Mike

Ah, the thankless life of a rock drummer. You have, far and away, more gear than anyone else in the band, and no one ever helps you carry any of it. You're stuck on the back end of the stage behind a bunch of cymbals. You're never in any of the pictures.

And if you're Mike, people constantly mistake you for Brendan.

So let's give the poor guy some love.

I can't say that my first interaction with Mike Mirabella was rife with promise. Picture it: Houlihan's Restaurant, summer 2001. Nate, a rather miserable server, is introduced to the new restaurant manager by the boss, who says "Hey, Nate, you're looking for a drummer, right? Mike plays drums!" Nate looks Mike up and down, scowls, and says "Yeah, great," and walks away. Mike's first thought: "What a dick."

In my defense, up to this point Keith and I had only ever played with one rhythm section -- the illustrious and legendary Scher and Joe from upstate NY -- and we weren't at all comfortable with the idea of anyone else. (And, let's be honest, I am kind of a dick.) But in June 2001, we swallowed hard, rented out the rehearsal space in the back of Mars Music, and invited Mike down for an audition. (Mike, of course, brought along an uninvited Marc Roderick, but that's a different story for a different day.) We struggled our way through a bunch of old Scamper originals ("Caramel," "Rockette," "Lucy," and the completely forgotten, and forgettable, "Let Me Down"), and while it all went okay, nothing exactly felt like magic.

And then we played "El Scorcho" by Weezer, and everything fell into place.

It would be dishonest of me to sit here and pretend that it's all been hearts and rainbows with Mike. While he and I have had relatively few issues (it helps that we go out and drink beer all the time), he and Keith butted heads incessantly for the first few years, and he and Brendan have had more than their share of intra-rhythm section battles. Mike is stubborn, and opinionated, and argumentative. But it's because he's so goddamned determined not only to to play everything as well as he possibly can, but because he wants the songs to sound the best that they possibly can. Some might say that he's passionate to a fault -- but when it comes to your band, I'd counter that by saying that you can never be "too" passionate. Everything he argues, deep down he is arguing for the good of the band, which is a lot more selfless than you'll find in a lot of musicians.

I suspect that Mike, much like Keith and myself, sometimes doesn't think of himself as a great musician. (We're a bunch of walking inferiority complexes, us Scamper boys.) He sets his standards really damn high, and when he doesn't live up to them, he gets upset, if not downright angry. But he's improved tremendously since 2001, particularly once Tom Polce got his hands on him and started whipping him into shape. Mirabella pre- and post- Leave Your Glasses On is a real lesson in becoming a monster drummer.

This quote, pulled from a review by the venerable Steve Gisselbrecht, says it all: "My one quibble is that the drummer actually makes mistakes. Not many: maybe three or four audible errors in a 45 minute set. It's a good performance. It's just that he's usually perfect, so any error really stands out." [Emphasis mine.] Steve doesn't lie, ladies and gents, and we've been blessed to work with a drummer who knows how to play to the song, not to his ego -- and to do it really fucking well.

And then in 2003, Mike put a whole new twist into our relationship with him, and really made us open our eyes and see a previously untapped talent: he showed up at rehearsal near giddy with pride about a tune he'd written. We begrudgingly handed him a guitar and let him play it for us (let's be honest here, folks; when your drummer starts writing songs, it's usually time to fire your drummer) -- and we were bowled over. That song was "Wait Wait," and it has proven to be one of our most popular and enduring songs. It was an immediate crowd favorite, and we haven't left it out of a setlist since. Keith and I didn't have a stellar record of opening up songwriting to our bandmates, but I'm excited, in this brave post-Scamper world, to hand Mike the keys and really see where he can go.

To that end, it speaks volumes that when Brendan and I started brainstorming on our new projects, we never for a second hesitated to build our plans around Mike. He's been our backbone for nearly seven years, and we wouldn't -- and won't -- have it any other way.

Lastly, Mike deserves some props for being my sidekick in schmoozing, and hitting up rock shows, and getting shithoused at parties. I know that, at a glance, that isn't exactly as heartwarming as what I said about Keith yesterday. But, while Keith has been my best friend in many of the traditional senses, he's definitely not the kind of guy with whom you go out to drink whiskey and talk about the dames. And Brendan -- well, Brendan kind of hates local rock, and he sure as hell hates "the Scene." And it is here more than anywhere else that Mike has stepped up and really proven invaluable to me, and, by extension, to Scamper. Because, do you know how a band works its way up the ladder and really gets anywhere? Sure, some of it comes down to having good songs and playing well and putting on a good show. But, for better or worse, a lot of it quite simply comes down to being at the right parties and getting drunk with the right people. (That's right, Will Dailey, I'm lookin' at you.) That would have been hard to do alone. Bands need bonds like this if they're to have any chance at longevity.

It wouldn't be wrong of you to think of Scamper as, first and foremost, a Nate and Keith project. But Mike's been on board from day one in June 2001, and he has loved this band with everything he has. My friendship with him has proven to be much more than just a convenient outgrowth of the band; it has, in fact, cemented the whole thing together.