The 1970's. American-built muscle cars and my teen years. When everything important to a kid was cast and set in motion. My first car was a '70 Pontiac LeMans with a 350 cubic inch V8. After killing it twice and rebuilding it with my pals, I raised hell in a '77 Camaro followed by a '79. It gets murky after that, something about an RX7 and a couple of Ford pickups. But in those formative, fevered, and halcyon weekends, performance was the centermark. The roar and vibration of going way too fast and the immortality of youth pushed me, pulled me, kept me directed during the awkward years of boy into man. But the noise and pulse weren't only generated from gunning an engine. It came strong and steady, from my soul through my body, at the drums. They were '74 Ludwigs, and wildly popular due to Ringo Starr's affinity for American drums. They came to define me. Through endless hours playing to records in my room to teen dance gigs. To making a living with them and trying to make a living with them. For the drums' inherent capacity to provide stress therapy and a place to escape within, I've had no better confidant and no truer a partner. Through life's many diversions, careers and false starts, and the many drum kits (most of them Ludwigs) along the way, what matters most is happiness. For me that still boils down to performance. Real performance. SuperSport performance. Anybody want to get rid of their old Chevy Chevelle SS? I'm always looking. CommentsLeave a Reply | Vince Adáme | Bass & Drums
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