Solid Gone

A witty rock'n'roll friend from Tucson, Arizona, has written to me suggesting that I might submit my CV in connection with a vacancy that has arisen in the Rolling Stones. "You have that jazz background. And you’re in their age group," he observes.

In fact, I'm not quite that old... yet. And I can't say that the post appeals – even if it were on offer.

No one can really fill Charlie Watts's drumming shoes. Not because he was the "ultimate" or the "greatest" drummer, as the media and various tribute-givers would have us believe – but because he was the perfect man for the job.

Perfect, because he was happy to have a back seat and just take care of the business that was required.

That's not to denigrate his talents. But those saying what a brilliant drummer he was are really saying that he knew his place – i.e. keeping time and nothing too fancy.

He wasn't Ginger Baker or Keith Moon or Buddy Rich or Gene Krupa – genius drummers who actually defined and directed the bands that they played in. That's why the Stones will roll on and still sound pretty much the same.

Charlie Watts was a solid drummer who knew what he was there to do and did it. He also seems to have been a truly decent bloke. And in the world of rock'n'roll that counts for a lot.

Winwood Ho

At a time when most rock legends from the Sixties seem to be scarily older than you think – or in many cases, more scarily, dead – one of them still seems remarkably young.

Steve Winwood is still touring and is due in London in July. And though you might think he should be in his seventies by now, he's actually a mere 68.

That makes it more than 50 years since I first saw him on stage – when he was 16 or 17. He was already a veteran performer then, and fronting the Spencer Davis Group.

A precocious guitarist as well as keyboard player, he has had so many incarnations. But his finest hour was with the sadly short-lived Blind Faith, in which the Creamy musical virtuosity of Eric Clapton and Ginger Baker was harnessed to the truly lyrical songwriting and singing of Winwood.

I was fortunate enough to see Winwood and Blind Faith at Hyde Park. And despite all his brilliant work since that time, it is the Blind Faith album that seems perfectly to capture the Winwood essence.

Rich Men's Blues

I love Eric Clapton's guitar playing. He is likely to be the greatest guitarist ever to pass through here... But tickets have just gone on sale for his Albert Hall concerts in May 2017. And the cheapest are £100 each, with a £12 booking fee per ticket.

The £12 booking fee per ticket actually seems more out of order than the £100 for a cheap seat.

So to echo my comments about Buddy Guy recently, I'm sorry but I'm not prepared to pay that much. And how many young blues fans who should see Eric before he goes are going to be able to pay that amount?

I confess I paid over £300 a ticket (from criminal touts) to see Cream's reunion at the Albert Hall (although a lot less to see their first farewell there in 1968). But that was to see Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker as well as Eric.

With Bruce dead and Baker in a bad way, Clapton raking in yet more money seems to stick in the craw – even though he richly deserves to be rich.

Let's not forget that Cream (i.e. Bruce and Baker) made him much bigger than John Mayall's Bluesbreakers ever did. A benefit night for Mr Baker might haver persuaded me to part with £112.

But as it is, I hope all those rich old men enjoy their outing to the Albert Hall.

Honest John

After John Densmore's 'Riders On The Storm', here's another essential rock book I should have read already and have only just got round to... and another honest John.

In 'Anger is An Energy' John Lydon certainly talks a good book. 'A paradiddle is what a drummer practises,' he explains. 'Every drummer I know, they're always in a corner going, 'Paradiddle, paradiddle, paradiddle', tapping their knees. 'As on so much else, he's right, of course. 

But he is particularly interesting when he gets to Ginger Baker (who, along with Tony Williams, played on Public Image Ltd's album 'Album').

'Look at what that fella did with drumming!' says Lydon. 'That's from the bombed-out part of London, that one, right? And in the 70s he's off to Africa to live with Fela Kuti before anybody even knew what that place was offering! He was straight into it...'

So right. Long before the discovery of so-called world music, Mr Baker had been there, done it and come back inspired.

Complimentary Medicine

There were a couple of nice moments for me during the recent Unison Bends recording sessions at the Levellers' Metway Studios in Brighton – oh ok, ego-stroking moments.

One came in the control room when engineer Jake Rousham was playing back one of our tracks from the first day. "Do I hear Ginger Baker?" he asked, nodding towards my drumming.

"Yes, I'm channelling him from his deathbed," I said, extremely pleased at what I took to be a compliment, but knowing that I will always be many miles behind Mr Baker. *

Then, on the final day, I had to overdub a few bars of harmonica  on an epic Russ Payne song with a touch of the Westerns about it. I only did one take and wasn't at all happy with it.

"Can I do it again?" I asked.

"No, it's good," said Russ.

"I don't think so..." I began to argue.

"It's very Bob," said Jake.

And that was the end of that discussion. I was more than happy.

* For the record, Mr Baker isn't on his deathbed. According to his website, he's had heart surgery and is recovering and may even play drums again.

Ginger

In answer to the previous post's question: what are we rehearsing for?

The response today is: because we are bloody lucky to be able to play.

The following terrible, if not unsurprising, news is on Ginger Baker's website: "Just seen doctor… big shock… no more gigs for this old drummer… everything is off… of all things I never thought it would be my heart…"

See my other previous post for how I feel about this curmudgeonly genius of the drums.

It's only through practice that we reach our real potential. Long ago Ginger used to do his seven hours a day or whatever, playing the rudiments until they were absorbed into his body. And that gave him the vocabulary to speak with a unique musical voice.

When you heard Ginger… you knew it was Ginger and no one else.

I don't know how he has lived this long… and played so brilliantly and been such an inspiration to so many.

If it's not too late, I wish him health… and peace.

Disharmony Row

Which was more unlikely? That Ginger Baker would agree to headline a tribute concert to the late Jack Bruce? Or that someone would screw things up to the point that Ginger walked off stage?

Both of these things happened last night at London's Roundhouse, a year on from Bruce's death.

The legendary drummer and the legendary bassist had enjoyed a legendary love-hate relationship for decades.

So the fact that Ginger was apparently prepared to bury the hatchet was remarkable.

The all-star line-up for the gig turned out to be less than starry... guitarists Bernie Marsden and Clem Clempson at least had some stature and relevance, but what were Hugh Cornwell and Joss Stone doing on the bill?

The only moments of real passion came from Ayanna Witter-Johnson (who, solo, played cello and sang a beautiful rendition of Rope Ladder To The Moon) and Jack's daughter Aruba Red (who sang a tear-stained version of Folk Song).

Aruba Red also successfully tackled We're Going Wrong, which introduced Mr Baker to the stage with the loudest applause of the evening.

But things started to turn sour immediately, as someone apparently had forgotten to amplify Ginger's hi-hat, which he uses jazz-style as a timekeeper. This was sorted and he continued to play thunderously beautiful tom-tom runs throughout the song.

But then came Sunshine Of Your Love, which Ginger kicked off, but then seemed to find himself being drowned out by the return of the house band's drummer to an over-amplified kit and more guitarists than it was sensible to put on one stage at the same time. He appealed several times for the sound of his kit to be brought up – without success. So he walked off mid-song.

Jack Bruce deserved better than this. And so did Ginger Baker. The organisers sold tickets on the basis that Ginger was going to play – and then appeared to ensure that he didn't.

But you could almost see Jack's ghost laughing as Ginger stormed off stage. Perhaps their partnership was always destined to end like this.

In The Presence Of Greatness

Russ Payne broke up the Shark Dentists a while ago and formed a new band with a fluid line-up called the Unison Bends. That band has been gigging regularly through 2015 across the M4 delta, from London to Bristol, and is now taking a break until December.

But I've carried on drumming. There's a solo percussion project called Moving Target, which should be completed in November, recorded with the invaluable help of the great Dr Simon Scardanelli. And there's been a bit of sitting in...

I had the good fortune to play at a London street festival with some excellent jazz musicians, including Yosi Marshall on sax, Funky Johnny P on bass and Caroline Cooper on keys. And it was Caroline who said I should call in at a Monday-night jam session at the Halfway House in Barnes... a suggestion that led to the resumption of this blog.

The night I finally made it there, Caroline was on keys, alongside the house rhythm section and some horn players. An endless procession of singers took the stage for some great, old-fashioned swing and ballads.

In the break, the house drummer said I was welcome to sit in... and that there was another drummer in the place who would also play.

This proved to be something of an understatement. When the second half kicked off, there was a man sitting at the drums who had palpable style and panache – even before he touched the kit. And when he played, he played with tremendous skill, subtlety and passion. His brush work was sublime and made me feel like I shouldn't be there. On a ballad, in which one over-ambitious singer began to lose the musical plot, the drummer held everything together and rescued singer and band from disaster.

"Do you want to go on next?" the house drummer asked me. "Yes," I lied. How on earth did I follow this guy?

It's ok, I told myself, just stay within your limits... it'll be a ballad or swing... you're not a jazz drummer, but you can do those.

Then as I settled behind the kit, the singer helpfully told us: "The next one's a rumba."

Well, I improvised and survived, and got away with it. And the next one after that was a welcome uptempo swing number.

It was only later that I discovered the identity of the master drummer who had excited and scared me in equal measures.

Like a real gentleman, he came over to me after the second set, introduced himself and said he'd like to talk. He was Brian Walkley, a veteran from the 1960s, who has played with everyone from Long John Baldry, Elton John and Keith Emerson to Sonny Boy Williamson, T-Bone Walker and Stevie Wonder.

Like all good drummers, he had a fund of anecdotes – like the night he was driving Ginger Baker home... but Ginger couldn't actually remember where home was.

If you are anywhere near the Halfway House, go there on a Monday night. It's great entertainment. And if Brian is playing, it will also be a great education in the art of the drummer.

Kofi Time

I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Kofi Baker. Not literally, but with his excellent drum tuition book, The Forgotten Foot. 

The drummer’s forgotten foot is, of course, the left foot – unless you’re left-footed (in which case it’ s the right one).

And Kofi is, of course, the son of the legendary Ginger. Whether they are speaking to each other these days, I don’t know. Kofi said a while back that their relationship was “distant”.

But one thing that unites them, apart from that distinct Baker drum sound, is their appreciation of the left foot as time-keeper.

For many of us of the rock persuasion, the left foot just sort of follows on in there with the left hand. But if you come from the jazz direction, the left foot on the hi-hat is the crucial master control – the original click track

Once this fact is grasped, the left foot becomes the linchpin rather than an add-on.

Ginger’s left foot – on hi-hat or second bass drum, or on both of those at the same time (in what is known as pedal-bridging) is a marvel, and I’m beginning to find the joy in having that left foot taking on a life of its own, inspired by watching great jazz drummers and particularly my mentor, the great John Marshall.

I’m also indebted to Kofi for his book and its wonderful exercises for every foot and hand. He comes over as a modest man with a true passion for the drum kit and its infinite possibilities. And he deserves to be remembered for Forgotten.

The Present Day Drummer Refuses To Die

Well, he’s still alive... just.

And at 73, Ginger Baker is still playing with almost cast-iron authority.

Seeing him in concert this week left me reflecting on the first time I saw him play – 46 years ago – and this, perhaps the last time I will see him play.

“You just want to see me die on stage,” said Ginger, coming back on for the encore. “And I’m not joking...”

He’d just finished a resounding Aiko Biaye that had just as much energy as when he played it live with his big band, Airforce, in the 1970s... even though his troops are now down to just three heavyweight musicians: Alec Dankworth on bass, Pee Wee Ellis on sax and Abass Dodoo on percussion.

I think Ginger made the odd mis-hit and certainly dropped a few sticks, but for a man who seemed to have considerable difficulty walking on and off stage, and for whom talking seemed to be a breath-draining ordeal, he was on remarkable form, dictating the play with assuredness, invention and an “I’m in charge” arrogance that you wouldn’t want to argue with.

For once, he seems to be doing what he wants, and with the musicians he wants to do it with. There was even a smile occasionally breaking through that taut grimace beneath the shades.

How much longer will this true legend of drumming be with us? I have learned over the past 40 years that there are other drummers who are as great as Ginger – and possibly more versatile. But you could have said the same about Gene Krupa... 

These real drumming legends are not technicians... they are musicians and magicians... and they are inspirational, heroic and, of course, also flawed and mortal.

There won’t be another Krupa. There won’t be another Baker... 

Back To Baker

The recent post on Ginger Baker had so many views that I'm offloading a bit more of my debt to (and blame on) the man...

“Am I to blame if people try to emulate my life and die?” That’s Ginger Baker’s quote. Of course.

I’ve certainly tried, Ginger. And it certainly feels as if it's come close to killing me. 

But it’s been worth it. For the odd flash when the drums roll just as they’re supposed to. When they chase down the triplets on the lead guitar runs. When they kick in hard with the bass - or skip around it to beat it to the punch. And that’s mostly down to you, Ginger.

But at the end of the day, emulating you maybe, I seem to have lost far too many people along the way. And, less importantly, like you, I’ve lost more money than I care to try to count up. 

I shouldn’t have done it. But then we don’t have a choice in these things, do we? 

Are we to blame if you live your life as you’ve lived it and you die in pain and penury?

Don’t worry. There’s more than a few drummers right behind you.

Mr Baker

The real drummer seldom plays the minimum. He seeks to find how far he can go - not for himself but for the sake of the music. 

I got into this game because of Ginger Baker. October 1967. Ginger Baker. At the Saville Theatre, London. In front of the hippest crowd on the planet. With me there too. Ginger Baker. With Cream. Opening with Tales Of Brave Ulysses. Jack Bruce with a voice borrowed from heavy metal angels. Ginger Baker. And Eric Clapton in Hendrix fuzz and granny shades and playing guitar that was not of this earth. Ginger Baker. 

Ginger would tell me to fuck off if I were ever to get close to him. But he changed my life. Fucking Ginger Baker.

On Ginger’s website there’s a video of him playing We’re Going Wrong. When Cream played that song live, Jack Bruce’s vocals went to the limit. And sometimes Clapton’s guitar did the same. But Ginger Baker. Watch that video and you will see how far a drummer can go - for the song. Because he has to. That is real drumming.

Vinnie Vidi, Vici

I added an And... to the blog because I was beginning to feel that Words And Music couldn't cover everything there was to write about.

But then along comes drumming legend Vinnie Colaiuta (pictured) and explains how "thought is the enemy of flow".

In answering the question what does he think about when he is playing, he goes beyond philosophy and seems to chime with the teachings of Jiddhu Krishnamurti on the role of thought.

Colaiuta says in the latest issue of Modern Drummer magazine: "The answer is basically: nothing. Thought happens in a completely different way out of flow. Out of flow, it's contemplative and analytical and problem-solving. In flow, it's completely different. It's like a real-time programme running in the background that doesn't interfere with what's going on. The ability to adapt in a given moment is beyond the scope of another type of focused thought process."

Whether Colaiuta is familiar with Krishnamurti's teaching, I don't know. Whether he is or not is irrelevant, since he has got to a similar place (although Colaiuta is talking about drumming, while Krishnamurti is talking about the whole of living): the assignment of thought to its "proper" role — "in flow" rather than dominating, separating, judging, creating images, creating the self, creating pasts and futures...

This truly meditative aspect of playing must apply to other instruments. But was it not the ancient sage Ginger Baker who once said: "Sometimes you're not playing the drums... the drums are playing you."

Tales From The Sticks - Part One

I promised to write more about sticks. Those not interested in drumming should look away now...

Without sticks, you are generally in some difficulty. Yes, you can play with your hands. And even though John Bonham was known to do it, it doesn't really look so cool...

Drummers love sticks. Some of them spend a lifetime looking for the right ones.

To me, Vic Firth American Classic 7As are perfection. But the more you play, the more sticks you have to buy. Like everything else, they don't last forever...

I called in to a shop in London just to buy a couple of pairs, and inevitably got talking about drums. This is, of course, the main reason for visiting drum stores, to look at drums and to discuss them in fine detail.

I asked what the drummer who used to run the shop was doing now. "Spending more time with his wife," I was told bluntly. "Something he should have done 10 years ago."

The ensuing conversation focused on the links between drumming, divorce and self-destruction. The chap now running the store, previously a full-time professional drummer, had been through his divorce some time back. Gigging every night, even though it was to pay the bills, hadn't gone down well at home. "She knew I was a drummer when we married, but... "

I said I knew it was rare to find a partner who understood about drumming, gigging, being in a band.

He said: "If it's any consolation, just about every full-time musician playing in the West End is divorced."

The conversation turned to drink and drugs (the time-honoured ways of the musician to deal with stresses of all sorts), and in particular to Phil Seamen (the man from whom Ginger Baker got a lot of his Ginger Bakeriness). We had both seen him play.

Seamen dealt with the strains by using cigarettes, alcohol and heroin. He died at 46, having made a name for himself as a drumming genius... but a walking disaster area.

I took my two pairs of sticks, thanked the man in the shop. And we wished each other well in keeping on going...

Wrong Is Right

Thoughts of Sleepy John Estes and making a change led on to We're Going Wrong. It has to be a contender for the most perfect song. Okay, there's Like A Rolling Stone and A Day In The Life and Layla... and everyone can add their own contenders.

But We're Going Wrong, which first appeared on Cream's Disraeli Gears album in 1967, is perfect for its simplicity, for its emotion and, of course, for the musicianship.

Ginger Baker's wonderful tom-tom patterns on a 6/8 rhythm could probably hold the song together on their own. Jack Bruce's bass is largely restrained, but his pure voice is increasingly unrestrained as the song unfolds. And then we get Eric Clapton, at the height of his fuzzy-haired, woman-tone period, with sublime notes played in just the right places.

On stage in the Sixties, the song became a tour de force, and still possessed its power when Cream revived it — and themselves — in 2005.

Many listeners, particularly in 1967, took We're Going Wrong to be a political/philosophical/protest kind of a song. Look at the lyrics and you'll see why. But it is documented that Jack Bruce wrote it after a row with his wife, and that it is simply about a fractured relationship.

Whether it's about the failed relationship between two particular people or about all the failed relationships that make up the world we live in, the song works. And if the microcosm and the macrocosm are all one, then it's not even worth differentiating.

Either way Jack Bruce wrote a masterpiece. For him, it might have been personal. For us, it's a perfect and universal call for change.

Anything He Can Do...

In my recent post on rhythm sections, I mentioned the love-hate relationship between Ginger Baker and Jack Bruce. Bruce has been quoted as saying that he and Baker were now living on different continents, but he wasn't sure whether that was far enough way; while Baker has publicly blamed Bruce for his misfortunes, including impaired hearing and financial difficulties.

Can the fact that Baker has now announced he will appear at Ronnie Scott's, London, with his latest band have anything to do with the fact that Bruce recently appeared triumphantly at Ronnie's and is due to return there soon with his new band?

Neither of these truly legendary musicians has anything left to prove... do they?

Rhythm Twins

Why do some rhythm sections endure? And which is the longest-serving rhythm section in the business? My first thought was of Robbie Shakespeare and Sly Dunbar (above), but they've been together a mere 37 years.

That's nowhere near as long as Mez and I (then-and-now pictures, below), rhythm section with Russ Payne and the Shark Dentists, who have been playing for 44 years — although we have had a few years off here and there.

Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker first played together in 1963 and for the last time in 2008, so that adds up to 45 years. But they've probably had more time apart than Mez and I have — and certainly more fights. I can't even find a picture of just the two of them together.

So I think the rhythm section outstanding achievement award has to go to John McVie and Mick Fleetwood (below) who have clocked up 45 years (and spent most of that time playing together amicably). Unless someone out there knows better...

The Mitch Mitchell Experience

The 1967 album by the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Are You Experienced?, featured a virtuoso musician who changed the way we played rock music. His name was Mitch Mitchell. Yes, Jimi was pretty hot. But he never burned as brightly as he did when Mitch Mitchell was by his side, and in particular on that genuinely iconoclastic recording.

Whatever Hendrix could do on the guitar, Mitchell could match on the drums. And like Ginger Baker, Mitchell brought the skills, the attack and the bravado of jazz music to the rock arena.

Mitchell, the longest-surving member of the Experience, died at the end of a Hendrix tribute tour of America. And why mention him now? Because increasingly I feel his ghost present whenever we go out to play.

A Lot Of Front

Russ, dynamic frontman with Russ Payne and the Shark Dentists (www.sharkdentists.co.uk), pictured above, hit the airwaves yesterday to talk about our latest venture — a monthly blues night at the Port Mahon, Oxford, at which we're inviting local players to come and sit in with the band.

I set up the interview on BBC Radio Oxford, but Russ did the business in the studio. He's a great front man. And, like most drummers, apart from the likes of Buddy Rich, Keith Moon and Ginger Baker, I'm mostly happy to be in the background.

Wasn't it a bit arrogant, asked the BBC interviewer, for Russ to put his own name in front of that of the band? "Yes," said Russ. "But I'm a guitarist."

An Image Problem?

My good friend and chronicler of the Swinging Eighties David Johnson (shapersofthe80s.com) has suggested that I might consider this picture as a more appropriate image for my blog. I'm certainly an Animal-lover and would put the percussive Muppet up there with Ginger Baker, Mitch Mitchell, Keith Moon, Jon Hiseman, Elvin Jones, Art Blakey and Tony Williams.

But it was another world-class drummer, the great John Marshall (drummerworld.com/drummers/John_Marshall.html), who told me that Animal's drumming was actually performed by Ronnie Verrell, a formidable jazz musician who played with the orchestras of Ted Heath, Syd Lawrence and Jack Parnell.

Almost every drummer worth their sticks has a bit of Animal inside them. But they also want to be taken seriously, you know. So I may not be changing the picture just yet...