This brings us back to the greatness of Earl Palmer. But we’re testing on this next week, so please take notes. Later, he became a sideman in The Byrds, but also worked as a session man when the band wasn’t touring. Clarence White was a session man for years, including early stints with The Byrds. In fact, all session men are ad hoc sidemen, but not all sidemen are necessarily session men.
The operational difference between a sideman and session man is that a sideman is generally a member of a touring band, while a session man is part of a band only in a studio context. Their sense of economy is a necessary corrective to overrated “squeaky wheel” showoffery. The best sidemen are not necessarily the fastest or loudest, but they are invariably the best listeners and know when NOT to play. It may be a singer they’re supporting, but at the very least a good sideman supports the needs of the song. It’s not that sidemen can’t solo, be a lead voice, or offer unique accents and coloring, but functionally speaking their role is that of support. To reference the Book of Mike Watt, ballhogs may get the sexy highlights, but I’ll take the tugboats and their service to the song. “Hey Coach, did you see how far I threw that ball?” These guys are like rocket-armed quarterbacks who’d rather demonstrate arm strength than make good decisions that win games. The guitar hero who crams 400,000 notes into a 30-second instrumental break or the drummer with the 172-piece kit who is damn well gonna make sure you hear all 172 pieces. Greatest ever musician discussions usually degenerate into a roll call of showoffs, shredders, and mythology. And that factotum brings us to today’s discussion. I wasn’t sure if Palmer manned the kit for the song - I subsequently discovered it was Frank Capp – but in researching that matter, I listened to a decent sampling of Palmer’s recorded work. My recent post about Sam Cooke, Anatomy of a Classic: Bring It On Home To Me, featured a brief aside about drummer Earl Palmer.