The Sound Of Thunder with Billy Cobham
Moon Roq’s chief nerd Adam sat down for a chat with a true musical force last Summer. William Emanuel Cobham Jr. sits among a group of experimental and innovative artists spanning (very broadly) Jazz-Fusion and Prog Rock. But take any one of his albums, and try to pin it down to one word or genre - you will struggle to do so. He is a quintessential, drumming bandleader - driving forward a range of pioneering musical outfits from his drum stool. Like some sort of jazz shepherd, he leads and drives forward from the back. You might know him best as the founding father of the Mahavishnu Orchestra. As a cursory listen of any of the group’s albums will demonstrate, Billy deals in sheer elemental force and he communicates this through a pure and singular musical language. His drum rolls are the sound of thunder, and that’s the only way he knows how to. His peers are (casually) Miles Davis, George Duke, Jan Hammer, Bugge Wesseltoft, Stanley Clarke and John McLaughlin to demonstrate a tiny proportion amongst an intimidatingly long list of creative partners.
Moon Roq were first introduced to the bellowing sound of Billy’s drumming in a rather jazzy setting. But it was far from a jazz concert, itwas on the dance-floor of an East London basement. We were listening to a DJ playing a segment of a piece of music written by Billy. It was a drum solo. But not the kind of self-indulgent drum solo that you might expect from the world of drum solos. It was the sound of thunder and the force and speed seemed impossible to have been created by human hand. The response from the dance-floor was along the lines of “what the hell is this?!” And in a very good way.
There is so much music to consider with Billy Cobham, that we barely touch on 1% of his output in a 2 hour phone call. Find below, some of that phone call. We start midway through a very short conversation about discotheques and dance-floors.
So, do you know much of the DJ world?
I kinda do. But I beg to ask that no-one judge me too much, if I don’t. It’s another generation to me. I’m always learning from the younger people.
I would say you’re kind of immune to judgement like that. You kinda get a free pass when you’re such a legend.
Oh, I’m just a crotchety old senior citizen. A pensioner.
Yeah, you get a free pass on that… maybe a bus pass too. Are you familiar with a DJ called François K? He’s a New York fellow like you, although as you said, maybe a generation later.
Haha! There are some perks of old age. But no, I’m not familiar with him, no.
Well, I saw him playing at club in London a few years back, he played an all night set. Right at the end of his set, he played a section of a track of your’s. He played the middle drum solo from Spanish Moss
Oh, wow! I was thinking about what else I could direct you to in my archives. There’s a piece called “Funky Kind Of Thing”. It’s on a record I made back in 1975 called “A Funky Thide Of Sings”. That, again, it’s electronically treated like the storm, but it’s more of a groove. And that piece way back was used a lot by DJs.
When you’re song writing or experimenting, do you ever think about where that finished music might end up? Do you ever picture a DJ playing it?
[long pause] …. no
Not at all?
I’m just happy to be able to document it and get it out of my head. That’s where it’s born and the main thing is that, I didn’t do this for an audience of one, me, to listen to. I just need to get it out. I think most writers, of books, or painters, you just wanna get it out and let your brain breathe. And go, “OK, that’s done, now I can move on to the next thing” because otherwise, it’s just going to drive you crazy. I feel like I’m on this earth to do one thing, create and share, and I don’t feel like I have a choice.
Do you think about how your music will be experienced, once a record is finished and you’re completely out of that creative process? Maybe not so much, picturing a DJ playing it, but, you know, do you picture someone just sitting on the bus listening to your music?
I’m just a vehicle or a vessel. I’m walking around with this information and just going “God, I just gotta get this out”. Once it’s done I’m just so happy that it’s gone!
And when you have this feeling that you have something you need to get out, what sort of form does it take?
Well, Adam, I just met you and already I’m thinking about a tune.
Right..?
It’s like a theme, “Adam”. It’s like a little something and if it’s strong enough, it starts to grow. It may not be called “Adam” in the end, but you triggered that, maybe by something you said or a body movement or something. Next thing you know, I’m writing. I just have to get it out now!
That seems like one of the real skills of an artist, is being able to pick up on these things an communicate them some how
Yes, that’s the way I do it. But I’m only speaking for me.
And what sort of shape is this idea, is it a melody?
Yeah, it could be in shape of a rhythmic pattern. Generally, in 99.9% of the time in my career, I’ve always written melodies first. I play the rhythms, and they relate to something else. I never have to worry about what I’m going to play, once the melody and harmony come together. Around that time, I’m starting to feel something, it could go this way or that. One time I was inspired being at a performance in Prague, Czech Republic. It was something straight of the Moulin Rouge. But, strangely enough, the thing that came out of that inspiration, I ended up writing a challenging piece that is, technically speaking, a waltz, but it’s in 4/4. It’s really challenging! I showed some friends and they went “well, great, don’t bring that to rehearsal, OK?”. But you know, sometimes these things happen and you chuckle and you put it away until the time is right.
When you’re writing and playing around with a challenging idea like that, do you think about how that might affect the listener? How it might make them dance or affect their bodies somehow? That sounds like a difficult groove to get into!
Yeah, and it’s an interesting conflict because it has a flow. What we’re talking about is 3 against 2. A waltz against a 4/4.
It sounds complex, like it might be difficult to dance to.
Yeah, that’s why I don’t write music for people to dance to. People may even sit down and not move, but think. They have enough time to really let the ideas flow because it’s not a million notes a bar, it’s slow. Yeah, it might take a moment, but the next thing you know, all of a sudden, it’s all relative. I don’t leave myself to manage that, that’s up to the individual listening.
How long were you living in New York?
I lived in New York from 1947 to 1980. Then I moved to Europe where I felt that I needed to study, really study life on a different level. When I came to Europe, I felt like a fledgling. I mean, Europe has been around for thousands of years. I’m not even scratching the surface of how to understand a little bit more about how things have been, for years, so that I can add justification to what I do in the West. And whatever I can get, is a big plus for me. The move was a move for myself, to get to another cultural environment, because of the richness of it. For years, I was walking around in amazement.
I feel like you communicate in exclusively musical terms. Like a robot only sees in 0s and 1s, you only see in musical notes and signatures. Sometimes musicians will tell me they have ideas that come from an image, a film, or another form. And the way that they communicate is by trying to create that image in their own, with their own voice. Are you inspired by things outside of music and music theory?
Yeah, as we have this conversation now, there are ideas and things starting to form and they will morph into music at some point. This conversation is just a part of everything that’s happened to today. From me snoring bed to right now! My subconscious just goes with what I’ve got and if I choose to write something I just write based on how I feel. Open, is how I feel right now.
Do you think that’s the real skill of an artist, being able to pick up on these inspirations and to communicate them somehow?
Yes, but that’s just because that’s the way I do it, but I’m only speaking for me. That’s what I do, that’s what I feel.
How have you approached those times when inspiration hasn’t come easily? Ever felt the frustrations of writer’s block?
[another one of those long pauses that can only be followed by a “no”] … No
Never?
No, that’s not my life. I write all the time, that’s just what I do. December 2019 I played at The Jazz Cafe in London. That was my last show until July or August 2020. In that time, I didn’t touch a drum. I practiced on my marimba a little, but I didn’t play with anyone. But there was never any panic. There were people that at I played with on that first show back that I’d played with twice before in my entire life. And we had a successful show. No problem. It was because I never felt like I was not going to be able to do, what I do. It’s been well over 60 years of doing what I do. So if I don’t know it now, and if I feel insecure about it, I’m in serious trouble.
It’s just something you do or don’t do. And whatever you can take away from that is a plus.
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