"I don't like drum solos, to be honest with you, but if anybody ever told me he didn't like Buddy Rich I'd right away say go and see him, at least the once"
About this Quote
Charlie Watts, the understated engine of the Rolling Stones, draws a line between personal taste and artistic greatness. He was candid about preferring groove to spectacle, the pocket to pyrotechnics. Drum solos, in his view, often interrupt the song and drift into self-indulgence. Yet he urges even skeptics to witness Buddy Rich at least once. That tension reveals a generous, discerning standard: you can dislike the form and still recognize its pinnacle when it appears.
Buddy Rich embodied virtuosity, aggression, and showmanship, a swing-era colossus whose speed, precision, and control turned a drum set into a lead instrument. Where Watts prized economy and restraint, Rich pushed technique to its outer edges, incorporating blistering single-stroke rolls, crisp dynamics, and theatrical command. Watts is not reversing his preference; he is asserting that some performances transcend preference. The live encounter matters here. A recording can flatten impact; a stage can turn skepticism into awe. Go and see him is a wager on immediacy, on the fact that certain artists force a recalibration of what seems possible.
There is also an ethic of respect among drummers. Watts loved jazz and understood the lineage running from Gene Krupa to Max Roach to Art Blakey to Rich, even as rock moved toward song-first minimalism. His comment honors a tradition he did not emulate yet valued as essential. It separates style from substance and celebrity from craft. You may not want a 15-minute solo at a rock show, but you should recognize the rare players who justify the detour.
The phrasing matters: to be honest with you signals plainspoken skepticism; at least the once sounds like a modest British nudge toward a necessary pilgrimage. The underlying claim is larger: taste is not a prison. Let your ears keep their preferences, but let your eyes and body witness mastery. Even one encounter can mark the boundary between what you like and what you must respect.
Buddy Rich embodied virtuosity, aggression, and showmanship, a swing-era colossus whose speed, precision, and control turned a drum set into a lead instrument. Where Watts prized economy and restraint, Rich pushed technique to its outer edges, incorporating blistering single-stroke rolls, crisp dynamics, and theatrical command. Watts is not reversing his preference; he is asserting that some performances transcend preference. The live encounter matters here. A recording can flatten impact; a stage can turn skepticism into awe. Go and see him is a wager on immediacy, on the fact that certain artists force a recalibration of what seems possible.
There is also an ethic of respect among drummers. Watts loved jazz and understood the lineage running from Gene Krupa to Max Roach to Art Blakey to Rich, even as rock moved toward song-first minimalism. His comment honors a tradition he did not emulate yet valued as essential. It separates style from substance and celebrity from craft. You may not want a 15-minute solo at a rock show, but you should recognize the rare players who justify the detour.
The phrasing matters: to be honest with you signals plainspoken skepticism; at least the once sounds like a modest British nudge toward a necessary pilgrimage. The underlying claim is larger: taste is not a prison. Let your ears keep their preferences, but let your eyes and body witness mastery. Even one encounter can mark the boundary between what you like and what you must respect.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
|---|
More Quotes by Charlie
Add to List
