Schooled by Joe Morello

Joe and Matt in Los Angeles, 2008

I had my first lesson with Joe Morello in April 1998. While in New York for a family vacation, I’d decided I wanted to take a lesson with someone there, and so I began to search for possible teachers. In the back of my mind I remembered an ad that ran in Modern Drummer every month that said: “Joe Morello, now accepting a limited number of private students in the New York area. Call for evaluation.

Of course, I wanted to get my hands together and in my naiveté I thought I’d have a lesson then be on my way to lotsa’ chops. So I called the number. The man who answered was a lawyer friend of Joe’s who screened all his calls. He briefly interviewed me, realized I was serious and gave me the home phone number. I booked a lesson with Joe’s wife Jean that very day.

Fast forward to the day of the lesson.

I distinctly remember being so nervous to meet him. The lessons were always held at a small drum shop in West Orange, New Jersey. When Joe arrived, I recall how he seemed larger than life. Truth be told, I thought I had it together at that point. I thought he’d give me a few pointers to tweak what I already had and I’d be on my way.

Well, it didn’t quite work out that way.

Joe, in the kindest way possible, told me that I had a lot to learn. “If you like you can buy my book and you can start with the Stone Killer,” he said. He explained to me how to work on it and gave me a couple of other exercises, various tips and even gave me his address so I could write him a letter to correspond with him on how I was progressing down the road (seems so old school now!). I came away feeling like I needed more and that there was so much info I didn’t have.

My tattered copy of Joe's book, Master Studies

 

Once I arrived back in Toronto, I realized that instead of having that lesson be the only one, I wanted to study with Joe. Somehow, I was going to do it. That was a pivotal moment in my life and my development as a musician. At the time, I was studying at a reputed university jazz program in Canada and – although it was probably good for me in some ways – I was hating every moment of.

So I quit and decided to study with Joe and create my own school. Using grants and money I had saved, I began to visit Joe in New York on a regular basis starting in the fall of 1998. It was a relationship that continued until my last lesson with him, almost 10 years later in early 2008. I studied with him even after I moved to Los Angeles in 2001 to launch my career as a working musician.

Anybody that knows jazz knows what kind of a drummer Joe was. He used to say that if you want to know what kind of a player he is, you can get some records. There are plenty of them out there. What far fewer people know is how brilliant a teacher he was. I don’t know how much time he spent analyzing his methods, but surely being from the George Lawrence Stone school had to have profoundly shaped his ways both as a player and a teacher. Joe was kind, patient and yet had a way of knowing exactly when to let me have it if I was doing something incorrectly.

To describe in detail all that I learned from Joe would be impossible here. But to understand in a general sense one of his best lessons, listen to Joe on the recording for which he is most famous, “Take Five” by the Dave Brubeck Quartet. See, Morello was a fantastic technician. Arguably, on the same level as Buddy Rich.

But the difference with Joe was what he stood for musically, which is clearly evidenced in that recording, particularly in the drum solo. While Joe was as fast and clean as anybody, and might well be able to teach you how to get those chops, he placed an everlasting emphasis on the sound that was being created. He emphasized that your sound was everything – your identity was your sound. If you happened to have some chops after that was taken care of, then great. But never the other way around.

I will always remember the last time I saw Joe play, in early 2008, after my last lesson with him. His health was not great at that point and was suffering from sciatica, so he had to be helped to the stage. But like all the greats of his generation, you wouldn’t have known it the moment he picked up the sticks and first struck the instrument. That night, his playing was so beautiful. He played an extended solo on the form of the standard, “Someday My Prince Will Come,” and it’s probably the best solo I have ever witnessed with my own eyes. Conceptually profound, rhythmically deep and sonically gorgeous. (Damn, I wish I’d recorded that solo with my minidisc!)

I’ll also never forget Joe’s visit to Los Angeles in 2008. I was honored to be asked by Ralph Humphrey and Don Lombardi of Drum Workshop to come out to the Drum Channel studios in Oxnard and work one on one with Joe on camera. I got to ask Joe questions about technique and guide him through sharing the amazing information we had been over countless times in my private lessons with him. It was a lot of work to coax the goods out of him, but it was well worth it (and I’m so happy now that we have some of his trade secrets on record for the ages).

(from left to right): Harold Jones, Louie Bellson, Matt, Ralph Humphrey, Joe Morello, Colin Bailey

At one point there was a filmed roundtable discussion between Joe, Louie Bellson, Remo Belli, Harold Jones and Colin Bailey. In the video control room, the crew, Ralph, Jim Keltner and I were in stitches hearing some of the stories these elder statesmen of the drum world were telling. And even though Ralph and Jim are icons in their own rights, I could tell they were back to being like kids again listening to these giants on records and idolizing them.

Joe also did a clinic at LA Music Academy, where I am an instructor. A handful of my students had the honour of being in Joe’s presence, seeing and hearing for themselves all the things the students and I had talked about in lessons. It was one of those full-circle moments: having my teacher see me in my environment and the coming together of two important parts of my life.

Joe was undoubtedly the most important mentor I’ve ever had. I’m truly grateful for what he gave me. He helped me to realize my strengths as a musician as well as my weaknesses. He taught me through his example how to treat people in the critical teacher-student relationship. Most of all, he taught me about drums, art and music, and in doing so changed my life.

Thanks Joe, for everything. I’ll pass it on for as long as I can. And I’ll truly miss you.

This beer, I mean, this Stone Killer’s for you.

Drums: It’s not that complicated and the “Yoda doesn’t exist” theory.

Yoda. He's saying: "I can play faster than you with just this one stick."

I’ve been around great drum technique for years.

In 1996, I took my first lesson with the great Toronto drummer Vito Rezza.

In 1998, I began an apprenticeship with the legendary Joe Morello (who I’ll probably be mentioning a lot in this space, by the way).

Finally in 2006, I started studying with Jim Chapin and had the honor of being one of the last people to do so before he passed away last July.

Over the years, I’ve seen, taught and most importantly blended all of these techniques and, in doing so, crafted something that is truly my own.

This would make my mentors extremely happy, I’m sure.

Interesting, then, that in the midst of all the important information that I have both assimilated and disseminated, I have come to one very important conclusion:

It’s not that complicated – drum technique, that is. Well, it isn’t to me anyway.

Unfortunately, that’s not how it would appear if you look at the endless, mind-numbing sources of information on technique out there.

There are books, DVDs and CDs, all of which purport to hold that special secret to fast double bass drum technique, or they want to help you become the next “World’s Fastest Drummer” or “Improve your speed in 30 days, guaranteed!”

I think most of this stuff is useless.

Have you ever leafed through Stick Control? Exercise 1 on page five is R L R L. Hmm. Maybe George Lawrence Stone was onto something.

Then there are all the self proclaimed experts that appear on YouTube claiming to understand all about technique, and attempting to prove they can play faster than the next guy.

Great… Who are these guys anyway? Where did they get their info and who have they played with? We probably don’t want to know.

And then there are the heralded “gurus” of the drums (I won’t mention names).

These people have gained quite a bit of fame in the last few years for their efforts to offer a Yoda-like approach to teaching drum technique, complete with imaginary physics models and incoherent babble about basically nothing. And they claim they can fix all your technique probems in an hour long lesson.

These supposedly legendary, reputable figures are creating confusion by talking loud and saying nothing when all most people want to know is: How do I hold the stick?!

Holding the stick isn’t hard. And more importantly, it shouldn’t be confusing. But it’s become that way.

The simplicity with which I was taught is also the way I teach my own students.

Holding the stick isn’t any harder than picking it up off the floor. Then we start easy systematic exercises to build wrists, forearms and we go from there.

This is not to say that it’s all easy, but it is a simple approach. And it has no secrets. The secret is actually practicing the material.

But I’ll always have students that want me to wave a magic wand and make them better. Sorry, but no one can fix anything in a single lesson.

Here’s the big secret: For years I practiced anywhere from eight to 12 hours a day to get to where I am.

Why is it that everything out there seems so shrouded in mystery, anyway? As a teacher, why would I want or need to keep secrets?

If I show you something, you still have to do all the hours of practice until you can do it with the same level of depth that I can. So what would I have to be afraid of? Why would I feel threatened if you could do these things? I know it’s gonna take you a while.

Mssrs. Morello and Chapin never hid anything from me, which is more than I can say for colleagues of mine who have been to the Yodas of the world.

Both men were patient, kind and very forthcoming with all the priceless information they had. And they never told me they could fix all my ailments by talking about sine waves and graphs.

Good grief, it’s a piece of wood that were throwing at plastic covered tubes of wood! Keep it simple and then sweat and toil – for years, many years – then you might have a shot.

Yoda never existed. He’s a figment of someone’s imagination. Let’s keep him away from the drum world.

What These Times Mean To Me

I am in my tenth year here in Los Angeles. Periodically, I feel a personal shift based on the inspiration I get from my surroundings.

It has never been more challenging for me to put together consistent work to survive. As I alluded to before, I do a number of things to keep myself alive in the business, which is essential.

But sometimes it doesn’t matter how many things you have going on, it’s just slow.

This is where I begin to feel a certain amount of life/vibrancy, though. Suddenly, a number of the things I was doing have either dried up or have gone away completely.

So I’m left thinking: What am I gonna do now? And it’s like a blank slate. I begin to get a strong sense of all the things I can pursue with the time that I have and the base I have built for myself.

Inspiration from my musical colleagues, for instance. I can’t tell you how many times in the last few weeks I’ve had important encounters with my musical friends where we brainstormed and talked about a band that we want to start together.

When we’re busy making a living, we tend to put the things we want the most by the wayside so that we make enough dough to survive.

Musicians go through the motions just like everybody else (more on this in a future post). But I still think we are a privileged few. What a blessing to wake up and realize that you can cultivate your own experiences instead of waiting for them to come to you.

Over the last year, I have also established my drum project studio. I went through a significant period of trial and error and through a huge learning curve to be able to play on people’s records by exchanging files and working solo.

But now I have created this amazing environment in which to produce, write and play and rehearse new ideas.

Creativity is more important than ever to me. I am constantly looking at how I can be a part of as many original, honest musical experiences as possible.

What I love about these times is that instead of getting freaked out, I look at all the empty time and think, ‘What a privilege. Now I can do…’ (insert dream project here).

We are in a period of great transition. Transitions are always the hardest – can’t grab the past or the future; nothing to hold on to.

But we have a blank slate to work with. Let’s paint with the brush that we want to paint with. Let’s play our hearts out.

People want to experience great music, they just can’t remember what it’s supposed to sound like anymore.

So let’s create some for them.

Music As Sport

It’s always been funny to me how people choose to use sports as a metaphor for their musical pursuits. Like, “Gotta go practice. No pain, no gain.” Really?

Sports can certainly inspire us, generally speaking, but music is being forced into a mold that so resembles competitive sport that it’s downright scary.

Has anyone seen American Idol lately? Is this really how music is supposed to work?

I’m talking about people with little to no musical training, no experience and typically even less skill, taking a plunge into an alternate universe to try to become an insta-superstar by out-singing everybody around them.

As in, ‘If I sing longer, wavier, fancier licks than you, then I’ll win and my car trip from Mobile, Alabama will be worth it.’

The ludicrous competition is sensationalized to the max by network television, with the masses buying into it all the way.

Then the act is finished by what is left of a crippled music industry, as winners and other finalists are whisked away to try and capitalize on their fleeting fame in hopes that one or more of them will stick and make the record companies and corporate sponsors as much money as possible.

Of course, very few of the winners ever amount to much; the other finalists even less so.

The reality is that most of these contestants never paid a due in their lives before they began their quest for idolatry.

Nothing lasts because there is no substance. I mean, how much substance can 17-year-old girls really have, anyway?

And what about your local neighborhood jam session? Been to one of those lately?

Let’s talk about drummers for a second. I love the drums. Obviously I’m a huge fan. But drum competition at jam sessions is one of the most overindulgent, tasteless acts there is.

There is never an exchange – always a fight to the finish. It is my belief that these kinds of encounters promote the ever-increasing need for speed. Just google GospelChops Shed Sessionz to experience this drivel first-hand.

These days, between the drum gladiators and GospelChops, we have an incessant desire to push the capabilities of the drums to a level that has absolutely nothing to do with any music.

It has become such a sport that young drummers who are just starting out are led to believe that it is necessary to play in this fashion to survive. 
Becoming the World’s Fastest Drummer is now in the forefront of their minds and we seem to crave more and more of these competitive situations.

It’s like we’re trying to evaluate who is the best based on athletic merit instead of musicality. Why do we have to designate a winner? Doesn’t one of the beauties of art lie in its subjectivity of judgment?

In sports, it does matter that records are broken. The Olympics demonstrate that world records are meant to be broken and that this is a primary objective for athletes.

Music is not supposed to be a competition.

It may seem that the tone of this blog entry is negative, so I want to finish with a hopeful thought.

The pendulum has swung greatly in the direction of a failing music industry desperately trying to scavenge the carcass of its former self.

What we need now is to be patient and stay the course of pursuing art and creation.

We must pay our dues: practice, play and try to serve the music with whatever instrument we happen to use to express ourselves.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, as it will only take so long before people are so sick of seeing music treated as a sport and just want to hear a great melody again.

The Long Way Is The Short Way

Oftentimes when I’m sitting with a student, I have to remind them – and usually this serves as a good reminder for me – about the importance of patience when it comes to learning technique.

I can recall so many moments in my own development when this rang true for me.

Everything changed when I met Joe Morello. Joe didn’t just teach me how to hold the sticks or about paradiddles ­– he changed my whole concept of practicing and playing.

In passing along the methods of his teacher, the great George L. Stone, author of Stick Control (how is this book still under $10?!), Joe made it simple to understand how easy it is to develop control, endurance and speed.

The idea was to pursue these elements from a steady, unforced angle, constantly paying attention to things such as accuracy and relaxation, instead of how fast you can go. In fact, you need to practice slowly to play fast.

Pretty interesting, huh?

I get a lot of inspiration for this from a favorite quote of mine, which I read in a biography of Wayne Shorter. “The long way is the short way,” he says.

Over the years, I’ve tried several times to play something really fast, right away. I toiled and sweated and blisters broke out on my hands, and yet it never really got me anywhere.

Picture those guys you see at the gym with pencils for arms trying to lift three times their body weight. Don’t you feel sorry for them?

After beginning my studies with Joe, I would revisit these same exercises and restart practicing them, often at a speed that was much slower than I’d tried months or years before that.

Now what if I had just started at the right speed originally? It may have seemed that it was going to take forever to reach my goal, but wouldn’t it have been faster than what I ended up doing:  starting wrong and then restarting again?

Like Wayne said, the long way is the short way.

If you are patient and reasonable with yourself from the get-go, you will take the path of least resistance and build technique in a painless fashion.

You will start at a tempo at which you can truly play the exercise, and then gradually increase speed from there. You might be taking the “long way,” but in the end… well, you get the idea.

*** Of course, the aid of a good teacher will always help to guide you, since none of us are born with this kind of knowledge.

starrdrum@mac.com

The Downbeat

Welcome to my blog.

I have always found the mental/emotional aspects of creating music and art fascinating. It is a never-ending cycle of learning, teaching and growth for me.

I don’t think there’s enough discussion about these kinds of things.

That’s what I intend to do here: chronicle my experiences and share my insights on the life of an artist here in L.A.

I’m sure there’ll be some other surprises, too.

Thanks for reading and I invite you to join in the discussion.

starrdrum@mac.com