A NEW BEAT

Melissa bought me a nifty set of cocktail drums for my birthday.
Playing, performing and composing music has been an interesting journey. Considering I really wanted to quit taking lessons at school my third year in.
--here's bit and pieces of the story--
The first year I was learning drums from someone who wasn't a drummer in this echoey closet at the back of the Eagle Elementary cafe-torium. I held sticks in a matched grip with my thumbs up, which should've been caught and corrected (due to the fact that you can develop tendinitis had it not been). So we'd alternate in this room from snare to practice pad. bang, bang, bang. You'd leave the room with your ears ringing. Which starts the beginning of my hearing damage.
The second year we had a cooler teacher. They stuck him in a different closet next to the janitor's office. He left his window open all the time and so he could get his smokes in without having to smoke wherever the teachers smoked during those days. real cool, real mellow teacher. I ran into him some time in the late 90s and thanked him. He was also happy to see I was still playing.
Third year. UGH... i was being taught by a music phd who wanted to be referred to as Doctor. Even worse than the actual Dr. were the other drum students. It was no longer the same three kids, but three more and they were...em... jerk offs. They had egos and perceived themselves as being older and more talented "percussionists" with influences as boring as whatever ranting and raving drumming moron that was in print at that time.
"I'm really into Rush, yawn, yawn. ", says blowhard 1.
"I've been playing the shit out of Suicidal Tendencies, Crucifucks and Run Dmc"
"Run Dmc, those black guys, that's not music!", says Blowhard 2 (Remember: This is 85 or 1986)
Blowhard 1 "what was the other at band?"
I ask "Crucifucks or Suicidal Tendencies?" .
"Dr Douchie, Greg said the F-word."

tangent: Blowhard 1 was a "talented musician" fat fuck. Story is he'd get upset with his brother and steal his knobs from his stereo to spite him. People stroke his ego at how good of a percussionist he is. Years later he becomes a teacher in Texas and can't hack. The fanfare is removed and he's a whack hack. Academics.. you have to love them.

Dr. Douchie gives the older kids the priority, my cohorts get stuck playing all the percussion toys. Which sparked my interest in creating disharmonic tones, improvisation and some chaos. One of the best moments of 86 was randomly kicking over a ride cymbal in the midst of a concert performance. smashingly brilliant. BH 1&2 faces' turned red with embarrassment. Mission accomplished.

YEAR 4 - had to of been tough on the ol' Doc. The untalented toy players now have to carry the "band" and welp.. we couldn't give two shits about doing so. Having been painted as dimwits, we thought well.. might as well make people miserable and enjoy it. Sight read? What do you mean Doc? I'll just rattle these things here and there and hopefully it makes sense. The highlight of the year was meeting up with the other elementary kids and finding equally jaded souls bashing drums and bending ago go bells for no good reason. These are the people who were going to get me through middle school. I think the ol Doc retired from elementary school music instruction and took on a more sophisticated job doing a 1800s reenactment band for more high brow music connoisseurs.

YEARS 5,6,7 (grades 7-9).
The instructor was a complete douche face wolfman jack looking guy who'd throw fits, toss chairs, music stands and have temper tantrums all the time. The drum line (yuk yuk yuk) also received instructions from a semi uptight asshole and whatever bendover boy aspiring professional percussionist he'd had taken under his wing.
One of the funniest lines I received from a bb who quit second instruction in was "oh.. you like black flag, you should check out Missing Persons. They're my favorite band." I had to explain to him I was given a writing punishment for humming Mental Hopscotch in third grade. He said in a real serious "Mental Hopscotch..great..great song." Out of his fucking mind.
Blowhards 1 & 2 had whole new entourage of equally boring and "talented' sidekicks to discuss Rush, Journey, and all the other exciting music that 15 year old percussionists listen to. I found some new cohorts who were into metal. Punk and hardcore was still to foreign since..welp.. since MTV didn't play it and Record Town/Tape World didn't end cap it.
So I went through the motions played rip off jazz, since we never would play license fees. bad latin-y turned marching band shit. did my time. played awful music. stopped following the confines of "traditional" music further and further. Got a hold of a mix tape from some friends that had Einsturzende Neubauten, Birthday Party, Lydia Lunch,Premature Ejaculation on it. I got further away from what other kids were into at the time like: NKOTB.
Ninth grade hit. my last year as a "band musician". hearing still getting hammered every other day. even in the acoustically designed band room.
--more poorly written composition later--