical corrections)

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’ve been teaching quite a few younger students lately. Anyone with experience teaching younger drum students has run into the problem of mashing the sticks into the pad or drum. It’s a natural problem for young students; it’s natural for someone to pick up drum sticks for the first time and then bang and mash the sticks into the surface because, for all they know, drumming is just about hitting stuff.

Even older, more experienced drummers also suffer from this problem, mostly drum set players. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen a drum set player “deadstick” his or her stick against the snare while playing backbeats. I’m not sure why. Is it because they’re trying to hit really hard? Is it plain lack of stick control? Or perhaps they just never learned and don’t really care all that much about how physically detrimental deadsticking is (can’t they feel the shock being absorbed by their hands and arms?) and how bad it sounds.

Of course, with technology, you can get a good sound out of bad playing, but that’s another post.

One method I use to solve the problem of mashing the sticks into the head is to use a basketball analogy. When a person dribbles a basketball, he or she pushes the ball towards the ground with a downward gesture of the hand. As the ball leaves the hand and hits the ground, it comes back up and meets the hand again. The hand allows the ball to bounce to a certain height before repeating the dribbling process.

No one ever dribbled a basketball successfully by mashing the ball into the ground, right?

It’s the same with a drumstick. As the stick hits the head, the stick will want to bounce back up. Keeping the basketball analogy in mind, I encourage my mashing students to get the stick off of the head right after impact. And it works.

The only problem with this method is that, in marching percussion, we freeze sticks in playing position. For my lines, this means that the bead rests one inch above the surface. This height will differ depending on the instructor. I, personally, also teach the concept of playing position to my drum set students because it promotes downstroke-oriented playing, it’s comfortable, and it readies them for marching percussion should they choose to go that path.

So, when students attempt to follow the basketball analogy, they often pull their sticks up higher than playing position. This is fine for playing consecutive notes like a string of 8th notes on a single hand or hand-to-hand 16th notes where the hands play continuously, but not for releases or tap-to-accent patterns where stopping the stick in playing position is the desired result.

Despite this problem, I consider this to be an acceptable way to begin teaching mashing students how not to mash. Once the student gets rid of the habit of mashing their sticks into the head, I can then concentrate on getting them to freeze their sticks in playing position. The more important thing with mashing students is to achieve a single sound from their attacks instead of the buzz that results from mashing.

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Has it really been that long since I posted last? Shame.

As Obi Wan Kenobi told Luke in Return of the Jedi, “You’re going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view.”

An educated drummer will probably know what is meant when a drum teacher says, “Let the bounce do the work,” or, “Let the rebound do the work.” I know I do. However, as much as I hate to say “never”, I’m pretty sure that I will never say either one of these phrases.

(Time will tell if that declaration will come back to haunt me)

I really don’t like the notion that the bounce does the work, because it implies that the sticks will deliver the rhythms we want to play simply by letting it bounce on the drum head. Now, I know, and the educated drummer will know, that isn’t the case – that we actually control the bounce so that the rhythms we want to play are properly executed.

So, why don’t we say that?

In sticking with my philosophy of speaking universal truths, and having worked with plenty of young drummers, I know the importance of saying what I mean. We do not let the bounce do the work.

I tell my students that we allow the rebound to assist us. We, the drummer, do the work, but on a bouncy surface we allow the rebound to alleviate some of the work we do and that we are always playing every beat. Explaining the concept of bounce to the young drummer in this manner lets them know that they are in control of their sticks and how they react to the drumming surface. This way, as they learn how to play different things, breaking them down so they learn to place every beat, they learn how to control the bounce. As they get faster, build dexterity, and build muscle, they will increase their control of the rebound provided they also continue to focus on relaxing and staying loose while they play.

Additionally, as they play on different surfaces, they will learn how to adapt to the type of rebound. Many drummers have played on various surfaces, from loosely tuned heads with very little response to Kevlar heads that are very, very bouncy. Each type of surface will respond differently, so being able to precisely articulate rhythms depends on the amount of control we have over our sticks. If we’re not able to play rhythms on an ill-responsive head with the same kind of accuracy as a bouncy head, then what is the point of relying on bounce, letting it “do the work”? Not to mention the fact that drummers will play on all sorts of percussion instruments: there are snares and toms and their respective heads, as well as cymbals and percussion toys, each having their own surface qualities and response types. We need to be able to articulate accurately on all of those surfaces.

I demonstrate this concept by playing clear double-stroke rolls on curtains or my lap, both of which have little to no rebound (my lap, having muscles, have a little bit of response, you know). I then qualify this statement by letting my students know that they will probably never have to perform on a curtain or their laps, but that’s the type of control they need to have over their sticks. That way, when they play on drum, they can adapt, loosen up, and let the rebound assist them so they don’t have to do as much work.

Many young drummers that try to bounce everything out let their sticks flop onto the head as they play diddles, flams, etc. This always results in badly played rhythms because what they’re doing is trying to play the sticking patterns, the rudiments, instead of playing the actual rhythms.

It is very important to have a relaxed grip on the stick. This way, when playing on a bouncy surface, we can guide the stick at any speed, utilizing whatever the amount of response the surface gives us. Conversely, if we are relaxed, we can learn to manipulate the stick on a less bouncy surface by using more muscle but still with a relaxed grip. We can let our hands adapt to the rebound, or lack thereof, by using more or less muscle as necessary while being relaxed at any speed.

This is the manner in which I teach my drummers stick control. We do not rely on the bounce. We do not let the rebound do the work for us. We are always in control, doing the work but allowing the rebound to assist us. If our sticks and the rebound could talk, they would be calling us “Master”.

And that, young Jedi, is my point of view.

I’ve tried writing something about this topic 4 or 5 times by now. It’s a tricky subject and one I think about a lot. After all, the goal is to pass on knowledge and wisdom to the students, right? As an added bonus, teaching helps one to understand and perform his or her craft better. I’m constantly analyzing my craft(s) and the ways I can convey concepts to my students. I want them to understand what I’m talking about, and that means I have to understand various teaching methods as well as the nuances of the craft itself.

Now, think about the above generalization. Think about that and then ask yourself, “If I call myself a teacher, am I really teaching?”

Allow me to be cut and dry here.

There’s teaching, teching, and instructing. Which one do you do by default?

Instructing is the base of all three categories. Quite simply, an instructor tells someone what to do. Since this is a drum blog, after all, I’ll “Play that again.” “Go hold a roll.” “Clean up the flams.” This, of course, is drum-related (it’s a drum blog, you know), but you’ve seen the stereotype of a bad teacher on TV: “Open your books to page 94 and start reading to the end of the chapter. Do the questionnaire at the end.” In basic, basic instruction, you can certainly show someone how to do something. Demonstration, for example, is a form of instructing; by demonstrating a method and giving a play-by-play of what you’re doing is basic instruction. Instruction, however, doesn’t always have to contain information other than instructions of what needs to be done.

Teching is the step up. It includes instruction but also offers a bit more information. For me, teching deals with the issues and problems at hand. Techs address these issues, offering both instruction and advice, but generally the lessons given are not global. That is, the lessons aren’t related to other, similar topics both inside and outside of the craft. For example, a tech will help the student fix an accented passage in a piece of music by may not generalize the concepts of playing accents so that the fix can be applied to other, similar situations.

Now, instructing and teching aren’t bad things. In fact, in the medium of competitive drumline, you get a lot of instruction and teching that are very narrow in focus, and depending on the time restraints, sometimes you just have to give instruction and hope that the students trust you know what you’re doing.

The problem is, I often see instructors and techs that default to these methods and still call themselves teachers.

Teaching is the final step up. It includes both teching and instructing, but whenever possible the lessons pertain to both the immediate issue and is also relatable on a global scale. Teachers will take narrowly focused information and offer to their students a way to apply it to other, similar situations. Fixing an accented roll in a passage of music can also have general drumming applications. There are analogous situations, too. I can’t count the number of times I’ve related the discipline of being in a drumline to becoming a disciplined student in school, or how respectful presentation learned in drumline is related to showing up to a job interview.

Global lessons lead to this point: a teacher should be imparting wisdom to the student, and that includes giving the tools to the student so that they will eventually be able to go out and teach themselves different things.

Having said all this, ask yourself again, “Am I a teacher?” If you call yourself a teacher, but the answer, according to what I’ve laid out here, is, “no,” then perhaps you should re-evaluate how you approach your students.