I was speaking with one of my best friends (and first Drumbrother!), Chuck C., a couple of weeks ago, and he was visibly surprised when I told him that, at this stage of my career, I was still practicing my percussion instruments at least two to three hours a day. I shared this fact with legendary Brazilian drummer Robertinho S. He was also startled, confessing that he didn’t practice anymore, feeling that, at his age, he didn’t believe he’d extend his physical playing potential any further than he had already achieved.
Not only that, but I immediately remembered the story of the premier cellist Pablo Casals, who lived to the age of 97. When he was 95, a young reporter said, “Mr. Casals, you are 95 and the greatest cellist ever. Why do you still practice six hours a day? Without hesitation, Pablo answered, “Because I think I am making progress.”
When I was coming up as a young conga gunslinger, I learned from watching other people play and befriending those who had better chops and knew more rhythms. Similar to the story that Sir Paul McCartney tells about how he and his friend John would traipse across Liverpool to meet someone who they’d heard knew a “new” guitar chord, so would I, in my quest for knowledge, drive around D.C. to meet conga players in Rock Creek Park, Dupont Circle or the Adams Morgan neighborhood to glean new beats from those brothers!
When I’d show up with my shiny red fiberglass LP Tumba, quite a few of these brothers would look at me askew and comment things like, “Yo, who’s this green-eyed white mofo thinking he can sit in?” But my sincerity was genuine, and since I was willing to hold the “bottom beat” with my tumba for hours while they soloed on their Quintos and congas, they let me hang out and learn. And I’d drum happily ’til the sun set down, soaking it all in, and then bring these techniques and beats back to the house I shared with Chuck on Foxhall Rd. and shed on them incessantly during my spare time from my college studies. By this time, I was taking my conga to school and practicing on the quad at American University in between my PoliSci classes.
My house soon became “the drum house of D.C.,” with cats coming over to shed and rumba every day, without fail. There were days when I would wake up in the morning and friends were already jamming downstairs! It was non-stop. On sunny spring or summer days, we’d schedule a rumba around the city’s parks or down in Georgetown to play in the open air. Listen, my crew of drum gunslingers would pack our drums and drive up to Philadelphia to challenge the drummers there every second Sunday in June during the Odunde Yoruba festival.
I’ve calculated these joyous five years of shedding six hours a day (at least!) afforded me the benefit of honing my chops close to 11,000 hours. Most of this time was spent jamming with friends. However, I’d say 30% was also practicing alone, playing to records (my collection mainly was salsa and Cuban drum rumba recordings/I memorized every Mongo Santamaría solo, note for note! - Chuck had a unique jazz collection, which he turned me on to!), and practicing to the Batá lessons that Julito mercifully let me record to cassette tapes. These hours - mainly the time spent jamming with the older drummers - built the solid drumming foundation I had before moving to NYC.
Thankfully, things have changed enormously since I embraced the drum calling in the 1970s! Many conga YouTubers now stream their rehearsals, gigs, and instructional advice. And this is wonderful! Never before have so many informational resources been available for students and aficionados worldwide. One can learn about any topic from various sources online 24/7.
In contrast, when I was fortunate to be accepted as a Batá apprentice by Julito Collazo in 1974, I woke up early to drive four hours from Washington, D.C., to get to his apartment around noon for an afternoon lesson that could sometimes last 3-4 hours as it could last 20 minutes, depending on his mood that day. I remember once when he was hanging out with some friends in his kitchen, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, and he had me rehearsing alone in his living room for a couple of hours. He stepped in once to give me an espresso and a glass of water and returned to the laughter and hijinks in the kitchen. Then, when his friends got up to leave, he bid me farewell, saying, “See you next month - give me a call when you’re ready.”
The first thing you notice when you watch most of these conga YouTubers is that they are FAST. Most of these cats started their playing journey by shedding on videos by Giovanni Hidalgo, Miguel Angá Díaz, and Changuito (José Luis Quintana). These masters are marvelous examples of the new pioneering generation of players who’ve revolutionized the former concept of what was possible in hand-drumming! Their playing is smooth and brilliant, and they generously explain what they do and provide the steps you need to take to develop their skills.
But here’s the problem: Because they make it look effortless, we assume we can pick it up after a couple of video viewings and do the same thing.
Over the years, especially in New York, I’ve had students come to me for lessons, asking me, “Please teach me how to do those machine-gun double-stroke rolls like Richie Flores does! I’ve got a gig coming up in a month, and I intend to surprise everybody!”
Can you spot the problem?
I patiently tell them that imitation alone isn't enough. These drumming Grandmasters put in years of effort, tens of thousands of hours of hard, grueling work. The result of all that work? They play effortlessly.
That, my friends, is Lesson #1.
The second lesson is more subtle…and can be relatively frustrating. You might agree that you must put in the time to improve your craft. Unfortunately, simply logging hours isn't enough. You see, practice does not make perfect.
How come?
Because you are likely practicing bad habits coupled with lousy techniques.
Ten thousand hours of practicing bad drumming techniques mean you'll be good at being bad. You might improve your playing and stamina a little, but you won't rise to the level of the effortless Grandmaster.
No, the sheer quantity of effort isn't enough. You've got to practice the right things. Otherwise, you spin your wheels for years, only to find you're just as good as when you started.
As you can imagine, this applies to drumming, making music, and other worthwhile pursuits in life.
You have to stick to a strategic plan to make your daily rehearsal sessions elevate your level of playing and musicality. My basic strategy is to begin with a thorough warmup to relax the muscles involved. (I view drumming as an athletic skill as much as an intellectual, spiritual, and emotional endeavor!) Take your time - you’ll feel it when your body is ready. I’ll then select ONE rudiment that I still find unfamiliar and drill that for the next time segment. As soon as the drill slips into sloppiness from fatigue, I take my hands off the instrument and relax my hands, arms, and breath. I may step away and get a glass of water, go outside to feel the sun on my face, or hear the crickets chirping in my yard at night. I intend to relax and refocus before returning to the task at hand for the time I’ve allowed for this particular exercise.
Next, if I’ve got a performance booked sometime soon, I’ll practice the repertoire from top to bottom, prioritizing the material that may still be unfamiliar and challenging. Running through the setlist will signal which song may need deeper concentration and practice that day.
I then finish the day’s rehearsal by playing an instrument with total abandonment to sound proper or pleasant. Without compromising technique accuracy, I’ll let myself stretch out and explore unconventional sounds and rhythmic lines from a meditative space where there is no judgment or expectation. I’ll go for it to hear whatever music channels through me as an expression of love and gratitude for the gift of music.
So, my fellow drum brothers and sisters, I encourage you to learn the fundamentals, practice with a planned strategy, and THEN practice, practice, practice.
Always remember that a principal part of what we do is learning how to listen.