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Mecca Bodega:
A Rhythmic Opiate for the Masses

By Michelle Yoffee-Beard

A man dies and goes to Heaven. Unlike he had expected, Heaven is essentially a really long hallway with doors on either side, each with a short IQ range listed on it. Inside, he learns, the rooms are perfectly tailored so that the conversation will match the intelligence of the people in them.

He opens the 170 door. “Well,” comes the conversation inside, “I’ve always found Fourier transforms to be a rather limited way of interconverting what are fundamentally …”

SLAM. Too rich for him. He heads down the hall a bit to the 115 zone and opens the door. “I just read Generation X,” comes a voice, “and, though Coupland doesn’t do too badly in identifying his generation’s fundamental angst, I was a bit confused by …”

SLAM. Not bad, but now the man was getting curious and wanted to see what was further down the scale. He tries 95. “Hey, did you read the paper today? Says interest rates will go up again …”

SLAM. How about 60? “Huh. Thought Married With Children last night was pretty funny. Didn’t get the bit about the hooters, though …”

SLAM. It was getting pretty bad. He tried 35. The people inside were looking at one another and drooling.

Finally, he came to the one marked with a 10. He hesitated, fearing what he would see when he opened the door. But he did, seeing only two guys inside.

“So,” one said to the other, “what size sticks do you use?”

DrummerAre drummers really stupid? I really didn’t think so, but the rumors of low IQ’s have been running rampant for as long as I’ve known drummers. Certainly it couldn’t be true because most drummers I’ve known have been very bright. And they somehow look much cooler than the other guys in the band, with the self assured way they slam on their drums so purposefully. They are the “real men,” with their muscle shirts and attitudes.

While profiling the Badlees for a previous issue, shy guy Badlee drummer Ron Simasek seemed genuinely surprised when asked to photograph him for the magazine. He commented at that time, “Drummers never get their pictures taken — everyone wants pictures of the guitar player or the singer.”

So, some definite research was warranted. Casually, I began asking drummers everywhere whether they felt that they got the respect they deserved. Hysterical laughter as soon as the question of respect came up clued me in that irreverence was a universal problem for drummers.

To prove that these guys were more than just a good object to poke fun at, I invited four prominent area drummers to be interviewed for this article. I gave them each a time and place to meet and wanted to see if they would actually arrive. They did — each and every one of them — and they were on time. Musicians are never on time.

They sat around a small, wooden table — Rej Troupe (The Martini Brothers), Ross Sackler (Cherry Twister), Ryan Sohmer (Jet Silver), and Ron Simasek (The Badlees). As I examined them, I noticed that they all had head sizes within the normal range and there was no drool to wipe from the tabletop. Their IQ had yet to be assessed, but so far, so good.

Q: What’s the last thing a drummer says in a band?

A: “Hey, guys — why don’t we try one of my songs?”

It’s rumored that drummers don’t write songs because they can’t. Of course, that’s an absolute falsehood. As a matter of fact, when that question was asked, everyone pointed to Sohmer, claiming that he was a jack of all trades. “In one band I was in, I wrote everything,” he said. “In the band I’m in now, we have a really strong songwriter, so I don’t do much anymore. I can lend insight when it’s needed, though.”

According to Simasek, “I wrote about two or three songs for the Badlee’s last album, and when I brought them into the practice room, they were all shot down. In my own defense, though, my band has some amazing songwriters. It’s hard to compete.”

Among talk of writing, somehow the topic of blue, ruffled shirts and other “drummer” stage clothes came up. Sackler was fast to point out: “We could come out there … naked and no one would notice us.” Troupe chimed in with a hearty laugh, “After a night of playing, our clothes look like we peed all over ourselves … that’s a sure way to attract women.”

According to this foursome, even if they weren’t all married, attracting those of the female persuasion is the last thing that would happen. Not because they don’t like women, but because they really don’t have the opportunity to meet anyone. According to long-time area drummer Sohmer, “Even if I was in the market … and I’m not … there isn’t time. While the rest of the band is out schmoozing, we’re breaking down our own equipment. While we’re finishing up, the other guys in the band are out there meeting with the crowd, having a great time.”

Sackler, whose incredible talent has taken him to California and New York City, stated, “Cherry Twister is the most intelligent, musically complex, and challenging band I have ever played in, and I contribute a lot to that reality both as a drummer, musician, and artist.”

It’s obvious from the several hours spent interviewing each of these talented, bright drummers that they are neither stupid nor non-artistic. They are the backbone (or the backbeat) of the band. Without Ringo, The Beatles are incomplete. Without a drummer … any band is inadequate.

So, to wrap it up, I asked the talented Simasek why it seemed that drummers got little, if any, respect. “And I have no answer about why drummers get no respect. But I have this parable to illustrate your point: Two girls are walking along when they hear, “Psst! Down here!” They both look down and see a frog sitting beside the road. The frog says to them, “Hey, if you kiss me, I’ll turn into a world famous drummer and make you both rich and famous!” The two girls looked at each other, and one of them reached down and grabbed the frog and stuffed it in her pocket. The other girl said, “What did you do that for?” The first replied, “I’m not stupid. I know a talking frog is worth heaps more than a famous drummer any day!”

 

 

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