My brother the drummer and rocket scientist

My brother Bill and I were talking music a few months ago. More specifically, I was talking about songs I liked; Bill talked about the musical aspects. It was point-reverse of the saying, “I don’t know much about art, but I do know what I like.” That was my part of the conversation. Bill’s part was about the art itself. He is ahead – He knows the art and he knows what he likes.

I don’t remember much of what we said. My part was along the lines of, “More than Yesterday is the best driving with the windows down song ever written.” And, “Anybody who says Imagine is John Lennon’s best song, I always want to say, ‘He didn’t say anything about ‘Imagine there’s no money, did he.’” If you’re so much into telling other people what they should do, back up your words. Give some money.

In My Life is Lennon’s best song.

Bill is an ultimate Beatles fan. He was 13 when the Beatles were on the Ed Sullivan show in February 1964. He didn’t say anything at the time, but he was hooked on the music. Bill started playing drums probably around age 14. He was better than good. Years later – 25 years later – when a fellow National Guard training NCO said something about playing in a band, I mentioned that my brother had played in bands in Northeast Texas. “Who’s your brother?” the other sergeant asked. I told him. He said, “Bill Merriman is your brother?” Indeed he is, I said. The sergeant said, “He is the best drummer I ever heard play.”

Chance favors the bold, so people say. Bold is difficult, though, when your choice is between music and family, between a what-if and the reality of you have a job and a wife and kids to car for. Family has been the downfall, if you want to look at it that way, of many a musical career. I have heard people who were better than good, but they were not willing to put family aside and head off to bright lights and the likelihood of failure. A friend said some of her cousins could play Allman Brothers songs just like the Allman Brothers, and their own compositions even better. But somewhere along the line the cousins accumulated families, and their Oklahoma upbringing said you first take care of family.

It was kind of the same way with my father. When a young man, he wanted to be Bob Wills, but that job was taken. Daddy wanted to be Johnny Gimble, too, but there was the family. And, Daddy was never the fiddle player Wills was, certainly not as good as Gimble.

Bill went back to playing after he retired from being a rocket scientist. OK, he was a Hawk and Patriot civilian missile technician for the Army, but not everybody can say, “Hey, my brother is a rocket scientist and one of the best drummers you will ever hear.”

During our music conversation, Bill mentioned a time a few months previously when the band leader suggested he work up a Beatles song. I forget which song it was, but Bill said, “It’s difficult to play.” I thought drumming is drumming, but that shortcoming of knowledge is why what I play best is a radio. Bill said the song begins with a big band beat and goes into a rock beat about halfway through. What that means, I have no idea. Bill said he started the song, and then when he segued into the rock beat, the band leader/lead guitarist said, “Whoa, whoa wait a minute. What is that?” Bill explained the intricacies. The guitarist said, “Oh. Okay.”

Bill retired again last week, this time from playing in a band. Bill is four years younger than I am, which means he hits 66 in August. He is still in good shape; a wiry man, you would say if you met him.

He is still good. But, comes a time when everybody has to put away the sticks.