That's Not What I Do

I'm listening to a friend's playing on an instructional CD. This guy is a great player, and his tracks here are very impressive. I absolutely love what he's doing. So I'm envious -- no surprise there. And I'm also feeling a bit guilty. Guilty? Now why would that be?

I have a couple of suspect responses when I hear playing this good. My first reaction is “I could never do that”. Perhaps it's just my sense of awe that immobilizes me since, upon further analysis, I realize that most of what he's demonstrating is within the realm of possibility for me ... with a bit of practice, of course.

Sometimes I come across a lick or rhythm that would be a good addition to my tool kit. In that case I may work on it. But most of the time, the things that catch my attention are not necessarily things I'm interested in learning.

My other reaction is equally suspect. I assume that I need to play like that. As a drum-set generalist, I’m motivated to continually learn more stuff and, in doing so, to try to cover all the bases. And over time I seem to have developed a vague sense that I should to be able to play anything and everything that comes my way. That's unreasonable by any standard. Nobody can do it all, nor should you or I even try.

As I was listening to the tracks, I realized that, not only did I have little use for that style of playing, that it really wasn't my thing. That is, I don't actually want to play like that. And I certainly don't need to. That won’t stop me from having a look at the material -- it’s good exercise and beneficial knowledge -- but in the end, most of the stuff is Just. Not. Me.

So while I can do a presentable job of rock, funk, Latin, country, and whatnot, there are limits to what I'm realistically able to do. And there are also limits on what I'm willing to do. You see, I’d much rather concentrate on “my music.” I enjoy playing all sorts of styles and try to play them as authentically as I can, but I prefer to spend my  time  on the stuff that really turns my crank.