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It was during Peter and the Test Tube Babies’ South American
tour that they spotted me rattling out a samba rhythm on a soup
spoon and ladle combination and, noticing that I am hideously
ugly, they offered me a place in the band in order that they
might appear more handsome as their twilight years approach. I
thank the band for their kindness and the change they have
brought about in my tragic existence.
Cave
Man Davex
MORE DRUM
CHAT WITH CAVEMAN DAVE O’BRIEN
Hello and
welcome to the latest update of “Drumchat” where all percussive
matters come under the working drummers’ microscope.
This time I
intend to pay close attention to the snare drum, the heart of
the rock drum kit and the item deserving the closest attention
of the dedicated sticksman. Remember, in the average pop or rock
recording the snare is perhaps the loudest instrument in the
mix, marking the time, setting the pace for the dancing feet of
the listeners and up there with the vocal in the defining of the
song.
With these
facts in mind the budding drummer should set out to choose a
snare drum at the top of his personal budget in order to make
sure that he is able to mark out a cracking signature sound that
prospective employers will find hard to ignore; choosing a shell
that bears a badge trusted by generations of musicians is a
vital first step on this career path, consider top end ranges of
makes such as Pearl, Premier, Ludwig, DW etc. etc. A popular
name does not necessarily mean a quality product however, I mean
if you go and look at the book shelves in your local town you’ll
soon find that this is the case…..fucking celebrity fucking
memoirs and ghost written poxy biographies about low life cunts
who were never fit to draw breath adorn the shelves of every WH
Smith and bargain bucket literary shitpit in any town centre you
care to wade through.
Now don’t
get me wrong, I once came to the conclusion that literature
could be divided into two categories: Non fiction and Bullshit.
However, I have re-evaluated my small minded opinions and come
to understand that the telling of a rollicking tale, fresh from
the over active mind of a great story teller is a work of art
whereas the boasting of a sickening celebrity cunt is the
easiest outpouring of self congratulation a mindless braggart
could ever commit to print. Looking around a modern bookshop
makes me realise that the celebrity biography is the smothering
of decent literature, the rape of great art, the replacement of
ideas with the idea that if something mundane happened to a
famous person it somehow gains merit. Does it fuck.
I still
devour with great relish the biographies of airmen of the first
and second world wars as I am amazed that people could have
lived through such times. Whatever you think of the moralities
of the campaigns of bomber command in the forties, the true
stories of the time make better reading than some fucking pop
star wondering what shade of fucking whale fat to smear over her
stupid fucking face or where to sit at some back slapping awards
ceremony where a bunch of narcissistic layabouts congratulate
each other on spending most of their lives doing fucking nothing
and then getting a fucking ghost writer to write about the
fucking life they were too coked up to even notice didn’t happen
around them. Autobiography???? The lazy, literature strangling
celeb cunts.
I read the
“Book of Dave” by imaginative author Will Self lately and was
impressed by his amazing ability to create a world which,
although non existent, draws the reader in and sets a scene in
which a separate reality, sense of humour and set of rules
engage the reader. Imagine if Self or, indeed Shakespeare wrote
only of their self indulgent lifestyles and the friends they
slapped on the back…..if every Tom Dick and Harry just wrote
shite like that the world would be a boring place.
So, last
week I headed for the publishers with my biography: “Skin tight
percussion……a life of flabby backbeats” hoping to secure a deal
that would set me up for retirement.
“Piss off
with yer load of boring shite” enunciated the witty publicist,
“Might have printed it if it were written by Oggs but you’re
just some two bit tin pot piss poor wanker” And so I shall
remain without a book deal. Devastated with this rejection I
went into a nearby restaurant to cheer myself up. Although I am
normally a vegetarian I decided to order Cock au vin and when it
came I tucked in with gusto. Blazing shockwaves burst across my
tongue as I realised how hot the food was, it scalded my mouth
and I left without paying. In that state of despondency the last
thing I needed was a mouth full of hot cock.
So, tub
thumping readers, that is my advice with regard to the hazardous
world of snares. I hope these words of wisdom are of assistance
and please read next time when other vital aspects of drumming
will be addressed.
CAVEMAN
DAVE.
Hatemail????
daveflatpig@genie.co.uk
Hatemale??
……a good name for a lesbian punk band
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