In 1995 I decided to acquire a drum machine because of difficulties finding space and time to play my drum kit. The Roland DR-660 was a neighbour- (and family-) friendly stand-in. It had the added appeal of a broad tonal capability*. The decision also happened to co-incide with a period of feeling like I could do without my drum kit, full stop. (Thankfully Im through that, I hope for good)

I spent the next year or so learning how to use the machine, mostly by programming** compositions with it. When the work was finished, press the play button and ........ well, that wasnt quite right. Cut out that part there..... boost the volume of that hit..... that section should be a bar shorter, now press play again......etc.

What I'm trying to convey is a process that to my way of feeling was a little unsatisfying. I liked the results in lots of ways, but I also knew that my most satisfying drum kit work evolved a compositional life of its own, and that wasnt happening here.

At this point I started to re-think the machine as an instrument***. The drum machine can be played in real-time by simply tapping on the drum pads but I wanted to use the tonal variation and programming functions in real time too. The prospects were exciting: manipulation of blocks of sound and rhythm; spontaneous organisation of big percussion ensembles; bizarre tonal configurations; extreme tempo and dynamic ranges.
Ah..... the power.

In reality this imagined potential has proven elusive. The first Slow Learner pieces were made from October 97 - February 98. Since then I have worked more with integrating the machine with my live drum kit and so any vestiges of the idea of the machine as stand in (or cipher) for the drum kit have fallen away.

I've come to realise that the creative possibilities of the drum machine dont stem purely from its technical capabilities (tonal variety, spontaneous beats, movable and malleable sound blocks). They are just means to an end. What drives the machine as an instrument for me is the quality of dialogue. Like a tape recorder the machine stores and recalls what you play. Play then listen, respond , shape, select, play listen again.

Of course you can turn the machine onto record, play any kind of random weirdness, and something will come back. But do I like it? Does it work?**** Maybe, maybe not. Part of the fun is that fine line between conscious control and its opposite (whatever that is). The tensions that I particularly like are disparity vs. cohesiveness. Unlikely combinations of timbres that suddenly emerge and somehow work together, chaotic stumbling
beats inside fixed chunks of time, wonky loops behind fragmenting foreground sound activity.

And of course when its just a drum machine gig, theres the luxuriant relief from transportation of a drum kit.

JKennedy November 1999

*250 sounds, all re-tunable +/- 2 octaves (as well as alterable characteristics of decay and nuance)

** tapping on the pads triggers whatever sample is assigned to that pad. When the machine is in "record mode" it records information about the timing and relative placement of the sounds ("sequencing"). This information can be recalled later to trigger the same sounds or any different set of sounds.

*** Chris Cutlers writing on new music technology has been a useful catalyst, see Skill: the Negative Case for Some New Music Technology Recommended Records Quarterly, Vol 1 No. 3, November Books, 1986

**** after all, unlike a person I can always choose to turn the machine off.