Have you ever watched another drummer and just thought to yourself “Man… that drummer is so much better than me. He just lays it down like he owns the world, and he’s way more fun to watch than I am. Everyone talks about how great he is and how he’s ‘the man.’ I wish I could play that way.”

I grew up at a large church that launched a modern worship service while I was in high school. They’d bring in professional musicians each Sunday, and it was always a thrill seeing who was playing drums. Some of these guys were local legends, and they were all great drummers.

There was one particular guy, though, who was the absolute loudest drummer I’d ever heard. Even with a drum shield up, the sound guy had to boost the house mix a bit to compensate for how loud the drums were. He was slamming rimshot backbeats, stomping the kick, and smashing cymbals in every song. He played like he owned the place, and he laid down grooves and fills...

In February of 2015 I was wrapping up my college career and enjoying a final semester of smooth sailing to the finish line. I had already performed my senior recital the previous fall, and I was just finishing up a few class credits in the spring. I also had the time and opportunity to take additional lessons outside of school, so I reached out to a respected drummer in town whom my percussion teacher recommended. He solved a big struggle I had at the time by giving me some very counter-intuitive advice.

Now I was playing a bunch in jazz band at this time, and I was really working at being a solid jazz drummer. At the same time, I was also playing at my church every Sunday and playing in a cover band as often as possible. Genre-wise, I was gaining a lot of versatility just from these three groups alone. I had a problem, however, in the jazz realm.

Our jazz band director was constantly hounding me for not having the right feel in my ride pattern. Straight-ahead swing is...

Time is relative.

I was recently playing with a really great bass player. We were tightly grooving together, and everything felt natural and musical. We were playing to a click, but there were certain spots in songs where I felt the groove naturally wanting to push or lay back. I was able to ride just ahead then just behind the click, and he was right with me the whole way. On top of the tightly knit drums-and-bass relationship, the other musicians were super locked in as well. Whether we as a band were leaning forward on the beat - or behind - everything was solid, and everything felt natural. This was all made possible by the fact that EVERYONE was listening and EVERYONE was completely aware of the time feel. This circles us back around to that opening phrase there… Time is relative.

If a band is playing super tight, but their tempo is swaying slightly, the listener won’t notice. If a band is playing to a click, but everyone isn’t...

Today I just want to throw out this interesting and kind of controversial drumming question:

Should we actually set speed goals in our practicing and work on getting faster on the drums?

The two main camps in the drumming world offer opposing opinions on this…

There’s the “chops” world - The school of thought that pushes quick hand technique, impressive foot technique, and lightning-fast fills around the kit. Then there’s the “groove” world - The school of thought that puts groove, feel, and vocabulary before speed and technique. For some reason most drummers fall into one of these two camps. Now the “chops” camp was a bigger deal back in the 70s and 80s with the onset of jazz “fusion,” led by drummers like Dave Weckl and Dennis Chambers. That was when every young drummer had the dream of going to music school at Berklee, where one might learn how to attain such drumming...