like a blind man groping for direction. Eyes tightly closed. Only the insistent tap-tap-tap of his stick to guide him into the untraveled heart of the music. Corridors of rhythm. Silence like a ruined house.
We can only imagine what it sounds like inside his head. We listen, awed, as he stumbles, stops, hurries forward again; his occasional awkwardness melting into fluent triumph, getting to the point where we think he can go no further, where he must give up, only he goes on and on and we feel our heartbeats going out to him, our heads nodding their furious assent to his impossible urgency, secure in the knowledge that no matter how confused or crowded the song gets, he will find a way through.
He plays drums like a blind man. You must shut your eyes to hear.