Best 19 quotes in «drumming quotes» category

But I was in the Radiohead studio today and Phil was there drumming and Thom was there playing. We feel like we've only just stopped and already people are wanting us to carry on.

For real, some of my favorite music is Mexican. It's something about the bassline and the drumming. I can't even speak Spanish, but that's probably why I like it so much.

I have to have the reasons to make the record. There are just too many records out there, especially when it's something as audacious as a solo percussion record with solo drumming music on it. There better be a reason behind it.

Drumming is the simplest thing that we can do to bring us together.

Great power constitutes its own argument, and it never has much trouble drumming up friends, applause, sympathetic exegesis, and a band.

It was actually drumming that gave me the stamina to get into sports later.

I really enjoyed playing that Blind stuff because it's a little more mathy and metal and as far as drumming goes, it's a bit more fun.

I immersed myself in the police work and I guess drumming wasn't even a hobby, just something my body naturally wanted to do, tapping stuff.

Rock music is quite big in India - but it mostly just replaces all the intricacies of Indian rhythms and Indian melody with lumpen rock drumming and power chords.

Seemed to me that drumming was the best way to get close to God.

Stamina is the force that drives the drumming; it's not really a sprint.

That's why I started amplifying my voice at all, to capture the little sounds I make when I am pushing my body physically, drumming away.

There is no point drumming up noise about a cause, if you are not willing to take a beating for it.

I've always seen my drumming as lyrical anyway.

Once I became a cop and it's like when I got back into drumming; if I focus on something I become that, so I became a cop.

You only get better by playing.

You can't make a mistake when you improvise.

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches. May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty. When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer. Guide her, protect her When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age. Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit. May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers. Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait. O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed. And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it. And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

They're always saying I'm a capitalistic pig. I suppose I am. But... it's good for my drumming.