The Professor – Dan Moore

March 23, 2025March 24, 2025

Like Driving Without Headlights on Back Roads on a Moonlit Night: Paul Iserman Elwood (1958-2025)

“The moon is full, and there is not a cloud in the sky. No stars are visible because of the deep white glow of the moonlight on the snow, which triples the ambient light and makes it possible to drive without headlights on these back roads. . ..” —Hunter S. Thompson, Generation of Swine “The Dim and Dirty Road”¹

Composer, banjo player, folksy philosopher, and my dear friend Paul Iserman Elwood died February 2, 2025, after a year-long battle with glioblastoma, an incurable form of brain cancer. He had survived other attacks to his body over the years, but it was the assault on his creative and deeply contemplative brain that would be his undoing.

Paul loved to improvise and spent much of his life in that pursuit. As a composer (described as improvising in slow motion) and an improviser (composing in real time) it is not surprising that he found a musical metaphor in Thompson’s words.

Paul rehearsing for a Strange Angels concert in Taos, New Mexico (2012).

I met Paul in 1984, not long after arriving in Kansas for Grad School at Wichita State University. He was the craziest, goofiest, banjo-playing-avant-garde composer I had ever encountered (if you don’t count Edwin London in the 1970s who I don’t believe played the banjo). We were kindred spirits—equal parts musical misfits, ducks out of water, and chronic sufferers of imposter syndrome. We were both 26 years old—born in 1958—and searching for our place in the musical world. We became instant friends.

I came to Wichita State as a marching band Teaching Assistant thanks to my work as a drum instructor for the Sky Ryders Drum and Bugle Corps of Hutchinson, Kansas, just over 50 miles from Wichita, so my reputation somewhat preceded me. Percussionists at WSU, however, were unimpressed. Walking into the percussion studio for the first time, I was greeted by a message scrawled on a chalk board in large letters reading, “who is this Daniel Moore guy anyway?” My first thought was “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” which seemed appropriate except for the fact that I WAS in Kansas, but you get the idea.

What I found at WSU was an incredibly creative place thanks to inspired musical mentors like professors J.C. Combs and Walter Mays, as well as a group of talented classmates many of whom would become shining stars in the musical firmament and have remained my friends to this day. There was so much creative energy at WSU that if you had a new composition, you could walk from one end of the music building to the other and before reaching the back door you could assemble a group of outstanding musicians ready to play your new piece—whatever it was.

Paul took advantage of this moment in time and as luck (and I mean that sincerely) would have it, Paul scooped me up in his net to play his newest composition Snow Falls Ceaselessly (1984) for flute, cello, keyboards, and percussion with dancers, a hand signer and audience players. It was like nothing I had ever been involved with in my life, and I loved it. Saying “yes” when Paul walked by on that Fall day changed my life.

As an undergrad, Paul studied composition with Walter Mays (1941-2022), a Pulitzer Prize nominated composer and prominent teacher who was a significant influence on his development as a composer. Then he was propelled further into the avant-garde after a week of interaction with legendary composer/philosopher John Cage. In an interview Paul said that “He [Cage] gave lectures, he did rehearsals. Monday morning, I was in the first piece that he rehearsed, it was for three conch shell players with shells filled with water that we moved around and every now and then a bubble would surface and could be picked up by a mic. That was the piece, it was called ‘Inlets.’” ²

As I got to know Paul, I learned that he had a multifarious life; one as an avant-garde composer, another as a performing percussionist, another as a music teacher of children, and still another as an excellent banjo player and Bluegrass musician. Paul had already won the title of Kansas State Bluegrass Banjo Champion before heading off to Texas to study composition with influential composer Donald Erb at SMU. But it was this dichotomy that troubled him for many years as he navigated the choppy (read: snobby) waters of a musical elite that valued conformity over creativity and the diversity of ideas.

Paul always saw himself as an outsider. In a 1985 interview he said, “I can’t seem to fit into any group at all.” Speaking of his alternative-acoustic-trio the Sons of Rayon he went on to say that “we consider ourselves nerds… we’re outcasts from the bluegrass crowd and outcasts from new wave. We’re not hip.” The interviewer, however, took issue with that characterization saying that “some might disagree. Their appearances draw a regular crowd, and they have a mailing list of about 200 people. …their music is the revenge of the nerds.”³ But they were hip; they just didn’t know it. More about the revenge of the nerds in a minute.

It would be years before Paul would come to terms with his life as both a serious composer and oddball musician. Perhaps it was finding confidence in himself with the help of the love of his life Régine Esposito. I like to think so.

It was a joy to be able to witness his evolution from disenchanted outsider to confident artist. I wrote a letter of reference for Paul for the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation Award every year from 2007 to 2023 and every year he was turned down. It was like one of the rhythms of my life; every December the phone would ring; it would be Paul wanting to catch up and asking me to write another Guggenheim letter. In 2023, he laughed and told me that, if nothing else, he hoped someday to hold the record for being turned down the most times. He never felt sorry for himself, even when he was sick. I think that is a far superior accomplishment.

Here is what I wrote in my 2023 letter of support for his last Guggenheim application:

“I have observed with great interest as Paul grew into his now mature musical voice as a composer. In many ways he is an outsider in contemporary music as a result of his refusal to be defined by current trends or the inherent conflicts between the life artistic and the career academic. Today I celebrate the resultant maturation of his singular compositional style and applaud his resolve to stay the course of his diverse artistic vision.”⁴

In 1984, it was perfectly preordained that Paul and I would meet when he returned to his hometown to teach music at Castle in the Air preschool and co-found the Wichita New Music Ensemble which (by the way) gave me my first non-school affiliated performance of one of my compositions. We were destined to meet and form a friendship that would last until his passing.

At WSU, our percussion teacher and mentor J.C. Combs was an imaginative impresario who despised much of the music written for percussion ensembles and he was open to new ideas for composition. In a recent interview J.C. said “I just wanted to do more creative things. I had been at WSU for about ten years, and I was bored with a lot of percussion music, so the projects sort of happened naturally as a way to keep myself and my students (and the audiences) interested in what we were doing. I also found that it was a great way to bring people in the community into the creative process.”⁵

Combs and Mays had already collaborated on a major work that featured an “extended percussion ensemble” and included jack hammers, bowed Styrofoam, four drumsets (with no cymbals) and Heavyweight Championship Wrestlers. Yes, you read that correctly—wrestlers. *

The Wichita State University Percussion Ensemble with guest drummers, Danny Gottlieb and Ed Soph at the 1983 Percussive Arts Society International Convention in Knoxville, TN. Left to Right; Ed Soph, Mike Harris, Bruce Chaffin, Jeff Gleason, Jim Lavin, J.C.Combs, Mat Britain, and Danny Gottlieb. Just out of sight Carole Daubert, Dan Moore, and others. (photo courtesy Percussive Arts Society)

Advertisement for the Premiere of War Games in 1982 (Courtesy of J.C. Combs)

So, the stage was set at Wichita for Paul to step in with his own brand of outlandish works for percussion ensemble that J.C. and his students took on with (occasionally guarded) enthusiasm. Dr. Combs once said that “creative things aren’t always without risk”⁶ and he, of all people, would know about risk. In a 1984 article for the Wichita Eagle-Beacon, arts columnist Don Grainger wrote that “it was the same J.C. Combs who starred in a locally produced motion picture about the decline and degradation of a music professor fatally addicted to pinball machines. The opus ended with an impressive bang when the student assigned to arrange a small explosion to indicate the end of the film overloaded the charge by a factor of (at least) three.”⁷

Paul’s music was certainly full of risks and I for one was ready to take them on. During my two-year tenure at WSU the percussion ensemble performed Under the Evening Moon for string quartet and percussion ensemble featuring folk musician, clogger/banjo player, Beverly Cotton; and Edgard Varese in the Gobi Desert for percussion ensemble and Velcro Tap Dancer Kelly Werts. Between 1983 and 1984 Edgard Varese in the Gobi Desert was performed at SMU under the direction of Deborah Mashburn, at WSU under J.C. Combs, and at Ithaca College under Gordon Stout. It was his first major composition, and a fascinating work that has been performed many times throughout the country.

In an extraordinary burst of creative energy over an 18-month period, Paul wrote many new works for the WSU Percussion Ensemble, The Wichita New Music Ensemble, and for percussion degree recitals for his friends and classmates. During that time, Paul composed the afore mentioned Snow Falls Ceaselessly, Under the Evening Moon, and Edgard Varese in the Gobi Desert, as wells as Birds of Appetite for string quartet, Upon Waking in the Rear Arbor for brass quintet and solo percussion (for Gary Gibson and conducted by yours truly) Verbum Salutis for flute, bass clarinet, cello, percussion, and hand signer (for my Master’s Recital) and Roy Rogers Meets the Zydeco Kid, a radio drama starring Jack Pie Johnson (for percussion soloist Bruce Chaffin and three narrators). I am particularly fond of this piece as “Jack Pie Johnson Boy Composer” was Paul’s nickname and alter ego. The middle name “P.I.E.” of course stood for Paul Iserman Elwood.

Final Graduate Percussion Recital in 1985 featuring a new work by Paul Elwood.

I thought Paul was the coolest cat I had ever met, and I glommed on to him as quickly as I could. Even back then, I imagined myself becoming the prime interpreter of his work. He wasn’t sure he needed (or wanted) one at the time, but I was interested in—and fought for—the position none-the-less. I also fell in love with his self-described “Nerd-grass band” the Sons of Rayon.

In their promotional material The Sons of Rayon claimed to hold “the dubious honor of having re-invented the string band, with an eye toward the needs of a twentieth century audience. The three sons (one of which is a woman) experiment persistently with non-traditional ways of combining the traditional sounds of their acoustic instruments. With three-part vocals recalling the ‘high and lonesome sound’ of old-time singing, their modern original arrangements retain a classic balance of old and new.” They go on to say that “the group also reflects the more recent innovations of the psychedelic Sixties on through to New Wave of the Eighties. …Add to that, flavors from India, Africa, Ireland, and Mexico, and you have a truly eclectic ensemble.”⁸ In my opinion, this doesn’t even begin to describe the Sons. I was besotted every time I heard them perform.

The Sons of Rayon; Kelly Werts, Karen Boggs, and Paul Elwood *circa* 1984.

I have a cassette tape of the band that I’ve cherished for my entire adult life. One of my favorite Sons tunes was UFOs over New Zealand. The melody and lyrics stuck with me for more than 30-years until Paul finally agreed to let me do a cover of it with him singing. The concept of the song is perplexing; it muses about cowboys in outer space, Unidentified Flying Objects over New Zealand, and spaceships known to African Zulus. It was a Nerd-grass lover’s dream and would be the closest I would ever come to being one of the Sons of Rayon.

Sons of Rayon—No Velcro cassette tape, 1986, including UFOs Over New Zealand.

Paul and I worked on an arrangement of UFOs in 2007 as a proof-of-concept test for what would become our 2013 album Does Anybody Really Know What Time it is? (innova 864). That record was created by a musical collective under the sobriquet “Misfit Toys.” The band featured Paul on banjo and vocals, Matthew Wilson on drums and vocals, the late clarinet master, Robert Parades, on clarinet and vocals, some amazing guest performers, and me on everything else.

Unfortunately, the track didn’t make the cut as we pivoted the project to a collection of reimagined tunes from the 1970s. It wasn’t until 2017 that we revisited UFOs for a performance of Paul’s Strange Angels project in Iowa City. The track then went back into digital purgatory on a hard drive until I pulled it out again after his passing. The sound of his unique voice was solid, mature, and optimistic; his pitch is crystal clear and unaided by autotune. It gets me every time.

The Measure of Friendship

In remembering Paul over the last few weeks, I thought about the measure of a friendship. One measure might be someone who will compose a new centerpiece for every important moment of your career. Paul wrote music for so many events in my life including my Master’s recital (Verbum Salutis), a DMA recital (Prelude to the Blue and Perfumed Abyss), and many other important performances. He never wanted a dime for his commissions from me. He would say “just get me six performances” with which I dutifully obliged. I’ve performed his works at four universities, at the Percussive Arts Society International Convention, on new music concerts, and in venues from Kansas to Montana, Kentucky to Colorado, and North Carolina to New Mexico, not to mention more than a few performances at the University of Iowa.

Having a friend who will respond with an instant “yes, and” every time you utter the phrase, “here’s a crazy idea” is a blessing. Paul and I said “yes and” to each other for over forty years. Even in the last months of his life we continued talking about the “next” project. Paul was friends with a relative of one of the Brothers Gibb (you may know them as the BeeGees) who liked our Misfit Toys project and was interested in doing a “Misfit Toys plays the BeeGees” album with us. We talked about it again in the summer before he died. He still had plans to return to the University of Northern Colorado to teach his students and I suggested we start sharing demos for the BeeGees project while he was convalescing. He said he would try but was starting to “get kind of foggy.” I told him to do his best and that I loved him. It was the last time we spoke.

Paul was a great friend, and he visited us in every place Liesa and I lived since the day we met in Wichita. He would come, play the banjo, cook egg rolls, and even sleep on the floor amongst boxes in a bedroom not yet unpacked from a move to Lexington, KY. He travelled to Bozeman, MT with his lifelong friend Kelly Werts to perform his most famous work Edgard Varese in the Gobi Desert with me for the second of several times in my career. And he came to Iowa frequently to play music, make recordings, and plot our overthrow of the musical elite.

We once had a fun evening in our little town when having dinner in a darkened restaurant, Paul was mistaken for the actor Billy Bob Thornton. He relished the idea of being mistaken for a celebrity and played the part with gusto all evening. Paul was unfazed saying that this sort of thing happened to him all the time during his “Billy Bob doppelganger days.”

He simply added these fantastic happenings to our many shared experiences and filed them away as another facet of his fascinating life as an itinerate musician/composer.

But Paul had many other friends and musical collaborators just like me, and I was always jealous! Not really jealous. . .but yeah, kinda jealous. He had dozens of collaborations with musicians from around the world, and he wrote pieces for them as well. His musical DNA can be found in the repertoire of many musicians and ensembles throughout the world, and I expect his music will continue to live on, that is, if we have anything to say about it.

It is apropos that one of the last bands he performed with was called Multifarious, a jazz trio with friends Sue McKenzie playing saxophones and Susan Mayo on cello, to put a final exclamation point on his truly multifarious musical life.

Riffing on Hunter S. Thompson in a blog post from 2016, Paul wrote that “Improvising is sometimes like driving without headlights on backroads on a moonlit night”⁹ which translated means that “improvising is exciting but not always without risk!” One thing we’ve learned is that creative things aren’t without risk, but Paul wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Paul Iserman Elwood, composer and musician of Wichita, Kansas, September 21, 1958 — February 2, 2025, Marseille, France. Rest in Peace my friend.

One more thing before we go:

Musa Yelcin writing for the idea sharing website Medium (a home for human stories and ideas) writes that the African Zulus “are a mysterious society that stands out not only for their warrior identity but also for their deep connection with space.” They call themselves “Children of the Sky” and believe that their origin is in the stars. The post goes on to say that “The modern scientific world is also interested in the Zulu tribe’s extraordinary astronomical knowledge. It’s no coincidence that NASA has studied Zulu astronomy, and some archaeologists believe the tribe possessed ancient technological knowledge.” There are many tribal stories of “visitors coming with metal birds” and cave drawings resembling spaceships frequently encountered in Zulu legends that have caught the attention of “ancient astronaut” theorists. “Tribe members see the sky as the ‘home of ancestors’ and perform special rituals during every full moon,” and they consider meteor showers to be sacred.¹⁰ Just thought you might like to know where those crazy lyrics for UFOs Over New Zealand sprang from.

Oh, and another thing:

Composer, conductor, and teacher Edwin London might as well have been talking about Paul when in an interview with Bruce Duffie he said “I have always assumed, both in my own work and my own career and with others, that each of us has an individual voice within, and that if the world were a more hospitable place, everyone would have an opportunity to define their own voice, or to at least hear it, so that everyone would understand each other. As it is, many people get shut out of the process, and the artist is usually a one-minded-type individual who comes to the fore in a cultural situation as a progenitor of art. Maybe that is what art is for—that somehow, those who are obsessive enough or obsessed enough to continue working, to break through the barriers of inhibition in terms of their own work and their offerings, get a playing. Maybe it’s as simple as all that. Maybe they are metabolically suited to being artists and others aren’t.”¹¹

Amen!

Citations:

¹Thompson, Hunter S. Gonzo Papers, Vol. 2: Generation of Swine: Tales of Shame and Degradation in the ’80s, Summit Books, 1988, ISBN 978-0-671-66147-2

²Beaudoin, Jedd. Composer Paul Elwood Maintains Sense Of Mystery With ‘Strange Angels’, Interview for KMUW 89.1 FM, Wichita, Kansas, March 15, 2017

³Earle, Joe. Celebrating a Synthetic Heritage, The Wichita Eagle-Beacon, Wednesday, November 20, 1985

⁴Moore, Daniel P. John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation: Confidential Report on Candidate for Fellowship Paul Elwood, author’s personal papers, December 11, 2023

⁵Moore, Daniel P. Conversation with JC and Karen Combs, Wichita, Kansas, November 13, 2021

⁶Moore, Daniel P. J.C. Combs and the Wisdom of Words and Wrestlers, blog post June 6, 2021

J.C. Combs and the Wisdom of Words and Wrestlers

⁷Grainger, Don. J.C. Combs Has Done It Again: Percussion Professor Stretches Limits with Pop(corn) Music, The Wichita Eagle-Beacon, Lively Arts, Sunday, April 15, 1984

⁸Contributor. Sons of Rayon Promotional Material circa 1984, from the author’s collection

⁹Elwood, Paul I. The Dim and Dirty Road, Sound Choices: Paul Elwood, blog post, January 1, 2016

¹⁰Yalcin, Musa. The Children of the Stars: The Mysterious Space Connections of the Zulu Tribe, Blog post, The Medium:

¹¹Duffie, Bruce. Composer/Conductor Edwin London: A Conversation with Bruce Duffie, bruceduffie.com, 1989

Other Sources:

Paul Elwood.com

February 4, 2025March 23, 2025

Moments of Clarity and the Discipline of Ritual: Thoughts on Creativity Part I

Groundhog Day has come and gone, and I was tempted to write another blog post about one of my all-time favorite Bill Murray films, Groundhog Day, directed by Harold Ramos. But instead, I decided to begin a series of posts devoted to creativity. Why? Mostly because nobody read my last two posts about Groundhog Day and because the idea came to me in a moment of clarity.

Moments of clarity have many names. They can be “light bulb” moments for a great idea; a “breakthrough” when you finally solve a tricky problem; a “flash of inspiration” that reveals a new composition in its entirety and all at once. It could be an “epiphany” that changes the direction of your life or an “awakening” that leads to a deeper spiritual understanding. It could be as simple as an “Ah ha” moment when a concept that wasn’t understandable just a few seconds ago suddenly becomes clear.

Moments of absolute clarity are rare and exhilarating experiences, yet they can unfortunately, be interspersed amongst hours, days, or even years of complete and total cluelessness.

They are rare yes but somehow happening all the time. Huh? Trust me dear reader but remember “only idiots fail to contradict themselves three times a day.”—Friedrich Nietzsche

“Only idiots fail to contradict themselves three times a day.”
—Friedrich Nietzsche

When these elusive moments deign to present themselves, you better be ready, be willing, and be able to act on them before they move on to the next recipient. That’s right, you are almost never the only beneficiary of a moment of creative inspiration.

A composer friend of mine once told me that he thought I must be spying on his idea notebook, because I kept beating him to the punch publishing pieces for which he had a similar idea. I told him not to worry because this has happened to me many times throughout my career.

I’ve had plenty of cool ideas but at the time lacked the ability, connections, time, or understanding of how bring them to life. Then, out of the blue, someone comes out with MY great idea! They received the same moment of clarity as me. The difference is they acted on it, and I couldn’t (or didn’t). Snooze you lose.

The great drummer Billy Cobham agreed that “there are musical gifts, but it might be the gift of an idea.” That about sums it up for me (to quote Groundhog Day).

One problem for me is that precious moments of clarity always seem to come when I am either trying to sleep, or on a fifteen-hour flight, or too busy to do anything about it. I fail to act on these spasms of lucidity for many different reasons including lack of time, energy, money, resources, or motivation. Previous commitments, exhaustion, simple laziness, or some combination of the above are why many of my (arguably) great ideas went unrealized.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining because I have often been blessed with being in the right place at the right time when inspiration strikes. It is great to be on the receiving end of a good idea; it is absolute torture to be unable to bring that idea to fruition.

As a musician, composer, and educator I am interested in these moments of clarity and by extension—discipline and ritual. Although these characteristics may seem at odds, I assure you that discipline and ritual are among the most important tools for recognizing and acting on moments of clarity.

Many believe that moments of creative inspiration come from external sources such as the Muses for example. The Muses were Greek goddesses who were said to inspire the arts, music, and poetry. There are many romantic accounts of artists and their muses. F. Scott Fitzgerald was famously inspired by Zelda; Shakespeare’s ubiquitous Rosalind appears in at least three of his plays; and George Harrison and Eric Clapton fought over Patti Boyd for years resulting in some pretty darn good music.

unknown artist; Copy of a Panel from the ‘Sarcophagus of the Muses’*; Senate House, University of London; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/copy-of-a-panel-from-the-sarcophagus-of-the-muses-248642

Some, on the other hand, don’t put much stock in the role of muses in their work. Writer Helen Hanson advises that “inspiration is the windfall from hard work and focus. Muses are too unreliable to keep on the payroll.”

Somerset Maugham had more faith in his own discipline and routine than in external influences. “I write only when inspiration strikes. Fortunately, it strikes every morning at nine o’clock sharp.” He prepared for inspiration by starting work each morning at the same time. If inspiration struck, he would be ready to receive it. But there is also an implication that Maugham believed he could “will” inspiration into existence simply by showing up to work on time. I think he was right.

Perhaps the biggest danger and the most grievous offense then is to have a moment of clarity on which you fail to act. Michelangelo said, “the greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low and achieving our mark.”

“The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low and achieving our mark.”—Michelangelo

But what do you do in case an idea presents itself? Simple; prepare in advance.

Preparing to be creative, or to learn, or to practice, or to…

Ritual

Dancer, choreographer, writer, creative spirit, octogenarian, and my current hero Twyla Tharp opens her book The Creative Habit by saying “I begin each day of my life with a ritual: I wake up at 5:30 am, put on my workout clothes, my leg warmers, my sweatshirts, and my hat. I walk outside my Manhattan home, hail a taxi, and tell the driver to take me to the Pumping Iron Gym at 91^st street and first avenue, where I work out for two hours. The ritual is not the stretching and weight training I put my body through each morning at the gym; the ritual is the cab. The moment I tell the driver where to go I have completed the ritual.”

Of course, a ritual for a painter, writer, composer, or musician might be different but the important thing is to find YOUR ritual; the one that puts you in the proper frame of mind to receive a moment of clarity. You must have your receptors cycled on and waiting for such a moment to appear.

Tharp goes on to say; “It’s vital to establish some rituals—automatic but decisive patterns of behavior—at the beginning of the creative process, when you are most at peril of turning back, chickening out, giving up, or going the wrong way.”

A ritual can be as simple and mundane as making your bed each morning or having a pencil in your pocket.

Be Prepared

Twyla Tharp tells us that in his essay “Why Write” Paul Auster relates the story of meeting his childhood idol, baseball player Willie Mays and trying to get an autograph. After mustering the courage to break through the crowd for the autograph Mays asked; “Do you have a pencil?” He didn’t, and no one else did either, to which Mays replied, “no pencil, no autograph kid.” To this day Auster, a professional writer, ALWAYS carries a pencil. The moral of the story is that you must be prepared to do the work. You should ALWAYS have everything you need to do your best work ready and waiting. (paraphrased from The Creative Habit).

When creating something, you become a receptor of ideas. When I set out to compose or arrange a piece of music, I have a process to prepare myself to receive inspiration. When working on a new composition I regularly schedule time to “discover” new things by means of purposeful “messing around.” From there the ideas begin to dart around my brain playing a game of musical hide and seek. This goes on for an indeterminate gestational period until finally everything comes together fully (or near fully) formed — and (as mentioned above) typically in the middle of the night. But there are no guaranties.

There is an old story about a struggling comedian who keeps dreaming every night that he is telling the funniest joke ever written to an enraptured audience. The stuff that Nate Bargatze can only imagine. The problem is that when he awakes in the morning, he can’t remember the hilarious punchline that could make his career.

He complains to his comedian friends who advise him to put a recorder near his bed so that he can wake up and capture the joke without getting out of bed. The next morning, he notices that the recorder has been activated during the night and was excited to hear this game changing joke, but when playing back the recording, he only hears the incoherent mumbling of someone talking in their sleep. Clarity is a fickle friend but apparently not without a sense of humor.

But if you are in the right place at the right time, with your receptors on and, uhm, “recepting”, then all that remains is to transition those ideas from the metaphysical to the physical world in the appropriate format such as a recording, a computer file, or on an old-fashioned piece of paper or canvas.

So, what causes these fleeting moments, and better yet, how do we capture them when they happen? Learning to tune your receptors to the possibility of incoming messages is key. This can happen simply by making room in your mind and time in your day for them to break through. One thing is certain, moments of clarity come on their own schedule and although you probably can’t really force them to happen, you can at least let them know that you are ready whenever they are. (contradiction noted)

The only advice I can offer from my own experience is that when you get stuck, it can help to distract yourself by doing something that takes your mind off the problem. Get away from your project or assignment. Go to a concert, watch a great movie, read a book, go to a baseball game, or do a puzzle. Interact with any type of activity that is outside your area of interest or endeavor and watch people who are at the top of their game. The next time you begin your ritual of preparing your receptors, the door might open up just enough for your moment of clarity to walk through.

Keep in mind what 19^th Century poet and writer Guillaume Apollinaire advised, that “now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.”

“Now and then it’s good to pause in our pursuit of happiness and just be happy.”—Guillaume Apollinaire

Stay tuned for Thoughts On Creativity Part II which will be finished the next time I get a moment of clarity—but who knows when that might be…

Give Me Pen and Ink and I Will Write My Mind: 10 Tips For Aspiring Writers (Myself Included)

“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)

War of the Rudiments Article Download

July 9, 2023November 24, 2023

Attempting the Absurd; Achieving the Impossible; and Why Not?

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

National Museum of Slovenia
https://www.nms.si/en/collections/highlights/343-Neanderthal-flute

Classic History: The History of the Pipe Organ,
http://www.classichistory.net /archives/organ

Herb Alpert Is (documentary film)
https://www.herbalpertis.com

April 1, 2023May 28, 2023

Time Signatures for Drummers: by the Pernicious Prognosticator of Percussion

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. P³also 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. P³aspires 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.

Oh, and Happy April Fool’s Day!

January 1, 2021October 14, 2022

Mary Ann and the Three-Hour Tour

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)