I had my first drum lesson in autumn of 1974. An enthusiastic 6th grader at that time, I can honestly say, the enthusiasm never waned.

By 1975 I was a member of the proud, yet pitiful,  Richard Butler (NJ) Elementary School Concert Band. As with most grade school bands, we were more focused on starting and ending at the same time than sounding good while doing so. However, the experience served its purpose. It separated those with ability and commitment from those without. It was the traditional rite of passage to moving on to becoming a high school "bandie". It's always handy to get a few embarrassing performances under your belt.

In 1977 I entered the Butler High School music program.  I couldn't have come in at a better time. The new band director, Bernie Baggs, was in his second year with the program. Bernie had two strikes against him- first, he was just a general pain in the ass, and second, he hated drummers. But Bernie also had a serious upside. His father was a DCI judge and he spent his entire life immersed in drum corps. If you ever spend any time at all around a DCI corps, you'll understand the importance of this exposure for a musician. There is a complete dedication to precision and perfection that you can't put a price on.

From day one, I was lucky enough to be given a spot on the snare line. Unfortunately, as the only freshman, I was also the official drum line punching bag. But again an upside- I was surrounded by musicians that were older and more advanced than me. The situation forced me to step up my focus and become a better player in a hurry.

Under Bernie, the Butler High School band flourished...going undefeated in competition for 5 straight years. With success, came more opportunity, stronger competition, better instructors, more exposure to professional musicians, and more money pumped into the music program. All of the success allowed us to create jazz ensembles, R & B ensembles, and swing bands, sanctioned and funded by the public school system.  

By my senior year in high school, I was playing in at least 5 school backed bands, including practicing for a spot as timpanist in the NJ State School Orchestra (no, I wasn't selected). As well, I was playing in two pit bands and was starting to play gigs with a rock band. 

In summer of 1981, I had my eyes set on starting college in the fall. I still managed to hook up with three different pit bands, including one supporting an ambitious production of West Side Story which nearly killed me. Instead of spending the summer kicking back and enjoying life, I was spending my time trying to emulate chops made famous by the likes by Buddy Rich. Fortunately, our rag-tag rock band was gaining popularity, which gave me a much needed outlet from being immersed in the rigidity of playing in the pit bands.

The rock band was now playing out at least one night a week under the moniker, The Ziptones. As goofy as was the name, so was the band. We kept it simple...Stones, Beatles, Elvis...your basic garage band stuff. We had a great front man and our harmonies were full. We took garage rock to a little bit higher level and were starting to get a little notice on the local NJ scene. Staying busy with The Ziptones rounded out what became a very musical and magical summer.

In Fall of 1981, I was off to college. The Ziptones would play a few more dates together, but it became obvious that the band had run its course, so we went our separate ways. The good news was that college afforded a whole new batch of musicians to jam with and learn from. After kicking around with 4 or 5 bands for a while, I happened upon a guitarist from Newcastle, England in the spring of 1982. Rich Plumpton and I would become band mates for the next 11 years.

After meeting, we each brought together players we had worked with in the past and within a month had formed The NO IDEA Project. A month after that, we were playing out regularly and assembling an impressive list of covers. As is typical, the band went through a number personnel changes, with Rich and I being the constants. During one of the periods of personnel turnover, we both decided that doing covers wasn't doing it for us. It was time to start writing and recording. With original music in mind, we brought in a new line up. The new band with new goals would be called Fallout.

One of the new members of Fallout was a guitarist/singer/songwriter named Rich Manz. Rich Manz made his impact in two very distinctive ways. First, he could write catchy songs, sing along lyrics and plenty of hooks. While Rich Plumpton and I were writing stuff that would makes us the next version of Rush, Rich Manz was showing up with 3-1/2 minute wonders that an audience didn't have to think about to enjoy. The second impact Rich Manz made on the band was an insistence that every one sing harmonies. We would spend hours with just an acoustic guitar and 4 mic's learning our singing parts. Although a painful process (especially for a drummer who never sang before), we sounded amazing and it paid off. While still playing cover gigs to pay the bills, we were injecting originals in our sets and the response was incredibly positive. It wasn't long until we were in the studio putting together an EP. Before we knew it, we were getting local air-play.

 Fallout became one of the premier bands on the NJ circuit for almost 7 years. We played the Jersey shore clubs, some great clubs in Philly, and some of NYC's hottest spots for new music. During that time, we also recorded at least 20 studio tracks. We were doing great locally, but it seemed we just didn't have the sound, the talent, and/or the luck to go big time. We were trying like hell, but we hit the wall.

As will happen, two us made the decision to get married and concentrate on a "real job" and the quest for the white picket fence. Rich Manz went first, and I wasn't long after. It almost seemed a relief. After having some involvement in a band non-stop for over 15 years, I was putting my drums in storage and taking a break. It would take 5 years and one failed marriage before the itch would hit me again.

The "itch" came in the form of a phone call from a studio engineer I worked with during the Fallout years. He explained that he was producing a few singer/songwriters and was having a problem finding a dependable drummer who understood how to fit into a back up role. Within a week I was back in the studio, doing what I love most.

The decision to reignite my music career paid off. Within a year I was hooked up with three or four studios who would call me in as a studio drummer. The criteria for success were simple- show up on time, be sober and prepared to play, keep it steady and simple, and be willing to listen to the wishes of the lead artist with limited push back. The hours were tolerable, the pay was adequate, and I was learning how to build a great sound. The only drawback was the occasional project that wasn't my style, but even those gave me some good lessons on tolerance and flexibility.

In 2006, my little enterprise, regrettably came to an end. At the request of my "real job", I was told I was needed in the Dallas, TX headquarters. So, in January of 2007, I was moving into a home in Sachse and getting acclimated to a whole new part of the country.  And now, I'm starting over...building the alliances to weave my way to the Dallas music scene. The good news is that I'm finding plenty of opportunities and, like everyone else in Dallas, finding the local musicians to be much easier to work with.