< PreviousModern Drummer September 2021 38 Schooling and acquiring knowledge help, for sure. I would attribute a lot of it to being able to be schooled in general, as well as spending the time to be schooled in different styles—like when I had to learn how to play Afro-Cuban styles at a convincing level. But I feel like I didn’t really connect with what my sound was—or what my approach was—until I was in my 40s. Whereas, guys like Dave Weckl seemed to get it in their early 20s. I felt that led to a lot of successes much quicker for some players, while I didn’t know if I even had a “thing.” Later on, I started to come to grips with having heard myself enough to know my sound. Part of having a sound, you know, is the documentation. You know who Steve Gadd is because you have heard him so much. So, the more documentation I had, the more it allowed me and other people to recognize my sound. How would you put your sound into words? For me, it’s more about the feel, the touch, and the dynamics. My approach is to sit a little behind the beat and be extremely dynamic. There’s a high dynamic curve up and down in my playing. I’ve spent time on a certain high-pitched snare sound and maybe using three splash cymbals that may have been recognizable as me, but crafting a sound was never about something tangible. For example, Gadd’s sound is in his touch, his approach to time, and the choices he makes. Phil Collins had a more sonically defining thing with the compressed drums and gated reverbs—although he also has great feel. It’s a harder approach to develop a voice using touch and feel rather than using gear—like if I stacked cymbals all over and that kind of stuff. That’s great, but if we take all those cymbals away—now what are you going to do? Speaking of Gadd, what is it that makes his sound so approachable? It’s the practicality of it! The genius about Gadd is that he figured out the 50 or so things that would work the best for playing high-level music with musicians. Gadd sounds like Gadd playing swing with Chick Corea, as much as he does playing rock with Eric Clapton, and fusion with the Brecker Brothers. He still sounds like Gadd. Can you elaborate on what you mean by “practicality?” So, yes, I can play double-strokes on two bass drum pedals, and it’s totally fun. But am I going to use it that much? Like Gadd, I try to focus on things that are practical elements for playing a composition with someone. This doesn’t mean that I don’t work on those double-stokes with two bass pedals, because you need a sixth gear sometimes. But it’s music first. Your 2020 album Two Become One with Giovanni Hidalgo produced a single, “Things We Said Today,” that was on the top-40 charts. Yes! Number 32 on the CHR radio chart. It was totally hilarious, and I think it was because the playing field got leveled out a bit. It was in the middle of COVID when nobody could tour or play the late-night television shows, so it was more about the music for a minute. I’ve had a lot of amazing recording moments in my life with a lot of different artists. A lot of dreams. I remember putting a red light bulb in my lamp in my little basement in Ohio, because it made me feel like I was onstage playing with Journey. Now, to be good friends with Steve Smith, and to have played on Steve Perry’s albums—to even have Steve Perry in my home studio—are incredible moments. Also, growing up listening to the Chick Corea Elektric Band, and then having saxophonist Eric Marienthal and guitarist Frank Gambale playing on my records—and me playing on their records. All that stuff is amazing. Doing the first Arrival project in 2007 project was fantastic, as well. Thirty fantastic musicians along with nine of the biggest drummers in the world doing duets with me. All of those guys are my heroes. You have a new Arrival record coming out, right? Yes. It’s a three-part EP with different trios. There’s a swing trio with organist Tony Monaco, saxophonist Ernie Watts, and I. Then, there’s a soul trio—like Tower of Power for organ—with myself, bassist Pee Wee Hill, and Kirk Covington playing B3 and singing. Finally, there’s what I call the “contemporary trio” with keyboardist/vocalist Rick Krive, bassist Jerry Watts, and I. The EP is basically about the three styles that influenced me, and the music is presented as Soul, Mind, and Body. That’s where it’s at. It’s fun now! We can afford to do these records for ourselves, and we can make the music we want to make. There’s no record label dictating what we have to do. That “one brick a day” strategy really paid off. Well, I’m 51 now, and there were some real difficult runs in there. But you have to plow through them. I would tell Christine before we had any money, when our lights were going to be shut off, and our car was going to be repossessed that I didn’t start doing this to have that car. If we got something, then we got it, and if we didn’t, we didn’t. It was so up and down. Some people luck out, of course. Maybe they get into a famous band and make a lot of money, but those are lottery-winning odds. For me, it took a long time for things to come together. My career was all over the place, and then things started to connect. I focused on honesty, thinking long-term, and doing what I thought was correct. It was slow and steady. But I built it. One brick at a time. “If you can pretend music isn’t something you love for a minute, you can separate the business from the art, and this will help you make smart decisions.”BUY FROM YOUR FAVORITE MUSIC RETAILER CHECK OUT MORE AT MODERNDRUMMER.COM Available In Print and Digital Format DIGITAL DOWNLOAD CODE INSIDE Presents:Presents:Modern Drummer September 2021 40 Johnny Johnny KellyKelly Filling In the NoizeFilling In the Noize By Alex Grossi I ’ve played guitar in Quiet Riot off and on since 2004, and permanently since 2010. Before my band mate and drummer Frankie Banali passed away from cancer in 2020, he made it clear he wanted Quiet Riot to continue. He also personally selected Johnny Kelly as his replacement. Kelly is best known as the former drummer of Type O Negative, and he had already filled in for Frankie during some of the band’s 2019 and 2020 shows when he was too ill to perform. Kelly has also been touring and recording with Danzig since 2002, and he distinguished himself as a replacement for Will Hunt in Black Label Society in 2011, and for Vinny Appice in Kill Devil Hill in 2014. The band is looking forward to realizing Banali’s wish to keep rocking, so I took the opportunity to ask Kelly some questions about what it feels like to step into the shoes of a legend.September 2021 Modern Drummer 41Modern Drummer September 2021 42 I don’t think people know the pretty insane circumstances when you filled in for Frankie at the 2019 Wildflower Arts & Music Festival in Richardson, Texas. You had less than 48-hours notice, there was basically no soundcheck, and you had never played any of the material. It was also the first time in Quiet Riot’s history that Frankie had ever missed a gig. How would you describe the feelings you had right before downbeat? It all happened so fast. I knew Frankie wasn’t feeling well at the time. I had offered to just be there to help him out. Then, I was asked to fill in for him just two days before the show. At first, I didn’t really put a lot of thought into what was actually happening. I was honestly looking to help out my friends. I had no idea what I was going into. I had a set list sent to me, I bought the records on iTunes, and I listened to the songs nonstop until showtime. I also studied the live versions of the songs that were on YouTube. As it got closer to the set time, I was starting to think that this was a bad idea, and that I had gotten in over my head—especially considering how iconic Frankie’s tone, swing, and signature drum September 2021 Modern Drummer 43 Bill Ward Weighs In “The idea of Johnny Kelly playing in Quiet Riot seems fitting,” says Bill Ward, former drummer for Black Sabbath. “Johnny has years of experience in metal and rock music, and he was a part of one of the most formidable metal-master bands, Type O Negative. Like-minded in grooves and power, he is part of the heavy hitters of rock music, and he is so intelligent with both finesse and dynamics. His determination, his chops, and his power are undiminished. His ability to listen and ‘play’ in a band are undeniably accurate and supportive of whoever he’s working with. “It’s regretful that Frankie Banali has passed, as his expertise and power cannot be replaced. I think if Quiet Riot is to resume, then choosing Johnny Kelly as their drummer is an excellent choice. Johnny, I believe, is capable of driving and supporting the music of Quiet Riot in a way that will make their soundscape remarkable, and, above all, rocking.” intros are. But we managed to get through the entire set without any major train wrecks, and we lived to talk about it. When Frankie was working a list of potential fill-ins while he was doing treatments, and asked if I had any ideas, I immediately said, “Johnny Kelly. He’s a pro. East Coast. He’s the guy!” Would you say there is a definitive drummer sub-genre that one could call “East Coast?” I’m not sure if there’s a particular description that would define an “East Coast drummer” [laughs]. I think it’s more about the people themselves. Most musicians from the New York area are basically no-nonsense. They call things how they see it. My drummer friends in New York City seem to be supportive of each other. To me, they seem less likely to throw you under the bus for their own benefit. Frankie was originally from Queens, and I think that area is something he always identified with, despite not living in New York for many years. It’s probably one of the reasons we always got along well. What has been the biggest challenge so far since stepping in for Frankie? Throughout all the ups and downs the band had gone through in the almost 40 years since Metal Health was released, Frankie was the foundation of Quiet Riot. He was always there. After the passing of lead singer Kevin DuBrow in 2007, he and his wife Regina were able to build the band back up—which is pretty incredible. Quiet Riot was his baby, and the last thing you would expect to see or hear is someone else playing drums with the band. It’s a great honor that he wanted me to cover for him when his health wouldn’t allow him to play. Now that the band is continuing to celebrate his music—as per his wishes—I think there’s a responsibility on my part to do the best job I can. I’d want him to be proud, and it’s important to me that the respect is there with how I play his songs. A major part of the Quiet Riot sound is Frankie’s drumming. It’s intimidating to step in and try to nail those parts, because if I don’t get it right, the audience will know. It was always a drum lesson to see him play live. He was a big influence on me when I was younger. We’re both from the school of John Bonham, so that shared musical DNA is there. I like to think he saw that in me, which is why he gave his blessing to come into the fold. The founding frontperson of Type O Negative, Peter Steele, died far too young in 2010. It was a similar story to Quiet Riot losing Kevin. And, of course, Frankie is gone, too. Do you think as we lose more and more of our peers that it really becomes all about their legacies and honoring the music the best you can? I think that’s something that I can agree with. Peter passed away 11 years ago, and it amazes me that people are still talking about Type O Negative in 2021. It’s great that people are still discovering the band, and that Peter is getting the credit he deserves. He truly was an incredible musician and songwriter. Quiet Riot were pioneers in the world of heavy metal. They were the first metal band to hit number one with a debut album. There are many players—me included— who were influenced by them, and we still talking about the band now. That speaks volumes to the legacy they built. It’s great to be a part of that. I’m sad that we lost our friend and such a powerhouse musician, but I look forward to doing what I can to keep his memory and the band’s music relevant. Rudy Sarzo Rejoins Quiet Riot “It has been a year since my mentor and Quiet Riot band mate Frankie Banali passed away from pancreatic cancer,” says bassist Rudy Sarzo. “Next year, not only marks 40 years since the recording of our landmark album, Metal Health, it also marks 50 years since Frankie and I met on my birthday, November 18, 1972. On that day, we began a musical partnership that took us on a journey from South Florida, the Midwest, and the Los Angeles club scene to headlining arenas. “As a founding member of the Metal Health lineup of Quiet Riot, Frankie is irreplaceable—both as a beloved band brother and for his outstanding musical contributions. One of his last wishes was for Quiet Riot to carry on, and I’m honored to return to the band in 2022 to help fulfill his wishes. “Frankie was one of the most versatile musicians I knew. In addition to Quiet Riot, he drove WASP, Billy Idol, Hughes/Thrall, and many others. While Frankie was still with us, yet unable to perform, he passed the Quiet Riot drumsticks to Johnny Kelly. I look forward to playing with Johnny and my other Quiet Riot bandmates—Alex Grossi and Jizzy Pearl—as we carry on celebrating Quiet Riot’s legacy with one collective consciousness to ‘Feel the Noize’ and ‘Bang Your Heads.’” Modern Drummer September 2021 44 M O D E R N D R U M M E R M A G A Z I N E • • YEARS Of Excellence 4545 THE WORLD’S #1 DRUMMING RESOURCETHE WORLD’S #1 DRUMMING RESOURCE Bernard Purdie Excerpted from the November 1985 Cover Story By Connie Fisher K nown as the “Father Time” of modern drumming, Bernard “Pretty” Purdie has drummed up an almost unbeatable record of more than 3,000 album credits—many of them smash hits. He has cut across all stylistic barriers to play with a wide range of musicians: Aretha Franklin, Jeff Beck, Herbie Hancock, Hall & Oates, Steely Dan, Dizzy Gillespie, Gato Barbieri, James Brown, Paul Simon, King Curtis, Ray Charles, and Mongo Santamaria. That’s just a sampling. And though he’s slowed down a bit from his incredible schedule of 15 to 20 studio sessions a week during the music-soaked ‘60s, he’s still going strong. “My job is to support the singer or the lead instrument—first, last, and always,” he declares with an almost religious sense of devotion, and you’ve got to believe that whoever is out front is solid and secure on Purdie’s shoulders. True to his covenant, Bernard doesn’t showboat it on stage with flashy solos or twirling drumsticks that glow in the dark. Yet his fat and funky grooves—along with those simple but sophisticated hi-hat licks that are his signature— will overtake you on the most primal level, and before you know it, your body is moving, and your eyes are fastened on Purdie. You went to college for a few years, and then you came to New York City to make it as a drummer. How did the word get out on Bernard Purdie? How did the word get out? Every day, I’d be downtown asking for a job. That’s how the word got out! After a few days in town, I had made $80 on a studio gig with Mickey & Sylvia, and I thought I had hit the big time. But in two days, I had $12 left, so I got a job in a laundry on 49th Street. I’d finish the job at 3:00, and at 3:15, I’d be at 50th and Broadway, standing around where the musicians hung out, asking them to give me a job. Every day, five days a week, for months. All I wanted was a shot. The few times I got to show them my stuff, I overplayed, but I played. I’d give them every chop I knew in five minutes—the whole history of drumming. They didn’t know what I was playing, but they liked it. September 2021 Modern Drummer 45 I was hanging out one day at the Turf Club. Barney Richmond, a contractor, came into the place asking, “Any drummers in the house?” I jumped up yelling, “I can do it!” He said, “No, man, I need a real drummer.” So, he walked around to a musicians’ bar around the corner. The place was packed, but there weren’t any drummers. He asked again, “Any drummers in the place?” I was right behind him, and everybody was laughing, because I was so loud and obnoxious. So Buddy Lucas said, “Aw, Barney, give him a shot.” Barney was desperate, so he took me to Allegro Studios. The session musicians were just standing around there, and I walked in. You could see it in their faces: “Who is this nut?” Barney was in the control room, on the telephone, still looking for a drummer. I walked over and scanned the charts on the piano, and then I sat down at the drums. The bass player began playing a little line, and I started in with a 4 on the rim, cross stick. The other guys joined in, and before you knew it, we were cooking. Doris Troy [R&B vocalist] came out and she started singing. In the meantime, they were still in the control room arguing about finding a drummer. They looked outside and saw Doris moving to the music, but there wasn’t a button turned on. The engineer finally started running the tape. And, bam, we did it in one take. The song was cut in 20 minutes—”Just One Look.” A month later, I heard it on the radio. They had used that demo as the master. I was so excited, and then I realized I had never gotten paid for the session! From that point on, things started to roll. You played on Les Cooper’s big hit, “Wiggle Wobble” in 1962, and you were about the hottest studio drummer in the ‘60s. How much say did you have regarding your studio drum sound in those days? I had plenty of say, because, at the time, not too many microphones were used on the drums in the studio. There was one on the bass drum, one for the hi-hats and snare, one for the toms, and possibly one overhead. Just four mics, and, back then, that was a lot. They would bring up the mics to a certain point to get the overall sound, and then I would play the way I wanted— and with my own dynamics. I controlled it, not the engineer. I would choose what sound I wanted to dominate, be it the snare, the hi-hat, or whatever. Let’s say Chuck Rainey was into a bass line that was dominant. Well, I didn’t want to create a line on the bass drum to fight with him. I would want to enhance what he had, so I would play around his bass line. I would make my snare or hi-hat dominant to keep that going along with Chuck. And that’s how we got that tight rhythm sound, which we called a locomotion. It was all interaction and integration, right there on the spot. Yes. Then, in the late ‘60s, more and more tracks came in, and we started to lose our own creativity, because engineers wanted certain things. It became more complex. Our playing was divided into parts, and it was up to the engineer to put the parts together. I think this division caused rhythm sections to listen to each other less. I was losing control over what I played, because they had all these independent tracks, so I had to tighten up my sound, in order to make one particular sound dominate. I had to recreate my sound, so that no one could take any part away without taking away the whole thing. It was like a total ball of energy that you couldn’t pull apart. They wanted to pull it apart. They tried to put everything on separate tracks and play around with it. But when they did, they found that they lost the feel that was in there in the first place. Then, they had to go back and rediscover it—that soul, that human touch. Do you feel that the ‘60s were a better time overall for studio musician? That was the only time studio musicians got any respect from the music business. There was a feeling of freedom and rebellion in the ‘60s, and what made it different was that the people who were rebelling were rich kids. Their folks had made all this money, and they didn’t want the kids around. It’s a drag to say that, but that’s what it was—rejection. So, the kids said, “Well, you don’t want us around, so we’re going to do our own thing, and you’re going to pay for it.” They got into the music business, as producers, promoters, players, and so on. They didn’t have any training, but the music business gave them an outlet and a way to make their own money. This was a good thing for the studio musicians, because while these kids had the money to make the records, they needed the expertise of the professionals. But after a while, they became tired of always paying someone else, so they started experimenting and doing the playing themselves. By the end of the ‘60s, the studio musicians were being pushed aside, and as the ‘70s began, the bands were mostly doing their own playing. What you’re saying is that, in the ‘60s, there were a lot of bands that weren’t good enough to play on the records, so they hired professionals. Exactly. Many bands used studio musicians, but if and when they learned how to play, the studio musicians were out.Modern Drummer September 2021 46 Why didn’t the studio musicians get together and form their own bands? Money. When you stop being a studio musician, you stop making money. We made more money than doctors and lawyers during the ‘60s, but you had to be on the scene at all times. You couldn’t afford to go out and spend two weeks or a month with your own band on the road. You’d lose your spot in the studio world. In two or three weeks? Yes. In two or three weeks, you could be replaced. The only time you wouldn’t be replaced was if you let them know you were on vacation, because this was a business, and that was how it was done. No one would call you for the two weeks you were on vacation, but they’d be booking you for work on the day you were scheduled to be back. It was a nine-to-five job. By the book. If you went off the scene, you were out. And if you decided to become a band, and that band didn’t happen big for you, you were also out, because you did something that was a no-no. If you tried to do something on your own, you wanted to get too big, and it meant that they couldn’t dictate to you anymore. That’s what this business is about and will always be about—dictation. That means the young kid down the street can come in and tell Bernard Purdie, “Now I want you to play such-and-such.” If you want to be in that little circle of the studio, you have to do what you’re told. It doesn’t sound like such a happy life. It’s not a happy life, per se. The happiness comes from the handful of musicians who work together in the studio, because when those musicians get together, it doesn’t matter what anybody says. Eventually, you’re going to have to do it your way anyhow. You’ve got musicians there who you respect, and from that nucleus, the groove is going to happen. How important is ego in making it as a successful musician? Very. If you don’t have it, you’re up a creek, because that ego gives you a chance to be heard. If your ego is big enough, and you show self-confidence, someone is going to give you a shot. When you can control that ego, you’re in good shape. I controlled my ego most of my life, but there was a point in my life when I thought I was the greatest drummer in the world. Oh, yeah—you couldn’t tell me I wasn’t! You have been the drummer on an amazing number of hits through the years. What are the advantages and disadvantages of being a mature musician playing rock and roll? You learn how to be tolerant and how to accept what other people tell you—even if you think it’s wrong. And who’s to say it’s wrong if other people are getting pleasure from it? The disadvantage is that the loudness can hurt you mentally and physically. But if you’re playing rock, it has to be loud. It’s a driving force, and it’s excruciating sometimes. It hurts. It takes a lot out of you, so you really have to want to do it. It’s a challenge for me to see if I can still do it. I have no problems adapting to rock and roll. Being a musician first has always been my thing. Concept is second. The only problem I ever had with rock was to get the monitors out of my ears, so I put the speakers to one side of me, and I had no problem hearing. I don’t need the drums in my speakers. I know what I’m playing. What I put in the speakers is the lead instrument or vocal, which is the melody. That’s my monitor. When I toured with Jeff Beck, the first thing that went in my monitor was the Max Middleton’s piano. Then, I put in just a little guitar, because I could hear it in front of me—loud enough to kill you! I’ve got the bass, the guitar, and the piano sitting right on top of me, so I can hear what’s happening—chords, melody, and rhythm. That’s all I need. Don’t most other drummers set up that way? None of them! The first thing they do is put the drums in the M O D E R N D R U M M E R M A G A Z I N E • • YEARS Of Excellence 4545 THE WORLD’S #1 DRUMMING RESOURCETHE WORLD’S #1 DRUMMING RESOURCE Bernard PurdieSeptember 2021 Modern Drummer 47 monitor, and the bass drum is so loud that they can’t hear. Is that why some of them wear headphones? Well, usually what they’ve got in the headphones is the same thing—drums. They’re listening to themselves. Consequently, it’s just loud on top of loud. If you’re going to listen to yourself, you’re going to think you’re on, but you don’t realize you’re dropping tempo, because you don’t hear anybody else. Does it pose problems for you to adjust from, say, a jazz feel to a rock feel? You do have to hit harder with rock. You must use force. You’re hitting twice as hard with rock as you are with jazz, and it’s hard not to drop tempo, because you find yourself up on your toes. I don’t look down on rock musicians, like some jazz players do. Some jazz drummers look down on rock and roll because they don’t know it. They can’t interpret it, so they can’t play it. They can’t play it, so they don’t like it. Rock and roll has simplicity. Jazz is sometimes busy, and it’s always easier to play busy. When you play busy, you can hide your mistakes, and the more you play, the more mistakes you’ll make. That’s why it’s so hard to groove. When you’re grooving, you don’t have to play anything but two and four, but when you miss, it sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s harder to play rock and R&B than anything else because it is so simple. Do you have a favorite style of music when it comes to drumming? That’s tough. I guess it would be Latin. The best way to understand the different concepts in music is to know Latin first. It’s the bridge between all ways of playing. What turned me around on Latin was Candido, the Cuban conga player. From Candido, I went directly to Mongo Santamaria. Mongo wasn’t educated in music, but when you saw his expression and heard him play, any finger that hit that conga said something. It spoke. Mongo and I did three records together, and it completely turned me around. R&B, jazz, and Latin have always worked together as far as I’m concerned. You’ve also done some producing. Yes, but a lot of people in the business don’t know me as a producer, or as a bandleader, or as a businessman. I’m all of those. I’ve always been more than just an artist. But if the record companies dealt with you as a musician first, they have problems seeing you in a business light. They do have a point—if you’re not able, as an artist, to separate the music from the business. When you’re a musician, you must never think of money when you’re on that stage or in the studio. If you do, you’re doomed from the start. You won’t play right if you’re thinking about getting paid. You’ve got to surrender your mind to the music. Totally. Work out the business details before or after you play, but never taint that time when your mind should be on the music. Of course, having a manager can help you keep your mind on the music. Not only that—in this business the number of people who are honest and who will give you a decent account is not too good. You need to have someone to make sure you’re not getting burned. You’ve always spoken about the importance of the drum teachers you had, as well as your love for passing on to others what they taught you. What makes a good teacher? Teachers are your guides. If they can guide you in the right direction and keep you motivated, then they are great teachers. It’s that simple. They are not supposed to do your work or get you to mimic them. They are not supposed to put obstacles there, either. Oh yes, they are! That’s part of the whole thing. Out of 200 students I’ve had, every one of them had the world thrown at them the first day they came through the door. The best thing that can happen to me as a teacher is to see my students become frustrated. I love it, because that means they will learn. They are going to have to force themselves to work through whatever is frustrating them. My obstacles are always musical ones, though. I’m not into head trips. If you’re coming to me, come prepared to work hard. Come prepared to learn discipline. Discipline is the most important thing for a musician coming up, and you can only get it from a teacher. You can’t go out and be a rebel all your life—not in everything. You have to follow somebody’s rules sometime—even if they’re your own. There are going to be restrictions. But if you learn your craft, you can make it in the system. There’s nothing you can’t do. You’re somewhat of a father figure in the drumming world. Your name comes up often when young drummers are asked to name influences. I guess I am. I’ve given something to this business. I’ve set some standards. It feels good to get some credit from the younger drummers for what I’ve done. I was really knocked out by Jeff Porcaro, the drummer for Toto. He gave me credit for influencing him on “Rosanna,” which was such a big hit for him. He was using the rhythm I created—the Purdie shuffle—on that song, and he acknowledged that. What have you learned from young drummers? To stay on top of everything. You cannot slack. Don’t think you can say just anything to them, and they’ll accept it. First of all, they’re too well informed on things. I admire that. I’ve always wanted to know everything I could, in order to understand what everyone in the studio does. Young people have inquiring minds. That’s what’s good about youth. You’re always looking for answers. Old minds don’t ask questions, and they don’t want to hear any. Can you ever know too much about music? There are two sides to that. In one way, knowing too much can interfere with things, if you let it. For example, some friends and Next >