I Was a Teenage Drummer
When I was 13, my mother asked if I wanted to learn to play a musical instrument. She no doubt hoped I’d take up guitar or piano or something quiet. My favorite album at the time was Cheap Trick Live at Budokan. Whenever I heard Bun E. Carlos’ snare drum intro to “I Want You to Want Me,” I felt shivers. I wanted to be a drummer.
My parents agreed to buy me a drum set. We drove to Valley Arts Music in Studio City where a long-haired clerk with horrible acne showed me the drum kits. I told him I was a Cheap Trick fan and he brought me to the Ludwig section. The bass drum was massive. I asked if they had a smaller set. He showed me Pearl and Gretsch kits, but they were just as imposing. I was overwhelmed, unable to make a decision. My mom came to the rescue.
“He’s never played drums before. And he loves the color blue,” she said. “Do you have a beginner set in blue?”
The longhair led me to a soundproofed booth with a battered Slingerland set painted sky blue. He put a pair of sticks in my hand and guided me to the drum stool.
“Take a whack at it,” he said. “We’ll leave you alone.”
He and my mom exited the booth and closed the door. I pondered the sticks in my hand. I put on headphones and pressed play. “Rock’n Me” by the Steve Miller Band came on. I closed my eyes and tentatively struck the snare. Steve…
