The Spice of Life

I started playing the drums in the school band in fourth or fifth grade. Mrs. Franklin (I think) was the band teacher at Nisswa elementary school, and I remember announcing to her on a whim that I was maybe interested in playing in the band. “Maybe? Or you’re interested?” she asked. So I had to commit. And when she began suggesting instruments I picked drums without hesitation. A couple years later, in 7th Grade, I made a friend on the first day of Mr. Aarestad’s band class who had much jazzier “moves” than I had ever hears, and I was immediately smitten, dying to learn what he knew. That started a lifelong friendship that involved exploration of contemporary drummers, as well as listening to all kinds of music. (Music featuring drums was the gateway drug, but we quickly moved into more classical realms, a shift that has stayed with me, the tail that wagged the dog become almost nothing but tail—tho I retain an appreciation for drums and drumming.)

Any focus on drums, especially with any kind of a jazz bent, leads inevitably to the great Buddy Rich, still considered probably the greatest drummer ever. But we listened to other people as well: Peter Erskine with Maynard Ferguson, Sonny Payne with Count Basie, Ed Thigpen with Oscar Peterson—as well as Nigel Olsson with Elton John and Liberty DiVitto with Billy Joel, anything with Steve Gadd, many others. Despite my big band orientation, one group I didn’t listen much to was Glenn Miller—maybe because my focus was so centered on drumming, and Miller was a more horn-oriented group. But along the way I ended up with a couple Glenn Miller recordings, both from the late 50s with bandleader (and drummer) Ray McKinley. I loved the more upbeat songs, and I especially remember loving a particular version of Miller’s longtime hit Kalamazoo.

Like all good obsessions, my fascination for the 1959 recording of Kalamazoo waxed and waned, but I remember listening carefully to it years ago and the appreciation of that study has stayed with me. 45 years later, I find myself zoomed in on it again. In addition to an updated arrangement (updated from his original '40s hit recording), and the letter-perfect execution by the band, I’m realizing that I’ve underestimated the drumming in the song—more than that, I'm thinking I've spent years missing a very different approach to drumming with a big band.

I remember reading that Buddy Rich himself expressed admiration for how Ray McKinley “drove” his big band, tho McKinley's approach is different and less ostentatious than anything I’ve heard Buddy attempt. Having said that, and before I discuss how I think this is so, it’s worth noting that the existing video clips of Ray McKinley at the drums make him seem much more circus showman and “entertainer” than Buddy’s more serious, all-business approach. McKinley raises his hands theatrically and does little wiggling flourishes (a '40s equivalent to a modern rock drummer twirling his sticks) and throws his arms out to the sides to no earthly purpose except to *look cool* to audiences of the time. It’s a showier version of what you might see on Lawrence Welk. So his approach to the drums was evidently NOT about avoiding ostentation. But—and I’m using Kalamazoo as my Exhibit A—his actual drumming is much more in a supporting role than Buddy’s. And his silly moves on video do not erase a really stellar performance on vinyl. 

There are stylistic things. His drums sound fairly low-pitch and are not loud, sounding like the calfskin heads and gut snare wires of 30 years previous. (Pictures show McKinley sitting at the kit with a steeply angled snare between his knees, very Chick Webb.) Where modern drums are individually miked, McKinley's kit seems just to be captured by the mikes set up for the other instruments. This contributes to the sense of his drums as a supporting, background role. He drives the band not with his ride cymbal but with a strong hi-hat swing, the cymbals held fairly loose by the foot and manipulated with the left hand while the right hand plays the rhythm. This technique harks back to the earlier era from which the Miller band came—again, like Chick Webb or Gene Krupa with Benny Goodman. By contrast, most drummers of the early ‘60s had shifted more to ride cymbal patterns as a foundation—and you hear that with any modern version today of the old songs: nobody drives a band with the hi-hat. His bass drum, instead of marking each quarter note quietly seems almost absent until needed for an emphasis. And this makes its use much more striking (it could be that without individual mikes you only hear the bass accents). Backbeats on the 2 & 4 are reserved only for climaxes, and then just for a bar or two. Emphasis.

I’m trying to decipher how or if these elements contribute to the success of the recording. Chicken or egg, there’s a clear sense that this driving and time-keeping is for the band’s benefit, enabling THEM to do the swinging. I think that’s the whole banana: his drumming is almost entirely focused on facilitating THE BAND swinging hard, whereas Buddy’s playing and drive are overwhelmingly front-and-center. Whereas one finishes a Buddy Rich song (let’s use the Sammy Nestico tune Ya Gotta Try from his “Class of ’77” album) with a breathless awareness of how hard Buddy has driven the band, you finish Kalamazoo with an awareness of how hard the band has swung the tune. You just naturally want to dance to it, where with Buddy you just want to stand and stare in amazement.

Drums are an ostentatious instrument. Especially in modern times, the drummer is often center stage, encased in a large, imposing kit that makes a high proportion of the band’s noise. I think many aspiring drummers are drawn specifically to that noise and ostentation, and our own playing reflects this (like the high school girl who wants to sound like Mariah Carey—yes, I’m showing my age—by putting too much sugar on everything she sings, until it’s all sugar and no substance). I think I’ve always had a tendency to overplay, and I’m naturally drawn to the Buddy Riches and the Dave Weckls rather than the Elvin Jones or Art Blakey types. And maybe as I get older I begin to see the error in this thinking. While I don’t think anyone would consider the drums absent from McKinley’s 1959 Kalamazoo, he plays a more obviously supporting role than what Buddy Rich would have provided, and I think the song benefits from this. His playing is exquisitely musical, his time keeping deliciously metered, and the drums are used almost entirely to keep the band together and to accent. He steps up as needed—much like the trumpet section hits very specific notes at very specific times. And where I want to accent *everything* the band is doing, he lets THEM do the work and he accents either 1) what will help them hit their marks, or 2) points where the brass punches need a little extra for maximum effect. I’m used to Buddy emphasizing or underpinning everything, such that it’s almost like his band is supporting HIM. Which, as the named artist and the one people buy tickets to see, maybe they are.

All this calls into question my own approach to the instrument as being a constant, driving presence in any song, whereas McKinley seems to see the drums as a spice, an instrument intended to speak occasionally for emphasis. Is this an actual tectonic shift in how jazz was conceived or played? Or is it just the difference between the drummer as sideman versus the drummer as headliner? Ed Thigpen as part of the Oscar Peterson Trio is present at just about every moment, he and Ray Brown and Oscar sharing the microphone like the Andrews Sisters. He’s neither retiring nor just present for emphasis. Yet he’s not the star of anything either. I guess I struggle with how to place Ray McKinley who is doing (very competently) what drummers-as-sidemen always do, but driving from the very back seat in the bus, as it were. (And the whole discussion kind of sidesteps the different roles of the jazz drummer and the rock drummer.)

For decades I’ve read interviews with drummers talking about what the music needs and about playing what’s appropriate for the song, and I’ve most dismissed that as lip service (tho guys like Steve Gadd or the late Jeff Porcaro have in fact played on recordings covering a huge range of styles). But nowhere have I heard someone drive a big band as skillfully as Ray McKinley without drawing any attention to his playing (at least not sonic attention). (Maybe it’s because he’s also the band’s singer, and that makes for attention enough. Fair question.) But I find myself asking why the song hits its marks so well, and how it does so when it avoids all the drumming conventions I instinctively favor? And that makes me ask what makes any song successful, and of course there's not one answer. But finding a different answer than what I'm used to seems like opening a door into a new room.

(This video does not very effectively support my thesis. The drums are at least as prominent here as any other instrument, and there's a strong emphasis on flash. But it does show Ray McKinley's style and musicianship.)