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I was attracted to the drums at a very early age, but it wasn't until I was 11 that I picked up sticks and started playing on coffee cans. I was 13 before I had real drums.
My Dad was a Gene Krupa fan and he turned me on to Gene with his collection of Benny Goodman records. I thought he was as good as it got. Then Dad bought me an album; Buddy Rich at JATP, because it featured a set by Gene's trio. It also had the original drum battle between Buddy and Gene from the 1952 JATP concert at Carnegie Hall in NY, in addition to several other cuts with Buddy and the JATP All-stars.
Buddy was clearly light years beyond Gene and anyone else I had ever heard. I was hooked. I saved my allowance to buy records and scoured TV Guide every week to see when Buddy would be on TV. Dad had a subscription for Downbeat magazine. If there were any references to Buddy, I'd scarf up that magazine and he'd be lucky to see it.
In February of 1969, Dad gave me drum lessons for my 14th birthday. My drum teacher was Joe Cassiere, known as Joey Cass. Joe was a fine NY studio drummer, whose major claim to fame was a 5 year stint with The Four Seasons during the early to mid 1960s. When he left The Four Seasons, he moved in around the corner from our house, in the NYC metro suburban town of Hasbrouck Heights, NJ.
I was very disappointed early on with my lessons because Joe didn't regale me with tales about Buddy Rich. He never even mentioned him! I expected at least an altar, or perhaps a shrine, even a picture. Nothing. Nada. Niet. Zip. Zero. The Big Goose Egg.
During the summer of '69, Dad came home and announced that he bought tickets to see Buddy Rich and his Band at The Schaffer Music Festival being held at the Wolman Skating Rink in Central Park, NYC. I was jazzed (of course, you didn't get "jazzed" in those days - you were "turned on").
I ran around the corner to Joe's house. He was sweeping his front sidewalk. I told him Dad had tickets for us to see Buddy Rich. He stopped sweeping, looked at me and said, "Really? Glen, that's great. Just great. I want you to go and have a great time. Enjoy yourself. But, let me tell you something. You're going to see things you never thought were possible. You're going to see things you've never conceived of. You're going to see things that you're not going to believe you saw. Then you're going to come back here afterwards and tell me you want to quit playing the drums."
I looked at this guy wondering what planet HE just beamed in from! "Hey Joe, the guy's great and all that. I mean, I've seen him on Johnny Carson, Mike Douglas. I got his albums..." He said, "Yeah? Well you wait and see. You'll want to quit".
I found it odd that the man had never said anything about Buddy Rich and then he hits me with THAT . It was odd, but it was also very cool.
Now, I must tell you that even though I was a typical 14 year old, meaning I knew everything - I actually was naive beyond belief and didn't know squat about anything. I had some big concerns about this concert, some very strong wants and desires. Check 'em out.
First, I knew the world of TV was make-believe. I was really worried that the white pearl Slingerlands Buddy used on TV was just that. Only for TV. I feared he'd come out with some other, less impressive kit for a live show. What an idiot.
Second, I thought that the full size band might only be for TV and that he'd use a scaled-down band at the concert. Sure. Wonder why they call it BIG Band?
Third, I hoped they'd play some stuff I had on my albums. Ya think?
Last, but not least and this is unbelievable - I hoped he'd play a couple of drum solos! Super Ass is in the building!
The day finally came. We were walking through the park to the skating rink and as the wind shifted, I could hear the band finishing the first show, playing Sister Sadie. THAT was a big deal, because Sister Sadie was on my Swingin' New Big Band album!
By the time we got to the entrance gates, the first show was over and we had to wait for that audience to file out. When we were allowed in, the stage had been cleared of Buddy's band and was being prepared for Procol Harem, the show opener. The skating rink was filled with metal folding chairs. A huge clock caught my eye on the upper right side of the stage.
For you younger folks, Procol Harem was what we called a Psychedelic, or Acid Rock band in those days. A forerunner of the heavy metal groups to come. Our show was to start at 8 pm Shortly after we sat down, the PA announcer informed us that a classical concert was starting on the other side of the park and that they were going delay our show for an hour, since they feared Procol Harem would drown out the other venue. I was already crawling out of my skin with anticipation, so this delay was devastating - especially with that big clock on the upper right hand corner of the stage inching along very slowly.
The crowd on hand for Procol Harem was made up of Hippie freak looking characters (to use the lingo of the day) and it was a capacity crowd. Procol Harem started at 9 pm They featured feedback and distortion at different tempos. And the crowd loved it.
One guy sitting across the isle from me was heavy set, bald, but with hair down to the middle of his back, a bushy handle bar mustache and round John Lennon glasses. He was rockin' out to Procol Harem, along with everyone else. As I looked around at these people, I told myself, "Glen, when these guys are done, there's going to be an exodus of biblical proportions - it's gonna look like the Hebrews busting out of Egypt, leaving you, Dad, Mom, Steve (my brother) and five or six others to see Buddy Rich. If these idiots like this stuff, obviously they're not going to appreciate Buddy Rich. I was really depressed about that.
Procol Harem finished their set off in classic 60s fashion - the guitar player ended his last solo by cracking the neck of his axe over his knee and then throwing the busted guitar off the stage. The crowd went wild. Procol Harem received a very loud and raucous ovation for their performance.
Then a funny thing happened. Nobody left. No exodus! The PA announcer came on and asked our patience while they "reset the stage for Buddy Rich and his band". At that moment there was a collective shout and suddenly there was electricity in the air. A buzz of anticipation. Not only was nobody leaving, it was getting more crowded! More people were coming in!
Now came a big moment of truth for me - the stagehands pushed the drum riser from the back of the stage. There they were! The white Slingerlands! The same set I had seen on TV! And here come the white pearl music stands! I counted them. They were ALL there! At that point I was having a hard time sitting still. I had never experienced a rush like this before.
The band walked out from backstage just before 10 pm and the roar of approval from the crowd was unbelievable. It was more unbelievable when Buddy walked out and that ovation turned louder than the one Procol Harem got at the end of their show. And the man hadn't even picked up the sticks yet!
Buddy was wearing a powder blue suit and an ascot (scarf around the neck). I was already conjuring up plans to get a bunch of those for my wardrobe.
Buddy started to play and the PA came alive, "Ladies and gentlemen, the Schaffer Music Festival is proud to present for your enjoyment Bu. . . " I assume he said "Buddy Rich and his Band", but I'll never know for sure since the roar from the crowd drowned him out completely. It was 10 pm
The solo Buddy played to lead the band into their first number, was longer than any I had seen on TV. The band's set featured mostly tunes from the soon to be released album, Buddy and Soul. They started with Ruth, then Norwegian Wood, Soul Lady, Soul Kitchen, Love and Peace and Wonderbag. The entire skating rink was in sync with the music, including the fat, bald, longhaired, mustachioed, John Lennon goggled dude who was rockin' along with the band. Did I call these people idiots? I didn't call these people idiots.
In between each tune and during each tune, Buddy did things that were beyond description and this crowd was all over it. Like stank on sheiss (as we say in the south when being polite in mixed company). Any little thing he did, got a reaction and for those of you that have been privileged to see Buddy in person, you know he responded to a good audience. Well, this was a GREAT audience. Did I call these people idiots? Silly me! They're obviously MY kind folks. My sisters and bro's.
When the band broke into West Side Story, there was another, what was now a routine, roar of approval. It was 10:25PM. I leaned over to my brother and said, "He plays a drum solo on this one. A "drum solo"? What a fool. There isn't a phrase in our language that covers what came next.
For the next twenty minutes and I know it was twenty minutes - remember that big clock? For the next twenty minutes I saw some things I never thought were possible, I saw some things I had never conceived of, I saw some things I didn't believe I saw, including the trade mark single stroke roll at the end. As Buddy opened up that roll there was a spontaneous standing ovation that was so loud, you could no longer hear him.
Buddy had the single stroke roll at elbow level. His face was literally purple. The crowd response was deafening.
And his arms were invisible! Invisible. Invisible and silent due to the din coming from the audience. Then he began hitting cymbals. We could see he was hitting them because they were moving - silent cymbals being hit by invisible arms. It was surreal.
At the start of that ovation, I had to push myself up using the back of the chair in front me, because my knees were weak and shaking. My head was tilted back, because my throat felt like I had swallowed a whole grapefruit. I knew I couldn't speak. There were tears running down my cheeks. I was struggling not to wet my pants. And I can assure you as I type this, I'm having the much the same reaction. I always do when I tell this story, though not quite as severe as that night. It's a memory seared in my mind forever.
The band weighed back in to end West Side Story, but we didn't hear it. When it was over, believe it or not, even though it couldn't be possible, the ovation got louder. I tried to clap my hands but they were numb and if I didn't look directly at them, I would miss. I was a complete and total mess. I watched that clock. 5 minutes we roared. It would've gone on much longer, but Buddy demanded by gesture that we stop.
He said a few things that were funny. I guess they were funny. Everyone laughed. I was way too emotionally hosed up to laugh. I was in a state of shock.
The band played Mercy, Mercy, Mercy for an encore. Dad wanted to beat the traffic, so we headed for an exit, which was on either side of the stage. That's where I got my first relatively close look at Buddy. Awe is the word I'll use, but it doesn't cover what I was feeling at that time.
On the way home, my Dad was waxing on. . ."Marvelous. Magnificent. Incredible. Unbelievable. Amazing . . ." Me? I was busy in the back seat of the car looking out the window, so he couldn't see my wet eyes and cheeks in the rearview mirror. When he asked me what I thought, I croaked out "It was good". My throat was still closed.
I didn't sleep well and the next day I couldn't wait for my parents to get out of the house for work. We had an agreement that there'd be no drumming until after 9 am, in deference to our neighbors. Screw that. They were gone by 7:15 am and when I knew they were out of earshot, I bolted to the basement where my 20 year old Gretsch kit sat.
Talk about a piece of junk. Now yellow pearl, instead of white, the bass drum even had a calfskin head on the front. I had one Zildjian cymbal - 12" on my home made hi hat. It was so old and thin, that if you stepped on the
hi hat pedal just a little too hard, the cymbal inverted.
I picked up my warped drumsticks and for the next 60 seconds, I opened up the governor - pulled out all the stops. I was inspired.
I was also horrible. Realized for the first time, I sucked. There was no other word for it. After what I had seen last night? Sucked.
I fired those warped sticks across the basement in a rage. Then suddenly I was crying again and pacing the floor talking to myself. I've been sick with pneumonia and it didn't feel as bad as I felt right then. Hopelessly depressed.
And then, to myself out loud, I said the words: "What's the point? Might as well quit. I'll never play like that." And then I really got mad, remembering my drum teacher's words. Boy was HE ever on the money. I collapsed on the floor. I just sat there and sulked for most of the day, trying the drums every now and then, finding that I still sucked.
It took me three days to gather up the guts to go see Joe. He asked me how the concert went and I shared my experience in detail. He asked if I wanted to quit. I said no, I wanted to learn to play like Buddy.
His response? "Forget it. You won't. Be the best you can be and that may be good. It may be great. But there's only one Buddy Rich. They'll never be another. He does things you'll never be able to do. There maybe things he does that you may be able to learn to do, but you won't get away with it. They're his things and they only come out right when he does them."
I sure didn't want to hear that, although every word was true. Over the next 16 years, I saw Buddy another 38 times, every single one of them great, but none that matched that night at Central Park in the summer of 1969.
Flash forward now to 1985. I had just seen Buddy for the last time - North Bergen High School, North Bergen, NJ. I was talking to my Dad about the concert, reflecting on the others and the stories I had heard and read over the years about special nights when Buddy went beyond Buddy. For the first time, I told Dad about my reaction that night in 1969. I've always felt we saw one of those very special nights, but since I was only 14, I also thought it may have seemed special because it was the was the first time.
So I asked my Dad about that. He was older and more objective and had also seen Buddy quite a few times. Was it one of those special nights? I'll close this with his response.
"Oh yes. Glen, when he was done playing his solo, I was out of breath, gasping for air because I had held mine for almost all of it. Several times I thought he was going to die, to drop dead right on stage. I've never seen anything like that in my life. Not before. Not since. It most definitely was one of those special nights."
The best forever. I sure miss him. ~Glen Darling
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