As has been written elsewhere, I became a drummer not long into my tenth year of life. In the fall of that year I received as a gift from my parents, a Ludwig student model snare drum with stand and fiberglass case. I wonder what the conversation was like between my parents as they made this decision.

When I was thirteen, or there about, I received another unexpected gift: a blue-green paisley Gretsch drum set. My father asked me to go for a ride with him – really not far away – and there in someone’s house sat this marvelous three piece set of drums. My father paid $100.00 for them. And so it began in earnest and intent but without instruction.

I was fifteen when I saw a poster that said that a band was to play in the high school auditorium that Friday evening. I went. It was a Christian rock band. I watched the drummer. He seemed very good. After the show I went up on stage just as he was breaking down his kit. I’m sure I told him I was a drummer. He asked me or I asked him (who but a few can remember these things perfectly) to play his drums. I did. He asked me if I had taken any drum lessons. No, no lessons I just played in our band and in the school band. He told me that I needed to take some lessons; that I needed to learn drum rudiments.

Why had it never occurred to me to take lessons? Tony took guitar lessons, why didn’t I take drum lessons?
I immediately asked my parents if I could –at Bill Dowdy’s little music store in downtown Battle Creek. They were two dollars a half hour. I could take the bus. It was a twenty minute bus ride. So I did. I would walk from our house to Columbia Avenue – maybe a mile – with sticks and introductory book in hand, pay the bus driver, and watch the streets go by. As I remember, my lesson was around 5:30pm.

I wish I could remember my teacher’s name. Perhaps it is written in one of the drum books that we used and I still have. He was probably in his late teens. I can only recall one moment in the lessons: Sometime in my schooling, he had me purchase Joel Rothman’s Soul on Bass book. This book’s purpose was to work on the bass drum, using various rock and funk beats. I was quite excited by this it since it was my first lesson-book that actually attacked the drum set. Previously, my only instruction centered on the snare drum and therefore the hands. This included the feet. (I still find this book useful, although I have added many embellishments to work on deeper coordination.)

The following week I excitedly played the first page of exercises for my teacher. He was not happy. I had not understood that the aim was not to play the exercises at my exceedingly slow tempo – a tempo that allowed me to simply get through the exercises, but to increase my speed to a real world tempo and even beyond so that I had in fact mastered the exercises.

Oh.

When I return the following week I was a different person. I mean this. A light was turned on. In that week, I taught myself to take an exercise or pattern and with great focus and patience move from a very slow tempo to a very fast tempo; to master the exercise. I did not realize what I had done until this lesson. My teacher was mystified: I had done as he had asked. And so began my first real steps. I had found meaning. I had found my future.

Early. Very early.

The first time a Groves was acknowledged from the stage of The Ark was when my father turned 70 (that now seems so young). I treated my mother and father to a concert by Jimmy Dale Gilmour, an artist with heavy traditional folk and country roots.

When we arrived for the concert, I spontaneously looked around for a pen and a piece of paper and wrote a note to Jimmy Dale. Roughly, I told him that it was my father's birthday (if memory serves me right it was in fact that day - April 1) and if he could, would he sing Hank Williams' song, I Can't Help It (If I'm Still In love With You)?

That was it. I really didn't expect or ask for anything else. Instead, Jimmy asked my father to stand, told everyone it was his birthday (my father received very kind applause), and then played the song. It was wonderful.

The second time was just a few weeks ago when The Verve Pipe played at The Ark. They were presenting their new album, which is a family album. It is a document to the talent and creativity of Donny Brown. I helped co-write There’s Only One Of You, and Donny had the house lights brought up that night and graciously acknowledged my help with the song.

They were fantastic; really, above average in sound and presentation. I was very impressed.

You can live without anything you weren’t born with, and you can make it through on even half of that. – Gloria Naylor

Our gig last night at the Jackson Coffee Company was a test of memory, will, and listening. Is Abigail the only one who doesn’t make any mistakes?

I felt that several songs we played were as good as we have ever played them. Better. That can happen when you have been off for a while and you really have to listen at a level that almost seems impossible. You must feel it.

Nice, supportive crowd.

Flowers..put up no resistance to attack, suffer evil rather than inflicting it, imitate carnal love, multiply without fighting, and die without complaining...The have realized the dream of Buddha: to desire nothing, to tolerate everything, to be absorbed in oneself to the depths of the unconscious will. - J. Rambosson

Rundio and family were in. It always feels good when that happens. Of course, a jam ensued with Bob making appropriate and stimulating sounds on the Zendrum. Happiness.

“What is the purpose of the giant sequoia tree? The purpose of the giant sequoia tree is to provide shade for the tiny titmouse.” - Edward Abbey

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the purpose of performance.