On the Road to Rock Music Obsession: Part I
After seeing and hearing a three-piece jazz combo perform at a 5th grade assembly at Wyco Drive Elementary in the fall of 1972, my intense interest in listening to the radio and buying and collecting 45s turned into an intense desire to play music. I was especially taken with the combo’s young drummer and his sparkling blue five-piece drum kit. Now all I wanted to do was play the drums. But my dad, even though he had played as a kid, did not want noisy drums in his house. (Did he envision another Bobby Brady? A boy playing loudly, wildly, and unrhythmically and driving everyone crazy?) My mom, however, knowing how important it is to help children explore their interests and passions, overruled him and took us to Universal Music in the Garland Shopping Center, at Garland Drive and Washington Street in the heart of Northglenn, where she bought my sister a clarinet and me a beautiful Ludwig gold-swirl snare drum. The drum cost $100 — a lot of money at the time — and was a possession of which I was extremely proud.
We were enrolled in band but also had to take music lessons to learn the fundamentals of our instruments. Our lessons were early in the mornings, before school started, and we met with Ms. Seger — a young, pretty, kind woman who loved kids, music, and teaching in that order. I took to playing and reading music immediately, and Ms. Seger saw potential and urged my mom and dad to get me behind a drum set right away. (They never did, for several reasons, one of which was money — or the lack thereof.) I practiced a lot on my snare and soon learned how to play a drum roll. On one memorable morning at band practice, just after we had set up but before we were ready to begin, I started a drum roll and kept on rolling. The next thing I knew my sister was tapping me on the shoulder: I was so “lost” in my playing that I didn’t hear Ms. Seger calling to me, telling me to stop. She asked my sister, who was sitting with the other clarinets, to get up and nudge me out of my rock ‘n roll fantasy! I don’t remember feeling awkward or embarrassed at all, which is testament to the wonderful way Ms. Seger handled her young students. Together the band learned to play a few different songs, but our favorite was “Blue Rock,” an upbeat number with great horn and drum parts. The song’s simple-yet-catchy melody, along with its rich, thick trumpets, trombones, and saxophones, gave me those familiar goose bumps and chills. This was as close as our little group would ever come to rocking out.
We did, however, have other opportunities to rock. In music class, also taught by Ms. Seger (no relation to Bob), we had “record day” every other Friday. It was a chance to share our favorite songs with our schoolmates and friends and expose each other to new music. I recall one Friday when a classmate, after patiently waiting his turn, walked to the side of the room, put his 45 on the record player, lowered the tone arm, placed the needle in the groove, and . . . out came a loud, searing guitar riff repeated over and over followed by a piercing scream! All the chit-chat and hubbub in the room came to an instant halt; the music had startled everyone. Even Ms. Seger was taken aback until the song settled down a bit and segued into its opening lyric: “You say you want a revolution / Well, you know, we all want to change the world.” [1] It was the Beatles. And it was awesome.
When the school year finally ended, and my sister and I thought we had 90 lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer in front of us, my mom announced that she had signed us up for summer band. We couldn’t believe it. We didn’t want to go. As much as we loved band, we loved summer more. We wanted the same vacation we’d always had — fun, freedom, and few responsibilities. My mom had other ideas, however, and off to summer band we went — but it wasn’t exactly fun or easy for any of us.
My mom had to drive us to Wyco, where we sat on the front steps of the empty school and waited for the bus that took us to North Star Elementary. Toting a clarinet around was no problem for my sister — her instrument fit in a case not much bigger than a purse — but lugging my drum on and off the bus and everywhere else was a big-time burden; it put a damper on what little fun I was having (and was the main reason I stopped playing in school bands). Once at North Star, we met up with kids from all over Adams County’s District 12 who were going to summer school for a variety of reasons and taking a variety of classes. Quite a few kids were in band — all the instruments were represented — but there was only one drummer — me. Rather than revel in the spotlight, I was reluctantly terrified. I read music well, but the pieces our teacher selected were more sophisticated and complex than what I had been playing. There was one piece in particular — one passage in the piece — that I simply did not know how to play. It was a drum solo, and every time the band reached that passage and paused there would be dead silence: I didn’t play anything because I didn’t know what to play and was afraid to wing it. Needless to say, I was profoundly embarrassed and dreaded going to practice everyday. The teacher tried to help me, and did give me some useful pointers, but I still struggled. Finally, on my own, I figured out how to the play the passage — a series of flams and paradiddles — and practiced relentlessly in our playroom. The next time the band met and played the piece, I nailed the solo passage; I think my bandmates were dumbfounded when the music didn’t stop. When we finished my teacher declared, “Well, our drummer finally came alive today!” I guess I did.
We wrapped up the summer with a big concert for our families and friends, and my mom and dad were there to watch me and my sister. We both did great. Although my infatuation with the drums would now begin to subside — at least for a time — it was replaced by a rekindled preoccupation with the increasingly-stimulating sounds spilling from the radio and the record buying and collecting that went with it. Moved beyond measure and driven with desire, these simple pursuits set me firmly on the road to rock music obsession.
Above piece excerpted from the forthcoming It’s Only Music: A Musical and Historical Memoir.
[1] “Revolution” by the Beatles; #12, 1968
