Keeping a Rhythm

I knew that 5th grade was the first year for actual instruments and not recorders, songs, and mallets. 5th grade was when I would have real concerts with an actual band with various instruments. It was probably the most exciting thing to me. But the most important thing was what instrument I would play. That was the trumpet. At least that was what I thought I wanted to play. We had to play a few instruments for the band conductors so that they could tell if you were better at a certain instrument. I played the trumpet. FAIL. I played the clarinet. FAIL. I played a snare drum… If you’re thinking fail then you are way off from being right. I repeated what the conductor played. Every time I succeeded, the next pattern was always harder. But I played each one of them exactly the way the conductor played it. It just felt like a rush. The beat flowing through my veins. Going to my brain, my wrist and hands, my heart, my eyes, my ears. That rush connected with the drumsticks, and I just played. It was like the drumsticks and my hands were creating the perfect combo. The conductor made an injunction that because I played each pattern flawlessly, I was fit to play percussion. My aptitude for percussion grew over the years.

Fast forwarding to now, I am playing the hardest parts on each song. If I’m not playing the hardest piece, I either ask for the hardest piece for any instrument, or I ask if there is a harder piece for the instrument that I’m playing. I love percussion. I am sure that I will be able to make a career out of my percussion skills by getting better. I’ve gone through years of people telling me that I am amazing at percussion. All I can do is use my manners and say thank you. But sometimes I have thoughts to myself. I ask myself, “Do you think that when people say that I am amazing, they really mean that?” They probably do, but they might not. I have heard from my conductors that I am one of the best percussionists that they have ever taught and seen. The thing is, percussion to me is like feet to shoes. It is natural. Percussion comes from my dad. He is one of the best drummers I have ever seen, but because of decisions that he made in his college years, his skills were significantly reduced.

My entire family tells me that I have shown signs of drumming since I was a baby. I would keep the beat of a song by hitting the floor with a pair of old drum sticks my dad would have. I even see signs of drumming in my youngest brother, Koda. He can cry for hours, but as soon as he gets a hand on even one drum stick, a smile rises upon his face like the sun rises to let everyone know that he is there. The sun, my brother, and drumming all give me this warm feeling. As if I’m sitting next to a fireplace. When you think of percussion, what is the first thing you think about it? Rhythm right? If not, you don’t know music well. If so, your musical future is bright. I love percussion. But what I love most about percussion is keeping a rhythm. That’s my job. To keep the rhythm. I’m Michael Johnson, and this is my story of keeping the rhythm of life. This is the rhythm of MY life.

~ Michael J.