Drummer, session musician and founder member of Little Feat (6 February 1946 – 12 August 2010)
Richie Hayward
The nay-sayers will undoubtedly be out again. They were out when Little Feat re-emerged in 1988, some nine years after the untimely death of the Rock'n'Roll Doctor, Lowell George. They'll undoubtedly be out again with the passing of Little Feat drummer Richie Hayward.
There's no single definitive Feat track, and longtime fans would be able to argue for hours about the relative rankings of Willin', Rock & Roll Doctor, Spanish Moon, Feats Don't Fail Me Now and Rocket In My Pocket. Some of us might even be as semi-sacrielligious as to include non- or post-Lowell on that list (sorry Bill, sorry Paul, but after twenty-something years of answering questions about Lowell you'll be all too familiar with the if it ain't Lowell it ain't Feat mindset).
But even if you throw in Oh Atlanta, All That You Dream, Let It Roll or Callin' The Children Home (and Hughesy would) there's something that immediately comes to mind as I sit in a Sydney hotel room and try to cobble together the beginnings of an obituary.
In every case (bar the pre-Feat, and possibly pre-Richie, can't check on the timeline) Willin', every one of those songs comes with an unmistakeable percussive groove that comes from the interaction of drummer Richie Hayward and long-time percussionist Sam Clayton.
When it comes to describing drummers, terms like powerhouse and force of nature tend to be strewn around like confetti. That's certainly the case when some of the more. eccentric or straight out pile-driving percussive practitioners are concerned (with Keith Moon, John Bonham and any number of examples from the heavy metal genre being pretty obvious examples) but I can't think of anyone I've heard and consciously noted who delivers the same blend of sheer power, steamrolling momentum, rhythmic dynamics, syncopated funk and deftness of touch that I'd associate with the work of Hayward, R. drummer extraordinary formerly of this parish.
To continue with the force of nature bit, it's something that's generally used to describe percussive power in the same terms that you might describe an earthquake, say, or a tsunami, something that overwhelms with the sheer force and power it delivers.
I prefer to think of Richie's drumming as cyclonic (that's like a hurricane, to slip in a Neil Young reference), something I've had enough personal experience with to appreciate.
Anyone who's been through one of those storms knows that while the wind howls around (hopefully around and outside wherever you are, and staying that way) it doesn't do s with a continuous freight train roar. The wind ebbs and flows, rises to a screaming intensity, even occasionally drops towards a normal conversation rather than a full-on verbal assault.
And if you're in a position to be looking outside, as I was when Cyclone Althea hit Townsville on Christmas Eve 1971, you'd know that the force of the wind brings some strange side effects, like bits of trees that cartwheel and somersault through the air in an almost casual manner.
To me, in percussive terms, a force of nature would be something that sheer strength with a fragile beauty, brute force with a surprising deftness of touch, pile-driving power with pirouetting paradiddles, All of which applies to the work of the gentleman in question.
That's what I scrawled in a Sydney hotel room early on the morning of 14 August 2010. At the time I meant to come back to it, but we were in transit at the beginning of a two-week trip and it never quite happened. Now, looking back on it, I can't think of much to add.
R.I.P. Richie. You'll be sorely missed.
A tribute from the band:
http://www.myspace.com/littlefeat/blog/538225446
Further reading:
The Guardian:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010/aug/13/richie-hayward-obituary
A blogger’s tribute:
http://mog.com/DetroitBob/blog/2222453
And on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDp3Grz28mE