An Ode to Being in a Band
I can’t believe how good we sound.
As a drummer, yes, I’ve got problems.
Poor technique; irregular impacts; misdirected strike power, such that my kit will literally come apart when we play a show, expanding in all directions like the universe.
But. Preoccupied as I may be by my own shortcomings, for our collective performed by early Motörhead. We sound like Neil Young being attacked by a flock of Canada geese. We sound like five middle-aged men slurping with wild gratitude at the elixir of rock and roll. Which weirdly—we are discovering—makes you older, not younger. But so what?
