We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Zack Albetta a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Zack, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. When did you first know you wanted to pursue a creative/artistic path professionally?

Drumming was all I ever wanted to do. I never had illusions of being a rich rockstar, although I certainly wouldn’t have turned that down. As a kid, I observed jobs the adults around me had and just thought, “not an option.” My dad was a lawyer. While the law can be a calling the same way music is, sitting behind a desk reading and writing all day felt like a perpetuation of school. My mom worked a lot of retail jobs. I could tell it wasn’t fulfilling for her, it was just a means to an end. I had a drum teacher from an early age, Jeff Sussmann, who served as a realistic example of what it looked like to be a self-employed creative. He was involved in all sorts of creative projects, he was known and respected in his community, he taught lessons, his house was full of drums and weird percussion instruments from all over the world, he was playing around town all the time, sometimes in a tux, sometimes in shorts and no shirt. Sometimes he had to do some house painting to make ends meet. This was in Santa Fe, NM, so not only was I watching Jeff do his thing but my hometown was just full of people who made being an independent funky creative bohemian look like a real thing. Their lives were not glamorous, but they were theirs. What they lacked in wealth or certainty, they made up for in fulfillment and self-actualization. Of course, I couldn’t put it in those words, or really any words as a kid. I just looked at Jeff and people like him and thought, “that looks cool. That looks fun. That looks doable. I think I’m gonna try and do that.”

Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.

I’m a professional drummer, currently on the road with the first national tour of the Broadway hit & Juliet. I’m also the cohost of Working Drummer Podcast. I got into the music industry because it’s all I ever wanted to do and never developed a Plan B. I’m most proud of the marriage I’m in, but playing drums full time is a pretty close second. The latter would not have happened without the former. She has always been incredibly supportive and provided me with a safety net (emotionally and otherwise), but also held me accountable to really go after what I say I want, and to do it the most and the best I possibly can. Sometimes that’s propping up my ego, sometimes it’s tough love, but she never expected me to be anything other than what I want to be. Early in our relationship, she joked “I know you’re never gonna go to real estate school or sell insurance or some shit, gimme a break.” That was partly her saying “relax, I don’t expect that of you” and partly “you are not remotely cut out for anything other than music, you wouldn’t last half a day in most jobs.” She was right.

I don’t think about solving problems for clients per se, I think more about not causing any. Sometimes people want to work with me because of my unique musical approach, to the extent that I have one, and sometimes I just get hired because I can show up on time, be nice, and not f*ck up the songs. In either case, I try to leave everyone feeling glad I was there. Sometimes music is a transcendent creative endeavor. Sometimes it’s a job. You can treat both scenarios with the same professionalism, positivity, gratitude, and authenticity.

Learning and unlearning are both critical parts of growth – can you share a story of a time when you had to unlearn a lesson?

I had to let go of the notion of selling out, not in the sense of acquiescing to it or actually doing it, but in the sense of realizing it doesn’t really exist. I studied jazz and classical music (heavily) in college and grad school. For a long time, I was immersed in the “high art” of music, and believed I would make my living in that rarified world. Over time, I realized that the types of music I had spent so much time and money getting good at didn’t speak to me on an emotional level as much as the music I grew up listening to and playing, from The Beatles to Rush to KRS-One. Ya know, music a lot of normal people like. This ran counter to the self-image I had created, which was one of high-mindedness and exceptionalism. I also realized I was turned off by how inaccessible some of that music and some of its practitioners felt.

One of my grad school mentors, jazz sax great Bobby Watson, said “anybody can play something nobody understands.” You’d think this sort of comment would come from someone in the Rock world, taking a shot at jazz or classical. But Bobby understood that complexity and sophistication are meaningless if you can’t communicate your creativity on an emotional level to someone who doesn’t know anything about music, and that simplicity and depth can co-exist. Part of what makes art art is that it communicates. Complex/sophisticated music can absolutely be accessible to the lay listener, and simple music can absolutely be appreciated and admired by the expert. Bobby’s point was that whether a musical message is simple or complex, it’s the humanity of the messenger that makes it land or not. So I began turning away from the music and musicians that didn’t land with me and back towards those that did. This has led to a more genuine version of myself behind the drums, and a more enjoyable experience there.

Along with this creative and emotional unfolding came the reality that at a certain point, you have bills to pay, and high art only pays them for a very certain few. One of my dearest oldest friends, a singer named Shay Estes, said “you can only say ‘f*ck the establishment’ until you want some of the establishment’s money.” Poverty isn’t cool. It’s not romantic. It’s stressful. It limits your choices and actually reduces the time and bandwidth you can dedicate to creativity. Some security is cool. Getting out of debt is cool. A little modest luxury is cool. Vacations are cool. Retiring, I imagine, is cool. Those things take money, no two ways about it.

So I stopped defining my integrity as a musician by this arbitrary and self-imposed artistic standard. Integrity is about much more than how artsy your art is. Bobby also said “music is your offense and your defense.” Use your talent every and any way you can, don’t just take it off the shelf when you feel someone or something is worthy of it. Sometimes you can use it to fly, but sometimes you have to use it to keep from drowning, and you should have zero qualms or shame about doing so. Being too precious about what you apply your talent to will almost certainly deprive you of opportunities, experiences, relationships, lessons, and yes, income. There will be good and bad experiences, but they will all help you clarify who you are, what you give a shit about, and how you want to move forward.

What do you think is the goal or mission that drives your creative journey?

I want to play good music with good people, and I want to do it in a way that feels true to myself. Those ideas, vague as they may be, are the stars I try to sail by. I want to look around the room from the drums and say “yep, this is where I belong, I like these people, I like this music.” I want to listen back to myself and say, “yep, that’s me. That isn’t the sound of my ego or my insecurity, that’s me.” That is the long and the short of my creative and professional ambition.

Contact Info:

• Instagram: @zack_albetta
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@zackalbettamusic

Image Credits

Ryan Hunt on the pic of me playing