When The Drummer Counts Us In
By Jeff Sloan
It's the second click
That's when the magic feeling
Starts for me.
He's going to give us four
Before we play the first note
But it's that second one
That casts a spell on me.
The inevitable excitement
Is growing now
The music is about to start.
It's a moment in life that
Only musicians truly know
Only the brothers and sisters
Of sound have felt it before.
It's the word "aim"
From the firing squad commander.
I suppose anyone whose faced a death squad would know it too
But in it's most hostile and final form
There are no repeat performances
But for the musicians
This is a many times nightly experience
That never loses it's hold on you.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
Music.
The first one locks you in
The second let's you know it's coming
The third is unbearable. A last chance to ditch before the song starts and you are a slave!
The fourth is eerily hollow.
Then it begins.
It's the drummer.
He starts it.
Maybe that's why they're generally such peculiar fellows, drummers.
They corral us.
They fence the melody with the beat.
No better than a bass player, like me, a bridge between rhythm and melody, to understand the parts the others must play.
The drummer counts us in.
Forward into battle.
The whip to our oars
The crash
The bash
The violence
It all starts with the drummer.
Thank goodness for him.
My drummers have always been "hims"
Male or female makes no difference, I guess.
It's how you handle the Styx.
One, two, three, four.
Go!
***
Lotsa love James! You keep the beat and I'll follow you anywhere, brother:)
Ever yours'
J.S.