Bring Yr Breakables

a piece for our drummers + distro help for our one yr anni <3

Bring Yr Breakables

Ian Cory

“What’s the backline situation?” I ask the question even though I know the answer. I play drums in a bunch of bands. Most drummers I know do the same. Regardless of the band or the borough of the gig the answer is the same. “Bring your breakables” I am told, invariably.

When I hear these three words I register two concurrent facts. The first fact is that I need to pack up my cymbals, my snare drum, and sometimes my kick pedal. The second fact is that neither the 4th & 9th nor Smith & 9th MTA stations have elevators. If the gig is one part of North Brooklyn I may contemplate the current state of repairs at Metropolitan & Lorimer. If it’s in another part of North Brooklyn I’ll recall the fastest path from the F train to the J or M at Delancey. However, since my practice space is in Gowanus the two imposing staircases along 9th avenue are my foremost concern.

Experienced drummers know that breakables means snare & cymbals, but not all arrive at this conclusion the same way. I always assumed the term meant you should bring the stuff you can break down quickly. My interpretation is rooted in efficiency. Someone once offered me another interpretation based on liability. They thought it meant you should bring the stuff that you might break while playing. I get the logic here, even though I’ve only ever broken two snare heads and one cymbal in two decades of drumming, and I play in hardcore and metal bands! (I have broken upwards of five kick drum heads.) What this interpretation overlooks however is that under enough pressure a whole lot more than sticks, snares and cymbals can break.

I was born in New York City which legally excuses me from knowing how to drive. When I can’t hitch a ride with a more auto-mobile bandmate I carry my breakables manually. I stuff my pedal in my backpack and carry my cymbal bag in one hand and my snare in the other. Since my cymbals are heavier than my snare I try to switch hands at every red light. Over the years the strain of carrying my gear has moved across my body. First it was my forearms that burned hardest while I struggled to maintain my grip. Later the heat moved up my arm, as I got my reps lifting the bags over turnstiles or navigating them through rush hour crowds. The strain settled on my shoulders for years. Lately I feel it most acutely in my traps. There are some constants. If I’m carrying my pedal on my back, my whole torso takes up the task of keeping me balanced. Every trip up to the F & G train on 9th avenue threatens to make mush of my legs. I’m getting better at the task, but it remains a moving target.

Drums are a physical instrument. In “First Drum Set” by Pedro The Lion, David Bazan describes drumming as “sports about your feelings”. Any sports fan will tell you that injuries happen. Any Knicks fan will tell you that injuries happen frequently. In my untrustworthy 30s I’ve grown acutely aware of my own fragility. I’m perpetually one weird twist from re-aggravating an old injury in my left shoulder. One broken bone anywhere in either arm, a torn ligament in my leg, a blown eardrum, any serious injury could take me off the kit for the foreseeable future. I take music seriously, maybe too seriously, so I try to stay in shape.

Another thing I’ve learned in my 30s is that everything around me is just as fragile. New York’s subway system is a remarkable achievement of engineering, and it is still perpetually inches away from utter disaster. All it takes is one bad day of rain and the commute to any gig becomes infinitely more complex. Even without freak weather events, the MTA’s stability is a mirage. Signal errors. Bunched trains. Commuters with an ambivalent attitude about standing clear of closing doors. I try not to judge, since I’m the one trudging around with cumbersome bags of gear during rush hour, but it’s still frustrating. Weekend gigs have taught me to think three steps ahead, planning workarounds in case by some obscure quantum principle the F train becomes an E. I’ve learned that sometimes, rarely, it is worth braving the vertigo of Broadway Junction’s escalator to save time when the trains in the city are in a tizzy. I never feel more in tune with the city’s infrastructure than when it’s failing, never more appreciative of all of the things that have yet to break.

Everything we bring to the gig is breakable. The gear, the bodies that carry the gear, the city that houses the bodies. The invisible ligaments that bond musicians together can rupture. The nerve endings that make live music so electric can burn out. I don’t bring my breakables to the gig because I’m worried about something getting busted, that’s inevitable. I bring them because they’re an extension of me. The specific history of my snare and cymbals, the way they’ve been weathered by my playing, time, and the hazards of city living, acts like a sonic fingerprint. The same is true in reverse. Tone is in the hands, as they say, and my hands have been shaped, callous by callous, by the weight of my equipment. So if I’m so concerned with efficiency I shouldn’t bother asking about the backline. It’s a moot point, I bring my breakables everywhere I go.

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shows at the end of July we’re excited about & new listings:

• 7/25 Water From Your Eyes, Model/Actriz, Kassie Krut, DJ Practice BOAT SHOW @ Pier 36

• 7/ 26 DJ Silky Smooth, Mallory Hawk, Drobakid @ purgatory

• 7/27 Watchhouse, Black Belt Eagle Scout @ Prospect Park Bandshell

• 7/27 Little Hag with Krissanthemum, Lollirot, Emmannuel and the Unlimited Unconsciousness @ Baby's All Right

• 7/28 Face of An Ancient Gallery, Paint Horse, Alice does computer music @ Kaleidoscope

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