...give the drummer some

I admit it. It happens every time. Whether relaxing at my desk, rolling in the car, or iPodding on the bus. Without fail, 100% of the time, like god damned clockwork.

I clap

Not just once. Its twice. Every time.

clap clap

It happens at 3:19. But not just any 3:19. This happens regardless of time zone. More like a twilight zone. I don't know why I do it. It just happens.

clap clap

I know the inspiration, but I bring it on myself. People clap for all sorts of reasons: nervous twitches, congratulatory expressions, battles with inner demons. The source of my habit is not my head. Its my ears.
Its the damn Arcade Fire

clap clap

Try it for yourself. Get out your copy of The Arcade Fire's brilliant disc Funeral. Our destination is track 9. Please keep your hands and arms inside the cabin at all times, you're gonna need them. Wait for it. It only happens once.

And then it hits you. 3:19.
clap clap

Such a peculiar affliction. And for anyone who has a favourite song, it takes a different form. My genus of disease is not limited to the clap, I'm also a sucker for the cymbal hit. Not just any cymbal hit, its gotta be processed and climactic. The big one, the transitional cymbal hit; the breakdown. The Prodigy, Fat of the Land is huge on these ones... the snare at 2:09 of Diesel Power does it every time. While we're at it, I might as well be completely honest. I can listen to Panjabi MC - Jogi like a calm individual; straight faced, without even a head bobbing or toe tapping. But when that "c'monnn" sample drops, I just lose it. Can't help it. On a long run, it can feel like I'm in a trance, bulletproof, nothing affecting me... every step just like the last. But even though I'm surrounded by traffic, as soon as the moment approaches, its like a hiccup in a brainwave... the trance is broken.... I hit the cymbal, I mix the sample, I nail the claps.

clap clap

This wouldn't happen to a normal person. If I chose a random person on the street, and told them to bust a move, hit a snare or scratch a record, no doubt they'd blush, turn and run. Normal people feel it, but under the strict eye of normalcy, its gotta be suppressed. Luckily, we can escape. Headphones and car stereos provide a strange sense of security. Its as if because you can't hear them, they can't see you. This is the ultimate music rockumentary; a reality tv style, making the band'esque, america's most awesome home video edition. Just in case the drummer forgets, the back up musicians lose their place, or the DJ falls asleep at the wheel, you're there. I think thats why we do it... just in case. Its such a critical part of the song. Maybe I can't play a guitar solo that wakes the dead, hammer out a drum solo that would put any Harley to shame, or write a lyric that can make your girlfriend cry, but I can sure hit my imaginary cymbal at the perfect moment, every damn time.

clap clap

If I had to start a band, I think I'd do it without music. I would just look for the worst cases. These are also known as the best cases. On guitar, I'd choose a friend that I grew up with. When everyone else was wearing Nikes, this kid was wearing cowboy boots. He had the first walkman I'd ever seen, and he could rip like Hendrix. Of course, no one can really rip like Hendrix. But my band isn't based on real... my band is based on the sickness. This was the earliest case of the sickness I'd ever seen... but still one of the best. This wasn't just air guitar, this was the entire stage show. Jumping off the curb to nail the bottom of a mean riff... hopping that would put Eddie Van Halen to shame... falling to his knees after an exhausting solo...all on the way home from school. If only we'd had our imaginary band at the time, he could have smashed the translucent drums with his mythical axe as we left the non-existant stage.

On vocals, It would be a tough call. I'd probably lean to the girl I saw running today. She was holding an iPod, but it was doubling as a microphone. She wasn't singing as much as she was contorting her face to match the emotion of the song. I guess the song was particularly twisted, because she looked like a ventriloquist trying to read backwards... her case was severe. It wasn't even the vocals that did it... it was the way that her running was affected. She wasn't hitting cymbals, or scratching records... but she was actually stopping and starting based on the song. Run, sing, pause for effect... repeat. This band might be weird, but we're gonna be big.

On drums, I'd get the guy at the gym for sure. The guy on the treadmill who never misses a beat. Not only does he hit the right drum every time, but he's more animated than a Pixar flick. Sometimes he hurts the drums, most of the time the drums hurt him. He cringes on the toms, but winces on the snares, and downright scowls on the crash cymbal. I suppose anyone can feel the music, but my drummer takes it up a notch. He gives shout outs to the crowd after a expert flurry of beats, and raises his sticks in glory when his anthem is complete. No word of a lie. Dude is a star, a Ringo Starr...

Yeah, this band would be different. We'd be sick... in every sense of the word.

We wouldn't make albums, we'd collect them. We wouldn't write songs, we'd act them out. We wouldn't own instruments, we'd borrow the sounds. We wouldn't make videos, we'd just do our thing.

I wouldn't miss the cymbal, I'd hit it every time.

clap clap

out