Early Moments of Clarity and the Luck of the Draw

As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be the guy in the band. I never gave anything else much of a thought. I didn't have that Beatles on Ed Sullivan moment; it was something I just knew early on in my life. It was more of a slow burn. I liked music on the radio, and anytime a band played on television, I watched with awe and curiosity. The musicians seemed to be mythic figures. It seemed like a different world. The only thing I knew about it was that I wanted in.

I loved the whole idea of living an alternative lifestyle and traveling with a gang of guys doing something that was fun and exclusive. The Boy Scouts seemed square and regimented. I knew about baseball but couldn't be good enough to get past Little League. I still follow the game closely today. Even during the crazy years, with only the USA papers three days old in a European airport, I always knew what was going on with the Yankees.

I played trumpet in the school band but was always attracted to the drums. I played the drums on the side and took basic lessons at the local Massapequa music store. Brian took lessons there, too. The guitar, piano, and saxophone seemed too unreal to me. I couldn't imagine possibly being good enough on them to be a professional. I could relate to the drums; I thought I could do it. I was pretty good at drumming naturally, and I just kept at it. I hung around with a few of the guys who played in my class. Someone had a guitar, someone had a keyboard, and everyone had a garage or a basement. There were a lot of pretty good musicians in our town. I was very serious about it and was always the guy hustling up the jam sessions, school dances, or backyard parties. I liked the feeling of being onstage and also the way it enabled me to be alone in a crowd. I straddled a few fences with all the different types in school. The guy in the rock-and-roll band can get away with being a bit of a book reader and a baseball fan, as long as you can rock out at the keg party and keep everyone entertained. It was a way to fit in without having to give too much of yourself away and without engaging too much. It allowed me to be involved and still slightly detached at the same time. I really dug being part of a team, and as the drummer I could steer in a friendly way.

I've always had a love affair with the drums. I'd save up to get Modern Drummer magazine, cut out pictures of drummers, and pin them on the wall behind my bed next to pictures of my favorite ballplayers. I'd send away for the free catalogs from Zildjian cymbals, Gretsch drums, and Vic Firth sticks. I thought the old jazz cats were supercool. The English guys were even more exotic and didn't seem like real people. I'd study the different ways drummers set up their kits. The fact that forty years later I'm in those catalogs and speak to and have been endorsed by Fred Gretsch, Armand Zildjian, and Vic Firth still turns me on. All drummers will tell you this. Having your cymbal setup in the Zildjian catalog is just as important as getting your picture in the paper. More than any other type of musician, drummers are just happy to be here. Without a good drummer, no band of any kind can progress.

I started out with a practice pad and a pair of sticks, then graduated to a used kit, and finally, after I proved to be serious, a real drum set. I saved money from birthdays and lawn-mowing jobs and raised a couple of hundred dollars. In a very positive memory, I went with my father to Forty-eighth Street in New York City and came home with a four-piece black-chrome Slingerland kit with all applicable hardware.

I began taking lessons from a jazz legend who lived a few towns over. Mousey Alexander had played with Benny Goodman, Red Norvo, Billie Holiday, and Clark Terry, among others. I took the Long Island Rail Road a few stops and walked the rest of the way to Mousey's house, where he had a little studio with two drum kits set up in his basement. He was a real cool cat. He had a goatee, wore white shoes, and spoke in jazz lingo. Mousey was the real deal. He had toured with these jazz greats all over the world in the 1950s and 1960s. He told me of a tour he did with Benny Goodman in the Far East. The idea of touring Japan and Hong Kong with a band was beyond my comprehension, but I knew I wanted to do it more than anything. He stressed rudiments and syncopation, and he really helped me get comfortable with swinging on the drum kit. My natural feel, which I call rocking swing, really came out under Mousey's instruction. In Mousey, I found an actual person who did these things I thought were just dreams and wishes. He proved it was possible. If I had a chance to travel the world playing music — and, when I got old, settle down and teach the drums — that sounded like a good life.

There were quite a few rock guys in our school and neighboring towns who could play faster and harder than I could. None of them had any fashion sense or a dream to travel off Long Island. I've always felt that there are a few aspects to the type of musician I wanted to be. You had to have a look as well as a musical style. I always felt I had a certain style to my playing, and I worked on it. I also liked to dress in some style that combined a rock look with some vintage piece of clothing like a hat or old sweater. I'd look in the back of one of my father's or uncle's closets for something they didn't wear anymore and mix it with jeans and a T-shirt. I'd continue to take the train into the city and hang out at Manny's or Pro Percussion on Forty-fifth Street, taking three hours to buy a pair of sticks. I'd test cymbals and compare the different sounds with the different sizes. I'd roll the sticks on the countertop to make sure they were straight. The cats working in the store were always cool with me. They sensed I was serious, and I did always buy something, even if it was just a pair of sticks. I thought it would be a great job to work at a place where you talk about drums all day and have sticks in your back pocket. I once saw Louie Bellson hanging out in Pro Percussion. I thought then and still do that being a respected drummer is the best possible job in the world. If you can squeeze out a living at it, more power to you. I took little neighborhood jobs like gardening and dog walking to save up to replace a cheap cymbal with a Zildjian every so often. All the while, I was taking lessons and practicing along to any records I had or could borrow. There was a Hank...