The Worst Drum Kit I Ever Played

Pictured is a horrible kit — not the one I played on, but it sets the tone for my story… The Worst Drum Kit I Ever Played. We’ve all played on them whether it was the only set of drums we had growing up or the house kit at a bar. It’s a drum kit that feels bad, sounds bad, looks bad, has missing or broken parts, and represents a level of percussive depravity that makes you rethink your passion for music. It was the winter of 2005. I was playing a simple one-off gig in some state like Michigan or something. It was already bad enough that the group I was with had to drive there, let alone the brave the road conditions – snow was everywhere. The gig’s contract rider specified backline gear to be provided and we were told it was being provided by the opening band (red flag number 1).

We got to the venue – a large conference center attached to a large hotel. The stage was really quite massive for the small four-piece band we had. We thanked the promoter, met some folks helping out for the day and decided to check out the backline situation. That’s when we were told that the opening band was from the local church (red flag number 2), that this was their first real gig (red flag number 3), and that the drummer was their worship leader (pile of red flags).

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I walked into the empty conference center and up onto the backlit stage. I saw the drums there, silhouetted by the stage lights. Clutching the only provider of happy memories I had along on this trip – my stick bag – I reluctantly made my way over to the things. Sigh, it was a sonic bowel movement of a four piece. This would be the worst drum kit I had ever played. It was a no name brand from some forgotten decade with the following features:

• None of the toms had bottom heads
• The top heads of the toms were taped and pitted beyond recognition. The rack tom looked like it had been cut or stabbed with something. The rack tom sounded like a bass kazoo and the floor tom sounded like someone farting and tearing wax paper simultaneously.
• The snare had a sock stretched the width of the drum, placed under the head to muffle the snare (the drum set normally sat in a church where volume was a major concern). The snare sound was something like hitting a wet box with an equally wet spatula – “splitdh.”
• The kick was stuffed with newspaper, had a large felt strip running the diameter, and sounded like hitting an electronic drum pad with the sound off.
• The cymbals were made of the cheapest metal available to mankind – one ride, one crash, and a pair of hi hats. Corrugated cardboard would have been more musical and featured longer sustain.
• The “throne” was a rolling office chair. Every fifth hit of the kick, I had to scoot up, making that annoying rolly-chair squeaking sound
• The coup de grace was the fact that the drummer was left handed and played in the open position. This meant the ride and crash were reversed and everything was tilted funny.

I was so depressed at the thought of playing the thing. The set wasn’t worth configuring so I could be more comfortable, nor was our set long enough to warrant such meager customization. I decided to play the show open handed for a challenge — at least my brain would have fun. Mind you, I am a professional and did the best I could to enjoy myself and serve the songs given the situation. Still, a part of my soul died that day.

The one good thing that came out of the whole experience is that I set a baseline expectation for backline that is so ridiculously low that I have since always been pleasantly surprised with whatever I am given to play.

Oh, the kit was bright flame red.