Have you ever watched a drummer with nothing to do?
First it's just a toe, subtly taptaptapping out the beat.
Then the legs kick in,
Conjuring up a pattern on the bass pedal,
High-hat picks up the upbeats, insistent,
Pushing forward the tune that's in his head.
Left hand caresses the snare,
Right hand rides the beat with a tss ts tstss . . .
Cool and slow but always
Right on.
And watching him you hear the growing sound of a
Tenor sax solo, and behind it, a bad-ass bass line,
Just loud enough to hear the soft
Thwak
Of the strings as they hit the neck of the bass and
Settle back into position,
Still humming, almost inaudibly.
The sax solo ends
And, through the applauds, trombones,
Edgy and striking,
Pipe in with a familiar melody,
Bringing the tune to a close.
A second later, everything disappears
And all that's left is the impressions of drum beats
Still lingering in the air . . .
And then, just a drummer,
Jammin' to the rhythms in his head.

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