Writing this, I just came back from the barn, soaking wet after three hours of practice on the set, the fog swallowing the ridgetop where I live, the mist shot through with the light of the moon. I am alive as I’ve never been before – well, no, I am alive as I have ever been after playing drums. I have seen visions, been swept up in a mystical relation. All those who know the celestial music, the raging fire of the beat, the disappearance of the ego into musical syncopation – the subservience of the will to that thing Ginger Baker called, simply, “time” – will know what I’m talking about. All those who don’t – I can’t help them.
-- Christopher Ketcham
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