The Art of Sitting In.

I just read a blog by Danny Barnes called “how to play in someone else’s band”. It’s an excellent read and should be required reading for any musician: http://dannybarnes.com/blog/how-play-someone-elses-band

As I read Danny’s blog it occurred to me that there are also some basic rules of etiquette for musicians sitting in on another band’s gig. Whether you are asked to sit in or “gulp” ask to sit in, it is imperative to know and follow a few simple courtesies.

Don’t Try to Take Over the Show.

You are a guest, not a guest star. Save the showboating for your own gigs. Taking over the mic with rambling monologues is a no-no and yelling “how’s everybody doing tonight” is just silly. Chances are, unless you are Slash or Springsteen, no one is as impressed at your cameo appearance as you think they are.

Don’t use your spot as an audition or an opportunity to promote your band and don’t bark orders at the musicians on stage.

Limit Your Time.

Know when enough is enough. If you haven’t agreed on how many songs you will play beforehand, learn to recognize the subtle and not-so-subtle hints that your welcome has been stretched thin. Some musicians might be too shy or polite to actually say anything so keep your eyes and ears open for telltale signs that the band is ready to resume their set. Two or three songs are usually adequate and if you have to resort to playing “Johnny B. Goode” then that’s a good sign that the well has run dry. Which brings us to:

Know What You are Going to Play.

Show the band a little courtesy and have some idea as to what songs you can do together. If it’s a classic rock band and you’re Mr. Up-To-The-Minute-Hip don’t expect them to know the latest noise from some obscure screamo punk band. In fact, before you sit in, listen the band play a few songs or a set and if you aren’t familiar with the band’s material, don’t get on stage.

Don’t Screw With the Gear.

If you are not professional enough to play on unfamiliar gear, do not get on stage and readjust everything to your liking. Remember you are a guest; don’t waste time fussing with guitar straps, amp settings and drum hardware. Get up, play and get off.

Respect the band’s gear. Maybe you play like some coked up gorilla on your drum set but don’t beat the living shit out of someone else’s gear. And if by chance you do damage something, don’t offer to pay for it, INSIST on paying for it. Right now, then and there.

Just Say No.

Exceptions abound but really most bands do not welcome sit ins. It is intrusive and it eats into their opportunity to play out. You might be asked to sit in as a gesture of politeness. Try this: If asked to sit in, politely decline and if they persist then you can be sure that you are actually welcomed and not just being tolerated.

And if you’ve asked, begged and/or needled the band to sit in, well, shame on you.

Fan Boy.

Ya gotta start somewhere and I did back in 1967. I lived in a little Michigan town located in the vicinity of Boofland and Bumfuck. Population: Me and no drum instructors to speak of. Oops.

In a time before cable TV, the Internet, drum magazines and instructional videos, a ten-year old larval drummer living in a place where pick-up trucks and tractors go to die is apt to be starved for information and I was. To feed my drum gluttony I sent away for the latest drum catalogs so I could at least daydream and sort how the damn things were supposed to be set up but catalogs were useless when it came to figuring out important things like how to hold the sticks, when to hit the big drum and what in the hell I was supposed to do with that damn cymbal foot pedal on the left.

No, for the real dirt I had to rely on the four or five available television stations and monitor them diligently for any real live drummers in action. Options were scarce. If I was lucky I might catch some pop band miming their single on a variety show like Sonny and Cher or Johnny Cash's show. Usually the drummer was awkwardly air drumming five or six inches over the drums and cymbals trying to pantomime to a drum part someone else recorded, probably Hal Blaine or Earl Palmer, not that I noticed. On Saturday mornings I could always count on yet another fake performance on good old American Bandstand. In fact, I swear I saw a band like the Grassroots start miming a song on AB and then, in the middle of the song, start breaking down their gear as a joke. I think I was probably stunned that they weren't actually playing live and, in retrospect, I suppose it was my first glimpse into the black hole that is the music bidness. (The memory is crystal clear even though I've never been able to confirm that it actually happened. And if it is not true, it certainly should be.)

Slowly but surely I put together enough information to start pounding away on my Dixie drums set. The finer points of my technique would eventually be addressed when I joined the school band but for now, I was ready to rock. But to what? Even as a young drum geek I quickly grew impatient playing the drums solo, a trait I still harbor, but I sure as hell didn't know any other musicians.

But I had me a Montgomery Ward stereophonic record player with detachable speakers and, better yet, I had a patient mother willing to join the Columbia Record club! Yes!!! Twelve records for a dollar and the promise to buy a gazillion more at full retail and shipping and woe if you forget to send in the card every month because the “pick of the month” that shipped automatically was usually some piece of dreck.

I loaded up on my first dozen records and over the next couple of years I built a collection of fine mid-sixties pop and roll with a heavy emphasis on CBS/Columbia artists. And among those records were two very special LPs that are the crux of this story.

One summer there was a top 40 single all over the CKLW airwaves and this song had the most awesome, fucking killer syncopated drum break. It was called “Mr. Sun, Mr. Moon” by Paul Revere and the Raiders featuring Mark Lindsay. And they were Columbia recording artists! The album with the single, “Hard and Heavy with Marshmallow” (hey, it was the 1960's) and the following LP, “Alias Pink Puzz” (see previous parenthetical bit) were pivotal to my drumming development.

Now the titles may be dated and desperately hip but the music was good and, even more importantly, the drumming was a revelation to my ears. I didn't quite realize why they were so cool back then but the slightly swingy, R&B style drumming and the fat, punchy drum sounds weren't anything like the staid drumming I was usually hearing on the radio.

The drummer was an Afro topped, tall drink of water named Joe Corerro, Jr. and I blatantly ripped off a whole lot of stuff from Mr. Corerro, stuff I still use on a regular basis to this day. Excluding Ringo, Joe was the first drumming influence I could put a name and face to.

Fast forward to 2007-ish.

I'm attending the Winter NAMM show in Anaheim, California and I'm killing time on a Saturday night at the Anaheim Hilton. During NAMM the lobby of the Hilton turns into a mass of bodies, music, booze and people desperate to see and be seen. Having had my fill I searched out a relatively quite hallway and plopped down on a couch to rest my feet and my mind.

A few minutes later two gentleman asked if they could share the seat and as they sat I noticed a name on the tall one's name badge; Joe Corerro.

Over the years I've had the opportunity to spend time with a handful of well-known musicians and even a few bona fide rock stars and, as interesting as that can be, I was never star struck. But upon realizing that I was sharing a couch with the one and only Joe Corerro, Jr., I turned into a blithering fan boy. This was the guy that literally defined much of what I do with and behind a drum set. Thankfully I regained my composure and proceeded to have a nice conversation with a very pleasant, if slightly bewildered, ex-Raider drummer.

It's always been my theory that life is a series of cycles.

I still play along to Paul Revere and the Raiders.