"This amateurism however, can sometimes be helpful in forging a style; you have to work around your weaknesses"
About this Quote
Bill Bruford points to a paradox artists often discover: limitations can become the engine of originality. When skill is incomplete or tools are unfamiliar, the creator must invent unusual routes to get results. Those detours harden into habits, and those habits become a signature. Style, in this view, is not only the sum of strengths; it is the visible record of workarounds.
Bruford is an apt messenger. Though renowned for virtuosity in Yes and King Crimson, he repeatedly walked into situations where he was, by his own admission, a kind of amateur. He left a successful rock band to tackle the interlocking austerity of King Crimson, later pivoted to jazz with Earthworks, and embraced early electronic drums when they were nascent and awkward. Each move exposed gaps in fluency. Unable or unwilling to rely on standard solutions, he leaned into crisp rimshots, displaced accents, and drum parts that behaved like counterpoint rather than wallpaper. The angular snare placements and dry, melodic approach on Simmons pads were not simply choices; they were solutions to the problem of how to sound musical when the usual tricks felt alien or unavailable.
The phrase you have to work around your weaknesses carries a practical ethic. It rejects both denial and defeatism. By acknowledging a shortcoming and designing around it, an artist creates constraints that yield distinctive patterns. The history of music teems with such outcomes: off-kilter grooves that arise from an unconventional grip, melodic lines shaped by limited range, production aesthetics born from cheap gear. What begins as a patch becomes the point.
There is also humility here. Amateurism is not romanticized incompetence; it is a willingness to remain a learner, to keep the field open for discovery. Bruford suggests that freshness often lives just beyond expertise, where the ear is curious, the hand is unsure, and the mind is forced to ask better questions. Keep the rough edge, and the edge keeps you interesting.
Bruford is an apt messenger. Though renowned for virtuosity in Yes and King Crimson, he repeatedly walked into situations where he was, by his own admission, a kind of amateur. He left a successful rock band to tackle the interlocking austerity of King Crimson, later pivoted to jazz with Earthworks, and embraced early electronic drums when they were nascent and awkward. Each move exposed gaps in fluency. Unable or unwilling to rely on standard solutions, he leaned into crisp rimshots, displaced accents, and drum parts that behaved like counterpoint rather than wallpaper. The angular snare placements and dry, melodic approach on Simmons pads were not simply choices; they were solutions to the problem of how to sound musical when the usual tricks felt alien or unavailable.
The phrase you have to work around your weaknesses carries a practical ethic. It rejects both denial and defeatism. By acknowledging a shortcoming and designing around it, an artist creates constraints that yield distinctive patterns. The history of music teems with such outcomes: off-kilter grooves that arise from an unconventional grip, melodic lines shaped by limited range, production aesthetics born from cheap gear. What begins as a patch becomes the point.
There is also humility here. Amateurism is not romanticized incompetence; it is a willingness to remain a learner, to keep the field open for discovery. Bruford suggests that freshness often lives just beyond expertise, where the ear is curious, the hand is unsure, and the mind is forced to ask better questions. Keep the rough edge, and the edge keeps you interesting.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
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