Category Archives: Hearing the drums

Vinyl on my nostalgic belt-drive: “I’ll find myself some wings”

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Listening to the music was different with my new cochlear-implant hearing system, but I had learned that familiar music was easier. Between my memory, the new cochlear system in my right ear, and a hearing aid in my left, I could start to understand and enjoy music again.

Tucked away in our basement were several hundred record albums from my youth. I had taken them out of those heavy-duty plastic milk crates and stuffed them into the bottom shelves of a bookcase. Once in awhile I would gaze at them longingly.

My 33-RPM vinyl albums definitely qualified as familiar music. I must have listened to some of them hundreds of times as a teen in my basement bedroom in Don Mills. I recall playing air guitar to George Harrison’s Still My Guitar Gently Weeps with the door closed. The posters that came tucked into the cover of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album had been proudly taped to my paneled bedroom wall.

Seeking a new “record player”

Forty years on, the layer of dust on my old albums was accumulating even faster as components of my old stereo system broke down. The receiver/amp had been a nice model in its day, but now only offered mono sound through a wonky volume control. One of my speakers produced an annoying static sound. My Sony turntable, acquired long ago from my friend Scott, worked like a charm but could not produce sound without and amp and speakers.

I had spied a nice “all-in-one’ turntable while visiting our daughter Alison and her boyfriend Jared in Scotland. Her stereo unit was compact and looked like what I would have called a “record player” back in the 1970s. Turntable, amp and speakers were built in.

With the coronavirus phase 2 in full swing in Toronto, I needed some music to brighten up the winter months ahead. I drove our minivan to Best Buy, donned my mask, and spoke to a customer service person there. She did not have the model in stock, but could source a nice “all-in-one” turntable for me the next day. Besides the amp and speakers, it also had capability for CD, cassette, radio and bluetooth. Gah: I would be catching a hi-fi wave, if not going ahead of the technology curve. Sold!

I showed up the following day to pick up my made-in-China Victrola “Nostalgic Belt Drive Turntable.” Probably not built to last, but it looked nice. If I could get a year or two out of it to play my albums, I would be happy.

I mined my record collection and quickly dug up a treasure. The Guess Who’s American Woman was one of the first albums I bought in the 1970s. Its dreamy cover blends the image of a woman’s face with the group portrait of four members of a band out of Winnipeg who were stepping onto the world stage with hits like No Time, No Sugar Tonight, and the gritty, churning rock anthem: American Woman.

I plugged in my new Victrola, turned the option dial to Phono, opened the cover, and placed the album on the turntable. I still had Scott’s old record-cleaning brush, so used it to dust the vinyl first. American Woman opens with Burton Cummings scatting vocals atop Randy Bachman’s bluesy guitar. Then it explodes with Bachman’s 4/4 rock guitar riff, anchored by Jim Kale on bass guitar and Gary Peterson on drums.

Putting the pieces together

To my ears, the song sounded beautiful. Cummings’ vocal was strong and clear. The drum part sounded crisp. The song sounded different and I couldn’t quite place why. I think I could not hear some of the musical mix. I could pick up most of Bachman’s melodic guitar solo but it sounded slightly muted by the overall mix. But if I closed my eyes, my memory could fill in some of those pieces. Wow.

As a drummer, I had always admired Gary Peterson’s crisp, clear style. No bells and whistles. His drum beat sets the pace for “No Time,” a song about a person moving on: “No time left for you… I’ll find myself some wings.” Randy Bachman’s lead guitar joins in, followed by Cumming’s vocal on the first verse.

Listening to an album means setting down the needle on the vinyl, sitting back and taking in a series of songs. There is no remote. It is an act of peace and discipline in our fragmented world. You take in the album and its songs as a whole. For every monster hit like No Time, you listen to some counterpoint, like the strange, poetic minor-key Talisman.

While enjoying my album, the only thing I needed to remember was to pick up the needle arm after side A finished. My fancy-schmancy new turntable did not have automatic return.

A drummer’s high

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You may have heard the term “runner’s high.”

One of the pleasures of playing music is finally getting something right, often through practice. Practicing music may not send endorphins coursing through the body, like those giving a feeling of euphoria to a long-distance runner, but it does forge new connections in a musician’s brain. And those can trigger joy in his or her soul.

As I sat down at the Rogers drum kit I had dusted off during the lockdown, I recalled my afternoon practices as a teen in my parents’ basement in Don Mills. I have to give credit to my parents Douglas and Sheila, and my siblings Louise and Andrew, for putting up with the percussive racket coming out of our basement for an hour or so most days.

Practicing sometimes meant the agony of defeat. On one occasion, I was working on studies focusing on “independence” — the ability to separate and free up all four limbs, both on the kit and in the mind.

Despite many attempts, I could not seem to master one of the studies. In a desperate moment, I reared back, stood up, picked up my drum stool, and impaled it in the basement ceiling in frustration.

Damage control

As if waking from a bad dream, I realized what I had done and felt instantly sheepish. I pulled the stool leg out of the ceiling, sat back down on it, and continued my practice. Right after, I camouflaged the damage. Using a pencil to draw dots on a piece of white paper, I simulated the pattern of the ceiling tile. Then I cut it out with scissors and taped my crude circular patch job to the tile. I guess my arts and crafts studies in elementary school had finally paid off. The patch stayed there undetected, although slightly yellowed, until my parents sold the house years later. (Shhhhh! It may still be there today.)

Practice also means the thrill of victory. After getting my Rogers kits set up recently, I started to put together a fall practice agenda. It would be one thing to help get through the continuing covid lockdown, during the long Canadian winter.

First up was some Stick Control — from the classic 1930s book by George Stone. He focuses on control and liberation of the two hands, through patterns and variations.

Next, I went back over the 18th-century dance suite interpreted for snare drum by Anthony Cirone. I had almost mastered two of the suite’s four studies in the last few months, including a stately Spanish “Sarabande” in 3/4 featuring some lightning-fast passages. But I realized I had glossed over the other two pieces. I dug into the concluding Gigue to polish it up a bit. It would be nice to confidently play the four movements straight through one day.

A segue from snare to set

Those snare studies were actually a neat segue into practicing drum set. With the Sarabande fresh in my mind, I tried to adapt it for the full set, initially bringing in bass drum and high hat. Then, using Cirone’s 4/4 Allemande study as inspiration, I fooled around with a funk beat on the kit. My hands were feeling fluid and I let them drive the beat while my clunkier feet, on bass drum and high hat, filled in some spots with syncopation.

Next door, the neighbors had moved back in after a reno. But Nadine had assured me that when the door was closed to my makeshift practice area in Ali’s old bedroom, the racket was nicely muted.

I made a mental note to speak to the neighbors to apologize and let them know I would never practice after sundown.

Breaking down the shuffle

The thrill of victory came with the last component of this practice session. I had listened to Toto’s classic rock song Roseanna, and found some great YouTube videos breaking down drummer Jeff Porcaro’s fabulous shuffle beat.

The legendary Porcaro made the beat sound easy but it is complex when played at the song’s correct tempo. The YouTube video by Drumeo starts with two hands playing triplets — the right hand on high hat, and the left hand ghosting the second beat of each triplet on the snare. Then to get the backbeat, the left hand has to throw in a combo double backbeat/ghostbeat. For those who read sheet music, the Drumeo video also scores out Porcaro’s beat.

Before even thinking about adding the bass drum, I experimented with the Porcaro shuffle with my left and right hands. It started to click at a slower tempo, so I sped up a bit, feeling good as it started to feel more natural. I kept screwing up, but it felt like some new cerebral connections were being forged.

Not quite a drummer’s high, but I would take it.

Sticking with it

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I was feeling cocky when I cracked open Stick Control to its first page of exercises for the snare drummer. After all, in trying to make my drumming comeback, I had already tackled several challenging snare drums solos, including an 18-century dance suite adaptation from Anthony Cirone’s Portraits in Rhythm.

My friend and fellow percussionist Ward had reminded me about Stick Control and I remembered it from my drum-lesson days in the 1970s. During my recent pilgrimage to musical instrument store Long & McQuade, I picked up a copy of the music book, along with a new pair of sticks.

Stick Control2

The first page of Stick Control’s single-beat combinations looked simple at first glance. There were 24 in total, exploring different left-right hand combinations in a consistent stream of eighth-notes. Should be easy, I thought.

The fifth combination was paradiddles. The muscle memory kicked in and the paradiddles flowed smoothly in a right-left-right-right, left-right-left-left sequence (say PA-RA-DI-DDLE, PA-RA-DI-DDLE). I was on a roll.

But number 6 through me for a loop. It consists of standard paradiddles, but staggered to start on the second or “RA” beat of the paradiddle. My brain cramped. I tried it a few times and could not get it to flow.

Breaking bad habits

I recovered a few combinations later, and started to enjoy the challenge to my brain, hands, and memory. One thing I noticed was the emphasis on ambidexterity — a challenge to my dominant right hand. The exercises alternate downbeats with both left and right hands. A good way to break drumming habits.

Ahead of me were a total of 72 single-beat combinations. And that is just the first section.

The author-composer is George Lawrence Stone, a serious-looking man with a rudimental drumming pedigree and track record of percussion performance and teaching in Boston. Stone died in 1967 but his method is still revered by modern drummers.

“It has helped me to sharpen the tools of expression,” drummer Steve Gadd wrote. You can’t question Gadd’s musical tools — he brought a crisp fusion to his drumming with Steely Dan, Weather Report and other progressive bands.

Putting in the hours

“To the uninitiated, the art of drumming appears easy,” wrote Mr. Stone in the preface to Stick Control — “so easy in fact that unless the drum student has had the advantage of expert advice, he (or she) may fail to realize the importance of the long hours of hard, painstaking practice that must be put in.”

Doing the quick math, I figured I had solo-practiced drums and percussion about 2,400 hours between Grade 6 and Grade 13, mostly in my parents Don Mills basement. (Thanks Mom, Dad, Louise and Andrew, and sorry for the racket.)

My drum teacher Glenn Price recommended at least an hour a day, and I put in the hours, with a few days off now and again. Adding in practices and performances in rock and jazz bands, stage bands, concert bands, percussion ensembles, music camp, and a brief stint in Humber College’s music program, let’s push that estimate to a total of 5,000 hours.

Author Malcolm Gladwell wrote about the 10,000-hour principle to achieve mastery in a skill — maybe this old guy still needed to get cracking.

Doing the math also reminded me that life was simpler back then. For today’s kids, with more distractions and technology, would it be tougher to practice music, or any art form or technical skill?

Delicacy and power

Stick Control, with its relentless combinations of single beats, triplets, short rolls, rudiments such as flams, and blends of the above, was definitely on my practice list back in the 1970s.

Stone promised that with regular “intelligent” practice, his collection of rhythms, “will enable one to acquire control, speed, flexibility, touch, rhythm, lightness, delicacy, power, endurance, preciseness of execution and muscular co-ordination to a degree far in excess of (one’s) present ability.”

I seconded that emotion.

Stick Control was back on my music stand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cash, granola and more as a cochlear-research subject

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I don’t mind being a guinea pig. In the two-plus years since I received my cochlear implant, I have volunteered to be the subject for a variety of research into hearing and related technology.

On a hot summer’s day during the 2020 lockdown, I got a new request by email:

Good Morning Ian,

My name is Emmanuel Chan, not sure if you remember me, but I am a research assistant from the Cochlear implant lab at Sunnybrook Health Sciences Center.

I remember you well, Emmanuel, I thought. The last time we met, you used a gooey gel to attach about 50 electrodes to my scalp and made me listen to musical duets. How could I forget? I was frustrated that it was so hard to distinguish between the sound of different classical instruments playing simultaneously.

Ian with electrodes

“We are not amused”

But you had a great attitude, explained everything carefully, and at the end of the session, you gave me some shampoo to wash my hair, a granola bar, a parking pass, and twenty bucks. You were doing important work to help cochlear implant recipients. I drove away from the hospital parking lot in my minivan with a smile on my face.

Maybe this guinea pig could help other people who share my journey.

Hearing and quality of life

Emmanuel continued his latest e-message: I am emailing you to let you know about an opportunity to participate in research with us. As a reminder, our lab focuses on cochlear implant populations, investigating a variety of aspects including cognition, perception as well as quality of life.​

At the moment, we are conducting some online tests investigating speech perception and the quality of life of people living with, and without cochlear implant(s). This data in turn will be used by clinicians to optimize rehabilitation for patients with cochlear implant(s). There will be a total of 4 online questionnaires and 1 online speech test. The questionnaires and speech test should take a total of 30 minutes to complete.

Aha — optimizing rehab for patients with cochlear implants. That is one area where I could have used more help a couple of years ago. I had done homework to get used to my hearing system, using programs such as Speech Banana, but felt bewildered by all of the potential programs and technologies. I sometimes wished I had a hearing-rehab guardian angel.

Cash and granola bars

So I replied by email: “Thanks Emmanuel, I should be able to get to it this week.  Will keep you posted. In addition to the $20, I would not turn down a granola bar, like the one you gave me last time.  (:”

Emmanuel sealed the deal:

Hey, your participation is very much appreciated. And if I am around the next time you are in the clinic, feel free to stop by for a snack, haha.

Best,

Emmanuel Chan
Research Assistant
Department of Otolaryngology
Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre

Emmanuel provided links to the online questionnaires and speech test.

I sat down with my laptop to tackle the first two questionnaires. One focused on elements of sound such as speech, environmental sounds, and qualities of hearing. The second looked at the quality of life for a person who has a cochlear implant and/or hearing aid.

I was providing answers using a sliding scale, or multiple choice, that would hopefully help the research group identify trends and issues around cochlear implant rehab. At the same time, a few of the questions got me thinking. So I decided to answer them in my own words:

You are in a group of five people, sitting around a table in a quiet place. You can see everyone. Can you follow the conversation?

This question took me back to the feeling of dread that would creep up as I walked into our small team meeting at the office a few years ago. Over time, as my hearing worsened, I began to “lose” certain colleagues who spoke softly or quickly.  When my hearing was at its worst, it took all of my energy just to focus on our director. I would sit across the table from her to ensure I got the key messages, and any take-aways. My manager was aware of the problem and would often sit next to me to help out if I missed something. The workarounds helped, but I was no longer fully part of the give-and-take discussion of the team. It felt more like survival.

Today, with new hearing technology including my cochlear device, I have more confidence in a small group. Besides just functioning, I can enjoy the people, personalities, humour, banter. Hopefully, I can engage and contribute. It’s not perfect. My hearing sometimes gets overwhelmed by too many voices, and I have to ask somebody to repeat themselves. But that’s a good problem to have compared to survival mode.

Can you tell how far away a bus or truck is, from the sound?

I’m doing better. When I walk down a country road, I can hear the vehicles approaching behind and in front of me. On a busy city street, I feel more tuned in to the sounds.

The Medel cochlear implant in my right ear is sensitive and can pick up a distant sound. The Bernafon hearing aid in my left ear has been tuned up and improves my directional hearing. My meniere’s disease — which causes inner ear fluid, balance and hearing to go haywire — has given me a break for the past year, so while the hearing in my left ear is poor, it is stable.

My directional hearing improved but sometimes plays tricks on me, so if I am walking with Nadine, she still shouts “Car!!!!” when a vehicle approaches.

I feel more confident these days that I will not accidentally throw myself under the bus, so to speak.

Can you distinguish voices on the radio? Are you able to enjoy music?

For several years, I had turned off the radio and CD player in our car.  I might try listening to the news at the top of the hour, or a song, but I would often shut off the player in frustration. The sound felt chaotic to listen to. Singer Huey Lewis, who also has meniere’s, has described how he had to stop performing after he could not reliably hear the pitch of the music.

This past summer, I realized I could listen to CBC radio for longer stretches — let’s say the news plus a current affairs show. And “get” about 75% of what I heard.  More than enough to enjoy radio again. With my new hearing technology, I sometimes even find myself feeling happy listening to the radio. With a little concentration, I could once again lock onto a familiar song.

Do you feel anxious talking to strangers?

During the covid era, masks have complicated things for people with hearing impairment. I have had some whacky situations recently in which I could not understand a word that a stranger said. But overall, my hearing tech puts me in a much better spot than a few years ago.  I don’t feel that creeping dread — or avoid discussions with strangers like I used to do. In simple one-on-one situations, like a person asking directions, or going into a bank to speak to a teller, I feel more relaxed and confident.

A friend and fellow cochlear implant recipient has been taking more assertive action during the lockdown — advocating for masks that allow us to see the person’s lips.

Read my lips — with the covid virus not going away anytime soon, it is important to look at mask options that will allow us to see your lips.

When communication is difficult, let’s be patient and kind to each other!

ian and stone

“Can you see my hearing technology?”

************************************

And thanks Emmanuel to you and your colleagues — I hope your research goes well. The questions you are asking have made me think about the hearing journey in a new light. I will get you those completed questionnaires back this week.

I am good with my gig as a hearing-research guinea pig.

 

 

 

 

A drummer’s pilgrimage to Long & McQuade

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Long & McQuade was my music-store mecca, the site of many trips into the big city when I was a teenager. Back in the day, my friend Dave Doyle and I would don our suburban Don Mills Collegiate uniform — jean jacket, Greb work boots and t-shirt, with combed long hair parted in the middle — and meet up on a Saturday morning to catch the Lawrence or Leslie bus to Eglinton station. Then we’d take the subway downtown to Long & McQuade on Bloor Street near Brunswick Ave.

We’d arrive at the main entrance and peer at the guitars in the window. Inevitably, there was a kid playing the chords to Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water” in the guitar section. We ran the gauntlet of guitars towards the entrance to the drum shop downstairs.

For musicians of all stripes looking for PA gear, guitars, keyboards, drums, saxophones, brass instruments, sheet music and more, the Toronto music shop is a top destination, then and now.

Ian at Long and McQuade

Today: Forty-plus years later, on a humid August 2020 afternoon, the parking lot at its flagship Bloor Street store — now near Ossington — was packed.

I found a spot for my minivan on a side street nearby and walked down. I forgot my mask so had to run back and get it.

I was in the hunt for a drum throne that would complete the vintage Rogers kit I had purchased on a whim off mini-van dude via FB marketplace. Sitting on my daughter’s bed while playing drums was not good for my street cred.  I needed that throne.

I masked up and nodded to the doorman, an older guy with a muscular build and a black cloth mask accessorizing his dress pants and shoes. When I say “older guy,” I mean that he was my age, late 50s. He asked where I was headed. When I told him “drums,” he pulled out a walkie-talkie to see if the coast was clear.

“We don’t have capacity right now,” the drum staffer answered. “Ask him to wait at the top of the stairs.” The doorman pointed to a bottle of hand sanitizer. It was dispensed — appropriately for a music locale — by pressing the pedal of a Mapex hi-hat stand.

I waited at the entrance until a young woman came up the stairs and left. The doorman nodded and I descended the steps.

Then: Dave and I both had drum kits in high school. Dave had a set of Ludwigs that had once appeared on the cover of a Canadian record album. He bought the kit from the son of one of his paper route customers. It had seen action in the Toronto rock band “Everyday People.” In an act of patriotism, the band’s drummer had painted Canadian flags, with their red maple leaves, on the drum shells. The drums looked a bit hokey but sounded great.

Dave would play drums and sing along to Steve Miller’s album in his parent’s basement: “I’m a joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a midnight toker, I sure don’t want to hurt no-one…”   We would trade up playing on his kit, and his sweet Mom would always have a nice word for us afterwards despite the racket.

At home, I practiced on my beat-up but trusty Sonor kit with wobbly snare and a cracked Zildjian cymbal serving initially as both my ride and crash.

We were drum keeners. Our pilgrimage to Long & McQuade was a chance to check out new technology, upgrade our kits, talk shop with the staff, and come back with a new pair of drumsticks in our back pockets — whether we needed them or not.

We’d wander about checking out the kits and drooling over U.S.-made classics such as Ludwig, Rogers and Slingerland. We got bug-eyed over percussion instruments ranging from congas to xylophones. There was a separate, sound-insulated cymbal room where you could kick the tires on gorgeous Turkish cymbals to your heart’s content.

The shop manager would greet us from behind the counter. He was an old-style drummer with both military and jazz credentials, Lou Williamson, a friendly guy with grey-black hair combed across and back. Besides Lou, there was also a tall, gangly hippy-type staffer. He was the guy who set up the weekly payment plan for the Ludwig drum kit that I bought around the end of high school. I felt so grown up until he asked to call my Mom to guarantee the loan.

Now: Two young eager gents — also smartly dressed like the doorman — helmed the drum desk behind plexiglass, peering at their late-middle-aged masked customer, me. They were part of a company started humbly in the 1950s by a trumpet player (Long) and a drummer (McQuade) that had become Canada’s largest musical instrument retailer, with 80-plus stores.

One of the drum-desk gents pointed to a second hi-hat sanitizer dispenser and I obliged.

I told him I was looking for a comfortable mid-priced drum throne. He checked the computer then showed me a floor model with a generous seat and swivel height adjustment. It seemed solid. Like most drum accessories these days, it was made in Taiwan and marketed with an Anglo name: Gibraltar. Sold!

drum sticks

I was distracted by the wall of drumsticks and grabbed a pair of wooden-tips models made in Canada.  Hopefully they would take the edge off the “ping” effect of my Zildjian ride cymbal.  My friend Ward had recommended a classic snare drum method book, “Stick Control.” I knew I had mine somewhere in a box from my drum studies in the 1970s, but I decide to pick up a fresh copy.

I was mesmerized by a modern Sonor kit made in a vintage style with turquoise wraps.  It was a shiny new version of the beat-up, green-sparkle Sonor kit I bought at Long & McQuade in the 1970s. Back then I paid $175. Today’s retro version will set you back $4,000.

sonor kit

Then: With our new drum sticks in our back pockets and renewed inspiration from our musical pilgrimage, Dave and I would head next door to grab a greasy burger, fries and coke and gab at the lunch counter.

Then back on the subway, and the Lawrence or Leslie bus back home to suburban Don Mills. Mission accomplished. Back to school on Monday.

Now: After battling traffic in my minivan, I got home, set up my new-fangled drummer’s throne, and added it to my kit. I was sitting up higher and straighter now. Stronger. I played around a bit on the kit from my new vantage point. Was it a throne fit for a king?

But the journey had tired me out. I was no longer the skinny kid in the jean jacket who dreamed of drums and had energy to burn. My drummer’s throne could wait. I needed a nap.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kicking the tires on the Rogers drum kit

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It was getting crowded in Ali’s old bedroom, with the alien green walls. The vintage Rogers drum kit I had bought from minivan dude’s storage locker was coming together, filling the space. Now I had to squeeze between a tom-tom and Ali’s desk to get to my seat.

After practicing some classic snare drum solos, adding in the hi-hat, bass drum, and ride cymbal, I dusted off the rest of the kit: a crash cymbal and two toms.  I was still short a drummer’s throne, so had to park my rear on the soft single bed.

rogers kit

I had a rock groove going in my mind and my hands and feet were doing their best to follow on the drum kit. The hands felt sharp and coordinated on the snare and hi-hat.  My bass drum foot felt clumsy — it was better on off-beats but lacked full confidence carrying the rhythm. But that evened out when I switched my right hand to ride cymbal.

The rust comes off

I messed around with some rock beats, trying to carry a theme and adding in a fill on the toms.

The rust was coming off. Outside, the drilling and hammering noises from the construction next door competed with the percussion sounds inside.

I was no drumming king, but perhaps I had earned a “throne” for my drum kit — by at least trying to make my comeback.

I made a mental note to swing by Long & McQuade with my mask to pick up a throne (also known as drum seat or stool) and maybe one nice pair of wood sticks without the plastic tips.

Back in Black

Drummers are like back-up goalies — they are sometimes in short supply and needed urgently. For example, a couple of years ago, AC/DC put out the word for a substitute drummer after their go-to guy got implicated in a murder-for-hire plot. And as we saw in the classic movie Spinal Tap, bands need to replace rock drummers after they die suddenly by spontaneous combustion or more gruesome means.

If an AC/DC tribute band desperately needed a drummer for a gig at a seedy Ontario roadhouse, would I have the stamina and timing to get through a thunderous song like Back in Black?

I had got back to sight-reading some snare solos. Cold I hack my way through a Woody Herman big-band chart?

I was still worried about how my cochlear implant and hearing aid would withstand a full band sound. Too many different sounds can be overwhelming. But maybe the right parts of the mix would cut through so that I could play. I recalled the feeling of joy and ease that came with playing music when it was a bigger part of my life.

I would need to be patient and keep practicing.

 

Let it ride — decoding the Zildjian ping cymbal

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As I put together the old Rogers drum kit I had purchased off minivan dude at a Toronto storage locker facility, I had a close look at the ride cymbal and its stand.

My thoughts went back to the mid-70s, and the thrill of buying my first drum kit from the Long & McQuade music store.  It was a beat-up, but solid, used Sonor kit with dark green sparkle wrap. The Turkish Zildian ride cymbal that came with it had a huge crack in it, running straight out from near the bell, and then zigzagging a bit parallel with the cymbal’s circular lines.

My drum teacher, Glenn Price, showed me a small hole that had been drilled into the cymbal in an attempt to stop the crack from spreading further.  I couldn’t complain because I paid only $175 for a full kit of good quality, very well-used, drums and cymbals.

While the ride cymbal sounded fine, because of the crack I used it only for rhythm. But that is the raison d’etre of a ride cymbal — to let it ride with the rhythm.

In a rock song, for example, the drummer may beat a repetitive rhythm on the ride cymbal’s surface or bell — a key part of the rhythmic mix. So I stuck to the rhythm and was reluctant to crash the cymbal for fear of the crack spreading.

Pings, washes, crashes and moans

A ride cymbal is typically the widest and heaviest cymbal on the drum kit. Its sounds include the “ping” of the stick striking the cymbal, and the “wash” as the cymbal resonates with repeated strikes on its surface.  For a hard percussive effect, you can strike the cymbal’s bell.

There is also the option to hit the cymbal from the side with force for a crash effect. Or to build up a heavy wash in the cymbal by using a roll on its edges with sticks, or its surface with soft mallets.

So many permutations, techniques and tools. With some effort you can get other cool orchestral sounds out of a ride cymbal, like a moaning “ooh” or “oh” sound from resonating the cymbal with a violin bow.

IMG_2446 Ian with cymbal

Using a violin bow to resonate the cymbal — from my days with the North York Percussion Ensemble.

The ride cymbal I got from minivan dude in a sketchy meeting at a storage locker is a 22-inch diameter “ping” ride made in the U.S. by the fabled Turkish-Armenian Avedis Zildjian cymbal company. It came with a solid Yamaha stand. I had a quick look online and found a few of these cymbals retailing used for several hundred bucks. Was my cymbal hot, or what?

A ping-style ride emphasizes the sound of the strike — this is especially important in loud volumes, like a rock concert. But the sound of this particular ride was a little too pingy for my liking.  I was using plastic-tipped sticks so that probably sharpened the ping sound even further.  I would try to dig out some wood-tipped sticks to see if that softened the ping a bit.

ping ride

And maybe the cochlear implant in my right ear was sharpening the ping sound. If I hit the cymbal hard, the force of the ping was very sharp. Maybe a low-tech solution like duct tape might dull it down a bit.  I would experiment.

Feuding cymbals

The Zildjian ping ride cymbal now to my right, and the Sabian high-hats operated by my left foot, represented dueling sides of a family feud. After being passed over for the Zildjian company’s leadership, one brother struck out for Canada and established his own cymbal manufacturing company in New Brunswick: Sabian.

Meanwhile, Zildjian had centralized manufacturing in its biggest market, the U.S.  With its special-recipe alchemy of copper, tin and other elements, Zildjian has manufactured fine cymbals for almost 400 years.  Its product got a boost when Beatles drummer Ringo Starr played a kit with Zildjian cymbals on the Ed Sullivan show.

I hoped that the feuding would settle down and that my cymbals would cooperate when I started kicking the tires on my Rogers drum kit.

 

 

Rogers “Big R” drum kit — this is your apocalypse

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Once you search for “drums” on FB marketplace, it’s game over.

Each day, your feed now features tantalizing drum kits in all colours, shapes and sizes.

And the prices are right. As with acoustic pianos, there seems to be a buyer’s market for acoustic (non-electronic) drums. I think that’s because many drummers have opted for electronic drums, and unloaded their acoustic kits.  Likewise, those who are learning drums may start with an electronic kit for its portability and good sound.

So there’s no shortage of nice acoustic drum kits out there, at very reasonable prices. The Japanese company Pearl, which also manufactured drums in other Asian locations, features prominently in the used drum market. Same with Tama. Occasionally, some of the older brands come on the market, from the golden age of U.S.-made drums — fabled names like Ludwig, Rogers and Slingerland.

As gorgeous kits flood your feed, you transform into some kind of drum-buying-obsessed zombie. And this is your apocalypse, buddy.

Dreams of maple

“Well what have we here this morning?” you muse to yourself as you stop scrolling and land on a post. “This looks like a fine shell pack of vintage Rogers drums.” You feign nonchalance, but you are kidding yourself.

Rogers bass drum 2

The golden-brown shells and their chrome are set off against an orange backdrop for maximum marketing effect.  “Shell-pack” means a bass drum, floor tom and two mounted toms, looking like they need a good thumping. And the price of $450 is chump change.

Of course, to pound these drums properly, you would need to add a snare drum, hi-hat, ride cymbal, crash cymbal, bass drum pedal, drummer’s throne, and perhaps a few more doodads.

With your better judgment now quite unhinged, you tap out a quick note to the seller: “Nice drums. Would you be able to do a package deal for a full kit?” You visualize having to fend off other suitors for this gorgeous vintage kit. You don’t want to sound too desperate, but you do try to get in there quickly.

The next morning, a reply: “Thanks for getting in touch. Yeah, I can do a package. I will throw in Zildjian ride and crash, Sabian hi-hat cymbals, Yamaha stands and bass pedal; you can choose from a Pearl or CB snare drum. Don’t have a stool but will give you a tuning key. I can do the full kit for $850.”

Be still your beating heart. The Sabian hats alone are worth a couple of hundred. The golden Rogers maple shells seem to gleam even brighter now in your imagination. You’re hooked.

“I’d like to see the kit if I could. Are these drums U.S.-made?”

Minivan bros 

The seller gets back with details of a storage locker location in Toronto’s downtown west end. You meet there on a fine pre-covid summer day in 2019 and you both happen to be driving Dodge Grand Caravans, relics of the family minivan age. You are not quite bonding with seller dude, but have something in common. He is a younger guy, business-like, clean cut, in his 40s.

minivan dude

“I don’t know the provenance of this kit,” he tells you. “I played them a few times, they sound good. I got a locker of old drums I gotta move out, so I hope you like it.”

You meet up and he pops open the locker. The drums are stacked vertically and look very nice, with their multi-ply maple showing through clear heads. Minivan dude has sticks and proceeds to pick up and strike each of drum and cymbal.  Thump. Thump. Ping. Etc. “We can’t set them up but you can get a feel for the sound.” With my new cochlear implant hearing system, combined with a conventional hearing aid in the other ear, they sound pretty nice to me.

You ask him again about the origin of the Rogers kit and he replies: “It’s 1980s for sure; I took it in a trade years ago and haven’t played it much.”

You get a funny feeling in your gut and google “Rogers maple drum kit”, trying not to look too worried, and you get all kinds of great images of Rogers drums.

Satisfied, you bargain the guy down to $800 and get a nice drum kit with good accessories. He helps you haul it to your minivan and the deal is done. Hook, line and sinker.

But your intuition was correct. In your desperate google search, you did miss the fine print. Like other traditional U.S. drum companies under pressure from new offshore competitors in the early ’80s, Rogers joined the game of producing some of its drums using cheap labour in Asia. This particular maple kit is made under the “Big R” Rogers brand label, but does not have the required “Made in U.S.A.” on its chrome nameplate. possibly built in Taiwan to Rogers’ specifications in late 70s or early 80s. Or built by a company called Island Music that had rights to produce the Rogers line for a few years in the mid to late 1980s. Rogers ceased production in the 1980s but its signature brand and new drum lines were relaunched in 2017.

rogers logo

Going offshore

So your new drums are offshore Rogers, a category sometimes scorned by Rogers enthusiasts.  Minivan dude is some kind of drum-broker who can spin a good story for every kit in his storage locker. His ad and identity have now dissolved from the Marketplace website in a puff of electronic smoke. Damn his hide.

But you know what? Your drums sound nice. The shells are solid. Through the transparent drum skins, they look like five-ply wood, possibly maple. The cymbals are very good quality and crisp.  The CB snare drum you chose has U.S.-made heads and a deep, rich sound, even though it too is a Taiwan special. The stands and pedals are good quality and operate well.

Rogers purists be damned. You have been out of the music mix for awhile and want to dust off your drum-set skills.

You will learn to love your Rogers Big-R offshore kit.

 

Putting the pedal to the metal

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The bass drum pedal is a thing of beauty. Mine is a Pearl model that uses a short chain, not unlike a bicycle chain, to turn a downward pedal motion into forward beater strikes.

The bass drum itself is sometimes called a “kick” drum but that term is misleading.  The drummer uses his or her leg, ankle, heel and toe to activate a pedal whose beater strikes the bass drum head. No kicking allowed.

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The Ludwig and Sonor drum companies came up with this innovation in the early 1900s.

The pedal has probably saved a lot of sore backs for drummers who may have had to carry the drum around previously, or put it on a stand and whack it.

Independence!

Most importantly, once you can strike the bass drum with your foot pedal, it frees up your other limbs to play drums, cymbals, cowbells, woodblocks, gongs and whatever other percussion doodads you have added to your kit. Including the hi-hat, which sports two cymbals also operated by a pedal.

The ability of your two feet and two hands to play jointly and separately is called “independence.” With practice, your brain hives off new areas dedicated to each limb. This allows the drummer to carry out a beat with one limb, for example, and improvise independently with another at the same time. Independence also helps if you are operating with less than four limbs. For example, Def Leppard drummer Rick Allen made a successful comeback with the band after losing his right arm in a car crash.

I bet the guy who invented the bass drum pedal never thought of independent limbs and a bigger brain. He probably just had a sore back.

Driving the beat and more…

As drummers developed virtuosity on single or double bass drum pedals, such as those in the heavy metal genre, this invention gave new meaning to the term: “put the pedal to the metal.” The bass drum really does drive the beat, and can deliver both sensitive and thundering musicality.

After a long drumming layoff, I was getting back into the game with my snare drum and some classic solos. I added the hi-hat to the mix, with its brilliant Sabian cymbals. Now it was time to unpack the bass drum from its case.

Rogers bass drum

It’s a 1980s-vintage Rogers drum, with a golden five-ply shell (of maple?) and an Evans batter head. The twisted story of this old drum and its kit would be told at a later date.

Two swivel-adjusted props keep the drum fixed while you play it. Without the props, the drum would slide forward. I like the Rogers props better than the Ludwig style as they give better directional traction.

The pitch of each head can be adjusted by tightening or loosening the lug screws. Some drummers muffle the batter head and may remove the non-batter head for a harder sound. This drum had a nice deep thump to it so I decided to leave it alone.

It’s good to remember that the modern bass drum is reasonably portable. I know for a fact that it will fit in the front seat of a 1971 blue VW Superbeetle, while the rest of the kit is stowed in the back seat.

“Hot” drumming

I was practicing drums again in my older daughter’s former bedroom during a summer heat wave. When she was not delivering front-line medical care, Nadine was sometimes in our younger daughter’s former room next door sewing masks during the lockdown. The air-conditioning did not reach the third floor so my practice sessions qualified as hot drumming.

I decided to illustrate the concept of independence. My plan was to use the bass drum and hi-hat beats to underscore the musicality of one of composer Anthony Cirone’s snare drum etudes.

Next door, the renovation crew had installed the roof and siding and were working inside, so there was no one but the birds and my spouse to hear as I put the pedal to the metal.

Rogers bass drum 2

 

Dad, and the feeling of music

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While our Mom, Sheila, had formal piano training and encouraged me to pursue music, our Dad, Douglas, was more about the feeling of music.

Recently, I came across some childhood memories Dad had recorded on cassette tape, later converted to CD by my sister Louise.

Dad

Douglas Kinross portrait by Klaas Hart based on Dad’s 1950s passport photo.

When he was a child in the 1920s, his parents had hired a handyman, a retired valet. Mr. Bartram would visit the Kinross family home in Harpenden each week to clean the silver, carry on an intelligent conversation about world events, and fix whatever needed fixing. More importantly, he occasionally took Dad and his siblings to the movies.

Live music at the movies

“The films were silent in those days,” Dad recalled. “After the first part of the film, the auditorium would go dark and quiet. Then with a burst of noise, an enormous organ would erupt and emerge from the depths of the stage, with its organist bowing, waving and then playing — it was terrifying!”

“Words would appear on the movie screen, and we would sing along. Then the man and his organ would disappear into the depths, and the second part of the film would begin.”

Dad was known for his cricket and rugby skills and did not consider himself a musician, but sang in choir at his school, St. Georges. In the chapel there, students practiced and performed hymns, anthems and readings.

We visited his school on vacation 20 years ago and stood in that same chapel and got a sense of the music magic he must have felt there as a young boy.

Throughout his life, Dad had a beautiful tenor voice, true pitch and wide vocal range. We only heard him singing during a Christmas carol or church hymn, although he sometimes hummed to himself.

“It felt like home”

Dad did not share a lot about his World War 2 experience, but one story involved music.

The story is just a memory fragment to me but it goes something like this: He and some fellow soldiers had become holed up in an abandoned farmhouse, possibly in France. The group was stuck in a no man’s land and at risk from both the enemy as well as “friendly” fire.

I will quote my Dad as best as I can remember:

“There was a quiet fellow, Payton. The house had a piano in the parlour, and he could play beautifully.  He cheered us up — it felt like home.”

Dad had no home for the duration of the war after signing up with the British 8th army. With its signals division, he served in Egypt, Sicily, France, Belgium and Germany.

On July 1, 2020, Dad would be 100.  He passed away in 2009.

When I listened to his memories tape recently, recorded with help from our mom years ago, there was music in his voice.

Dad and Ali

Dad reading to Ali, 1990s.