#this entire article fits the guitarist stereotype to a T

[lonelyasawhisper]

A Guitarist Looks At Drummers

Rob Simbeck, Creem, 1st April 1982

Rock 'n' roll is a team sport, and a guitarist has to keep in mind that he's part of a cohesive unit. On the other hand, there's enough of a place in rock for posturing and egomania that a guitarist can be forgiven for that gnawing spot in the back of his mind that says the rest of the band exists just to let him show off his chops.

Guitarists, after all, are usually the front men, the writers, and the visionaries. Hendrix, Clapton, Johnny Winter, Neil Young, Frank Zappa and countless others have fronted varying collaborations of rockers, and while they may have tempered their visions to play off the strengths of their sidemen, there was never any doubt that these were their bands. A number of guitarists have carried the direction and flow of a career through different line-ups, but with the possible exception of Mick Fleetwood, how many rock drummers have done so? Carrying it one step further, the Who may not be the same Who without Keith Moon, but they're still the Who. They wouldn't be without Pete Townshend.

None of this, of course, is meant in any way to belittle the role of the rock drummer. It's just that drum heroes have never quite sparked the fantasies of teenage females or teenage males dreaming of eventual stardom quite the way guitarists have.

So when a guitarist looks at drummers, he's also looking at the guitarists who have played with those drummers, trying to get a feel for what the man behind the kit offers in terms of embellishment, support and drive. The ultimate guitarist's drummer would have both the technical skill and sense of feel to add coloring and flesh to a guitarist's output, whether it's a screaming solo, fills, or power chords at the same time, he'd have drive and nervous energy to push the guitarist into playing a little better or carrying the vision a little further, and the sense of team playing to refrain from flash for flash's sake. Above all else, he would keep in mind that there has to be a solid rhythmic framework to serve both as anchor and starting point for the guitarist.

[...]

ROGER TAYLOR

Histrionics is also the forte of Queen. The band's approach brings to mind nothing so much as a rococo sledgehammer—moments of sheer piledriving ("We Will Rock You," "Another One Bites The Dust," "Fat Bottomed Girls") balanced precariously against moments of attempted operatic soaring ("Killer Queen," "Bohemian Rhapsody"). A guitarist in this setting needs a drummer who can switch from the ham-handed to the skitterfingered at the drop of a footswitch.

Brian May's got almost everything he needs in Roger Taylor and, setting aside the group's fascist and misogynist elements for a moment, that almost is the reason Queen is an excellent band without being a truly great one.

Taylor can offer the solid backing on both fronts. He can convince you the Fourth Reich is stomping across the world's biggest gym floor during the opening of "We Will Rock You," then add enough solid-yet-colorful texture in "Killer Queen" that despite the phased voices and other attempts at pomp, you're always aware that it's only rocknroll.

As a guitarist, though, you want a drummer not merely supportive, but actually driving you on in a manner designed to inspire greatness rather than mere flash.

At Taylor's finest moments, he does that. In "Dead On Time," he takes a song that could be less than urgent if it was done with a standard approach, and makes it the stuff of dreams simply by double-timing his beat. He adds enough intelligence and nervous energy to drive May through the lead break rather than just accompany him, and takes a beautifully off-balance yet right segue into the ending.

"Somebody To Love" offers another solid Taylor showcase. He uses concise, tasty rolls to string together sections with different rhythmic feels, punctuates guitar and vocal phrases with long cymbal splashes or short, metallic punches, and offers ponderous tom-tom intros that add weight and dimension to the beginnings of searing solos. That's just what a guitarist wants from a drummer. The same strengths show through on "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" and, to a lesser extent, "Bohemian Rhapsody."

But in places where the material is not totally compelling, there is more you could ask from Roger Taylor. In a band where changes in rhythmic feel are so vital and integral, you need to feel a sense of rhythmic command and certainty as a starting point, and a sense of nervous energy and one-step-ahead coloring as a departure point. In songs like "Flash," "Keep Yourself Alive" and "Under Pressure," there's always a solid underpinning of sound, but never the total mastery that says to a guitarist, "I'm in total control of this section. Now, don't waste my effort— get out there and tear the roof off!" It's like the difference between a pitcher who mixes good pitches well and a pitcher who mixes the same pitches well, yet has a fastball that leaves 'em scratching their heads. Finally, with a song as nowhere as "Mustapha" from Jazz, what little chance the song has to spark any interest at all is lost in Taylor's leaden approach.

All in all, Taylor's got the variety to offer a guitarist solid underpinnings in a number of styles, but he lacks that crucial spark of genius that drives guitarists to greatness.

Retrieved from The Creem Archive