Last night I stayed up until 4am working on para-diddles.   What's a para diddle?  It's a basic drum rudiment or pattern - that goes like this RLRRLRLL (R=Right L=Left).   Try that a few times right now with your hands.   Not so easy.   This is what I did for hours, sitting on my couch beating on the cushions - going from moments of "hey! i got it!" to "what's right and what's left again?"

Why am I doing this again?

This got me to thinking.  A  Classical  musician looks at the punk rocker and says "dude, you know only like three chords." and the punk rocker responds, "well three chords is all I need to say FUCK YOU!".

People learning to do something - especially when it comes to art - seem to fall into two camps.  There are the "virtuousos" and there are the "creatives".   One camp believes in learning proper technique, doing things the "right way", practicing hours upon hours of repetitive patterns and exercises so that they become masters.   The goal is to literally able to do almost  anything they want to or  think of with their instrument or tool.   The other camp spends the majority of their time making and creating.  For them it is about the writing, the content, the character, expression, concept.  Who cares if you are the master of your instrument if you have nothing interesting to express or write about.   If anything, technique and virtuousity often gets in the way of pure raw expression. In fact they believe their lack of skill is a limitation that forces them to be more creative and is the source of their originality.   It's a classic debate.  Formal vs. informal, book smart vs. street smart, technical vs. feel, individual vs. collective.

Eras of art can probably described as being dominated by one camp or the other.  Growing up in the 80's - it was all about the guitar solo.  Virtuousity was king.   If you were a guitarist it was Eddie Van Halen, Joe Satriani, Kirk Hammett, or  Stevie Ray Vaughn.  Outside of a few classic riffs, Eddie Van Halen is probably most remembered as the guy that did that "tapping" thing.  Aspiring guitarists everywhere sat in their bedrooms trying to "tap".  It wasn't the music, or notes, or melody as much as it was the technique itself that was the art.

As we moved into the 90's and as people got tired of guitar solo as watching dudes in tight pants masturbate on stage, music shifted.  If you were in a band, no one ever talked any more about who was the "lead guitarist".  Music shifted from the distinct sound of individual stars to a collective sound.    With bands like Sonic Youth, Yo La Tengo, or Fugazi it was about intertwining guitars, creating layers, textures.  No one had to be particularly skilled as individual musicians.  Each person could play very simple parts, but create complexity by combining with others playing simple parts in interesting ways.  You became subservient to the song,  the mood, atmosphere, the style - the concept of taking a solo was unheard. It had simply become "uncool".

In some cases a lack of technique came to define the sound of the band.   It was Steve Malkmus' distinctly off-key quirky vocals, and the band's loose sloppy playing that made Pavement one of the defining bands of the 90s.  After a decade that celebrated the beauty and glamour of the surface and material, Pavement seemed to challenge you to dig beneath the surface.  You were supposed to say "this guy can't sing, or they aren't in tune, or this is a shitty recording" - but fuck these are some good songs!  At the end of the day that is what's "real".  That is what's important.

And while bands like Pavement inspired artists to be comfortable and even celebrate the flaws in their art,  it also became an excuse for laziness.   As a graduate student at the art institute, I noticed a distinct attitude among many students that took it as a matter of pride to not learn technique, not study, or follow assignments.  Books or the work of others were sometimes treated like germs that would only infect the "integrity of their own art".      We endured looking at  sloppy and poorly crafted work, while we were supposed to be blown away by the amazing concept.   The artist left it to the viewer to do their work for them.

"Yeah but I'm keepin' it real"

"Yeah, real dumb."

Which brings me back to para-diddles. In learning to play the drums over the last 10 years I would probably put myself in the "creative" camp, that is to say I didn't care to take lessons or learn proper technique.   I took pride in learning through doing and embracing my limitations as an impetus for more creative playing-  but recently i've found it to not be enough.

I've noticed in recent years the appearance of more intricate art - hand-done, very detailed, sometimes ornate work, that often incorporates a great deal of repetitiveness.  It is art where part of the appreciation is being able to say "man that must've taken you so much time to do that!" or "how did you do that?" The joy of working on something like a para diddle is the joy of actually being able to turn off that "creative" part of the brain.  That part that keeps asking, what am i going to make with this, what am i trying to say, what does it all mean?   It is the simple enjoyment of working and watching yourself get better, doing something that you could not do before.

And so now I find myself practicing para diddles at 4 in the morning.

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