Give The Drummer Some (More)

A classic pop recording is a creature of many parts. A great vocal performance, distinctive production, and crisp instrumental backing—not to mention memorable songwriting—all combine to create a sonic experience that can lodge in your brain for a lifetime, whether you’re aware of its many creative components or not.

Let’s not forget the drumming. It’s often said that a band is only as good as its drummer, an assertion I agree with. I’d go further: there’s no such thing as a timeless pop recording without, at the very least, a solid drum performance—and in many cases, a distinctive drum part that catapults a song from fine to fantastic.

Below are a handful of examples of pop classics that benefited from the contributions of alert, creative drummers. That each of these musicians remains largely unknown to the vast number of listeners who’ve enjoyed these songs is yet another bittersweet element of pop music’s magic.

The marvelous vocalist Chuck Jackson may not be forgotten—if you’ve ever heard his handful of hit singles they aren’t likely to ever be erased from your internal musical hard drive—but he certainly doesn’t get the collective love he still deserves. In that he can join the long line of pop music luminaries who, no matter their talent, had but a micro moment in the spotlight and then were set adrift to make way for the next sensation. Hey, it’s a tough business…

Jackson’s peak may have been his 1962 hit “Any Day Now,” a wrenchingly sung ballad by Burt Bacharach and Bob Hilliard.* “I Don’t Want to Cry,” a Top 40 hit from the previous year, is another animal altogether. If “Any Day Now” is a soulful stroll, “I Don’t Want to Cry” is a spirited sprint. Jackson sounds as if he’s running from the hounds of despair, with drummer Gary Chester just barely holding them at bay.

Relentlessly working the brushes rather than sticks, Chester nips at Jackson’s heels, urging him on. He never lets up—and, in turn, neither does Jackson. The slashing strings and staccato guitar interjections heighten the drama, but I hear the performance primarily as a duet between the impassioned singer and the insistent drummer. If you think I’m hyperbolizing a bit (Me?), just try to imagine the performance without Chester’s contribution.

That Chester—who can be heard on dozens of Sixties pop hits—was also Burt Bacharach’s favorite studio drummer comes as no surprise. The maestro understood that, for a song to truly register, the musician providing the rhythmic pulse is an indispensable lynchpin—even if the intended listener only registers that hired hand’s contribution subliminally.**

“I Know (You Don't Love Me No More),” a New Orleans R&B mainstay, was Barbara George’s only foray into the big leagues. Reaching number three on the Top 40 charts in late 1961 (and number one on the R&B charts), the song is an infectious piece of Big Easy pop that rides on George’s ardent vocal, Marcel Richardson’s jaunty piano runs, and a delightfully elemental trumpet solo by Melvin Lastie. So far, so good—but there’s no denying that the beating heart of the performance is John Boudreaux’s drumming. Elemental, rock‑steady, and funky in a barely‑there way, Boudreaux’s work is as economical as the song requires; yet listen to how he snaps the performance into focus when needed. The crack of Boudreaux’s snare, his drum roll announcing the trumpet solo, those perfectly judged fills that punctuate George’s vocal and keep the whole performance on its feet—it’s so simple, and simply beautiful.

Procol Harum was lucky to have one of the great rock drummers as a key member of the band. B.J. Wilson brought his propulsive and dramatic work to nearly all the band’s classic late Sixties and early Seventies work. I say nearly because he’s notably absent from the group’s most famous song, “A Whiter Shade of Pale.” (As is Robin Trower, the band’s future guitar hero.)

There’s a lot going on during this Summer of Love hit (for those born in the current century, that was in 1967). Between Matthew Fisher’s ethereal organ quoting Bach; Gary Brooker’s majestically earnest vocal; and Keith Relf’s defiantly impenetrable lyrics, you have plenty to chew on. And then there’s the contributions of Bill Eyden, a name lost, if indeed ever known, to the annals of rock music history.

Eyden was a session drummer who was brought in to assist the fledgling band on their debut release. Thanks to his prominent place in the single’s mix, it’s obvious that Eyden, a respected jazz drummer at the time, somehow understood what PM were going for. His alert drumming cuts through the psychedelic haze with forceful concentration, keeping things lively and on course. As it’s difficult to imagine Gary Chester’s work removed from “I Don’t Want to Cry,” it’s practically impossible to envision “WSOP” without Eyden’s buoyant beat keeping the song from slipping into the lugubrious mists. Let’s put it this way, Eyden rocks, and “A Whiter Shade of Pale” is all the better for it.

*

(“I Wake Up Crying,” another passion-filled 1962 Jackson–Bacharach collaboration, is not to be missed either.)

**

Chester had his moment in the sun on “Do You Know the Way to San Jose,” Dionne Warwick’s 1968 hit, where he fills the space between verses with bass drum kicks. His unexpected interjections are integral to the performance.

Bonus Track

Since we’ve got percussion on our minds, there’s always Jackson’s “I Keep Forgettin’,” a Leiber and Stoller extravaganza that features timpani, xylophone, and any number of other membranophones. All that aside, Jackson, of course, sings the stuffing out of it.