Tales From the Pit: My Career as a Professional Drummer

Part 2

I did the tour and learned a great deal. First, if you’re on a bus with thirty other people for hours stretching to days, it is in your best interest to get along. You’re not going to like everyone but they don’t need to know that. Some people are better than others about executing this survival strategy. I had to learn to adjust to a new venue, new sound, new everything on a daily basis. This is where adaptability comes into play. Situations are always going to be less than perfect. There’s not enough room for all of your instruments. The monitors are too loud, too soft, too bassy, too tinny. The trombonist is pissed at you for taking the last sandwich from catering that was set up for fifteen but now has to satisfy a crew of fifty. The load-in crew is wearing orange jumpsuits and being guarded by a surly, uniformed, mustachioed fellow holding a riot shotgun. (True story…) The easier you can adapt to what’s going on, the more likely you can maintain sanity or even happiness.

If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, rest assured that the people around you are feeling the same stress as you, probably to a greater extent. Cause guess what? We have the easiest jobs on the planet. Yeah, I said it! These people have been working since long before you meandered down to catch the last morsels of the breakfast buffet at the hotel after getting a full night’s rest. Guess what else? They get to tear it all down, load it onto trucks, jump on a sleeper bus, get 4 hours of rack time on the way to the next venue, wake up at 5 a.m., and do it all over again so your star can shine in Fargo, North Dakota. Always, always, always respect the crew. They are your life’s blood. Who else is going to make a high hat stand out of copper wire, duct tape, and children’s dreams ten minutes before curtain? I rest my case.

So. Tour’s over. Need another gig. Shit. I spend two months living (rent-free) at my buddy’s house that got me the first summer stock gig. (Thanks Jeff) I go back to the summer stock gig for their Christmas show. “Nuncrackers”. Every bit as awesome as it sounds. Okay. There went three weeks of work. What’s next? A friend of mine that I went to school with is an MD on a cruise ship. It’s just before New Year’s. I’m broke. I call him up to find out how that all works. He tells me to get an audition package together. He gives me a number and a name. I call the guy. I’m in San Juan, Puerto Rico by the end of the week. Sight unseen. Wow.

Day 1. Cruise ship life tests people of even the strongest constitution. I get there on a Saturday evening after traveling for fifteen hours. I show up late to the staff meeting because who knew there were so many decks on a cruise ship? Got lost. The cruise director calls me out for being late and makes me introduce myself to the cruise staff of 60 or so. Great first impression. I meet my closet-mate. The accommodations are, shall we say, intimate. I am handed 100 charts to learn by Tuesday. Two production shows that are tracked to the point that I have to learn every note, every groove, every fill. Our job is to “sweeten” a recording of these shows note for note. We have to fool the audience into believing that their $1200 is well spent and that their music is all live.

Day 2. I have an afternoon jazz set with a piano trio. Great piano player. Awful bass player. The only people watching are hot shot Sax Guy and his girlfriend. He hates me. HATES me. Come to find, he tried to get his best friend into my spot but they hired me the day before. It appears that I have unknowingly acquired a nemesis. These things happen. That night we have our “welcome to the cruise show”. The opening tune is a burning rendition of “Woodchopper’s Ball” at Mach 12. Made it, just barely. We play a handful of forgettable tunes that I will come to loathe each week. I go back to my closet with recordings of the production shows and try to cram the music into my head and hands. My closet-mate let’s me know that the last guy was better. Oh well, he smells bad. Take a shower, then we’ll talk.

Day 3. We have two shows with a production singer that flies in weekly. Easy enough. Except. She has very specific ideas about how the band is supposed to sound, especially the drums. And she is acutely confident in her skills. And she’s a violent drunk. On and off stage. Fun times. She calls me Mark for the next four months.

Day 4. My first production show. I am focused. I am aware. I am Zen. I am awful. That said, MD says nice work, better luck next time. Sax Guy tells the MD to fire me. Can’t win ‘em all.

Day 5. I back up a ventriloquist, a juggler, and a comedian. 25 more charts handed to me at a rehearsal that afternoon. Needless to say, sight reading has become the main attribute that is getting me through the week. The comedian does a “rap” and I have to figure out how to use a drum machine circa 1987 in ten minutes. The juggler is native Puerto Rican and knows what these rhythms are supposed to sound like. The ventriloquist, as is the standard in his profession, is just plain weird. This seat is getting hotter and hotter.

Day 6. Second production show. More notes to put in their proper places in the space time continuum. I’m starting to get the hang of things. I play more right stuff than wrong. Feeling pretty good but still overwhelmed. Sax Guy still hates me.

Day 7. Day off back in San Juan. I made it. I pay way too much to check my email and buy a phone card to call home and cry.

Repeat. For five months.

Cruise life wasn’t all bad. I ended up with more skills in my bag and lessons learned on adaptability. I got to (eventually) see parts of the world that people pay thousands of dollars to see. I was living in very close quarters with a mixed bag of personalities and nationalities. Some really great people. Some real assholes. Even Sax Guy and I got along eventually. We ended up bonding over a beer and a game of darts. He even apologized for trying to get me fired. Nice.

I learned, yet again, that you have to be prepared for any style of music coming from any personality. You don’t have to like your vegetables, you just have to eat them. I had to pick up some styles that I didn’t even know existed. I also had to deal with personalities that I didn’t know existed. Here’s looking at you Sax Guy.

I was a part of a mutiny of sorts. You’ll never guess who was the leader. We had an afternoon rehearsal for an incoming production singer with 8 or so charts to learn. A new MD had been onboard for a few weeks and Sax Guy, for whatever reason, hated him. Seeing a trend? Midway through the rehearsal there was a disagreement about a note, one note, that did or did not fit in the chord. The MD whipped out his perfect pitch card and Sax Guy not so kindly told him where to go and what to do to himself once he arrived at said destination. Sax Guy storms out and immediately goes to the cruise director’s office to, yes, get him fired. Over a harmonic disagreement. Again I say. Wow.

We play the show that night and then have a meeting. Sax Guy has been rallying support for his complaint all day. Granted, nobody really cared a great deal for the MD but whatcha gonna do? The cruise director opens the floor and Sax Guy unloads. The rest of the band stares in silence. And this is some vicious stuff being said. One person in that room was not long on the gig. It wasn’t the MD. Lesson? Know your place in the hierarchy and choose your battles wisely. I don’t care how awesome you are in your own mind or in the mind of others. 99% of the time, management is going to side with whoever is further up the food chain. That is not to say that you have to be a milquetoast. We’re all human beings after all. There have been occasions over the years when I have felt gravely wronged and needed some recompense. I have had a couple of blowups that ended with hurt feelings all around and I was lucky to maintain employment. At the time and to this day, I’m not ashamed of what I said in those situations but of the manner in which I said it. I’m here to tell you that if you let your temper cloud your judgment, no good will ever come of it. Easier said than done, to be sure.

Grievances very typically are fostered from disagreements over money. Or they are for me anyway. I’ve found that instead of boiling over, if you can talk to the person calmly and as a human being, results typically lean in your favor. No one likes to be berated or yelled at. Know the hierarchy. Don’t jump the chain of command. At my current position, I am friendly with the executive producer but I would never call him up and complain about my salary, my MD, or my colleagues. There is a way to get your message across without injuring relationships that you have built over the years. Always go to whoever is directly over you first. If they get wind of you talking above them, they are automatically on the defensive. I have learned to try to make it clear that what you are talking about has absolutely nothing to do with your personal relationship. This is business. I have a need and you are the person I am supposed to talk to about it. There is a touchy intermingling of personal and business relationships in this or any industry. If you’re friends with your boss, which is always an added bonus, this line can get blurry. However, I’ve found that if you can keep business separate from friendship when voicing a grievance, feelings don’t get hurt and if they do, are more easily repaired. This business is run on friendships and connections, so it can’t be overstated to try and foster both. Leave your ego out of all business dealings and try to address issues calmly. Putting yourself in your boss’s shoes can also be a big help. They have budgets to meet and pressures to produce a product that can be sold to the public. At the end of the day, we are the factory workers producing that product. Entertainers of every stripe can often get puffed up on their own self importance. This is where the thin line between confidence and egocentrism comes into play.

It is perfectly natural to have pride in the skills you have worked very hard to attain. Music isn’t easy. To make a living at it requires years of study, practice, lessons learned, and gumption to maneuver through this tricky landscape. Be proud that you have put all of that work in. I am. Be wary, however, when you start to see everyone else’s faults while looking at yourself as a near perfect specimen of musical acumen. You’re going to play with and learn from some really great people and they from you. You’re also going to play with people that would better serve the public asking them if they would like to supersize that order. Again, we’re all human. Most of us anyway. They might be on an earlier section of the path, or a completely different path for that matter. Look at it as an opportunity to learn patience, kindness, anger management, whatever.

What happens when egocentrism and lack of skill collide? And it will. ALL the time. Typically, the largest egos are making up for a lack of preparation. They’re scared that they will be found out. I frequently play with a guy who is a quintessential embodiment of the above. Bad time, out of tune, and a grating personality to boot. How, you may ask, do I handle it? Eat my vegetables. Kill him with kindness. Do my job. Suppress the urge to call him out, or, failing that, my urge to stab him in the arm with a spork. I was once a precocious youngster who had more ego than skill.

So with all that in my bag, how did I get here? Preparation meets opportunity. Friendship meted with connections. Blind luck and great timing. After leaving the cruise ship I went back to the summer stock gig for the third year. 12 weeks of work. Awesome. Now what? That very same MD told me that the company that he works for during the year was building a theater in Phoenix. Was I interested? Salary? Check. Benefits? Check. Employment for 52 weeks a year? Yes please.

I initially thought of this as a stepping stone to bigger and better things. What lacked in salary was made up for in security. One year, maybe two. I picked up some students and started making actual above poverty wages. I built a life. Add to that, my wife is an actress and they love her there. She has played everything from Mama Rose in “Gypsy” to the ass end of a cow on that stage. Seems as though I’ve learned a bit about adaptability from her.

Over seven or so years we have managed to foster relationships throughout the company and have parlayed it into a decent living. Through this loyalty and these relationships, we have been offered a national tour put out by the same production company this coming year. Touring together has been an aspiration of ours but it is virtually impossible to make happen with an actor and a musician.

Is it my dream gig? No. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling incredibly fortunate. When gigs dry up, which has happened recently in many areas, I haven’t had to worry about eating. If, God forbid, something bad happens to my wife or I health-wise, we’re covered unlike millions of less fortunate Americans. We have a car to drive wherever we want. We get vacation time. We get the option of losing money in the stock market. It’s a fine life.

In summation (finally), making a living in the music business isn’t easy by any stretch but it’s possible. I’ve been fortuitous on many counts and had a lot go my way, but at the core, none of it would be possible without persistent preparation joined with good timing and an innate ability to count to four again and again. Hopefully, some of this information can allow you to make solid choices and not be caught off guard by the intricacies of maneuvering through the murky depths of this industry. Good luck to you.

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