This pad came to me without a stand, but with the little rubber "feet" intact.The playing surface is lively and has plenty of rebound.
And the solid oak plank construction has a pretty nice finish, too.
It's just slightly smaller in size than my Radio King, but sounds terrific and, with thicker and livelier rubber, feels better.
When I was a freshman in high school, I learned about the National Association of Rudimental Drummers, an organization devoted to promoting and recognizing education and excellence in rudimental drumming. It sounded totally geeky and cool. I decided to make it a goal.
I spent weeks practicing the first thirteen rudiments (slow-to-fast-to-slow again) and preparing a solo from the NARD Solo book ("Modern Syncopation," which remains a favorite today).
Unable to find a NARD member who lived close enough to me for an
in-person audition, I arranged to do a a cassette audition, recorded and
proctored by my band director. After weeks of practice and four
attempts at a quality recording, we sent off the best tape, a completed membership application and a letter
of provenance from Mr. Bish to the address on the membership application
in late October 1977.
(Below: A blank application, just like the one I filled out)
And then I waited.
I waited so long that I feared my packet had gotten lost in the mail.
Almost a year later, I got back a thin envelope. I figured it was a rejection letter.
Instead, it was a letter informing
me that NARD had been formally dissolved as of December 1977, and the former secretary
was writing to offer his thanks for a “very good” audition tape, encouragement
to keep drumming, and regret that there was no longer an organization to
admit me into.
I was disappointed, and encouraged. If NARD had still existed, I would’ve
been admitted.
(This was not the kind of encouragement I got from my nightclub musician father, who felt that rudimental drumming was a waste of time. He wanted me to become a jazz drummer or, better still, a symphonic percussionist. I didn't want a career in performance, but in music education. He didn't really get it at the time, though in later years he would warm to it.)
In this letter, I was told by an experienced drummer that I was good and
that I should keep drumming -- exactly the encouragement I longed for.
So I did.
Now, over forty years later, NARD exists again to encourage today’s drummers in the pursuit of musical
excellence and beauty.
While talking about our shared geeky love of drum practice pads and rudimental drumming, I told
my story to the president of the organization, Mark Beecher.
He'd seen some of my many drumming videos, and invited me to sign up as a member of NARD at long last. Today, my packet arrived in the mail, not so thin or small.
It’s not the same organization, and that's okay.
I’m not the same drummer.
And my reasons for wanting this have evolved as well.
I’m no longer
interested in bragging rights — here in the lefty radical landscape of Portland, there's no point in bragging about ANYthing conected to military history — but instead I’m much more interested in the the musical and technical
traditions of my chosen instrument, and in further democratizing drumming for anyone and everyone who wants to pursue it.
I’m humbled to be recognized by fellow drummers for my continued pursuit
of the craft and love of rudimental drumming, and encouraged to keep rooting around this rabbit hole simply for the joy of it.
While COVID has stripped away, or muted, so many of my other pieces of
musical identity, it has given me time and space to return to MY musical
roots and remember the joy. To remind myself that we don’t “work” our
instruments, we PLAY them.
(From the NARD web site)
Mission Statement:
The
purpose of the National Association of Rudimental Drummers is to
protect and preserve a system of standardized rudiments as an anchor for
all marching, concert and drum kit drumming.
As stated by Wm. F. Ludwig in the Spring 1936 issue of The Ludwig Drummer:
"It
is the purpose, aim and object of the N.A.R.D. to standardize drum
rudiments and to encourage their adoption by all earnest students of
drums; also to dispel the erroneous idea that the rudiments are only for
the drum corps drummer."
#playdrumseverday
#makemusic
#rudimentaldrumming
#diddleseveryday
#NARDdrummer
So when is it appropriate to leave a vintage pad alone simply because
it’s vintage? And when is it appropriate to repair a vintage pad to
make it playable again?
This is definitely a case-by-case situation. But I’d offer my own personal parameters as a starting point for discussion.
1. I’d consider repairing an old pad if:
— it looks like dozens of other pads of similar design;
—there’s no identifying logo, decal, badge or distinctive design element to set it apart;
— it’s identifiable as one of thousands manufactured;
— you didn’t pay much for it;
— it meets at least three of the above and someone would enjoy playing it.
2. I’d leave the pad alone if:
— it has a logo, badge or distinctive design element that sets it apart;
— it’s a long shot but you want to research it further;
— you paid more for it;
— repairing or otherwise altering it would diminish its historical and financial (because let’s be real) value;
— there’s nothing else like it in your collection;
— it’s a double you might use to trade later for something else (I try
not to keep much on hand for this purpose as it clouds my reasons for
collecting to begin with).
Below is an example of a pad I’ve decided to make playable again. It’s just like the three other pads I have that are in better shape and have intact decals or badges; it’s condition was poor/unplayable but repair would make it useful to someone; and it wouldn’t end up in a landfill.
I’ve removed the
original rubber disc, which will serve as a pattern for its bouncier
replacement after I clean the old glue out of the recessed area.
I covered the underside with repurposed gaming pad, rubber side showing as a non-skid surface.
(I’ll save the old disc as another non-skid surface for a future repair.)
And when it’s done, I’ll have a nice no-name practice pad to keep or re-home.
Last summer I was gifted with an old Slingerland marching snare drum that was in need of a lot of love in order to make playable again.
Because of the gouging and scartches in the wood, I decided to make it a player instead of attempting a museum-quality restoration.
Wth my eye surgeries, the High Holy Days and other details delaying the process, my brother-in-love showed me his progress on repairing the big crack in the snare-side hoop. I took pictures last night at his place. The hoop will need a few more days to dry and set up, and then he'll drill tiny holes and make dowels using bits of bicycle spoke I gave him.
Here's the plan: after the wood has
thoroughly dried, Ron will leave the clamp in place and set it very
carefully in his drill press, where he will drill 2 to 3 holes
lengthwise, top to bottom of the hoop edges. Then he'll cut down some
"dowels" made of bits of bicycle spoke (stainless steel), insert them in
the holes, and perhaps add some kind of epoxy as he inserts them.
(Since they're not wood, they won't expand so some kind of glue will be
needed to hold them in place.)
When they're dry, the
edges of the spoke bits can be carefully filed flush with the top and
bottom of the hoop; or he can choose to cut them a little short so the
ends will be counter-sunk and then he can fill with wood putty.
Either
way, the idea is that these tiny dowels, stronger than the wood, will
help keep the hoop in place and prevent further cracking. The hoops are
maple, a very dense and brittle hardwood.
The tuning of
this drum will NOT be super high-tension, so the hoop should be able to
withstand the forces of tuning and maintain its shape for a long time to
come.
Here's a couple of pictures of where things stand at present.
In my ongoing research and collecting efforts, I've come up with a startling hunch, and it may be right or wrong.
Basically, the oldest large-scale factory-made practice pads in my collection date from the 1940's or later. There's an overlap with some pads made commercially on a much small scale, like Lee Lockhart's Timpette , and the "Deco" pad made by Robert Woods, also dating from the 1940s.
Another pad, labeled simply "The Globe," likely dates from this era as well.
My oldest pad, which I acquired recently, appears to be homemade and according to the seller, dated from the late 1920's and owned by his grandfather.
Here's a pad that shows up on Pinterest pages periodically, French-made and dating to the early 1940's. It appears to be either homemade, or created by a small cottage business.
In 1997 I was knee-deep in the world of percussion education and performance.
I taught marching percussion and movement at three Portland-area high schools, ran a small studio where I gave private lessons to kids and played three nights a week in a jazz combo. I also played pit percussion for two of the three major theater companies in town during the summer season.
Then it all packed up and left town.
On the way home one evening, I rode my bike past a parked truck when the drivers' side door swung open quickly and without warning, right into me. I caught the end of the door with my right hand, which bounced in and out of the latch, and then I slammed hard sideways into the pavement. Two bicyclists right behind me swerved wildly to avoid missing the spot where I'd fallen. One stayed and offered help. The driver of the truck was mortified; she made me lie still, kept me calm, and gave the ambulance driver and police her information while they dressed my wounds and decided I could get away with calling a cab to go to the hospital (I couldn't afford the ambulance ride).
Two surgeries and a year of physical therapy later, my right hand was put back together as well as possible. I could grip a wrench well enough to stay employed at my bike shop day job, and I could, with time play a passable snare drum roll. However, French grip timpani and four-in-hand keyboard mallets were gone forever, as I had lost access to the muscles in my right pinky and just below that in my right hand. That meant no more concert percussion and no more pit orchestra work, which was the primary source of my musical income. I was forced to close down my little drum studio and shad to sell my marimba to pay my bills. With the assistance of a lawyer, I eventually accepted a settlement from the driver's insurance company that covered the replacement of my totaled bicycle, all of my medical expenses and a fair chunk left over for "pain and suffering" and the loss of my concert percussion career.
I spent the next ten years getting involved in synagogue music and eventually rebuilt myself as a singer-songwriter. Between 1999 and 2019, I enjoyed a small but growing career as a songwriter, cantorial soloist and Jewish educator. I made wonderful friends in my new sphere and grew a great deal as a musician and a human being.
And I never stopped loving drums and percussion. After a long stretch of not touching any drums (and wincing whenever I passed a marimba in a music store), I found my way back to drumming with an old practice pad and some sticks I'd kept. After six months of careful, patient practice, I'd regained the ability to play most of the rudiments I'd learned as a kid, plus a few more I hadn't gotten around to learning when the timpani bug bit. I began acquiring practice pads, to test and try and figure out which ones worked best for me. I started researching the history of practice pad development in the twentieth century, and began collecting vintage pads and sticks.
I continued to pursue drumming as a hobby while I toured, occasionally buying vintage sticks while on tour and bringing a practice pad along so I could chill out between shows.
I was on the verge of a very big breakthrough in my little Jewish music scene when COVID came along and brought it all to a screeching, painful halt.
Since last March, my travels as a touring Jewish artist have stopped cold. I've had a couple of online engagements but nothing solid or long-term. With the shutdown of my songwriting gigs came a wave of deep depression and self-doubt that has lasted, frankly, for months on end.
But all the free time of unemployment gave me time and space to dive deep into drumming, and to find myself musically in other ways. Today, thanks in large part to the miracle of the internet, I've become part of a wonderful online community of drummers, our friendships based on mutual respect and a shared love of drums and
percussion. It has been, and continues to be, a wonderful journey.
My friends in the Jewish music world may be wondering why I can't seem top pick up my guitar right now, but many have been surprised at discovering this other music side of me (through videos I've shared online), and have remained encouraging. Be patient with yourself, they've said. You'll come back to it when the time is right. I hope they're right about that.
Meanwhile, I am deeply grateful for the friends I've made in Drumland, and I want to thank a few of them here for their encouragement, acceptance and welcome.
In no particular order:
James Travers and everyone at Rhythm Traders
Kevin Donka
Rene van Haaren
Don Stewart
Kevin Lehman and his amazing Wilcoxon Rudimental Challenge
Scott Brown at Flam7Percussion
René Ormae-Jarmer
Don Worth
Brian Wilemon, Jennifer Honnoll Wilemon and Bay Ratz Marching Battery
Unpresidented Brass Band
I'm sure I will fail to mention at least half a dozen other names here but they're all part of a wonderful drum rediscovery and I am grateful for every single one of them.
And I would be a complete dork and total loser if I did not thank the one who has been my biggest supporter through all of this weird and crazy time -- my Sweetie, Liz, with whom I will soon celebrate 20 years of US-ness and who may not have had any idea of what she was getting into when we started out.
I wasn't really a drummer at that point and when it all came back to me, it all came in for the first time for her. Lesser beloveds might have run screaming from the room, but she simply asked me to play on rubber pads behind a closed door.
I don't know what my return to the singer-songwriter thing will look like when we all get through this COVID mess, or even how much of that I will do going forward. It's impossible for me to know right now.
But I DO know that I will never stop being a musician, no matter what I use to explore sound with. And today, while everything remains terribly uncertain, that is one good thing I can be certain of, and deeply grateful for.
Happy Drumming.
Below: Evidence of participation. Gresham HS Band, Fall 1977. I am directly in front of the guy in the middle column with the saxophone neck strap on. You can only see half my face but that's me carrying a single tenor drum and loving every single note of the experience. (I also adored that uniform, right down to the overlay and spats.)
Someday I'd love to find photos of my brief time marching in Spartans Drum Corps [Vancouver WA, spring and summer1978] -- if you've got anything showing ME carrying timpani or bells, please let me know. Super-extra bonus points if you can tell me where to score one of those funky, black short slant-top shakos. Thanks.
I'd been looking for one of these "Tuneable" pads for literally years, when I came across one at Goodwill -- which is odd, because things this cool generally don't make it to the shelves.
But this one did, and I snapped it up for a cool ten bucks.
Ludwig started offering this pad in the later 1960s (it first showed up in a 1967 catalog), and they remained in the catalog through at least the mid-80s. So I can't really know how old this pad is. But the scrpit logo is a clue, since Ludwig went to its more rectangular logo in the 1970s. So I'm guessing that this pad dates from the late 60s to around 1970.
(I never saw one of these during my school days (I graduated high school in 1981). It was likely more expensive than the Remo and hardly anyone could afford more than that in my largely working-class high school.)
It's basically a variation on the ubiquitous Remo pad of the same era, the main differences being the aluminum top plate/rim and the tuning screws. The screws are installed from the bottom, and nuts shaped like tension rods are screwed in from the top, meaning that this pad can be tuned using a standard drum key.
For being from the late 60's the pad shows quite a lot of wear and tear, but the original head is intact. There is some wear along the bearing edge -- not surprising for a well-loved pad -- but a careful quarter-turn of the tension nuts reveals a sound and feel that's not unlike that of a snare drum from the era, when heads were tuned looser than they would be later in the 80s and 90s.
Below: wear at the bearing edge, which was perhaps made a little too sharp for this use. I assume replacement heads would have been available from Ludwig.
I love this design, which makes tuning much easier than the slotted bolts on the Remo pads.
I took a pair of vintage 2B sticks from the wall display and tried it out. I was surprised at how nice the response was, even on a much lower tuned pad. I was reminded of a modern replica rope drum that I played years ago, and the tension on this pad is not unlike that.
Here's a little video.
