We were headed from Baltimore to New York without a drummer. We had taken the gig, as it was in a cool spot in Brooklyn, a place called Bar4. “Maybe we’ll hit Bars 1, 2 and 3 while we’re there,” I said to Anna, but she didn’t like this joke, so I only told it, like, twice.
We were meeting a new drummer the night before the gig, at a rehearsal space in Manhattan, like 22 floors up a skyscraper. Top Floor Studios, or some horseshit like that. Anyway, Chris–who we’d been introduced to over the phone by old friend, bass wiz, and general music aficionado Ted Schreiber (thanks Ted!)–was waiting for us at the studio. We’d never met Chris…but he kind of looked familiar. Maybe he just looked like a drummer.
Two hours later, and we had a pretty wicked set of music ready for Brooklyn! We were all very excited. Who was this guy? An excellent drummer who picked it up quick, and had plenty of ideas and licks. And there was something familiar about him.
The gig was with a group from New York called Dog Adrift. After each group’s set, our friend Sherif, sitting at the bar with a pint glass of gin, an aficionado himself, said, “I really dig your new drummer. And the other band was great, too! Who are they?”
“Yeah, Dog Adrift. They’re great. We’ll play with them again.”
Well, that was almost 5 years ago, and we’ve been playing with Chris ever since, have recorded two albums with him, and we’re starting a third this month.
And though we haven’t played with Dog Adrift since, we are going to play with them again: this Wednesday, at The Footlight (or Bar5 for our purposes here) in Ridgewood, NY. (Details here.)
And, as it turns out, we had met once, 20 years ago; Chris and I both grew up in the same town on Long Island.
And we both escaped.