SKF NOTE: This story is from the full typed transcript of my interview with Jimmy Webb somewhere between 1980-83. I edited the interview for a short piece in Mix magazine, which the magazine editors, unfortunately, edited again, changing the entire tone of the story.
I close out this post with one favorite Jimmy Webb song, sung by Glen Campbell.
Scott K Fish: Was your [childhood] home life involved in alot of music?
Jimmy Webb: A very strong religious background, church background. My father was a Baptist minister for 22 years until my mother died in 1964. She always wanted me to accompany my father. We would go out for revival meetings and things like that.
So she started me on piano when I was about 6 years old — and it really didn’t take at first. But when I was 12 or 13 I started getting really interested in the piano.
I think that something interesting about that is that you will hear people say — and I’ve had teachers tell me about my own kids — “Well, I don’t think this kid has an affinity for music. I don’t think that he has his father’s gift. (laughs) All that stuff.
But I didn’t have any kind of a gift. I wasn’t even slightly interested in playing the piano and certainly there were no outward signs of any ability at all. Until I was 12. And then it just seemed, like, somewhere it had stuck in there. All that information was actually still there, and it came out seemingly all at once.
SKF NOTE: All of us have pivotal moments in our lives. We gain new knowledge from reading a book, listening to music, studying a new subject, visiting a place for the first time, or meeting someone. Pivotal moments change everything for us. Our lives can be defined as before-and-after the pivotal moments.
One major pivotal moment in my life took place in 1977 when I interviewed drummer Mel Lewis. I was 26- or 27-years old, still feeling that whatever other jobs I had to work to earn a living, my goal was to one day make my living solely as a professional drummer.
By 1977 I had played in a few bands. Through performances, teaching, and freelance writing, I was earning enough — barely — to live. I loved the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Orchestra. I owned and listened to their albums over-and-over, especially Live at the Village Vanguard and Consummation. Mel plays and sounds great. And I loved studying the musical conversations of the Jones/Lewis rhythm section of Mel Lewis, Richard Davis, and Roland Hanna.
The Jones/Lewis Orchestra was loved by jazz critics and fans. They released classic jazz albums nominated for Grammy Awards. Mel was endorsed by Gretsch Drums and Zildjian Cymbals. And Mel could play every style of music. He excelled at reading and interpreting drum charts.
In short, Mel Lewis 1977 was the model of a professional drummer. Mel Lewis had very successfully traveled the musical road to which I, walking several miles behind him, had dedicated my life.
We met in Mel’s New York City apartment. I had driven into the city from Long Island, parked as close as I could to Mel’s address, and walked the rest of the way. I stepped into Mel’s apartment building entryway where I was supposed to ring the buzzer to Mel’s apartment. Scanning the rows of doorbell buttons I didn’t see the last name Lewis.
“Who are you looking for?” asked the doorman, my puzzled expression a dead giveaway.
“Mel Lewis,” I said, “I’m here to interview him for Modern Drummer magazine.”
“Press the button for Sokoloff,” said the doorman. Mel’s real last name was Sokoloff? Already I was learning something new.
When I arrived at Mel’s apartment, Mel opened the door and invited me in. He was 48-49 years old. A gracious host and a natural born talker with great stories to tell, our interview went on for hours.
My pivotal moment took place near the end of the interview. Mel and I were talking about the Jones/Lewis Orchestra and Mel said, “We haven’t made a profit with that band in 13 years.”
We talked about reasons why the Jones/Lewis Orchestra hadn’t made a profit in 13 years and then the interview was over. Mel said he wanted to get out of his apartment and stretch his legs. He offered to walk me to my car. And when we arrived at where I had parked my car, my car wasn’t there. I didn’t know what happened to it, but I didn’t want Mel to think I was unknowingly stupid enough to park my car in a place where it would be towed.
My car was towed. Riding the Long Island Railroad home, I was thinking about what Mel said: “We haven’t made a profit with that band in 13 years.” That was on my mind all night, and all the next day riding the LIRR back into NYC to pay the Transit Authority $100 to get back my car, my 1972 Chevy Vega that probably wasn’t worth $100.
Mel’s matter-of-fact, “We haven’t made a profit with that band in 13 years,” was like Mel telling me everything I believed about what it takes to be a successful drummer was wrong. All of it. And I didn’t have a backup plan.
Depressing? You bet. Soon I stopped gigging, sold or gave away my drums and cymbals and did the necessary work of getting my life in balance. Ed Soph was right when he said of all of us who identify ourselves first as drummers: “You’re not a drummer. You’re a human being” who happens to play drums.
Within a few years I was focused on studying and writing about drummers and drumming. I only stopped playing drums in public, not at home. Eventually I started writing songs — lyrics and music — on piano and guitar.
But my heart remains with drumming.
I learned much later that Mel Lewis shared a birthday with the man responsible for introducing me to drums, my Uncle Bob Fish. A few years ago, when I was selling my house I decided to get rid of my LP collection — except for my autographed copy of Mel Lewis & Friends.
And as I write, on the window sill in front of my desk I keep a pair of Mel Lewis signature Slingerland drumsticks. A gift from a pivotal person in my life.
In closing here’s a lifelong favorite Mel Lewis track. This is a stellar performance.
SKF NOTE: I had not seen this ZildjianSteve Gadd advertisement in many years. But a couple of weeks ago, I noticed the ad on the back cover of Modern Drummer‘s October 1981 issue – and I smiled.
Zildjian used this same template with drummers other than Steve Gadd. But this Zildjian/Gadd ad is memorable for two reasons. First, because it is a nice photo of the cymbals, hardware, and drums of arguably the premier drummer at that time. I’ve made the point before: 1981 was before the internet. Photos of famous drummers and/or their drumsets were not easy to come by.
The second reason this ad is memorable is because in 1981 Steve Gadd was endorsing Yamaha drums. In this Zildjian ad Steve is playing a Ludwig snare drum. Steve was neither the first nor the last drummer to use drums or cymbals – especially in recording studios – other than the drums and cymbals they were endorsing. But the public rarely saw photos of high profile drummers mixing and matching their endorsed products.
And it was rarer still to see such mixing and matching in a beautiful four-color photo on the back cover of the world’s most popular drum magazine.
SKF NOTE: Yesterday someone in search of Roberto Petaccia’s book sent me a message asking for help. Later in the day, when I was able to reply to the stranger, I couldn’t find his message. The writer said he saw my Life Beyond the Cymbals repost of Roberto’s obituary and thought I might have info to offer.
The only Roberto Petaccia book I know of his Roberto’s Progressive Steps to Progressive Funk cited at the close of the two Modern Drummer columns I reposted here with Roberto’s MD obituary.
SKF NOTE: Reading Tommy Aldridge‘s interview last week, Tommy’s thoughts about drummers who “played things I had never heard before” apply to all drum pioneers. As such, Tommy’s words are worth highlighting.
“I was amazed that The Who even tried to replace Keith Moon. I admire Kenney Jones‘ audacity. Kenny is probably a better drummer technically than Keith. But Keith Moon was a pioneer, like Bonham was a pioneer. John Bonham was a technician, but that’s not why he was so acclaimed. It was because of his way of thinking and the parts that he came up with. Mitch Mitchell and John Bonham played things I had never heard before. You always wondered where they’d heard that stuff.”
SKF NOTE: Yesterday someone in search of Roberto Petaccia’s book sent me a message asking for help. Later in the day, when I was able to reply to the stranger, I couldn’t find his message. The writer said he saw my Life Beyond the Cymbals repost of 
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