The Two Hundred Dollar Drum Fill

Remember the world before the days of Instagram? How did we manage without everybody's photos and videos to keep us entertained?
Personally I find Instagram invaluable, and I use it as my window on the international drum industry, as a result of which every morning I am entertained by all the news of the latest product innovations and releases, hipsters grooving on vintage kits in Midwestern cities, and all kinds of playing uploads. I'm constantly fascinated by what new players have to offer, as well as more established faces who are savvy enough to maintain a strong social media presence; something that is now pretty much a prerequisite part of the game. Irrespective of whether it's new blood or old hands, playing uploads can be  categorised into two subheadings; education and entertainment, although to say that the lines are frequently blurred would be an understatement.

The 'Instagram Drummer' is possibly the next evolutionary step on from the 'Youtube Drummer', one or two of whom have become internationally acclaimed without ever having had to play Mustang Sally. Lucky people.

Or are they?
Is this brave new world of drum sound bites yet another manifestation of disposable culture, or will it bring forth anything of genuinely lasting quality? Nobody knows. It's too early to say. Check back in three to five years time.

Amongst the daily diet of blastbeats and linear gospel chops one particular contributor made a lasting impression a few weeks ago. I think he had three snares, maybe six toms, all kinds of cymbals plus the usual array of popular 'effects' add ons; so probably somewhere in the region of 16 to 20 sound sources.

His playing showed clear evidence of talent and application, clearly much precious practice time had been invested. However, having all kinds of facility and making something happen musically do not by any means go hand in hand.

Then he proceeded to demonstrate a fill he had come up with. The fill was of two beats duration and consisted entirely of constant 16th note triplets and our internet sensation hit each sound source once and once only before moving on to the next one. Before you ask, it wasn't a hoax, although unwittingly almost was. If you haven't seen Jens Hannemann check this out. I actually have a friend whose playing comes dangerously close to this at times........

His next fill had identical duration and rhythmic structure and the only difference was that this time he hit everything just one time, but in a different sequence. Helpfully in the comments he included the sticking, it read something like this R,L,R,L,R,L,R,L,K (it's a bass drum) R,L,R,L,R,L,K.

I couldn't help wondering that if he were to extrapolate this system and play, for instance, a two bar fill in sixteenth note subdivision he would need to expand to a 32 piece drum set, and that as the fills become longer he will need to invest in ever increasing numbers of add-ons,  so each time our man needs to play a longer fill he'll be off to the drum shop for another bit of gear, hence the title of this post.

Don't get me wrong; everything has its place, but is this more in the territory of 'Guinness Book Of Records' rather than making music?
And just to emphasise my point here is the late, great Cozy Powell in the company of legendary British entertainer Roy Castle doing something similar a few decades ago...

I've been playing a very basic set of drums for 53 years now and haven't yet worn out the creative possibilities.
Here is someone else playing four pieces, a pair of hi hats and a couple of cymbals, recorded two weeks after I was born as it happens.

Go Fund Yourself

Fingers were pointed at the increasingly absurd and ever more irrelevant Lily Allen the other day. The multi millionaire was experiencing some difficulty with tenants in her Notting Hill home as they were allegedly refusing to leave and were claiming diplomatic immunity. This turned out to be overblown and ridiculously exaggerated as is so often the case when a waning star seeks to make ink in order to revive a distinctly flagging career. Expect a Great American Songbook album any day soon. Anyway, quite a few wags and wiseacres got on board with this suggesting a social media whip round to shore up poor Lily's diminished circumstances. Last I heard she was down to her last four million.

How we laughed.

Then, as if on cue, over here in our little corner of 'the industry' a prominent figure fell prey to genuine tragedy. A legendary and highly regarded fellow drummer who I don’t know personally lost his home and posessions in a wild fire in Ventura County, California.
It's hard to imagine how you would so much as start to deal with a crisis on that kind of scale. Anyone who has ever tried to make even the smallest insurance claim will know that the companies seem hell-bent on moving heaven and earth to wriggle out of any sort of settlement, to say nothing of process moving at a glacial pace once a pay out has been grudgingly agreed.

In what was a remarkably level headed and really quite entrepreneurial move our man set up an appeal on the Go Fund me Platform. I sent him thirty dollars, it's a slow week. Although an undisputed monster player I don't have any of his records and have never been influenced by him but I donated what I could afford, which more than anything is about our little community looking out for one another.

Not everybody feels the same, and there have been one or two outbreaks of high dudgeon at the effrontery of a <quote> 'very rich musician' seeking to enrich himself, one assumes, at the expense of the good-natured paupers who buy his million selling records and subsidise his private jet and mansion habits. <Insert dictionary definition of irony here>

As I said earlier in the post I don't know this gentleman personally but I can tell you something that he and I have in common, along with the vast majority of those who have made a career out of producing sounds from musical instruments.

We all earn a great deal less than you might think.

Don't get me wrong, by no stretch of the imagination have we 'got it tough'. To be able to spend your life pursuing music as a profession is a gift in direct proportion to the requisite gifts that make it possible in the first place.

Consider this: just because he is considered  (rightly) to be a big name on the drum scene doesn’t mean he is worth a fortune, not even a small one. A lot of recordings with strong 'muso appeal' that are known to very many of us actually sell in miniscule quantities to the point where the bean counters at the major records labels long since shut the door. Much of what gets out there does so at the behest of small, enthusiastic outlets who value artistry over profit. A very large percentage of the best recordings of your musician heroes fall very squarely under this subheading. Conversely there are musicians out there you never heard of who played on stacks of hit records back in the 70s and 80s; records that still get played on mainstream radio as a result of which the musicians get a very small royalty, but if you were on enough of the right sessions way back when people used to all gather in the same room to record stuff (nostalgia!) a decent income stream from PPL (look it up) is still very possible.

It's a common misconception that musicians, especially those with any kind of individual profile are making out like footballers whereas the reality is that visibility is in no way a reflection of turnover. Some weeks you do really well, some weeks are just passable, and then there are those weeks when you earn absolutely nothing at all. If very fortunate there might be some income from songwriting or airplay (my PPL averages about two quid a week) but being dependent on playing exclusively is a very hazardous path at the best of times. Even household names have lean periods. I remember in the early 90s I had become friends with the great British jazz drummer Martin Drew who had an international profile at that time on account of the best part of two decades as a member of the Oscar Peterson trio. He invited me round to his house to hang out and my mental image of a six bedroom Georgian detached house with a carriage drive turned out to be slightly wide of the mark, which brings us to the other misconception that stellar skill on your instrument somehow equals big paydays. It doesn't.

All the virtuoso chops in the world won't get you anywhere close to Queen's Roger Taylor for having written 'It's A Kind Of Magic', and if you are a named artist on a record receiving mainstream airplay you can do very well too. When Radio 2 played one track off my Upswing album and I got almost forty quid I couldn't help but extrapolate that to what Adele must be clocking up.

Anyway, I hope our man gets back on his feet quickly and completely. In any event perhaps if he raises way more money than anticipated (which is looking entirely possible) he might then be minded to pass any excess on to other deserving parties in our community, and having been able to produce creative work of my own this year via crowd funding I know first hand how it feels to be on the receiving end of support that makes things happen.


In the myriad complexities of human nature I like to think that our default setting is to help people in times of need, without always choosing to ascertain how they got to that place. I know a couple of fellow musicians who have experienced extremely straitened circumstances and have been on the receiving end of all kinds of help, money, a place to live and often a place to play. All done without judgement when you consider how one or two characters spent much of the 80s and 90s propping up the GDP of a certain Central American republic.


But really it's all about proportion isn't it?

If a billionaire donated a million pounds to a good cause it would have an impact as a proportion of his nett worth equivalent to me giving a few quid to a homeless person (or thirty bucks to a fellow drummer who lost everything in a house fire for that matter).

Money by itself is worth nothing.
It's what you do with it that counts.

60 Minutes That Changed Drumming Forever

The arrival of  the VHS machine changed drumming forever. Its impact was as far reaching as plastic heads, the lifting of restrictions on imports from the US into the UK (of not just products but famous musicians too) and the breathalyser in the change it brought to the lives of players of all ages and ability levels.

We got one in about 1980, rented of course, as most machines were in that bygone era of DER, Radio Rentals and Visionhire, largely because I had begun to appear on television from time to time and it was nice to be able to record these things for posterity. Even better than that was the opportunity to record tv appearances by the greats, and I soon began to assemble a formidable visual reference library of the players I most admired. It quickly became apparent that watching and rewatching this material was a great way of picking up ideas and improving one's own playing. It was no surprise when a couple of years later adverts began to appear in Modern Drummer magazine to the effect that Drummers Collective in New York City had similarly identified the potential in video tuition and were releasing their own material. I bought them all, and the first ones I recall featured Ed Thigpen, Louie Bellson and Lenny White.

In addition there was another one.
It was called Steve Gadd Up Close.

I had become increasingly aware of Gadd's prowess over probably the previous four or five years, and his presence in my record collection was rapidly increasing but other than a fleeting glimpse on the Simon and Garfunkel reunion concert (broadcast on a mainstream TV channel, there weren't any others back then) I hadn't really seen him do his stuff.
So I put the bulky cassette in the the cumbersome top loading video recorder and pressed play.

An hour or so later I pressed the eject button a changed musician.

Unencumbered by visual effects, backing tracks or showboating, I had just witnessed undiluted mastery clearly explained. No mystery, no secrets, no smoke and mirrors. In conversation with Rob Wallis Steve explains key concepts and talks about his development as a player. There's nothing commercially oriented about this at all, just sharing knowledge and information gathered over an entire career.

More than any of the other video releases of the time Up Close was a game changer, and it created the opportunity for drummers from Antarctica to Zimbabwe to learn from a master. A trickle became a deluge over the next few years as all the biggest players of the day (with one very obvious exception) added to the drum video education canon. Then came drum performance videos, and if you were in for the long haul you could watch the entire Modern Drummer festival from the comfort of your own home. I'm not even sure if the Modern Drummer festival still goes on. Maybe so many people stayed at home waiting for the video to come out that nobody went to the gig any more. Think about that for a moment.

The other huge change that this brought about was access to information, to a point where the average drummer has an ability level unimaginable a few decades ago. Apparently skiing was one of the first areas to benefit from this approach to learning. More than half a century ago someone came up with the idea of filming expert, naturally talented skiers and watching the footage in slow motion.

Then of course along came the internet and incredibly affordable cameras, to say nothing of the first iPhone 10 years ago, and all of a sudden it was open season on drum video education.
Every day my Instagram feed is filled with video snapshots of often similar and worringly average playing. Just because you've got some drums, a camera and a wifi connection doesn’t necessarily mean..............(complete this yourself). Anyway before I get swept away on a tsunami of cynicism it has to be said that social media provides a great platform for upcoming players to make an impact. Not only that but it provides an opportunity for those of us of a certain age who have been around the block a handful of times to share some of the experience we have picked up along the way.

As many of you know I crowdfunded a video education project earlier this year and it is getting very close to the time when I shall unleash it on an unsuspecting world.

Having been so inspired by the Gadd video all those years ago I have done it on a similarly low budget as many of you reading this will know as you helped to finance the production.

No visual effects, no 9 minute backing  tracks in 13, nor 13 minute backing tracks in 9 for that matter. I chose not to include any tracks given that we had an upper limit of 120 minutes playing time and I was eager to get as much information across as was possible, and that just to play would run the risk of self indulgence. Also (confession time!) I really only play my best when there is either a) a band, or b) an audience. With neither one present I struggle to summon up the necessary adrenalin rush without which a worthwhile performance is a struggle to attain. That's a big part of why my favourite part of my work as a musician is to play for people, and anyway, this is about sharing ideas. There's quite sufficient of my playing on Youtube already.

I tried to steer clear of information that is already freely available, things we've all heard dozens of times before. Over a lifetime of musical development but especially in the last two decades I have evolved a few key concepts that have revolutionised my playing, and unless you have studied with me on a one to one basis you won’t have seen them before.

Nor am I doing this to 'raise my profile'. I am quite satisfied with whatever profile I may already have. My fifties have happily freed me from the yoke of ambition and the quest for glory. These days I play music purely for its own sake.

The intended outcome is for the viewer to actually gain something from watching the programme, not to be impressed/intimidated by the content, as we all know how closely connected those two are. I approached this just like any other drum clinic (because essentially that's what it is), where the aim is to send the audience home with one thing they didn't have when they arrived (as long as it's not an infectious disease of course). One bit of demystification makes the process worth everybody's while.

As with most of my output I have one foot in the past, and I have decided to release this as a physical product, on the now rather quaint DVD format. It won't be available in the shops or on Amazon. The only way to get it is by mail order or at any of my clinics or other personal appearances.

Only 500 are being produced and over half that quantity are already spoken for. If you would like a copy too send an email you don't have to part with any money just yet and we will be in touch to arrange all that at the appropriate time, because you can't put a digital download on a bookshelf.

Reciprocal Motivation

Sometimes these blogs posts deal with highly specific topics relating to drums and the music industry. Sometimes the posts have a much broader implication and serve as metaphors for the wider a world and  the essence of human nature itself. This is such an instance.

Yesterday (October 12th 2017) was a busy and often frustrating day. Several times during the day I was beset by unnecessary triviality which need not have even occurred if other people were on top of their designated tasks. Incompetence in other words. An upcoming industry event in which I was scheduled to participate got cancelled and a first year student described me as 'old'. So really very much a 'why do I bother' sort of a day. I get about four or five of them a year so on the balance of probabilities I'm free and clear until just after Christmas.

Then I looked in my phone and found a messenger request from someone not in my social network.

This is 'why I bother'.

 Hi Pete. I'm a young drummer from Dublin. Sorry to be spamming your personal page but I couldn't find a way to direct message your music one. I felt the urgent need to drop you a line and thank youfor all the invaluable resource material and wisdom you have made publicly available online. I know by the depth of your knowledge and sincerity of your delivery that you haven't come by any of these lessons cheaply. Thank you for sharing the fruits of a lifetime investment of time without any promise of a return. Your stories and guidance, not to mention the success of your big band, are of huge benefit and a source of inspiration to a young player like myself, unsure of how to go about moulding or shaping a brand or identity as a musician. Not to mention whether or not the risk of typecasting oneself into a particular style or scenario is even a good idea in a market as small as Dublin! If you made it this far then thanks again. Can't wait to get my hands on the DVD! All the best, Ben Cooper

 
So Ben got some inspiration and motivation from some of my music, and in sending his message inspired and motivated me right back.
 
It's a good strategy. Give it a try.

 

 

 

 

A Long Time Ago

About a week ago a very old clip turned up in a YouTube suggestion.
The clip, although low in quality captured the big band on very good form from a particularly busy and artistically fruitful period from 1999, where we managed to get a pretty substantial tour together with the help of a small grant from the Arts Council.

The aim of that tour was to take a lot of the repertoire from the Playing With Fire record, plus a selection of material that had become key parts of the live shows, and to present it to a wider, general audience aside from our dedicated London hard core who had unfailingly supported us since the band's debut four years previously.

Right from the beginning I had decided I wanted to do something a little bit different. There was/is a long history of musicians getting together to play big band jazz for pleasure, where bands play music they enjoy. If an audience happens to enjoy it, that's a bonus. Traditionally this has taken place in pub function rooms and clubs, whereas 'professional' engagements by big bands have been more geared towards an axis of Glenn Miller/Rat Pack formulaic nostalgia, complete with smiling vocalists and penguin suits for all, or worse, the abomination that is middle aged to elderly men dressed up as WW2 boy soldiers.

In the mid 90s and my early 30s I was still idealistic enough (and still am incidentally) to believe that it might be possible to take the 'musicians' music' out of the pub rooms and present it on a proper platform. I had managed to source a lot of scores from the USA that no other bands were playing at the time, together with a selection of Bob Mintzer and Thad Jones charts. Some bands played one or two of these but nobody had attained the precision we had on account of hundreds of hours of rehearsal. Perhaps most importantly a number of musicians began to contribute original material, and it was thanks to Matt Wates, Matt Regan and particularly Frank Griffith that we were able to assemble our own, recognisable repertoire. Frank and I collaborated on a version of Monty Alexander's 'Regulator', I borrowed a chart from the repertoire of the Vanguard Jazz Orchestra, one from Peter Herbolzheimer's band and with that we had enough material to record a well-paced, balanced debut album. Added to which the cover photo (all leather trousers, big hair, bare feet and pout) was a deliberate and tongue-in-cheek attempt to present an image as far removed from the somewhat reactionary 'blazer-and-flannels' face of mainstream British jazz in the 90s. Years later an American radio presenter said that he had picked our record from the 100s he would regularly receive specifically because it (I) looked so different.

So it was with a look, as well as a sound that was different, and owed more to the youth jazz orchestras where most of us had had our start that we went boldly into the grown up world of theatres, concert halls and jazz festivals. Jazz festivals which were, I hasten to point out, largely untouched by major arts funding and more often than not the result of small scale local sponsorship and hours of unpaid work by seemingly tireless volunteers. I had tireless volunteers of my own without whom I could not have made all this happen. One of them once made an ill-judged phone call that managed to close an important, opening door but by and large they worked minor miracles between them.

Trips to Jersey in 1998 and again in 99 (big band booked two years running and not doing a tribute show of some kind-unprecedented!) are particularly fondly remembered, but it was an appearance at Murray Paterson's 'Rendezvous In Britain' festival in 1999 and again in 2000 that really made the most impact.
Here was an audience who totally 'got' what we were about.
Nobody said "Big band is Glenn Miller", "They look like students" or "How can you listen to that?" three genuine quotes.

This generated enough momentum to top a few polls, get a bigger record deal and do more playing. What with one thing and another by 2005 the tide was well on its way out. At that time I was interviewed as part of a major feature about British big bands for the now defunct Jazz UK magazine. On publication they gave over almost all the column inches to bands who were playing 'tribute' music and we were totally omitted from the published article. It was my anger at this snub that was the stimulus for our third album, and when the following year I received the first request to present an evening of music made famous by Buddy Rich it was a pragmatic (though by no means overnight) decision to respond in the affirmative.

I miss the excitement that comes from doing something new; playing music that people have never heard before, and I seldom see any of the great players who were such an essential part of this creative period. I just found the entire 1999 Rendezvous In Britain concert on an old disc and uploaded it to YouTube so if you have an hour or two to spare and you like this sort of thing you may wish to take a look.

I took a look, and as a result am feeling that it may be time to do it all again.

Part 1

 

 

Part 2

 



 

 

For details about any of my bands, lessons, master classes, guest appearances or if you would just like to say hello, click here

Drummer Wanted. Must Have Amazing Left Hand

I answered the phone the other day,

"Hi Pete, I don't know if you can help me. I need a drummer for a show next month who can play eighth note triplets in his or her left hand at 160 bpm. It needs to be traditional grip though. Are you available?"

Said no one. Ever.

OK; it's a lot of fun to work on some of the more intricate aspects of drum technique. I should know, I've spent a great deal of time pursuing these goals over the years, but I learned a long time ago that practice is an investment of time, and like any investment I want the maximum return for the minimum possible outlay.

The traditional left hand reference at the top of the post makes me think of Buddy Rich, whose centenary has just passed this very weekend. Buddy and Joe Morello were the two undisputed masters of this particular type of technical facility and it would take a steward's enquiry to get between them. Joe was arguably a shade faster but Buddy was ahead on control and endurance. As these two legends were my first and most enduring major influences it's not surprising that this is an area of playing I find fascinating.

That said I have no time for YouTube uploads with titles like 'Buddy Rich's Left Hand Technique Explained' as he is the only person who could possibly explain it, were he still here, and the chances are he would avoid the issue, as anyone who ever heard Jim Chapin's "I willed it to happen" anecdote will concur.

What is interesting about the proliferation of tuition videos of varying merits is that their abundance has made this kind of technique, once seen in only a very few players, now by comparison commonplace. Either that or drummers have been doing it for years but now we have smartphone cameras and the internet it's much easier to bring our efforts to wider attention.

'Look at me' drumming, in other words.

I'm all for a bit of 'look at me' playing in the right context, although a six snare tribute at a well-known drummer's funeral was once compromised by one of the players deciding that he was going to play as many notes as possible in spite of the sombre mood of the piece, then went on to drop a stick, and ended up looking a little bit silly.

The key to having strong technical facility is knowing when not to use it. There is nothing whatsoever 'wrong', with having technique to spare if it is used sparingly, thus leaving the listener wanting more. Buddy Rich reference once again; so many times I saw his band play live where the total time on stage would be a little under two hours, of which rarely more than ten minutes (work out the percentage for yourself) would be of the maestro going it alone.
I still smile at the memory of the moral superiority of a gas fitter and part time drum tutor from Bolton who once lectured me about the benefits of  'playing for the song', the inference being that for me to have the temerity to get my chops out in public was somehow 'inappropriate'. There's probably an aggrieved minority who consider drum solos to be 'micro aggressions'.

Anyway, back to the plot. Let's all continue to be inspired by the greats of yesterday, today and for that matter, tomorrow. Dismantle the ideas of the players you admire, and recast them in your own image. I was recently flattered when I watched another drummer play and he included an attempted replication of a key idea of mine, which I had arrived at by mixing  a selection of other players' ideas. Whilst the acknowledgment of my influence was undoubtedly a compliment I'd prefer him to put his own slant on it, but he's got years ahead of him so hopefully he will. Similarly I teach in such a way that every player comes back with their own personal interpretation of the study material rather than the "three beats to learn for next week" approach which leaves little scope for finding your own voice.

So, back to the practice pad and that cool left hand stuff. Going 'diddleiddleiddleiddle' on the pad is a far cry from making this kind of stuff work in a musical context, as those we admire the most undoubtedly could.

 If you have to stop, change the shape of your grip and then go for it, you're probably just as well off balancing a beach ball on the end of your nose.

No 2 the O2.

Living in the country I seldom go to live shows; in fact I'm struggling to remember what was the last such occasion. There have been many notable events down the years, and the recent passing of Walter Becker reminded me of a great show by Steely Dan in 2007 at Hammersmith.  That venue has been rebranded so many times but to those of a certain age it will always be Hammersmith Odeon. Once upon a time a venue like Hammersmith was considered high capacity for pretty much any touring band, irrespective of how big the name. There have been festivals and fields full of people seemingly forever of course, but over recent times bigger and bigger venues have become much more the norm.

So where and when did the change begin. Was it Shea Stadium? Are The Beatles to blame?

I've been to one or two arena gigs over the years and quite honestly I really get very little enjoyment from them for a number of reasons.
When still living in London we went to see Lionel Ritchie at the O2. Having worn out the corny joke about whether or not he would play 'All Night Long' we headed off to the peninsula, took our designated places about two thirds of the way back in the arena, and watched five tiny little dots in the middle distance run through Lionel's back catalogue.

I didn't hang  around to hear him play All Night Long in the end, as having been detained for what seemed like hours in a post Barbara Streisand gridlock a year or so previously I knew what to expect. I like venues where you can walk out of the door, straight into the street and go your own way. They're a lot safer too as has been proved by recent tragic events, and I certainly have no wish to be corralled just attempting to leave an event.

A well-worn formula that was trotted out regularly for many years was 'Glenn Miller tribute plus firework display'. I did a great many such shows with several of the bands and the objective always was to break those drums down and make a run for it before the audience began to mobilise, otherwise you would be stuck in an enormous jam on the cramped exits roads of properties curated by the National Trust before it became obsessed with diversity.


My rule of thumb is that if I need a big screen image to confirm that that tiny dot on the horizon is the person I have paid £85 to see, I'm better off watching a DVD at home. In my house there's never a queue for the lavatory and we don't drink out of plastic glasses.



Cadogan Hall just off London's Sloane Square is a particular favourite venue to play. This will come as a surprise to nobody as it has been the setting for a number of concerts by my big band over the years. In addition I have worked there for other people and sat in the audience for several shows. The auditorium has a capacity of about 900.You can see everyone and more importantly, they can see you. If you don't want your interval drinks on site you can walk to The Botanist, or any number of other establishments. You have freedom to choose something other than overpriced fizzy lager or tepid chardonnay to be found in the 20,000 capacity venues from which there is no escape until it's time to leave. A non-captive audience is my kind of audience.

One of the more recent live shows I attended was at Pizza Express, Soho, with a band that included the legendary Steve Gadd on drums. To be able to watch this titan of the drums at super close range (not for the first time I might add) makes for great education as well as entertainment. Dean St Pizza is a favourite venue both to watch or to perform. Its near neighbour Ronnie Scott's ranks very highly too.

Having dealt with the visual aspect it's also worth considering sound.
I like to play as acoustically as possible. I don't like having my drums close mic'd if at all possible, and I would always prefer to play without a monitor wedge deafening me on one side. There's nothing quite as 'real' as being able to hear the natural sound of one's fellow musicians. Acoustic performance gives you optimum control over dynamics, balance, intonation and a whole lot more. I have no wish to be thirty yards from my rhythm section cohorts; I want them where we can communicate effectively.

Just like my earlier comment regarding video screens I would rather hear the sound being created by the players as opposed to the front of house engineer. In even the smallest of rooms a modicum of re-enforcement is often needed, but I still like to be able to hear the natural sound as created by the artists on stage.

Music is not football or athletics, it can be performed perfectly in a relatively small space. Think about it for a moment, putting a concert on featuring a four piece band in an 80,000 seat sports arena makes about as much sense as holding the FA cup final on the stage of the Amersham Arms. Sadly corporate greed tends to trump artistic integrity almost every time. Artists making a comeback doing stripped back 'acoustic' shows are often doing so because of declining box office numbers rather than a desire to get closer to the paying audience.

If I ever found myself in the somewhat unlikely circumstance whereby my band could fill an arena I simply wouldn't do it.

Ten dates filling a 30,000 capacity venue is roughly 350 shows in an 850 seat venue. I know which I would prefer to do. Think of all the diaries full of gigs for 14 musicians (plus the odd dep) and I'd get the chance to play at peak form, because there's only one way to do that, which I'll share on a future occasion.