The old man's a little tired tonight, quite reasonable for a drummer with over 50 years on the bandstand. He takes a drag of a Marlboro Light, though he knows he shouldn't. He quickly sips a beer and then heads for the throne. As he sits behind the kit and kicks his trio into action-emphasized with a subtle crash-cymbal accent on the and of 4 on Miles Davis' "All Blues"-his life passes before him. Visions of tap dancing in the French Quarter for tips. Playing in the studio with Fats Domino and Little Richard. Jamming with Max Roach at legendary New Orleans drummer Ed Blackwell's tribute concert. Driving a Mercury Montclair to California back in '57. It all swirls in front of his very eyes as he goes to the bell of his dry ride cymbal on the bridge. Then he loses himself in the music.

A crowd of drummers, including myself, waits patiently to sit in and pay homage to the man, a legend. Considering his reputation as the originator of rock and roll drumming, all are intrigued by his ability to swing the group. Suffering from a bit of jam session jitters, I begin to hyperventilate-pondering how I'll do behind the king's thrown-which swells each time the band breaks into another chorus. I quickly head for the bathroom and throw water on my face (is there a doctor in the house?), while listening to him break into an open solo. I've just moved back to L.A., and am not only intimidated by his groove, but the pack of waiting stick men. Crack! He's really burning now, a true sultan of swing, as he trades eighths with the band, while comping the head chart around the toms. "Man, he grooves," says one drummer sitting next to me. "How did he get so damn good?"

Earl Palmer's success can only partially be attributed to practice, though he claims that has been quite important. Some of it has to do with good genes: He is a member of a special community of drummers, who by fate, the stars or possibly voodoo, was dropped from the womb into the birthplace of American music, New Orleans. Their rhythm and life are one. Palmer, however, did not just become a practitioner of the Crescent City's old school grooves; he took them and made what is known as the modern-day 6/8 with Fats Domino; he "tutti and fruit-ied them" resulting in a straight-eighth feel, which defined the term "rock and roll" before it was coined. At the same time, he had a keen sense of knowing where opportunity existed, and followed the famous maxim "Go West Young Man," departing from New Orleans in the late '50s to make a name for himself in the burgeoning Los Angeles recording scene.

The rest is history. In addition to his heralded status among New Orleans drummers, Palmer is a member of an elite circle of "most recorded drummers" that includes Hal Blaine for his contributions to rock and Billy Higgins for his achievements in jazz. With credits on over 25,000 single tracks, 4,000 records, and 500 film scores-according to music author Russ Wabensky-Palmer's beats have made it to more wax, tape, eight-tracks and CDs than any other drummer on the planet.

Indeed, a legend.

New Orleans: Tapping Out Bourbon Street

It wasn't in Bourbon Street clubs, but on that historic sidewalk where young Palmer tapped out his first cadences with his feet, while listening to the parade/second-line and Dixieland rhythms that grooved the French Quarter. When not hustling tips from passersby, he danced in Vaudeville with his mother at the age of four-an experience that enhanced his understanding of what made the traditional tunes strut. "Tap dancing was a hell of a help in playing the drums in terms of understanding syncopation," he says. "I learned where the bridges of the tunes came, and when I got to playing drums, I knew how to do subtle things, like alter the cymbal part at the right time."

Soon after, Palmer added a drum set to his Bourbon Street song- and-dance sessions that featured wood crates for drums, lard can covers for cymbals and a spoon with a rubber band for a kick pedal. Though his setup was crude at best, it gave him the ability to start working out rhythmic ideas that he would soon be showcasing around town-as well as increase his tips.

While he was learning some good ear training, Palmer's playing experience in his early years, ironically, was quite limited in the second-line domain. His only formal experience at that time came during a brief stint on snare drum with the Joseph A. Craig Elementary School band. "Coming up as a kid, you knew how to play these things, but there were certain jobs that weren't relegated to the up-and-coming drummers-the old guys kept those jobs," he remembers. "The older drummers would say, 'You don't know how to play that kind of music (traditional, second-line parade music) boy.' It was just a common practice at the time. These days, lots of young drummers can do those gigs."

Whatever he didn't acquire in traditional band settings was more than compensated as Palmer entered the club scene, where he had the opportunity to study the artistry of drummers such as Freddie Coleman, Bob Barbarins, and "Big Foot" Bill Phillips. As Palmer approached his teens, he often found himself competing with players much older than he, who appeared relaxed, could swing hard and read charts. "I had a reputation for being one of the best drummers in the clubs for my natural ability," Palmer says. "But I was being told by guys like (saxophonist) Red Tyler that I really didn't know what I was doing and that I should get some formal training."

Upon leaving the military in 1947, Palmer attended the Gruenwalds School of Music in New Orleans to pick up the skills that ultimately enabled him to swing with ease as well as kick a band like "Big Foot" could. He says that his professional career really began at that point.

Boy, did it ever! Fresh out of school, Palmer landed a gig with saxophonist Harold Dejan, whose mother had worked with Palmer's in Vaudeville. The group regularly played La Vida, a taxi dance hall where sailors paid 10¢ to boogie down with a girl. "On those gigs, if you played drums, you didn't get much of an intermission," Palmer says. "You just stopped long enough for the men to change partners and buy a ticket for a dance. And when the drummer was off the band stand, the trumpet player would just sit down and play the bass drum and hi-hat just to keep the time going."

Working with Dejan also enabled Palmer to expand his rhythmic repertoire. The group, he emphasizes, had to play any kind of music that would keep the tourists and regulars happy. "If someone was from Chicago, let's say, he might want to hear authentic Chicago-style blues, or maybe a polka," he says. "Whatever they wanted, man."

Bebop and Beyond

In the late '40s, musicians were catching onto the crazed intensity of bebop. Palmer, like many New Orleans drummers, was determined to master the breakneck cymbal syncopation that Max Roach, Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa were putting down on Blue Note vinyl. Bebop particularly inspired Palmer since it was so different melodically and rhythmically from Dixieland and swing jazz. While building his bebop chops, Palmer had the opportunity to jam with the master himself, Charlie Parker, when Bird would travel to New Orleans with the Jay McShan band.

Locally, Palmer started to work with legendary trumpeter David Bartholomew in a group that played the new jazz and an even newer style of music: rhythm and blues. While Bartholomew and company were making a name for themselves as capable jazz players, they were also (though they didn't know it at the time) soon to become the most in-demand r&b session squad in the Crescent City. And it would never have happened without Palmer, who as deputy band leader, boldly invited Fats Domino to sit in while Bartholomew was on a break during a gig at Al's Starlight Inn. "I had heard Fats play down in the Ninth Ward long before he was ever recorded," Palmer remembers. "The only thing Fats could play was boogie woogie, which was considered kind of crude. But I knew there was something there, something special. But, man, Dave was really pissed at me for that one."

He must not have been angry for too long since Bartholomew, soon after, got Domino his deal with Imperial Records, giving the trumpeter and drummer the license to guide the young star's recordings. In 1949, they released the single "They Call Me The Fat Man" (Side A) and "Detroit City Blues" (Side B). Palmer feels both songs demonstrated the evolving sound of r&b and signified the birth of rock and roll drumming. The record had the feel and inflection of traditional New Orleans drumming, especially in the bass drum. But it was very different from second line and Dixieland, where there was an emphasis on the snare drum and virtually no cymbal parts.

Working with Fats presented Palmer with some interesting challenges. "There was definitely a musical concept that I had to work within on those records, which was to play very simply and very laid back. It was quite a departure from swing and bebop," Palmer says. "It definitely wasn't drum-solo time." For the first time, Palmer suggested song arrangements, and came up with the horn part for the bridge of "Blueberry Hill."

That tune, one of Domino's most famous, demonstrates Palmer's sweet, smooth approach to 6/8 that, much to his chagrin, has been credited to Cornelius "Tenoo" Coleman, Domino's touring drummer at the time, on the recent Fats Domino Box Set (Rhino Records). Palmer says that other songs he recorded carry Tenoo's name, a result of botched recording contracts, and that he is still owed residuals.

Because of Domino's success, other Los Angeles labels-such as Specialty, Modern and Alladin-brought their artists to New Orleans to record with Bartholomew's band. This is how Palmer landed the recording gig with Little Richard and how rock and roll drumming was invented.

In contrast to the relaxed triplet feel he innovated with Domino, Palmer found himself rocking songs like "Tutti-Frutti" and "Lucille" with rigid, straight eighth notes. Many of his parts were directly derived from Richard's frenetic piano lines. "The concept behind Richard was completely different from that of Fats," he says. "Richard was all about creating excitement and energy, so I had to intensify his performance with the drums. I never toured with Richard, but I always tried to capture my live energy in the studio with him in order to drive those tunes."

Reeling In Hollywood

Earl Palmer's talents don't only lie behind the drums. If they did, he could easily still be playing around the French Quarter, leading a comfortable existence in his hometown. But by 1957, he had literally tapped out all opportunities in the New Orleans music community, and knew that better and more lucrative gigs were available in the Golden State. He was also involved in an inter-racial relationship-very taboo in the south-and was attempting to support his first wife and four kids.

Mr. Palmer needed a curtain call, and it was on its way. "I was the best drummer in New Orleans, but, man, I was making $41.25 for a three-hour recording session," Palmer remembers. "When I was a leader on a session, I made double scale, but that still was not enough to raise my kids with."

His reputation from having worked with Domino and Richard arrived in Los Angeles long before he moved to L.A. ? a mixed blessing at best. Palmer soon realized that the industry had typecast him as a rock drummer from those recording laurels, so he went out of his way to find film work that would establish his sight-reading abilities and would sit in at jazz jam sessions. He also started working as a producer, arranger and drummer for Alladin Records, and traveled back to New Orleans to do the sessions for Shirley and Lee's hit single, "Let The Good Times Roll."

Palmer is capable of reciting an endless string of hilarious session anecdotes from this period of his career. Hung over one morning after a late-night party, he got called to play field drums during the making of the Judgment At Nuremberg soundtrack. Palmer was in such a rush to get to Paramount that he accidentally forgot to leave his car keys with the attendant. With only six minutes until downbeat, he raced up an incline, all the while suffering from spirits consumed the previous evening. After the opening drum roll, he thought that he could catch some shuteye, but ended up having to stay awake the entire morning since the cues were out of order. And he didn't play another single note until after lunch!

On several occasions, Palmer drummed with Hal Blaine, who he insists could have been a stand-up comic if he had not become a professional musician. "We worked on a date together with guitarist [and major TV composer] Mike Post, who had just gotten married, and Hal asked Mike: 'Do you have any nude pictures of your wife?,'" Palmer remembers. "Naturally, Mike got a little upset, so Hal comes back with: 'Okay, so you don't have any nude pictures of your wife. No problem. Wanna buy some?'" Blaine's gift of wit made Palmer laugh so much that the drum duo had a difficult time playing identical parts during a Jan and Dean date.

In the mid '80s, Palmer put his career on an entirely different path. When his session work began to dry up-which Palmer attributes to the advent of the drum machine and digital samplers-he held the positions of Secretary of Treasury from 1982-1984, and Treasurer from 1986-1988 for the Los Angeles Chapter of The United Federation of Musicians. Though he says that he was unsuccessful at playing power politics with his associates, he felt a sense of accomplishment for being able to handle all of the aspects of the job without any background in finance.

Take Me Back To New Orleans

The sound of New Orleans makes it to the final cut of whatever Palmer is recording. And in the last several years, he has worked on a variety of music projects that take him back to his early days as a player, as well as educate drummers and the listening public.

In 1993, his classic beats were featured in New Orleans Drumming: From R&B To Funk (DCI Video), a three-part video series. During the presentation, he demonstrates how to play such tunes as Domino's "I'm Walkin'," Professor Longhair's "Tipitina" and Richard's "Rip It Up." Palmer says, "I really enjoyed that project. Much of my work had never been documented on video, so when I'm gone, it will serve as an archive for young drummers." Palmer's contribution to New Orleans drumming traditions was also explored by author Dan Thress in New Orleans Jazz And Second Line Drumming (Manhattan Music Publications), a follow-up publication to the video series that includes interviews with the players and transcriptions of the beats.

A year later Palmer played on Crescent City Gold (Windham Hill Records), a project that he calls "a reunion of sorts," which featured Allen Toussaint, Alvin Tyler, Lee Allen, Dr. John and Edwin Frank. Though he was not feeling physically at his best, Palmer's grooves make each track quite memorable. And when his friend Ed Blackwell passed away several years back, Palmer participated in a Memorial Concert during the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival that included Max Roach, Idris Mohammed and many other New Orleans drummers. "That was a really great performance. All of the drummers were really inspired that day," Palmer says.

Fade To Black

Earl Palmer sits quietly in his home in Arleta, California, thumbing through a recent issue of DRUM! with Tre Cool of Green Day on the cover. Looking intently at each article and advertisement, Palmer rattles off comments on every player from cover to cover, as if they were his own children (except for Cool, whose drumming he is unfamiliar with). "Jim Keltner, now there's a great drummer with a really solid groove ? and a really nice guy," he says. "And Jack De Johnette, there's never been a guy that could swing like him."

As he continues to read DRUM!, I wander into a back room which serves as a mausoleum of certificates of achievement, vintage photos and singles that bear his name. Picking up a dusty disc, I think to myself, "What is left for him to do?" I glance over at Palmer, who appears ready to close his eyes for an afternoon nap, and ask him that question. He replies: "Hopefully live to read the book (to be published by the Smithsonian Institute) that Tony (Scherman, regular Musician contributor) and I have been working on for the last several years. I want to make it to that day."

And long enough, I hope, for him to see me swing "All Blues" in the future at Chadney's.

--originally published January, 1997
Copyright, Enter Music Publishing