"Headroom" Addendum

In an earlier post, I talked about developing headroom. Headroom is the ability to do more than you need to do in a given situation. This post is part confession, part illustration of how I learned about headroom in my own playing.

While a college student, I studied with Jay Lawrence for a while. At a certain point he was putting me through some very complex, difficult exercises every week, and demanding that I play them up to a certain standard. One week, after having practiced particularly hard, but having not gotten up to par on an exercise, I got a little frustrated at the lesson. The conversation went something like this (I'm paraphrasing, but you'll get the point).

Keith: Jay, when would you use something like this in an actual performing or recording situation?

Jay: Oh. You probably wouldn't.

K: WHAT?! Then why are you making me learn it?!

J: (Laughing) Here. Let me show you something. See this groove exercise you were working on a few weeks ago? Was this one pretty hard?

K: Yeah, I hated that one. Super hard. 

J: Well, I want you to play it.

K: Wha..? Now? I haven't practiced it for like three weeks!

J: Just give it a try.

I then proceeded to play the earlier exercise. Not only was it much easier than I remembered, but it was immediately cleaner and clearer, and much more musical. Jay had made his point.

By constantly challenging me to play increasingly complex patterns and exercises, he was building my musical muscles, so to speak. What used to be hard became easier, and what seemed impossible at first became realistic.

Again, the whole point of headroom is to be able to do more than you have to, so that you can do what's required of you comfortably and with style. Then, instead of being at the edge of your abilities by default, you can choose when and how to push your own envelope while being more musical, engaging and sensitive.

Drumming - and all music - should be fun. And the better you are at it, the more fun it will be.

Happy drumming!

What is "headroom?"

For one year in high school I drove an old Dodge pickup truck. I loved having a pickup but hated having to drive it anywhere. It had a worn-out engine and a pathetic transmission. Its top speed was 60 miles per hour, no matter what. You could have dropped that thing off a cliff and it wouldn't have gone any faster!

So when I had to drive two miles on the freeway (where the speed limit was 75) on my way to school every morning, it was torturous, to say the least. The truck would shake and scream, and generally threaten to come apart at every possible point. My friends would pass me in their nicer cars, and I would try not to make eye contact. It was stressful and embarrassing. Honestly, it was all I could do to keep that thing on the road. Needless to say, driving wasn't very fun, and I didn't feel very good at it.

Early one morning I was on my way to school and wrecked the truck. It had snowed the night before, then cleared, so there was black ice on the road. The accident totaled my truck, and probably should have taken my life. It was one of the scariest moments of my life.

When I got back to driving, I (luckily) was able to borrow my mom's car, a late model sports sedan. To give you some idea of the capabilities of this car, let me make one comparison to the truck. My old truck's speedometer went to a maximum of 85, and that was wishful thinking. Mom's car? Its top mark read 140, and in all the time I drove it I never came close to challenging that mark, or had reason to doubt that the car could reach it.

That car totally changed me as a driver. I no longer had to fight the vehicle or worry that I was going to destroy it just by driving it on the freeway. My driving "style" became much more consistent and relaxed. I wasn't worried about driving anywhere - the freeway, on a hill, etc. Driving became fun.

Among all the differences between the car and truck, the fundamental one was headroom. What is headroom? In a nutshell, it's the difference between what you must do and what you can do.*

Here are a few examples of how the term headroom is used various settings.

• If I have the strength to lift 100 pounds, but only have to lift 50, I have headroom. 
• If a DJ has a sound system with 5000 watts of power, but only needs 1000 watts to play in a certain space, s/he has headroom. 
• If you need to drive 75 MPH on the freeway but the car can go 140, you have headroom.

How does this relate to music and to drumming? 

Essentially, we're all trying to develop headroom in our playing as we continue to practice and learn as much as we can. Think of it like the car. If the band you're playing in is asking your "engine" - your skill set - to go 80 miles an hour, and you can only go 80, then every time you play you're maxing yourself out. This is usually neither comfortable nor fun.

But if they're asking you to go 80 and you have the ability to do 120, then you can do what you need to do with style, and have bursts of "speed" when they're appropriate. More than that, you have the strength and "chops" to play what you hear in your head. And that, my friends, is fun. 

I'm not saying that you should never push your limits or live on the edge a little bit. But think of it another way: If we're talking about athletes, you need a basic ability to keep up with your competition, but headroom is what allows you to make the extra play or effort to win the game. 

In another post I'll give you a direct example from my own drumming career, but for now, think about headroom. How much do you have, and what are you doing to increase it? 

One last thought. At a certain point, you'll have an "engine" that is capable of getting off the streets and getting into the big leagues. 

Yeah. Let's do THAT.

*It's actually a construction term that refers to the height of a doorway or the ceiling over stairs. It literally means the distance between the average person's head and the point where they would hit said head. This is why, when the average American stands under six feet, the ceiling is generally at least eight feet high.

Friday Feature: Dave Grohl of Nirvana / Foo Fighters

I have a man-crush on Dave Grohl. I can admit that.

When the sounds of Nirvana caught my ears (ok...they caught EVERYBODY'S) in the early nineties, I had no idea who their drummer was. Truth be told, I really didn't have a read on Dave Grohl until the advent of the Foo Fighters* in the mid 1990s.

From then 'til now, I've gained an appreciation for Grohl's drumming style, his songwriting, guitar playing and producing skills. He has been involved in countless successful and creative projects, and seems to have limitless energy and drive to create. Every time I hear word of a new project, I'm immediately interested and look forward to the release. And, like many of his fans, I've rarely been disappointed.

As with earlier features, I have no intention of providing even an attempt at a total picture of Dave Grohl. If you already know him, you know more than I'll provide here, and if you don't know him (what's wrong with you?!), let this simply serve as a point of entry in your inevitable Dave Grohl fandom.

For a more complete history, go here.

Enjoy the Foo!

*True story - my personal DW Collector's Series drum kit was played by Taylor Hawkins in 2002 when the Foo Fighters performed in Salt Lake City for the Winter Games. The backline company who supplied drum kits for the Olys sold them locally after the games were over. I was in college at the time and put together every penny I had - and then some - to buy one. I still have and play the kit regularly.

What is classic music?

You know those pants/haircut/shoes/glasses you rocked in junior high? You thought you were the bomb-dot-com, and now you try to burn every single picture from that part of your life. Well, music can be the same. Not everything that you think is amazing now will still be cool in five plus years.

Here's one example.

Growing up, I went through all of the normal emotional storms, including breaking up with girlfriends and getting grounded by my parents. Music - more often than not - got me through. As a result, it has always amazed me how fast I can go back to certain events or time periods in my life just by hearing a few notes or words from a certain song.

One such song was a blues tune that shall not be named (for reasons which I will explain). It was my Senior year of high school, and I had been dumped by the girl of my dreams (yeah....about that). This is really pathetic, but I laid down on the floor next to the speakers, put the aforementioned track on repeat, and wallowed in self pity for the next couple of hours.

Fast forward to college, and I was exploring some music with a new girl of my dreams, and came across a dusty old CD that I hadn't listened to since high school.

"Sweet!" I said. "This song is so awesome! You've gotta check it out." Without reconsidering, I put the disc in the player, skipped to the appropriate track and waited for the magic.

The song was awful.

It became immediately apparent that my memory of the song was much better than the song itself. It was actually kind of embarrassing, and I had to quickly kill the music, as it were, and make some stupid excuse about how maybe it wasn't that great or I had been thinking of another song. I looked really dumb, to say the least.

This got me thinking, "So, what makes a song great? Not just great now, but great over time. Why is music from certain artists - like Mozart or the Beatles - still relevant, while other, more recent artists are already outdated and old?"

Understand, I'm not talking about immediate popularity, or even album sales. (Does it make anybody else sick that Katy Perry is outselling the Beatles, for crying out loud?) I'm talking about music that doesn't outlive its popularity, its ability to connect with an audience - its soul, for lack of a better term.

As a high school music teacher, one of the assignments I gave was for students to bring in one of their favorite tunes, explain it to the class, and justify its existence. One question they had to answer was, "Will this song still be relevant in five to ten years? Why or why not?" It was fun to hear certain kids flat out admit that their tune was cool for now, but probably wouldn't be in the near future. 

I'd encourage you to try this out. No, this is not school, but give it a go:

Take your favorite song (for me, this changes weekly, if not daily). Print out the lyrics. Read them to yourself slowly, taking care to decode the overt meaning and look for any subtle meanings and symbolism. Even better, read them out loud to some one who isn't familiar with the song, and ask them to summarize the meaning of the song in one sentence, two at most.

For the sake of music and art, I challenge myself - and you! - to be a more discriminating listener and consumer of music.


Happy interpreting/listening/discerning!

Can you 'flip the switch?'

About two years ago, I decided I wanted to become a better basketball player. Specifically, I wanted to be a much more accurate shooter. Since I'm a stat geek and can't stand to do anything halfway, I created a little diagram of the court, complete with all of the places I'd practice shooting from, and how many of each shot I needed to make.

I try to complete this routine at least twice per week, and more if I have the time. (Just like practicing music, I don't worry so much about how much time I take, but about accomplishing each goal or shot on my list.) I'm sort of OCD about two things: One, I have to complete the entire routine, and, two, I have to make my last shot each day. It's superstitious, I know, but I can't leave on a missed shot.

So, one day in the gym I was down to the last shot. It was an NBA-distance three-point shot (four feet longer than a high school three), and I was struggling. I had attempted the shot probably twenty-five or thirty times, and I seemed to be getting worse with each try. Also, it was getting late, and I needed to get going to make it to work on time.

I had the inevitable conversation in my head. "Maybe today's the day you just don't get it done. It's time to go, and you're too tired to make this shot. At this point, you're just wasting your time."

That day, I almost walked off the court in frustration. But then that other voice (you know the one) started talking back. "Nope. You're not leaving until you get this done. You've made tough shots before, and you can make this one. You made this commitment to yourself, and you're not letting you out of it. Get out there and keep shooting."

I've had similar moments in my life, but at that instant I felt myself flip the switch. No longer tired and frustrated, I was focused, determined and confident. I wasn't looking for an excuse or setting myself up to fail and quit. Failing and quitting were no longer options.

On my very next attempt, I nailed the shot. Straight through the net like I was Deron Williams or Kyle Korver. It felt great, and I immediately grabbed my things and ran for work. Mission accomplished, as it were.

You hear athletes talk about it all the time, but I think musicians do it, too. And we should be doing it. It may be in performance, on the stage at an important moment. But in my view, it's much more critical to do it in practice. To flip the switch over and over and over when we're practicing hard things. When you get frustrated and want to quit, you simply tell yourself, "No. It's not an option. I'm getting this done."


Obviously, there are some limitations. I'm not asking you to play something way beyond your level just because you tell yourself you can. But if you break up your objectives into logical, sequential steps, then you should be able to accomplish today's step even if it pushes you beyond your comfort zone a little bit. And then tomorrow, do it again. Before long, you have developed the ability to look a challenge in the face and say, "I won't quit. I can do this."

Just like anything else, "flipping the switch" requires practice. Try something today that challenges you, just something small, and accomplish it. And tomorrow, do it again. Or, like Eleanor Roosevelt said, "Do something every day that scares you."

Happy switch flipping!

Friday Feature: John Mayer's "Born and Raised"

Man, I love John Mayer. Call it a man-crush or whatever, I simply cannot get over this guy. Yes, I know he comes across as a jerk in every interview, but when he picks up his guitar it simply overcomes all of that for me.

I have loved each of John Mayer's albums up to this point, so I was expecting another home run with "Born and Raised." I wasn't disappointed.

Yes, I'm going to highlight the two obvious choices off the record, so I apologize if you were hoping for some hidden treasures. Again, I'm just hoping to give the reader enough interest to check out the record and give it a thorough listen.

With that in mind, here are my two 'must hear' choices from this album.

"Shadow Days"

"Walt Grace's Submarine Test, January 1967"

Both of these tunes hit me squarely in the ears, heart and mind through a combination of brilliant lyrics, subtle melodies and harmonies, and fantastic orchestrations. No virtuosic intensity here, just great storytelling.

Happy listening!

Do I really need to read music?

I get asked this question all the time. "Why do I need to read music?"

Well, imagine if you couldn't read English. First, you wouldn't be reading this post. Imagine if someone had to read everything to you everyday, from street signs to magazines, to text messages and Facebook status updates. How would that be for you? In a word, debilitating.

Certainly there are lots of good people in the world - brilliant, even - that can't read or write. But those people, almost without exception, would encourage you not to follow their path. Reading and writing are the gateway to learning and communication on a much higher and more efficient level.

The same is true for music. Of course, there is much to be learned from listening and imitating. And there are many great musicians who never learned to read or write music. But the written version of what you're hearing can allow you to be more expressive and accurate than you could ever be without seeing it. Written music also fills in more of the "why" of the music, sort of like how books can tell you a character's thoughts, but the movie rarely can.

For my money, reading music is as critical to the musician as reading and writing your spoken language is to the average human being. Not doing it won't end your career, but gaining the skill can only make you better.

Happy reading!