Bang the Drum Slowly: William Ludwig II, RIP

The perfect drum roll is a glorious thing. What starts out as a nearly-mechanical buzz may, at the drummer's discretion, pulse and throb like a swarm of bees. It becomes a living thing, a living thing that is more complicated than it sounds, for a drum roll isn't simply the rapid beating of left hand followed by right hand--RL RL RL RL. The most seamless roll is what's called a double-stroke roll: RR LL RR LL RR LL....

I've played the drums in rock and roll bands for 30 years and I can't do a proper double-stroke drum roll. Neither can Ringo Starr, a fact which annoys some purists. But someone who could was William F. Ludwig II, who passed away March 22 at the age of 91. Ludwig and Starr are forever linked in the annals of pop music history.

In the 1960s Ludwig was the head of the American drum company that his father, William Ludwig Sr., had founded. The modern drum set--as opposed to a bit of animal skin stretched over a hollow vessel--is a relatively recent invention. It came about in the early 20th century when the percussion sections of orchestras were called upon to create more and more sounds with fewer and fewer people. In the cramped space of a vaudeville playhouse or moving picture theater, there wasn't room for a snare drummer, a bass drummer and a cymbal player. One musician would have to do it all. And so the drum--and the drummers--evolved. A drummer's feet became as important as his hands.

Ludwig Sr.'s great contribution to drumming technology was a bass drum pedal that actually worked. Here's a photo. That little metal curlicue under the beater would have tinkled against a cymbal. The idea was to provide as many interesting sounds as possible. Drummers often had a tray of effects next to their sets--shakers, whistles, rattles. These "contraptions" gave the modern drum kit its nickname: a traps set.

Ludwig's pedal was better than the rest. He added a much-prized snare drum--the "Black Beauty"--to the inventory and the company flourished. It would never have been as successful as it was, however, if it wasn't for a sickly Liverpudlian named Richard Starkey. When he first joined the Beatles Ringo played a set made by Premier, England's, um, premier drum company. But American things were cooler than British things and when the band became more successful he visited a London music store and was convinced to switch to a set made by Ludwig. He evidently liked the color: black oyster pearl.

I can imagine that the young drummer wanted to advertise the fact that he had an expensive American kit. Why drive a Rolls-Royce with all the badges removed? So he asked the owner of the music store, Ivor Arbiter, to paint "Ludwig" on the front bass drum head. (Beatles manager Brian Epstein insisted that the band's name be painted even bigger.) When the Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan show in February of 1964 Ringo advertised the brand to the world.

Today, instrument companies make all sorts of deals with celebrity endorsers to help sell merchandise. They give musicians free gear, pay them a stipend, fly them around to conventions, anything to shift a few more units to young fans convinced that they can sound just like their idols if only they had the same equipment. The drum sets of these stars are often plastered with as many brand names as a stock car. But back then Ringo paid full price for a drum set he liked and he was the one who ordered the Ludwig name emblazoned on the front.

I met Bill Ludwig II about 20 years ago, at a vintage drum show in Maryland. He said he was as surprised as anyone when he saw his company's name on the Sullivan show. It was an appearance, he said, that launched a thousand orders. Ludwig signed a book on his company for me and then he picked up a pair of sticks, stepped behind a snare drum and asked the attendees to do the same. I slunk to a corner (can't do a drum roll, remember) and watched as he started playing a rudiment called "Three Camps," a leftover from when drums were vital pieces of military equipment and the distinctive cadence was used as a signal between different army divisions. He played by himself at first, his sticks beating out a perfect drum roll, then invited the other drummers to come in and join him.

It was a bit of a party trick, a performance piece he'd done countless times. But it showed that Bill Ludwig II could actually play the drums. And if you don't believe me, click here to listen for yourself.

They Love You Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

On Wednesday night Oxford experienced Bootleg Beatlemania. It wasn't nearly as manic as the original Beatlemania, but then again the crowd had a lot of gray hair, bad hips and extra flab. Still, I love a good Beatles tribute band and the Bootlegs are big business, complete with multiple costume changes, projected images and four extra musicians (adding French horn, cello, fire extinguisher, etc.).

I think that just as there are Elvis impersonators who are better at early "That's All Right Mama" -era Elvis, and Elvis impersonators who are better at late "In the Ghetto"-era Elvis, so too Beatles tribute acts excel at different stages of the Fab Four's career. The Bootlegs' first set was a little wan. Most of the early hits dragged, except for "She Loves You," which was almost the burst of energy it must have been when people first heard it more than 40 years ago.

Where they were really good, however, was with the post-"Rubber Soul" Beatles. As the hair lengthened and the clothes got more colorful, the evening got more interesting. These were songs the Beatles never did live, of course, so it was cool to see how to pull it off. Kudos, especially, to "Ringo" and "George."

"Paul" and "John" were good too, though "John" looked haggard (it was the last gig of a long tour) and "Paul" had the slightly scary visage of a professional McCartney impersonator. It looked as if he'd gone under the knife and emerged as the permanently boyish Sir Paul, never able to take that bemused-cum-astonished look off his face. They all traded snarky repartee. After the four classical musicians played the Indian-tinged "Within You, Without You" "George" came onstage and said "Fancy a curry?" "John" said, "I fancy a Japanese," then added, "Yoko can't be here. She's playing with her origami."

They did a bunch of songs I wouldn't have expected, from "Do You Want to Know a Secret" to "Your Mother Should Know" and "Across the Universe." But I love the Bootleg Beatles for a song they didn't play: I can't tell you nice it was not to hear "Yesterday."

BritNews RoundUp
What would you do if you heard an ATM was giving out double what you requested? Try to withdraw a hundred bucks and it would give you two-hundred. If you were one of dozens of people in Hull, you would line up and hope you'd get to the front of the queue before the machine ran out.

I am on record as saying I wish we could laminate our dog, Charlie. It would solve his biggest annoyance: the mountains of hair he sheds every day. If only I was as creative as Beth Willis, who has knit woolly jumpers from the hair of her beloved (and now dead) dogs. I wonder if she has fleas.

Gargoyle of the Week
Sitting next to me at the Bootleg Beatles and lustily singing along was my fellow Reuters Fellow Abel. He tells me that one of the best Beatles tribute bands--The Beats--comes from his country, Argentina.

Abel gets around, spending almost every weekend in another city or country, making the most of his time in this hemisphere. Knowing my affection for grotesque carved stone, when he was in Wales last weekend he snapped a few animals adorning Cardiff Castle:





Those last ones look like raccoons in pajamas. Do they have those in Wales?

Muchos gracias, Abel! And have a great weekend everyone.

Sew What?

Should I be concerned that My Lovely Wife has lugged home a 1928 hand-operated Singer sewing machine that weighs as much as a boat anchor and is probably just as useful? And a scratchy wool horse blanket, despite the fact that, as far as I can tell, we do not own a horse? And that yesterday she made me lash a cork bulletin board to my bicycle and carry it through the streets of Oxford to our home?

Should this bizarrely acquisitive behavior worry me? Maybe, but I think I understand it. See, three weeks ago we moved to Oxford from our comfortable suburban Washington home, a home filled with a surplus of stuff, anything we could possibly ever want or need. And though our house here in Oxford is furnished, it isn't what you'd call overfurnished. While I am content to muddle through ("There's only four of us; do we really need more than four plates?"), she is determined to assemble a full complement of staples.

Then, too, there is the fact that My Lovely Wife has too much time on her hands, time that she must fill somehow. She's decided to fill some of it by grazing through the Oxford Freecycle listings, the Web site for second-hand items that people would rather give to a good home than throw away.

The cork board? Our daughters aren't allowed to put up posters, but they may hang one picture. A bulletin board should allow them to decorate a bit and still get us our security deposit back. The horse blanket? Ruth is convinced a hard winter is on the way and that our linen closet is lacking. Then there's the sewing machine....

First of all, Ruth is a wonderful seamstress. She can sew anything. I used to daydream about owning a polka-dot shirt like one I saw Ringo Starr wearing in a photo. Ruth made me one for Father's Day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make a shirt? It almost broke her--Ruth's eye still twitches every time I say the word "placket"--but she did it.

Our 14-year-old daughter's school is having something called "Book Character Day," where students dress up as characters from books. When confronted with an assignment like this, Beatrice doesn't think in terms of "What's my favorite fictional character?" She thinks, "What would be the coolest outfit to wear?" A simple Nancy Drew twin-set would not do. She decided on Scarlett O'Hara's dress from "Gone With the Wind."

Oxford is the thrift shop (or "charity shop") capital of England so Ruth was able to pick up a few patterned bedsheets for a couple of quid. An ancient, hand-cranked sewing machine showed up on Freecycle and she snapped it up. She will need to take it apart, clean it, oil it, and put it back together again.

Ruth is slowly filling our house with objects she has salvaged. I wouldn't be surprised if I came home one day to find a crockpot, a snooker table and a stuffed crocodile in our living room. It should bother me, but frankly my dear....well, you know.