Hi everyone,
Just a very quicks heads up to let you know that my YouTube has rebranded as Pete Cater Jazz Drums, and you can find it here
There's all kinds of tuition material on there as well as performance footage from over more than forty years, so subscribe today and I'll see you on the tube.
'One instinctively knows when something is right', or so went the strapline for a popular brand of sherry in the 1970s. A brand of sherry which was, incidentally, favoured by my close to teetotal parents. This abstemiousness is something I have signally failed to inherit, so maybe following the science of DNA isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Anyway, none of that is important other than for the ineluctable fact that on the night of Wednesday October 20th, 2021, at London's famous 100 Club, I instinctively knew that something was right.
The 'something' in question was the Simon Spillett Big Band. A capacity audience took the roof off (so to speak) that legendary Oxford Street music venue. In over forty years playing jazz to UK audiences (and very occasionally beyond) I can only recall a vanishingly small number of occasions when I've experienced such a dramatic audience reaction. Not even enough occasions to half fill the very smallest of hands.
As soon as the gig was over I knew I had to do something, and that something was to set the wheels in motion to record this great music, these fabulous musicians, and to do so to the highest possible standard.
Simon Spillett is a man I consider to be a true kindred spirit in this sometimes rather strange place we call the music industry. Although a fair few years my junior we have much in common. Primarily we are the sons of talented and wildly enthusiastic musicians (Simon, a trombonist, me, a drummer) men who lived to play, if not played to live. In our house (I couldn't presume to speak for Simon) doing the right thing, earning a 9-5 wage and playing on evenings and weekends was the way it was. My young life was only briefly punctuated by interludes when circumstances took my Dad down the full-time musician pathway. I remember him being very happy, if not quite so well off, during this short chapter in the early 1970s.
So, like Simon, I grew up in an environment where the great jazz and big band records of the time were staple fare. Bear in mind that this was a time when big band music was largely contemporary (Buddy, Woody, Kenton, Thad and Mel etc). It was cool music for hip grown ups who were too hip for the hit parade, long before nostalgia became the default position, with middle aged men burping their way through poorly harmonised Miller stocks, and dressing up like the cast of Dad's Army to boot.
Another thing that unites me and Mr S is that in today's industry (certainly our little corner of it) we are, in a manner of speaking, outsiders. Neither one of us experienced the undoubted privilege of a top UK music college education, a sojourn in the ranks of the National Youth Jazz Orchestra back when it was Bill Ashton's personal fiefdom ("Oh hello, are you still playing like Gene Krupa?" not intended as a compliment I hasten to point out) or, certailny beyond my wildest teenage dreams, being packed off to Berklee or somewhere equally exciting. Without access to these pathways you just have to make your own. Do it the hard way, as the song says.
It's been adequately documented elsewhere that my apprenticeship was to say the least circuitous. My trajectory towards the London jazz scene took me to places like Southport, Prestatyn, Weston-Super-Mare, on and off cruse ships, and in and out of provincial pantomime. I made a bit of money, had a lot of fun, and did a few things that not all that many people have had the opportunity to do along the way, but it was a bit like boarding a plane to Islamabad with the hope that you might just get unintentionally rerouted to Los Angeles.
Another thing that I have in common with Simon is a reverence for straight ahead, no nonsense, exciting, swinging jazz, and this soon to be released album we have created together meets all of those criteria.
So anyway, here's this incredible band playing fantastic arrangements,(and believe you me they are) refreshingly unpretentious, truly evocative, listenable, exciting music, which is in no way likely to feature in the repertoire of the Islington Chin Stroking Ensemble (or are they a Collective? I can never remember which). The band spent much of the Summer of 2022 honing this repertoire on the UK festival circuit. It got tighter and tighter with every show. The insanely talented Mark Nightingale restored the charts to a state of pristine playability, and when we got to Scarborough last September I announced to the band what was going to happen "before the great bandleader in the sky calls the eternal intermission" as I put it at the time.
Records like this don't get made cheaply, certainly not if you want the kind of result Simon and I decided to strive for, and a crowdfunding campaign raised roughly a third of the total production costs. We are hugely grateful to all our contributors but special mention must go to Ray Stephens for his massively generous contribution which has brought my break even point forward by a good few months at the very least.
The music on the record, although at least fifty years old (2023 marks the half century since Hayes's untimely passing) is to all intents and purposes brand new, having never been recorded for commercial release until now.
So in April this year it got recorded, and last Saturday, August 19th we added the finishing touches to the production process. I'm not going to go into detail about the recording process or the fabulous performances, both ensemble and soloists, otherwise when you buy the record (as you will) there will be a terrible sense of deja vu when you read the liner notes.
Here's a brief taste, in case you haven't alrerady heard it, not the final mix but you get the idea.
Available to order from www.petecater.org/store from September 6th.
No one has noticed but the title of my blog has changed.
The never knowingly underpunned 'Catering for the Contemporary Drummer' has given way to 'Music and the School of Life', part of the reason is that the new moniker is the working title of a forthcoming book, a book which will explore in significantly greater detail a lot of the ground covered by this blog in its six year existence.
More significant though is the abandonment of the c word.
Contemporary.
There's very little about me that is genuinely contemporary, other than the fact that I am currently alive, and whilst I don't do the ever so slightly absurd thing of dressing in period clothes, sporting 1930s round glasses and playing a set of drums that looks like an impeccably curated museum exhibit, the fact remains that much of who and what I am as a musician is rooted firmly in the past.
That's not to say that I reject innovation and progress, far from it. Back when I was teaching degree students I would take huge interest in their contemporary drum idols, and I would be lying if I said that I hadn't stolen ideas from drummers like Chris Dave, Tony Royster, Nate Smith and a whole lot more besides. The difference is though, any ideas I snag from the cutting edge end up being reimagined in the context of my existing approach to drums and music. I shan't be making what I consider to be a mistake, a mistake that I have seen middle-aged drummers fall prey to in previous generations, including one or two who I very much admired. The mistake consists of tearing down much of what has been built up over a lifetime of playing, this can present in the form of abandoning long established techniques concepts and approaches on the instrument. Another commonly displayed symptom is the drum set itself, which overnight doubles or triples in size. I often see this as a rejection of a previous way of being, as though what had gone before was suddenly no longer good enough.
Architects and town planners did something similar to the centre of Birmingham in the 1960s, and it didn't age well.
Some of the greatest drummers we have ever seen, Steve Gadd and Buddy Rich to name but two, got their identities early on, but continued to innovate and develop (as Gadd still does of course) and there is a consistency as well as strength of identity which is one of the hallmarks of greatness. The big exception to this of course was Tony Williams, whose playing changed so much in the 70s that there is an 'old testament' and a 'new testament' Tony. Both great, but very different. I know which one I favour,
I'm all for a bit of self reinvention, but it should be subtle, and not the main source of attention. Otherwise it's like bad cosmetic surgery, where you notice the facelift rather than the face itself.
So, the bottom line in all this is that there is a very small percentage of what I do as a musician that could be deemed truly contemporary. An ever-increasing amount of what I play could be classed as original, but that's a whole different ball game. This is the seventh decade in which I have been playing drums, so if by this point I was still merely repeating what I have heard elsewhere (which, don't forget, is how you begin to lean to communicate in any language) I think I would be giving myself a pretty stiff talking to.
In short, I am deeply comfortable in my own musical skin. Confidence, along with a good ear, is a quality I feel blessed to have in adequate quantity. If you know where you are, and at the same time know where you are going, take a moment to be thankful, because there are a great many among us who are not quite so fortunate.
Anyway, here's the plug. To mark my 60th year, and 40 years since my big band first took to the stage, I am putting on a couple of special events.
First of which is The Great Drum Show, which is also not contemporary, and will feature tributes to some of the legends of our instrument, and be made up almost entirely of music dating between the 1930s and 1970s. So it's not contemporary, but it isn't pure nostalgia either. Like all the best live shows featuring historic repertoire (of which there is no better example than Simon Spillett's forensic big band investigation of music by and associated with Tubby Hayes) the primary pull factor is the opportunity to hear classic music performed in the moment, in the flesh, with everything that that entails.
There's a try out show in April, details here. After which we'll either go into the West End, or just go west. The likelihood will be somewhere in between these two polar opposites. It's going to be an interesting process trying out and deciding on repertoire, but as I said the other day, you can't beat having things to do.
Visit my website.
Send an email.
Call my agent.
I can't think of any better way of starting a new year than having a list of plans you want to achieve.
2023 kicks off with me staring at a formidable list of entirely self imposed targets, and whilst it would be the easy option to go out and do the gigs I choose, go to the gym every day, and make a small supplementary income from the stock market (more to do with dumb luck and intuition as opposed to knowledge and skill I should stress) I just can't resist a new challenge, or two, or three, or four.
Top of the list is producing an album or two in association with my great friend and musical kindred spirit Simon Spillett.
First off is the Tubby Hayes big band project featuring an absolute A-list team of British jazz talent performing scores by and associated with the legendary saxophonist. We are getting close to nai!ing down the studio date and the end result promises to be something very special indeed. It is also my intention to set up a boutique record label in order to release what promises to be a significant work.
But a record label with only one release on its catalogue strikes me as an opportunity missed, so in addition to the big band I'm planning a release featuring Simon's great quartet, the other fifty percent of course being Rob Barron and Alex Dankworth. This group has played together so much post pandemic and is on fire to a point where we might invalidate the buildings insurance in one or two venues!
Predictably, big band music crops up several times on my do list.
As restrictions were lifted post lockdown I was surprised and more than a little flattered to be approached by a leading specialist music agency who were seeking to expand their jazz roster.
Coming up with a new format was the next challenge, but it didn't take all that long as it transpired. Having had so much success between 2007 and 2018 in which period the band performed significantly in excess of a hundred concerts featuring music made famous by the one and only Buddy Rich, I began to think of all those other amazing drummers who were the biggest names in the golden age of big bands and jazz.
Names like Gene Krupa, Louie Bellson, Joe Morello, Shelly Manne, Sonny Payne, Art Blakey, Philly Joe Jones, Tony Williams and so many more. The great music associated with these legends includes repertoire from Miles Davis, Dave Brubeck, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, and many more besides.
I might even throw in a little seventies rock and funk. Gadd, Cobham, Garibaldi even some Bonham. Hilarity guaranteed.
So I thought it would be a great idea to pull all this together, and the idea of The Great Drum Show was born. I fully expect that in no time at all we will be embarking on an extended run in the West End, 😁 but to begin with I'm going to be doing a few try out dates. The first of the is at the Arc in Winchester on Saturday April 29th, and you can find more details and a ticket link here.
Also given that 2023 marks the fortieth anniversary of the first outing by the Pete Cater Big Band, I do have a plan for one of two 'autobiographical ' shows revisiting past repertoire, in addition to a few old favourites from those great years with MYJO in the late seventies and early eighties.
Not only that but there are plans for a big band drumming audio educational package, a whole lot of other great gigs with great people and goodness knows what elsr.
OK. Time to stop writing and get on with it.
Visit my website
Send an email
Call my agent
All the best popular music that emerged in the
twentieth century has one unifying, compelling feature. The beat!
Now in a brand new concert package, British drum
star Pete Cater (in 2015 ranked number 5 in the world) brings all these
elements together with a high energy, exciting performance featuring his 16
piece Big Band
In the days before electric guitars achieved global domination there was a golden era of jazz and big bands, and the biggest star instrumentalists of this age were the drummers. Starting with legendary figures including Gene Krupa, Buddy Rich, Louie Bellson, Jo Jones, Sid Catlett and Chick Webb, and followed in later years by Joe Morello, Art Blakey, Shelly Manne, Mel Lewis, Sonny Payne and so many others, these drummers were bona fide stars of music, generating the all-important, era-defining ‘swing’ as well as being show-stopping, star soloists in their own right. Then everything changed and drummers were relegated to the back of the stage, sitting between banks of guitar amplifiers.
But now the drums are back out front. The Great
Drum Show celebrates not only the greatest hits of the greatest hitters of this
golden age, but also includes the all-important ‘groove’, the hallmark of more
modern times.
And before you ask, don’t worry; we’re not
returning to the dark days of the 30 minute drum solo!
This is the only show of its kind playing anywhere
in the world today. It is a must for music fans of all ages, and if you’ve ever
picked up a drum stick, or even thought about doing so, the Great Drum Show is
absolutely unmissable.
About this time forty years ago, for reasons that to this day I still can't fathom, I had assembled and begun rehearsing my very first big band. Probably an even more unusual activity for a nineteen year old back then than now.
Anyway, by early 1983 we had a few gigs in the diary, and here from those early days is a live recording of a no-nonsense, swinging John LaBarbera arrangement of Errol Garner's composition 'One Good Turn'.
In search of repertoire I had obtained American music catalogues that came with demo recordings of certain items, and this chart was among them. On hearing it I was almost certain that I had heard Buddy Rich's band play this on their UK tour in early 1982, and many years subsequently I found this to be correct.
I've always been intrigued by those charts that the great touring big bands played for a while but never got round to recording. I find playing these scores by some distance more rewarding than playing arrangements which are instantly recognisable (although that's absolutely fine too!). Over the years I've gathered together a great many scores that fall into this category, and one of these days I'll do something with them.
Similarly, the recording scheduled for early next year with Simon Spillett's great big band will run along similar lines, as it will feature big band arrangements by and associated with Tubby Hayes that were never recorded for commercial release.
To me there's a special kind of artistic merit derived from bringing lost music back to life. It's a whole different ball game from playing 'Splanky' for the millionth time, though let me reiterate once again that there is absolutely nothing wrong with doing this and it should be encouraged where and whenever possible. Also, as a side note, given the somewhat dubious and sometimes rather sinister lyrical content contained within certain strands of contemporary popular music, I'd lay a shade of odds that no one was ever moved to go out on to the street and stab someone fatally on account of having played 'The Atomic Mister Basie', but that's another discussion for another time and place.
Anyway, next year marks the fortieth anniversary of my first adolescent fumbling as a novice big band leader, and you can bet that this momentous occasion (for me, if not for you) will not pass unnoticed. I'm intending to include a sprinkling of 'autobiographical' music in our concert on July 14th at the Wigan Jazz Festival, as well as other dates currently under negotiation.
The band parts for 'One Good Turn' were lost many years ago when I foolishly loaned a pile of music to a friend and fellow musician who was running a community band. Happily I did recently unearth the full score, so with the help of a magnifying glass, lots of coffee and a similar amount of patience, I might just fire up Finale and do a re-write.
In case I don't, here's a recording from 1983.
There are many significant dates that live in my memory. Amongst them is November 27th 1992, as it was on that day that I first turned the key in the door of 59 Boreham Holt, Elstree, and in that moment became a 'London based' musician.
Last weekend marked 30 years since that most momentous of personal milestones, and it's a decision that I consider to be the biggest, and ultimately best throw of the dice I ever took.
That's not to say that I had very much to complain about careerwise prior to the big move, far from it. In fact, the first thing I did on arriving at my new home was to unpack my Grundig portable television in time to watch myself playing on that day's edition of the BBC's hugely popular lunchtime show 'Pebble Mill'. The show, playing with West End star vocalist Dave Willetts, had been taped on the Tuesday evening of that week, and I couldn't help thinking that a telly appearance on my completion date had to be a good omen. It was, even if things got off to a rather slow start.
Before I go any further I should stress that my career prior to heading for London had built solidly through my twenties. I'd been in the Midland All-Stars, the top function band in the area doing all the big civic and corporate events in and around Birmingham. I'd played with all the Midlands' best jazz musicians (and very good a great many of them were too) and in the couple of years before relocating, in addition to a couple of tours with the aforemaentioned Dave Willetts had been on the road backing showbiz vetrans including Ken Dodd and Max Bygraves, as well as working with several British rock and roll era solo singers, all of whom had come to prominence in the days before self contained groups were the default industry setting: names like Craig Douglas, Jess Conrad, and arguably most memorably, Susan Maughan. All of the above interspersed with spells on cruise ships, in holiday camps and provincial pantomime had kept a pretty full diary, but I was ambitious to see how much further I might progress.
As mentioned earlier, my career prior to the big move had included occasional TV and radio, although the one missing piece was records. An album by the MYJO from 1980 was about the extent of my credits at that point: this was a box I was desperate to tick and I thought being in London might shorten the odds. It did, albeit after three years and a few unfortunate occasions where a lack of loyalty led to me being sidelined for players who were better established.
Getting established was the biggest challenge. Heading to London at nearly 30 years of age I had none of the usual peer group support that comes from being enrolled in a London music college or joining the National Youth Jazz Orchestra. A number of my younger friends did, though it took a while to reconnect with many of them, and indeed the ranks of NYJO would be shamelessly pillaged when it came time to form my big band in the early weeks of 1995. Though this was quite a way off yet, the idea of being in a position to assemble a London based big band was already in my mind. Having had a bit of success with a couple of bands I had led in the Midlands I had a acquired a whole pile of music: all I needed was the players.
So Christmas came and went, I had done one gig with the Midland All-Stars at Lancaster Gate and then headed off to the idyllic vistas of Mansfield for five weeks of panto. It was January 1993 and I had a completely empty diary, a sizeable mortgage and about three useful phone numbers. The first couple of months of 1993 were largely spent commuting backwards and forwards to do gigs around the Midlands with existing contacts. Especially useful at this point was pianist Bruce Boardman who I had met a year or so previously. Although based in Milton Keynes at that time, Bruce had established connections on the London scene, and this would facilitate the opening of a number of doors further down the line, but for the moment progress was frustratingly slow.
Salvation came in the form of the resting musicians' friend, a rehearsal band, or 'blow' band as they are commonly known. As a result of the Dave Willetts tour immediately prior to completing on my flat I had become acquainted with Don Morgan. Don was a great trumpet player, a proper old school musician, was extremely well-liked, equally well-connected, and very usefully for me as it tuned out, did a bit of fixing.
Don's first favour was recommending me for a Monday night blow band (led by the legendary Colonel Bob Wheal), whose drummer had gone off to do the world cruise on the QE2. This gave me a regular weekly playing opportunity for many weeks to come, and whilst unpaid, presented a golden opportunity to get to know a lot of musicians. The Colonel's band had a frequently changing personnel, but on any given night you might happen across studio legends with careers going back to the 1950s, or former Ted Heath sidemen. In addition, current London heavyweight players would occasionally turn up, one among whom was the hugely respected pianist, musical director and arranger Trevor Brown, of whom more later.
So the days got longer and sunnier, both literally and metaphorically, and apart from a brief and deeply uncomfortable attack of shingles things were looking pretty positive. Part of my routine was to scour The Stage, Loot, and any other publication where potential playing opportunities might be sourced. Lots of miles were driven and hours wasted on originals bands who were always 'just about to get signed', and whilst the pop industry might have provided a career pathway if the cards had turned differently, truthfully my heart wasn't really in it. Much time was spent in sweaty, railway arch rehearsal studios, time which yielded a small number of well-intentioned but inevitably poorly paid gigs.
The Stage did yield one worthwhile lead workwise though. A bandleader/agent with whom I had become acquainted on a couple of brief trips on the QE2 a few years earlier was advertising for musicians for the house band at the New Empire Rooms, Tottenham Court Road. I called him, he remembered me and offered me the job there and then. It was three nights a week for average money. mostly backing singers and comedians as well as playing for a floorshow. The theme at the venue was 'Cockney Cabaret' as coachloads of hapless, unsuspecting tourists would be bussed in as part of their package holiday to London.
Not the greatest gig in the world by any means, but it was regular, it was in 'town' and I had a foothold. After about three months is wasn't working out terribly well. The venue manager, a deeply unpleasant man called Gerry, considered it entirely within his remit to demand that the house band played unpaid overtime to entertain his invited personal guests, who he sought to influence and impress. My antipathy towards exploitation of musicians has been more than adequately documented on this blog and elsewhere, and soon enough was enough. It all came to a head when the keyboard player and vocalist caved in. They agreed to play on while the three remaining band members were left waiting to break down our gear and leave. I walked on stage, packed my cymbals, drove home, and phoned the agent to hand in my notice, which was grudgingly accepted. The agreed two weeks passed by and nothing was coming in. My final night was Saturday July 3rd. Even mini cabbing would be better than this I ruefully concluded.
On Friday July 2nd, at about 10 am the phone rang. A voice at the other end said,
"Hello Pete, you don't know me, my name is Roger Richards. I got your number from Trevor Brown. I'm sorry about the short notice but would you be available to do a gig with Val Doonican tomorrow night in Camberley?" Waking up rapidly, I drove over to Roger's house in Amersham, talked through the show and the deal was done. I arranged to leave the Empire Rooms a day earlier than planned, acquitted myself adequately in Camberley and got offered all of Val Doonican's gigs. It was well paid, and regular, but only involved about five or six gigs a month, which was enough to pay my bills and leave sufficient free time to pursue other opportunities, which suddenly started to come in from several different directions.
One door closes, as the saying goes. It was getting this gig that put me over the line. I started to become established, and one thing led to another. In a way I was fortunate that there were a lot of great pro drummers about my own age who had ten years start on me in London, and were super busy all the time. The result of which was that I was competing against a lot of players who were quite a lot younger than me, and all that practical, real world experience gave me a competitive edge.
Don Morgan turned up trumps again, lining me up as first call dep with Andy Ross's band, famous from the pre Strictly version of Come Dancing. Terry Jenkins was the regular drummer, and was often busy with James Last.
Duncan Waugh fixed me up with a memorable panto featuring Rod, Jane and Freddie from 'Rainbow'. Being up the road in St Albans meant staying at home, not spending weeks in a provincial B & B, and finishing early enough to squeeze in later gigs. Trumpet playing friend and occasional houseguest Mark White managed to get me an in with the BBC Big Band the following year, and by late 1994 I was working for about 45 different people; some would give me one or two gigs a week, others one or two a year. Being a decent reader and stylistically adaptable was a big help through this period.
A blow band start up led to a weekly jazz residency courtesy of saxophonist Gerry Gibbs. This gig would run for three years in the salubrious setting of the since demolished Willesden Green library. It was a great quartet with John Horler on piano and Steve Pearce on bass; top players who were busy, and their frequent deps read like a who's who of the London jazz scene. It was one such dep, bassist Harvey Weston, who put me up for a regular touring jazz package show produced by the notorious Keith (Hefty Jazz) Smith and starring the fabulous Elaine Delmar. This was my entree into top tier British mainstream jazz. We worked constantly, and my epic solos started to get me a reputation and a following. This gig started in the early weeks of 1995, at the same time that my big band gathered for its first ever rehearsal at the fondly remembered Ruislip golf centre.
By 1995 I had started to get a clear view of the drummer I had dreamed of being since I was about five or six years old. That drummer was still some way off in the distance, but the seemingly far fetched childhood pipe dreams were actually beginning to look as though they might just be attainable. Sticking to my guns was possibly never more important, especially as financial temptation was about to sail into view.
The following year the West End show scene beckoned. The promise of regular money would have come at an artistic cost, and had I gone down that route, which necessitated an extended UK theatre tour before going into town, everything that I had built up in my jazz and big band niche would have had to go on the back burner. So I said no.
By mid 1997 the big band was well established and pulling crowds. In an attempt to get us out of the Sunday afternoon niche I had applied for a £4,500 grant to record the increasing amount of original music we were playing. On Saturday July 19th that year I received notification that my application had been successful. The moment I opened that letter I could see the next big door opening, and so it did with the release of 'Playing With Fire' in the spring of 1998. Five years down the line, from a standing start with little more than a modicum of talent and ambition, everything was falling into place as I had hoped, planned and imagined.
So a huge gamble paid off. Not all at once, but slowly and steadily, and continues to pay dividends three decades on. The social media post that inspired this saunter down memory lane was very much to do with ambition and self-belief. Don't be afraid or ashamed to put your head over the parapet, and particularly, don't ever let other people with other agendas talk you out of that which you might be able to achieve. Save yourself for positive people, and let the rest take care of themselves.
2023 approaches. With it come my 60th birthday and 40th anniversary of my first gigs as a big band leader (recordings of a few moments from that first concert in 1983 can be found on my YouTube channel). Also the new year brings with it at least three of the most ambitious projects I have ever undertaken. I shall bore you with all the details at great length elsewhere, but as a taster there's a big band recording project, a brand new big band concert package, and at long last, a big band minus drums educational package. A couple of further album releases with smaller groups are slated for late 2023/early 2024. Plans are great things to make. There's nothing quite like having stuff to look forward to.
I'm hugely fortunate to be in a place where I can choose what I do and don't do now. The old saying that fortune favours the brave is undoubtedly more than just an old saying, and sometimes I wonder what happened to all those originals bands.
