Fellow Artists

Thoughts on Fellow Artists


5-pin DIN—2005-Present

Originally this was a one man band and it involved me playing live drums to Drum N Bass songs. Not long afterward my pal Superdave (Dave Misener) joined on electric bass and I dubbed us ‘Drums N Bass’. We then brought Len Goins into the fold and he came up with the name ‘5-pin DIN’. We play live improv DnB and have no backing tracks. We have a loop in our headphones that we’re all locked into, and we take it from there, making everything up on the spot. There are no songs, just sounds, live action loops, keyboard bass, and acoustic drums with triggers. Some of the most fun playing music I have ever had in my life, this band means the world to me.
We take a free jazz approach to the DnB dance form and the tempo stays parked at 180 BPM. 8th notes fly past at 360 per minute, 16th notes at 720. The fill window is quite easy to miss. One of the coolest things about this band is that every four bars we’re usually someplace else entirely. It’s music for the moment, sometimes nasty, sometimes pure groove. And lots of smiles, lots of sweat. Typically, because of the tempo, I hit my ride around 20,000 times in an hour long set. This is a new approach to drumming for me.

Len Goins—2005-Present (5-pin DIN/von Drats/Mortmain/The Brimstones)

Superdave (Misener) and I were really excited to get Len to play with us, finally. We were looking for the right opportunity, but in the end, created the right opportunity, so that was cool. The drummer in his surf band the von Drats, I’ve loved getting deep into the drumming grooves with Len, exploring, jamming, doing things that have never really been done before between tweaked loops and live drums. Len’s had the acumen to bring a project like 5-pin DIN to a higher level, but as a drummer, he’s got drooling skinsman antics reminiscent of, our hero, Animal from the Muppets. His knuckles drag, the drums turn to pulp, he mashes them at speed with blurry sticks. It’s amazing to watch such a polite, intelligent person morph into a toothless, sweaty ghoul behind the drums. He reminds me of Mr. Burns after thirty coffees.
As a programmer Len is very accomplished. His own project, Mortmain, involves cutting edge experiments with rhythm and noise. Superdave and I knew that Len would add a world of texture—rhythmic and otherwise—to 5 pin DIN and couldn’t wait to get started.

Dave (Superdave) Misener—2002-Present (Royal Wood Engineer/Convertible Robots/von Drats/5 pin DIN/Sir Jerry/JL Blank)

I first met Superdave in March of 2002 when I showed up at his studio to record with Blair Richard Martin and some Cubans. Dave was the engineer. During those sessions he played me some of Royal Wood’s demos that he’d recorded and I thought Royal was excellent. That was the beginning of a long friendship, and of a longstanding artistic collaboration. I played with Superdave in his own band, Convertible Robots, and absolutely loved it. I used to rent out his studio to practice, then ended up playing along to his amazing electronica programs. He introduced me to Reuben Huizenga (ex-Glueleg/Edwin Producer) and he and I joined the Sir Jerry band via him. He engineered Royal Wood’s ‘Tall Tales’ album as well as Royal’s ‘Milkweed’ EP. We recorded jazz albums together, recorded another project with Blair Richard Martin and I, as well as other fun stuff. He practically lived in the studio.
Something of a chameleon, Superdave programmed like a genius, mixed like a master, started playing keyboards in the von Drats, was a great guitar player, played in Sir Jerry’s band, played keyboard bass/etc in 5-pin DIN, and became a great friend. We’ve made a lot of music together, and I’ve loved every minute.

Royal Wood—2002-Present (Universal/Maple Music/Dead Daisy/Producer)

The very first things that went through my head when Superdave played me Royal’s music were a) ‘this reminds me of Jeff Buckley’, and b) ‘I am going to have to play with this person.’ I was in the studio recording with a bunch of Cuban friends when I heard Royal’s demos and I was floored. Royal was an amazing musician and became a very dear friend. I recorded several albums with him and played numerous shows with him, too. His songs were very heartfelt, for the most part, and the only way to do them justice from behind the kit was to dig deep, quiet down, and in the right places, build to a manageable climax. As a musician, I’ve never known him to lose control, so even when the songs got huge, they’re din was always with reigns attached. His love songs stopped me in my tracks, every time. And his pop songs were great, too. Recently he was on tour opening for Sarah Harmer in the States. We play together quite often, and I love it.

David Matheson—2000-Present (Moxy Fruvous/Royal Canadian Air Farce/Royal Wood/Session Musician)

I met David when Martina Sorbara and I were on tour with Moxy Fruvous somewhere in the States. He was always teaching himself a new instrument on the road, and that time it was the violin. He was a cool guy, and kind to Martina and I, who were only 21 and 23 then. I used to watch him onstage in awe. He was a serious guitar player, songwriter, and had an outstanding voice. He recorded on Martina Sorbara’s record, but I didn’t get to play with him until I recruited him to work with Royal Wood and I a little while later. I took vocal lessons with him at what, I discovered later, ended up being the house of a vacationing member of The Barenaked Ladies. He refused to let me pay him for the lesson, so instead I taught him a bunch of Afro-Cuban syncopations. His and David Ford’s vocalization for the mambo bell, he told me, was “Hey-Kids, Get-In-The-Car, Get-In-The-Car, Move-It!” Enough said.
I had the pleasure of joining Dave in front 800 people several years ago playing ‘stingers’ as the house band during an awards ceremony. Dave was the bandleader. During the show the band had to play a song that we’d learned, although, as we discovered during soundcheck, there was only a two bar click lead-in and I had stay locked up to the video when the click dropped out, something I’d never done. The production team was freaking out because I was messing up the timing and we were falling out of synch with the video. But Dave was cool as Kung-Fu. He told me that they had been going crazy in his headset and we’d better give it another try. I asked for a little video monitor and got one mounted under my hi-hat. We tried it again and I got it right. Dave was the sensei of awesomeness.


Maury Lafoy—1999-Present (Jann Arden/Ron Sexsmith/Starling/Sarah Harmer/Royal Canadian Air Farce/The Supers/Session Musician)

I don’t even know where to being with Maury . . . . A few years ago I was at his 33rd birthday party attended by some of Toronto’s finest musicians and I have never, ever, in my entire life, witnessed that much love and respect and admiration focused on one person before. It was unbelievable. The tributes were hilarious. David Matheson took three minutes to write a song (as only he could) in the back of the club and later performed it on a wacky keyboard, delivering lines like “The Laughter, the Joy, the Maury Lafoy!” and people were howling. Maury was one of the best bassists, and one of the top musicians, I ever played with. I first met him when Martina Sorbara and I opened for Starling in Hamilton sometime in 2000, I think. When they fired it up the earth shook. Then awhile later I saw him in an acoustic setting and he was a different player altogether.
Currently with Jann Arden, I recruited him to play with Royal Wood in 2002 and 2003. He also played with Ron Sexsmith, and has recorded with Royal, Martina Sorbara, Kurt Swinghammer, David Matheson, and about a billion other people. I sat in with him and the rest of Kurt’s band not long ago and it just felt like the guy had reached enlightenment. There’s no other way to describe it.

Kurt Swinghammer—1999-Present (Ani DiFranco/Patricia O’Callaghan/Lori Cullen/Session Musician)

An older gent, he was always kind to me as a younger player coming up (with lots to learn). He played with Ani DiFranco and seeing as Martina Sorbara and I were cutting from the same cloth, he knew exactly what we were up to, what we were going for, and how weakly or well we were doing it. I later played with him in Patricia O’Callaghan’s band (he recommended me to her, the prince). He brought years of experience to each moment. An accomplished painter and designer, Kurt was also a very successful solo artist, and I had the pleasure of jamming with him and his top notch band (very challenging). He also recorded on Royal Wood’s latest record, ‘A Good Enough Day’. Kurt became a great friend, always with opinions on art worth hearing.

Kevin Fox—1999-Present (Celine Dion/Sarah Harmer/Royal Wood/Damhnait Doyle/Sarah Slean/Session Musician)

I first met Kevin when I was playing with Martina Sorbara. I think Kevin was playing with Damhnait Doyle at the time, and soon thereafter he was playing with Sarah Harmer. He was basically playing with everybody (still is). He even played on some Celine Dion stuff awhile back. I introduced him to Royal Wood in 2002 and he came into the studio and laid down some cello. An amazing singer, guitar player, a fine song craftsman, and a superb bassist, I can’t remember if Kevin shared the stage with Martina and I, but her and I opened for Sarah Harmer in February 2001, and I think he was playing with Harmer then. Foxy recorded on Martina’s first record, and subsequently, recorded on two of Royal Wood’s albums and one of his EPs. He’s traveled to warzones as part of a program organized, I think, by the Canadian Government, lived on a houseboat on Toronto Island, and was always a very decent human being.


Patricia O’Callaghan—2004-2005 (EMI)

Playing with Trish made me want to pinch myself. Usually, in her band, I was the youngest member by about ten years, and some of the other members were heavyweight veterans of the Canadian music scene. It was an honour to play with her. An opera soprano, her voice would stop me in my tracks. It could bring a bird down from the sky. The great part of playing with her was that she’d trust me to come up with something that worked; she’d let me play, and if I couldn’t find anything complementary she’d suggest this or that and I’d gladly oblige. I never had any problems with her suggestions, she was always going after a feeling. I’d also gladly sit out and not play if I felt what I was doing didn’t work for the song, and I didn’t mind that in the least. It was such a treat to play real Cabaret with such qualified musicians. These were not groove players per se, these were classically trained musicians, reading elaborate charts. I’d actually play the kit with my hands only, at her request, and I loved this approach. She was the ultimate, consummate professional; experienced, in control, and definitely heading somewhere.


George Koeller—2004-2005 (Patricia O’Callaghan/Session Musician)

Heavyweight Champion of the World, George was probably the best musician I ever played with. Ever. He played bass in Patricia O’Callaghan’s band, tearing through the classical pieces like they were snack food. One of the top Jazz musicians in the land, he also had classical and world beat chops out the yin yang. I remember being in a rehearsal with George at my left. I looked over to Kurt Swinghammer and caught his eye, then I nodded over to George and Kurt and I chuckled in admiration and humility at the sheer strength of George’s playing. That was a great moment. Even George’s mistakes were wonderful. He wasted nothing and played the exact amount of notes appropriate to the situation. But he played them with grace, with mastery, with inventiveness, and without ego.

Blair Richard Martin—1999-2005 (Klave Y Kongo/Raving Mojos)

My guru. The best drum teacher I ever had. One of the best drummers I ever knew. I used to show up at his place and play with him for hours. Sometimes for 5 hours straight. (The longest I ever played with him was over 7 hours straight.) I was always learning from him, and the guy taught me more than I was able to retain; I used to walk home from jamming with him completely wired on the rhythms he’d shown me. But ultimately it took me two years to develop any feel for Cuban music. At first it was all academic, but the feel—the physical knowledge of those styles—came after hundreds of hours of being immersed in them. He was a phenomenal teacher. Totally patient, with a way of instructing me that was very loose, just as though we were hanging out under a palm tree somewhere.
A complete master of Cuban music, hilarious, extremely intelligent, extremely skilled, incredibly talented, I used to go and see his band (Klave Y Kongo) play every Friday night for a year and a half. That was my real introduction to Cuban music. Later he’d join me in my own band, Adam Hay Drum Troupe, record albums with me, and play shows on the road. He taught me congas, bongo, shekere, guiro, maracas, bata, timbale, drumset, voice, and how Cubans danced.
He went back to fronting his rock/punk band Raving Mojos, who’ve opened for the Ramones, the MC5, and others. As an aside, I remember in 1999 when we were just getting acquainted that I went up to the front of the stage after Klave Y Kongo had played and told Blair “You’re Awesome!” and he just stared at me for a good twenty seconds straight until I walked away. Thus the teachings had begun.
I filmed ten hours of documentary footage on him. He, to me, was the real deal.


Markus—2002-2005

Markus was a close pal (still is) and although I never played with him live I recorded two albums with him. One of the songs we played on—actually, one of the first ones we ever recorded—ended up in the movie ‘Fever Pitch’. He was a very mellow guy, a beautiful person, and this came out quite clearly in the songs he wrote, in how he played the piano and guitar, and in how he sang. He was a soul searcher and very easy to work with. When recording he liked simple drums, but would always encourage me to play, to add something to the track. He’d also let me experiment, trust me to explore and reach for stuff. Being in the studio with him was always pleasant and stress-free. That made all the difference in the world when I’d be on the spot, trying to come up with the goods. He’

Cindy Gomez—2004-2005 (EMI)

I recorded a few songs with her under Reuben Huizenga’s (ex-Glueleg/Edwin producer) direction. I remember being behind the kit after Ruben played me a song of hers once. Instead of writing down notes, I decided to have him give me hand signals through the glass. A ‘V’ stood for verse, a ‘C’ stood for chorus, a ‘fist’ stood for military snare, and an ‘open hand’ stood for something else. Tracking like that was a friggin’ riot. It made me use my instincts, and there ended up being good energy on the final product, which was so key. I gained a lot of confidence after that experience in the studio, and more than once (under different circumstances) I’d been in sessions and had completely botched them, totally screwed up, and wrecked any reputation I’d had.
Talk about confidence killers . . . those kinds of experiences would make a lot of people give up music for good and I could hardly blame them. But eventually, after infuriatingly difficult hard work, I got my studio skills up to a higher level and was able to pull off those kinds of sessions with Cindy Gomez and Reuben. I’d taught myself to lock up with the click and I could finally go about it with confidence while under the gun. Thank god for that hard work. There was no shortcut.

Sir Jerry—2004-2005

A kid’s act with dancers, clowns, and random characters as part of the band. More playing to clicks and backing tracks here, but that was the highlight for me. It was a great experience to make solid music with these friends, to put together a show for the little tykes to gobble up. Kids could be a great audience when they liked the band: they were usually totally present, with their eyes open wide, and were always primed for jokes and ready to laugh. We’d play songs called “Where’s My Sandwich” and “Mrs. Poupee” and we’d wear goggles and wacky jackets and all manner of crazy clothes. Great fun. This was one of my very first professional gigs involving having to play an entire set to a click track, live. I absolutely loved it. The challenge kept me focused and on my toes, and eventually (after much practice) I was able to relax with the click, feel the tempos, groove with the bed tracks, and just plain enjoy the moment.

Reuben Huizenga—2004-2005 (Glueleg/Edwin/Sir Jerry/Producer)

A solid producer and musician with loads of experience, he hired me on as a session drummer on numerous occasions and I loved every minute of it, going in there ready to learn, ready for mistakes, ready to do a good job, ready to be in a new situation, musical and otherwise. We’d always work together one on one and I found that this was a wonderful way to go about it. There wasn’t the extra pressure of playing for a control room full of people, even if they were just assistant engineers; it helped me focus on the task at hand. As a result, I found that I was way more productive and able to get the job done in a shorter amount of time than I would have been otherwise. He knew what he wanted but allowed me my freedom. That was a good approach. I also liked how relaxed he was in there; he knew how to talk to the person on the floor, which was extremely important.
That’s the way experienced producers tended to behave in the studio back when I was doing more sessions: they were sympathetic to the person recording, patient, and gave direction. The inexperienced ones had attitude, joked around, couldn’t articulate their desires, sometimes didn’t know what they wanted, wasted lots of time, and stressed everybody out. Working with them was another great learning experience.

Thomas Matheson—2004

I remember getting asked to play with Thomas through a friend, Steve Pitkin, who later played extensively with Eliot Brood. Thomas was looking for a drummer because he had a show booked. We met for the first time over at a rehearsal spot the afternoon of our first show and he explained each song before we tried it (I’d never heard them before). I’d played so much music with so many singer/songwriters until that point that I was able to play his music well on our first attempts. I’d learned by then to use my ears and to play intuitively, to guess where the song was headed in the moment. Thomas’ songs were tricky here and there, and he had a totally unconventional approach to rhythm, but we were able to gel. Once we’d come up with drum parts that we liked, the rest was smooth sailing. His voice was also distinct, and he really loved his guitars. He loved the toms, and he always had me laying into those. We played a handful of shows together and it was good for me to play with someone who had a counter-intuitive approach to the drums.

Justin Rutledge—2004 (Six Shooter)

What struck me about Justin was how mature he was as a musician. It wasn’t just his songs that were so grown up, it was how he played them. He seemed like a veteran of the form and of playing live, even though he was in his mid twenties when I was playing with him. Talk about heartfelt music, I had a blast playing with him, digging deep, painting country scenes alongside him. Onstage he was very comfortable and backing him was totally effortless. He was a great listener and gave great cues. He was also a fiend for the dynamics and he loved bringing things down to a whisper and cranking them up to a blinding, snarling roar. There was some very sad music in there, which was also hard to play, but the biggest challenge was playing at a whisper. When the band locked in and played intuitively all at once, that was magic. Again, more of the best music I’ve ever been a part of.
Recording with him was very pleasant. He was laid back, had his ears open wide, constantly scanning for quality, depth, good energy, musicality, and discipline in the performance. He wasn’t looking for too much deliberation in the studio, just something that would work under his guitar. The demos of his songs that I had to learn were heart breaking. Just the other day (July 2006), I heard one of the songs I recorded with him, two years later. Called ‘Alberta Breeze’ it had Hawksley Workman singing on it. Talk about songwriters who knew how to pack a punch on record, these guys could deliver.

Basil Donovan—2004 (Blue Rodeo)

I only played a handful of shows with Basil while in Justin Rutledge’s band, but I remember him being extremely sensitive to the song. He knew how to blend into the background, to disappear into the music, to be felt rather than heard. Since I strived to attain those qualities in my own playing, it was easy for me to recognize them in Basil’s. After one show I remember him turning to me and saying “Adam, I really enjoyed playing with you tonight,” and I took that to heart. Basil had been the bassist for Blue Rodeo for a number of years, and it was great to see him step in to help Justin Rutledge, a songwriter that he clearly believed in.

Adam Hay Drum Troupe—2003-2005

What a blast. And such an honour—a dream come true—to play with these guys, veterans of the Latin scene in Canada. On congas, assorted percussion, and timbales were Luis Orbegoso (winner of the Grand Prix de Jazz from the Montreal Jazz fest) and Blair Richard Martin (Klave Y Kongo). I was the weakest link in this band by a long shot. To be in a band with two masters . . . there was just nothing like it. I learned all the time from them, and I soaked up every moment. This was the first band I ever ran, and I loved doing so. I had nothing but the utmost respect for these guys; for their experience, for their skill, and for their utter uniqueness as artists and human beings.
What we played was traditional Afro-Cuban music—paying as much respect to Afro-Cuban forms as we could while having a drumset in the group. The result was complete blissmagic insanity, but there was discipline, freedom, and deep respect for the traditions imbedded in our music. This was music at a very high level. Also, I remember there being a very ‘secret club’ kind of feeling to playing rumba with these gents, that we were into something that only few people knew about.

Luis Orbegoso—2003-2005 (Cruzao/Ralph Irizarry/Horatio ‘el Negro’ Hernandez/Randy Brecker/Session Musician)

Easily the most in-demand percussionist in Canada. Like most master congeros, Luis played on a level that is difficult to even describe. Blair Richard Martin and I were very humbled and honored when he agreed to play with us in my rumba band, Adam Hay Drum Troupe. Luis held the artistic high chair in that band, and he helped us enormously in our growth as drummers and musicians. There was a lot to know about Cuban drumming, and Luis served as our mentor, but he was always so cool in his tutorship. Playing with him, learning that much, recording with him, it was like I was getting an up-close look at a comet moving a billion miles an hour. As a drummer and artist, he simply existed on a level far above me. (There’s a great clip of him on the Latin Percussion site, performing a tune he wrote) What a phenomenon.
I remember showing him one of my favourite cowbells, one that I picked up in New York City that was made in the Bronx. Luis said “I’ve got a few of those” (more like 12) and he’d gone and hung out with the bell maker in his little shop, naturally. He also told me a story of being in a NYC subway late at night, and basically being lost. (Luis is blind, so being lost in a New York subway takes on a whole other meaning) He said that he tripped over a homeless person and was pretty freaked out. Leave it to Luis to get himself into that kind of adventurous bind; he was fearless.
Mixing our EP ‘United States of No-Mind’, he’d ask me to read him part of a manual on the recorder we were using, then he’d sit there, waiting patiently for me to comprehend what I’d just read; he was looking for specific bits of information and generally already knew everything he needed to know about the recorder. One of my favourite moments was when he was sitting next to me when we were EQ’ing vocals. Once we’d gotten a mix that we liked (I was reading the frequencies on a LCD display), he’d zero the EQ band and reattenuate each band to the exact frequency it had been set to before. If he missed the exact frequency, he was only ever off by a fraction. For example, say the frequency we’d agreed on was 2.65 Kilohertz, he’d find 2.67 Kilohertz and ask me to read the display. That’s like throwing basketballs the entire length of a court and draining them over and over and over again, except doing so with a blindfold.


Kevin Quain--2004

Some very heartfelt music. Playing with him was very tough as a drummer because I had to play extremely quietly. He didn’t like the clang of the drums very much; he wasn’t a fan of the big wallop coming from somewhere behind him, so that meant playing with a lot of brushes and sticks (using fingers only and a bit of bounce) and playing with the hands, too. He was a soul searcher, and he poured a lot into his singing and onto the piano keys. He meant every single note, and that really caught my attention: no time for daydreaming when playing under him. His genuine conviction was hard to deny.

Joni Rodney--2004

An R&B/Soul artist, the challenge playing this stuff was making the groove swing. It was dance music, too, and it had to feel good, it had to make people move, otherwise I was doing it incorrectly. Joni was well trained in music, and so were all the members of her band. Again, her being the singer, the gig wasn’t about the drums: it was essential for me to play pocket, the rest was about the song, about the band sound. I learned something every time I played R&B live, namely, how hard it was to pull off!
There was a lot to learn about feel, phrasing, and simply knowing what to do. The music was challenging stuff because I had to lay down the groove but be responsive to the rest of the band, and R&B was never as easy to play in a band situation as it might have seemed. Getting the feel right had to do with swing interpretation and being able to play on, behind, and ahead of the beat.

Julio Jimenez—2002-2004 (Producer)

Julio was a dynamite musician. Trained at the big music school in Havana, he put together some records that were astoundingly good. Julio would often explain to me why whatever I was playing wasn’t working. If I was putting a cascara part on the hats he’d explain to me that I’d gotten the aesthetics wrong, that there was nothing cosmetic, nothing superficial about Cuban grooving. It went deeper than that, and you really had to cut your teeth, put your time in with it, even if it took years. And it took me years.
Julio was wise. He was a phenomenal piano player, arranger, and producer. He was hilarious (wearing two layers of long johns every winter), and a good friend.
In the studio he exuded pure joy. This guy was very much alive, very keen on making the music happen, whatever the obstacles were. One time I was over at Blair Richard Martin’s place, playing congas, and Julio burst through the door carrying a pig’s head in a clear bag and yelling to his Cuban buddies with delight. How could anyone forget that?

Rae Spoon—2003-2004

A wonderful country artist, Rae came to town once from out west and I was so taken by his music that I offered to play with him should he ever find himself back in Toronto. I couldn’t resist. Sometime later he dropped me a line and we met up and I learned his tunes. We played a show of fast, high-octane country and it was through him that I discovered the joy of playing that kind of music. It grooved just as hard as any other kind of music did and I loved playing it. It was all about the backbeat, it was all about dancing and shaking up the dust. There simply wasn’t any room for a drummer to cut loose on his or her own, so I never did. I loved the discipline of it all, I loved supporting the song under Rae, cooking up those train beats.
Mike Owen-Liston on the upright bass pumped out the jams and if the music didn’t get the audience moving there was something wrong with them. We ended up playing together again when Rae was back in town, and this time it was at a festival outdoors. With the sun shining down it was the perfect setting for his music.

Convertible Robots—2002-2004

My first foray into electronica, I think. I was working very hard on getting my metronomic time sense up to par while playing with this band. (Superdave, one of the members—also in 5-pin DIN with me—supplied the programs that I’d play along to) I really enjoyed learning the songs in my studio, rehearsing with the band, and taking it live. I remember hitting as hard as I could. I learned a lot about getting a good headphone mix in order to lock up with the computer tracks.
Superdave’s programs were absolutely outstanding and it was a thrill to play in synch with the machines onstage. Adam, the singer, was a very intense performer who seemed to sweat high voltage electricity, like he was possessed. I had lots of fun in this one. What a couple of hilarious guys, and good friends, too. A large man, Adam accidentally crashed through a wall during a comedy workshop at The Second City and landed in a neighbouring classroom.

Kat Goldman—2004

Kat was a wonderful singer and songwriter. A folkie who played a mellow acoustic guitar, the strength of her voice and of her lyrics would really draw me in. I loved playing quiet grooves behind her, underneath her fingerpicking. Her voice was very distinct and it was important for me not to step on her toes and to just disappear in the song, support the melody and, again, blend into the moment. She never belted out the lyrics, but I remember loving the timbre of her voice all the same, best heard at low volume. Getting out of her way, musically, was a cinch. She’d make the odd suggestion to me but otherwise trusted me to come up with something that worked. There were little groove numbers, but I remember liking her country tunes the best. They had so much life to them, so much momentum and drive, so much beauty. It was hard not to really listen to those songs.

Little Bastards--2004

Kevin Quain’s band. Wonderful musicians. Lots of jazz and lounge type stuff, very Tom Waits, cabaret, etc.. Acoustic instruments, lots of atmosphere and dynamics, lots of pressure on me to play quietly and to cook up the low volume grooves with character. The songs were almost all shtick, and I really enjoyed that. Playing with real musicians was such a reward. Playing with them was effortless. They behaved as consummate pros: they didn’t broadcast any insecurity, they didn’t get derailed by any problems or crises, they went with the flow, worked around the obstacles, made a success out of almost any situation.
Respecting such peers made the music stronger. And the tunes were darned fun. In the band were Dean Drouillard on guitar, Gene Hardy on sax, Brydon Baird on trumpet, and Wes Neal on upright bass, each of them fantastic musicians, and busy freelancers. I remember running into Dean Drouillard on the street and telling him I was then in eight bands. He said, “I’m in twelve.” I thought that was hilarious.

Alexis Baro—2000-2003 (Omara Portuondo/Kollage/Hilario Duran/Session Musician)

Direct from Cuba, Alexis loved telling me I was one of the first people he met in Canada. He was living with my friend Luis Orbegoso, cleaning dishes in a restaurant and heading out to a Monday night jam hosted by Rich Brown and Shumacka Ali. Back in Havana, Alexis had attended the top music University in the country and played as part of Omara Portuondo’s band for 2 ½ years. Not long after gaining the recognition he deserved, Alexis would play Roy Thompson Hall and sub for trumpeters like Nick Ali of Cruzao (Grand Prix de Jazz Winner at the Montreal Jazz Fest). Later he’d head his own band, cut records, and play jazz, funk and R&B with other top Torontonians. He just blazed a path for himself. While playing with Blair Richard Martin’s band, Blair said Alexis would probably become one of the top ten Latin trumpet players in the world.
I remember not long after Alexis came to Toronto, we were both in our early twenties, and the Monday night jam started charging a cover of, I think, two dollars. It was the middle of winter and the two of us were completely broke. So we boycotted the jam, like a couple of rebels, claiming that we shouldn’t have to pay to get into a jam as musicians. But the reality of it was we were both penniless. (Now every time I run into Alexis he’s got a big cigar hanging out of his mouth) That guy could play the trumpet like no one else. He was a great arranger, too. When we played in Pan Con Queso together in 2003, he’d make up horn shots with the other horn players on the spot and they’d fit perfectly with everything else that was going on.

Rich Brown—1999-2003 (Montuno Police/Session Musician)

In 1998 and 1999 I was working as an assistant engineer at a post-audio studio in downtown Toronto called Louder Music. They pumped out TV and Radio commercials nonstop, and one of the staff writers was Rick Tait, formerly the leader of Manteca, a very prominent jazz fusion group going back to the 1970’s (my first drum teacher, Dave James, used to play with them). I was helping to engineer the sessions for Rick Tait’s last solo record before he died of cancer in 2000, and Rich Brown was the bass player. When Jian Ghomeshi, who produced Martina Sorbara’s first record in 2000 (on which I played) asked me which bass player I wanted to have record with us, the very first name that came to mind was Rich Brown.
He did a fine job, as expected, and added an element of sophisticated hipness to the tracks that no other bassist could. Throughout 2000 I went to see him play almost every single Monday night at an R&B jam, sometimes getting to play with him, but always feeling way over my head. I remember telling him that I was practicing several hours a day and he said, laughing, “Yeah, I remember doing that.”

Shumacka Ali—1999-2003 (Isaac Hayes/Session Musician)

From Memphis, I met Shumacka through Rich Brown in Toronto. Shumacka was the most intense, accomplished, musical, authoritative R&B/Soul/Funk drummer in Toronto and I learned a ton from him. I used to go see him almost every Monday night and hang out near the back of the stage so I could watch what he was doing. Seeing as it was a jam he’d let me play and I used to have a blast. Guys would come up to rap and the band would rip it up . . . it was unforgettable, totally intense, powerhouse music. Shumacka was a cool guy; he used to tell me he was exhausted, that he’d been playing all day, and he’d ask me to sit in for him so he could take a breather. As a younger drummer, it was great to get to do that. Later I’d sub for him on a few gigs. Getting encouragement from him really meant a lot to me.


Carlos Morgan—2003 (Juno Award Winner)

A Juno Award winner, I only ever played one set with him, but it was impossible to forget. To have someone drilling me so hard, so relentlessly, was a great experience. His band members all warned me before we played that he was a completely psycho perfectionist disciplinarian. During the set he’d yell his requests to me through the main vocal mic so everybody could hear. It was hilarious. “Stay On Top!” he’d yell, forty times in forty minutes. I had to stay present and face the music.
When I did get it right and the band found its groove, Carlos yelled into the mic “Man, you’re laying it down!” and would dance like every upper ever invented was attacking his spine. The surge of energy coming from him as he leapt and wailed and spun and rocked was stupefying. He meant funk. He commanded groove. He owned it. I was sweating buckets, and when my buddy Don Pham (a contemporary of Shumacka Ali) took over on the kit for set two we noticed that I’d destroyed the rim of the head underneath the rim of the snare drum. That was a first. It was a difficult night, but I’d learned a lot.


Evaristo Mochado—2003 (Son Ache/Klave Y Kongo)

I knew Evaristo from the Latin scene in Toronto. He was born in the mid 60’s in Cuba and came to Toronto some time ago. He studied music at the famous music school in Havana and could really, really deliver on the mic. And dance, of course. I cut a track with him in the studio and I remember it being a very current number and I was brought in to provide the backbeat. That was an honour. It was very poppy R&B/Salsa, roughly speaking, and my buddy Julio Jimenez was producing the session. The language barrier was absurd. Julio would be trying to tell me something about a part of the song that I was screwing up and since I only knew a few words of Spanish and he was still learning English then, we just looked at each other thinking “what the heck is this guy saying?” Music wasn’t always an international language. In the end everything was cool. They put together a solid track and I was really glad to just be a part of it, to get to hang out with those high caliber musicians.

Pan Con Queso--2003

This band was a force of nature. We played live Latin disco, that’s probably the best way to put it. Usually there were ten guys onstage, and it was always fun when there were more. This wasn’t exactly a jam band, there were songs that I had to learn, but there were a lot of solos. We had horns, percussionists, singers, guitarists . . . I just remember the piano player and I being at the back of the stage five rows deep. The best part of all this was hammering home the groove with that many people. There was plenty of chaos, but when it all finally gelled, it was a priceless feeling. Those moments got me right in the spine. I remember being in the air a lot in order to hit my kick drum harder. What a sheer blast this band could be.


Eliana Cuevas--2003

Eliana was another great singer from Cuba living in Toronto. I was the first drumset player she’d ever played with, and it was really cool to hear her tell me that after a show, once. My job was to groove with the band as she belted out the Spanish. This was dance music, comprising of son and salsa mixed in with funk and mambo. Dance music was always very demanding to play because I couldn’t think about it, I had to feel it all the way. I had to play from the heart, not just from the mind, and I had to listen hard and use my instincts, especially in a Latin setting because there were usually so many people onstage. There really never was a dull moment when playing with her. She had great presence and danced well, too (as any leader of a Latin dance band must). She’d also play claves and maracas while singing. I remember the energy level being high, the band being focused, and the music being fun.

Alberto Alberto—2002-2003 (Quimica Perfecto)

Alberto meant business. What a powerhouse vocalist. A leader in Toronto’s Latin scene, Alberto just delivered. And he was a nice guy, too. When I was hanging out with Blair Richard Martin playing non-stop rumba, Alberto popped in one time when Blair was tracking a guaguanco (a form of rumba). Alberto said to Blair, “I have a guanguaco,” meaning, he had some verse lyrics and coro parts. Blair had already laid down the shekere and conga parts, then he and I sat back and watched Alberto put down his vocals. I was riveted. The guy sang his heart out. He’d just come over to see what was going on, to say hello, but ended providing one of his own tunes on record, and probably 45 minutes worth of vocal tracks once he was through with the montuno section (the lively, improvisational, latter portions of rumba tunes). I asked Alberto to join Blair and I and Luis Orbegoso in my band, Adam Hay Drum Troupe, at a show out of town once. Although no one had shown up, it was an absolute honour to have the guy there for a little drummer like me who grew up playing rock.
Playing with musicians at that level reminded me of a story I’d heard about Beethoven when several of Beethoven’s violinists complained to him about their parts being too difficult. Beethoven apparently replied, “Do you think I care about your little violins?” Playing with Alberto made me feel like one of those little violins: the most important thing was to hold my own and just try to get the job done.


Sarah Slean—2001-2002 (Universal)

Playing with Sarah was an absolute delight. I found her to be a very, very special person. Not only was she extremely talented and skilled, she was very much a woman while only 24. She seemed so in control of her destiny and very together on the whole. I grew a lot as a player from having worked with her. She liked getting into the details with me about what I was playing, and she’d request this and that, constantly making suggestions and openly approving of things I found that worked and disapproving of parts that didn’t. She had great ears and loved playing with dynamics. My dynamic range expanded thanks to playing her songs and rehearsing them over and over again. And what songs! She put everything into her performances, and even in rehearsals she was completely present, totally absorbed in the music—which is not always the easiest thing to accomplish. She was easy to make laugh, was a terrific piano player, and a marvelous singer. We had a blast together.
The live shows were some of the best, most thrilling, I ever played. Highlights included playing at Le Spectrum in Montreal to a buzzed audience, playing to 1,200 in London, Ontario, and playing an absolutely superb show with her at Lee’s Palace in Toronto. Also, Rochester was a lot of fun. Onstage she’d give everything she could. The experience was unforgettable. She worked hard, pushed her band hard, and never compromised her standards. The rest of us in the band had complete faith and trust in her. And we really respected her, too. Sarah asked me to join her band fulltime but I had commitments with Martina Sorbara.

Andrew Aldridge—2001-2002 (Sarah Slean/Wild Strawberries/Luke Doucet/Melissa McLelland)

The guitarist in Sarah Slean’s band, I met him for the first time at my first rehearsal with the Slean Machine (or ‘Slean Cuisine’, as I liked to call her). He was an older guy and just played the guitar like a genius, like he was Rembrandt. He used to play a solo during one of Sarah’s tunes called ‘St-Francis’ that brought tears to my eyes, time and time again. He was a wizard, and I’d never known anyone to emote so well on the guitar till that point (apart from Alex Lifeson of Rush, who I saw at a tiny club in 1999, standing two feet away with my jaw literally dropped ).
Andrew was very consistent, in control, and complimented each of Sarah’s tunes as expertly as anyone should expect. Playing with him was a privilege. I saw him a few days ago, in fact (July, 2006) and reminded him of when we took pictures of each other posing with The Proclaimers right after they came offstage in Buffalo and we were getting ready to go on. A very special guitarist.

Martina Sorbara—1999-2002 (Dragonette/Mercury Records/Nettwerk)

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Her and I played 85 shows in 2001 alone, and several hundred shows in three years. In fact, on the morning of September 11, I was coming out of my apartment carrying a hardware case when she told me a plane had just hit the World Trade Center (the first one). We were supposed to play a show outside of Toronto at noon, but when we got to the venue after listening to the radio en route and finally saw the pictures on TV, there was no way we could play. We played her songs literally hundreds and hundreds of times. Eventually we got a few standing ovations once we’d really hit our stride onstage. We played all kinds of Folk Festivals, almost every one in Canada, and we toured all over the continent. After having only played with her for 6 weeks she and I did a showcase for the President of Sony Records. He came up to us after three songs, looked at her and said “So, wanna do a record?” I was 22, she was 20. That was unbelievable. She had more talent than anyone I’d ever known to that point. She made her own guitars, made her own clothes, took superb photographs, was a good drummer, excellent piano player, sensational guitarist, and I never heard her sing a bad note in three years. Her guitar songs were my favourite.
Her and I, as friends, went through heaps of crises as a result of constantly being on the road, but this became our rite of passage into adulthood. I learned an incredible amount about the music business, about all of the people involved, the legal aspects of things, the agents, the managers, the other professional artists trying to sell records; we played on national television and radio a bunch of times, we did private showcases for huge record companies (once for the guy who signed Macy Gray), all sorts of crazy stuff. In the summer of 2001 I watched her do a solo set of 3 songs in front of 10,000 people after Baaba Maal had performed and before Gord Downie’s set. That was incredible.
In 2003 she went on tour opening for Bryan Ferry/Roxy Music in the UK, and later, after she married Dan from the New Deal (whom she first really noticed at the Hillside Festival in 2001, incidentally around the time we were starting to actually reach the audience after about forty billion cafeteria gigs) they formed a band and hit the road opening for Duran Duran and New Order. The name of their band is Dragonette, they are signed to Mercury Records in the UK, and they are awesome.

The Weekend—2001 (Teenage USA)

Taking a left turn in the middle of playing delicate folk tunes with Martina Sorbara I got asked to play with these guys (and even to join their band, which I had to turn down) for a show. Their agent was a friend of mine and he called me in duress because the band’s drummer had just split and he had a club booked two days from then. He was thinking of playing the show himself (he used to play drums in Econoline Crush) but remembered that I’d asked him to call me if the opportunity of a good rock gig ever came up. Needless to say I hadn’t played heavy drums in a few years at that point and my hands were all soft. I got him to play me their music over the phone and I liked it.
The following day the band’s manager dropped off a few of their records and I learned 10 songs that night (no choice). The day after that was the day of the show so I met the band and we rehearsed 11 songs, then played 12 songs live that night. This was power pop, jujube music for kids on sugar. I loved every millisecond. My hands were absolutely destroyed after the rehearsal and show. Innumerable blisters formed, burst open, and the relentless movement of the sticks pushed back skin all over the place. It was the heat on the stage and the sweat that did it, and the fact that it’d been so long since I’d played that kind of physical music. But I came off stage completely elated. It’d been a long time since I’d felt that rush. The songs were so well written, the band was very experienced (they’d opened for Green Day not long before), and I was determined not to screw up the job! Without focus as the drummer in those kinds of situations I was in big trouble. Thank god the tunes were so great.

Darren Shearer—1992-2001 (The New Deal)
Darren and I used to play a lot together back in High School. He was in a band called Gypsy Soul and I was in a band called Spastic Flow (we were terrible!). We’d share bills together and draw over 1,000 people at the Masonic Temple, and slightly smaller capacity crowds at the El Mocambo. It was an amazing time, getting to play to so many people while only in Grade 11 and 12.
Darren was always a spectacular drummer, and always way ahead of me in terms of ability and career success. In the mid 90’s he was on tour with Gypsy Soul and they came out to Bishop’s University in rural Quebec each of the two year’s I was there. The first year, I was playing in a Blues/Funk band called Chocolate Pants (as an 18 year old drummer riddled with testosterone) and the following year with another Funk band called Max Von Groovious. What I got from Darren’s playing was his command of the beat. He was a groove machine. He always played ahead of the beat and was unmistakably present onstage, despite Gypsy Soul having had about seven members.
In The New Deal, Darren was unstoppable (still is). I remember standing behind him at a show in Edmonton in February 2002 when we both happened to be on tour there. I was on tour with Martina Sorbara and Danny Michel, playing a theatre up the street. My Minister of Crises/Tour Manager/Drum Tech Dave Tobey and I hung out with Darren after his show. His playing was world class. He sweated buckets, he hit hard, he drove that band.
In the summer of 2001 I remember walking a long way home after completely screwing up a session due to my then very feeble ability to lock in with a click track. I popped into a music store to look at drum machines and the drum department was empty apart from Darren and the drum manager. Darren was trying out an electronic kit. I told him what’d happened and sat down at another electronic kit directly opposite him. He taught me for the next hour straight. He gave me tips on how to play to a click, how to eliminate ghost notes on the snare in R&B and why, and I just let it all sink in. The guy was amazing. I knew that meeting was meant to happen. We were the only guys in the place. I walked in completely devastated and walked out knowing what I had to do, all thanks to him.

The Press—1999

This was a great experience for me, to really get my feet wet playing punk rock. Punk drumming is really energetic, very repetitive, and requires a lot of discipline to play, as such. It was great to hit hard with these guys. The singer (and bandleader) used to manage a band from the UK called Red Alert, but as an expat, it was hard for him to get bookings in Toronto. We never got to play live very much because I moved on to playing with Martina Sorbara when the opportunity arose. I loved locking up with the guitars and hammering away under those screamed vocals. There was no feeling like it. A very worthwhile experience. We practiced hard, crafted our parts, and put everything we could into the music. I was completely broke at the time. That year, in 1999, I survived ten months straight with zero income. I used to make $40 last an entire month. Otherwise, I was stealing food from friends! In February of 1999 I lived off tea and porridge for two weeks. Such a Fool . . . .


Raised On Mars—1996 (Slick Toxic/Juno Award Winners)

The first serious act I ever got asked to be a part of. This was hard rock, but with two members of a band (Slik Toxic) that had won Juno Awards. I was 19 when I was playing with them. I learned that I could not play to a click track to save my life. That was a very key lesson. I also learned the dangers of being a perfectionist musician. The bandleader knew exactly what he wanted and it was interesting to be a part of such a scenario. I was being hired and I was not in charge and this was my first experience in that kind of situation. I did not know how to do a good job, how to learn a drum part note for note, how to memorize it (write out some notes, go over the song a million times), how to be consistent . . . the key thing I took away from this experience was learning the value of being able to memorize an entire song and play the drum part from memory to click, with no other tracks in the headphones. This skill would come to serve me much later, but back then, without that or many other requisite skills, I was simply not good enough to be in the band.
It was important to fail at something that I cared about: it made me want to get to work and make some key corrections in my playing. I remember the bandleader stopping me in mid-rehearsal, sending me click only in my headphones, and telling me, “Play the song.” I thought to myself “What?” About seven years later I’d be able to do that sort of thing, after I’d put my ear to the grindstone and really applied myself, practicing well over an hour to click every day for ten months, covering all tempos between 40-120BPM, and all sorts of styles. It was infuriatingly difficult! And I’m very glad I did it.