So, what's your
sound? No, I don't mean what kind of music you play. I mean, what
sound do you get from your drums? I ask because it seems to me that
we live in an era of ever more product choices but somehow less
attention is being paid to personalising the sound emitting from our
instruments. We have the choice of umpteen kinds of wood,
construction styles, heads, dampening and even mic'ing and EQing and
yet it seems to me that – much like pop music – drummers seem to
sound more and more alike as time goes on. I don't mean the notes
they play – imitation, influence and homage are topics for another
day – but the way we tune and the sound we draw from the drums.
I was recently party
to a conversation on social media in which a fellow drummer asked
“what kind of bass drum head is best for alternative/indy rock
played live?” My immediate response was to throw the question back
onto them: “What is your sound?” Many of the responses that
followed gave recommendations for specific drum heads that the
responders use or have used. And eventually, once a certain number of
similar responses appeared, the asker fell into rank and decided that
they would choose the most recommended head. But despite the heads
recommended being, in my experience, perfectly good heads from a
quality standpoint and for getting a certain kind of sound, I think
both the questioner and the well-intentioned responders all
sidestepped a crucial issue.
As no less than
Vinnie Colaiuta says, “I thought we were making art.” That is,
playing the drums is about conceiving, creating and expressing. And
the most key ingredient, which informs everything from our equipment
choices to the notes we play on down to the techniques we spend time
shedding, is conception. What the question and many of the responses
in our conversation ignored equally was conception. That is, what on
earth am I trying to say with my instrument? What idea am I trying to
express? What sounds do I want to bring forth into the world?
Don't get me wrong.
In the process of learning and forming opinions we all seek the help
of those we place trust in as authorities. These authorities may be
teachers, mentors, peer groups or even social media networks. Of
course, I don't know what sort of prior relationship these posters
have, so I don't know to what degree the responses were based on
prior knowledge of the asker's tastes. That said, it seemed to me
that the questioner was simply tossing a Hail Mary and hoping someone
would catch it and make their mind up for them.
That's all well and
good and it may get you through the gig in one piece, but if we
return to Vinnie C and other great drummers that many hold in high
esteem, we see that many of them have a very clear conception of the
sound they're trying to convey. And we know this because there is a
certain consistency in their tuning and sound approach across a
number of genres. Certainly many of the greatest players have engaged
in playing chameleon on recording sessions and used sounds that fit
the artist's, producer's or engineer's concept. But I think if we
really examine the ranks of the great players – particularly of the
past - we find that they almost all have/had a very disctinctive
sound.
I grew up in the
late 70s and 80s when you only need to turn around to find another
drummer who tuned his drums low and fat like Steve Gadd. Having seen
Steve play recently, that Gadd snare drum sound is as identifiable
today as it was when his buttery smooth doubles first slipped into
wide popular consciousness with the release of Paul Simon's 50
Ways. Similarly, if we consider
the aforementioned
Mr. Colaiuta,
it takes only a few seconds for those who know his playing to
recognise the combination of his popping snare drum and his deep,
punchy bass drum. Going back further in time, it only takes a little
bit of study to hear differences
between the greats,
not just based on what they played,
but based on the way they tuned their drums and chose their cymbals.
Whether it be Tony's distinctive ride
cymbal or his CS Dot heads,
Elvin's drum choir approach with his
ringing 18” bass drum, Max's high tom sound
that he
played his melodies
on or
Clyde Stubblefield's snap-crackling rimshots, their
choice of heads, tuning and techniques all relate back to a
particular CONCEPT that they were
trying to get across.
Videos of John Bonham's drum tech, Jeff Ocheltree, are still making
the rounds and baiting clicks on the internet 40
years after Bonham's death because
many still want to understand how to get his
distinctive sound.
The
thing is, you could've taken Bonham out of Led Zeppelin and dropped
him in another band and if you'd listened to him carefully at all,
you'd know it was him the minute he laid into that big 26-inch bass
drum and counterpointed it with that gunshot Ludwig 402 snare. The
reason is that he had a SOUND. His
sound. A sound as
identifiable as a close friend's voice. And he – and indeed all the
players mentioned above and more – were so clear in their
conception that it rang out clearly through the sound of their
instruments no matter where
they were or who they played
with. They had a voice that
we continue
to
recognise many years in the future across millions of miles of space
and despite perhaps never having met any of them.
Today,
Dave Weckl tries to travel and tour with his own mics, EQs and mixing
desk so he can be in complete control of the sound he's sending from
his drums to the front of house sound system. He cares so deeply
about getting his conception across that he has taken the time to put
together a rig that reproduces as closely as he can the sound he
wants from his drums on a night to night basis. He leaves little to
chance. I don't know Dave personally, but I can only surmise that
it's because he views his sound as part of him; as an expression of a
very personal and unique concept that he's trying to bring to his
listeners.
As
drummers we often get preoccupied with the physicality of playing our
instruments. And when we think about learning to play what one of our
heroes has played, we focus on the rights and lefts and foots of it
all. We don't always stop to think enough
about SOUND. That is, how does something as simple as the
relationship in pitch between the bass drum and snare drum effect the
way our heroes' grooves sound? How
do their cymbals effect the way their playing fits into the overall
composition of the tune? These are all questions I'm sure the greats
have all asked themselves in some form or another.
What
lessons can we learn from these examples?
When we
go to create from our own experiences and from our own tastes, do we
take the time to think hard and long about what sort of sound we're
trying to make? Do we think about our voice?
Look,
I have nothing against the person who decided to throw their bass
drum head choice to
the winds of popular webz
opinion. If that's good
enough for them, who am I to say it's wrong? Heck,
it might
even be part of some kind of cool concept that they're going for.
Crowd-sourced
drum sound anyone? Either way, my
hope is that they'll put the head on and experiment with it for a bit
and learn more about what
they like and don't like. And hopefully that will lead them to start
to question more deeply what it is they're trying to say on their
drums. To ask “What do I
want to sound like?”
And
I have nothing against the responses, either, because I presume they
come from those people having made their own discoveries about what
they like and don't like and about what they want to sound like.
They're merely expressing their own joy and enthusiasm at having
found a sound that gets them all jazzed up and
raring to play. And
that's the whole point. But
lost in all of it was the idea that the questioner ought to choose a
sound and then pick the head that best suited that concept.
Wouldn't
it
be incredible if we all had
drum voices as distinct as our speaking voices? Imagine
being able to identify each
other from just
a few strokes played. Of course this is a ridiculous and impossible
ideal and will likely never
be realised. However, as far back as there have been drums, they've
been used as communication tools. The hint is in the name
“instruments”. They're a means to an end. The end being to convey
an internal conception to other people across space and time, whether
it be “things are cool up here on the mountain”
or something more subjective and artistic in scope.
So, in a way, by
going down this path, we're honouring
a tradition that is as old as our instrument itself. And
when we think of great communicators and public speakers, we think of
people who can clearly articulate even the most complex ideas. That
is, they can take even a difficult or remote concept and put it to us
clearly, and succinctly and often in a manner which is distinctive
and unique to them. Think of Churchill's speeches, or Martin Luther
King Jr.'s inimitable oratory style. Can we create such a unique and
distinctive style of speaking through our drums?
Today,
thanks to a bevy of top-notch designers and manufacturers – not
to mention technological advances in
electronics --
we have the option to personalise our sound in ways not possible in
the past. But simply using different heads, cymbals or
compressors from the next
player isn't enough. Because
that doesn't really get to the question of why we've
made those choices? It
doesn't really go to how we manipulate those factors to create our
own sound. For that, we need a concept.
We
can
dig in and try to listen to the little drummer that sings from
somewhere deep in our minds. If we can find that most intimate and
personal of sounds and find a way to amplify
it and bring it into the
world, we will have accomplished one
thing our heroes have done.
And who doesn't want that?