Ringo's Signature Drum Fill

I recently heard a radio interview with Ringo Starr, who was promoting his latest solo album, “Y Not.”  And as much fun as it was to hear one of the Fab Four reminisce in a relaxed and affable manner, I winced upon hearing a recording of Ringo and Joss Stone singing the new track, “Who’s Your Daddy.”  Good gracious me - embarrassingly bad. 

But regardless of what you can say about Ringo’s singing and songwriting prowess, you can’t knock his drumming. 

Or can you?  Certainly, as snot-nosed children, my friends and I did, as if somehow playing drums for the world’s most successful rock band deserved admonishment.   True, the movie “The Caveman” had just been released and warranted some condemnation, but it wasn’t really Ringo’s acting that was the target of our reproach – it was his drumming. 

And what was wrong with it?  Well, it wasn’t over-the-top, flashy and intricate.  In short, we criticized Ringo for not being Neil Peart, John Bonham, Keith Moon or Bill Bruford.

In hindsight, this seems rather silly.  After all, one didn’t need ten toms, seven cymbals and a double kick drum to lay down a solid rhythm track on “I Saw Her Standing There.”  And while Ringo’s virtuosity might pale in comparison to some other drummers, today I appreciate his minimalist playing.   Listen to tracks like “She Said, She Said,” “Strawberry Fields Forever,” “Come Together” and “A Day In A Life,” and I think it can be agreed that Ringo was an innovate drummer and an important contributor to The Beatles’ sound.

But what really sticks with me when I consider Ringo’s drumming is his signature drum fill: two sixteenth notes on the one beat, followed by a sixteenth rest, followed by four or five more sixteenth notes.  Here's how it sounds:

The earliest example of this drum fill that I can find is on “Hey Jude.”  Then, during the recording of the White Album, the man either fell in love with this lick, or he was in a creative rut, for he played it on no fewer than five songs (and multiple times on some of them – check out “Helter Skelter”).  He continued to use the fill for the remaining Beatle albums, especially on Abbey Road.

But it’s a great fill: simple and memorable.  Without further ado, here’s a compilation of Ringo’s Signature Drum Fill.

Living in the Moment vs. Recording the Moment

Two years ago I attended a concert with a friend who texted his way through most of it - he apparently had some very urgent message that simply couldn't wait.  This is in sharp contrast to the days my wife and I go without communicating with each other when she's on the road, as the most riveting text I could probably come up with would be: "Just completed my fourth load of laundry. Love you!"  My friend's interest in (euphemism for "addiction to") his backlit companion irked me for several reasons during the show, not the least of which was, "Can't you for two hours manage to enjoy the moment?" 

Of course, one needn't have a cellphone (I don't) to fall victim to an electronic obsession.  Cameras have often served as security blankets, as their owners worry more about documenting an occasion and less about actually participating in the occasion.  And I'm not necessarily busting the chops of the photo enthusiast.  I too have had spurts during which I was hell-bent on capturing a moment on film, but far too often these efforts resulted in a memory that exists only within the confines of the .jpeg files that seem to have obliterated my own capacity to remember.  When I imagine a party I attended two summer's ago in Milwaukee, I don't imagine the party - I imagine the photo of the party that's saved on my computer. 

With the advent of Youtube, Facebook and Twitter (not to mention self-indulgent blogs) our ability and desire to document that which is meaningless has never been stronger, and the results at live concerts haven't gone unnoticed.  This week, the Wall Street Journal has a great article about differing sides of the video-taking coin.  Some musical acts, like Radiohead, not only except fans taking concert videos, they encourage it and, in one case, even supplied the master recording for a fan's video project.  Others groups attempt to limit those who take videos of their concerts, not so much because of the monetary ramifications, but because they believe that the concert-going experience should be sacrosanct, and hundreds of glowing cell-phones undermine the thrill of The Moment.

I've benefitted from those who've worked to capture a moment on film, and I've suffered for it as well.  It isn't the no-brainer that some might make claim.  When I see a parent texting at a park while a child begs for attention, I can't help but think that something's wrong with this picture.  When I see a fan recording a concert, I can't help but wonder if it'll be posted on Youtube by morning.

Descending Half-Steps

The human ear likes to hear descending half-steps (a half-step is the smallest interval between notes,  e.g., going from C to B or G to G flat).  I don’t know the science behind it, but something about descending notes pleases us.  Last month I spoke about how artists commonly use descending major scales in music, but descending half-steps are no less commonly used. 

In my search for examples for descending half-steps, the clear-cut victor is the guitar work by Jesse Harris on “Don’t Know Why,” a hit from Norah Jones’s 2002 album, Come Away With Me (Jesse also composed the song).  On this song, in the key of B-flat, the guitar descends from the major 7th (the note A) all the way down to the major third (D).  A full fifth!  It’s one of those classic examples of “less is more,” a perfect selection of just the write notes.

Give a listen.

Descending half-steps are used in shorter runs all the time.  Some songs that come to mind are Eric Clapton's "Tears In Heaven," Radiohead's "Paranoid Android," "My Way" - made famous by Frank Sinatra - and nearly every jazz song ever written.  It's just one more thing to consider when listening to or performing music. 

New Song, "Two For The Price Of One"

Here's a new tune you can download, Two For The Price Of One, written for my daughters' b'not mitzvah.  Enjoy!  And thanks to Anthony Calderisi for his lead guitar work.

Two For The Price Of One

There's a feeling, that you're on to something good

This bears repeating

You're on to something good

And as you get there, you can be assured

We've got your backside covered darlings

You are the priceless culmination

A linkage in a chain of generations

Two for the price of one, and look what you've become

Two for the price of one, the journey's just begun

There are moments when I can't believe my eyes

My mind is reeling

Do you ever get this feeling?

'Cuz I remember only yesterday

You twirled your summer dresses darlings

You are the sum of our ambitions

A journey from the past to new traditions

Two for the price of one, sometimes I'm overcome by

  Two for the price of one, something's just begun

What's In A Name? (album titles)

Album titles.   A their best, they can help evoke the mood of the music within or announce the band's attitude, be it humorous, agressive, self-indulgent or self-loathing.  At their worst, they simply copy the song title that’s most likely to get radio play (Genesis's Invisible Touch wins the "Most Shameful Album Title" award in my book).

Some album titles are legendary: Exile on Main Street, The Dark Side of the Moon, Blood on the Tracks, Physical Graffiti, OK Computer.  Others are forgettable, like the self-titled debuts of countless bands or the predictable Roman numeral titles that follow (the band Chicago wins the award for this category, their last album titled Chicago XXXII).  Some albums have numbers that have nothing to do with chronology: 90125, 5150.  Others have letters and numbers that represent words: OU812.  Some are lengthy and cumbersome: A Momentary Lapse of Reason, St. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Don’t Shoot Me – I’m Only the Piano Player.  Others are sparse and to the point: Valotte, Imagine, Fragile, Tommy, Graceland, Trust.  Some album titles help define a band’s attitude: Destroyer, Ballbreaker, Pyromania, Lovesexy.  Others are more elusive: In Through the Out Door, Panorama, Green, Skylarking.  Some are funny: Bricks Are Heavy, Got Any Gum?  Others are introspective: Blue, Even in the Quietest Moments…  Some album titles copy other artist's songs and books: Night and Day, Love and Hope and Sex and Dreams, Tales of Mystery and Imagination.  Others have songs that have inspired filmmakers and authors to do the same: Jumpin' Jack Flash, Sweet Caroline, Are You Experienced?

The worst album title I can recall is The Earth, a Small Man, His Dog and a Chicken by REO Speedwagon.  Even Kevin Cronin, the band’s lead singer, regretted this title years later, though that may have had more to do with the album’s poor sales.

As a kid, I was always enthralled with Journey’s album titles (and their accompanying artwork): Infinity, Evolution, Departure, though in hindsight the titles are incongruous with what was basically a solid pop band.  A better pairing of music and album titles is the band Yes.  If a fan was displeased after purchasing the album Tales from Topographic Oceans, a double album that contains only four songs, he couldn’t say he wasn’t forewarned.

But my vote for the greatest album title of all-time: The Ego Has Landed by Robbie Williams.  I've never listened to the album itself, but it hardly matters.  The title is brilliant, and I wish to hell I’d thought of it first.