Clash Of The Rockbands
Drummer's Block
“STUPID DRUMSTICKS!” I shrieked. I chucked one of my drumsticks at the wall. It bounced off and landed on the wooden floor with a clatter. “Ugh.” I propped my elbows on my knees and fisted my hands in my hair. I glared down at the ground, trying not to leap up and start kicking everything in sight.
I was staying late at the recording studio for the third night in a row, trying to get the drumming for one of our songs just right. But it never worked. I looked at every little thump of the bass drum, every little clatter from the cymbals, every little detail from every little drum on my drum-set. I switched the notes around and took notes out and put new in. But nothing ever sounded just right.
“Stupid drummer’s block,” I grumbled. I hated it when I couldn’t figure out a song. I felt as if I was letting the whole band and all our fans down if I didn’t get it just perfect.
Oh, the woes of being a perfectionist and a musician.
“If it helps any, I think it sounds fine.”
I shot my head up to see James leaning against the doorframe into the room, his hands in his pockets. I sat up as he stepped farther into the room.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I stood up off of my stool and stretched out my legs. I put the drumstick I hadn’t thrown down on the snare drum and flexed my sore fingers. James walked up.
“Here, let me see your music sheets.”
James held out a hand. I grabbed them off of the little stand beside my drum-set and handed them to him. I stepped out from behind the drum-set and went to retrieve my hurled drumstick as he studied them.
“You shouldn’t beat yourself up like that over one little song.” James said as I walked back over to him. “Your music looks fine to me.” I sighed and took back the music sheets that he held out.
“I know. But I do anyway.” I went back around the drum-set and put the music back on the stand. “How long were you standing in the doorway?”
“About fifteen seconds,” James answered. “I heard you shriek at your drumsticks so I came to investigate. See if I could be of any assistance.”
“Are you here late trying to get a song right too?” I asked as I sat back down on my stool.
“No, I’m just practicing. I would practice at my house but I didn’t want to wake Syn up. You don’t want to wake Syn up when he’s sleeping.” James answered.
“Oh, so you guys live together?” I asked.
“Well, Syn and I do because we’ve been best friends ever since I can remember. And then the rest of the guys have separate houses.”
“Oh.”
“Well, what about you guys?”
“We all live in the same house. It’s a horror-fest if all of us are PMS-ing at the same time.” I answered. James laughed. I picked up my drumsticks again. “I guess I better get back to work.”
“Maybe you just need a break,” James suggested. “Nothing like a little respite to get the creative juices flowing.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. I put the drumsticks back down.
“Well, I was just going to take a break myself.” James said.
“Breaks for me are just pacing around the room for a few minutes, thinking.” I told him. I tried to turn him down without really making it sound like I was turning him down. James raised his eyebrows at me.
“Yeah, you need a real break, Melrose. You’re just overworking yourself. I think you need to just leave the vicinity.” he told me.
“Maybe,” I repeated. “But I really need to work on this song, and what if I’m struck by inspiration while we’re on this ‘break’?” In reply, James pulled a tiny notepad out of his back pocket, complete with pen.
“Don’t think I don’t go prepared.” he said. “And you can’t work on a song unless you get rid of your drummer’s block. And the only way you can get rid of your drummer’s block is if you take a break. So come on and stop making up excuses.”
“I—But—I’m not making excuses!” I sputtered as I stood up again. I scooped my drumsticks up and tucked them in my back pocket. “What gives you that idea?”
“I can just tell.” James answered as I stepped out from behind the safety of the drum-set. He led the way out into the hall.
A few minutes later, we stepped out into the warm night air.
“Okay, that was a good enough break.” I said after a few seconds. I turned to go back into the recording studio, but James’s fingers closed around my arm.
“Melrose, seriously,” he said quietly. I sighed and turned back around. He suddenly realized that he still had a hold of my arm and quickly released it. “So, how are you liking Huntington Beach?”
“It’s nice.” I answered simply as we walked out into the parking lot. “We haven’t made it to the beach yet, though.”
“Bummer,” James replied. “I wonder how Kim and Johnny are doing on their date.” Okay, that was random.
“Oh, I completely forgot about it.” I answered truthfully. What kind of horrible friend am I?
“He probably took her to a horror film so she would cuddle against him.” James said. I laughed.
“He probably did the whole fake-yawn-and-stretch maneuver on her.” I added. “I’ve had a guy do that to me before.”
“Really?” James asked. I nodded. “Huh. I always thought that only happened in movies.”
“Nope, he actually did it. But that was, oh, eight years ago when I was fifteen. People might not do it anymore.” I replied.
“I’m sure they do. Men aren’t original anymore.” James said. I shrugged, looking up at the velvety sky. I couldn’t see any stars from all the freaking city light pollution. All I could see was black and then a half moon hanging in the sky.
“I miss the stars.” I muttered, looking back down. “We lived out in the country and every night all you could see was stars.” I swept a hand upward and across the sky to show where you could see the stars. “But not here. Not here in brightly-lit Huntington Beach.”
“But I thought you said you liked it here.” James said.
“Yeah, I do like it generally. There are still a few things that need work.” I replied.
“Like what?”
“The stars need to be back; the days need to be just a teensy weensy bit cooler; I need to see more men with abs. Oh, and there needs to be an amusement park nearby.” I answered.
“Abs?” James repeated. I nodded, leaning against a car. James leaned against it next to me.
“Yeah. Well, I always associate hot guys with abs with California for some reason. I’ve been sorely, sorely disappointed.” I told him.
“Maybe when you hit the beach you’ll see more guys with abs,” James said.
“Yeah, maybe,” I answered. I shoved myself away from the car. James quickly followed suit. “So, was this break enough for you?”
“Yeah,” James answered.
I led the way back into the studio.
I was staying late at the recording studio for the third night in a row, trying to get the drumming for one of our songs just right. But it never worked. I looked at every little thump of the bass drum, every little clatter from the cymbals, every little detail from every little drum on my drum-set. I switched the notes around and took notes out and put new in. But nothing ever sounded just right.
“Stupid drummer’s block,” I grumbled. I hated it when I couldn’t figure out a song. I felt as if I was letting the whole band and all our fans down if I didn’t get it just perfect.
Oh, the woes of being a perfectionist and a musician.
“If it helps any, I think it sounds fine.”
I shot my head up to see James leaning against the doorframe into the room, his hands in his pockets. I sat up as he stepped farther into the room.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I stood up off of my stool and stretched out my legs. I put the drumstick I hadn’t thrown down on the snare drum and flexed my sore fingers. James walked up.
“Here, let me see your music sheets.”
James held out a hand. I grabbed them off of the little stand beside my drum-set and handed them to him. I stepped out from behind the drum-set and went to retrieve my hurled drumstick as he studied them.
“You shouldn’t beat yourself up like that over one little song.” James said as I walked back over to him. “Your music looks fine to me.” I sighed and took back the music sheets that he held out.
“I know. But I do anyway.” I went back around the drum-set and put the music back on the stand. “How long were you standing in the doorway?”
“About fifteen seconds,” James answered. “I heard you shriek at your drumsticks so I came to investigate. See if I could be of any assistance.”
“Are you here late trying to get a song right too?” I asked as I sat back down on my stool.
“No, I’m just practicing. I would practice at my house but I didn’t want to wake Syn up. You don’t want to wake Syn up when he’s sleeping.” James answered.
“Oh, so you guys live together?” I asked.
“Well, Syn and I do because we’ve been best friends ever since I can remember. And then the rest of the guys have separate houses.”
“Oh.”
“Well, what about you guys?”
“We all live in the same house. It’s a horror-fest if all of us are PMS-ing at the same time.” I answered. James laughed. I picked up my drumsticks again. “I guess I better get back to work.”
“Maybe you just need a break,” James suggested. “Nothing like a little respite to get the creative juices flowing.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. I put the drumsticks back down.
“Well, I was just going to take a break myself.” James said.
“Breaks for me are just pacing around the room for a few minutes, thinking.” I told him. I tried to turn him down without really making it sound like I was turning him down. James raised his eyebrows at me.
“Yeah, you need a real break, Melrose. You’re just overworking yourself. I think you need to just leave the vicinity.” he told me.
“Maybe,” I repeated. “But I really need to work on this song, and what if I’m struck by inspiration while we’re on this ‘break’?” In reply, James pulled a tiny notepad out of his back pocket, complete with pen.
“Don’t think I don’t go prepared.” he said. “And you can’t work on a song unless you get rid of your drummer’s block. And the only way you can get rid of your drummer’s block is if you take a break. So come on and stop making up excuses.”
“I—But—I’m not making excuses!” I sputtered as I stood up again. I scooped my drumsticks up and tucked them in my back pocket. “What gives you that idea?”
“I can just tell.” James answered as I stepped out from behind the safety of the drum-set. He led the way out into the hall.
A few minutes later, we stepped out into the warm night air.
“Okay, that was a good enough break.” I said after a few seconds. I turned to go back into the recording studio, but James’s fingers closed around my arm.
“Melrose, seriously,” he said quietly. I sighed and turned back around. He suddenly realized that he still had a hold of my arm and quickly released it. “So, how are you liking Huntington Beach?”
“It’s nice.” I answered simply as we walked out into the parking lot. “We haven’t made it to the beach yet, though.”
“Bummer,” James replied. “I wonder how Kim and Johnny are doing on their date.” Okay, that was random.
“Oh, I completely forgot about it.” I answered truthfully. What kind of horrible friend am I?
“He probably took her to a horror film so she would cuddle against him.” James said. I laughed.
“He probably did the whole fake-yawn-and-stretch maneuver on her.” I added. “I’ve had a guy do that to me before.”
“Really?” James asked. I nodded. “Huh. I always thought that only happened in movies.”
“Nope, he actually did it. But that was, oh, eight years ago when I was fifteen. People might not do it anymore.” I replied.
“I’m sure they do. Men aren’t original anymore.” James said. I shrugged, looking up at the velvety sky. I couldn’t see any stars from all the freaking city light pollution. All I could see was black and then a half moon hanging in the sky.
“I miss the stars.” I muttered, looking back down. “We lived out in the country and every night all you could see was stars.” I swept a hand upward and across the sky to show where you could see the stars. “But not here. Not here in brightly-lit Huntington Beach.”
“But I thought you said you liked it here.” James said.
“Yeah, I do like it generally. There are still a few things that need work.” I replied.
“Like what?”
“The stars need to be back; the days need to be just a teensy weensy bit cooler; I need to see more men with abs. Oh, and there needs to be an amusement park nearby.” I answered.
“Abs?” James repeated. I nodded, leaning against a car. James leaned against it next to me.
“Yeah. Well, I always associate hot guys with abs with California for some reason. I’ve been sorely, sorely disappointed.” I told him.
“Maybe when you hit the beach you’ll see more guys with abs,” James said.
“Yeah, maybe,” I answered. I shoved myself away from the car. James quickly followed suit. “So, was this break enough for you?”
“Yeah,” James answered.
I led the way back into the studio.
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Heyloo.Hey, like writers, I'm sure drummers get Drummer's Block. And it's probably a bitch, just like Writer's Block.
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