Jake Hanna died February 12, 2010. In tribute to the accomplished drummer, we turn to Stan Keyawa of the Professional Drum Shop for some words about his old friend:

Jake Hanna remembered by Stan Keyawa…

As a young man working at Pro Drum in the early 70’s, I remember asking Jake before our Les De Merle drum clinic, “Hey Jake, are you going to check out our clinic today?” Jake replied, “No Stanley, I feel fine!” I walked away and didn’t get it till 10 minutes later when he turned to Bob Yeager and said, “The Les De Merle the better.” All in fun. Yeager and Jake cracked up (Les—you know how Jake was).

Bob with Jake, mid-70's

That was Jake’s style; Jake was something else. He may not have been a household name, but among the players and jazz enthusiasts alike he was a giant in the industry. No one had better time and musical feel than Jake. Swinging the Woody Herman big band, Tony Bennett, and Bing Crosby to the small trios, Jake’s soft touch and tasteful style stood out. Whenever Jake was picking out a set of brushes on the counter, everybody stopped, looked, and listened—a brush master he was.

It was a very sad day to hear the news on February 12th. Jake was a close friend of Yeager, president of Pro Drum, since the late 50’s; and really became a close family friend when he moved out to Los Angeles from New York in 1970 with the Merv Griffin Show. I remember our mom, Dolores Yeager, cooking many dinner parties at home involving Jake.

Our hearts go out to his wife Denisa Hanna and everyone that Jake touched throughout his life.

Oh…and if Jake put you down or made a joke about you, you probably deserved it. Be honored. He was a great one.

More about Jake.

Post your own remembrances or comments.

Be Gentle
I was surprised to learn that this was Nate Wood’s first interview. It’s not like he’s an unknown. Buzz about his playing ripples in the wake of his electrifying live performances with Kneebody, and more recently, Tigran Hamasyan; and if you’re not hip to him you’re probably one or two cats away from someone who is in this town. Still, it’s true that there is little published record of the 30 year-old drumming phenom. That is destined to soon change, and I am happy to have sat down with Nate on New Years Eve day—less than a week before he departed his life-long home of Southern California for a new home and life in New York—to relate his story before it’s old news.

We covered Nate here once before, but I knew after that show with Kneebody that the resulting review was little more than a placeholder for a more revealing feature to come. So here you have it: our two-part, hour-long, tragically under-edited, implicitly promised video interview with Nate Wood.

Inspired Timing
My improvised plan was to massage the blatant symbolism of the new year and the very real transition of a cross-country move, into an opportunity for retrospection and a bit of horizon gazing. Nate indulged the premise and afterward acknowledged blissful emotional catharsis. It may have just been the effects of a late night and midday low blood sugar.

In any case, we did get the story. From a self-imposed retirement at age four, to gigs with two cutting-edge instrumental groups and John Tesh. That’s right. If you haven’t heard Nate play—or if you have—you might care to look and listen to this little piece of insanely-edited French footage first.

Congratulations and best to Nate on his move and upcoming wedding. To be continued.

De-Classified
An overwrought and underwhelming hotel sports bar in Simi Valley is not where I expected to find myself on Saturday night. That was exactly where I could be found last night for a last minute and—this part makes me giggle—“secret” performance by Billy Howerdel’s Ashes Divide. As secret shows go, or don’t go, in L.A., this one was bonafide—no viral emails or Facebook blasts days in advance. From what I gathered, a friend of Billy’s was booked at the place; a band canceled; and an offer to get Ashes out of the rehearsal room and onto a stage for a 30-minute run-through preceding some new tour dates was accepted. That’s right: a scheduled 7:45-8:15p set at The Arena Sports Grill (dig the homepage jam) in the Simi Grand Vista Hotel. “Grand” properly modifies “Vista,” not “Hotel.” Let’s just take their word on the vista.

Where Champions Play
“Where Champions Play” is the working motto for The Arena. I’ll generously leave the patrons out of this, but any contrived allusion to the Roman—or even L.A.—Coliseum must be held to account for the giant plastic hot-rod flamed sharks hanging overhead, and the two beer-branded stripper cages stepping up from the dance floor. I pondered the scenario in which one stripper cage wouldn’t suffice.

The most redeeming and presently relevant element of this monument to giant-screen television was the proportionally over-sized stage fronting the room. The band and drummer, Jeff Friedl, were still setting-up and dialing-in when we arrived—clearly, they would be hitting on the dark side of 7:45. It was a true act of dedication to lug all that crap to Ventura County for a half-hour test spin. The unsuspecting handful of regulars were in for a treat and a departure from the keytar bands that, according to one sour Yelp review, have reportedly graced that stage. I enjoyed the discordant tension of the whole thing.

Center Ring
By the delayed first crunch-chords and the layered tracks of Ashes Divide’s set, a respectable, albeit patchy, crowd had amassed on the floor and around the long bar and upper-tier pool tables. The band’s dense, tight, industrial, angular, and conspicuously loud sound turned heads. Along with excited, falsetto hooting, there was noticeable surprise and interest on many previously bored faces. The circus was passing through town and everyone wanted a glimpse of the conjoined bearded ladies. Almost everyone: Evidently, the show was so secret, that some in attendance unwittingly continued shooting pool.

Damn Lefty
Friedl’s an old friend of HollywoodDrum.com, going all the way back to our early days in 2009. You may remember our video interview with him just before he left for dates with Maynard James Keenan’s Puscifer. Oddly, as I’ve known Jeff for years now, this was the first time I’d actually seen him play live. Once adjusted and accepting of the fact that the lefty plays backwards!, he is good fun to watch. The seemingly incongruous primal and mechanical drum parts are a fitting spotlight for his high-swinging, deliberate, and athletic rock chops. He locked in tight with the sequence; still, his playing breathed and bellowed. Here’s the thing that is most evident about Jeff Freidl as a drummer: He is a hard worker. He clearly does his homework and he gives the music everything he’s got on stage. That he has an arresting strange and creative side doesn’t hurt.

Victory
Sure enough, Ashes Divide played their 30-minutes and began the thrice-as-long process of tear down and load out. While the sonic attributes of The Arena Sports Bar and Grill were to a proper arena as fried bar food is to the fresh-cooked organic variety, there was an un-fussiness to the affair that approached preferable for me. Not so for potato skins. If you can’t rock a sports bar in Simi Valley, then you really have no business on stage anywhere. It is a fair test, and Ashes Divide passed the audition—for themselves. That was the whole point. Go check them out at a two-star hotel near you. If you prefer, stay tuned for official, non-secret tour dates.

Double Hittin’: Mitch Marine @ Kibitz
Where I did expect to find myself last night, was at the Kibitz Room in L.A. to get loose with Paul Chesne and The Crazy Muther Fuckers. We made our escape from Simi in time to make the 11p show on Fairfax Ave. Another old friend, Mitch Marine, was playing drums with the Muthers when I first got to town a few years back. Chesne instantly became one of my local favs. Clever, infectious song-writing in the stylistic vicinity of Rolling Stones and Johnny Cash; together with great roots/rock players; and the probability of Chesne standing atop a table, with guitar strapped on, pouring a beer over his head, consistently promises a good time. Marine, Dwight Yoakam’s long-time drummer, soon left the band. There are certain drummers who with certain bands create unmistakable and enchanted chemistry. Marine was such a catalyst with Chesne and the Muthers. I was happy to see him sitting in on his old gig, back in their old home base. His playing is informed, swinging, smart, and confident. And at over 6 feet, with trademark cowboy hat and shrunk vintage tee, the rock n roll cowboy drummer just looks right back there.

As Confucius never said: Expect to find yourself where you’ll be.

I’ve lived in L.A. long enough now that the sublime, the absurd, the glamorous, and the illusory are integrated and normalized elements of daily life. I’ve also lived outside of L.A. long enough to know it’s not normal. It’s L.A. Some days are more L.A. than others.

Yesterday, after a run through my palm-studded neighborhood in the 70° January morning sunshine, I drove just up the block to Universal Studios Stage 1 and was graciously escorted backstage onto the Tonight Show set. It was going to be a pretty L.A. kind of day.

So L.A.
Around 11am, I met up with drummer, Dan Konopka, of infectious pop-rockers, OK Go, as he was preparing to sound check for the 5 o’clock taping. While he was preoccupied helping coach and conduct (stomping his foot and gesticulating enthusiastically—in time, of course) the rent-a-choir through a song arrangement, I took in the Vegas meets alien-mothership façade of the new Conan O’Brien set. I also fired-off a few pics, which would have been fascinating and added compelling visual synergy to this recounting, but I’m pretty sure NBC Universal’s legal team outnumbers ours. And they probably also have actual law degrees. Take a moment, if you like, to visualize minds-eye images of Conan’s Einsenhower coffee mug/pencil holder, Max’s retro marine-pearl four-piece on strobe-lit riser, and a crew guy machine-buffing the stage floor to a high industrial sheen amidst busy gaffers, engineers, producers, and Dan stomping his foot. I’ve got it all.

Properly Windex-ed.

There was a guy Windexing the obligatory drum shield protecting sonic-purity from the rude and profane ddrum rental kit. Almost like wearing nothing at all. Once up and running, sound check lasted about 30 minutes. The audio crew—and everyone on these shows—knows what they’re doing. Things are efficient and move on a fixed schedule. By the final run-through, the band was sounding tight, balanced, and clean; camera shots were blocked and lights were choreographed. Dan locked with the sequence and owned the throne as if he’d played in this band for over a decade. He has.

Walnuts And Peanuts
Despite a Vic Firth endorsement and an upcoming tour’s–worth of of sticks…somewhere…Dan showed up with one pair; we headed over to Guitar Center on Ventura for some $8 spares, and then went for lunch. I had the raspberry walnut salad. Delightful. Dan had something with mashed potatoes. He seemed happy. We headed back to the studio by 3pm in preparation for showtime.

Yes, I used this one, Dan.

A little Greenroom action; watching Conan run-through and fine-tune the bits in leather jacket and baseball cap; running into Andy and Max; listening-in on the Tonight Show band rehearse in their off-set studio; and other super-L.A. moments ensued. By the time the show began taping, I was hanging behind-set, witnessing Conan and guests enter the stage; and crew and cue-card writers alternately working, checking Facebook, and mindlessly chewing on Red Vines, Blowpops, Cheez-Its, orange marshmallow Circus Peanuts, and other assorted delectables from a well-stocked shelf. They had done this a few times before. But for the odd giant gag-sized tissue box, a unicycle, gorilla cage hanging from the rigging high above, and the kid from Juno, it could have been anybody’s typical day at work.

The Show…
OK Go finally took the stage and got situated during the last “commercial break” in the taping. A stage assistant counted down: “20 seconds. 10…5…Have a good show.” The Tonight Show band winds down. Conan is overheard introducing, “…Please welcome, OK Go!” The curtain opens. Dan pumps his hi-hat foot to the click count-in, and five minutes later I can see him charming Andy Richter center-stage. I never asked him what that was all about. Dan used his confessed pre-show nerves for good. He rocked. He came off stage feeling pumped and satisfied and exhausted. Sometimes a show—indeed a day—like this leaves you feeling like you played a full set. And then mowed the lawn.

Just below Kathy Griffin...

…Is Over
The band and guests—that Juno kid and a comedian who did a whole thing on sheet thread-counts that was pretty good—were led to the dressing room hallway to sign the wall. A tradition, and some entertaining reading. Besides OK Go’s, I took a pic of one other guest’s wall-entry: Pee Wee Herman—who wrote, “Thanksgiving 2009 Hi! Gobble, gobble!!!”

Dan and the band were leaving for Europe the next day for a month of shows to promote their artful new album, Of The Blue Colour Of The Sky, being released this Tuesday, January 12. Nothing left to see here. Leaving the lot, it was back onto Lankershim Blvd. and onward to home, quickly re-integrating and normalizing along the way.

Also L.A.
Watching the DVR of the show the next day, I recognized one of things I like about living in this town: being behind the curtain is always more interesting than a front row seat. We know this empirically as musicians, but there is something more to it. Reality trumps fantasy; it is endlessly more satisfying and meaningful. I’d rather know there is some middle-aged dude with a pot-belly, warming his hands in front of a space heater, and eating orange Peanuts just behind the thin wooden structure of Conan’s union-built backdrop, than to see the thing on T.V. where prism-taped paneling looks like mother-of-pearl inlaid mahogany, blemishes are pancaked, and pre-show nerves are obscured with heroic camera angles. There is richer and more lasting meaning in a parent delicately and tenderly reaching under a sleeping child’s pillow, than the illusion of some freak, elfin-fairy with a wand. Just a thought. Goodnight, Everybody.

Dan Konopka recently moderated a poolside L.A. alt-rock drummers roundtable video for HollywoodDrum.com with the drummers of Silversun Pickups, Motion City Soundtrack, and She Wants Revenge. Watch for it here soon!

Ho, ho, ho! and a roomful of drums. It was time again for the Pro Drum Shop annual Christmas party this past Tuesday, December 15. Hollywood Drum has expressed sincere affection for the Pro Shop before, and we’re not about to stop the music now. There shall be no “Where Is The Love,” or “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers.” Regrettably, I was unavailable to attend and raise a Styrofoam cup to owners Stan and Jerry myself this year, so the lovely Jason Sutter graciously served as our guest reporter on this one.

This year’s fete held added significance as 2009 marked the beloved shop’s 50th anniversary. According to Sutter, attendance suggested that this bit of sentiment was not lost on L.A. drummers, with cars “pouring out to the street,” and people “filtering” through the front door. Not surprisingly, it seems fun was had and good cheer spread by all.

So, I figuratively raise my not-so-proverbial Styrofoam cup to thank Stan and Jerry for all they do for our drum community, and wish everyone joyful reflection on 2009 and happiness ahead for 2010.

Thanks to Sutter for his colorful coverage.

One of my favorite things to do on a free night in L.A. is check out live music. Right up there with cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels. This is the first of an on-going series of mini-reviews of shows around town that will be posted here in the news blog: Hittin’. We’ll still be doing occasional feature reviews, but I wanted a place to quickly upload some pics and unload some fresh impressions. There are worse things to purge on the morning after.

The Drummer
I admit to being late to the party concerning Nate Wood. It was only recently that I was exposed to his brilliant drumming on Armenian pianist Tigran Hamasyan’s stunning 2009 release, Red Hail. With performances like that and capacity crowds like the one at Seven Grand for his band Kneebody in downtown L.A. last night, it may be the party has only begun.

The Scene
The downtown scene is gaining its legs—and a soul. Though of L.A., Kneebody sounds like a New York band. The music is avant-garde, stone-cold hip, and snotty; seamlessly melding post bop and drum n bass. Seeing the show amidst the tension of urban decay and renaissance—in the mounted-deer-heads gone wild, swank whiskey-lodge setting of Seven Grand—made perfect sense. A Hollywood or Valley jazz club would not quite have synchronized the experience just so. The second floor club on W 7th St. elevated it.

The Band
If the elongated room, obtrusive pool tables, and human mass made the group challenging to see, the sound from the stage was unmistakable. Perhaps baffling at times, but unmistakable. These guys have been together awhile, and the precision, compositional density, and conceptual sophistication were testament. Kneebody speaks its own language—with native codes and syntax—that while often cryptic in structure, requires no interpreter to understand. You don’t necessarily need to speak fluent Mongolian to recognize that it is a fully developed, nuanced and emotive language. Pro players (out in force) and casual music-lovers alike surrendered to the modulating rhythms, whirling melodies, and obscured forms; translating complex to simple, strange to familiar, head-scratching to ass-shaking.

The Drummer. Again.
Wood played a lead role in the dialogue on stage. His alternately fluid and halting, always inventive and inspired timekeeping shaped the motion and direction of the whole. He managed frenetic ideas and energy with light, relaxed, and controlled touch. His mostly de-tuned Gretsch drums and dark, trashy cymbals complimented his earthy flow. On more breakbeat oriented grooves, he would mute a sizzle cymbal with a crash, place an 8″ splash on the snare, small crash on the floor, and a tam tam on the rack. His approach with this setup was fascinating—a drum n bass style that is a mix of dub, Stewart Copeland, and Elvin Jones. No doubt, Wood is a wildly endowed and original musician.

Wood is currently preparing a move from L.A. to N.Y.C. Still, I have a feeling that we’ll be seeing much more of him.

Post your very own show reviews on the HollywoodDrum.com Forum.

HollywoodDrum.com came alive in May of this year along with my debut news post. A little over half-a-year later, as I begin this post announcing our review of Steve Gadd and Friends and companion video interview with Steve, I can’t help but feel a bit reflective.

From Humble Beginnings…
That first post began and ended with references to our premier video interview with Wizard Sleeve drummer Elvy Brock—who strangely resembled a bandanna-ed Craig Macintyre, our other premier video interviewee—which featured a brief triangle workshop, silent drum “meditation”, and grainy home-video production. Amusing, to me anyway, but hardly an imposing debut. Far beyond the patiently-paced Steve Gadd and Friends set last Wednesday night at Catalina Jazz Club, we were leaving ample space to expand.

A bit of self-indulgent retrospection sweetens the satisfaction at hand. Six months forth from a manic Elvy imploring, “Come and get the rock!” we arrive at a revealing and meaningful sit-down with one of the most influential drummers of all time. The meeting held personal significance of another sort as well. The cassette of Chick Corea’s “Three Quartets” lived in the dash of my first car—a rusted old VW Beetle, if you must know—for months. Al Jarreau’s “Breaking Away” was the first CD I ever bought, and also endured a relentless workout. My own accounting of Gadd’s influence is extensive and hardly unique among drummers. I noticed that I smile a lot in this interview.

…To Humble Endings
“It’s never perfect.” We will take Steve’s words as a working motto, and hell—a raving endorsement, of our efforts here. It’s HollywoodDrum.com’s first remote interview production, and I think with this offering we have fully realized the ideal of non-perfection. Special thanks goes to our Swiss Army knife, Carl “El Rey” King, for his total down-ness and madd skillz. One disclaimer begs mention: We procured super-swanky lavalier mics to capture pro audio for just such occasions; regrettably, our sound technician plugged into the wrong hole. Ouch. Please accept our apologies and bear with the background noise of a jazz club after hours. Spin it as charming—works for us.

And now…
We are now proud to present you with Dr. Steve Gadd.

Vintage and custom drums? Mostly. Informative, inspirational, and interesting drum clinics? Mostly. A chill hang and celebration for L.A. drummers? Mostly. Raffle girls? Definitely.

Logistics
I kid the raffle girls, because it’s fun and because the annual Hollywood Drum Show wouldn’t be the same without them. They, along with the usual exhibitors and crowd of drum-geeks (present!), brought continuity to the once-again displaced event. Aside from being invisible from the street, obfuscated in the winding innards of the lot, and generally maddening to find, the show’s homecoming at Raleigh Studios in Hollywood on October 17th and 18th was a logistical success. The remote end-lot gave the gathering a secluded and nestled feel; alfresco clinics beneath a well-conceived tented stage, and in glorious weather, were a pleasure; and the soundstage housing the displays was pro and well organized, if smallish. With veteran experience, or simply some minimal signage, the venue could actually be quite ideal…from a public vantage.

Asteriks
From a business perspective, I suppose we’ll find out next year. As mentioned in our earlier Q&A with organizer Kerry Crutchfield, the Hollywood Drum Show is a pursuit of passion that is often a break-even proposition—sometimes not-even—brought to us by Crutch’s spirit and tenacity. Over the din, he mentioned to me how grateful he’d feel if he could simply walk off the street, pay his $10, and enjoy a show—indeed a day—like this one. He’s absolutely right. Thank you, Crutch. Any critique or jibing from me is duly asterisked. Here’s hoping the thing was an abounding success; I know that we all affectionately anticipate the now rooted tradition. Like Thanksgiving with the family. And raffle girls.

Enjoy our pictorial review.

If you weren’t checking Brian Blade with Daniel Lanois’ Black Dub at the Troubadour this past Thursday, October 15, 2009, then you either a) were on the road or hard at work in town, b) were preoccupied with the birth of your baby, or c) didn’t check the HollywoodDrum.com calendar or speak to anyone for a full-week beforehand. So either carry on, congratulations, or shame on you/hope you’re feeling better.

Synonym Denied
The show surpassed high expectations and was a special one, indeed. I dislike the word “special” and use it only when unavoidable. “Exceptional” doesn’t hold the same feeling, and there are times when thesaurus.com is absolutely no help at all. Special, special, special. I recall turning to a guy standing next to me after the encore and proclaiming, “You don’t see that everyday.” The stranger concurred.

Double Take
Last May, I attended the final show at The Jazz Bakery with Scott Colley featuring Blade, and intended to do a review and interview for the site. For whatever unimportant reason, it didn’t happen and I’m happy to have another opportunity now to write a bit about the brilliant drummer. The contrast between the two performances—one a chart-heavy contemporary bop quartet, and the other a moody, grooving roots/rock band—is a telling illustration of who Brian Blade is as a musician and why he’s become so prevalent. And relevant. It’s redundant, but perhaps necessary to note that he killed on both dates.

If you did miss the sold-out performance, hopefully our review will give you a taste of…ah, who’re we kiddin? You had to be there.

With this posting, HollywoodDrum.com—a-thank you—is adding reviews to our growing list of Features content. What this means for you: If you happen to miss an L.A. show of particular drum-related interest, and we happen to not miss it, then you can trust all we have to say about it as second-best only to being there yourself; if you happen to catch an L.A. show of particular drum-related interest that we happen to be reviewing, then you get to shake your fist and cuss at how wrong we got it. What it means for us: free shows.

Two Mints In One
Our coverage of The Meters Experience with Stanton Moore at the Mint on October 9, 2009, also marks our first double feature: a review of the show, and a Q&A with Stanton. So much for free shows. By the way, where were you people?! I know you’re not all gigging on a Friday night. I expected to see the drummers out for this one. It was pretty much me, Jonathan “Sugar Foot” Moffett, and a bunch of rhythmically-challenged crawfish aficionados. C’mon.

Stanton talks a bit about the show and his overflowing cardboard box-lid sized (ever been to a crawfish party?) plate of current projects. Bon Ton Roulet!