Career TOOLBOX #43: Whiplash

The Backlash to Mediocrity

“There are no two words in the English language more harmful than good job.” – J.K. Simmons, Whiplash

Whiplash, the intense film about a young drummer (Miles Teller) paradiddling his way to earn the respect of his drill sergeant conservatory conductor (J.K. Simmons) just won three Oscars: Supporting Actor, Film Editing and Sound Mixing.

The film hit a personal note for two reasons. One of the film’s production companies, Bold Films, is run by Matthew Rhodes, a talented filmmaker originally from Cleveland, whom I met nearly a decade ago. Mutual friends introduced us downtown and he struck me as polite, thoughtful and determined. Even closer to home, for the entire decade of the ’80s, I was a drummer. So watching the movie win each of its three big awards meant something. Personally.

I watched Whiplash at Capital Theater. Truly listening to the opening shot — a long hallway with the sound of a drummer accelerating his rudiments — I immediately recognized the pattern. I may not have picked up a pair of sticks in a couple of decades, but when you’ve practiced for hours, days, weeks, years, the rudiments never leave you. Unlike J.K. Simmons’ character Fletcher, my band directors never resorted to slapping their students. They did, however, instill discipline of the highest standard.

Miss a note? Get called out. Late to practice? Down a chair. Don’t know your piece? Someone else plays your part.

In today’s politically correct let’s-give-everyone-a ribbon-for-participation, it’s-never-the-kid’s-fault culture, these kinds of disciplinary tactics rarely fly. In fact some are calling Whiplash a film about abuse. Just as they’re calling 50 Shades a story of abuse. Neither situation is that. Why? In both, the people have the free will to stay, and stretch themselves, or to go and remain stagnant. And Andrew, the aspiring jazz drummer in Whiplash? He chooses to stay. And take it.

“I was there to push people beyond what’s expected of them. I believe that’s an absolute necessity,” Simmons masterfully delivered in an intimate moment with his pupil. I had Mr. Stahlberg and then Mr. Eisele to push me in music. They saw in this quiet, insecure and scared immigrant kid what I didn’t see in myself. If over the course of the decade, ever once they would have signaled to me that when I was being mediocre that that was good enough, it would have forever shifted the trajectory of my entire career.

Why? Playing drums taught me discipline, teamwork, organization, leadership and tenacity. It pushed me beyond anything I ever thought possible. As a female drummer in the ’80s, and one of the few girls who played percussion, it also gave me all the key lessons on how to, years later, deal with men who dominate the corporate world.

Only twice I wasn’t first chair. I was only one of five high school freshmen who post-audition qualified for the Symphonic band and was second chair only to Howard Windmiller, the talented senior who all of wanted to impress. Once he graduated, I fought for and took his spot. And, just a bit earlier, when for personal reasons I couldn’t make it to important pre-competition rehearsals, my jr. high band director moved me down to last chair and then put the following parameters into place: “You can earn your first chair position, again, but you will have to challenge every single drummer, in front of the whole band and wait two weeks between challenges to do so.”

Did it take me several months to get there? Yes. Did I publicly prove that I was worth the position? Absolutely.

Some of us are lucky to have the Stahlbergs, Eiseles and Fletchers in our childhood and adulthood to take us to the extremes and get us to see the light of who we are. It makes us better at the craft, it makes us better employees and it makes us better people. Because at a certain point we inherit the responsibility to lead the next generation. And be tough with them. Because the world is a tough place. And leaning on adequacy simply isn’t enough.

By the time the last scene of Whiplash entranced me in its hypnotic editing, crescendoing into a tight, perfect explosion of drums, tension and full character arc, I was transported somewhere else entirely. It’s like a time bending machine planted me into my music youth, my corporate climb and my teaching present, all at once. I still can’t shake off the emotional neck pain it gave me.

Whiplash is a message. But only to those who recognize its wisdom. To truly be outstanding, we must sacrifice the casualness of average. Ensure rejection. Strive for excellence. Prove something. Earn our spot. Claim our chair. Or be content that someone else will.

Reprinted with permission and gratitude from CoolCleveland.com.