Who is the most under-appreciated Floyd?

The magic of Pink Floyd goes far beyond scathing lyrics and soulful guitar licks

by Patrick Keller

I bought a drum kit last month. I've always wanted to learn. One of my most vivid memories is being driven down to Kansas City with my friend Matt and his little brother and Dad to spend the weekend, and mimicking the drums to Huey Lewis songs. (What? I was 10.) There's something primal about the drums that causes all of us to tap on steering wheels, desks and whatever's handy, really, that has been a draw for me as long as I can remember.

So why, when the time came to pick an instrument at age 13, did I settle on guitar?

I have absolutely no idea.

No, that's a blatant lie. I settled on it because I wanted something portable. I wanted something sexy. Something I could play at parties and make girls swoon and want to remove pieces of clothing on the spot. Now, there's an apocryphal story about teenage Paul McCartney where he and John used to go to parties and Paul would sit in a corner somewhere, strum his guitar and sing in broken French, hoping to win girls' hearts. Paul claims it didn't work for him, and if he couldn't do it, how could I?

Truthfully, I never really tried. Sure, if I went to a party or someone's house and there was a guitar there, I would pick it up and play something, and hope that someone would notice. (No one ever did.) And I was in jazz band for a year in junior high, but I had been playing for such a short time that I used to turn down my guitar and play Metallica riffs because it was all I could do with any regularity. I only played in public in earnest twice. Once, a high school pal of mine was producing a movie--a low-budget video--and there was a brief shot of me strumming a Stone Temple Pilots song that I had learned in a party scene. (Meaning I learned it and then played it in the party scene, not that I learned it during the party scene, which would have been indescribably boring and wrecked the scene.)

The second time was at a high school jazz concert where I accompanied some friends on a borrowed Spanish-style guitar. (Meaning, I played the guitar, not them... oh, you get the point.) The song was, I'm almost ashamed to admit, "More Than Words," the sappy ballad by the hair band Extreme. (Given the material I chose, it's probably a good thing that I didn't play in public more often. I probably would have ended up playing the Carpenters or Debbie Gibson.) Apparently the two singers were more than a little off-key, but I wouldn't have noticed, so intently was I focusing on my sheet music.

I still play quite frequently, usually when I'm stuck on an article or just had a bad day. I'm really not very good, especially when it comes to soloing, but I don't play for anyone but myself and I get the job done. So the question is, why after all these years did I still feel the need to go out and buy a drum kit?

Now I can honestly say I have no idea. Except that primal call.

Fortunately, I have friends at the local music shop, and they were able to get me a decent kit for almost nothing. So I took it home, set it up and started hitting the thing. And you know what? Drumming is HARD.

You try moving all your limbs at once and doing it in a regular, even fashion. It doesn't help that these limbs have to be doing completely different things at completely different times. At least with the guitar, you really only have two hands to worry about, the smart hand and the dumb hand. The dumb hand strums and the smart hand moves up and down the neck (presumably). It's up to the other guys to keep time.

Drummers get a lot of guff, though. The old musician's joke is, how can you tell a drummer is at your door? The knocking speeds up. (I didn't say it was particularly funny.) Nick Mason reportedly dislikes his playing on Pompeii because his tempo speeds up during some of the numbers. Not that I would ever notice without the aid of a metronome. (Which again leads to the question of why someone without a sense of rhythm would buy drums, but I digress.)

Yeah, drummers get a bad rap. Nick included. Heck, especially Nick. He is, without a doubt, the most under-appreciated member of Pink Floyd. Yet he is the only constant (forgiving "Two Suns in the Sunset" and some others here and there) throughout the band's history. Perhaps this omnipresence leads to a lack of appreciation. Or perhaps his laid-back, jazzy style doesn't draw the eyes the way a cutting guitar solo does.

So when I started drumming, I tried to pick one of the easier Floyd songs to play along with. The first Floyd song I learned to play on guitar was "Comfortably Numb." Instead, this time I tried for "Run Like Hell," because at least there's enough crashing and banging about that if you screw up, you can pass it off as part of the song.

No such luck.

I tried something "easier." "Shine On." Nope. "Another Brick?" Nope again. "Money?" Not a bloody chance.

Finally, I settled on some of the latter-era Who songs, notably "Known No War" and "Eminence Front" from It's Hard, because the drumming is almost absurdly regular and without flourish. Boom-boom-clack. Boom-boom-clack. That sort of thing.

However, even the easy stuff isn't very easy. I'm particularly relieved that no one's around to hear or judge. Even after 12 years of guitar, I'm still self-conscious enough to only play for myself and whatever neighbors might be within earshot. (Mercifully few of those.) There's absolutely no way I'm going to let anyone hear me play the drums, except by accident, for many, many years.

The whole thing has given me a whole new appreciation for not only Nick's playing, but also his bravery and restraint. His drumming is succinct, steady and not flashy. Fellow Floyd fan Mark Brown once pointed out the difference between Nick's playing on The Division Bell and Manu Katche's drumming on Rick Wright's Broken China disc. Now, I'm a fan of Katche, particularly his work with Peter Gabriel, but exchange the two men and you get radically different music. Just like exchanging Kenney Jones for Keith Moon completely alters The Who.

This is not to say that someone's style can't be at least partially duplicated. Rumor has it that at the very beginning of the Momentary Lapse Tour, Mason and Wright were both so shaky in their performing skills that other players had to be brought in to back them up, and, as some suggest, actually play the parts for them. I have seen a video of an early concert from that tour (they were still playing "Echoes" to give you an idea of the timeframe) and I just can't tell if Nick it is actually playing. The drum hits just don't match what I'm hearing, though it's possible that reverb is messing with the sound.

There is also the infamous story of "Mother," a rhythm so complex that a session player had to be brought in to play the drum part (though Nick would ably recreate it on stage), or of the Momentary Lapse session, where the only song I can say for certain is actually Nick is "Yet Another Movie." And in fact, he's actually playing simultaneously with three other drummers.

Does it matter? Actually, yes. Pink Floyd without Nick is a completely different band. The songs without his presence lack a certain warmth and restraint. Roger may have been the brain, and Dave the soul, but Nick was the heart, maintaining a steady pulse, and holding the music together.

I'd like to see you try it.

Patrick Keller (blansten@iname.com) is a freelance writer, who writes weekly columns at Fandom Comics (http://comics.fandom.com/) and Savant (http://www.savantmag.com/), as well as maintaining his own homepage at www.gernworld.com

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