DREAM JOB

Whether we’re lucky enough to earn our meagre crust(s) in the high flying and stupendously exotic world of music, or in some other perhaps more glamorous way, I think many have some hankering to be gainfully employed in our own personal ‘dream job’.

Whether that is as a gardener, a pilot, towel boy for the Mexican Ladies U-21 Netball Team or Commander in Chief for the Entire Universe, I’m sure most drummers have, at some point, contemplated the possibility of working in a drum shop. Like me, you may even have day dreamed of the utter bliss of lounging around all day amongst all manner of percussion goodies as opposed to ding something more useful to humankind, such as Traffic Warden Hitman.

Whilst I manage to keep myself off the streets via employment as a drummer and bumbling around day to day attending to the running of DM, I still found myself wondering what it would be like to work in big, proper, bona fide, drum shop, stuffed to the gunnels with toys!!!

As luck would have it, an opportunity presented itself recently to fulfil this aspiration thanks to the lovely people at Perc Serv in north London. As the inevitable Christmas rush approached a few weeks ago, I thought this would be an ideal opportunity to experience the potentially heady delights of mooching about in wall to wall drum heaven.

First, I had to consider what self respecting drum shop monkey would wear. Out came all the branded t shirts, I must make a statement about what I think is the best gear! But wait! What if I’m wearing a Blodgit Cymbals shirt whilst extolling the virtues of Flangian cymbals? Hmmm…could be a difficult situation. Perhaps the South Park ‘Kenny’ shirt with a pink boa would be safer.

I was also concerned that my stature as a revered and much loved Rock God Adonis might cause a few problems with the inevitable throngs of admirers once word quickly got round that I was to be found skulking around the environs of a London drum store. With this in mind, I deliberated as to what sort of disguise would be appropriate to send the paparazzi off the scent and so my legions of loyal fans wouldn’t cause an incident. After hiring the services of one of Elstree’s finest make up artistes, I was transformed from my stunningly gorgeous self into an unshaven, slightly overweight, aging, mad roadie type with unkempt 80’s hair and a lingering odour of formaldehyde. No one would recognise me!