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Please Kill My Drummer

A session drummer in the Dallas area picked this off Craigslist and it got circulated among some of his friends. We thought you might enjoy it…

Come on, every band leader has thought it at least once or twice. And maybe it’s not your drummer—I have had some singers who fit this profile way too closely.

Come to think of it there have been a couple guitar players and horn players, too.  And at least one drummer.

This was actually on Craigslist…

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Looking for someone special who would kill my drummer for $100.00.

Do not fear any negative consequences for this act. Any self respecting law enforcement agency would gladly turn the other cheek once they hear this guy “play”.

I am tired of hearing his 70’s style fills put in the wrong spot and ending one half beat early or late depending on how much he’s had to drink.

I am tired of him standing up behind his drums between songs and ripping his shirt off and flexing his muscles at wedding receptions where we were hired to play Air Supply, Carpenters, and Ann Murray songs because “chicks dig the pecs, dude.”

I am tired of him showing up 20 minutes late for rehearsals then pouting until someone helps him load in his drums, then taking 30 minutes to set them up…and needing a smoke break every 15 minutes,…then wanting to leave early because “this chick is so fine, I can’t say no, and she knows record people dude, so it’s for the band.”

I am totally done with him calling me up at midnight to play me some damned jazz fusion album from 1981, crying and saying how we shouldn’t have sold out to “the man” and asking if I know anyone who can get him some weed knowing full well I smoked twice in ’69 and never touched it after that.

I am sick of him farting on stage where the drum mics pick it up and thinking it’s funny.

I am tired of kicking off slow ballads at well under 80 bpm only to have them morph into the methamphetimine version of flight of the bumble bee, because that’s the tempo he “feels” it at.

I am tired of having to carry jumper cables to the gig because “I must have left the dome light on again, dude,” instead of admitting his ’84 oldsmobile is a worn out piece of crap.

I am tired of him asking when he’s gonna get a drum solo.

I am tired of paying his tab at restaurants because “that chick must have stole my wallet man, but it was worth it ’cause she was a phreak”. I will not move my amp again so he can put another new cymbal on the stage, because “when we learn some fusion I’ll need this sound.”

Please somebody kill this $&%*&@#$%*!!er.

I can’t do it because he’s my brother and mom would be so pissed.  But even she, too, thinks the band would probably sound better.

So, please.

Anybody…


 

About the author

Bill Evans

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