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prasa > Modern Drummer, luty 1983
Modern Drummer, February 1983
Jeff Porcaro
Interviewed by Robyn Flans
Whether listening to Jeff Porcaro on vinyl or watching him in the
studio or on a live gig, a multitude of adjectives come to mind.
First and foremost is finesse: an artful delicacy of performance, a
tastefulness and subtlety. And then there's his impeccable time,
which he is quick to dispute with a ludicrous utterance such as "My
time sucks," however spoken in earnest. "Jim Gordon, Bernard Purdie,
and Jim Keltner all have unbelievable time."
He is serious about even the most simplistic of studio gigs and
conscientious and concerned about the outcome, always. He totally
immerses himself in the music and his definition of a good track is
the coming together of the tune where his part must be totally
complementary.
"Nothing has been too ridiculous a demand, except for hours spent on
mediocrity. That's ridiculous. When something is ass backwards,
everybody knows it, and yet somebody keeps you there, working for
endless hours, and it's not happening. There are times when you have
to record six tunes in three hours and do it perfect, or there are
times when you only have one tune to do and you have all day to do it
and it's a big party. It depends on who the artist is. But the
ultimate is that you've got to leave there knowing you've done your
best. There's not one record that I can listen to all the way through
that I've done without getting bugged at how I played. That's going
to be there forever. Sometimes I'm unhappy about time, feel--certain
things bug me; just things I've let bug me. In all honesty, I would
have to say the Steely Dan tracks I've done are the most challenging
as far as perfection goes, so I would say they're my personal favorite
performances."
Jeff has played a varied spectrum, from Steely Dan to Barbra
Streisand, and he is one of the intergral forces of Toto. But then,
according to Jeff, there have been an awful lot of non-successes in
his book. So why do people hire Jeff Porcaro?
"If I asked myself that question, I'd be staring at the walls, all
nervous and freaked out right now because I've tried to figure that
out before," he laughs. "Seriously, if I looked at it seriously, half
of it would be political reasons, a la, a name. No matter how
ridiculous that sounds, I have definitely been hired by people who
could have hired somebody else who would have done a lot better job,
been more right for the music, and who maybe was starving a little
more to do a better job. But they hired me because I've done other
records. It's pretigious to have a name player on your first album,
or something like that. That's one way of looking at it and that's
real honest. In some instances, I know that for a fact, and I guess
the others, well, maybe they just dig the way I play," he laughs.
It should be apparent by now that the adjective "perfectionist" cannot
be overlooked, and when it is suggested that we are our own worst
critics, he responds, "No, because I'm not. I hate most of what I've
done, seriously. I say this to people sometimes and nobody takes me
seriously, but I enjoy listening and being a critic more than I do
playing. "As far as myself, I'll be the first to say if I did
something cool. I have done a couple of cool things. I think most of
the stuff I've done with Steely has been cool. I have no regrets
about any of that stuff. That, and the stuff with Boz Scaggs, but
see, now here's the thing: I listen to 'Silk Degrees' and I cringe,
and anybody would if I pointed out one particular thing. As soon as
people said, 'Oh yeah,' they would start hearing that thing all over
the place and it would start bugging them too. But it was good for
its time," he concedes.
Adjectives "quiet" and "shy" are accurate and "modest" is an
understatement, yet, Jeff is personally assertive. He is the first to
admit that studio work is not easy and one must roll with the punches.
Yet, he has been known to stand up for himself as a human being on
more than one occasion.
"In this business, you have to put up with temperaments sometimes, but
you should never have to put up with abuse. I say that not from
having an attitude, but as a person, you should be treated as one.
You also have to put up with rumors and people talking, but you can't
let those kinds of things get to you. You can't worry about what
people think.
"I've seen situations where it's a guy's first session, and a producer
or artist destroys him in front of a lot of well-known musicians, who
the guy was very excited about being there with. And I've seen guys
cry in the studio. People can get affected that way, but you can't
let someone do that to you. They're just people, and you've got to
put everybody in perspective."
And he does. He is unpretentious and attampts to maintain a healthy
perspective on his profession, not allowing it to be an all-consuming
lifestyle.
"I think more people should have a balance. I think it came on pretty
naturally for me because of other interests outside of music, like art
and landscaping. I wanted to be a gardener and loved making money
working in people's yards. I could dig interior decorating also. I
think the balance for me is that I don't have any drums at my house,
so when I'm not working with anybody, I'm not around drums. I think
even if I weren't successful at music--if I'm supposedly 'successful'-
-music and drumming wouldn't take up any more time than it does now,
because if I weren't successful at drumming, I'd have a job being some
sort of an artist. That's a job I'm more comfortable at than trying
to get gigs or letting people know I'm a drummer. I've never had the
moxie to call somebody to say I'm available. I'm too shy a person to
come on like that."
He had that attitude even on his very first gigs, even though one
would think an aggressive attitude would have been paramount to a kid
starting out. "It's hard for me to say. Maybe it would have been
paramount if I had been older and had a wife and kids, but I left high
school doing a gig. Imagine some 18-year-old kid in 1972 who listens
to Jimi Hendrix and then gets a gig with Sonny & Cher. I kind of
approached it like a circus more than a serious gig."
Jeff might have actually gone off to art school had he not gone to
Leon Russell's house one night, where David Hungate happened to be.
About eight months later, Hungate, who was playing with Sonny & Cher,
suggested they audition the 17-year-old Porcaro, and in May, 1972,
right before his high school graduation, Jeff left school to go on the
road with them.
"When you're 18 and you're away from home, as I was on the road with
Sonny & Cher, you're sitting there going, 'Well, what am I going to do
with my life? Is it always going to be a party like this or what?' I
dug art, but the reality of getting into art is real ugly. So it was
the kind of thing where I said, like with Sonny & Cher, if I played my
cards right, it was a steady gig, plus they did a TV show which I did
for their last two seasons. So I figured if I stayed legitimate here,
at least I'd know there's some security if I kept my head together and
did the gig right. And I could put some money away if I played Mr.
Straight for a while.
Actually, all the Porcaro boys started out on drums, due to the
influence of their father, Joe. Jeff can recall watching his dad give
lessons in a drum shop in Connecticut at an early age. It just so
happened that Mike, who Jeff says was much better on the drums than he
was, switched to bass and Steve took up piano prior to their move to
California in 1966. Jeff stuck with the drums and his dad taught him
from age eight to eleven, and aside from a couple of private
instructors and those in school, Jeff taught himself, either by
playing with records or playing with bands.
"I used to practice in junior high and every day, after school, I'd go
into the den, put on headphones and play to 'Boogaloo Down Broadway.'
The drums were cool on that and I used to dig that feel. I used to
play with all the Beatle records, all the Hendrix records and that's
where I think I got a lot of the versatility as far as being able to
play authentically one kind of music as opposed to the complete
opposite. It's copying what every other drummer did on records. If a
drummer takes something Bernard Purdie played on and sits for two
weeks with the 'phones so he can still hear Bernard but he's also
playing along where he doesn't hear himself flamming with him or
rushing--just grooving with the tune--the next time he goes to play a
tune that's similar, he might start playing that feel. I can't tell
you how many tunes I've played where I've ripped off the same thing
Jim Gordon used on 'Charlie Freak' on Pretzel Logic. The beat I used
on 'Lido Shuffle' is the same thing Gordon did except at twice the
tempo. There's no originality there. I think it's bad to clone
yourself after someone, although, I actually cloned myself after Jim
Keltner when I was 17 and 18. I even thought it was cool to wear a
vest and I copied his style. A drummers' own style comes from
eventually being on his own, but I copied Gordon and Keltner and all
these guys I dug. I remember realizing this, but after a while, the
accumulation of all the guys you copy becomes your own thing,
hopefully.
"In high school, there would be some of these little stage bands and
then right across the street from Grant High School was Valley Jr.
College. Sometimes I would cut school and go over there where they
had the bands that would sight read charts. When you're dealing with
8th notes and reading figures that you would do just hand-to-hand on a
practice pad, it's pretty much the same as reading a chart. The
figures are there; you know what they are and it's just applying the
fact that you're playing time and then you want to kick a figure or
play a figure. I'm really not an incredible, incredible reader, but I
can read well enough to do what I've done so far. But you just get to
know it. It's like reading words. You'll see two bars playing a
groove, and eight bars ahead on the paper you see this figure coming
up and you don't even have to read it. All of a sudden, the figures
look like a word; you know what it says just by the way it looks.
"I'm not a career drummer. It wasn't like, 'I'm a percussionist and
if I'm going to call myself one, I should be as good at it as I can.'
Everybody's situation is different. I'm just comfortable with the way
I do it and it suits the way I live. And then there are things I
can't do. Zappa's called me at least once a year for five years to do
something. I've always said 'No' because I just know what his charts
are like and I know I couldn't sight read one of his things. Guys
like Vinne [Colaiuta] and Terry Bozzio are unbelievable with Zappa's
work. It's too hard for me. Once in a while there's a musical idea
that my mind says, 'Go, do it.' But I don't have the facilities to do
it because with some things, you need to sit and woodshed and work out
before you can do them. But that takes time, and so I say, 'Right
now, at this point in my life, I can't sit and take that time off.'
Maybe there will be a time where something will force me to, but
that's a decision that everybody has to make on his own.
"I wish I took piano. Talk about a guy who, right now, would have the
prime opportunity to do tons more writing and to really cash in on a
certain situation. But I can't do that, and for me, personally,
there's not that kind of incentive. But if I had done it when I was
15, I'd be shakin' right now! So sure, in retrospect, I wish I had
more training, but this is where those judgments come along. I say,
'Yeah, I wish I had more training,' but I can also say if I hadn't
tripped off into the hills to Leon Russell's house one night, I would
never have met Dave Hungate for him to say to Sonny Bono, 'Why don't
you call this kid up to audition?' Now, also, if I hadn't played at
Dantes one night with this guy I couldn't stand, Fagen and Becker
[Steely Dan] would never have seen me play when they happened to walk
into that club that night to get a drink. Those two nights, for me,
are what I could say started my whole career."
It was the end of 1973, when, while still with Sonny & Cher and doing
an occasional stint with Seals & Crofts, Porcaro was playing at
Dantes, a small L.A. club. He had just turned 19 and was earning
$1,500 a week. But he quit Sonny & Cher without a moment's hesitation
when Steely Dan offered him only $400.
"When I went with Steely Dan, that was my first taste of being in what
I thought was a so-called hip, cult rock 'n' roll band. It was my
first taste of being on the road with a band that I thought was cool.
I was totally in love with the fact that I was playing with those
guys." Although he admits that recording with Steely Dan is a
grueling experience, it is a creative environment in which Porcaro
thrives.
"Two years ago with Steely on Gaucho, I went to New York to cut the
tune 'The Gaucho.' It was Steve Khan, Anthony Jackson on bass, Rob
Mousey on keyboards and Fagen, and I think that was all who were
there. The plan was to rehearse the tune in the studio because Fagen
and these guys are meticulous. You rehearse from 2:00 to 6:00, take a
dinner break, and at 7:00 you come back to the studio, start the tape
rolling and start doing takes. Well, this stuff is rehearsed so heavy
that some of the spontaneity is gone maybe. They demand perfect time,
and it's too nervewracking. Yet, I love it, and I guess there are
some of us who love it. That kind of pressure with those guys is cool
because from my point of view, their music is the most prestigious
music that's ever existed and it's great to hear, no matter what.
Some people can't stand the perfection, though. So we started doing
'The Gaucho' and they went through every musician's part so it was
perfect. All they were going to keep at the end was the drum track,
but most of the other musicians didn't know that. I just knew it from
experience. Their idea is to get everybody else in the band and put
them through all the shit in the world to make sure they play perfect,
just to get the perfect drum track. And these guys are sweating--
beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads--nerves, shaking while
they're playing and they don't know what they're playing is never
going to be used. We went to 3:00 in the morning and I don't know how
many takes we did. Fagen walked out in the studio and it was
something like, 'Guys, does eerybody know what this tune is supposed
to sound like?' We're all looking at each other going, 'Yeah!' He
says, 'Good. You guys know what it should sound like, I know what
it's supposed to sound like, then that's all that matters. We're
done.' And he splits. So we're all sitting there in the studio like,
'What?' So we all got pissed and said, 'Screw it, we're going to work
on this track and get it!' So just Gary Katz [Steely's producer] was
there and we continued to do five or six more takes. The final
product on that album came from those takes. That's the kind of shit
where most people would have packed up and split, but we just sat
there feeling we had to get it, and we did."
After the first tour with Steely Dan and recording the Katy Lied
album, doors began to open for Porcaro, who, along with a cast of
characters, were considered to be quite revolutionary.
"Paich, Hungate, myself and a few other guys like David Foster and Jay
Winding, all started getting into the studio thing at the same time.
At that time--I'm talking about '72, '73 and '74--there was a real
echelon of older guys like your Gordons, Keltners and even Hal Blaine.
The other pressure was always being the youngest guys being studio
players in this town, doing sessions. We were real radical. I mean,
I know myself, we hated contractors. I just remember a time observing
studio sessions when nobody said anything. You didn't speak your
mind; it was 'yes sir' and 'no sir' and you just did your stuff. We
weren't brought up to be studio musicians. We were guys who played in
power trios; rock 'n' rollers who happened to read and play Barbra
Streisand dates too, so we were a bit radical and outrageous for the
times. People didn't know how to take 19-year-old cats speaking
musical sense. I was never meant to be a legitimate studio drummer
and I get irked when people say "studio drummer.' Hey, I just walked
in and played and had fun playing. But I always hated the poltics and
how you're supposed to perform and act as a studio person. I don't
have a book and I don't go the the phone and call my answering service
and say, 'What's next?'"
Still, he loves his work--and hates it. The ultimate positive session
for him is leaving a gig knowing he's pleased the writer/artist. It's
the consistent obstacles that seem to be the nature of the beast that
Porcaro abhors.
"I think the statistics of how many musicians in the world are allowed
to do studio gigs and why, says it all in itself. It's a real pro
gig. Ask any artist or producer or engineer who uses studio musicians
why they're using studio musicians and not their bar band or the guys
in their local town. Why do studio musicians exist? Sure, there are
different levels of music you hear performed by studio musicians, but
they're not in control of what music they're playing.
"The only time I'm ever bothered when I leave is one of these
situations where the artist is a groove, you love him, but you can't
stand the producer. All artists who don't have a lot of control over
the situation are nervous as hell until the album is done, hoping that
they well get what they really want, even though they can't speak
their mind most of the time because of a certain producer. So when
you leave knowing that they got what you have, in spite of their
producer, then I feel good. But when I leave a session and know I
could have done a lot better, it bugs me. It's like wasted money.
"Some of the tracks have been done on the first takes and those are
the magical moments. I did a Jimmy Webb album not too long ago where
almost every track we did was a first take. And there are those times
when the rhythm section guys are tuned in really great and it happens.
When I was really into the studio stuff--before Toto started
happening--one morning I would do Archies cartoons and in the
afternoon I'd do a Helen Reddy album and that night I'd do a Tommy
Bolin album. So there are those three spectrums. What's great about
studio stuff is that you can walk in and do, say, a Streisand date
where maybe I'd use a different drumset because there are live strings
and it's all done live. At night with Bolin, maybe there would be a
headband and deerskin boots and a completely different attitude and
approach, which I always thought was like an acting gig. It's fun to
change attitudes because your environment is always changing. It's
like getting yourself psyched up; you're still the same person, but
if I'm playing with Dolly Parton, I'm going to have a completely
different attitude in my energy and in my playing than if I'm doing an
R&B thing or something else. That's not something you can learn, but
you can get a collection together of records of different styles that
you can force yourself to learn, and if you sincerely enjoy any kind
of music, you know what that attitude is. But say it's your first
gig; you're starting out and nobody knows who the hell you are. A
contractor hires you for that artist or that producer and he's your
boss. If you screw up, he doesn't ever hire you again because his gig
is on the line, and that's the whole political bullshit about the
studio system. Plus, there's the pressure once you're there and you
have your first opportunity to play. Number one, you feel you want to
be sure you have the kind of energy you want to give them. You want
to give them your all and try to impress them, which usually ends up
backfiring if you go in with that attitude. Your whole basic thing is
just to keep time. I have fun helping with arrangements of tunes or
suggesting song structures and knowing songs, instead of, like some
guys I meet, no matter what instrument, still to this day have no idea
about a song or tune structure. You should have a real good sense of
a tune or the song--verse, chorus, bridge, dynamics and stuff like
that. Just keep trying to keep the best time and be as simple as
possible.
"A helpful hint for anybody who is doing sessions, really the number
one rule is, don't even be thinking about what you're going to do, or
how people in the studio are going to look over and dig that you're
doing a good job. Try to be completely aware of the song; try to
hear the song as many times as possible and play for the song--not for
yourself or for the contractor or for whomever else. Show up early,
work with the engineer to tune your drums and, if you can, look at the
stuff ahead of time in case it's something that's too hard for you to
do so you can woodshed. Be polite and don't stay on the phone too
long. Don't do any dope, not because dope is bad, but I know where
certain drugs affect some people's time or their concentration or
their attitude. The most damaging thing of all, to me, is the
monetary strain it can put on people, which has bad psychological
effects as well. If you're a musician, that's not too steady a gig.
Don't think because you're into dope that's going to make you hip or
will get you into certain crowds or cliques. People would not believe
how many people are not into dope, moreso than people who are into it
as far as working goes. I can't tell you how many drummers got too
messed up on coke, where their attitude or something became a problem,
or how many gigs I've gotten because the guy they used before me was
showing up late or his head was in another space and people were
paying $150 an hour for the studio time. People aren't going to buy
that bullshit."
Approaching a new musical situation, Porcaro immediately tries to
establish a mutual comfort between himself and the artist, "because
it's the first time they're using you and they feel uncomfortable too.
I've run into situations where I'd walk in and meet the artist for the
first time and they'd be nervous about meeting me too becuse it's
their first album and they think I'm some sort of big studio drummer.
They expect to see some tall guy who is 250 pounds or something and I
hate that. I hate anybody thinking they have to bend over backwards
for me. I think, 'Why?' I'd rather split and not exist if I think
people have to change their ways or something because of me. There's
no reason for it. Usually I think just my general personality doesn't
threaten anybody though."
Toto was a dream realized a few years ago, but even before the Sonny &
Cher gig, he and David Paich, introduced through their musical
fathers, would talk about it.
"We knew so much about the realities of being in a group. That's why
we did all the studio stuff. There was a point where, for two years,
I did everything I could, even if I didn't feel like playing, just to
save up money so I could take two years off and give the group a try."
Interestingly enough, however, the fact that Jeff, along with co-
members, are in-demand studio musicians seems to be the main criticism
of the press. According to critics, studio players are supposedly too
polished and too rigid to create excitement necessary to stir an
audience. Porcaro disagrees: "Every studio musician I know can go on
stage and play. Nothing happens to you when you're in front of
people. My God, the pressure of playing in front of an audience is
nothing like the pressure of a chart with Paul McCartney in front of
you and you've got to do something right. What is that? You think
the people who write about you and the people in this town are going
to make you uptight and nervous compared to what we face in the
studio? No way. Because the people who write this shit about the
studio thing don't have the faintest damn idea of what they're writing
about.
"While I'm in Toto, it's a fact that I will work very breathing minute
of my day. If Toto isn't doing anything--we're not on the road, we're
not in the studio, we're not getting together to write--I will stay
busy. I feel sorry for people who don't. I can't see being a
musician and just being in a band. If you're in a band, you only get
to do one album a year, maybe two. At the most, you're talking about
twenty songs a year and maybe a couple from previous albums when you
go on tour. So these great bands--these genius bands--go out and play
twenty tunes. Now I personally love playing. I get up early in the
morning on days I have free and somebody will call and ask if I'll
play. I'll play and I'll play for free for somebody. I'll play
anything anybody calls me to play because I like playing. At least I
know that at the end of the year I can say, 'God, even if only I know,
I've accomplished a lot of shit. I've played a lot of music and I've
used my full potential. Whatever gift God gave me for whatever
reasons, I've used it to its full potential.' And people call and ask
if I'll play on their album. Even when I'm tired or sick, if they
say, 'Will you please play? We'd love you to play,' then it would be
my privilege to play."
But Toto definitely remains the prime love and commitment. "I think
anybody would be happy to be given the privilege to have a group
that's yours, and you get to go into the studio. Money is given to
you to make the kind of music you want to make, you're the boss and
it's your baby. That's incredible. I think that's anybody's ultimate
goal if they're into doing their own thing, themselves or with five
other comrades.
"It's an emotional investment when you get six guys together and from
the beginning, you have a dream. I wish I could control Toto the way
I see it, but so does everybody else in the band. That's
individually. We all keep it to ourselves though. When we work
together, nobody comes on stronger than another person. We all pretty
much think the same because we've gotten very used to compromising.
What usually happens is that it comes out kind of the way we want it
individually."
Having been on the road for six months out of every year since he was
18 and up to the beginning of Toto, Porcaro enjoys even the simple
elements involved in travelling--such as just sitting on the bus
looking out the window or sketching in his hotel room--aside from the
pleasure he derives from playing live.
"A good touring drummer differs a little bit from a good studio
drummer, but it's primarily the same thing. You can't be busy and
tripping off because in a band like Boz's or even Steely, the bands
are so big you basically have to keep time. And you have to stay
healthy so you can show up the next night.
"Physically it takes its toll. My hands are small and they're not
meant to do what I do to them. Actually, though, I'm a lot stronger
than I ever was before, drumming-wise. My hand used to go into spasms
where all my fingers would come into the center of my palm and my
tendons would stretch my skin. The pain was unbelievable. You could
not physically pull the fingers from the palm of my hand. It happened
starting at age 15--every other week during my playing--and what I did
to change that was sand the lacquer off the end of my stick. What
would happen was I'd be playing and unconsciously hold the stick
tighter and I'd cramp up. So it hasn't happened in a couple of years.
I also think it has to do with playing and relaxing, even though it
may not look like I'm relaxing. You've got to stay loose. Nerves are
the worst thing for a drummer.
"I don't warm up before a gig, but I should. But before a gig, my
mind is on so many other things that I forget to warm up. I do think
it's a good idea to do, though, so you're loose and stuff. There have
been so many times where the first tune is a big burner and I didn't
warm up and maybe I hadn't played in two days and everything was
tight.
"I hate solos," Porcaro continues. "I don't have the chops to play a
solo anyhow. Seriously, I've always hated drum solos. The only ones
I ever liked were Elvin Jones' stuff--jazz players--because they
played 12-bar phrases and they were real musical. But I never came
across a musical composition that I played on that was worthy of a
drum solo, aside from some obnoxious 'show-off-your-shit' kind of
thing."
Porcaro has always been reluctant to discuss his equipment since it
has changed so frequently, but before this past tour, Jeff began
endorsing Pearl Drums. What does he look for in a set? Replying, he
laughs, "I don't know jackshit what I'm talking about, just what feels
right. Most all drums feel good to me, sincerely. Drums are drums,
depending on the kind of head and how you tune them. Sometimes just
the look of one will make me partial to that one for two weeks; just
because it looks different and it's new. I always set up differently.
Sometimes there'll be a lot of tom-toms, sometimes just two, depending
on what I'm doing. Or sometimes I'll go into something where usually
I'd have a bigger kit and the music kind of demands it, yet I'll go in
with completely the opposite, which is kind of interesting. In the
studio, my set changes for every tune. Every tune on this current
Toto album has a different set or different components. It depended
on the tune. If we were doing a real heavy tune, pretty broad rock
'n' roll type thing, I used a Gretsch 24" bass drum and a 14 x 12 (I'm
not really sure of the size) mounted tom and a 16 x 16 floor tom and
maybe two crash cymbals and that's it. On some tunes I may have used
a larger set with more toms. It just varied, depending on the type of
tune and what the tune required from me musically or from the drums.
You play differently when you set up differently and that's
interesting too.
"Last year when Toto went to Japan, I went to Yamaha, not for an
endorsement, but because I loved the drums. I was real shy and all
embarrassed and asked if they could make me a custom set. I mean, I
was ready to pay for it, and two days later, they came with four
drumsets. One was a custom color and there's no other color like it.
So it's not that I really endorse them; they just gave me the stuff.
But I've never signed anything."
He is endorsing Pearl however, and his current tour set-up is a 22 x
18 bass drum, with toms in the sizes of 10", 12", 13" and 16",
extended shells. All his drums are double-headed, and he uses Remo
Ambassadors, top and bottom, although sometimes a Diplomat on the
bottom.
"You're asking the wrong guy about tuning tips," Jeff laughs, although
he manages to describe his instinctive method: "I just wish we had
one of my drums from any drumset to take a picture of. You put it on
a flat table and look at it and you'll see maybe one of the top rims
at an angle. When I put a new head on, I do not evenly tune the drum
around. I've never in my life hit every lug to see if it's right. I
guess it's all feel. I can tune a drum to hear a pitch, and I can
just tell by the feel of the key on the screw that goes to the lug,
and how loose or tight that feels, where that drum is at.
"Every engineer is as different as every drummer and engineers will
drive you up the wall. With some engineers, you'll walk in and never
hear the words, 'Let me hear the snare drum.' I know engineers who
don't need you to get a drum sound; they know how to mike you so
they're getting the sound your ears are hearing out there. Some guys
have everything closed miked and they've got to do it their way. All
studios are different, all boards are different and some guys take two
hours for the drum sound. It bugs you when you've just left one
studio and never heard your drums sound better and people are raving.
And then you take that same set to another studio and you've never
heard it sound worse and people are getting on your case. You just
have to smile."
He laughs at the mention of his extensive snare drum collection. "I
do have a lot of snare drums, but I only use one," he laughs. "I've
got it down now, but it all changes. Four years ago, you could not
walk into the studio without somebody saying, 'How come you don't have
a deep drum? I want that low sound.' And now, most of the rock 'n'
roll dates I've been doing, I've got your regular Ludwig 5 1/4" chrome
snare, both heads tuned as humanly tight as possible. They sound like
timbales with the snares loose; no muffling on it whatsoever and
ringier than all hell. It all changes. Everybody has his own way.
That's why I always used to have lots of different snare drums. Now I
basically use three of four I have with me. One is a deep wood, an
old Radio King, and I have a lot of old antique drums that sound
great. I really don't collect anything just to look at."
He bought the very first snare drum tha Paul Jamieson made,
explaining, "It's all a matter of who you are if you want to buy a
custom drum or not. It's just like looking at a painting and asking
yourself if it's worth a thousand bucks or not. You may not if you
don't like it, but if in your eyes it's a great painting, you'll pay
for it. Now, if you really want to get down to it, you go try to find
a 1934 Radio King shell--forget about any hardware on it or anything,
just the shell itself--you'll have to go to Evansville, Indiana, to
some old hardware store to find it. Monetarily, those drums are worth
some money, just for how old they are and the wood. If I had the
money, I'd buy one. As far as wood drums, the old shells are better
and the rims and hoops are too. If you buy a new wood drum, you can't
get too live with it. It's hard to explain, but with the old Radio
King shells that are real thick, I have the insides veneered and
they're real live. In the studio I general use the metal snare. On
the road I always use an old Radio King, and it's just as live as any
metal drum, yet a lot more musical."
Also before this tour, he began using RIMS because, "the tom-tom stays
floating; there's nothing going into the shell, so you're getting the
most out of the drums."
He is endorsing Paiste Cymbals, using two 21" 2002 crashes, a 20" 2002
crash, a 19" 2002 crash, a 22" 2002 ride, a 22" 2002 China, an 8" 2002
bell and 14" 2002 heavy hi-hats.
He also uses a drum rack invented a couple of Toto tours ago (1980).
"I usually work on the stage set-up for Toto and I like to keep
everything clean on stage. So when it got down to the drums, I wanted
the drums mounted on something that would be real easy to set up and
real sturdy when I play and that would be great for a roadie to change
if anything happened during the show, like my breaking a bass drum
head. So Paul Jamieson and I got together and designed this three-
sided rail which has sleeves where all my cymbal stands and tom-tom
mounts go in, plus, all the microphones and booms clip onto the
outside and go over the drums. There's a banana cable that runs on
the inside for all the mic's, done by our monitor mixer, Shep
Lonsdale, and this way, nothing ever moves. Plus, when you look at
the set, there are no floor stands or mic' stands of any kind. so the
only thing that is not on the rail itself is my bass drum, floor toms,
snare drum, hi-hat and stool. That way, say I broke a bass drum head.
The guys in the crew would just have to go in front, slide the bass
drum right off without moving one tom-tom or anything, and slide in
another bass drum, which can be done in two bars. Plus it's real
sturdy and durable."
And for those who missed the February-March, 1981 issue of Modern
Drummer, Porcaro also works with the Linn LM-1 drum machine with a set
of Synares working from the bass drum pedal, interfaced with the Linn
Machine.
"The machine is fascinating. It's reall drum sounds recorded on
digital chips. Usually you program a beat by hitting buttons. The
way I have it set up, I can sit down with all four limbs and play
spontaneously. Instead of hitting buttons, there's a Synare pad that
I hit and it's the same sound as the button. I've got a little Roland
foot switch so when my foot is down on it, it's a closed hi-hat sound
and when I lift my foot up, its open. Then there's a bass drum, snare
drum and tom-toms. So it can keep repeating or you can do a five
minute tune where every beat is different. I just think that the
future for that is incredible. Obviously, in two years, the sounds
will be better, it will be a lot cheaper and believe it or not,
instead of going to Miami to work for the Bee Gees, all I would have
to do, in theory, is have them call me at my home. They'd put a time
code of a demo of the tune they wanted me to play on, it would come
over the phone lines and the time code would go into my machine. It's
just like what everybody does with computers and telephones. You have
a computer in your hotel, you call the main office, you put your phone
down and all the computer information stores into your home office.
It's the same thing. The time code will come in and go into my Linn
machine, so now I know the tempo and the tune. I sit there at home in
the morning and play my idea and that registers in the Linn Machine.
I call them up, send my time code to them and the Bee Gees have
automatic arms with real drums sticks and real drums that, through a
synthesizer or computer, will go down and whack when you hit
something. So my idea will go into their Linn machine, and from the
outputs it will go to the automated arms and they can hear my idea for
their tune that I heard, exactly, except it will be in perfect time.
That's a whole other thing. With perfect time, there's no emotion
involved, which is the drawback, but the potential is great,
especially for drummers. Just imagine getting up and doing three
dates within a two-hour period of time from you home and having the
rest of the day just to play. Eveybody's whole purpose in doing this
is so they can make money and eventually they can retire and enjoy
music. Realistically, you want to hear a drummer who enjoys, it, but
you also want to buy that computer thing that costs money and you
aren't going to get it playing some club. So you've got to do jive-
ass sessions and people call you a funky person and everything for ten
or twenty years while you do that."
Still, all in all, Porcaro enjoys what he does and makes the best of
it when he doesn't. "No one individual session sticks out in my mind.
They've all been learning experiences and growing experiences.
Probably there were some that stuck out at the time they happened, but
knowing me, I'd sit here for three days trying to remember one. For
me, at least, I think every day has been a learning experience. Every
day there's something, whether you make a discovery about yourself, or
a discovery about other musicians, or the way people play together, or
producers, or groups, or a studio, or engineer--just everything.
There's always a new discovery whether it be bad or good, especially
because there's such a variety of the things I run into every day. Of
course, there are sessions where the music is unbelievable. If you
work for Fagen or Becker, it'll stick in your mind forever. And then
there's also the opposite end of the spectrum where you do something
that is so stupid and horrible and you can't understand why it exists
and why people are spending $150 an hour in the studio with this
person. You don't have to accept it, but if that's your way of making
your living, then you say, 'Yeah.' And it's a great way to make a
living.
"In closing, the best thing for drummers is to have fun. Even if
you're falling apart inside, you have a great outlet to express your
emotions, whether you realize it or not."
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