I can’t believe it! I can’t believe I’m about to hop on the 2012 bandwagon and pay tribute to a timeworn tradition that’s got all the legitimacy of a Robovac. To my delight I thought I had it all figured out. While the blogosphere runneth over with idle talk of rose-colored resolutions I was intent on discussing the often overlooked benefits of regimented juicing—or not. The point is I was doggedly determined to do something different, to go against the grain, to zig when everyone zagged. Yet here I am, goin with the flow—mimicking the mainstream. Well…sorta.
Personally I didn’t make any “new” New Years resolutions at the resounding strike of twelve. I seldom do. Largely because I think the remaining 364 days of the calendar year are as good a time as any to exercise a little resolve. But I especially shunned the annual custom this season because on the whole I feel pretty good about last year’s efforts. So quite frankly I thought it best to stay the course. Well…kinda.
Ya see the hitch is, although I feel I’m using my time efficiently, I’m not quite convinced that I’m using it all that effectively. In other words, I’m doin the work, yet, to steal a line from Here Comes My Girl by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, “nothin ever really seems to come from it.” Therefore, I’ve decided to do some fine-tuning.
Surely you’ve heard the age-old adage, “practice makes perfect,” right? But did you know that there’s more than one way to practice?
Daniel Coyle, journalist and New York Times best selling author of The Talent Code says, “When it comes to measuring practice we naturally presume that an hour long practice is twice as good as a half hour practice. This reasoning is faulty,” contends Coyle, “because it creates the false expectation that you will succeed merely by filling the allotted time. Deep practice, however, isn’t about time passing, but about the number of times you stretch yourself to the edge of your ability, make mistakes, and then fix them. This allows you, as studies show, to actually accomplish more learning in a deep ten minutes than you can in a shallow two hours.” So, for the better part of the last three weeks that’s exactly what I’ve been doin. Well…somewhat.
The fact of the matter is this, my traditional approach to drumming hasn’t changed much if at all over the years. The prescribed routine has been to play a minimum of 30 to 45 minutes a day, and while I feel I’ve done a better than adequate job of doin that it seems as though my progress as of late has been mediocre at best. So in light of Mr. Coyle’s findings I’ve cut back. I’ve curtailed my playtime and have ventured to go deep, for twenty minutes a day, everyday!
Now I do realize that it’s only been a few weeks, but I gotta tell ya, what’s developed over the course of those short few weeks has been nothin short of rejuvenating. And here’s why.
I’m right-handed. So like most righties I’m predominantly right-footed as well. And nowhere has that been more prominent than in my pitiful attempts to master the art of double bass. Come to think of it there was one other time when it was made embarrassing clear to me that I had a precarious portside; I was eleven years old and about three years into my ten-year stint as a soccer prodigy; our team had just clinched the regional title and was offered an opportunity to play an exhibition game at the Los Angeles Coliseum. Of course at that time L.A. didn’t have the likes of David Beckham to sell out an 80,000-seat arena, but it was still far and away the largest crowd any of us youngsters had ever played for. My dad, bless his heart, was coaching at the time, and if there was ever just one iota of advise that he repeatedly tried to hammer into the impenetrable little head of his fledgling son over the years it was, “If you vant to be a rrreally gute player you have to learn how to schut vit bote feet.”
Well into the match and with the score still tied at zero zero our team was awarded an opportune corner kick. It was executed perfectly. Lofted high and straight the leathery projectile was headed directly for us like a well-guided missile from right to left. On cue the readied net minder lunged off the goal line as if wearing a pair of spring-loaded loafers, yet somehow someway the ball managed to eclipse his outstretched hands and land conveniently at my feet. All I had to do was tap it into a wide-open net with (you guessed it) my left foot. Needless to say instead of scoring the potential game winning goal in front of the largest crowd of my entire career I shanked the ^%# thing just outside the far post. It was (pun intended) the shot of a lifetime, and I missed it. Vay to go Pat.
As I was sayin, the reason I’m all fired up over this remodeled approach to double bass is because it has literally transformed what I’ve always believed to be a creative process into what I’d strongly argue is now an honest to goodness art form. And it’s done so, ironically enough, by breakin that process down to a science.
I guess in a sense what you could say I’ve done is I’ve tossed aside my trusty color palette and reverted back to a much less inspiring paint by numbers format. Yet much to my surprise this back-to-basics approach has turned out to be far more inspiring than I could ever have thought possible, and way more effective than just wistfully goin through the motions and waiting to see what hits the canvas.
So what’s at the heart of this elementary brainchild? It’s a rather useful little device known as a click track or metronome. And in hindsight it’s baffling for me to think that in the nine years since I started playin again I’ve only used this bad boy maybe a dozen times or so. But then again, where’s the creativity in that? (What a dick).
Anyhow, instead of kickin things off with a flurry of fundamentals and then wingin it for the next thirty five minutes, the first thing I do now when I get behind the kit is I power up the click track and set it for 80 beats per minute. I then meticulously churn out a slow and steady sixteenth note pattern with both feet. After a credible string of reps I’ll go ahead and turn up the clicker a notch or two and start adding some ride cymbal and snare. If the mojo’s workin I’ll thank my lucky sticks and enjoy the moment, if not, I’ll promptly regroup and continue to concentrate solely on the bass. "Speakin of back-to-basics!" "Talk about goin deep!"
But hey, it’s all good, because thus far I’ve been able to keep it steady at get this, 140 bpm (bass n ride only). That’s 280 bpm per pedal, 560 combined. For me, considering my lazy left foot, that’s crazy fast. So am I fired up? You bet I am! Because in nine years of playin I’ve never done that—ever!
Ya know the experts tell us that 65% of people break their New Years resolutions after just the first month. They claim the principle reason for this discouraging statistic is the fact that most people don’t have a clear picture of what it is they want to accomplish.
On the contrary ever since I was thirteen years old I’ve pictured myself up on stage behind the drums, and I’ve known from an equally early age that to accomplish this or anything else I might have my eye on means puttin in the time and effort. But in the past few weeks I’ve rediscovered something else. I’ve had what you might call a New Years Revelation. One that’s made it quite clear that whether it’s the first month of the year or some other last time you mighta considered callin it quits, the truth is we all get stumped or stuck now and then, we all struggle with setbacks. However, sometimes, something as simple as switchin things up can be all it takes to turn things around.
Ya know its funny how some things come full circle. Back in junior high during Mr. Deitering’s second period P.E. class it seemed like all we ever played was flag football, and as much as I would’ve liked to I just couldn’t really get into it. But the thing is I was fast, really fast, and I had a pretty decent set of hands to boot. So when the time came to divvy up the teams I’d inevitably be one of the first to get picked, more often than not by the self-assured, self-acclaimed, John “Bosco” Padres. Bosco, an eighth grade ignoramus with a locker room full of God-given talent was the schools star quarterback. And for the record, the guy *&^%# lived for this sh**.
Now John and I had both known each other since third grade so we were equally aware of one another’s respective abilities. Thus whenever we were teamed together he’d have me do the same darn thing every damn down.
There we’d be, huddled in the mandatory half-circle receiving instruction from the battle-tested playbook of our eminent leader. “Williams,” he’d authoritatively announce, “Take it to the first down marker then switch it to the inside for a play-action pass.” “McCoy, line up tight alongside Garavito for an off tackle run up the weak side. On and on it went, one by one, play after play, detail upon friggin detail. Then, almost as an afterthought, and always just seconds before breaking into the customary “Go Team” chant, he’d pivot his head ever so slightly my way and utter, “Lange,” ‘I know I know,’ I’d retort, “Go deep.”
Now while I openly admit that I paid little if any attention back then, today, some forty years later and a stride or two slower, those indelible words have once again come back full circle. And trust me, this time around, they’ve taken on a whooole new meaning. See ya soon. Till then, keeep it up.
P.S. I once heard it said that a setback is a set up for a come back. With that in mind, I sincerely hope that 2012 proves to be your comeback year.
Happy New Year.
