“Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief: your noble son is mad!”
Although these words were written about the melancholy Prince Hamlet, William Shakespeare might also have been speaking to writers of academic papers, educational articles, journals, and blogs. Not to say that it is madness to do such work, but to give us insight into the art of good writing.
The aim of this post is to share a few tips that I have picked up on my journey toward becoming a better writer. That quest (while far from complete) included a spark for writing that ignited in grade school, went dormant for many years, and was rekindled in my thirties. Since then, I have written articles for Percussive Notes (publication of the Percussive Arts Society) and other periodicals. In the 1990s I was a staff writer for Jazz Player Magazine and Sticks and Mallets Magazine (both now sadly defunct).
To illustrate certain points, I have used examples from one of my first published articles “The War of the Rudiments” from Percussive Notes (PN, June 1994). The article was targeted to performers and teachers of percussion instruments and has since been re-printed in Bandworld magazine and has also been cited in other scholarly research.
The article also benefitted greatly from the editorial process. And since I keep everything that I have ever written, I still have the original draft of the article that was submitted to Percussive Notes to use for comparison.
Tip #1: Invite Your Readers In. Lure your readers into the article with a short and intriguing opening paragraph and—when possible and appropriate—a clever title.
Unfortunately, the two-paragraph opening of the article I originally submitted, did not follow Tip #1:
“Every so often percussion teachers set out on a mission to reassess their pedagogical techniques. The usual intent of this rethinking is to help percussionists develop necessary skills that will enable them to compete effectively in the current job market. Several years ago, percussion instructors seemed to have three main concerns about their students: 1) that they did not read music well enough 2) that they could not play keyboard instruments and 3) they spent entirely too much time playing drum rudiments in an effort to earn that N.A.R.D. button.”
“With that the first shots of the percussive civil war had been fired, the camps were divided; the battle lines drawn. On one side the percussionists denounced rudimental drumming as an antiquated method of rote learning and on the other side the drummers continued their relentless pursuit of the perfect three minute roll.”
This opening was too long and didn’t invite the reader into the article or encourage them to continue reading. In the final published version, my third paragraph was moved to the top by Percussive Notes Senior Editor Rick Mattingly, and this became the opening:
“RUDIMENTAL DRUMMING in general and drum rudiments in particular are often at the center of heated debate regarding their relevance to a contemporary percussion program. Should they be given only cursory mention due to their historical significance? Should they be a part of every percussionist’s technical development? Should they be dismissed as a useless, antiquated teaching tool never to be used? All tough questions—none of which are about to be addressed in this article (I’m not that crazy). What will be addressed are the many positive aspects of rudimental drumming, and the importance and use of the fundamental philosophy of rudimental drumming known as the ‘rudimental idea.’”
This is a much more inviting opening that also confirms the lighthearted tone of the article and tells the reader exactly what will, and will not, be discussed. If readers want to know how the plot will thicken, they must continue reading. Some readers may require further encouragement in which case Tip #2 might be helpful.
Tip # 2: Keep it Short and Sweet and Looking Neat. Breaking up the prose into bite sized chunks gives the reader a sense of accomplishment every time they reach the end of a paragraph. This encourages them to read another, and another, and another until they find themselves happy and proud at the end of the article. While the visual aspect of an article for a publication is under the purview of the editor and designer, it might be helpful to keep this in mind during the writing process, particularly if you are writing a blog or a paper for a class without the assistance of an editorial team.
Next is perhaps the most challenging aspect of keeping things short and sweet and it is not for the faint of heart. Read on if you dare.
Tip #3: Kill Your Darlings. As a writer you must never be afraid, as William Faulkner wrote, to “kill your darlings.”
To kill your darlings means to cut out any superfluous words, phrases, paragraphs, or even chapters that don’t serve the purpose of your writing. Pride of authorship is one of the most difficult writing maladies to overcome. Writers can become so attached to a passage they’ve worked hard to compose—an imaginative phrase or a clever wordplay—that they can’t bring themselves to hit the delete key if it doesn’t directly benefit the writing.
Here is an example of one of my darlings from the first draft:
“What is the Rudimental Idea? In 31 words or less the rudimental idea is the concept of isolating specific patterns or techniques and perfecting them through numerous, exact repetitions, building both stamina, control, and dexterity.”
Final Version: “The rudimental idea is the concept of isolating specific patterns or techniques and perfecting them through numerous, exact repetitions, building stamina, control, and dexterity.”
Although counting the words in the sentence and invoking a line from an old TV gameshow made me chuckle, it did nothing to advance the story. Kill it!
Here is another darling from the first draft:
Original: “Should they be dismissed as a useless, antiquated teaching tool never to be used? All tough questions. All burning questions. All profound questions which are not about to be addressed in this article (I'm not that crazy).”
Editor version: “All tough questions—none of which are about to be addressed in this article (I’m not that crazy).”
Brevity is indeed the “soul of wit.” Thanks again, Mr. Shakespeare and Mr. Mattingly.
Tip #4:I have nothing to say and I am saying it. Composer and musical philosopher, John Cage famously began his Lecture on Nothing with the words “I have nothing to say and I am saying it.” Perhaps the biggest flaw I find in some academic or educational writing is that it doesn’t seem to have anything particularly compelling or original to say. When writing an article, think about what you are trying to prove, disprove, research, promote, expound upon, or sell, then keep the writing focused on that goal.
Of course, there is writing that can exist simply for the purpose of entertainment. A funny observation or story about an interesting experience is enjoyable to read and there doesn’t always have to be a be a moral, parable, or object lesson to give the story a purpose, (e.g. Some People Have No Imagination). On the other hand, writers such as Dave Barry (Dave Barry is Not Making this Stuff Up) or Steve Martin (Pure Drivel) are good examples of humorous writing that often makes a larger point.
Remember: only John Cage could get away with having nothing to say and saying it anyway, but in the end, you are still just telling a story, and everybody loves a good story.
Tip #5:Tell Me a Story. Writing to inform or educate is a challenge but the best writers of academic prose are able to turn seemingly dry subject matter into novelesque page-turners on par with a James Michener thriller.
For example, in his introduction to The Work of Music Theory: Selected Essays, Thomas Christensen begins “It may not be intuitive for some of us to think of [music] theory in this way. After all, ‘theory’ is a big word in academia, one that we often associate with grand answers to difficult problems, whether or not we bring any positivistic and pseudo-scientific baggage in tow. But a good deal of what we call music theory is anything but that. It can also be focused on small, parochial questions; it can have modest pedagogical aims; it can be empirical or speculative, written in a private, quirky dialect that eludes easy translation. Indeed, so unruly is the historical record of music theory that it is even questionable whether the discipline is held together by anything other than the name.”
This paragraph makes me want to read on to find out “what happens next.” The tone of Professor Christensen’s writing is scholarly yet colorful and compelling to read, and you also get the feeling that the words he uses are also those he uses every day. When you write, you should always sound like you (or at least a more dressed up version of you). This can help avoid the dangers described in Tip #6.
Tip #6:Avoid “tediousness” and “outward flourishes.” Perhaps the most obvious example of this is what I call Thesaurus-itus. Yes, that petrifying pestilence that plagues impassioned poets in the midnight hour as they frenziedly quest for mellifluous locutions to inject into the vacuous blank spaces of their otherwise insipid prose. In other words, sometimes aspiring writers resort to the Thesaurus at the last minute before a deadline to help them sound smarter.
Like Shakespeare, I am a fan of alliteration (e.g. “that petrifying pestilence that plagues impassioned poets” from the paragraph above). It can be a powerful tool when used properly but it can also be an unfortunate side effect of Thesaurus-itus. The brain likes patterns, so writers can find themselves choosing a series of alliterations (repetition of consonant sounds typically) or assonance (repetition of vowel sounds) when using a synonym generator or thesaurus.
The thesaurus exists to help writers find the proper word that enables them to more precisely express an idea and to spur the writer’s brain to think critically about what they are trying to say. Some say that “words have meanings” while others hold that “words don’t have meaning; meanings have words.” (Firth, 1997)
“Words don’t have meaning; meanings have words.”
John Firth
Finding the right word—the one that makes your meaning clear to a reader—may require drilling down several layers into the Thesaurus to find the best choice. The result is more often than not a complete rewrite of the sentence in question which is usually the best option.
Speaking of words and their meanings, Tip #7 can be helpful when putting those words together into ideas.
Tip #7: Consider carefully what you write. “I’ll call for pen and ink, and write my mind” wrote Shakespeare for the Earl of Suffolk who was unable to express his love for Margaret because he “dare not speak” his mind. In many instances however, writing your mind will just get you into trouble. From dissertations to emails, it might be a better approach to think carefully about something before committing it to prose.
Be careful of sweeping statements or hyperbole filled pronouncements that could be easily argued against or disproved with a simple Google search. Declaring something as the “greatest,” “first,” “fastest” “most important” or “only one of its kind” is often difficult to prove and quickly diminishes your credibility as a writer.
Similarly, statements that are unintentionally hurtful or insulting can be counterproductive to the point you are trying to make. In “The War of the Rudiments” I wrote, “On one side the percussionists denounced rudimental drumming as an antiquated method of rote learning and on the other side the drummers continued their relentless pursuit of the perfect three minute roll.” In hindsight I should have removed that sentence because it gave the impression that I was taking sides against rudimental drummers which was not the case at all. It was meant to be ironic, but I think it missed the mark.
As mentioned earlier, inside jokes or unexplained arcane humor can also cause your writing to fall short of its intended goal. It can be good to challenge readers to meditate on your writing, to have to think a little bit to understand what you are saying, but it must be presented properly and there must be a payoff (a reveal) at some point. I wish I had included an explanation of the significance of the “N. A. R. D. button” (mentioned in Tip #1). Even back in 1994 there were likely many percussionists reading the article who did not know what N.A.R.D was and what that statement meant. *
*The National Association of Rudimental Drummers was an organization dedicated to the promotion of Rudimental Drumming that existed from 1933 to 1977 with the support and assistance of the Ludwig Drum Company and the Ludwig family. Once you had performed your rudiments and a solo for a current N.A.R.D. member you received a patch (button) that would identify you as a member (I thought you would want to know).
But if you make a bold pronouncement you better have someone to back you up.
Tip #8: Wait for Backup. Any good Cop Show will teach you to always wait for backup or bad things could happen! The same applies for writing. You may have a great idea but unless you are the ultimate authority on a given subject, you will need some backup.
The point of “The War of the Rudiments” was to advance my concept of the “Rudimental Idea,” a notion put into action for me by an early percussion pedagogue, Haskell W. Harr:
PAS Hall of Fame Member Haskell W. Harr (1884-1986)
“In a 1979 article for Percussive Notes (Vol. 18 #1 Fall) Haskell Harr wrote that ‘A drum rudiment is a fundamental rhythmic pattern which when practiced diligently, will aid in developing a basic technique for the drum. The drum rudiments are the scales and arpeggios of the other instruments.’ He went on to describe the rudiments as being ‘misunderstood’ and that the purpose of the rudiments, ‘...is to provide a basic system for developing dexterity with the hands for the control of the drumsticks.’”
Mr. Harr laid the groundwork for my premise and is backing me up. All I had to do was put my own concept into words.
The next question might be, how do I get started?
Tip #9:Always Make an Outline (or don’t). Some will advise that making an outline before starting to write is the best way to begin a new project. I am a fan of outlining for longer works such as books or dissertations or for the late-night term paper due tomorrow. Organizing your ideas into an outline does make filling in the blanks easier since all you need to do is respond to each point of the outline and then before you know it, your work is done.
On the other hand, it is also good to simply start writing and see where it leads you. I always say that, for me, editing is easier than writing, so just go ahead and get your ideas down whenever they begin to flow, then you can go back later and tinker with them all you want. Writing takes practice, so anytime an idea pops into your head, write it down because it may come in handy at another time. If not, it will still be good practice.
The final tip is possibly the most important for anyone who as Shakespeare would say, “labors in the mind”, but it is also the most difficult to follow.
“Hard-handed men that work in Athens here, Which never labored in their minds till now…”
— William Shakespeare (Midsummer Night’s Dream)
Tip #10:Get a Tougher skin! Writing is often a solitary pursuit but it can benefit greatly from the input of others. Teachers, friends, colleagues, and editors can provide helpful critiques of your work, inspire new ideas and directions for research, and even encourage you to finish a project.
But to be able to take advantage of the advice of others, it will become necessary to learn how to take, and use, criticism. Accepting criticism is difficult but necessary, killing your darlings is excruciating yet crucial, and suffering rejection is both humiliating and edifying. They are all part of the writing process. Remember, if you don’t want to fall down, don’t go skiing, and if you don’t want to take criticism, don’t start writing.
Written work can be criticized or rejected for any number of reasons, but the trick is to keep trying and—returning once again to Hamlet—learning to “suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” In a 1991 interview, singer and song writer Paul Simon spoke about the dangers of writing songs about love when he said, “If you miss and they laugh at you or criticize you, get a tougher skin.”
Get tougher and work harder but, most of all, keep writing.
“You fail only if you stop writing.”
— Ray Bradbury
Writing, re-writing, criticism, editing, and more re-writing, are all part of the process. Like anything worth doing, effective writing takes practice and patience. I hope you find these tips helpful in your own journey toward good writing.
Citations:
Christensen, Thomas. The Work of Music Theory: Selected Essays, 2014. Ashgate Routledge
Firth, John R. Papers in Linguistics 1934-1951. 1957. Oxford: OUP
Harr, Haskell. “Drum Rudiments.” Percussive Notes, Vol. 18, #1 Fall 1979, p. 71.
Moore, Dan. “The War of the Rudiments.” Percussive Notes, Vol. 32, #3 June 1994, pp. 29-33 (edited by Rick Mattingly, Senior Editor of Percussive Notes)
If you are a percussionist, and you think about things way too much, as I apparently do, it might occur to you that the very idea of playing beautiful and compelling music on an amalgam of bits and bobs of wood and metal is something really quite absurd. If you aren’t a percussionist, or even a musician, you might feel the same way, therefore a little explanation might be of help to everyone involved.
Since the beginning of time, humans have desired to make and play musical instruments. Many consider the human voice to be the first musical instrument, yet there are differing opinions. In his book Drumming at the Edge of Magic, Grateful Dead drummer and writer, Mickey Hart gives his theory that “[i]n the beginning was noise. And noise begat rhythm. And rhythm begat everything else.” “Everything” in this scenario includes the rhythmic vibration of the vocal cords that produced speech and eventually singing. He goes on to say that “[t]his is a cosmology a drummer can live with. Strike a membrane with a stick, the ear fills with noise—unmelodic, inharmonic sound. Strike it a second time, a third, you’ve got rhythm.”
The oldest handmade musical instrument in the world is said to be a 60,000 year old flute made by Neanderthals (who else, would make a flute before a drum?). The National Museum of Slovenia, where it is housed, describes the instrument as being “made from the left thighbone of a young cave bear and has four pierced holes. Musical experiments confirmed findings of archaeological research that the size and the position of the holes cannot be accidental—they were made with the intention of musical expression.”
But how and why did humans come up with the idea of making music on inanimate objects in the first place? Maybe the people who invented musical instruments did so because they couldn’t sing? Or maybe not. For whatever reason, many of earth’s inhabitants are compelled to make music on instruments, and they search, tirelessly, to find or create the technique or the technology to make that happen. From Ctesibius of Alexandria’s creation of the organ in the third century BC, to Garage Band or Pro Tools today, musicians have looked to technology to help them make music.
The existential need for music making often compels humans to find ways to make music even in the face of oppression or poverty as in the case of the people of Trinidad and Tobago who created two musical instrument genres; tamboo bamboo, a form of music making using bamboo stalks cut to different lengths to accompany singing; and the National Instrument of Trinidad, the steel pan.
Musicians search for any type of conveyance into the ears (and hearts) of those who might hear their sounds and enjoy them. They hope to free the inner voice that is compelled to find a way to connect with its audience.
Some conveyances, however, connect with their audiences better than others.
In the case of mallet percussion instruments, the notion that repeatedly striking a collection of tuned wooden planks, steel bars, or aluminum slats, with yarn-covered-balls-on-sticks, could create a pleasing musical sound seems ridiculous at best and futile at worst, yet as percussionists, we attempt to do it every day.
From the humble beginnings of mallet percussion, which includes the xylophones of Africa, the European Strohfiedel, and the marimbas of Central America, mallet players have attempted to amuse, entertain, and move their listeners with these simple instruments. In the 1920s, the xylophone was a novelty instrument that was often referred to by its zen-like nickname, “the woodpile.” Its repertoire was drawn from every type of music that captured the imagination of the performers. Playing music on a pile of wood (the essence of the xylophone) seems outrageous when you think about it.
Just playing a simple four-part chorale on a marimba is one of the most challenging things to perform, simply because the instrument was never meant to do such things. Attempting to produce the illusion-of-sustain by means of a tremolo (roll) can be a blister-inducing, frustrating, and exhausting experience for a marimba player.
When you further consider that playing anything on a mallet instrument other than idiomatic music is a stretch to begin with, things get even more dicey. For instance, who among us has the requisite birthright to play Bach? Well, depending on who you ask; practically no one! But we percussionists like to play Bach, as well as many other types of classical and non-classical music, that were never intended for the marimba, such as jazz or popular music.
So, if these things are so difficult to do, why bother? It’s simple; we are driven to do so.
Some are more driven than others I suppose.
It is often said that an instrument finds you, not the other way around. It has been said that you can force a child to choose the piano but very few will be chosen “by” the piano in return. I came to percussion almost completely by accident having fully intended to become the next Herb Alpert (the charismatic trumpet player and band leader of the 1960s). But that is a story for another day. Once an instrument chooses you, it soon becomes your passion to play on it the music that speaks to you—it becomes a musical imperative.
I’m a big fan of instrumental musicians who take on different types of music and recast it in their own image. Musicians such as Bill Frisell, Jake Shimabukuro, Dick Schory and the Percussion Pops Orchestra, and the Ventures (arguably, the best-selling instrumental Rock band in music history) have all inspired me in different ways.
The Ventures were a guitar based group of the 1960s (and beyond) who were famous for their numerous and varied recordings. When inducting them into the 2008 class of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, presenter John Fogerty said “the Ventures have gone on to record over 250 albums. Now days some of us would be happy to sell 250 albums.”
The Ventures philosophy was that if you were going to do an instrumental cover of someone else’s tune, then you needed to find a way to make it sound like a completely new composition. In their words, it had to be “Venturized.” As much as 90% of the music they recorded were covers of other people’s music. But the covers were so creative, and in many instances so different from the original, that most people thought they were the band’s original compositions. Their biggest hits such as Walk, Don’t Run, Wipeout, Hawaii 5-0, and Pipeline were all covers!
Hawaiian ukulele artist Jake Shimabukuro plays a repertoire that ranges from classic Hawaiian folk songs to his original compositions, and covers of the music he grew up listening to. He famously performs a version of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody on ukulele. Jake also cleverly reimagines music from Michael Jackson, George Harrison, and others, and you can hear in his performances how much he loves and respects this music. He says “my mother taught me three chords on the uke and I was “hooked.” He was chosen by the ukulele. Then, he set out to imbue the music he loved with his own vision. He does things with the ukulele that the ukulele was never meant to do. Right On!
The Britain Moore Duo (BMD), my steel pan and marimba duo of the last 35 years, also tends to work from covers of other people’s music—often against the advice and admonishment of our mentors. We call our covers “BMD Treatments.” One of our most popular covers is of the Gershwin classic Summertime. We used an Afro-Caribbean 12/8 groove and then curiously never played the melody of the tune until the final chorus, which always causes a few head tilts from the audience.
But loving a piece of music and being able to make it sound good on your own instrument can be a problem. How do you know if it will work? Sometimes a performer’s love for a piece of music blinds them to the reality that they are unable to capture the essence of it on their instrument.
I am lucky to be in a position in my performing career that my repertoire has evolved to include only the music that speaks to me personally. Along the way I have developed a sort-of litmus test to determine if a piece of music I love can be translated to the instruments that have chosen me (those absurd mallet percussion instruments).
The Composer Test:
If a composer were to hear you performing their composition, would they think you were mocking it? Would Mozart be insulted by your performance or would he be inspired to run home and write a new piece for you and your instrument? Think about how you would feel about your version if the composer was sitting in the audience.
What about vaudeville, parody, and humor in music? There are lots of examples of arrangements that are meant to be funny takes or send-ups of otherwise serious music. In this case, you just have to play it flawlessly and then hope that the composer has a good sense of humor.
Inventory:
To begin, a quick inventory of the notes and essential elements will tell you if you have what you need to perform a piece of music that you love. Even if the answer is no, there are ways to make things work. In classical or contemporary music, it is possible to do some note reassignments or octave shifting as long as the general direction of a line is not interrupted by doing so. I personally don’t mind transposing entire pieces (although some of my colleagues take issue with that practice).
The ukulele version of Jake Shimabukuro’s Bohemian Rhapsody has some pretty cool note reassignments but the inventory of notes and essential elements of the original are all there, lending themselves to the creation of an imaginative rendition of a ubiquitous song.
Listen, hear, and embrace:
It should go without saying that one should always listen to how your music sounds, however, we can get so caught up in the process of invention that we might be listening without really “hearing.” We continue to hold the original version of the music in our heads and not listen critically enough to our own interpretation.
It can be a difficult admission to realize that we are simply unable to make a particular piece of music sound good—at least not yet. Perhaps a few more years of practice and a little more musical maturity will make the difference the next time around. This has happened to me on many occasions (also a story for another day). But if you try and fail, it’s OK, because as Herb Alpert would say, “the beauty of music making isn’t in attaining perfection because you can never get there. That’s the seductive part of it.”
It is important to embrace the true sound of your instrument which includes both the instrument’s advantages and disadvantages. But this can only be done with honest critical listening to how you and your instrument sound today, and by asking yourself if your arrangement is transcendent.
Does it transcend?
Audiences have different reactions to hearing music performed out of context. If I play a pop song on the marimba or vibes, some in the audience will recognize a familiar tune immediately. If I play a standard song like Moon River, someone might indicate their recognition with a knowing laugh or a soft “ahh.” Others will simply enjoy the arrangement and be attracted to the sound but will come up after the show and ask, “what was the name of that song you played?” Taken out of context and without the words, a good arrangement should transcend the original and become something both familiar and new, just as the Ventures tried to do. Simply put, does your version have its own intrinsic beauty that transcends the original? Does it need the lyrics in order to be meaningful? In many cases, the answer is no. Again Herb Alpert hits it out of the park, when he says “people don’t listen with their ears, they listen with their soul.”
So, I encourage you to continue to pursue the music that is in your head and in your heart regardless of how crazy it may seem because, as M. C. Escher wrote; “Only those who attempt the absurd will achieve the impossible.”
Here is a playlist of some of the covers that I’ve enjoyed creating:
Citations:
Drumming at the Edge of Magic: a Journey into the Spirit of Percussion Mickey Hart with Jay Stevens and Fredric Lieberman, Harper Collins, 1990
Today, I have asked my good friend, the Pernicious Prognosticator of Percussion (P3), to write a guest blog explaining the importance of time signatures in drumming, and to provide us with helpful tips on using them to full advantage.
Time Signatures for Drummers by P3:
In this blog entry, I will try once again to explain time signatures, or—as insiders know them—drum signatures. Drum signatures are two or more numbers typically found in the left most corner of the music staff. These indications are used only by drummers, as they are most often completely disregarded by musicians. [Editor’s Note: “other” musicians]
First, the top number simply tells you how many times to strike the bass drum in each measure. In 4/4 drum signature, for example, one would play the bass drum a total of four times in each measure, 3/4 equals three bops per bar, and 2/4 calls for two bomb drops somewhere between the lines.
Important note: it doesn’t matter where you place these important notes (note also that the notes are just as important as the important notes are important to note, if you see what I mean).
Of course, some people try to spread these notes out evenly, but there is no reason to get all “avant-garde” about it. Use of the bass drum is totally up to how you are feeling on that particular day, how many people are watching you at the moment, and how much you are getting paid.
Now, the bottom number is where things get really interesting. This number determines how many times one would play the snare drum in each measure. This can get very exciting in drum signatures such as 5/4 (of which only Joe Morello could play) and in 7/8 (which no one ever uses any more because it is far too complicated). 6/8 can be pretty neat but it hasn’t been used since John Phillip Sousa and Meredith Willson back in the 1600s.
At this point you are ready for the most advanced concept in understanding drum signatures. Multiplying the top and bottom numbers will give you the total number of notes to be played in a fill. In 2/4 for example, you get 8 fill notes, in 4/4 there are 16, and in 9/8 you get something like 73 or 74, so I say “make’em count,” because you probably aren’t getting paid enough for this type of gig anyway.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, drum fills must occur based on the drum signature. In 4/4, one should always play a fill every four bars. In 3/4, every third bar should have a fill, especially when backing a singer on standards such as My Favorite Things or Some Day my Prints Will Come. Please note that the fill rule must be STRICTLY observed or you run the risk of being labeled a “singer’s” drummer.
This covers just about every drum signature except what they call “cut time.” Playing in cut time is quite dangerous and should be avoided at all costs since it means that the gig will probably be cut short and you will be receiving less pay than originally expected.
I hope you find this information helpful in working all your upcoming pool party, casual, cover band, and Calypso gigs. Join me for my next lesson titled: What Key Signatures Mean to Drummers.
The Pernicious Prognosticator of Percussion has played literally dozens of gigs. He took an online music theory course (half semester) and he has watched more than 200,000 YouTube drumming videos. P3 also provided candid and helpful comments on each video, and therefore has advised some of the greatest drummers of our generation. He has attended over three drumset clinics that were “not so great,” and he has written one guest blog for a little known percussion professor in Iowa. P3 aspires to become a professional drum clinician and influencer as soon as he finishes his first YouTube video and plays more than once with the same band.
As if 2020 couldn’t get any worse, in its final hours it claimed Mary Ann. Known to the world by that name, the actor Dawn Wells (82) died on December 30, reportedly of COVID-19 related complications. She played the smart, wholesome, eternally optimistic Mary Ann Summers on the enduring sitcom Gilligan’s Island from 1964 to 1967. The show ran only three seasons and was well into reruns by the time I took notice of it or Mary Ann, but in those 98 episodes both she and the show had secured their place in television history.
The show also launched the long-running debate, “Ginger or Mary Ann?” Essentially, which character has the qualities you prefer: the down-to earth, cute Mary Ann, or the high-maintenance, glamorous Ginger? From CBS to USA Today, there have been countless polls to settle the question; there is even a Facebook page which assures us that this is an important subject. Spoiler alert: Mary Ann remains ahead of Ginger by about 3 to 1. In a 2001 interview, Bob Denver (Gilligan) said that Mary Ann would typically receive 3,000–5,000 fan letters weekly while Ginger might get 1,500 to 2,000.
Dawn remained close to her Gilligan’s Island costars, particularly Russell Johnson (The Professor) and Bob Denver (Gilligan). The trio appeared together for countless fan events and “Three-Hour Tours.” While some actors try to distance themselves from their TV characters, Ms. Wells embraced her iconic status.
In the forward of her book, What Would Mary Ann Do?A Guide to Life, Russell Johnson wrote: “We love Mary Ann because she is the future, the hope of our world. The youngest of the castaways, Mary Ann has her entire life in front of her. Watching her unfailing good cheer, her optimism is never in question. We love her because we need her emotional support and her belief that all will turn out well.…We love Mary Ann because of Dawn Wells.”
In 1995, I got to play a Three-Hour Tour gig on a Cincinnati barge decorated to look like a Tiki boat and renamed the S.S. Minnow. In a scene no doubt reenacted countless times throughout their careers, Bob Denver, Russell Johnson, and Dawn Wells were welcomed aboard to the Gilligan’s Island theme song and enthusiastic applause. The passengers enjoyed a dinner cruise on the Ohio River and questions/answers with the trio of stars, followed by a meet-and-greet and autographs.
Our band was called Caribé and featured steel pan players Mat Britain and Dave Barr, bassist Michael Sharfe, and yours truly on marimba and drums. We provided background music from our position directly behind the stars.
Caribé: Dan Moore, Mat Britain, Dave Barr, Michael Sharfe
I was closest to Bob Denver. At one point I leaned over and whispered, “Forget this Gilligan stuff, what would Maynard G. Krebs want to hear?” Denver had played the jazz-loving, beatnik sidekick Krebs on The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, the role that preceded his run as Gilligan. With a sidelong glance over his shoulder, he grinned, “Probably anything by Monk.” The band called up Straight No Chaser by Thelonious Monk and he instantly burst into laughter, amazed that our Caribbean-styled band could produce Monk on steel pans and marimba.
At the first opportunity during the cruise, Gilligan and then the Professor disappeared. But not Mary Ann. She stayed and listened intently to every person’s story, demurred at their proposals of marriage, and blushed at their compliments on her beauty (at 57, she still had the beauty that got her the role as Mary Ann in the first place, beating out none other than Raquel Welch for the part).
At one point, she bade the band to stop playing so a fan could sing to her the Gilligan’s Island theme in its entirety — word for word and with choreography. As she listened, she smiled without a hint of embarrassment or mockery. Sure, Dawn Wells was an actor and might have been playing a part, but she was so sincere and non-judgmental that it was moving to watch. She was a beautiful person.
At the end of the night, the crowd was ushered off the boat and the band waited around for Bob and Russell to reappear. As the audience departed, a few people asked where Gilligan had gotten off to. Completely in character, Dawn improvised a clever line that he had been piloting the boat all this time. As the stars gathered themselves to depart, the band gathered around Dawn and declared to her that we had decided the question once and for all — it’s Mary Ann. She smiled that Mary Ann smile and blew us a coquettish kiss before skipping down the gang plank and disappearing into her waiting limo.
Russell Johnson, Dave Barr, Dawn Wells, Mat Britain, Bob Denver, Dan Moore aboard the S.S Minnow.
I think Dawn said it best in her book: “I learned that the belle of the ball doesn’t have to be a belle. I learned that beauty is an illusion. You make the very best of what you have, what you are, and what you can be. I still believe that.”
Bon Voyage, Mary Ann.
Dawn Wells (1938-2020)
The Professor and Mary Ann autographed our gig book. Gilligan must’ve been piloting the boat at that time.
