I'VE WANTED to be a drummer since I was four years old. Every style interests me. I've done the pub gigs, the clubs, the bands that almost made it, the tours, the radio and TV shows.
I've gigged full-time since I was 15. But this time last year I knew it was time to get back to the fundamentals, take a hard look at my playing, and see where I could improve.
"If you want to really see where it's at, go to New York, said my friend and tutor Daniel Daly. The Collective, widely considered to be the world's premier rhythm school, had already accepted my audition material. One house re-mortgage later I was on the flight to New York.
Kim Plainfield, faculty chairman of The Collective, was my main teacher. The man possesses a great balance of humour and seriousness. Even when he's joking, he's teaching - with the exception, perhaps, of a certain punchline involving a sexually charged leprechaun at a rehearsal.
That particular joke made me laugh hard enough to rid me of any anxiety that resulted from the company I was rehearsing with: the bassist Frank Gravis, who has toured with everyone from Dr John to Donna Summer, and the Grammy-nominated pianist Bob Quaranta. Plainfield, as ever, knew exactly what he was doing.
On our first day he wrote four things on the board: time, feel, dynamics and development. This made complete sense. Playing music is a conversation, and if you apply these concepts to how we interact as people, it works perfectly.
In drumming terms, time is a resource. It's the pace at which we surrender to the music. "Feel" is how it grooves - the sensation of the beat. Dynamics are the forces that produce motion, influencing how loudly or quietly we play. If we were having a conversation and I screamed the whole way through it, you'd think I was insane or had just stopped listening.
Development is listening and responding to those around you. If we took the time to be this attentive in our everyday actions, life would be a lot sweeter. And music would be a lot better.
As Levon Helm of The Band says in Martin Scorsese's movie The Last Waltz, "Ya go to New York, get your ass kicked, come home and lick your wounds. . . then you go back for more." That's what I did every day. These people push you as hard as you're willing to accept, to get the very best you are able to give. For all the things an instrument will give you as a person, it deserves something back; and at the Collective, I felt I learned how to give in return.
Jason Gianni, whose sheer excitement for the instrument was contagious, described my playing as "a road with potholes that need filling". Peter Retzlaff, another faculty teacher, impressed on me the importance of understanding where you've come from and what has influenced you. Thanks to him, I'm beginning to understand what originality truly means.
When Retzlaff saw me do something off, he would say "Dude, that's just not hip" and proceed to make the kit sing. Plainfield would head for the board, write something humorous at my expense, and then flip my inexperience around and turn it into something to learn from.
I learned as much in conversation with these musicians as I did when they demonstrated or gave me the dots to play from. Every day I went what felt like 12 rounds without getting one decent punch in - and six of those rounds were in a practice room alone. But you learn to take the knocks, get up and go at it again.
For me, this exemplifies New York and its musicians. They're tough because theyre in an environment where the only way to survive is to be the best you can. It's a humbling experience.
Kim Plainfield said something to me one day that rang true: "For every ounce of freedom that you gain, you must exert an equal amount of discipline." This applies to anyone involved in anything creative, not just the solo or improvisational musician. It's advice I won't forget.
• James Mackin is a session drummer and is currently playing with 3epkano. See www.myspace.com/jamesmackindrummer. 3epkano play at the Kilkenny Arts Festival tomorrow and Sunday.