Sunday 8 July 2007

para-what?


I play drums.
Now, what I see as a proud boast, you probably see as a cry for help. I don't care. I just love hitting stretched plastic polymer sheets with bits of wood. As far as any of my family can remember I have always had a desire to hit things with other things. I can't remember seeing someone play drums and thinking "I fancy a bit of that" - because as far as I can tell I was doing it already.
I have a vague memory of being told to stop tapping my feet when I was at nursery school, and certainly right through primary school I was always annoying everyone else by tapping, clicking banging and clattering on anything that came near.
If anyone remembers Meccano, they did a junior version with plastic bits, and I had two long pieces which made perfect drumsticks. I quickly became expert at which household objects gave me the best sounds. I quite favoured the dampened thunk of a good cushion, coupled with the arm of the sofa. I guarantee we had the most dust-free furniture in the street. And I have the lungs of a coal miner.
I don't know why I felt the need to do this, it just seemed like I had to. My 'internal jukebox' in my head was forever playing drum beats, and it never occurred to me that other people might not be totally fascinated to hear them. You know when you're listening in to a conversation and you suddenly think of a really valid and enlightening point that you know will bring something vital to the table, so you just have to push in and express it? That was me, but my points were beats. I felt like I was constantly thinking of good rhythms which I just had to express. But I soon discovered that tapping someone on the shoulder, then yelling "dugga-chugga-chink-a-chug, duggabachuggada -PISH!!!" in their face does not always elicit the desired response. Especially on a bus. It took me a while to realise that this affliction was quite possibly mine and mine alone.
"What do you mean shut up? Listen, you may have missed it but I was doing a paradiddle between my left hand and right foot, while my right hand kept a steady triplet over the top!"
"Yes dear, but the congregation can't hear the minister give the eulogy"...
And so it has continued into adult life. It may well bother a lot of people, but not me. I've learned to live with it. Whether it's on stage in front of several hundred people, or sitting quietly alone in my favourite wing of Kay Towers - I play drums.

1 comment:

Misssy M said...

Little man Jay not showing any signs?

Or is he firmly and single-mindedly concentrating on the Prime Minister position?