The Trouble With Stardom

2016 has been a memorable year for all sorts of reasons.
Personally, ever the nonconformist, I've had a great year, just like 2015 before it, and plans are in place to keep forging ahead in 2017. So ambitious it makes you sick.

As we head towards the beginning of yet another journey round the sun this January 1st I am minded to think of just how many well known faces have taken their last curtain call in the preceding twelvemonth. This is quite possibly the single most hot topic de nos jours; social media is littered with asinine comments along the lines of "2016, go and do one". As surely as the route of the orbit is predetermined we know that it will be the beginning of the last go round for a great many more; some household names, others known only to their immediate family and circle of friends. Whichever category you fall into you might consider resolving to make 2017 a year of achievement. It doesn't matter what, and indeed you may not yet know what it is you seek to achieve, but keep your eyes and ears open as much as you can and before too long your goal will make itself known. This seemingly uncommonly high celebrity death rate should serve as a salutory reminder to all of us to stop putting things off, be a 'doer' not a 'talker', and if you are harbouring unfulfilled ambitions try to do one small thing every day to take even the tiniest step towards achieving your goals. Make a list. Keep a diary. Chart your progress. It's easy.

Another strategy I began to deploy far later in life than I should have is to take as much responsibility as is reasonably possible for what is going on in your world. Obviously precious things like good health and prosperity can not be absolutely controlled, but there are a great many areas in which we can take charge a little more. Now and then I will get the occasional student who has every excuse in the book why they haven't  advanced as players or in the industry: not enough time, nowhere to practice, not enough money, not living in the right area, not knowing the right people and so on. Believe you me I've heard them all and more besides.

As the years have passed I have slowly realised that we have more control over our destinity than we would perhaps like to admit to. The easy cop-out is to blame circumstances and other people, rather than actually grasping the nettle (not always easy) to make changes. We live in a peaceful nation which offers both huge opportunity and a safety net if you're unlucky enough to suffer misfortune. Here in the UK the sky really is the limit, arguably more so than anywhere else in the world. That's worth bearing in mind. If you can make it here you can make it anywhere, to paraphrase Mr Sinatra. I'll come back to him later.

The days when a self-selecting elite had supreme control in all sorts of areas of society may finally be heading towards the dustbin of history where they belong. All my professional life I have been a busy, working musician and I managed to establish myself without the advantages of family wealth or nepotism. After a delayed, slow and haphazard start (another story altogether) I managed to make some reasonable headway in the industry and by my mid 30s was busy as well as having a successful band which had forged a decent reputation on the UK jazz scene.

Then everything changed. I started to harness the opportunities provided by the internet explosion. It didn’t happen overnight, it was very definitely a few small steps in the first instance. Some videos that had been captured a few years previously found their way on to Youtube and I started to connect with new people in the UK and further afield.

The launch of the lamented Drummer magazine  (another loss in the past year) presented me with the opportunity of a feature interview as I was doing a project that was deemed 'trendy' at the time. Further web surfing alerted me to the existence of the UK National Drum Fair; a visit to which reunited me with my old friend Ian Palmer, who asked me to participate in a spectacular concert the following September. The same day Jason Keyte confirmed an offer for my big band to appear in concert in East Anglia the following April. On that occasion another old friend Jack Parnell was in the audience, and a recommendation from Jack led to a most fruitful business relationship with Derek Boulton who set me up with a tour headlining theatres across the UK.

All this because I bought my first computer aged 38.
The road to world domination started with a dial up modem.

You may not be seeking worldwide fame and wealth although I hope some of you are, (one friend is determined to win an academy award; talk about aiming high!) If you are then please don't be misled by reality TV; the deal is that you have to be able to do something, ideally to an extremly high  standard. Otherwise, when you have the mansions, the cars and enough bling to sink a ship, if the money won't stop rolling in what on earth are you going to do now that all your goals have been achieved?

This is what is so great about being a player. No matter how far you advance in the industry there's always something left to achieve. Every day someone else is coming up with the latest new idea (as you should be too!) and the possibilities continue to grow exponentially. Quite a while ago I realised that this is what truly motivates me, and having risen to a position in the industry where I am able to share this knowledge with fellow players the world over is truly the most delicious payback for a fair amount of hard work invested up front with no guarantee of a return.

To put it another way there's no such thing as 'good enough'. You try your best on any given day and hope to improve upon it next time around. Truly we are only as good as our last performance, although in the interests of positivity I prefer to be as good as my next performance.

The recent sad passing of George Michael, amongst the latest in an uncommonly large number of well known faces to have passed during the course of this year, actually got me thinking whether international superstardom is all it's cracked up to be. I neither met him nor worked with him though a great many acquaintances did so. He wrote a significant number of iconic pop songs which I neither especially like nor dislike. During my 'professional apprenticship' in the mid to late 80s these songs were much covered in the line of work and many of them will be forever associated with holiday camps, cruise ships, and provincial pantomimes, and playing them was never objectionable.

Since Michael's untimely passing much has been made of his deeply admirable clandestine generosity and philanthropy by stealth. Without doubt there are many more revelations still to come and it is deeply to his credit that all of this giving was done from behind a veil of secrecy. Contrast that with the self regarding alignment to fashionable causes displayed by international irritants such as Bono and Geldof with tiresome regularity. Their conceit in the supremacy of their own opinions and the regularity of same makes me think of the wonderful and sincerely missed AA Gill's description of a well-known Britsh actress as a 'three flush floater'. The 'luvvies' as the popular press delight in dubbing them, do love to hand down virtuous commandments from the ratified and gilded  seclusion of the hills of Primrose and Notting. Sometimes I can't help wishing they would use their influence in a more positive way, perhaps away from the glare of publicity. Either that or just stick to acting. Yes, you Benedict. Your opinions are of no greater worth than a cab driver. Probably a whole lot less come to think of it. Don’t do good in order merely to look good, or worse, make a pitch to join Vicky B on the honours list.

Fame is one of those qualities like expertise; it’s almost invariably bestowed upon us by others rather than self proclaimed (unless you can afford a great publicist). Working overseas recently brought an interesting insight.
"Let me introduce a famous drummer", said the CEO of an internationally renowned musical instrument company in a hotel bar a few months ago. I was amused and flattered but at the same time intrigued  by how some of the people present behaved differently when they thought I was some sort of a 'big deal'; the same people I had passed by every day for a week in the lobby or the taxi line without raising an eyebrow were suddenly hanging on my every word. Funny thing, perception.

The obituary columns of the media have been littered over the years with obsequies for those who have risen to the top only to find themselves unable to deal with the consequences of stardom. I hesitate to refer to these consequences as pressures as there are many who take worldwide acclaim in their stride, but fame is one of those things in life for which nothing can prepare you. Writing songs or practicing your instrument in your bedroom will help you hone your craft but there is no training course that can prepare you for suddenly being of interest to complete strangers.

If you haven't already done so I suggest you read the open letter to George Michael written by the then 74 year old Frank Sinatra. Sinatra's words are witty, insightful and kind but the subtext is ineluctably clear throughout and it is simply the old adage,

"Be careful what you wish for".
It's also worth adding that if you wish for it, don’t pretend it happened by accident. One acquaintance who has achieved a little notoriety in his chosen field is a frequent social media bore claiming that the recognition he has received is some sort of happy accident, which as anyone who knows him even slightly knows is complete nonsense. He's been planning this for years. The only people who achieve fame completely by accident are almost invariably the victims of something terrible.

Similarly another very talented friend had a brush with success in the afterglow of somebody else's limelight. When the limelight faded my friend was left with a sense of entitlement which manifested in all sorts of ways from professional gamesmanship to talking loudly on aeroplanes. Everybody thought he was a great guy, I saw past the facade.

If you are feeling ambitious about what 2017 holds for you, and I hope you are, don't let your ambition be a source of embarrassment. And when you finally hit one of your targets perhaps you might do us a favour and go easy on the 'humbled and grateful'. You're talented, you worked hard and you reached your goal, but don't forget that although the drinks may be free at Club Tropicana sometimes there's a price to be paid elsewhere. Make sure you are ready. It might be your year.

You Never Forget Your First

With Christmas seemigly in jeopardy at the time of writing, here's the story of a game changing gift from the early 1970s.


A little while ago I was sitting with some distinguished friends in the instrument industry and discussing the somewhat changeable climate for those who depend on manufacturing or selling drums for their living.

I made the following observation;
“We live in a time when there are more drum sets in the world than ever before, and that number is increasing every day”.

The point being that drummers have got more choice in terms of both range of options and availability of product thus making it ever more challenging for manufacturers to keep coming up with new lines that will get some traction in the market.

It wasn’t always the case though. My late father was a good and busy semi pro player all his life. As a teenager he grew out of the first drums (no name snare and bass drum plus one small suspended cymbal) and sought to upgrade. Youngsters of the day were regularly fobbed off by the instrument shop staff with extremely scarce professional equipment on display; interest in a Dominion Ace would be met with “Reserved, awaiting collection” or “in for repair”. The Gig Shop in Birmingham was the most notorious offender, where a quasi-Masonic cabal got first dibs on anything worthwhile that came in to stock.

That left one primary avenue for hopefully finding some drum treasure, the classified ads of the local paper, and eventually after countless tram rides across inner city Birmingham Dad eventually stumbled upon a four piece Ajax set in gold sparkle (‘glitter gold’ as they called it then) and this became his first professional quality drum set. Not until the late 40s did British drum manufacturing really get back up to a speed anywhere close to satisfying the demand for product.


By today’s standards this seems ridiculous, where copious quantities of drums from shiny new to pedigree vintage are just a couple of clicks away. If your budget allows you can start a collection; have a different drum configuration to suit every musical circumstance and more snare drums than there are days in the month. The days when working drummers had one set of drums and that was it are behind us.

Even in my early days as a player good used equipment was relatively scarce and would get snapped up in a moment. I had inherited my dad’s practice kit as a starting point.

This consisted of a Windsor single tension bass drum measuring about 22 x 8, with a matching (grey paint) single headed tom approximately 10 x 7. An Ajax 12 x 10 tom in blue pearl stood in for a floor tom, the snare was a truly vile Olympic Discus which resisted every attempt to make it sound even half way decent and a riveted 20” Ajax ride cymbal was the cherry on the cake. No hi hats, these didn’t arrive until my 9th birthday in the shape of a pair of 14” Zyns.

The arrival of the hi hat cymbals marked a turning point and it was clear that my development as a fledgling player merited something a little more sophisticated and robust if I was to advance significantly further on my quest for worldwide recognition. I had fallen head over heels for a chrome over wood Gretsch ‘Name Band’ outfit in the window of Ringway Music but clearly that was out of reach, and so regular trawls round the music shops of the city, primarily Yardley’s, George Clay, Kay Westworth’s and the afore mentioned Ringway. Dad wasn’t a fan of Jones and Crossland or Woodroffe’s for reasons I never found out. The easy option would have been a brand new Premier or Beverley, good quality and in plentiful supply, but my dad’s generation all aspired to the great American brands with Ludwig at the top of the tree with Rogers, Slingerland and Gretsch in equal second place. Anyone who was around then will confirm that Ludwig was the brand everybody wanted to be seen to be playing; Ringo, for the pop drummers, Joe Morello for the jazzers. Not even Buddy Rich’s affiliation with Slingerland from 1968 onwards could assail Ludwig’s stranglehold on the top end of the market.

But as the 70s dawned the stardust began to fade on the Ludwig brand. The reason? Quality control.

All of a sudden the crown was up for grabs and it was Rogers who seemed to have the traction and almost overnight became the brand of choice.

Meanwhile the Cater tradition of scouring the small ads in the Birmingham Mail in search of decent drums had proved fruitless. Up to £120 was only yielding rather so-so pre international Autocrats and the occasional gaudy Rose Morris. Used Ludwigs, Haymans, more recent Premiers and British Rogers were over budget, so my dad played his ace. Without a trade in he was able to get a healthy discount on a silver sparkle Rogers Starlighter and handed down his 1964 oyster blue super classic to me.

That set of drums defined my early days as a player. Most of my early adventures in the world of music were done to the sound of the Ludwigs. My first proper recording session in a proper studio (BBC Maida Vale studio 6, December 1979) which resulted in me winning the Jack Parnell drum award in the BBC National big Band competition. I thought that was it; and that my passage to the upper echelons of the British drum industry was assured; (and so it was, but it didn’t begin to happen for another 27 years). Incidentally, my performance from the ensuing gala concert was left out of the subsequent Radio 2 broadcast, so in the interests of completeness here is my 16 year old self.

https://soundcloud.com/petecaterbigband/back-to-the-barracks

Interestingly my first visit to a television studio was done on my dad’s Rogers. The reason being that the Ludwig was in residence at the NEC Birmingham. I was cutting school to play a 15 act international circus and earning more than my headmaster was. A baptism of fire, but my unshakeable confidence stood me in good stead, albeit with rather too many fills. A subsequent return to the small screen shows the Ludwigs proving their worth. Follow the link and the keen eyed among you will note the addition of a second floor tom. All my big band heroes of that period (start with Buddy Rich, Louie Bellson and Butch Miles then work your way down) featured the second 16 x 16 and I was determined to emulate the drum layout of the players whose playing I also sought to emulate.


https://youtu.be/kRSNM7qBjMg

Finding the additional drum in matching oyster blue was a virtually impossible task. Irrespective of it being far and away the most ubiquitous finish on drums exported to the UK, odd drums and add-ons were all but unheard of. Eventually an orphan floor tom turned up, badly re-wrapped in plain black, so for a while the second floor was mismatched, decades before Bill Stewart did something similar.

Unbelievably after considerable research by my dad some original 1960s oyster blue wrap surfaced. Eddie Ryan, then based at 90 Long Acre, Covent Garden, was the saviour. The shell was stripped of all its fittings and dispatched. Furthermore there was sufficient wrap left over to build me a canister throne so my oyster blue Krupa/Buddy set up was complete.

By this point several of the original mounting blocks (with the thread tapped into the metal itself) had failed and were replaced with the later hook and eye design, in addition to which was the somewhat predictable addition of a second cymbal arm on the bass drum for the inevitable 8 inch splash. Imitate then innovate as they say. Mission half accomplished, so to speak. A barnstorming tour of Germany with the Midlands Youth Jazz Orchestra followed, as well as a return to Golders Green Hippodrome marking a second successive victory in the BBC National Big Band Competition. The broadcast was recorded on my eighteenth birthday and the drum feature can be heard here.

https://youtu.be/XN92aNCn72E


Note the slightly unusual snare sound. I achieved this by using a split bottom head for several weeks without realising!

As I’ve said elsewhere the career prospects for an aspiring 18 year old straight ahead jazz/big band drummer were practically non-existent in the big-haired, shoulder-padded early 80’s. Truthfully there are more opportunities to play that kind of music at a professional level now than there were then. Call it the Rat Pack/Buble effect for the want of a better expression. In spite of which my very small degree of notoriety brought me to the attention of Sabian cymbals and the UK distributors of Slingerland, and for the first time I had the much sought after ‘deal’.

Other than a summer spent playing in a Mecca ballroom residency, the Super Classic was being used increasingly infrequently and my remaining time in the MYJO showcased the Slingerland with the Ludwig being relegated to more mundane tasks, which is silly really because the Slingerland wasn’t a patch on it. Incidentally, drum solos of the era were often of a duration that would have left Ken Dodd in awestruck admiration.

Still the wheel turned further still and I had woken up to the needs of being a working professional player, and as all young pros should, the importance of playing according to what the industry requires. I augmented the Ludwig with a couple of Roto Toms briefly but the writing was on the wall and in late 1984 I acquired a used Yamaha 9000GA in natural wood which I wish I still owned, in sizes 10 x 8, 12 x 8, 13 x 9, 16 x 16 and 14 x 22. Thus dawned a whole new era in my playing as I stepped out into the wider professional world leaving the Ludwig at my parents’ house where it resides to this day.

A little while before my affiliation with Premier and thereafter the British Drum Company, I took the super classic out on a Dave Brubeck tribute show and it played as well as ever. It’s a family heirloom brim full of significance and personal history. It was my first proper, grown-up drum set and will stay with me forever, and hopefully get a play one day again soon, because there’s nothing quite like your first is there?