Boy Howday's Guide to Drums '86: Part One
You’ve been exiled to the garage. Your old man wants to know why you don’t take up something quieter, like saturation bombing. The guy across the street keeps calling the cops. The same two cops keep turning up. One’s eyeing your gear like it’s hot, quoting some obscure municipal noise statute.
Boy Howday's Guide to Drums '86: Part One
Dan Hedges
You’ve been exiled to the garage.
Your old man wants to know why you don’t take up something quieter, like saturation bombing.
The guy across the street keeps calling the cops. The same two cops keep turning up. One’s eyeing your gear like it’s hot, quoting some obscure municipal noise statute. The other’s looking at your kid sister.
Non-drummers automatically presume you’re a Neanderthal.
This drum stuff is a royal pain, you say? You bet. You’ve got all those stands to set up. All those cymbals. There are lugs and screws to tighten. Sticks to tape. Things fall over, the stuff weighs a ton, you sweat all the time. And when you play a gig, nobody can even see you way back there.
Guitar would have been better.
But it’s too late now. You’re hooked. A noise junkie. So you keep honing that footwork. That wrist action. And when you’re out in the Real World, you can’t stop tapping and banging on things. Dashboards. Chair arms. People’s heads.