THIS IS NOT a grand gesture; a dramatic fill designed to capture the hearts and minds of a potential audience. It simply expands upon an exercise that presented itself to me in a relatively organic manner.
FOR SEVERAL YEARS I’ve found myself oddly fascinated by the spectacle of social-media drum covers, both in their overly grandiose sensationalism, as well as their total unconsciousness of folly. The idea of fabricating “content” from the coattails of another artist’s work is curious, and oft-obscene. Rarely, does this content seem to pay thoughtful homage to the original creator, and ne’er does it reveal deeper emotional ties to personal history.1
Throughout the course of lockdown 2020, a handful of friends began to release thematic monthly covers of their own, as part of a rotating cast of fellow musicians called the Indie Drummer Collective. Driven by a love of music, community interactivity during a time of utter despair, and (most of all) fun, watching the months fall off the calendar had become a bit more entertaining.2 While an overabundance of logistical hurdling would have made personal contribution impossible, I was intrigued, excited, and a bit jealous that I hadn’t been asked to be a part of it. In desperate need of connection, I watched from solitary confinement as the community grew, and my voyeuristic experience left an incurable scab that festered and maturated after years of incessant picking.
Once on the other side of obstruction, I had all but moved on from this desire until I discovered Moises in November, 2023.3 Armed with the luxury of track separation, my inspiration had been somewhat reinvigorated, and I began to utilize this newly discovered tool with a handful of operational exercises that I’d listed in the margin of my main musical outlet.
THE FIRST EXERCISE was purely technical. Its primary function, to stretch and condition something similar to referential muscle memory with an exploratory mapping of EQ curves. By re-tracking (and, thus superseding) the prototypical performance with that of my own, a subsequent attempt could be made to replicate tone, space, and the overall level of volume within an original mix. With careful consideration to the aforementioned obstacles of space and preferential drum tonality, the end goal of this exercise was not perfection. Rather, it was a focused objective aimed at sculpting a drum sound relative in resemblance to that of the original so that my performance could rest comfortably within the gap made by the absence of the recognizable drummer.
The second exercise was an exertive personal challenge; to sift through 30+ years of simulated musicianship and transfer the myriad of iconic drum performances which have haunted me over the years from air, desk, and/or lap, to physical kit, whilst documenting the experience and immortalizing it within the vast expanse of the Internet. From the impenetrably complex to the endlessly creative, I was determined to decipher and perform these conceivably fiddly songs with assiduous vehemence. However, after many failed attempts at documentation, I sluggishly threw in the towel. At every turn, I was met with a frustrating resistance, as I couldn’t seem to manifest the overall aesthetic I’d envisaged. I’d invested a fair share of time and energy into chasing a seemingly elusive carrot, and I was beginning to question my appetite for such delicacies.
ENTER THE EXIT of Steve Albini. Shortly after Steve’s death,4 the Indie Drummer Collective paid tribute to his life over the course of a week in June. I never met Steve, but I had a little monkey on my back, gnawing incessantly; its squeaky voice chattering in my ear about concerted effort, the abandonment of self-pity, and carpe diem mudduh fuuhck! It was as if this celebratory prompt was an Albinian ignition of Kerosene that had burst violently into flame, directly under my ass. Being that I’m not a member of the IDC,5 I had very little time to prepare, and less to perform the task at hand. I’d been swimming in ‘1000 Hurts’6 for several days, so I chose a song and leaned completely into it one afternoon, late in the tributary week. Again, I was met with grueling frustration, but forged on, reluctantly. A moment of exasperation led to an experimental configuration with two cheap box lights, and before I even dropped the aperture on my iPhone camera, I knew I’d found exactly what I’d been searching for: dramatic set-dressing and anonymity, in equal measure.
With that, ladies and gentleman… a star was born.
Following the successful completion of my first video, I was struck by how satisfying it had been to simply let go, do the fuckin’ thing, live with the outcome, and move on already. It wasn’t a flashy display of percussive prowess, but it was performed well, t’was fun, and after a semi-gloss application of post-processing, it sounded great. I’d checked off all the boxes with regard to experimentation and exercise, and I’d done so with an emotionally charged prompt that pulled directly from the annals of my personal history. I was immediately submerged by a flood of memory, and so began a closer look at the fortune of influence I’ve been awarded over the years; my relationship to it, and the overarching result of it. The abandonment of hubris in exchange for autobiography seemed to be the missing link in my chain of productivity. Which brings me here, to this space, doing whatever it is I’m doing; “playing a show” for anyone interested in attending.
Thanks for coming out!
Perhaps this is a harshly-angled perspective, driven in part by an impassioned response to the process of creation. From a philosophical standpoint as a creative, as a maker, as an artist, it is of utmost importance to strive for an individual expression of identity, which comes with considerable difficulty given the entrapment of time and history. The mishmash of “everything” has become a wellspring of reference, but to dive into the source at the expense of drowning is peculiar.
At the very least, it provided a great soundtrack to the burgeoning apocalypse!
Moises is an AI-powered practice app aimed at musicians for the purposes of enhanced learning and creativity.
May 7, 2024.
This statement is now obsolete as I became an official member of the Indie Drummer Collective in June of 2025.
Shellac’s third studio album, released on August 8, 2000.