Tag Archives: Keith Moon

Underrated Drum Tracks I Have Loved 2016, Part 5 – Fearless by Pink Floyd

Everyone has their own opinion on what makes a great drummer. Some revere Keith Moon for his energy, his invention. They hear passion and a love of music in his gonzo style. His playing does absolutely nothing for me. In fact it drives me up the wall. I hear ego and a wilful deafness to the needs of the song. It makes me physically uncomfortable. I’m tense and on edge whenever anyone puts the Who on, and it’s all Moon.

My kind of drummer says less and means more. Breathes. Leaves spaces. It was a lesson hard learned in my own playing. When I listen back at my own early drumming performances on recordings – and god help me, some of them have been released – the thing that mortifies me most is the overplaying, the desire to fill every space with something, whether necessary or not. So maybe my Moon antipathy is a reflection of what I hate most in my own drumming.

Pink Floyd’s Nick Mason, around the time of Meddle, became one of the kings of saying less and meaning more. He’s never been a flashy drummer (although he was a master of atmosphere), but even so, as Floyd’s music being more conventionally song based, Mason simplified his playing to suit the songs his bandmates were writing.

Fearless is a great case in point. It’s one of those great slow-groove songs that Floyd did so well. At bottom, Mason is just playing boom-boom bap. But it’s the little things that really make the song: his gorgeous ride cymbal sound, that rat-a-tat snare fill in the verses after every second line, the occasional extra bass-drum stroke, knowing when to switch between the hats and ride and, especially, that cymbal crash in time with the snare when Dave Gilmour’s ascending guitar riff lands back on an open G chord. That cymbal hit alone would allow a Floyd fan to know what song Mason was playing if all they could hear was the drums on their own.

Asked about Mason’s playing, Gilmour once said, “Nick’s the right man for the job”. That’s exactly it. He was. Mason suited Pink Floyd and Pink Floyd suited him. Further, Mason had the ability to play for the song while also creating instantly recognisable, even iconic, drum parts. That’s not easy, and Mason did it repeatedly. Fearless is just the example we’re looking at today. I could as easily have chosen Time, Shine On You Crazy Diamond or Wish You Were Here.

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Mason in the early 1970s. Note the see-through perspex kit with two bass drums

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My Mathematical Mind/Everything Hits at Once – Spoon; or Jim Eno, an appreciation

Reading this blog back this morning, I note that I was on rather more combative form than normal when I wrote it last night. Long-time readers may know that I have a standing rule only to write about things that I like and can honestly praise here. I try and avoid cheap slams and cynical takedowns; doing that kind of thing isn’t difficult, it’s not fun and it doesn’t teach anyone anything. But for whatever reason, the following piece contains a couple of mentions of things I don’t like and in places it has the kind of tone you adopt when grandstanding over a pint with your friends, exaggerating your opinions for comic effect.That’s the place a lot of music writing starts from these days, but again, it’s something I usually try to avoid. Just to clarify, then, Messrs Brian Eno, Keith Moon and Dave Fridmann are not among my favourites in their respective fields, and let’s just leave it at that. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal next time. In the meantime, on with the show!

I imagine Eno with Eastwoodian taciturnity, saying all he means by merely squinting his eyes and spitting on the sheriff’s shoes. We townspeople don’t know who he is, but he sure cleaned up that song.

The Eno in the above quote is not Brian Eno. I care nothing for Brian Eno, I’m afraid.

The above quote is actually referring to Spoon’s Jim Eno. It’s from the long-departed Stylus‘s list of their 50 Greatest Rock Drummers. Stylus was something of a rival to Pitchfork back in the early to mid-noughties, albeit one that took a far more poptimistic view of the contemporary music scene. Yeah, it was a somewhat silly list, a bone thrown by the editor to his more rock-focused writers, allowing them the space to gush about Neal Peart, Zach Hill and Yoshimi P-We. But Andrew Iliff got Jim Eno right. He is a drummer of the most gloriously no-bullshit kind.

Case studies:

My Mathematical Mind (Gimme Fiction)
The first Spoon song I heard, and still probably my favourite. Built atop a simple, hypnotic, addictive piano groove, the song leaves huge wide-open spaces that a drummer could go totally hog wild in, if they so choose. With admirable discipline, Eno refuses the invitation. Instead he plays a sort of 6/8 version of a motorik beat: bass drum on every beat except the four. At the first chorus (‘Planning for the apocalypse is’), he adds a semi-quaver stutter to the kick drum just before each snare stroke and begins playing that mean-as-snakes backbeat as a flam. It’s brutally simple but it gives the song a physical impact that’s so vanishingly rare in recorded music these days that I get a little wistful listening to it.

The drums sound so good – powerful, spacious, uncompressed – I wondered at first whether my old favourite Steve Albini was responsible for the recording. Nope. The engineers were in fact Mike McCarthy and Jim Vollentine (…Trail of Dead, Patty Griffin) and Jim Eno himself; he’s a trained electrical engineer, a former microchip designer and part-time record producer, if it’s fair to call someone who produced seven records in 2013 and 10 in 2012 a part-timer. Trust a drummer to care about drum sounds. All the more puzzling and perturbing, then, that Spoon made their new record with famed butcherer of drum sounds and all-round sonic war criminal Dave Fridmann.

Everything Hits At Once (Girls Can Tell)
In which Spoon do Fleetwood Mac doing blue-eyed soul, and Eno does one of the most convincing Mick Fleetwood impressions in rock music. By which I mean he plays that two-and-four, heartbeat-kick-drum thing that Fleetwood made a virtual trademark on Dreams and returned to over and again in the Buckingham/Nicks era.

The song is still taut and crackling with tension in characteristic Spoon fashion, but it’s also one of the group’s sweetest moments, and Eno’s accompaniment is spot-on. He’s a drummer with a solid instinctual grasp of what to leave in and what to leave out, something that the great rock drummers of every era have all known (this is why Keith Moon is not a great rock drummer; if you disagree, you may be reading the wrong blog), and this track is a great example. Most drummers love hitting cymbals, but Eno’s use of the brass here is notably spare, essentially confining crashes to the entrances to and exits from choruses, and one halfway through each of them, and avoiding the ride cymbal entirely. Again, discipline.

I haven’t been listening to Spoon for very long, but Jim Eno is already a favourite, and the more I hear, the more impressed with him I am.

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Jim Eno, jaunty smiling barely masking his capacity for ultraviolence