Boulder, CO – “I Hired The Wrong Drummer” – June 20, 2001

I want to say it was optimism that drove me to hire Steve (not his real name) to be our new drummer.  But in truth it was more likely desperation.  We’d been auditioning potential drummers for a week straight.  They came in batches of three and hauled their 20-piece kits into Delucchi’s garage.  Most knew our songs but couldn’t hold down the and Kenny shook his head as they trod past him in their backward facing baseball caps and sports jerseys. 

Auditioning drummers is not like auditioning a guitar player or a keyboardist or even a bass player.  Drummer’s come with kits as heavy as rinos and as labor intensive to put together as Ikea kitchenettes.  Auditioning three drummers is an all-day affair and once one has proved his mettle, next comes auditioning their personality—are they someone we want to share a sardine-sized space with for months on end?

Being in a band (especially one that travels in a van, playing mid-sized venues) is like being in a non-sexual polyamorous marriage—tenuous and hard to manage.  It requires patience, forgiveness, empathy, generosity, lots of cooperation, consideration and love.  There is no “I” in “B A N D.”  This was one of the bigger things I had to overlook when hiring Steve.  But, unfortunately, it wasn’t the only thing.  Steve couldn’t count off.  This is drumming 101 and should have been enough of a reason to pass him up.  “1, 2, 3.  4, 5, 6” he’d swing into a song in 4/4.  This would have been impressive were it intentional.  But it was NOT intentional and a major red flag.

However, once into a song, Steve was good.  Better than good.  He was talented and tasty.  Everyone agreed, and Kenny said he was willing to do the count-offs for Steve.  So we hired’em and test-drove him at “The Double Diamond” gig in Aspen on the 14^th.

It wasn’t great.  Steve lagged on the upbeat songs and sped through slower tunes.  He lit up a cigarette as soon as he got in the van and complained about the pay.  He played his music so loudly in his headphones it actually drowned out what we were listening to on the sterio. And after a performance, which we were sure he’d apologize for and promise to get better after, he, instead had the gall to leave us to break down his drum kit so he could catch up with some friends.  In an impromptu meeting in Steve’s absence it was unanimous, Steve was a lemon.  But Kenny, insisted we not throw out the baby with the bath water.

“It’ll be fine,” he said “Let me work with him.  We’ve got the CD release party in two days at Tulagi’s.  We’re not going to find another drummer before then. Put together a rehearsal tomorrow, and I’ll work with him.”

“OK,” I agreed, “But can someone get in touch with Dean Oldencott, in the meantime?  He’s great and said he might be available to go on the road this summer.”

I got banned from band practice on Friday.  Though I’d asked him to bring a metronome to rehearsal and memorize the structure of the songs, Steve had failed to do either.  It’s a rare thing for me to lose my temper but after running the first three songs at flagging tempos and no clue when the chorus’ were coming, I yelled at Steve.  “I asked you to bring a metronome!”

“Ok, ok, Sal.  Take a beat,” said Kenny, unsarcastically.

“I hope I hired the right drummer,” I said skeptically as Kenny ushered me out of the room so they could regain Steve’s confidence and get some work done.  I love Kenny.  Soucy too, has been exceedingly compassionate with me recently and I appreciate it.  My nerves are fried since I broke things off with Jack.   

I got the first batch of Shotgun CDs back this week and they look great.  Perhaps too great.  Shotgun doesn’t look like the demo it’s meant to be but rather more like a highly polished and produced album.  I hope our audience will understand it’s only a first draft of songs we hope to get feedback on before re-recording professionally.    

Our release party at Tulagis on Saturday night was a great success but Steve was not, and after he’d loaded his last cymbal into his car and taken his pay, I ushered him aside and let him know, “This is probably not going to work out.”  He knew it was coming.  He had to.  He shook my hand and evaporated into our past.  Dean Oldencott will tour with us this summer.

Thank God!