The Beauty of Life...

I had been glancing at the paper over lunch that day before the gig. Don't know why but a particular article caught my eye. It was all about a radical and contraversial figure in the New Orleans area that was going to be leading a march that evening. So said radical was a pastor of sorts...not the kind you'd want to actually follow or find out more of what he believes...more of the fire and brimstone burn in Hell kind.

Anyways, he had organized a march that evening...you see, NOLA had several festivals come through every year...Jazz Fest, Voodoo Fest, Bayou Classic...and then there was the Southern Decadence Festival held every Labor Day weekend. I remember my first time to be playing while it was going on. No one had told me what it was or that anything special was happening...I was just perplexed at the enormous abundance of assless chaps on the street that weekend.You need to understand that Decadence Fest is a gay and lesbian festival. Brings quite a different crowd with it. So this guy had organized a march against gay and lesbian folks to coincide with the festival. Brilliant...sure to win many souls for the cause.

My interest was peaked because when they plotted out the protest route in the paper, my club happened to be right in the middle of it. Sweet...this could be entertaining.

I actually forgot about it...went in to the gig...played the first and second sets without a hitch. Quite a normal night, albeit the gay factor was up a bit more than usual, but whatever.

On our second break I had decided to go out and watch the street...I did this alot on my breaks. Bourbon Street can provide you with an endless supply of cheap eyecandy and entertainment...I love to people watch, so it just fit with me. I took my normal perch outside the Famous Door, leaning on the wall by the window, watching the madness ebb and flow up and down the street. And then i heard them...whistles, yelling, laughing, cheering...

For as long as I live I'll never forget what I saw coming down the street.

A scantily clad, gay, middle aged man was high stepping down the street, you know, like a parade marshall. Here he came in all his pomp and glory...wearing nothing but some tennis shoes, tube socks, and whitey tighty Hanes underwear. He had topped this off with a parade marshalls hat, a very large parade baton, and a whistle. What a fuss he was raising...waiving his hands to the crowds, high stepping, tweeting his whistle loud and proud, twirling his baton, and every few feet he would swing into a cartwheel...He was obviously leading this parade...proudly, loudly...but what or whom was he leading?

And then I saw...

Here they came....It was the newspaper picketers...picketing posters in hand, angry snarls, nifty little sayings on their signs like "Turn or Burn" (one of the signs even had a very detailed drawing of people falling off of a cliff into a bunch of flames with cartoon devils dancing in the fire...genius! Sure to win converts every time....)...it was the protesting "Christians"...all led by an almost naked gay man...

TWEET, TWEET, TWEET!!!
"TURN OR BURN!"
TWEET, TWEET
"REPENT OF YOUR SINS BEFORE YOU LAND IN HELL!"
Cartwheel

I stood in awe as this haphazard parade flowed by...It couldn't have lasted more than a couple of minutes...I swear time stood still though. Very few pictures remain in my mind as vividly as this one does.

And then they were gone. The Street moves like a river...something happens, a disturbance arises, and then it flows slowly downstream...

I don't know that there's anything to learn from this...nope, I'm positive of it. There's absolutely NOTHING of value in that story.

But you know what...sometimes life is weird. Sometimes situations are messed up. Sometimes it doesn't make any sense. I think that's part of the beauty of it though...

If I Could Only Make Black People Dance...

People lose jobs everyday, especially in the market we're currently in. And they lose them for lots of reasons...maybe they show up late, don't perform at the desired level, take too many smoke breaks, watch porn at work, call the boss an idiot while simultaneously posting a twit pic of his head superimposed over a woman, spend too much on the company account, sleep with the boss' wife...you know, regular stuff.

I've never been fired...ever....but I came really close one time...really close. You would immediately jump to the conclusion that I had done one of the above mentioned tasks...if only it had been that simple.

You see, when you're the drummer for the house band in a dance club, one thing is important...you have to make people DANCE...otherwise, it's a stand club, and those can be real downers...standing and consuming alcohol isn't nearly as entertaining as doing the white mans underbite while awkwardly grinding on your favorite woman...or at least your favorite at that particular club...ok, it doesn't even have to be your favorite at this point, just one that lets you accost her with your "moves"...when you've got beer goggles on, it just has to lack an Adams apple and a bulge and we're good to go...then again, it was Bourbon Street, and those last two specifications didn't matter to some...Change of criteria: if it doesn't have chairs around it it's probably fair game.

I've strayed...oh yea, back to the point of this quickly plummeting post...

In order to make someone dance a drummer must possess one thing...not killer chops, not cool hair, not the latest and greatest kit...yes, that's right...you must possess GROOVE (See "Steve Gadd" in the dictionary)...DUM-DUM-DUMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!

One problem...go ahead, ask someone how to get groove...

"You just gotta feel it man!"

Brilliant.

The drummer for the night band, Jeff, (we played 4-9, they were on from 9-whenever people passed out and were dragged back to their hotel rooms) came over to my house one night...he was also my teacher at the time. Yes, I had pretty much the best learning setup ever...but he came over to give me a heads up...I was fixin to lose my job.

"Why?!"

"People ain't dancin'...you've gotta get people to dance."

"How?!"

"Groove man, you gotta get your groove on."

"How do I find my groove?!"

"You just gotta feel it man..."

Brilliant.

I was freaked out...I had moved to NOLA by myself, I was 19 and only knew one person there (and he was telling me I was fixing to lose my job, so I wasn't particularly fond of him at the moment), and didn't really have the gig knowledge, connections, or experience to go out and land another gig by myself. I was tweaked...I didn't know what to do.

I lay awake all night that night...thinking, turning things over in my mind, trying to find my groove...

With his help I started on a journey I'm still participating in now...the journey to groove. I began to completely emerse myself in the music we were performing...I listened to it over, and over, and over, and over, and over...I listened to the hi-hat only, then the bass drum only, then just the snare...why were they doing the things they were doing? What made people want to dance to "Brick House" everytime it came on but when I played no one danced? Why couldn't I have been born an African American, therefore being given unlimited natural groove powers that I could use at my own discretion?

I would mimick these recordings repeatedly...I would play "Funky Music" all the way through with only my hi-hat, then just the bass drum part...I had to find out why this groove was universally danceable.

At the same time I was also having to continue to play these songs live five hours a day, 5-6 days a week...do you even know how discouraging it is to perform a job everyday with the knowledge that you're doing it wrong and having no idea how to fix it? Not to mention if I lost this gig I had NO money...I was going to starve for lack of groove...This seemed ridiculous...

Then one day I devised a plan...an evil plan...one that just might work...

"Black folks have rhythm...If I could just make them dance I'd know I was onto something..."

I would watch the black patrons we had come in...they were like rocks when I played...take the same person and come back that evening when Jeff was playing and they'd be laughing and drinking and...DANCING! I couldn't get them to move if I picked them up and shook them...it was horrible.

Day in and day out I would single them out...I'd change something I was doing and pay attention to their reactions...were they tapping their foot? Were they nodding their head? Swaying back and forth? Throwing up while having to watch this white kid try to play the drums...

And then one day it happened...the guy started moving a bit...what was I doing?! How could I replicate it on every song?!

As I emersed myself in the style of music we were playing and watched the crowds, things began to change. I began to change. My playing began to change. The things I worked on at that time were very small in comparison to what I normally practised...but they revolutionised my playing.

I wound up never losing my job...I found a groove, my groove. The key was that I accepted the criticism and ran with it. I wanted to figure out how I could fix it. And it helped that I wouldn't be eating if I didn't fix it. That's a different kind of urgency.

So here's to the black man. Here's to their rhythm. And here's to them saving my job by helping me find my groove...

Ready to take it to the next level? Become a full member of the Live Lessons and get access to over 300 lessons! LIMITED TIME 7 DAY FREE TRIAL