1 July 2023 (revised January 2026)
Percussion Masters Podcast
It’s been a while since I’ve written anything here.
I still work for the music. The last years have limited the traveling — but not the projects. Not the conversations. Not the connections built over time.
I am happy to share one of these projects with you: Percussion Masters – the Podcast.
We have recorded two episodes so far. There will be more. It takes time — and it should.
Episode 1: John H. Beck
I had the honor to record the first episode with John H. Beck. Professor Emeritus at the Eastman School of Music. 49 years of teaching. Principal timpanist. A man who still practices every day at 89.
John was fourteen when he traveled 250 miles to Pittsburgh — because all the teachers in his small town had told him: “I don’t know anymore.” His parents let him go. His school let him miss a week. An entire community invested in a teenager’s journey.
Twenty years later, John recognized the same thing in another fourteen-year-old. Someone told him: “Go over and hear this kid play.” He did. That kid was Steve Gadd.
The pattern repeats across generations: curiosity, support, and the readiness to go where the music is.
John says: “Don’t dwell on your mistakes. Enjoy music. Playing music with others for others, or by yourself for others.”
After all these years, he gives you permission to have a good time.
→ Read the full story in FR|DE|ES|IT or ENG: 250 Miles – John H. Beck on Distance, Discovery, and Your Own Sound
Episode 2: Gordon Stout
The second episode is with Gordon Stout. Composer, marimbist, educator.
Gordon told me a story I keep thinking about. He brought a piece to his composition teacher Warren Benson. To Gordon, it was just an etude. A technical exercise.
Benson heard something else. “It’s got a Mexican flavor to it. Write another one and call them Two Mexican Dances.”
Gordon was confused. He had never been to Mexico. He didn’t know what Mexican music sounded like. But Benson — who had spent time there — heard it. And he named it.
Without that moment, there would be no Mexican Dances. Not because Gordon couldn’t write them — he already had. But because no one would have recognized what they were.
Gordon keeps returning to this idea: we need others to hear what we cannot hear ourselves. A trumpet player taught him about silence — because percussionists never have to breathe. Bob Becker taught him to listen instead of watch: “You missed the whole point. She was making beautiful music.”
His advice: “Don’t study marimba only with marimba players. Don’t study percussion only with percussionists.”
The question he leaves you with: What’s in your playing that you don’t hear? And who might be able to tell you?
→ Read the full story in FR|DE|ES|IT or ENG: Why I Didn’t Know I Wrote Mexican Dances – Gordon Stout on what others hear that you don’t
What connects them
Both conversations are at the end about the same thing:
Other people show you what you cannot see yourself. Teachers. Travelers. Listeners who don’t know the “right way” — and therefore hear what you’ve been missing.
It’s about music. About being an artist. Staying an artist. Keeping the joy. Finding your own voice — with the help of others.
→ percussion-masters.org → Listen on Apple Podcasts → Listen on Spotify
January 2026
I came back to this article today. It’s something — to see where you set sail.
When I wrote this in 2023, the podcast was a beginning. Two episodes. An idea. A belief that these conversations matter.
I didn’t know yet how far the journey would go.
Since then, we have filmed seven episodes with master percussionists. Isao Nakamura. Steven Schick. David Friedman. Emmanuel Séjourné. Marta Klimasara. Jochen Schorer. Håkon Stene. Hours of material. Stories, lessons, philosophy — things that would otherwise be lost.
We wrote a website. We learned what Debbie Millman means when she says: “Anything worthwhile takes a long time.”
The podcast rested for a while — because something bigger was growing.
A few days ago, we decided to continue. To record new episodes. To keep the conversation going.
I know we set sail for a long journey. I am happy we did.