Perhaps this week I made the biggest mistake of my life. I bought my son a set of drums.
The story goes like this. About a year ago, I bought my daughter an electronic keyboard. It was not an expensive one, but the idea was to see if she showed any interest in it, and if so, to consider arranging lessons. She showed some interest, and we set her up with an instructor at a little music store in town. Since she is very young, the lessons are not entirely structured, but aim to cultivate interest in the piano in the future.
It went well, except that my 4 year-old son immediately competed for playing time. We set up a few lessons for him, and he did well. However, whenever he went to his lesson, his teacher had to pry him off the drum kit in the practice room with a crowbar. After talking to the teacher, we split the lessons into 15 minutes of piano, and 15 minutes of drums. He seems to like the drums much better.
That put us in Spera's Music shop last week, looking at three different child-sized drum kits. As I compared different kits, I envisioned a future of jangled nerves, midnight practice sessions, and visits from the police. We got the set anyway.
I have played the guitar for many, many years, and though I am not that good at it I have always felt the transforming power of playing an instrument. In our world music is everywhere -- in the stores, in the movies, on television, even in doctor's waiting rooms -- making music probably the most pervasive art form in all the world. There are two kinds of music aficionados in this world, those who have played an instrument and those who have not. I feel real pathos for those who have not. Nothing teaches an appreciation for music like spending hours sweating over a song, figuring out the fingering, the chord changes, perfecting every note. Playing and listening to your own music is a little like living in a house you have built with your own hands. Just as the builder knows every nail, every rafter, and every inch of moulding and why it belongs there, the musician knows every note of the song, how the song hangs together, why the chords progress as they do, why a certain chord sounds better as a barre than voiced with open notes -- everything. I know of nothing in any other art that provides the same satisfaction of artistic ownership of someone else's work, except possibly acting in a play. Memorizing a poem is not the same, tracing a drawing is not the same. For me, not even cooking a recipe and doctoring it to my own taste yields the same feeling. Singing a song very well comes close, but only when the singer has real musical understanding of the song -- crooning, sadly, doesn't count. When I play a song on my guiter, it is mine until the last note dies out.
People who have never played, but only listen, never appreciate music on that level. The musician approaches a musical recording the way a carpenter approaches a piece of furniture -- with knowing, an appreciation, at the touch, of the quality and meaning of the product. To truly love music, you must have played. Not well, necessarily, but well enough to appreciate the craft of soundmaking.
All of which is to say that I intend my children to learn an instrument. Hopefully well, but at least well enough to appreciate what others do.
In some ways I am very pleased that my son may one day become a drummer. The drums are much more difficult to play than they appear. Most people can pick up a drum and find a beat, but truly accomplished drummers bring cohesion and meaning to songs. On occasion, I definitely do listen to a song and think, "That song was beautifully drummed." (Some songs that have impressed me that way include Steely Dan's "Aja," Dave Brubeck's "Take Five," Louis Armstrong's "West End Blues," Miles Davis's "So What," and "Rock and Roll" by Led Zeppelin.) Because guitars are cheap and instruction is easy to find, there are a fair number of guitarists around. The same goes for the piano. But there are three popular instruments where accomplishment is hard to find: the drums, the standup bass, and the harp. Musicians who are good at any of these three have their pick of gigs. The barriers for each of the three is similar -- mainly the size and expense of the instrument. Guitarist learn by packing up their instruments and going to play with friends. This his hard to do with drums. On the other hand, a really good drummer can attract his guitarist friends to his house for the novelty of jamming with hip percussion. This thought is gives me papitations even as I type.
If my son plays, and if he gets good, he will have people calling him to join their bands for the rest of his life. He'll be the Hep Cat. Strummers will come and go, but he with the sweet skins will always have musical pals. Mistrustful neighbors also, but this is a small price to pay for being in demand, if you ask me.
So let there be drums.
The story goes like this. About a year ago, I bought my daughter an electronic keyboard. It was not an expensive one, but the idea was to see if she showed any interest in it, and if so, to consider arranging lessons. She showed some interest, and we set her up with an instructor at a little music store in town. Since she is very young, the lessons are not entirely structured, but aim to cultivate interest in the piano in the future.
It went well, except that my 4 year-old son immediately competed for playing time. We set up a few lessons for him, and he did well. However, whenever he went to his lesson, his teacher had to pry him off the drum kit in the practice room with a crowbar. After talking to the teacher, we split the lessons into 15 minutes of piano, and 15 minutes of drums. He seems to like the drums much better.
That put us in Spera's Music shop last week, looking at three different child-sized drum kits. As I compared different kits, I envisioned a future of jangled nerves, midnight practice sessions, and visits from the police. We got the set anyway.
I have played the guitar for many, many years, and though I am not that good at it I have always felt the transforming power of playing an instrument. In our world music is everywhere -- in the stores, in the movies, on television, even in doctor's waiting rooms -- making music probably the most pervasive art form in all the world. There are two kinds of music aficionados in this world, those who have played an instrument and those who have not. I feel real pathos for those who have not. Nothing teaches an appreciation for music like spending hours sweating over a song, figuring out the fingering, the chord changes, perfecting every note. Playing and listening to your own music is a little like living in a house you have built with your own hands. Just as the builder knows every nail, every rafter, and every inch of moulding and why it belongs there, the musician knows every note of the song, how the song hangs together, why the chords progress as they do, why a certain chord sounds better as a barre than voiced with open notes -- everything. I know of nothing in any other art that provides the same satisfaction of artistic ownership of someone else's work, except possibly acting in a play. Memorizing a poem is not the same, tracing a drawing is not the same. For me, not even cooking a recipe and doctoring it to my own taste yields the same feeling. Singing a song very well comes close, but only when the singer has real musical understanding of the song -- crooning, sadly, doesn't count. When I play a song on my guiter, it is mine until the last note dies out.
People who have never played, but only listen, never appreciate music on that level. The musician approaches a musical recording the way a carpenter approaches a piece of furniture -- with knowing, an appreciation, at the touch, of the quality and meaning of the product. To truly love music, you must have played. Not well, necessarily, but well enough to appreciate the craft of soundmaking.
All of which is to say that I intend my children to learn an instrument. Hopefully well, but at least well enough to appreciate what others do.
In some ways I am very pleased that my son may one day become a drummer. The drums are much more difficult to play than they appear. Most people can pick up a drum and find a beat, but truly accomplished drummers bring cohesion and meaning to songs. On occasion, I definitely do listen to a song and think, "That song was beautifully drummed." (Some songs that have impressed me that way include Steely Dan's "Aja," Dave Brubeck's "Take Five," Louis Armstrong's "West End Blues," Miles Davis's "So What," and "Rock and Roll" by Led Zeppelin.) Because guitars are cheap and instruction is easy to find, there are a fair number of guitarists around. The same goes for the piano. But there are three popular instruments where accomplishment is hard to find: the drums, the standup bass, and the harp. Musicians who are good at any of these three have their pick of gigs. The barriers for each of the three is similar -- mainly the size and expense of the instrument. Guitarist learn by packing up their instruments and going to play with friends. This his hard to do with drums. On the other hand, a really good drummer can attract his guitarist friends to his house for the novelty of jamming with hip percussion. This thought is gives me papitations even as I type.
If my son plays, and if he gets good, he will have people calling him to join their bands for the rest of his life. He'll be the Hep Cat. Strummers will come and go, but he with the sweet skins will always have musical pals. Mistrustful neighbors also, but this is a small price to pay for being in demand, if you ask me.
So let there be drums.
Update on 2007-12-17 18:51 by Michael Hebert
I realize, in looking at this entry today, that I should have entitled it "The Little Drummer Boy." Swing and a miss. I can still change it but I know the web crawlers and RSS have already registered it under the old name, and thus, if I change it now, it may cause some confusion. So it stays as is.