Me? A Drummer?

Young me practicing my paradiddles.
Note the jazz grip and my trusty cassette deck, at left.

I wasn't the guy who pounded rhythms on his desk or cafeteria tray, geez, I barely tapped my foot. But rock and roll is a powerful magnet. The idea of playing in a band was loaded with all the potential cool a freshly minted teenager could imagine and some friends happened to be forming one. They needed a drummer, so I got me some lessons at the local music shop.

My teacher, a jazz guy, was delighted that I could read music. I'd taken 5 years of classical piano lessons, and the drum charts he put in front of me were a piece of cake. I had a good ear and it turned out I was coordinated too. I started on a practice pad and soon I was begging for drums of my own.

Before you knew it I had my nose in the want ads looking for used kits – I found one across town. To me they were amazing: $125 of chrome, twinkle and marble-look laminate. In reality they were a little 4 piece kit with crappy, dull sounding pie tin cymbals, some no-name cheapo brand. Excitedly, I took them home.

Within a few months my buds and I had recorded a noisy cassette (I still have it) of "Sympathy for the Devil," "Jumping Jack Flash" and "Honky Tonk Woman." I wasn't that great, but I was keeping tempo and singing at the same time, to boot. I had taken to it. I was becoming a drummer.

I carried on practicing and jamming. I got better cymbals, added cowbells and blocks, experimented with tuning and muffling heads. I took my lessons but really learned by playing along with the greats on my trusty cassette deck. I broke sticks as I dueled with Moon and Bonham and absorbed Ringo and Charlies Watts' patient competence.

Those drums played exactly one paid gig: I was hired for the pit orchestra for an 8th grade catholic school production of Cole Porter's "Anything Goes." But playing rock with my friends was much more satisfying.

I became known in my little circle as a pretty good drummer. I felt cool and got some needed teenage cred. But drumming did more than that. Drumming is humbling. One must support and be never waver. I learned I could be dependable.

Sure, there was room for powerful showboating. Being a drummer was decidedly macho — important for a guy growing up in the estrogen bath our home had become with the departure of my father (two sisters a mother and me, the male minority). The emotional turmoil and angst every teenager feels was given a primal voice though rock and roll.

More importantly, I learned how to improvise and go with the flow. Something my classical music training did not teach me. A useful skill in life.

Soon I felt limited by those drums and after a summer toiling as a messenger in Manhattan, I'd saved enough to purchase a a beautiful cherry red Premier kit.

I ran my own classified ad and the first looker took them away for a paltry $75. I was sick with a fever and too weak to bargain. But that was fine. In the exchange they only cost me $50. And what I gained from those drums can't be measured in dollars and cents.

More Cowbell

More Cowbell! - watch more funny videos

National Public Radio recently aired a segment on the chirps of prairie dogs. Through controlled experiments and analysis, the scientists found that the prairie dogs could "talk" to each other. Different sounds, identifiable by us humans only with computer analysis, identify a particular predators and even communicate information about the predator's size and color. Knowing about a potential threat is important stuff, and though we can't hear it in their calls, the animals have evolved to be sensitive to the frequencies that communicated this important information.

Now, cows, for example, are important to humans. You don't want to loose your cow and the valuable milk, cheese and meat she represents. So naturally the cowbell was developed with a frequency the human ear is particularly sensitive to, making those valuable lost heifers easy to locate.

"More Cowbell!" sounds silly, but it's a call directly from our DNA. We want it. We need it. Cowbell speaks to us on at a deep level.

The while the classic Christopher Walken SNL video makes fun of the staple percussive "Konk," let's face it, it's ubiquitous in dance, Latin, rock and jazz music. We all want more cowbell.I've had a few, but the one tucked into this post is Latin Percussion branded cowbell about 10-12 inches long. It's held up well considering I've had it for 30 years or so. It's been mounted on my drum kit between my toms and I've recorded and sampled it many, many times. On this I pounded out the Honky Tonk Woman beat and practiced along with Tito Puente recordings.

Organizing my possessions and purging the unwanted is something I do periodically. I've gone through three drum sets (Read about it: 1,2,3). So though I decided I didn't need a drum kit twice in my life, somehow this cowbell always landed in the "keep" pile.

I love my cowbell, I can't get enough of it.

I gotta agree with Christopher Walken's character, "The Bruce Dickenson."

"I got a fever, and the only cure is more cowbell!"

Papa Super Chromonica

Honer Super Chromonica

It was Christmas 1981, and all I got was this stupid harmonica. I almost thought it was a joke gift and I poked around under the tree for something else with my name on it.

I don't know what I was expecting, I wasn't a kid anymore, I was 20. But somehow I was still hoping for that wonderful, perfect present from my dad. He'd just spent the last 7 years divorced and apart from the rest of us, and I hadn't really worked through my broken home issues. I was seeking confirmation that he cared.

But fancy presents just weren't his thing.

My father isn't a musician, but part of him wants to be. Every time he passes a piano he rips into the one song he knows, the one he called "Karaum-bal-tai." In Russian that comes off as a funny sounding onomonopia of the tune known as “Los Paticos” — The Ducklings. He could play harmonica a little too, some slavic jags and campfire type things.

He never studied music but he's very physically adept. He can draw and paint, spin pots out of clay, do carpentry, juggle. He's always been athletic, in fact, at 78 he's doing mini triathalons. He has good musical taste and appreciation, and combined with all that coordination, I think that if he'd had the chance, he could have learned to play more than just that one tune.

I've had my gripes with him. Who hasn't had some with their folks? And he had his faults. I mentioned the divorce, which caused some emotional trauma. He has always been embarrassingly flirtatious, he tends to get angrier than necessary and he's a little childish sometimes, even in his advanced age. I'm not trying to me judgmental, just attempting to check myself in these same areas, because you know, the past tends to repeat itself.

And like I mentioned above, he was always a little stingy with presents.

But I have made a degree of peace with the past. We've both matured. Some of his faults now seem like charming character defining quirks, now that he's getting up there and I've come to realize that I inherited many of his genetic gifts, which I'm grateful for. I share much of my father's dexterity which has helped me in countless ways, including music and I've made good use of my aesthetic sense and appreciation.

I realize now that he also gave me other presents along the way. He showed me how to fix flats, where the north side of a tree was, how to fish, build a fire, throw pots and how to handle knives and cameras. He showed me by example how important it is to be creative and have fun.

And I'm grateful. Let's face it, these gifts are the important kinds in life, not the ones wrapped in ribbons and tied in bows. Those, as I've mentioned, he's always been kind of cheap with.

He liked harmonicas, so he grabbed one for me and wrapped it up that Christmas. That's what I figured. I took the thing home and threw it in a drawer.

Many years later I noticed the identical Honer Chromatica at the music store. Much to my surprise, it cost about $150 — even adjusted for inflation, it was perhaps the most my father had ever spent on me at once.

Sometimes it just takes a while to realize the value of things.

Boss DR 770 Redux

10/16/2010 Update: My laptop is on the fritz and I'm unable to do music on it. So I've been just playing through an amp and practicing. I needed a beat, so I traded in my Behringer midi controller for another Boss DR-770, yes the same one I'd already written about.

I headed down to Rogue Music on 30th Street in Manhattan. At first I was looking at a Zoom 323, which has an interesting setup, 3 tracks of music, bass lines included. But either it wasn't working right or I was too dumb to pick it up. So I tried the 770 and found that it was pretty cool. I'm liking it this time around and it's amazing how much I actually remember about how to run the thing. Not as complex as I remember.

Only problem: after the first hour it began to smell like smoke. Not like it was burning up, but like a pipe. Clearly the previous owner was a smoker.

I'm hoping that the smell fades. I'm considering putting it in a sealed box with some activated charcoal. Any other ideas?

I'm going to program a bunch of songs into there so that I can rehearse my keyboard playing.

Kind of fun to get away from the computer.

Yamaha P22 Upright Piano

YAMAHA P22

About ten years ago, after we bought a house and had some spare room, my wife and I brought over what was once my piano. I'd been this particular instrument’s main champion through childhood. My mom gave it to me years earlier when moving from our childhood home.

It was a crappy, impossible to tune, wobbly Jansen console from the 1960s, seen here in my father's photo. Yes, that's me and my sister smoking something (it was the 60s). Despite its shortcomings, I was fond of the piano. After all, I had its every crooked harmony burned deep into my auditory cortex.

But we had toddlers and the piano was so unstable that we soon thought it might fall and kill one of them. After only a short while I lugged it back to my dad's house, where it sits today.

We did think our children should have the chance to take lessons and make some noise and, of course, I liked to play. Somehow we had a bit of money and decided to get a new piano. I couldn't have been more thrilled.

If you've ever done it, you know that buying a piano is not like buying a washing machine or even a Fender Strat. There are few prices clearly advertised anywhere. At least I couldn't seem to dig them up online, and found the dealers didn't like to quote them on the phone either. It seemed a huge industry-wide conspiracy designed to keep me, the buyer, in the dark, even worse than buying a car. This was about ten years ago. Nowdays there are a good number of forums and user discussions where you can get a better idea of what you should be paying.

We'd gotten a notice in the mail about an amazing program in which universities were getting rid of pianos which had been gently used for only a year or so — at an incredible discount. Supposedly you got a wonderful deal on a slightly used instrument, and were helping out a school in the process.

Soon we found ourselves on the campus of a well known New Jersey state university looking at a room full of pianos — and getting the hard sell.

Somehow we settled on the Yamaha U22 Upright. It was cleanly designed, not frilly. It had a solid feeling, a huge warm sound and a beautiful finish. Aside from a tiny scratch that had been touched up very well, the piano was perfect.

I don't remember exact cost, but It was over four thousand dollars. The dealer — and it was a dealer, not the university that was selling these — explained that the piano was sold as "new" because it had never been sold before. It was on loan to the school as an instructional instrument, but had never registered a sales receipt. This was good for me, he continued. I'd still get all the benefits of the warranty and a "like new" piano for a great price. They wanted to deliver it THAT DAY. We settled on the next.

Once home I went back online and researched that exact model. The Yamaha U22 was described as super sturdy in build, on heavy casters, and designed for and often chosen by schools and rehearsal halls. Ok, satisfying research. Maybe our new piano had survived university use better than most, since it was a model build for that kind of thing. It wasn't a music school, so I doubted it had been played more than a few hours a day, tops. My own kid's school had one. All good, we could pound on this one.

But after some detective work I found document in the public record of a local school district: It was a bid [accepted] for a piano identical to the one I'd bought — for about $1000 less, and that one was new!

I suddenly felt like a sucker. I called the guy who'd sold it to us up and told him I thought I was being over-changed. Was he going to let me out of this deal? No wonder they wanted me to take delivery so soon... before I got wise!

Much to my surprise the guy calmly asked what I wanted to pay, and dramatically lowered our cost. I was calmed, but the experience left a bad taste in mouth.

To drop the price as much as they did, and so quickly, made me realize these guys were making way too much on these instruments. Essentially the pianos were being sold twice. They probably got that tax break in the school deal, or maybe some kind of slippery lease payment, made their money, then made it again selling to people like me.

In the end the piano did not disappoint. It has held up to my heavy hands. It sounds great, looks great.

The moral?

Nothing is new: Buyer beware. Especially on a big ticket once in a lifetime purchase like a family piano.

Update::

Saturday, March 14, 2026

Here’s the postscript. 

I move the piano out of a suburban home and into storage about a decade ago. I kept it in storage for a year, at about $100 a month. After a year, though, I ended up loaning it to a colleague who has had it in his home since. 

By “loaning it” I mean I gave it away with the open understanding that I would take it back if it wasn’t wanted anymore — but that I was not going to be asking for it. It has been part of another family now for years and I’m happy about that.

At some point I would like to have another piano, and I would consider this model. I play hard and this model is rugged and designed to be rolled around. It’s also pretty tall, so the strings stretch a little longer than some console pianos and the sound is fuller. It’s not as tall as true uprights, so it doesn’t take over a smaller room quite the same way, yet it still is loud and full..

But I could like a lot of pianos.

Phonic Helix Firewire Mixer/Audio Interface

Phonic Helix Firewire mixer/audio interface.

The shiny Phonic vaguely brought to mind a 1969 U.K. club awash with mini-skirts and wafting clouds of pot smoke. I didn't actually get into that club, I wasn't of age, and also on the wrong continent.

My imaginings were way off. Phonic was founded in 1977, and I'm not even sure they are British. But I guess it just looked sexy to me. Silver and all with all those knobs.

The Phonic Helix 12 is more than an analog mixer, it's also a digital audio interface. All those channels feed into a stereo out which brought music into my computer via firewire.

There's a bunch of similar products around now, mixer/audio interfaces in the under $500 range, like the ones made by Alesis and Behringer.

At the time this one was the only one I'd ever seen in that price bracket that utilized firewire. I had a notion that firewire was faster than usb. In addition, I figured I'd be sharing my usb bandwidth with my keyboard, mouse and midi in and out. Having a dedicated bus for audio and another for midi made sense to me.

The Phonic had built in reverb, delays and chorus effects too, but it was convoluted to route them to the computer. You had to physically patch a cable back into a mixer channel and be careful of your sends so as not to have any feedback loops. The digital bus just didn't include what came back from the effects return. Almost seemed like the audio interface was tacked on to an already designed mixer schematic, which is probably the case.

But it was pretty good sounding. Once I got my software set up with the right buffer sizes and latency settings I got consistently good audio. Sometimes I'd get some digital crackle. A restart would usually fix that. Cranking the trim did bring forth a transistor sounding hum.

I've read quite a few shaky reviews of this piece of metal, but mine was fine for about 2 and a half years. I had a drum machine, a midi module or two, and a guitar coming through a Pod Line 6, all in stereo. Then a condenser mic (yes, it had phantom power). That's 9 inputs right there. I liked having everything plugged in and ready to go.

Soon I needed to purchase Protools to use with my work projects, and of course it came with its own audio interface, an M-box. It was usb, but it use it seemed just as fast to me as the firewire the Phonic served up.

Eventually I trimmed down my setup and was using mostly virtual instruments and one keyboard only. When I had so little left to plug into my Helix, I sold it for the sake of keeping things simple.

Paid: $299. Sold: $150. When it sold very quickly I thought that I could have gotten a bit more.

But do the math: My Helix cost me like $0.15 a day. Totally worth it.

Ibanez Tube Screamer

Wahhhh!

What can I say. This was my first guitar pedal and my best guitar pedal. And I got mine before they became collector's items and classics. It was actually pretty cheap when I picked it up, maybe $40-$50.

Never had an A.C. adapter and I can't tell you how many batteries I went through by leaving my guitar plugged in and walking away for a beer or 2, then forgetting about it overnight.

It kicked ass, nothing subtle about it. It was very aggressive and made everything sound loud, in your face and good.

I had particular success routing my Sequential Circuits Pro One through it to produce raunchy distorted lead lines from hell.

I traded it in at Rogue Music for God knows what.