Born in the Bronx over 84 years ago, Freddie Gruber grew up in the gritty exuberance of New York City in the 1930s and '40s. As a young man, he was inspired by the creative ferment of that era's jazz music, and by the late '40s he was emerging as an exciting and important new drummer. A story about him in Downbeat magazine in 1947 bore the headline, “The Shape of Drums to Come," and the writer praised Freddie's innovative polyrhythmic approach.
In New York's postwar boom in both commerce and art, from abstract expressionism to be-bop, Freddie's life intersected with many important characters in music and other arts, like Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Allen Ginsberg, Larry Rivers, and Marlon Brando. He became a close friend to the drum legend Buddy Rich, and their relationship continued right up to Buddy's passing in 1987.
However, like Charlie Parker and other mid-century jazz musicians, Freddie fell into destructive habits. Narrowly avoiding the tragic fate of other victims of addiction, in the late '50s Freddie cleaned himself up and got out of town—heading west, in the classic American tradition. Into the early '60s he worked and played his way through Chicago and Las Vegas, and eventually arrived in Los Angeles. Soon he was organizing and playing in what would later become known as “after-hours joints," and Freddie was a key player in that era's lively jazz scene in Los Angeles.
It was then and there that, almost by accident, Freddie Gruber discovered his true calling—teaching others how to play the drums. Over the next forty years, Freddie's students included a remarkable cross-section of drummers whose playing would be heard worldwide, and who profoundly influenced the music of the times, even if their names were not widely known—among them John Guerin, Ian Wallace, Steve Smith, Dave Weckl, Mike Baird, Johnny “Vatos" Hernandez, David Bronson, Peter Erskine, Burleigh Drummond, and Neil Peart.
One early student, Don Lombardi, went on to found the Drum Workshop company, which offered percussion products of such innovation and quality that they almost single-handedly recaptured the drum-making industry from Asia back to America.
As an educator, Freddie's unique gift combined an individual insight into each drummer's gifts and weaknesses with something even greater—he had an unparalleled understanding of the physical “dance" involved in playing the instrument, the ergonomic relationship of the drummer to the drums.
During that same time, in half a century of living in Los Angeles, Freddie was immersed in the city's artistic and social life, high and low. Once again, his meandering path intersected with notable characters and celebrities, and his inexhaustible (yet verifiably true) stories ranged far and wide. All of his students would testify that a drum lesson with Freddie was always illustrated by colorful anecdotes from the magical time of the late '40s in New York City, or the equally fascinating later years in Los Angeles. By then he could include cameo appearances by characters ranging from musicians as various as Terry Gibbs, Johnny Mandel, Mitch Mitchell, and Jim Keltner, to cultural icons like Jack Nicholson, Larry Gelbart, and Stanley Kubrick.
Through all of those amazing times, places, and characters, Freddie Gruber's life was fully lived, his idiosyncratic ways following his own unique and inimitable path. The meaning of “authentic" is “self-authored," and throughout Freddie's eventful 84 years, he was nothing if not both of those. Through every day and night (especially nights), Freddie Gruber sustained a completely idiosyncratic narrative arc, answering to no one but himself—yet along the way he earned love and respect from those who knew him best. He was smart, hip, warm, and funny, and although he kept himself insulated from the intrusions of what he called “straight life"—the “real world"—he was wise in its ways, always well informed, incisive, reflective, and caustic.
At the end, during his mercifully brief decline, he was looked after by longtime friends David Bronson, Neal Sausen, Pam Gore, Cindy Kucik, and Edy Bronston. Many friends and former students visited to pay their respects—reflecting what Buddy Rich once said about a party he hosted for Gene Krupa, when that other all-time drumming legend was succumbing to leukemia. Typically, when Buddy was asked about it, he masked his generosity, compassion, and love for the man by growling, “Yeah, well—it seems to me you should give flowers to the living."
As a man, Freddie Gruber was loved and appreciated during his lifetime, and as a teacher, he was respected and revered—not least because he had guided so many of his students into finding their own voices on the drums.
All of those musicians will continue to pass along that fundamental and immortal language of human life, to listeners and to younger drummers, and thus Freddie's place in that divine continuum will continue to resonate forever.
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