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I began playing drums in 1964, at the age of 10. My father was a drummer, and my mother was a keyboardist/vocalist, so I grew up in the music business. When I was 12, my parents were on the road full time, and so, out of necessity, they sent me to a private, military school. This is when I started playing in the usual assortment of school bands, including marching bands, the orchestra, and the jazz "stage band". My intentions at that time were to go into aviation, probably as an Air Force pilot. Music was important, but not my life. The band director was a "cool" jazz trumpet player, and we became friends. In 1967, he took me to hear Buddy Rich. I had only heard Buddy on TV a couple of times, and really didn't know his history or how great he truly was. This night changed my life.
We arrived at the concert in Langley, Virginia early. The program was a performance by the Langley High School Jazz Band, followed by a short intermission, and then Buddy and his band. We were in the front row. During the intermission, I went into the hall, looking for the restroom, not realizing that it was actually the backstage area. The curtains had been closed, for Buddy's band to get ready, and when I glanced onto the stage, Buddy was sitting at the drums.
He would lightly tap out four or five notes on a drum or cymbal, listen, and then maybe adjust it. I felt as though I had been struck by lightning. Just hearing and seeing Buddy play a few simple quiet notes, I instantly knew that this man was a giant. It wasn't what he played, but how he played it. I remember that sound and feeling today, like it happened five minutes ago.
After being announced as "The World's Greatest Drummer," Buddy and his band played a spectacular performance that had all of us literally hysterical and screaming by the last standing ovation. Until that night, I didn't even know that music like that was possible, and it truly changed my life forever. My standards and expectations became so highly elevated that nothing would ever seem the same to me again. That's "the good news"...
Almost involuntarily, I jumped out of my seat as the curtains were closing, ran through the same stage door I had entered before, and intercepted Buddy as he exited the stage. I was a 13-year-old boy, standing there in my military school blazer, shaking uncontrollably, gasping something like "Gee, Mr. Rich, you were really GREAT!" and holding out my hand to shake his. He stopped, smiled, and shook hands, and as he did, said "You've got a pretty strong grip there." I thought "Cool!" Dad always said, "Give a man a firm handshake."
Just as my band director and a crowd of fans joined us, Buddy jerked his hand away, stepped back and said "How'd you like to get knocked on your ass?" I remember getting physically dizzy. At that time, I had no idea what I had done, and just stood there frozen, with about 30 fans staring at me like "What have you done?" My ears rang and my head was spinning. I still don't know what I did. My only guess has been that, in my nervousness, I may have reacted to Buddy's "firm handshake" comment by squeezing his hand harder, and he reacted as though I meant something aggressive by it.
After being interrogated by my band director, and still not knowing what I had done, I got at the very end of the line of fans waiting for autographs, and decided to apologize. When I finally got to him, I said "Mr. Rich, I don't know what I did wrong, but I'm REALLY sorry." He said, in a surprisingly friendly way, "Got a ticket ?" I gave it to him and he autographed it, smiled, and said..."That's OK kid. Just remember... Don't be a smart ass. There's always somebody smarter." Then he left. ~Mike James
Buddy Rich and I were "brothers" for over fifty years.
Besides being THE GREATEST DRUMMER in the world and my
dear friend, I truly loved him as a talent, his great
wisdom, his sense of humor and his warmth and generosity
that he showed to me, my friends and my family. Behind
that tough facade was a genuinely soft and tender person
that I will always admire. His wife Marie and daughter
Cathy will always be my family as well. I miss you Buddy.
Thanks for all the good times. Our TV series Away We Go
with you, me, and a young kid we sort-of discovered by
the name of George Carlin will be in my heart forever.
~Buddy Grec
I am like many people who were lucky enough to be taken
to see your father play as a youngster by generous parents.
I was twelve years old and it was at the Edgemont Casino
on Central Avenue in Yonkers, New York in 1968. I saw
Buddy run through his charts and end with Midnight Cowboy
with a seat looking from the side 10 feet away with a
birds-eye view of his feet and left hand. What an intro!
He smiled after each tune and smiled like, "How about
that kid." My father was very kind to take me and dodge
the trombone section so I had a good view. Of course I
was hooked (My drum teacher Phil Griess told me the next
day that he almost quit in the 50s after seeing your father
in New York because it bothered him so much that he would
never be able to play drums like that). I saw your father
play after that in many settings and I always considered
it like going to church and getting the "word" from the
master. I still think of those times now at age 47 and
even though I have put down my sticks for the most part,
your father still is an inspiration in anything I do to
become the best. There will never be another man as gifted
and generous to the public as he was and thanks to your
efforts continues to be. ~David Schneider
I was lucky enough to get to meet Buddy when I was 15. He was very good friends with my father's employer, and since they knew what a big fan I was, they managed to get me invited to a taping of the "Away We Go" show starring Buddy, George Carlin and Buddy Greco in June of 1967. Boy, did I get to see a taping! Not only did I get to sit in the audience with Marie Rich (a most warm and gracious woman), but it was the show on which the BR Band played the West Side Story Medley! Let me tell you, this 15 year-old was stunned! (It was the first of many times I saw Buddy play live.)
After the show, I went backstage to Buddy's dressing room with Marie and the others. The first thing I noticed about him was that he had large, strong-looking hands. He was very nice to me - talked to me like I was a regular person, and not some star-struck kid.
What I did get from him, however, was a drum lesson! I asked him what I could practice to play fast (stupid kid question #1). He walked over to where I was standing and said "You start-out playing two strokes with each hand, first slowly, and then gradually speeding-up." Then he demonstrated using only his knuckles on the wall. A perfect slow "mam-my, da-ddy, mam-my, da-ddy" roll, that he gradually sped-up until all you could hear was a perfectly smooth buzz! "Then you do three strokes with each hand," and he played that with his knuckles, starting slowly and speeding it up into a perfect roll. He did the same thing playing 4, 5, 6, and 7 strokes with each hand, each time starting slowly and accelerating into a perfect roll. All using just his knuckles on the wall. "Then, you mix them up," he smiled, and played the damndest odd-time patterns you ever heard in your life by mixing-up the 4's, 5's, 6's, and 7's. All with multiple strokes on each hand, and all using just his knuckles on the wall! My jaw must have been on the floor, and his face lit-up with that mischievous grin of his. He had just played the most amazing thing I had ever heard, but I was the one who was out of breath.
He had just signed to play VOX drums. VOX paid him $100,000 for the endorsement. When I told Marie during the taping that I had heard about this through the grapevine, she just smiled. Later, while I was talking with Buddy backstage, she interrupted: "You'd better listen to that kid, Buddy. He knows more about your business dealings than you do!".
On my way out I noticed his drums backstage, still setup on the riser. I asked him if I could just sit behind them, and he said OK. (I wouldn't have dared play them, out of respect). The first thing I noticed was that you could reach anything on that kit with an absolute minimum of movement. You could play the snare and ride cymbal with your arms totally relaxed at your sides. A flick of the wrist and you were at the small tom, a flick to your right got you the floor tom. His hi-hats were only about an inch or two higher than the snare rim. You could reach either crash cymbal without moving your elbows more than seven or eight inches from your sides. He not only played fast, he played smart. ~Hyam R. Sosnow
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