Jamie Oldaker is a musican's drummer. Much like Mel Lewis was to the world of jazz, Jamie is
revered for his loyalty to the music, never worrying about bringing attention to his own
playing...always serving the music. I've known Jamie for many years, many of which were what I
have dubbed, "the drum head" years because I was so concerned with paradiddles and playing 5
over 4 that I was missing point. . . making music. Whenever I would go to Jamie's house the topics
of discussion never were focussed on drums. It was always, "check out this song. . . man, that's
some serious music." Every player has pivotal moments in their education as a musician that they
will never forget. I had one of those moments when Jamie called me up to check out a new
Yamaha drum set that had just been delivered to his house. After we set them up I sat down and
started regurgitating various drum exercises I had be working on in college that I thought were so
cool. This was the first time I had ever played in front of Jamie and I wanted to make a good
impression. He left the room and I kept pounding away. A few minutes later he came back into the
room, purposefully walked up to the drum set, looked me and said, "you can't just play a bunch of
notes. . . it doesn't mean anything." I humbly relinquished the throne and Jamie then sat down and
played a fat groove. . . unyielding. . . as if it were made of concrete, but simultaneously organic in
nature. I sat and tried to absorb what I was hearing. In the mists of his demonstration he looked
me and said, "hear that?. . . Now that is what makes records."
I have developed a deep respect for Jamie and was delighted when he agreed to let me interview
him for this issue of Percussion Sessions. On a bright crisp January day in Nashville we sat in his
living room, which was tastefully highlighted with interesting memorabilia and gold and platinum
records, and discussed Jamie's true love. . . music. I asked my questions and he gave me the
answers. . .
MG: Tell me about your musical roots.
JamO:: I grew up in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I originally started playing when I was 10 years old. My dad
actually got me listening to Benny Goodman and Gene Krupa. Krupa was my big hero when I was
a kid. The '38 jazz concert at Carnegie Hall, I still have that album today. I had that record and he
also gave me a John Philip Sousa record. I didn't know if I wanted to be in a bebop band or a
marching band [laugh]. As I got further into playing I was listening to a lot of white music, actually.
The Beach Boys and stuff like that. I thought that was pretty cool but I didn't know about anything
else. So I got playing around Tulsa as I was growing up and got involved with some players who
were older than me–JJ Cale, Leon Russell and some of those people. And they saw something in
me and told me, "you're listening to the wrong records. Come over and listen to these records."
They introduced me to R&B music, Bill Black's Combo, Ray Charles–that kind of stuff. So I started
studying that kind of music. I was listening to Coltrane and Miles when I was a kid. I basically
listened to a lot of stuff. I respected all of it. But I seemed to like the R&B, jazz, blues, bebop kind
of scene because there were no rules in it really, especially in jazz. You didn't have to comply to
any rules playing. There was freedom, I enjoyed that. I knew that you couldn't make any money at
it because I read stories and listened to guys talk about it. I loved Jack Dejohnette, Tony Williams,
Louis Bellson, and Buddy Rich, but Krupa was probably my favorite. I liked Chick Webb and all
that big band stuff because it was cool man, I liked all that show business pizazz stuff. But I also
enjoyed rock ‘n roll music in the 60's and 70's because I wanted to do that. I wanted to be in a band
playing in front of a lot a people, make records, and travel.
I don't read music at all. I just listen and I learn by listening. I take what I listen to and play it in my
own way. You get your own style that way–instead of copying anybody. I'm influenced by
everybody, I just take pieces of all those people. Luckily, the people I've played with over the years
have all been in the same influence that I grew up with. I wasn't much into playing a lot of notes or
playing fancy. The important thing in Tulsa was always the feel of the music. We would always get
the feel of the song first and then learn the song–instead of learning it first, playing it, and wondering
why it's not feeling right. We would do it kind of backwards. If you get the feel right it's pretty hard
to mess up a good song. Otherwise you could beat yourself up for hours and hours or days and
days trying to get it to feel right. If you get that from the start whether it be eight, sixteen bars, or
whatever–you get the groove going and get locked into that and then you learn the song and it
works!
MG: How did you end up playing with Eric Clapton and what was expected of you in that situation.
JamO:: I was working for Leon Russell in ‘73 and had just come off the road with Bob Seger having
done an album with him in ‘72 which had the original version of Turn the Page on it. I was also
working with a band called The Gap Band. I was preparing to go on the road with Leon and he was
going the use the Gap Band as his band. A bass player friend of mine, Carl Radle, used to play with
us around Tulsa. He grew up with Leon and liked to come around Tulsa because he liked the way
the "kids" played that were up and coming. Carl was also in Derek and the Dominos with Eric
[Clapton]–did the Layla record. Dick Sims and I were two of the "kids" in Tulsa that Carl took a liking
to. Eric had been away for a few years because he had some drug problems and wasn't doing a lot
and everybody was trying to get him to do something. So Carl had sent Eric a cassette tape of me
and Dick and himself playing with people around Tulsa trying to get Eric involved with these "kids."
About a year went by and we didn't hear anything. Two weeks before I was supposed to go on the
road with Leon, Carl called me up and said, " Eric just called me... he's been playing with that
cassette tape at his house for nine months. He likes you guys! He wants us to all come down and
make a record." I had to decide whether to go on the road with Leon or record with Eric. At the
time I didn't really know a lot about Eric Clapton. I knew Cream, but I didn't really know much about
Eric except for he was a famous guitar player. I stayed up for two weeks pacing every night trying
to decide what to do. So, I went with Eric Clapton and what happened is what happened.
We went down to Miami and recorded a record called 461 Ocean Blvd, which was a huge record. It
had a single on it called I Shot the Sheriff, which helped put Bob Marley and the reggae scene on
the map. At that time reggae music had just barely reached south Miami. We had never played
together, so you asked what was expected of me? At that time no one knew what was expected of
me. It was during the 70's, Eric was climbing out of a bad situation in England and we had never
played together. Come to find out, it was kind of an experiment more than it was meant to be an
album. No one really knew if Eric was going to be in good enough shape to do it. But it worked!
No one ever knew when we were recording. All the red lights were taken out of the whole studio.
We never knew when the machines were running, so they just recorded everything. We did that
record in about two weeks. So, I think nothing was expected of me. I think I expected myself to do
well because I was scared and a little intimidated by these guys. I was all of the sudden thrown into
an arena of upper echelon rock people. Eric's friends were Mick Jagger and Led Zeppelin–it's that
kind of crowd that your hanging with all the sudden–the legends of rock ‘n roll. I was always striving
to make sure the people I was playing with liked what I was doing because I was a kid. They
expected me to perform, so I was always on guard making sure I was fitting in right. I had to learn
how to play with these guys who had been doing this a lot longer than me. I was focused and
wanted it to be perfect.
MG: What do you contribute your success to as a musician to?
JamO:: Guidance from a lot of people and a lot a prayer. My musical success is probably due to
people in Tulsa who surrounded
me with music. And the fact that
I really love music–I wouldn't do
anything else. I always knew
what I wanted to do. I've set
goals for myself and I always do.
"I want to do this or that, play in a
rock band, be a famous guy, play
in front of a lot of people." I used
to put fake airline tags on my
bags even though I didn't fly
anywhere so it would look like I
was traveling around when I was
a kid. I've always loved music
and I still love music, real music,
you can't deny it. When you play
music you give some part of your
soul away. It transfers from your
heart and your soul onto another
format and then to the consumer.
And it can effect their lives, their
emotions, and the way they think. People don't realize that it has to come from somewhere. It
comes from your soul, which is God given. And respect! I respected my musical elders that I
worked with. I've always been very humble in regards to my playing. I've never bragged or boasted
about my playing. I never thought I was that great of a drummer–I thought I was a good one. Great
drummers are Buddy Rich and players like that. The people said I was a great drummer, I never
said I was. So that kept me in check. I knew that showing off wasn't the way to go because all you
do is drum solos, which I respect–I don't do them. I'm not a technician, they don't do what I do.
I knew that playing on the radio was the way to go, you can make money playing radio songs. I
love being in a band. My job back there is to make everyone else's job easier, that's what I'm there
to do. Keep time properly, don't play too much. It took me a long time to learn how to fit in properly
with a band. One of my best assets is my time, not to say that it's perfect, but it's pretty damn good.
I've been hired for that very reason. Having such good time can be detrimental at times because
sometimes you have to lay back a little–pull that snare back a little. I learned how to do that playing
blues music with Eric because I didn't know how to do that like they did, like all the old blue's cats.
Carl Radle, the bass player, used to look back at me and say, "where are you going?" I would
panic because I was obviously on top of the beat. I was a kid and would play a lot more than you're
supposed to. It's not what you play–it's what you don't play. My theory for years has been: if you
don't know what to play, if you're fishing–just half what you're doing. That usually works. It also
took me a long time to figure out that the bass drum is right on the beat, right on the one. My right
hand is the time keeper. You've got to know where to put the "pop" with the left hand–that one can
be back a little bit. If you combine all of those things, it comes out perfect. Today, they can stick it
in Pro Tools and line it all up–you don't want to do that because then it's not real.
MG: Let's talk about the studio. How do you go about making music in the studio?
JamO:: It depends on the situation. In a demo situation the song is usually together. Creative? Not
so much. Usually it'll be cut again by the real guys. Some artists come with their songs ready,
some come with no songs, and some come with a little tape of some idea that they had. It depends
on if you're playing or producing. If you're just playing, sometimes your input is not so important
because the producer is telling you what to do. I very much prefer the player/production situation
where you have control of the session. For a drummer it seems to work well because it all starts
there anyway. If you have a band then you usually spend time working out parts. If you're a
session player, which I'm not–back up with me: on all of the records that I've made I've always
been a member of the band. If I recorded with Seger, I was in the band and went on the road. On
Eric Clapton's records, I did the road work and the studio work, which is kind of uncommon today.
I've been lucky in that aspect. Peter Frampton and the Tractors were the same way. I'll use an
example: Lay Down Sally was kind of a big song. It came in to us as a rather slow song originally.
I just started to lay down a little beat: "duda-chuga-duda-chuga." They started to play the chord
changes for it and we cut it like that. That's what came out. If you're a session guy, you're used to
being told what to do whether you like it or not. That's why I don't like doing sessions. Because I
know what it is. They'll use you up. Use every creative piece of you they can find until you don't
have any more to give them. Then the new guy comes in and you're out. And you're burnt out,
usually. I've known many a session guy. A lot of them get to a point to where they don't like cutting
the stuff they're doing. They go home at the end of the day hating the session they just did.
Because it's just bad music, but it pays them good money. I hate to use the word, but it's almost like
you're a prostitute. When they've finished using you up they throw you out in the street and some
other kid comes along and takes your deal.
MG: That leads us to this question. You've always maintained musical integrity. Can you talk about
how important that is to you and how you go about maintaining it.
JamO:: Well, you can maintain your musical integrity in this business that we're in and possibly go
broke doing it [laugh]. A lot of the jazz greats went broke maintaining integrity because they did
what they believed in and they were not going to play crap. I'm the same way. I've probably lost a
lot of session work over the years, but I will not ruin my reputation or my integrity in the business
that I'm in. That may sound like an arrogant thing to say, but I would rather starve and live on the
street than put my name on a shitty record. And I haven't. Every record I've every played on in my
career has sold a million units or more. I haven't played on any record that has been a bomb.
Granted, I've done some session stuff that never came out that wasn't that great. I'm very particular
about what I get involved with musically–it has to make sense to me. I would rather have been a
part of the twenty-something records I've done that are all either gold or platinum, or triple, or
quadruple than play on a hundred bad records. Part of it probably goes back to my upbringing.
When I was with Eric, all of those musicians were the best musicians that you could find anywhere.
He's got them today. He's got Steve Gadd, Nathan East–those guys are the top notch dudes. I saw
Gadd just recently. He said, "Man, I love your playing. I had to learn all of these songs that you
did." [laugh]
MG: Did that put a smile on your face?
JamO:: Made me feel good.
MG: Any advice for guys who have to strike a balance between accepting jobs just for the
experience and being cautious about what they play on to maintain their integrity?
JamO:: Not every body is going to have it like I had it. I was in the right place at the right time. Was
I talented? Obviously. I attribute my success in this business to being somewhat talented. They
didn't hire me because I was a nice kid. I think you should maintain your integrity. I don't think you
should be cocky and turn down stuff. You never know until you try. But if you have any musical
sense at all you'll know whether it is good or bad. You do! You hear some music and go, "I don't
know man." Would I go play that in a session? Yes, sometimes you have to go do it to support your
family. I think you can be selective and smart about what you do. As I said, I think if you're a player
and passionate about your music and playing, you don't want to fall into the wrong situation where it
ends up damaging your reputation and integrity.
MG: Any tips on getting good drum sounds in the studio?
JamO:: You've probably experienced this: there is always that question, "How come my drums don't
sound good in the studio when you're listening back". And the engineer will always say, "well you
got to do this and that. . . you've got to tape them. . . " That, in my book, is wrong. Any good
engineer should know how to make your drums sound the way they sound to you when you sit
behind that stool. That's how it should sound to you when you listen back. It should sound the way
it sounds when you're sitting on that stool. If the engineer says, "That snare doesn't sound good." I
say, "Well come out here! You sit down and hit it. Why can't you make it sound that way in there?
It's obviously not my drum." Everybody blames it on the drum–it's not the drum! If it sounds great
from where you're sitting, it should be able to transfer from there through that microphone, through
that cord, into the board with no EQ and it should sound the same.
MG: How have you made the transition from being behind the drum set to also playing the role of
producer?
JamO:: Most producers aren't musicians–they're frustrated musicians. I think that having been on
both sides of the glass is important. If you're a player, you know how to handle a group of
musicians in the room. As a producer, you know how to put all that together, make it sound right,
and make the song make sense. The whole trick to being a producer, in my book, is knowing who
to hire to play. Period. If you get the right guys in there that know what they're doing, you don't
have to produce very much if you've got a great song. They'll do it for you because they're good,
they know how to do this. If you get guys that don't know what they're doing, or if you get the wrong
combination of players–it's tough.
MG: Tell us about the current projects you're working on.
JamO:: I'm producing Willis Alan Ramsey's record, which you've heard.
MG: It sounds awesome! Every cut I've heard on both projects are the real deal.
JamO:: He hasn't made a record in 30 years so it's big news. The other project is a thing called Mad
Dogs and Okies. It involves artists or musicians that are either from Oklahoma or have been
influenced by or involved in music from Oklahoma over the years. I got this idea because I'm from
Oklahoma, I love Tulsa. I still think there are a few things there musically that are left from the old
days. Not a lot of people know that a great deal of music has come from Oklahoma. So, I called up
Eric Clapton, who is still a good friend of mine today. Then I called Vince Gill, also a friend of mine
from Oklahoma. I got those two guys to cut some tracks, some stuff that Vince wrote. Eric, who
has a lot of ties to Oklahoma, cut a Willis Alan Ramsey song. Since then we got Taj Mahal, Bonnie
Bramlett, Peter Frampton, Willis Allen Ramsey, Ronnie Dunn from Brooks and Dunn, JJ Cale, and
Ray Benson from Asleep at the Wheel. Just a few no-names [laugh]. None of the songs are
covers! No one has ever heard this material. No remakes! I would still like to get Garth Brooks on
it and Bob Seger. And, if I can pull it off, this is just me being selfish–I would like to have Sheryl
Crow on it because I like her. She is not from Oklahoma. As producer I can make that call [laugh].
I'm also going to put some local Tulsa music in there, just to create a little awareness. There will be
a DVD of the sessions. I'm just going after Grammy–that's all. Once again, I set my goals very high.
I don't have a Grammy. I have nominations. I have a CMA award and all the other ones. I need
one of those Grammies. Just one.
MG: Well, that seems like a modest
goal...just one Grammy [laugh]
JamO:: I don't care about a bunch of them
I just want one....And I'm gonna go get it.
MG:I'd like to thank Jamie for his time and
insight. You can also look forward to a
collection of Jamie's memoirs in a book
called Best Seat in the House. Be sure to
keep a lookout for the release of Jamie's
most recent work. It's some serious
music.
check out Jamie's website at
www.jamieoldaker.com
