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Bye-Bye, Buster
By DANIEL DRUCKMAN
It scarcely seems possible that it has been 30 years since I first met Elden "Buster" Bailey. I remember my first lessons vividly; I was a very confident (O.K., perhaps cocky) 15-year-old who had already been playing and studying for a while. I thought I was relatively advanced and on the right track, needing only some minor polishing on my way to greater glory. Buster, of course, had a different agenda, and it took all of 10 short minutes for him to show me all the things I couldn't do. But if I was demoralized, I honestly don't remember that. I just remember being enthralled by his playing—by the way he cradled the sticks in those big mitts of his; by the incredible ease and fluidity, the effortless phrasing, the time, the feel. I spent the next several years going back to the basics—not because he insisted on it, but because I wanted (needed) to be able to play like that, or at least try.
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| Elden “Buster” Bailey (Photo by Betty Lou English, courtesy the New York Philharmonic Archives) |
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Of course I had long known about Buster. By the time I came to study with him in the mid-'70s, he had already been in the New York Philharmonic for more than 20 years, and had long since cemented his reputation as perhaps the world's foremost orchestral snare drummer. Buster was born and raised in Maine and attended the New England Conservatory of Music from 1941-42. During World War II he served in the 154th Army Ground Forces Band, playing clarinet in the concert band, snare drum on the field, and serving as arranger, conductor, and pianist with the jazz band. In 1946, after his release from the army, he entered The Juilliard School, where he studied with Saul Goodman and Morris Goldenberg (whom he was later to succeed on the Juilliard faculty in 1963). In 1949, Buster began his incredible career with the New York Philharmonic, which spanned 42 years and the music directorships of Stokowski, Mitropoulos, Bernstein, Boulez, and Mehta. His signature sound and style are instantly recognizable on the many recordings he made with the orchestra, and his two method books—Mental and Manual Calisthenics for mallet instruments, and Wrist Twisters for snare drum—are staples of our literature.Left to his own devices, Buster rarely spoke about orchestral music. In fact, his many diverse interests (circus buff, jazz enthusiast, march aficionado) sometimes seemed at odds with his "day job." But upon closer inspection, it all makes sense; this was a musician who cared, above all else, about "feel." Not just rhythmic precision, but the subtle lilt and swing of rhythms, and the way that the proper inflection could propel and transform the music. And he cherished this aspect of music, and those able to execute it, whether it was Bach or Brahms or the Basie band. I learned so much from Buster—as a teacher, a colleague, a friend, and a mentor. I miss him dearly.Daniel Druckman has been a member of the faculty since 1991.
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