Everyone's Drumming (Putney, VT); December 2011

On the crest of the bleak midwinter, and on the shortest day of the year, I drove south through Vermont, following the Connecticut River, and the ribbon of highway that trails along its side. The sun was brilliant, and the air solid and chilly-- the breathable ice that lingers in New England had made itself fully entrenched, despite the shining and reflection of so much else. I gunned the engine, rising and falling with the curves of the hills, the flattest ground to be found in among the ancient river bed. Christmas was nearing, and I was on a journey, to gather a gift for my son.
Weeks prior, I had enjoyed a conversation with Gov't Mule drummer and percussion guru Matt Abts, and, after minimal prompting from me, raved about his custom-drum builder of choice: Nathaniel Hall, of Everyone's Drumming, in Putney, Vermont. Never a huge Mule-head, I knew of the band's mid-1990s, Allman-inflected roots, and original bassist Allen Woody's passing, but hadn't had the rock-star-mythic vision of these cats debunked by interpersonal ancedote-- until Abts told me of how he came to know Nathaniel, and own his first custom, handmade drum. Woody commissioned Hall to build a special African ashiko, to celebrate the birth of Abts' first child. Soon after, Abts commissioned Hall to design a specific djembe-shaped cajhon-- a triangular floor-standing drum with a wooden head. After hearing Abts' praise of Hall's craftmanship, I realized I had found a sorely-needed Christmas present for my seven-year-old son, Andrew. Our latest jam sessions had involved sticks striking table legs and padded chairs, a plastic Gotham City, and anything else in sight.
Well over one hundred miles from my house-- where the wrapping paper, scissors, and tape sat waiting on the kitchen counter-- I left the highway north of Brattleboro, and descended into the narrowed and winding hills of Putney and Westminster. Hall's workshop is a two story barn/garage located twenty minutes from any pavement and deep into the sprawling and ever-scenic southern Vermont woods, a gorgeous and elite territory, of second homes and legends of fame living somewhere among the web of mountains and dirt roads (members of Aerosmith, the Eagles, and others occupy the Connecticut River corridor, at least part-time). Hall greeted me warmly on the driveway-- we had been in touch via email, as mine was a last-minute order, whose finish Hall buffed for a final time as we talked. The first of the two-floor shop, if emptied, is just big enough for a one-at-a-time auto mechanic to work, and live in the space upstairs. Two arrays of rough shells-- the bases for dozens of drums Hall will complete, for use in schools, through a non-profit program-- were surrounded by an uncluttered maze of half-completed orders. Upstairs, Hall's main workbench is also surrounded by a wild variety of bulbous wooden shapes, all priority work to be done: torn or punctured skins, frayed sinews, cracked shells. Spools of quality rope, and racks of untrimmed hides sat to the left of Hall's main workbench upstairs, besides a battered boombox. He polished the exterior of my son's new drum with care, as he explained the importance of summer music festivals to his business-- and that, this summer already presents a problem, as the Gathering of the Vibes, the All Good Festival, and another fest are taking place over the same weekend. Last summer, to ensure his presence at the largest concerts, Hall devoted two 'crews' to being vendors, peddling both his careful and tuneful creations, as well as a line of PVC-based Toca hand-drums, for quick sale and profit to the spotaneous crowd that wanders through the marketplaces found at most music fests. This summer, Hall expects to run three vendor 'crews,' he explained, as he wound a thick nylon cord inexplicably into a handle around the thinnest part of my son's drum (above his initials, which he had woodburned into the side, prior to applying any polish). As a bright and fleeting December light poured through the second-floor window and onto Hall's workbench, I realized he was the first person I had heard speak of their plans for the summer of 2012; I looked around and realized how far ahead Hall may have his work schedule planned in his head-- like a sculptor, who can envision within an untouched chunk of maple an actual, dimensional instrument, built of tension, reflection, and empty space.
For his expertise and care, Hall's street cred among the jam-band circuit may actually be far larger than anyone may at first notice: surrounding his main workbench were drums in-for-repair from a number of well-known musicians, including Mickey Hart's djembes (based on the Abts signature cajhon). Hall has also designed and builds a signature drum for Jim Donovan of Rusted Root, and works closely with DrumSTRONG, a non-profit devoted to "drumming to beat cancer." (Still available is a custom drum to commemorate Gov't Mule's Jan. 2011 Island Exodus, according to Hall's website). In progress were also some custom drums for Bob Weir's new studio, TRI, built specifically to accommodate webcasts and live streaming of musical performances. In his office/showroom, one of Hall's most inventive and original creations sat in the corner: a pedal-operated "talking" drum, built of a wooden dogbone-shaped shell, and a careful arrangement of hardware, including steel cable, connecting both heads. Instead of demonstrating it himself, Hall was proud to show a video of Phish drummer Jon Fishman trying it out (after two minutes of fascinating tonal-glide rolls and fills, Fish descended into looking for-- and finding, through the wah-wah action of the foot pedal-- the approximate notes for Black Sabbath's "Iron Man").
I slipped the smooth brown drum bearing my son's initials into its new, padded case, shaped almost perfectly for Hall's unique creation-- with a veneered head, a drum to last my son's full life, to be used quietly with fingertips or raucously, sounding a deep and thick djembe-slap in many rooms to come. The Winter Equinox sun dropped quickly in my rear-view mirror as I drove north later that afternoon, with other, warmer, summer visions, of drumming beneath trees, and music-- a common beat, made carefully by master craftsmen like Hall-- threading together seasons of light and dark.

Discover more of Nathaniel's work here: http://www.everyonesdrumming.com/