![]() ![]() "I practiced six, seven hours a day, learning the Johnny Cougar record. ![]() "I earned it the hard way," he recalls of finding his niche in the band. Right off the bat, Aronoff realized he'd have to lean on that unselfishness. Indiana University alum Aronoff was bumping around the Midwest with a local band when he got a chance to audition for Mellencamp. John Cougar, as the soon-to-be-megastar was then marketed, was an Indiana boy who'd been making some in-roads toward mainstream popularity with three LPs between 1976 and '79. Those "Navy Seal" values, as Aronoff describes them, came in handy as he found his niche alongside Mellencamp by 1980. "And I had teachers who gave you the sense of, 'Keep your ego at bay.'" He also attributes his ease at "taking orders" to playing sports throughout his youth and "following a head coach's orders ever since I was 13. "Being in an orchestra, you're one of 60 to 90 people," he confirms. And I understand I'm not the boss."Ī lot of that discipline was ingrained during Aronoff's teen years, when he trained for orchestras, and in the mid-to-late '70s while immersing himself in the dense soundscapes of jazz fusion. And finally, that's when you can become creative. Third: Make it feel good so you inspire the other people in the band to play great. Second is to keep time and try to get the band to play in time with you. "The purpose of a drummer," Aronoff explains, "is to first and foremost pick the right beat that's gonna get that song on the radio. Aronoff has his different personas totally compartmentalized, and counterintuitive as it may seem, he knows that when he's actually on-duty as "rock-star drummer," that's the time to fall in line. Studded wristbands, chunky rings and a can't-miss-it necklace pendant featuring a snake-coiled "H" and "E"-a gift from the band Heaven and Earth, one of his many freelance ventures-complete the ensemble, very much distinguishing a guy who's often obscured behind snares and cymbals while performing. thing-that you'll be spotted and recognized wherever you go," confides the man who by very definition is an artist who can blend into any act, of any kind. "I always dress with the idea-and this is an L.A. The show's not for another 24 hours, but Aronoff struts into Midtown Manhattan's Piccolo Fiore restaurant every bit the rockstar, outfitted to the last detail in a designer black tee, fitted charcoal vest, and carefully tucked scarf. resident and Massachusetts native is in New York, as he often is, for a Fogerty gig, this time to support the Michael J. It would be convenient to suggest that when Aronoff isn't getting paid to stay focused, he lets his hair down, but the 62-year-old firebrand's nearly as recognizable for his chromed dome and sunglasses as the platinum albums he's helped buoy. But in person, he ping pongs unpredictably from one thought to the next, rarely staying on topic too long, not to mention unfurling profanities with the same zeal that he gnashes on a medium filet. As the stick man in John Mellencamp's band from 1980-1996, Aronoff held down the familiar, steady beats for hits like "Jack & Diane" and "Human Wheels." Over the ensuing 19 years, he's propelled John Fogerty's rhythm section, while concurrently anchoring hundreds of records for everyone from Melissa Etheridge to Avril Lavigne to Mick Jagger as a session man du jour. So it makes sense that when they're not behind a kit, all that tightly controlled energy might be harder to harness. Be sure to read the first two installments, about career NFL backup Ty Detmer and journeyman baseball reliever LaTroy Hawkins.ĭrummers are weird people. This is an effort to keep remarkable individuals from being forgotten, but more than that, it's an expression of the belief that no one's story should be taken for granted. ![]() With that disconnect in mind, we've set out to identify some of our most underappreciated ballplayers, musicians, actors, and even pro wrestlers to get to know those whom so-called "greatness" narrowly eluded. Even though we should identify most closely with these people, we tend to overlook them, immortalizing instead a tiny percentage of icons. In most cases, they're just like the rest of us: going about their jobs to the best of their ability until it's time to move on. The majority of athletes and entertainers are neither enshrined in museums nor resigned to infamy. ![]()
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