“Could you play the drums with more of a Scandinavian feel?”
This is one of the oddest lines I’ve ever heard in all my years of being terrible at music.
It was 2005 and A Sweet Niche were rehearsing for a summer of gigs by flailing around in a pile of instruments in our saxophonist’s living room. I was upstairs with Ollie Saxface printing out music whilst Tom The Drummer was getting instruction from Keir, our singer/guitarist/Justin-Timberlakealike-to-the-French (that’s a whole other story). Dunc (the other guitarist and 90% legs) was probably off being useful to society or something. I nipped downstairs to the kitchen and overheard Keir uttering the Scandinavian line and thought I’d run it by Ol when I went back- maybe he’d know what it meant as the two of them had written the stuff we were learning.
Not a clue.
I asked Keir about it that evening whilst out for a drink and it emerged that HE didn’t know what that meant either. he just thought Tom would.
This is one of the things I miss AND don’t miss about being in bands. Or at the very least that band. Rehearsals for us were like playing in the Cornish equivalent of the Tower of Babel, except closer to sea level and with far fewer builders. In the later post-drummer pre-me-getting-kicked-out version of the band, learning songs was a wonderfully glacial process as everything had to be filtered through the rest of the band before it made sense to me.
I can’t read music. I’ve tried, but it doesn’t stick. What I do have is a fantastic memory, so when we were doing crazy avant-garde weirdiness, I couldn’t understand how they could just read it all off of sheet music, and they couldn’t understand how I could just remember the entire set.
Now, the process of getting it into my memory in the first place was a little tricky as it would invariably start with Ol attempting to explain it in a way that contained the deepest amount of theory and the maximum amount of musical philosophy. When this was met with bemusement, Keir would step in and try and convey it to me by invoking the feeling of the piece using a series of abstract metaphors. Dunc would then pick up a guitar and show me that it was just A# for two beats then slide to F, hold, little triplet run then a harmonic. Good times.
My band history’s never been the best- I mean, I was once apparently in a band called Beef Treats with some guys at college who had added me into their band without telling me, then insisted that I’d been a member after they split up.
Like a lot of people I started out in a godawful punk band at school with bi-weekly name changes. We were called things like Nomad Soul and Bad Salad beofre settling of the still fairly terrible Gunbunny. We only got round to writing one song- ‘I Will Trade You For My Cow’, which for some reason referenced David Essex, even though it was the late 90’s and we were 14.
Next up was the Truro-College-practice-room-only band, Kettle Whistle. I was going through an obsession with trying to play slap bass at the time which always made the guitarist- a widdly hair-rocker with a leopard-print Marshall amp – collapse in fits of laughter, and since our drummer’s musical tastes ranged from Radiohead to Muse, then back to Radiohead and occasionally some Radiohead, it was difficult to play anything that didn’t fir to the beat from ‘The National Anthem.’
I got roped into starting a pop-punk band with my friend Tim a little while after this, but since he was one for fads at the time, he quickly ditched guitar and decided to take up drums after about a month of practices. He ended up buying a set of flat drums– not electronic drums- actual flat acoustic drums that flapped around if you breathed heavily in the same room as them. They pretty much sounded like a cardboard box during a hailstorm but you could get them in a tiny car boot, so he was happy. We ended up turning into a metal-prog band called Cabal after bringing in a new guitarist and spent a few months doing a bad impression of Tool and repeatedly playing the intro to 3 Libras so that Tim could remember how 3/4 time was supposed to go. Drummer-Tim then left and a Vocalist-Tim joined – I’m not sure we ever managed a full lineup in our surprisingly long time together doing drop-D noodling bar one time where the guitarist’s 14-year old neighbour sat in on drums and never uttered a word.
After a brief stint of being unaware of my involvement with Beef Treats I started work on Project CKP, a “band” with more members than songs and was 75% made by me. The name came from the Chris Key Players, one of the hundreds of fictitious former bands one of the guys had been in. His role was shouting Japanese volleyball terms through a vocoder and pretending that he was going to learn the synth. We had a tromboneless trombone player, a programmer who repeatedly insisted that 213bpm was the best speed for any track and and a drummer who couldn’t understand why none of the songs had him on them, despite the fact that he went to Germany when I’d booked him in for studio time. The whole affair was a wonderful shambles – everything broke whenever we made things with real instruments, I attempted guitar solos on more than one occasion and we always forgot that it’s a good idea to write lyrics before you hit record for the vocal track.
It was three years with the Niche after that, either as the bassist or hired-help-bassist (depending on when you ask them). The latter probably doesn’t count though as noone ever really paid us for gigs. Seemingly the thought was that they were letting these guys play their weirdy avant-garde nonsense in public and scare their customers away, so that should be enough, thankyouverymuch.
And they were probably right.
The band’s still going,of course, albeit in a rather different and reasonably productive version (and obviously without me) but you can never beat the days of being properly terrible in public and loving every minute of it.
Bands, eh? Who’d have ’em?