Drummer Archetypes

Lately, for a history class, I've had to read a book called The American Political Tradition that has a lot of chapters with titles like "Woodrow Wilson: The Conservative as Liberal," or "Franklin D. Roosevelt: The Patrician as Opportunist," so I thought that I might apply a similar approach to some of my favorite drummers (and some not so favorite). What I mean is, there are certain drummers who represent things larger than themselves- archetypes, if you will. Some drummers have importance beyond their own individual body of work, and I think that's worth seeing.


John Bonham: The Innovator as Orthodox

This one is probably my favorite, and I'm sure a lot of people already know what I mean by this, but I want to explain it. John Bonham's style with Led Zeppelin has become arguably the most commonly imitated style in modern rock music. In some ways, he is the stereotypical drummer in the American conscious (although he was British): he was loud, not overly subtle, and might be even more memorable for his attitude than for his formidable skills. Bonham took the pitter-pattering style of previous rock and roll (i.e., the Beatles and the Hollies), added blues influence, and blew it up. He created a heavy, block busting style of play that depended more on the bass drum than anything else, an aesthetic that has been stolen and distorted by the double bass drum heavy metal guys. But he also inspired most of the pure rock and rollers of the 80s and 90s. His style is still evident, especially in such musicians as Dave Grohl. But what's ultimately important in this case is not his individual style of play (although it is my favorite), but the fact that he was the founder of a new style that has since become mainstream. His sound has more life and intensity in it than his imitators because at that time he was not imitating anyone. He was wholly himself, and the people who followed after were very often part themselves, part Bonham. That's the key: he was innovative, many who play like him are imitating.

Sports equivalent: Bob Cousy, who created the archetype of the point guard as a sleight-of-hand wizard who was always looking for more creative ways to dribble and pass.

Honorable mentions: Carmine Appice, Buddy Rich



Mitch Mitchell: The Role-player in the Spotlight

This seems to most generally apply to drummers with a jazz background who play in blues rock bands. Mitch Mitchell was an amazing drummer: he was creative, had beautiful tone on the toms, and was generally just an interesting player. He had the good luck and the bad luck to play with Jimi Hendrix. It's basically inevitable that any musicians backing Hendrix are going to end up as role players, but, to their credit, Mitchell and bassist Noel Redding managed to display their own talents with enough frequency to make them individually deserving of recognition, especially Mitchell. Mitchell's playing stands out between the Hendrix's epic, spaced-out licks. As the last note of the guitar lead died out, Mitchell's fills assumed the place of prominence, and they were truly incredible. Mitchell was no Keith Moon, who would be "Role-player as Attention Seeker," and he remained in his proper place within the power trio paradigm, but he was just so good at using what time he was given to take center stage that he became more than just a prop for Hendrix's virtuosity.

Sports equivalent: Bill Russell, who somehow made being a defensively-minded center into the coolest thing to be, even when he was playing against Wilt.

Honorable mention: Ginger Baker, John Densmore



Larry Mullen, Jr.: The Workman Who Can Surprise You

Larry Mullen is probably the dullest of my favorite musicians. Most of his work is nothing special. He plays almost no fills and generally just provides a backdrop for the weird effects of The Edge and the showmanship of Bono. He even found himself forced into playing electronic drum kits after returning to the band after having back surgery in the early 90s. But he shows periodic flashes of insightful brilliance that can be shocking. "Sunday Bloody Sunday" remains, in my opinion, one of the crowning achievements of rock drumming. There's nothing exceptionally technical here (although the two handed groove on the hi hat can be hard to transition out of), and, again, almost no fills, but the beat itself is simply awesome. It's sparse and cold, and it enhances the overall experience of that song and its commentary on militarism and violence. It's an army marching band playing to keep everyone in lockstep plus a post-punk attitude. Similar is the beat to "Bullet the Blue Sky," which combines syncopated bass drum with a punk-style hi hat pulse and adds in two truly awesome flams (for those not in the know, that's a beat in which the left hand closely follows after the right on the snare drum, or vice versa). Mullen is rarely worth listening to at the price of losing focus on the whole band, but on occasion there's hardly a point in listening to anything else.

Sports equivalent: there's tons of options for this one, but I think I might go with Heath Miller, the Steelers tight end. He's a decent blocker, almost excessively non-vocal, and capable of intermittently eviscerating an opponent.

Honorable mentions: Topper Headon, Chad Smith



Patrick Carney: The Everyman as Artist

Carney is the drummer for the blues-rock duo The Black Keys. He is probably currently my third or fourth favorite drummer. The most appealing thing about Carney is that he is a self-taught player who shies away from fills but still finds a way to sound unbelievably cool and innovative. Carney's genius is in his ability to write beats. His sound is very good and he has a good internal metronome (he plays a lot of syncopated material), but it's his mental capabilities that are the best. He makes the best use of the snare drum that I've ever heard, especially on tracks like "Ten A.M. Automatic" (a high-energy classic rock sound-alike that got some minor radio play) and "The Flame" (a long, slow blues piece that got no radio play, ever). He's also a minimalist, but manages to sound like he packs as much heat as Neil Peart: he uses only the snare, bass, crash, and hi hat on "Ten A.M.," but it sounds like he's using at least three toms, as well. He only ever sets up two cymbals, maximum, with a sparsely used cowbell. He's a lot like Jack Black's character in the underrated movie "Envy," who is just a factory worker who suddenly invents a wildly successful product.

Sports equivalent: probably Rajon Rondo, who is fundamentally pretty unsound and is forced by his utter lack of a jumper to find intricate ways to score and dish.

Honorable mentions: Dave Grohl (for different reasons), Mullen


Now a couple of negatives...


Neil Peart: The Technician Without Heart

I don't like Rush, and I don't like Neil Peart. It's not that I think he's not a good drummer- he's about infinity times better than I will ever be. It's that I think he's good- but so what? Even his kit gives him away. He has about forty toms, as well as this whole range of cymbals that more or less engulfs his entire body. His kit is an accurate reflection of who he is: he is restless, unable to develop any sort of unique idiom. A friend of mine describes hims as "the ultimate generic drummer," and I agree in some ways. Obviously Rush has a lot of prog-ish elements, which can never be mistaken for generic in the same way that Nickelback is, but Peart never seems to really embrace the style that he's playing at the same time that he borrows from all of them. He sort of just samples some of the effects that each genre has without ever appearing to understand or even enjoy any of them. There's never any passion in Peart, or even the sense that he's satisfied with what he's doing.

Sports equivalent: I'd have to say Tracy McGrady here, or maybe Peyton Manning. Either one fits, really.

Honorable mention: Mike Portnoy. Actually, I really like Portnoy, but I see some of Peart's flaws in him, albeit less pronounced.



Travis Barker: The Ideologically Conflicted Punker

A female friend of mine sort of inadvertently proved my point on this one while trying to defend Blink-182. "How can you not like Blink?" she asked me, "They basically redefined punk rock." And therein lies the problem: if punk rock had a real strength, it was in its attitude. It produced some good bands, like The Clash, but in general, the lack of musicianship held it back, which left its strongest point to be its intensity and aggression. Blink didn't have that. Blink had Tom DeLonge singing whiny lyrics in that nasally voice of his, the underwhelming Mark Hoppus on bass, and Travis Barker, my least favorite drummer ever, providing the "rhythm." The biggest problem I have with Barker is his insistence on trying to be a modern day Keith Moon (more on which later) and play nothing but fills. Unlike Moon, though, he is not all that talented, plays for a band that is ostensibly purely pop-punk (unlike The Who, which was more protopunk and rock and roll), and has a bizarre obsession with crash cymbals. About eighty percent of what he plays could be described as this: Two crashes backed by bass drum, snare-snare-crash, snare-snare-crash, snare-snare-crash. That's it. That is Travis Barker's style. Sometimes he might vary it, and very occasionally improve upon it, but that's the essence of it. And that is, basically, the antithesis of the punk mentality. Punk rock was mostly about political and economic justice. It was about eliminating the showiness of previous rock music and letting righteous anger be the source of the music. In my opinion, it ended up making a heaping pile of bad music with a few bright spots, but the point remains the same. Barker is the very opposite of what he espouses to be: he's intent on being a capitalist in a Marxist environment.

Sports equivalent: I don't know if there really is one, but how about Stephon Marbury, who pretends to be a point guard but is really a highly trained saboteur instructed to bring down whatever team he ends up on by shadowy forces beyond our ken.

Honorable mention: Keith Moon. Like Portnoy, I actually like Moon a fair amount, but The Who were basically the first punk band, and he was a huge show off. The difference is that The Who were punk musically, not necessarily in ideology, and also that Moon was much more talented and made much better use of the whole range of his kit than Barker does.

Marco Belinelli, The Rodriguez/Christensen Phenomenon

I find myself weirdly convinced that Marco Belinelli of the Warriors is a potential All-Star. I don't have a whole lot of solid evidence for this, but the feeling is inescapable. Belinelli is not very well known, so I guess I should probably start with a brief primer: he is a second year player, drafted by the Warriors with the 18th pick in 2007 out of the Italian pro team Virtus Bologna (where, coincidentally, Manu Ginobli also played). At the moment Marco spends most of his time languishing on the bench behind Monta Ellis. His statistics are not especially impressive, although solid: in 21 minute he's putting up 9.6PPG/1.7RPG/2.1APG with 1.7 steals. Bump the playing time to 28 MPG, that's around 15/3/3 with 2-3 steals. Twenty-eight minutes is not all that much playing time, either. Baron Davis, who, despite being a point guard, is fairly similar in style, averages 35 MPG with 17.1/3.4/8.0/1.7 for the Clippers and Monta Ellis, in 33 MPG puts up only 13.4/3.8/3.8. At 35 minutes, Belinelli is looking at 20/4/4 with three plus steals. But I think he can do better than that. First of all, he's a Euro: these guys tend to have to adapt for a while before they can play in the same manner as homegrown players in terms of physicality. Rebounds will start to come when he realizes that his points can be replaced. The assists would be easier if he played for a legitimate team, which the Warriors are not. But my main reason for being so confident in this guy is just what I've seen. I was at a Magic-Warriors game in December, and Belinelli absolutely eviscerated the Magic in what time he got. Jump shots, lay-ups, passing- everything was there. In a span of maybe ten possessions, he scored six times, had an assist or two, and generally just abused Orlando. He's adequately athletic, has good scoring touch, and can shoot. He'll be a very good player someday, especially if he can escape Golden State.


Studying this latest A-Rod scandal situation, I think I'm starting to realize who he really is, in a metaphoric sense. He is Hayden Christensen. Really. In both the sense of the real actor and his characters. A-Rod has always played in big markets (I guess Seattle is big market, right?). Hayden Christensen is always in big budget action films. A-Rod is awkward around media and often seems aloof. Hayden Christensen is awkward and a wooden actor. A-Rod was considered an elite player at a very young age. Christensen got to be in some of the most anticipated movies ever (for the sci-fi crowd) when he was only twenty-one. A-Rod coerced the Yankees into paying him substantially more than any baseball player is really worth. Christensen presumably gets paid to act in movies. But the similarities don't end there.

Let's take Anakin Skywalker, Christensen's most significant (and worst acted) role. Anakin is precocious. A-Rod was young talent. Anakin is thought of as the fulfillment of prophecy and it was hoped he would bring balance to the Force. The Rangers and Yankees both saw him as a messianic figure who would lead them to championships. Anakin was not, in fact, the prophesied figure. The Mariners and Rangers both had better records after A-Rod left. Anakin has an effeminate braid. A-Rod wears pink lip gloss and slapped Bronson Arroyo's hand in a ridiculous manner. Despite the hype surrounding Anakin, it was obvious that he was going to turn out evil, even if you hadn't seen the original Star Wars movies. Despite everyone talking about how A-Rod was the savior of clean baseball and, according to Curt Schilling, "the only legitimate member of the 40-40 club," I think a huge number of people were pretty sure he was juicing. Anakin inadvertently kills his wife (not directly, but causes her to die "of a broken heart"). It's possible that there were some young, naive New Yorkers who assumed A-Rod was clean and have been devastated by the fall of their hero.

Another Christensen character, David Rice from (the terrible, terrible movie) "Jumper," also mirrors A-Rod. Rice, like Skywalker and Rodriguez, discovers some amazing talent at a young age- he can teleport. Originally, he uses this talent to help a girl being bothered by bullies (A-Rod's pre-steroid period), but rapidly decides to use it to rob a bank and run away from home (A-Rod uses steroids to inflate his numbers, gets ridiculous money from New York and heartlessly abandons Texas). Eventually, despite David thinking he's safe, a mysterious man named Roland (Samuel L. Jackson; symbolically, public opinion and the drug testers) finds evidence and starts to pursue him. David develops an ally in fellow jumper Griffin (Jamie Bell; symbolically, Jason Giambi) who helps him evade detection (does anyone else find it suspicious that A-Rod only used steroids right up until they became punishable?) Eventually, Griffin and David have a falling out (Giambi is no longer in New York), and David defeats Roland (A-Rod somehow manages to avoid the same muck-raking that other juicers like Bonds, Palmeiro, Clemens, et al have faced).

So, in conclusion, A-Rod is a horrible Canadian actor who stars in big-budget disasters that still make money (a mirror of the Yankees: highly expensive, successful in the regular season, but have yet to win a Series with him).

British Musicians, The Blues in Rock Music

I've been thinking lately about the improbable number of great musicians from Britain. I don't mean successful acts, I mean individual, highly talented people. The Yardbirds alone launched three of the world's best rock guitarists in Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, and Jimmy Page. Led Zeppelin by itself had two world-class musicians in Page and John Bonham, a very good, very overlooked bassist in John Paul Jones, and a singer better than most Americans in Robert Plant. I think that the best three at each of the major rock instruments from Britain would compare favorably to the same list from America (assume that we're talking about relatively mainstream rock and/or blues). Let's take guitarists: America- Jimi Hendrix, Duane Allman, Stevie Ray Vaughan (these are my top three, some might disagree). Britain- Jimmy Page, Brian May, Clapton/Beck/maybe David Gilmour. Drummers: America- Carter Beauford, John Densmore, Mike Portnoy. Britain- John Bonham, Ginger Baker, Mitch Mitchell. Bassists: America- Flea (Michael Balzary), Krist Novoselic, and, I don't know, Tim Commerford, I guess. Britain- John Entwistle, John Paul Jones, Noel Redding. Vocals: America- Jim Morrison, Elvis (I guess), and maybe John Fogerty (who's at least very distinctive if not exactly a classically beautiful voice) or somebody. Britain- Freddie Mercury, Robert Plant, Joe Cocker (I might be the only one who thinks he's this good, but I love his voice). Considering that, at 58,000,000 people as of 2006, Great Britain is a little less than a fifth the size of America, it seems ridiculous that they have as many musicians of very high caliber as we do. I don't have much of an explanation for it, except that I think it must have something to do with the import/export nature of popular music between the U.S. and U.K. America exports its current music, Britain listens to it, adapts it, and sends it back in a different, newer form. This was especially visible with the blues, which was probably better received in Britain during the sixties than it was in America, due to the racial overtones at the time. Britain took in acoustic guitar and harmonica based blues from artists like Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, etc. and sent it back with amplification and distortion, all the while highlighting the most exciting and (literally) electric moments of the blues. Their guitarists learned how to take blues tropes and turn it into something new, and, in the process, developed new technical skills and much cooler solos. British musicians heard the potential for awe-inspiring drama in the blues and, due to their cultural distance, were able to isolate and extrapolate on it. That's my theory, anyway.

Speaking of the blues... I think it's sad that the blues has virtually disappeared from modern rock. Obviously, rock is a spiritual and musical descendant of the blues, but almost no bands today play outright blues. This used to be a staple of rock groups, but now seems completely nonexistent. For the purposes of illustration, look at the song "Train Kept A-Rollin'": it was originally written by Tiny Bradshaw, as a pure blues song. The most famous version of it, however, is the Yardbirds cover, which maintained almost all of its original bluesiness but made it tinged with British-Invasion-style rock. When Page left and started Zeppelin after the Yardbirds collapsed, they also covered it, its blues still almost intact but with some of that proto-hard rock feel. It was louder, more distorted, and bigger. Next, it was done by Aerosmith, who played it in a way that made it recognizably bluesy in origin, but undeniably too campy to be anything but a seventies rock song. Then, eventually, it made its way to Motorhead, who turned it into a mainstream heavy metal tune, complete with higher distortion, atonal guitar, and growled vocals. The chord progression remains blues, but all the flavor has gone out of it. I think this is a fair assessment of modern rock. It's musical composition remains blues-like, but none of the same trappings or feel is there, except in bands like the Black Keys (one of my favorites) and Radio Moscow (a Black Keys follower).

Diva Wideouts

Not a whole lot else is happening when Terrell Owens being cut is portrayed as a shocking development on Sports Center. I think of T.O. as the new puppy on Christmas: it's fun for a while, but when it starts nipping at your fingers and then poops on the rug, the novelty starts to wear off. But he is very obviously not the only diva at receiver- even one of the harder nosed WRs, Anquan Boldin, recently had a little hissy fit in the NFC Championship over perceived lack of playing time. Something about the position seems to draw attention-seeking egomaniacs, to put it gently.

I think some of this might have to do with the circumstances surrounding the position. It is not the eldest child, the quarterback, nor the youngest, the halfback. Wide receiver is the middle child of offensive skill positions (tight end is the stepbrother and linemen are the one the parents disowned). Receivers are vital to the passing game, which is the most aesthetically pleasing phase of the game and produces the most dramatic plays, whether long gains for touchdowns or interceptions. But they are not the focal point of the passing offense. Obviously, that's the Peyton Mannings of the world. The running back, too, gets a phase of the game largely to himself: although the fullback and lineman have as much or more to do with the running game within the first four yards or so, the running back is perceived to be the key component close to the line of scrimmage and really is the key at the second level and beyond. Wide receivers, then, have almost nothing to themselves. Yes, acrobatic catches and balletic agility make highlight reels, but the quarterback gets to be involved in everything, and they're the ones with the MVP trophies. Receivers think of themselves as unappreciated- whether they're right or not I can't tell, but somehow, I don't think so.

Obviously, as the attention starved second son, the receiver has to make some noise to get noticed. This starts with demanding the ball. This is a way to let the public know that you're "hungry" and arrogant in that special way that can make an athlete great: Jordan was one of the world's most arrogant people, and a hitter who thinks he can't be beaten has an innate advantage over the one who expects it. The sports viewing public perceives a certain degree of brashness and bravado as a boost to a player. They admire the self-confidence and, to a certain extent, wish they had it in their own lives. Obviously, I generalize, but I think this is fair to say. The next step is in the celebrations. This one is very simple- it heightens the sense of drama in the player's accomplishments. In a way, it's like the Pavlov experiment: when the receiver scores, the audience gets the pleasure of seeing something wacky and original, establishing the mental connection (TD catch)X(Wide receiver)=happiness. Thus, even meaningless scores late in a game become highly anticipated moments with dramatic overtones. Even a Steelers fan like myself was at least partially invested in seeing Chad Johnson (I absolutely refuse to refer to him by his new name, which, incidentally, means "eight-five" not "eighty-five") score. "What sort of shenanigans will he get into this time?" is the general mode of thought. When even such antics aren't enough to claim the whole spotlight (hellooooo, popcorn in my face!), things become drastic. Now it's time to bring in the artillery: annoying, repetitive accusations of being overlooked in the passing game. "Never mind that I've had more yards and touchdowns than the other receivers combined," Owens says in essence, "Romo is clearly avoiding me to run super secret plays with his BFF Jason Witten." This is all in search of validation- the receiver wants his contribution recognized at the level he thinks it deserves to be. His perceived self-worth is partially inflated by the inferiority complex and jealousy brought on by the media focus on the quarterback, much like the artist or musician who thinks he must be a great deal better than his more popular counterpart precisely because a little less attention is payed to him. Sometimes the bridesmaid wants the reception to be in her honor.

The Latest U2, Shaq Hypocrisy, and The Chuck Rule

I bought the latest U2 album, "No Line On the Horizon," yesterday. I was disappointed. I think U2's existence can be divided into three basic parts. U2 1.0 was the 80s post-punk phase characterized by songs like "Sunday Bloody Sunday," "Bullet the Blue Sky," and "New Year's Day," as well as some softer, arena-type atmospheric songs ("Where the Streets Have No Name," "Bad," etc.). 2.0 was the unfortunate 90s experiment with dance pop and electronic music: "Discotheque," et al. 3.0 was the phase of the last two albums. Both "All You Can't Leave Behind" and "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" were somewhat experimental, but they much more closely resembled the albums of 1.0 and were both fairly good. I'd say we are now in a half-stage called U2 3.5 that retains the experimentation of the last two albums, but is experimenting, once again, in a dance pop way, with electronic songs and weird atmospheric effects. A couple of songs have good instrumentals, a couple have good vocals, but no one song really combines the two, and none of them is a real rock song. I was also disappointed to see just how much of a back seat Larry Mullen, Jr.'s drumming took, although I thought that the Edge had some of his better guitar work. Of course, I'm a drummer, music's equivalent of unskilled labor, so I really don't know. It just sounded a bit more technical than he's wont to do. Here's hoping that U2's fourth decade will be more like its first.


Shifting gears, Shaquille O'Neal is slowly becoming a parody of himself. Shaq has long had a pretty cool image: he's articulate, funny (sort of), and just a generally intimidating man. Besides his weird penchant for self-assigned nicknames ("The Big Aristotle") and, of course, Kazaam, he's been fun to watch off-court. But this latest incident with Dwight Howard, Van Gundy, and what might be termed Flopgate has been almost satirical. Shaq first warns against potential floppers- fine, Shaq has a point when it comes to men of lesser stature taking dives against him. But his hurtle to the floor was very plainly just that. Howard barely grazed him with a hip, but Shaq acted more like it was a 'bow to the chest. Van Gundy also made a tool of himself with that post-game rant, but Shaq has since compounded it. His semi-witty tongue has started to sound like a really bad amateur battle rapper. He referred to Van Gundy as "a master of panic"- meaning, exactly, what? The Diesel is generally just acting like an overblown self-caricature, an arrogant manchild with an assumed vocabulary. I don't know what to make of it, especially given that O'Neal has been semi-resurgent with the Suns.



Lastly, we turn to the Chuck Rule. I realize this was relevant about four or five years ago, but I think it merits discussion. The NFL has really been changed as a result of the crackdown on the rule after the Patriots-Colts AFC Championship game in 2004. It used to be that elite receivers could be controlled by physical players in the secondary, just as long as the rule retained some elasticity: a chuck seven to ten yards down field instead of just five gave the corners a little more cushion to watch the route develop before knocking the receiver off of it. It also gave them second opportunities to body up the receiver, meaning that even a big man- think Fitz- could be pushed off of his route. Consider the best receivers today: besides Steve Smith, who's just freakishly quick, most are very big, tall players with good jumping ability- Plax, Fitz, Boldin, Moss, Johnson etc. Even more of the pure down field receivers who are not elite are trending toward height and leap instead of burning speed- think Nate Washington. The smaller, fleeter players of just a few years ago are becoming outdated. Deion Branch, for instance, has accomplished nothing in Seattle, and other spark plug, mighty mite types are becoming rare as number one receivers. Look at Ben Roethlisberger's comments from last off season: despite being gifted with Hines Ward and Santonio Holmes, both above average receivers of moderate proportions, he vocally asked for the Steelers to get him a big receiver. And, lo and behold, Pittsburgh drafted Limas Sweed (who horribly botched that catch against the Ravens, incidentally). Why is this? Because smaller, quicker players were more valuable before, when they could make up lost time after the jam at the line (and about ten yards off of it) with speed. Now, with the jam restricted much more carefully to five yards, big players can get their release and travel relatively unimpeded, making it easier for a big armed passer to just bomb it over their heads. This is how Kurt Warner threw almost every touchdown to Fitzy. This has also resulted in the near-extinction of the true shutdown corner: Champ Bailey is maybe the only one left, and he is fading and overrated, anyway. This is why Asante Samuel has come to be considered so great. People look at his picks and think of them as the sign of a great defender, but many of those come on plays where he jumps a route in an all or nothing gambit. For every route he jumps on and succeeds, there might be three or four that result in his getting burned. And yet teams were falling all over themselves offering him record contracts, because, now, if you can get half of a shutdown defensive back, you pay like your getting the whole thing. Interceptions? $60M. Pass prevention? $45M. That's the new NFL economics.