Flight of the Conchords

More on (moron) drumming

I mentioned the other day that I've been playing the drum set again. While at the studio this afternoon I figured I might as well snap a couple pics of my new baby and post them as an excuse to post:

I bought these drum a few summers ago while still in Mankato, but I never got a great opportunity to use them. I paid only about $200 for all four shells (only three are pictured), the snare, and a metric grip of really crappy hardware--mainly cymbal stands. Even though most of the stands are unusable, the whole package was too good of a deal to let pass--even though I knew it might be a few years before I could play them regularly.

In fact, until a couple weeks ago, I had played them only once since I got them. The boys of Encrimson'd came together in Mankato to write and record one song in one of the most brutal-cold winters in recent memory. We rented out a place called "The Jam Shack" several miles outside Kato. The name "shack" was more than appropriate: the roof had caved in in one area, the foundation could barely support itself--oh, and there was no heat besides a gas-powered space heater, the fumes of which killed more or our brain cells than our ghastly, potent metal.

All-in-all, a priceless experience. Legendary in Encrimson'd lore.

I've been back in St. Louis Park for just over a year now, but until recently there still hasn't been a decent situation for me to set up the drums. Fortunately and unfortunately, one such situation has arisen. The fortunate part is that we found ourselves with some extra room at Hip Replacement's practice studio. The unfortunate part is that there's room only because our good friend and keyboardist, Andrew Pokorny, has moved to Oregon to pursue his doctorate in music theory.

If it meant that Andrew would stay with us forever, I wouldn't mind not playing the drums. He will be that sorely missed as a band mate but even more as a friend. But he's in Oregon, regardless, and there's space in the studio. So fuck it: I'm playin' drums.

I wasn't kidding the other day that I feel like an ape when I play these drums. I feel like some animal trainer has been "teaching" me to play, but I'm only hitting the drums because, damn it, I was promised a banana. As in, it's not quite natural yet. I'll get there eventually, though, once mimicking makes room for intentionality. But a banana would still be nice.

Drums. Drums in the Deep.

This works on so many levels. Not only is it genius enough for posting by itself--genius enough to wake me from a blogging slumber--but it's also relevant in another way.

Just as my gorilla friend here has waited a long time, seemingly, to drum, I too am drumming again after a long, long wait. Of course I've been playing congas/etc. with Hip Replacement for a year now, and I played hand drums for the dancers back in 'Kato for six years, but only recently have I been finally playing a drumset again.

The pleasure that drumming is giving me again is entirely comparable to the rapture of the ape. Basically, that's how I look when I play drums. He certainly has crude technique; and so do I, what with years of accumulated rust. It still feels good, though.

Mason... You can feel it in the air. Tonight. Oh lawd.