11 February 2016

Drums

Keep on a roll!

By Chin Chin

“Boom, Boom, Boom-de-boom, Rat-a-tat-tat, Boom”.  The sound is all too familiar to any parent of a teenage boy.  Why is it that they all want drum kits and not flutes or violins?  Because the drums are a sight easier to play, that is why; or to play badly, at any rate.  I expect that they are difficult to play well, but for the average teenager that is not too important.  For them the crucial thing is to be able to make a noise and take yourself seriously at the same time and, as the focus of basic drumming is on rhythm rather than pitch, that’s one less thing to think about while you do it.

As a matter of fact I was something of a prodigy with the drums because I played one at the age of six, the very age at which the young Mozart began to tour.  It hung over the end of a pirate ship which I had constructed from chairs in my bedroom and I used to strike it with my foot as a sign that the captain was boarding.  Eventually I struck it too hard and my career as a drummer was at an end.  Still, but for that accident, I am sure that concert tours would have followed and that me and Motz (you must forgive the abbreviation, but between fellow musicians some sort of nickname is surely acceptable) would now be mentioned in the same breath.

That was not, of course, the end of my musical endeavours.  I tried the piano, too – no good unless you can get your hands to do different things at the same time, which I could never manage.  A little embarrassing, that, but Lyndon Johnson once pointed out that Gerald Ford could not fart and chew gum at the same time so at least it won’t stop me from becoming President of the USA.  Then there was the time I tried to learn the violin – an unpleasant cat-like noise unless you get the right part of the string, so I had to give that up too.  I even tried singing, until my daughter told me that if I got to grade 3 she would lose all confidence in the grading system.

No, in the end it is the drums which were my instrument, the instrument on which I could have been one of the greats had I only followed it through.  I still take an interest in the drumming press.  That is why I read an advertisement for a device which allows you to play the drums as if they were there in front of you.  That is right; “as if”.  You can play the drums without any actual drums being involved.  Oh, it isn’t entirely kit free.  You have special drum sticks which your computer can detect when you wave them around in a drummerly way.  You just don’t actually hit anything with them.  The computer picks up the movement through some kind of camera and makes the right noise.  “Clickety-clack” or “Boom, boom” as appropriate.

This isn’t of course wholly a new idea.  For years the RAF have trained their bomber pilots on flight simulators.  It feels like bombing Russia.  You get the satisfaction of blowing those Russki punks to smithereens, waggling your wings and giving a thumbs up sign as you climb out.  It’s just that no one gets hurt.  Nowadays house agents can show you a house without your going there.  Walk round it on the web and you will see just as much as if you visited it – except for that damp patch in the corner that the camera couldn’t quite cover.  Tour ancient ruins without getting out of bed.  Stand in the middle of the room and kick an imaginery football.  See it swerve into the corner of the net, just as if you were Bobby Charlton.  A modern Faust would not have to sell his soul for an amorous encounter with Argive Helen.  Just pay a fee from your paypal account and it will seem as if she is in the room with you.

Going back to the drums, however, the obvious development of the new app is an auto correct which discreetly puts right your mistakes.  A musical form of spellcheck, it would gather from the rhythm what you intended to play and then would correct the output.  Stand in front of the camera, wield the sticks as if you suffered from a nervous disease and out would come a perfect beat, just as if you were Ringo Starr.

There could be a “cue-in” switch too which you could use to bring in the rest of the band, like Miles Teller in the final scene of “Whiplash”, and, perhaps just as useful if less dramatic, a special feature for use when the machine cannot work out exactly what it is that you are trying to play.  One way or another your output would sound professional.  It would all be so easy.  Just like painting a Monet by numbers or wearing a pre-tied bow-tie.  Little practice or skill involved but the result: glorious.

Imagine yourself, then, entertaining some charming young lady.  “Shall we have music?” she asks.

“Why not?” you say, oozing sophistication. “Would you prefer some Mozart played by the LSO or would you rather hear some of the drum work I put together yesterday?  Of course many people wouldn’t appreciate that as much as the LSO.”  You leave the failure of the multitude to discriminate hanging in the air.

The trouble is that the night before she had supper with another young man and the drum solos he played her were just as brilliant as yours.  And the ones the night before that were excellent as well.  There would be no teenage boy who did not have his musical portfolio.  For boys under 20 it would be as universal as acne and that unfortunately would take away part of the charm.  To be impressive, an accomplishment has to be, well, difficult to accomplish and even clever apps, like fast cars, lose their pulling power if everyone has one.

Oh dear, that means that machine-produced sound will not cut it.  To make a real impression will require real drums, talent and a lifetime of practice.  I suppose I could buy a second-hand set of drums.  As to talent?  Of course, but a lifetime of practice is more of an issue.   What a pity that my parents did not replace the drum which I broke at the age of six.

 

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