drummer world


Deirdre O’Callaghan went through no end of earplugs in the five years she spent shooting The Drum Thing. Her moody photos provide a glimpse into the studios and homes of nearly 100 drummers, from Lars Ulrich of Metallica to Jack White to French, who is perhaps best known for his work with Captain Beefheart. “I’m really interested in the personality who chooses to be the drummer,” O’Callaghan says. “They sit at the back, and yet they’re driving the music.”

READ MORE: Behind the scenes with the best drummers in the world.



“It feels amazing. It’s so awesome because we were, and still are, such underdogs coming into this music industry. We went through so much, especially in the beginning with people saying: ‘No, I don’t believe in you - This will never work - This will never be on the radio -This can never win a Grammy.’ So now we’re starting to prove people wrong. Our fans are so passionate and they support us so much. They’re constantly engaged in everything that we do, and that’s been really encouraging throughout this whole journey.” - Scott Hoying

My experience with Christian Coma💕 He’s a person very sweet, is my favorit member of Black Veil Brides and I can only say that CC is the perfect man😍 i love him❤

Crying (Ashton)


idontneedaprincecharming said: “wHeRE iS ThE Ashton vErsIoN oF cRyINg i NeED iT pLEaSe”

hello dear friend I love your username! and yes, I’ll write it for you!! xx

idk if you’ve seen the movie “whiplash” but I got inspiration from there (it’s amazing and I recommend you to watch it as soon as possible)

the other boys’: CALUM  LUKE  MICHAEL


You always knew that Ashton wanted to be the best drummer in the world when he was growing up and you also knew that he was talented and that if he really wanted something then he would do absolutely anything until he got it. You’ve been friends with Ashton since childhood, and you can remember when he got his frist ever drum kit on his seventh birthday and how happy he got. Though it wasn’t until years later that things got serious. You knew that it took a lot of practise to get where Ashton wanted to be, you just didn’t know how much practise it would take and that something as silly as an object, a thing, could come between your alive, living friendship. 

“Ashton? Are you home?” You call out and your voice echoes in the big, seemingly empty house. He hadn’t answered the door when you knocked, but after noticing that the door was open you let yourself in. 

You toe your shoes off by the front door before you walk further into the house. You stop for a second when you recognize the familiar sound of distant thuds. Of course, he’s drumming.

You sigh and walk toward the stairs that lead down to the basement where he keeps his drum kit. His parents had made the entire floor soundproof so he had somewhere to drum without driving anyone insane. He used to have the drums in his bedroom but it didn’t take more than a couple of days before his father had threatened to throw them out the window if he didn’t stop making so much ‘noise’. Almost every person in the whole neighborhood had complained.

As soon as you open the door to the basement your hands fly to your ears. He is sitting in the corner behind his drums, eyes closed and sweat dripping down his forehead. His hair is plastered to his skin and you can see him counting to himself as he hits the drums. He is playing so fast that you can barely even distinguish his hand, everything is just a blurry mess. 

“Fuck!” He suddenly yells, hitting the cymbals once really hard and you can see the drumsticks flying away in the air and land on the other side of the room not far away from you. “FUCKING SHIT!” He says, breathing heavily with his head hanging low.

“Ashton?” You say carefully, your voice sounding very quiet and pathetic compared to what the room sounded like just a minute ago.

He looks up, startled, and his eyes land on you. “Y/N? What are you- oh my god…” his eyes widen and he cuts himself off in the middle of the sentence. 

“Yep. You’ve done it again, Ash. Congrats on being the worst best friend in the history,” you say sarcastically, sighing. 

You can see him standing up and walking towards you. 

“I am so sorry, I totally forgot about you. What time is it? Did you wait for long?” He rambles out the words, a hand scratching his neck and a guilty expression on his face. 

You had decided that you were going to see the new Jurassic World movie together and that you would meet outside the theatre at eight, but Ashton didn’t show up. You are not one to be mad at someone if they’re late to a date or forgets something once or twice, but when it comes up to five, six, seven times you can’t help but be a little tired of getting ditched all the time. 

“It’s ten,” you say without meeting his eyes. 

“Shit, that’s like… two hours? Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he apologizes and reaches a hand out for you. “I was drumming and I just can’t get the right tempo, and I guess I just lost track of-”

“Jesus, Ashton you’re bleeding!” You exclaim suddenly, grabbing his hand but he quickly pulls it away from you. 

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” he mumbles, hiding his hands behind his back. 

“What do you mean, nothing? Your hands are bleeding, you’re not fine. Maybe you should take a break from the drumming for a while and-”

“What? No, I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that,” he protests. “You don’t get it, I need to get the tempo right or he will kill me. You know that we have that competition with the band next week, I can’t fuck up,” he explains frantically, looking more and more frustrated as he slowly backs away from you. 

“Okay, I’m sorry, Ash. I know how important this is for you and I’m here to support you, always, but not if it’s risking your own health. I won’t just stand by and watch while you hurt yourself,” you state. He has become so different since he started drumming on this level, since he got a place in that stupid, fancy, band on that stupid, fancy school with all those stupid, fancy kids. He always forgets things, he loses his temper more than often, has lost tons of weight, he always looks like he hasn’t slept in a month and now that you think of it, he always has bandages on his hands. He is not the same Ashton anymore. 

“Then don’t,” he says. 

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t stand by then. I’m not forcing you to be here or look after me. You can’t stop me or decide what I can or can’t do. Or what’s a ‘risk’ for my health. Get out of here if it doesn’t please you anymore.” He says it like it was the easiest thing is the world like he doesn’t care at all. “I didn’t even want to see that stupid movie. Go get yourself some friends and leave me alone.” He turns his back to you and walks over to the drum kit again. “Now if you would excuse me…” He says, looking between you and the door. 


“Fuck you,” you say before you turn around and leave through the same door you had just walked in through, making sure to slam it shut. 


It’s been a week since you heard from Ashton and tonight is that competition he’s been talking about for months. The one he’s been practising so hard for. 

You shouldn’t care. You really shouldn’t. Especially not after how he treated you last week. But no matter how much you really shouldn’t care, you find yourself not being able to focus or concentrate on what’s on the tv screen late at night because you keep wondering how it went. If they won and if he managed to get the tempo right. Nothing Gordon Ramsey says makes sense and it doesn’t matter how many cups of coffee you have, your head doesn’t get any clearer.

Later when you have shut the tv off after giving up on getting your mind on other things, and you are just about to head towards your bedroom, you hear a faint knock on your door. 

Your parents have taught you not to open the door to strangers late at night, especially when you’re home alone, but even before you look through the peep-hole you know who it is, and it is far from a stranger. 

“I fucked up,” is the first thing that he says as soon as you open the door. His head is hanging low and the night is dark and cold behind him. 

You step aside without saying a word and open the door for him, waiting for him to step in before you close and lock the door. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “I’m so, fucking, sorry…” 

Blood is covering his palms and there is some on his neck and arms too, but you guess that’s from his hands. 

“It’s alright,” you say and grab his wrist, “I forgive you.”

You pull him with you to the bathroom to clean his wounds. He sits down on the toilet lid while you pull out the first aid kit from a cabinet. 

There lies a tension in the air between you, and apart from the sharp intakes of breath or the occasional hissing from Ashton, it is completely silent. 

You sit down and manage to rinse his sore hands and put bandage over his wounds before he opens his mouth again. 

“Please don’t make it so easy for me. Scream at me. Punch me. Call me names. Just anything, please,” he pleads. You look up at him and meet his eyes for the first time in a week. He looks so tired, absolutely exhausted and nothing like the Ashton he used to be. 

“I’m not going to do that, Ashton. You were a dick but I forgive you because that’s what friends do,” you explain simply and stand up. You expect him to follow but he remains still. Soon his shoulders are hunching up and down and he lets out a broken sob that has your heart twisting. 

“I fucked up s-so bad, you have no idea. And now I have nothing left, everything I’ve worked for was for nothing and-”

“Shh,” you cut him off, placing a hand under his chin and making him look up at you. His eyes are blood shot and his eyelashes are spiky with tears, lips trembling. “You have me. You’ll always have me, no matter how badly you fuck up. I’ll always be here, we’ll be alright,” you say with a weak smile on your lips before gesturing, “come ‘ere.”

Ashton stands up and lets you wrap your arms around him, squeezing him tight. 

“I- I don’t des-serve you,” he stutters, pressing into your neck, sobs wrecking through his whole body and making him lean almost all of his weight on you. 

“Shut up. You’re great Ashton, you just got off track for a bit, okay? I love you and you’re going to be just fine,” you mumble reassuringly against his ear. “Come on, let’s go to the bed instead.”

You kiss his cheek once before you pull away, take his hand in yours and go towards your bedroom instead. 

“Do wanna stay the night?” You ask, turning around to see him nodding. 

“Yeah, please. If it’s not too much trouble,” he breathes out, squeezing your hand. The stream of tears is slowing down and he can finally breathe properly again.

You make sure to get another pillow and an extra blanket for him before you change into your pajamas and crawl into bed next to each other. 

“I need you to know that I’m really sorry, and that you were right from the start. I shouldn’t even have started playing the drums,” Ashton mumbles into the dark after you’ve both settled close to each other underneath the covers. 

“Don’t say that. You love drumming, and you are really good at it too. I don’t think you should stop, just maybe play less. And more for fun instead of, like, obligation,” you explain, running a hand through his curls. 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Either way, everything is going to work out sooner or later. You’ll be alright.”

“I know. As long as you’re here, which I know you are, I think I’ll be fine.”

Even though the lights are off and it is dark in your room, you think you can glimpse Ashton’s small smile and his twinkling eyes and that is enough to make your own lips tug upwards, knowing that your best friend is finally back and that everything will go back to how they used to be. 


A/N: I hope you liked it! thank you for reading <3