Tag Archives: John Bonham

Kashmir – Led Zeppelin

Led Zeppelin were formed out of Jimmy Page’s desire to create a supergroup, a behemoth, a world-conquering monster that could cast all opposition aside, and everything they did thereafter was done while conscious of the fact that they were Led Fucking Zeppelin, Destroyer of Worlds.

So Kashmir, then, is the self-consciously epic centrepiece of their most self-consciously epic record, Physical Graffiti, a double album from 1975, roughly the halfway point of their 11-year career.

Eight minutes is not an eternity, even by the standards of rock music, but it’s long enough for a band to develop quite a head of steam, and Kashmir does depend for its effect partly on accumulated momentum. Yet it’s far from being a mere musical bulldozer; Zeppelin always swung far too much to rely on power only.

The song’s principle motor is the relationship between Bonham’s simple drum pattern in 4/4 and Page’s exotic guitar riff in 3/8. Bonham maintains a common-time pattern, with a ‘heartbeat’ semiquaver bass drum (albeit one that begins on the one, rather than the semiquaver before the one), while Page’s guitar climbs from A to D and then after four bars (if you’re following the guitar riff) or three (if you’re counting with Bonham) the pattern repeats itself. The tension between the two parts – the constant rising and falling of the guitar, chord changes and emphases falling in different places in each bar – leaves the listener just a little unsure of where they are.

But then we come to John Paul Jones: Led Zeppelin’s secret weapon. In the band’s more ambitious pieces, Jones’s role was to provide the colour. As the band only very rarely used name session musicians (Boogie with Stu was a notable exception: “Stu” is Rolling Stones pianist Ian Stewart), Jones’s resourcefulness was often tested. In the case of Kashmir, he wrote string parts for both orchestral players and Mellotron, which he played himself. The Mellotron strings are audible in the bridges (“All I see turns to sand”, etc.) over the F and G chords – they’re the bits that sound most Arabian (geography not being the band’s strong point, or perhaps they didn’t know what Himalayan music sounded like). Live, Jones combined both parts on his Mellotron, played a bass line on the organ pedals and ditched his bass guitar early. He was the band’s most musicianly member: a former choirboy (rumours persist that at the height of Zep’s success he considered quitting the band to become choirmaster at Winchester) who can play about 17 instruments, and who played with a discipline and solidity that underpinned the rawer, sloppier virtuosity of Page and Bonham. He’s always there in the background, doing something vital but unshowy.

But what everyone remembers about Kashmir, ultimately, is the power of Page’s DADGAD-tuned riff and Bonham’s drums. They are what make the song one of Zeppelin’s crowning achievements, of which Page, Plant and Jones are all justly proud.

P&P
Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, both pulling what I like to think of as “the Led Zeppelin face”

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The shuffle

I started my current job a little over two years ago, going from three days a week up to four after a few months. From next week I’m going to be working full time, which is going to leave me a little less time for blogging. I’ve got a couple of options, I think: reduce the word count and the attendant research and fact checking that goes into one of these posts (it typically takes between 90-120 minutes to put one of these together, depending on how many books I have to search through to find exact quotes and so on) or go down to one post a week. I’m a bit loath to do that, so I think slightly reduced word counts of between 300-600 words per piece is going to be a better solution (nowadays I regularly reach 1000 words for substantial pieces like the Holst thing I did the other day).

And I’ll probably just do more pieces where I just shoot from the hip about whatever happens to be in my head that day.

Like this piece to follow.

The shuffle

What is a shuffle anyway?
When you google “songs shuffles drums” or similar, you’ll come across drummer’s forums where the participants suggest a bunch of songs, at least half of which aren’t shuffles. Not even nearly. A whole discussion of the quality of Talking Heads’ version of Take Me to the River passed before someone piped up to say, Hey guys, it’s straight eights, not a shuffle.

It does bring home how slippery some of these concepts are. For example, one drummer suggested Killer Queen, so I went and took a listen, sceptically (Roger Taylor’s style tended towards stiffness). It’s an interesting case, as Roger Taylor is decidedly not shuffling. In his usual ham-handed way, he’s playing big straight quarters. The shuffle feeling comes from Freddie Mercury’s piano playing – not enough where you feel, “Yes, ah ha! A shuffle!” But enough to introduce some swing into the track.

Drummers love their complex half-time shuffles
Jeff Porcaro’s work on Boz Scaggs’s Lido Shuffle and Toto’s Rosanna, Bonham on Fool in the Rain, Bernard Purdie on Home at Last and Babylon Sisters. These are beats drummers continue to deconstruct and learn how to perform. With good reason – they’re awesome, those ghost strokes on the snare (present in all four beats) in particular.

Country would be nowhere without it
Of course, the shuffle is most associated with the blues (in a pub near you right now, some guys are cranking out Sweet Home Chicago, with varying degrees of success), but I learned all about the shuffle by playing bass on country songs and watching drummers do what I couldn’t: alternating right and left feet (bass on one, hat on two, bass on three, hat on four) while playing a shuffle rhythm on the snare drum with brushes. I’m getting there, but it’ll be a while yet before you see me playing any kind of shuffle it in front of an audience.

Motown
You might associate Motown principally with a big stomping drum style (something like Reach Out, I’ll be There, say). To which I’ll add, sure. But also: My Guy. Baby Love. Where Did Our Love Go. How Sweet it is to be Loved by You. Shuffles all.

bernardpurdie
Bernard Purdie, master of the half-time shuffle

Spoon @ Shepherd’s Bush, 07/11/14

I’ve written before here about how much I love Jim Eno, the drummer from Texan indie-rock veterans Spoon. Watching them from a decent vantage point at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire last night gave me a little bit more insight into how he does what he does, and why it hits me so hard. But that was the least of it. It’s the interplay between all the members of the band that makes them so vital. Britt Daniel’s songs are elliptical and sometimes seem like fragments of bigger works, with changes that seem arbitrary the first few times you hear them, so it’s the band that supply the connective tissue that keeps it all together and functioning.

Firstly to deal with Eno, he’s got a few cool tricks. The maracas-as-drumsticks thing I’ve got to try; it gives a subtle 16th-note feel to an 8th-note pattern when he does it. Maybe it’d just be messy in the hands of the unpracticed. He played at least one song open handed, hitting the hats with his left hand (Rent I Pay). When he plays 16th notes on the hats with one hand, he’s got a great feel. The more I watched him, the more I thought of Charlie Watts. Ringo Starr’s key drum was the snare. John Bonham’s the kick. Charlie Watts’s and Jim Eno’s is the hi hat. Surprisingly, given the huge drum sound he often has on record, Eno’s playing is fairly light. He doesn’t use rimshots to choke the snare and get more volume and top end. He doesn’t hit from the shoulder; it’s an economical movement of the elbow and wrist, nothing more. His bass drum work suggests and R&B and soul influence.

Notably, he was the only band member not introduced by name by Britt Daniel, who just commented at one point to the audience, “Jim’s good tonight, isn’t he?” – Spoon members come and go, with Eno and Daniel the only ever-presents, and the other guys probably a bit younger (Eno’s 48!). Probably Daniel felt that Eno needed no introduction.

But he’s only one part of the collective, great as he is. There’s a lot of talent on the stage when Spoon play. Rob Pope, the bassist, is always in the pocket, providing solid low end without swamping things or getting in the way. Any contribution he makes beyond the obvious is always telling. OK, sure, that makes him the archetypal bass player, but every band should be so lucky as to have one.

Meanwhile, Alex Fischel and Eric Harvey both switch between guitar, keyboards and percussion, sometimes in the same song. Both play all three with a sure touch, whether playing squonky guitar solos, a pseudo harp solo on the keys or a Motown tambourine pattern. Their versatility is key to the band’s on-stage power, which was sometimes more telling on the quietest songs. The touches the band added during the second half of The Ghost of You Lingers made it one of the evening’s most thrilling moments, proving the group are just as effective playing off Britt Daniel’s surprisingly adept falsetto vocal as they are stomping through the Motown-esque You Got Yr Cherry Bomb or the late-Beatles-ish Don’t Make Me a Target.

If it sounds like I’m minimising Daniel’s contributions, I don’t mean to. Obviously they’re his songs and it’s his voice that puts them over, but Spoon are a band I love because of the ensemble playing, and last night – on the last night of the tour, at their biggest ever headlining show in Europe – they tore it up. It was great to see.

spoon
Britt Daniel, some other show

 

Underrated Drum Tracks I Have Loved, Part 4

8) A National Acrobat – Black Sabbath

Bill Ward played heavy. That much I think we can all agree on. But Ward, like all the architects of heavy metal drumming (Bonham, Paice, Baker, Appice, et al.) grew up hearing and emulating big band and dance band drummers (Gene Krupa, Buddy Rich, Butch Miles, Jo Jones etc.), as well as rock and R&B drummers from the era when drummers tended to play swing patterns on hi-hat and ride rather than straight eights.

It should hardly need saying that while there are a lot of qualities that are universal in playing the drums (any instrument, for that matter), the emphasis in heavy rock and metal on power and aggression is not present in dance-band styles. But Ward and Bonham and co. were still products of their era, and they retained a swinginess that their later followers have mostly lost. On A National Acrobat from Sabbath’s fifth album Sabbath Bloody Sabbath Ward responds to the inherent groove of Tony Iommi’s riff with one of the must supple performances in all of heavy rock, with snatched 4-stroke rolls (in 16th notes) and 8th-note triplets fills at the end of the vocal phrases. He sticks to this formula for all of the first section, but it never gets boring; it’s too well played and the groove is addictive. It just carries you with it.

The same feel is maintained through the next section (starting about 2.15 when Ozzy sings ‘You gotta believe me’), but with variations now. Ward displaces the first backbeat in each bar to the ‘and’ (one-and-two-AND-three-and-FOUR-and). It’s a well-timed switch, just changing one little element to keep listeners hooked.

There’s one more verse after Iommi’s solo then the basic groove changes significantly at about 4.50 to a prototype of the ‘galloping’ Iron Maiden rhythm. It’s loose compared to how Maiden or later thrash bands would have played it, but it sounds cool: Sabbath were never about how tight the band played. They were about the feeling between Iommi (far more than Jimmy Page, the inventor of heavy metal guitar) and the rhythm section of Bill Ward and Geezer Butler, schooled in jazz, swing and R&B but still the definition of what ‘heavy’ is in rock music.

bill ward