Modern Drummer Interview

Billy Ward's stroke of genius

The journeyman drummer makes the artistic statement of a lifetime

story by William F. Miller
photos by Paul La Raia

That Billy Ward isn't a household name is a shame. Talk about "talent deserving wider recognition." In a drumming world filled with highly touted so-so players, Ward is a certifiable monster--impressive chops, an incredible feel, a vast knowledge of styles, and a true sense of touch (practically a lost art these days). Oh, and be sure to include Billy's playful, gregarious personality on that list; it adds a sparkle to any music he touches.

Watching Ward play is simply a treat. Sitting across from the man in his New York project studio, DrumPike, where he spends most of his time adding drum and percussion tracks to various LA and Nashville sides, you can't help but be impressed. Radically diverse images merge and then slap you upside the head when Billy's behind the kit: Purdie's soul-brother swagger, Bonham's bombast, a hint of Zigaboo Modeliste's slipperiness, the down-home honesty of Levon Helm, and, believe it or not, a good dose of Elvin Jones' magical touch and relentless pulse. Ward deals these influences with the savvy of a master cardsharp.

Billy's ability to astutely balance the creative with the tried-and-true has made him very employable. And the calls come from a broad, head-scratching spectrum: Robbie Robertson, Carly Simon, Bill Evans, Richard Marx, Ace Frehley--even Yoko Ono! Soundtrack work for Ward has also been plentiful, and the drummer has added his flare for the dramatic to such flicks as Tom Hanks' That Thing You Do, Steven Seagal's Under Siege and Whoopi Goldberg's Sister Act.

All that work might provide a good living for a pro, but it doesn't necessarily satisfy one's creative soul...

Enter Two Hands Clapping, the brilliant self-produced album featuring Ward sparring one-on-one with heavyweights Bill Champlin, John Patitucci, Joy Askew, Glen Phillips, Jim Beard, and Chris Whitley. Here's where Billy's twenty years' worth of carefully governed pro experience erupts; here's where the man gets to play.

Eight years in the making, THC offers a breathtaking glimpse of master musicians soaring high--and without a net. Each duo performance was captured live in the studio, and the interplay between the participants is a major factor in the music's success. The scope of the material here is wide, from quiet, introspective moments that Billy beautifully colors, to full-tilt bombastics when the drummer pulls out all the stops.

If enough people hear this disc, if enough people hear Billy Ward, there'll be a new name added to drumming's "A" list.

WFM: In this day and age, when so many drummers are obsessed with developing--and displaying--chops, listening to you play is a pleasure: You have such a beautiful touch on the instrument.

BW: Thanks, but you can't really blame drummers: We all focus on technique, especially when we're coming up. I do think it's sad that drum teachers don't focus more on touch and tone, though. A beginning trumpet player is taught the importance of tone from the start; it's considered part of the instrument. Why isn't that the case with drums? I think that's part of the reason why there are so many drummers out there who are focused on developing more dexterity as opposed to being better musicians.

WFM: Did you have teachers early on who covered the musical stuff?

BW: Not really, although I had a great fundamental background from a local drummer in Cincinnati - where I grew up - named Jack Volk. He taught me the rudiments, rhythmic patterns, the Chapin book -- all the basics. And he got me off to a good start, because I was playing in bands by the time I was in the sixth grade. But basically I was just your normal schmuck drummer. I had plenty of facility but didn't know anything about touch, groove, or taste.

WFM: What finally made you aware of these things?

BW: I don't think I was aware of touch until I really started listening to jazz, around seventh or eight grade. First it was Joe Morello with Dave Brubeck, then Miles Smiles was my first Miles record. And then I discovered people like Sun Ra and Ornette Coleman--oh, and Mel Lewis. Once you start hearing people like Mel, Blakey, and Elvin, and you hear those incredible sounds, you have to go "duh." I once read a great quote from Art Blakey: "I hear violins in my cymbals." That says so much.

So I started to be aware of touch and tone, but at that point I thought it had something to do with the gear. I became very obsessive about tuning drums and finding the right cymbals. In high school I bought a small Gretsch set after seeing an Alan Dawson clinic. I wanted that sound.

WFM: When did you realize it was something more than the gear?

BW: Not until I was in college. I went to the Conservatory of Music in Cincinnati for a year and a half, mainly to keep from going to Vietnam. It was easy for me because that's where I'm from and I was lucky enough to receive a scholarship. Plus it meant I could stay in town and keep playing in my local rock band,

So I went to the Conservatory, which had a program that was a lot like Julliard: They didn't have any jazz studies program. But I was up front with them: "I'm going to play jazz." And they said, "Oh yeah, practice the marimba." I loved playing marimba, but honestly, I just sucked at it. And I really hated performing classical music. I just can't count three hundred measures and then play one triangle note. And the stress involved with that...it just wasn't fun. I absolutely love listening to that music and I find it very inspiring, but participating in it didn't give me that soaring feeling I got from playing drumset.

While I was at the Conservatory, I had a teacher, Ed Wuebold, who was in the Cincinnati Symphony. He was really into tone, and he felt it was his duty to train me. He was like, "I know you're a jazz guy, but I don't know anything about it. You're on your own there. But I'm going to teach you what I do know. Today's lesson: tambourine." So I studied the legit stuff with him.

When we got to working on timpani, things got interesting for me. There's a guy named Fred Hinger, who I don't know, but who was a concert timpanist and had a small mallet company--Hinger Touch Tone, I think it was called. Eddie Wuebold knew of Hinger's technique and taught it to me. Some of these things were pretty out: Eddie had me bouncing tennis balls off the top of the timpani so that I could learn about getting a sound out of a drum!

We worked on the Hinger timpani grip, which is where you kind of roll the stick over the top joint of your index finger and everything kind of pivots around that. Working on that really helped my stroke. I know it's given me the ability to play really loud with small sticks. I can also dig in and it's totally comfortable. There's no stress in my hands.

WFM: Watching you play, you do have a very relaxed, loose grip.

BW: It's incredibly loose, It's one of the reasons I play Trueline drumsticks. They have a hump in the handle, which helps me hold on to the sticks. My grip is so relaxed that if I didn't have that hump, the sticks would fall out of my hands!

When you tense up to play, everything sounds bad. Staying loose is one of the keys to getting a good sound. And if you think that by really gripping down hard you'll be able to play fast--forget it. When I play a single stoke roll, it's the most soothing thing in the world. You'll see some guys with their eyes bugging out of their heads and their muscles burning. You can only go so fast doing it that way, and it doesn't sound as good.

It's funny, I don't practice a lot anymore, but when I feel like I do need to practice, I always start with single-stroke rolls. And I don't do it to work on playing fast. I do it to get the roll to feel lovely and to have it sound smooth. Then I'll play the roll on every drum on the kit. When it's sounding good, then I know my playing is pretty close to where it should be. Then I start groovin'...and when I stumble, I stop and work on what caused me to stumble.

WFM: Let's get back to the drumset for a minute, specifically your interest in being a jazz drummer.

BW: I wanted to play jazz fairly early on. And what really hooked me was a lesson I had with Elvin Jones. I was about seventeen.

WFM: How did that come about?

BW: I came to New York to buy my first set of Ks. I had met Mel Lewis at a concert he gave near my hometown, and he told me, "If you want decent Ks, you've got to go to New York, to Ippolito's drum shop. So I went to New York, to Ippolito's, and there, just hanging out was Papa Jo Jones. He was a bit cantankerous, but he helped me pick out my first set of Ks! Then Frank Ippolito said, "Do you want to have a lesson? We have Tony Williams and Elvin Jones available." And I must have looked at him, just mesmerized: "Duh, I want Tony." But then it occurred to me: I really know Tony, I can't do what he does, but I understand it. I don't understand Elvin at all. So I asked for Elvin instead.

That lesson with Elvin changed my life. We were upstairs in a little room and he was on a practice set--these cheap, beat-up drums with terrible cymbals. But when he played that set he sounded just as good as he did on any Trane record. All of the sounds were right there. The sound was inside him, not in the gear he was playing.

WFM: And your fate was sealed....

BW: Oh yeah. I wanted to be Elvin. I played like him for years. That's pretty egocentric to think that you can sound like Elvin, but I know that as a jazz drummer that's what people said about me: "Ah, he sounds like Elvin." I do a pretty good Elvin impersonation on the drums. Of course, I don't have his touch--those huge hands, that magical thing he has. And talk about loose grip: You wonder how he holds onto the sticks!

WFM: It seems the concept of touch was important to you pretty early on. You mentioned about how it developed from your classical training. Is that something you'd recommend other people to investigate?

BW: Honestly, if I hadn't been trapped in music school I would never have practiced it or had the patience to deal with it. I'm glad I did. But I want to make the point that studying classical percussion isn't the only way to develop touch on the instrument. It's like all the different religions--I think there are a lot of different ways to get to the sun.

The important thing for drummers to learn is how to use their ears. Do you hear music in your drums? When you're playing a roll, do you hear zzzzz, like a violin? Do you hear it as a long note? Do you think about the duration of the notes you're playing? If you're thinking, whole note on a floor tom, do you play it as a whole note, or do you actually play a quartet note with three quarter rests? Developing a sensitivity to touch and tone is all psychological.

WFM: Do you have any practical tips for drummers wanting to improve their sound on the instrument?

BW: Always record yourself. Don't play anywhere without making a tape. And I think it's imperative that you record yourself at gigs. You need that recording to be able to go back and hear what you make the audience and bandmates sit through! I'm sorry, the tape doesn't lie.

So many times I've played what I thought was a burning gig, but then after reviewing the tapes, it wasn't so hot. And there have been times when I thought I was so bad and flat, yet on the tape the performance sparkles. Recording yourself is a great way to monitor what's going on in your playing.

Drummers should also listen to other drummers very carefully--really pick apart what they're doing. Say you want to have a feel like Kenny Aronoff. Well, you have to develop the ears to recognize exactly how he's playing his hi-hat, kick drum, and snare drum when he's playing a groove. And then, after you've got the ears, at least then you know what your goal is. Hopefully, then you can begin to hear how close you are.

Developing a sense of touch and pulling a good tone from your instrument all boils down to wanting it and hearing it. Everybody doesn't have to be obsessed with having greater speed or dexterity. Sure, you can be in a band that wants a lot of double bass drumming. Some people love it; when I'm in a certain mood I love it. You can develop those chops and go there. But you know, look at Ringo, man. What a great sound! How about Jim Keltner, Billy Higgins, or Levon Helm? These are guys who know how to get a great sound out of their drums.

WFM: So you'd say being a good drummer has more to do with the sound you produce than the notes you play?

BW: Absolutely. I would venture to say that almost any drummer could become the hottest player on the planet if he got into his tone enough. Because when you get there it leads to being more musical, and being more musical leads to more people enjoying playing with you, and that leads to more and more gigs.

WFM: So that's your secret to success.

BW: Well, I don't feel I'm that big of a success. I wish I'd figured this stuff out a long time ago.

WFM: What finally turned the light bulb on?

BW: For me, honestly, I think it was having my private life safe and secure, feeling in love and happy. I needed to get back to a place where I was able to relax, where I didn't feel like I had to prove anything, and just get back to what means the most to me.

I've always had this battle: For some reason, I've always been able to have quite a bit of chops. I used to practice like a maniac--but I did back off a bit when I was around twenty-one because I realized that I didn't want to become some freak who couldn't play with anybody.

WFM: There are a few drummers today who seem to be practicing for drum clinic performances and not for gigs.

BW: I have nothing against those types of players. I totally respect the effort they put into it. But the question I asked myself was, Do you want to be a star drummer or do you want to play music?

WFM: Speaking of making music, let's talk about Two Hands Clapping. You've really shown just how much music can be made on a set of drums on that record.

BW: Thanks. In general, I'm never that happy with the work I've done. There are probably only a handful of recordings out of the hundreds I've done that I'm satisfied with. But I have to admit there's some magic on THC, even though I do hear little mistakes on the performance here and there.

WFM: But sometimes those little mistakes are the best part.

BW: Oh yeah, and that's why the album has no overdubs or repairs. I believe in that honesty. My favorite music isn't note-perfect. In a way, when something is perfect, you don't get the art. It's like Miles Davis: He cracked a note, and he was a genius. Miles made it come out in the end like he meant to do it that way--a beautiful mistake.

WFM: How did you come up with the idea to make a duets record in the first place?

BW: It started a while back. I worked with Robbie Robertson on his Storyville record. I did pre-production with him and then actually made it on the record, even though he brought in several big-name drummers to play on the rest of it. But at the end of the first day of recording, the producer said, "You know, Robbie, Billy would be really great to do that song "Two Rivers.'" And I was like, "Yeah. What is it? Let's do it." So we hit it--no rehearsal. And it was just so exhilarating that it was ridiculous--two people playing together on the spur of the moment. That's when the idea hit me.

The other thing that led to my doing this record is I'd been playing in a club out in Los Angeles called The Mint with a quartet led by Bill Champlin. We never rehearsed. We just showed up and played. I have stacks of cassettes upstairs of those gigs--unbelievable stuff. But I realized then that people like Bill are capable of so much. There are some amazingly talented people out there, and I thought if I could sit down with this caliber of player in a duet setting, some interesting things would happen.

So I decided to give it a try, and I asked Bill if he would do it. We weren't sure what we would play, but then he called up and said, "I'm working on this song and it's perfect for you. You own this groove." I was like, "Okay,' and then he said, "Why don't you come over and help me write it?" "Who, me?" So I walked into Bill's huge house--and we sat down at the grand piano together. There I am, sitting next to Bill Champlin, who was a major hero of mine when I was sixteen. He said, "This is the kind of thing I was thinking about," and he played what sounded like a complete song--beautiful, perfect. And I was like, "What am I doing here? The song's written and it's great." He said, "Well, what do you want the song to be about?" So I just said, "What you played sounds kind of churchy; let's make it about TV preachers who suck up people's money." He said, "Okay," and then he sang the first verse, like that. [snaps fingers] I just started screaming: "You bum, you're so talented, I hate you." [laughs] That was how "Sound Of The Rain" came about.

When we went to record "Rain," we were just completely exhilarated. I have to admit that the song did take us four takes to get though, because we kept overachieving in the middle--really pushing the envelope. But we were so happy with what we came up with that we wanted to record more, so we laid down "High Heel Sneakers" and "Danger Zone" in one take each. We had played those at The Mint as a quartet.

That's how the project started. I felt so good about how those tracks sounded that I was determined to go forward with it.

WFM: What was the game plan? Did you have specific people in mind that you wanted to play with?

BW: At that point all I really knew was I had a good concept. I just started thinking about who I'd like to spar with! Around the time I did the tracks with Bill I was playing with Chris Whitley, and we were touring with Toad The Wet Sprocket. They were all friends of mine, especially [Toad vocalist/guitarist] Glen Phillips. He had never played with anybody else outside of their band, ever. So I approached Glen because I was really impressed with his musicianship, and he agreed to do it. We were going to write something together, but he had a ballad, "Be Careful," that Toad didn't want. When I heard it, I just thought, "This tune would be the perfect soft underbelly for my record." So we recorded it and it turned out great. I love the sound of Glen's voice.

After that I was busy with several other projects and didn't get back to it for a while. I didn't know who I would record with next, but then I finally talked to Chris Whitley about doing it. We were both so busy that the only day we could do it was New Year's Eve Day, in New York. I think it was in 1993, so several years had passed.

WFM: It's funny that the performances on THC were recorded years apart, because the record has a certain continuity to it.

BW: It's funny that way. Also, the styles of music on it are all over the map. But the thing is I'm on half of everything, so there's the continuity of me! [laughs]

WFM: So the record was completed over the course of many years?

BW: Yes. This was a labor of love, but it was certainly a side project for me. I got to it when I could, and of course, I had to work around other players' schedules.

WFM: Are there any particular highlights for you on THC ?

BW: Frankly, the whole thing is a highlight--not so much because of what I played, but because of what these other incredible musicians brought to it.

Listen to "Wee Small Hours" with Joy Askew. Her performance on that is just beautiful. And I was so happy we did that song because I wanted to play brushes on the record. I do some traditional-sounding brush work on it, and there are some odd bits where I'm filling on the tom-toms. It sounds like kitty cats running across the toms. I love that.

WFM: You mentioned wanting to play brushes. Did you set out to play a lot of different styles?

BW: To be honest, it just kind of worked out that way.

WFM: Even the Irish track with John Patitucci?

BW: It was kind of funny how that worked out. I was working with John at my studio on a different project. But at one point I played him the track I did with Chris Whitley. And he said, "That's amazing! I've got to meet this guy. Let me play on that track!" "John, I'm sorry, but it's a duet--you can't play on it." He said, "Then you and I have got to do a duet." And I was like, "Wow! Okay, bass and drums, why not? What are we going to do? And then he said, out of the blue, the magic words: "Find an Irish tune."

So I found some Irish tunes and sent him a recording. Well they were extremely difficult to play on bass. John shedded that part for a long time, and then he made it his own. I think if bass players hear that track there's going to be a lot of suicides! It's so amazing. I love what we came up with on that one.

The man I really wanted to get on the record was Jim Beard, who is one of my dearest friends. Jim is another one of these incredibly talented people who I really wanted to duet with. Jim has the largest ears in the music world--he hears everything. The tracks with him are incredible.

WFM: The best part of THC is the interplay between you and the other musicians. That interplay makes the music so alive.

BW: I think that's just a natural phenomenon when you have two good musicians listening to each other. The musical focus is just so tight. It's like having a conversation with one other person. If it's a quartet, it's like a conversation between four people; maybe the discussion isn't quite as personal. The other thing is, these people are such great players that I was completely free to go wherever my heart desired musically.

WFM: Another nice thing about the record for drummers is all of the cool sounds you played--great drum sounds, funky cymbals and metals with all sorts of personality, shakers on drums, rattles, bumps buzzes....

BW: First of all, the credit has to go to the engineers for being able to capture all the weird stuff I played. These guys were all world-class engineers, except for me. I engineered a couple of tunes. I do have some experience in the studio, although obviously I'm not a world-class engineer. I just got lucky.

You mentioned before about how cohesive-sounding the record is. I agree with you. But what's amazing to me about that is we got that result with the tracks being recorded in different studios by different engineers. Somehow, magically, it merged together sonically.

WFM: And what about all of the different sounds you played?

BW: Well, it was a different drumset for each track. I tailored the kit to match the music. I knew that one track would be rowdy, with heavy drumming, so I used a big kit. On some of the lighter things I used a small setup with very small drums. That's why I love the guys at DW. They've made me beautiful instruments in all sorts of weird sizes--16" bass drums, tiny snare drums--those sorts of things. I hardly ever use the stock sizes. Plus I own so much equipment, stuff I've amassed over the years.

I found that using a new or different setup for each setting inspired me. I was exploring the sounds of the kit and fitting them into the performance.

WFM: Some guys freak out if they're not on "their" kit.

BW: Well, maybe I'm still a jazzbo at heart--I like to take chances, I like to improvise. The idea of first discovery to me is important. You have to take chances, you have to experiment, you have to explore the unknown. That's where the cool stuff is. It makes me happy to play that way. I get excited by it.

WFM: Most artists develop "their" sound, "their" setup, and stick with it.

BW: Sabian has asked me, "What's your cymbal setup?" and I say, "With who?" I've got six ride cymbals and I usually use little hi-hats, but not always. It depends. How loud is the music? What's the aesthetic?

About your point of finding your own sound, I love that idea. To me, everybody is unique. People complain about musicians playing too much like their heroes. I don't think that's a problem at all, because no matter how much you copy someone else, eventually your own voice will emerge. There may be an influence in your playing, but it will always be you.

Let's pick the "president" of drumming, Steve Gadd. If Steve Gadd tried to play like you or me, he couldn't so it. If you or I wanted to play like him, we could never do it. And if Steve and I wanted to play like you, we could never do that. You can try, but your uniqueness is inherent in you. And that's why I believe that if young drummers have a favorite drummer, soak it up, become them. Doing that helped me develop. When I wanted to play jazz, I focused on Elvin. When I wanted to learn how to groove, I studied Harvey Mason.

I did a record in 1979 for a guy named Dean Friedman, who was like an Elton John kind of guy. He had a hit out that Rick Marotta had played on, and then I did the tour. Then, after the tour, I went in to do this next record, but I was fired because my time sucked and the producer kept complaining that I wasn't hitting the drums hard enough. That has changed. A few years ago I was recording for Don Was, and he said, "Jesus, you're louder than Kenny Aronoff!"

But because I was fired off that Friedman gig, I knew I had to get my time together. George Benson was really big then, and Harvey Mason was his drummer. I just thought Harvey sounded so beautiful, the way he danced on the hi-hat and the way his time felt. So I studied him--I became him--and that helped my playing. But I'm sure no one hearing my playing at that point would have said I was a Harvey clone.

WFM: Even with all your years in the business, you still seem very positive about music, very energetic.

BW: When I'm working on a project I'm very exuberant and hyper. And when I'm excited about something I can't be held back.

WFM: That's probably a reason why people hire you.

BW: It's also a reason some people don't hire me. A lot of times people like it if you're just a little more gray. I get excited. I want to get into the music, I want to bring a lot to it. Some people want you to come in and just do the job--lay down the track and go home. I can certainly try to do that, but it's not satisfying.

WFM: I'd think a producer or artist would want musicians who play from the heart.

BW: You have to watch that, though. You have to balance the highs and the lows. I'll tell you, I've had to work very hard at controlling myself on a gig. I'd be up there, the music would be soaring, and bam, I'd get so excited that I'd launch into some new outlandish fill. It would be coming from a place of total joy, but it might not be appropriate. I had to learn to control that.

I think the people who hire me know what I'm about. I tend to work with slightly stranger artists, people who are incredibly talented but go their own way--you know, like Robbie Robertson, Yoko Ono, Jimmy Webb. When I work with more normal people, I'm not as satisfied. I love it when I'm recording with an artist and they say, "Billy, I really want you. I want your magic. If you feel like doing something, just do it."

WFM: Let's talk a bit more about keeping control of your emotions when you play. You mentioned getting excited and ruining "the moment" by overplaying. How did you learn to control that?

BW: I actually found a new way to think about it from baseball. I'm a baseball freak; I love baseball's intangibles and the Zen qualities of the game. Tom Seaver, not only one of the greatest pitchers of all time but also one of the most intellectual, had a term for controlling one's emotions: "staying inside yourself." If he got worked up and threw a fastball as hard as he possibly could, what would happen is the ball would kind of die and not move as fast. Hitters would be all over it. But when he stayed inside himself, in other words staying inside his mechanics, even if he was in front of 60,000 people, he would keep his composure. I love that kind of psychological mindset.

I mentioned earlier about a lesson I had with Elvin. He's way into the mental aspects of drumming. I remember asking him why sometimes I would play well and other times I would just suck. He called it "I thoughts." In other words, if you're playing and any sentence that starts with "I" comes into your head, like "I'm doing great" or "I'm going to play a fill here," you're in trouble.. Elvin told me that if you're thinking that way, you're not playing for the music. I'll never forget that.

WFM: I'd like to get your thoughts on being a working musician today. You seem to keep busy, going from tours to session work. The stuff you do isn't always high-profile, but you continue to work.

BW: Sadly, most of the records I've made have flopped. [laughs] Frankly, my career is something that has slowly built over time. And I occasionally have slow periods, like everybody else. But in general I've been fortunate.

I really don't have any solid tips for drummers looking to improve their careers. I don't do all of the things you're supposed to--all the schmoozing and networking. One of my friends, Doane Perry, who's with Jethro Tull, has a routine that he swears by: Whenever he;s not working, he says that if he starts practicing, he starts getting calls. I thought he was full of it. But you know what? I've tried it a couple of times, and it works!

Lately I've been very interested in doing clinics. I feel like I've got a lot to offer in that area. But because I'm not good at being a self-promoter, it's tough for me to break into that scene. I know guys who are out there doing clinics all of the time, and no disrespect to anybody, but some of those guys don't have a tenth of the resume I have. I don't understand it, but I'm trying to figure it out.

As far as working more goes, it all boils down to one thing: not sucking. It's a tough thing to do, but if you're not working, take an honest look at yourself. Are there things you can do that would make you more employable--either in the way you play or in your attitude? If nobody wants to play with you, then figure our why. And if you've really spoiled things for yourself in your town, you may have to be prepared to move.

WFM: At this point, what do you do to maintain your drumming skills?

BW: I basically don't practice unless I have something coming up that I know I'll need a lot of chops for. For instance, when I knew I would be recording with Chris Whitley for THC, I knew we were going to be really pushing it. The producer in me told me that I'd better get my chops in shape.

WFM: You're wailing on that track with him, "Some Mortal Drama," especially with the double pedal.

BW: I ripped that stuff off from my friend Gregg Bissonette. In fact, when I play those licks, that stuff between the hands and feet, I hear Gregg's name: "Gregg Bissonette, Gregg Bissonette." That's how I play it! [laughs] I told Gregg that I got that from him, and he said, "I got all of that from Terry Bozzio!" Everything goes back to Terry. [laughs]

I find that when I'm not practicing all that much I lose certain things. But you know what? I also gain a lot. I come back to the instrument sort of refreshed, with a child-like excitement. Besides, you've got to be careful when you practice. I would never want to practice something inappropriate that I would end up bringing to the gig, regurgitating it all over the stage.

WFM: What about maintaining groove and feel? Do you "just have it" at this point?

BW: I never "just have it." Your time can always be improved, and I think every drummer will hear flaws in their own performances.

WFM: Some of the grooves you play on the different records you've done feel great. What types of things would you recommend other drummers do to improve their feel?

BW: There are the standard things that everyone talks about: playing with metronomes and such. But another thing drummers should think about is the balance of the components within the groove. How loud is the hi-hat compared to the snare? I use small hi-hats now, because, to me, they should have less of a presence in the groove than the kick and the snare.

WFM: How small?

BW: We're talking 10" hats--the Sabian Mini-Hats. I even have 6's, but normally I use 10's. If you pick them carefully they'll record beautifully, and they don't bleed into the snare mic'. For live work they're harder to play. If you aren't into touch, you don't have a chance with them. You've got to work to get the sound

So the first thing is to be hip to the hi-hat not being as loud as the snare drum, unless you're wanting that way-on-top Motown kind of sound. The hi-hat is just a little undertow between the push and pull of the kick and snare. When playing rock, the kick and snare are everything. In jazz, it's all happening up on the ride cymbal--that's what's dictating the time.

WFM: Let's talk about your recording studio, DrumPike.

BW: DrumPike came about when I moved back to New York from LA, where I had 2,500 square feet of space and seventeen-foot ceilings filled with gear. I needed storage and practice space in New York. At the same time I was starting to get calls from producers who wanted me to play on projects that were happening in Nashville and LA, but they couldn't afford to fly me out. I realized that if I could put my own studio together, those producers could send me tapes that I could overdub drums on. Some producers I know were really interested in this and were supportive, so I made the investment in some recording gear and set it up in my New York space.

WFM: Do you have a background in engineering?

BW: I don't have much, except that I've done a ton of sessions and some producing over the years. When I made the decision to do this I started quizzing my engineer friends about how to do it and what gear to buy. I hardly knew anything, I just jumped in. Fortunately, I bought good stuff, equipment that's designed to record drums.

WFM: That's an interesting niche you've created.

BW: I know, and it's really fun. I get to work alone. I don't have to explain anything to anybody. Usually these producers are people I've worked with before, so they trust me. They send me a tape and say, "If you hear something, play it." So I go nuts and experiment with all sorts of gear and ways of playing. I might play the kit with my hands and mike it from extremely close range, or use three different bass drums and a gong. I mean, God only knows what I'm going to hear. But if I get too out I always call: "I'm doing something weird. Is that okay?"

WFM: Maybe that's the charm of Billy Ward.

BW: The weirdness? I wonder. It could be.