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[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”intro-text” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_orientation=”center” custom_padding=”||0px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n
The Master Drummer<\/strong> to Dylan, Lennon, Neil, Lana Del Rey<\/strong> and dozens more has come through overdoses and epiphanies<\/strong> to be the heartbeat<\/strong> of the greatest rock and pop<\/strong>. His secret? \u201cIt\u2019s allowing the music to blossom,\u201d<\/strong> says Jim Keltner<\/strong><\/span>.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”credit-names” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font_size=”14px” text_orientation=”center” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Interview by Bob Mehr<\/strong><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/flatplan-plus-content.s3.eu-west-1.amazonaws.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/7\/2025\/09\/GettyImages-94103409.jpg” title_text=”Keltner At Kit” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text module_class=”image-gallery-caption” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”|300|||||||” text_font_size=”16px” text_line_height=”1.2em” custom_margin=”-10px||||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n Jim Keltner in June 1971, working on American blues singer and guitarist B.B. King’s album ‘B.B. King In London’<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”text-with-dropcap” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n \u2018\u2018THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN MY career,\u201d says Jim Keltner, flashing a grin, \u201cwas being thrust in the middle of so many geniuses.\u201d<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n One could argue that the most enduring, versatile and prolific drummer in rock history is underselling himself. John Lennon and George Harrison, Bob Dylan and Neil Young, and more besides, probably would too. But Keltner\u2019s having none of it. \u201cPlaying with those guys,\u201d he says, \u201cI really couldn\u2019t go wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n It\u2019s a balmy spring day in Los Angeles, and Keltner is meeting MOJO at his unofficial offices, Drum Doctors, a rental and storage facility used by some of the top percussionists in the business. Entering the airy warehouse space, Keltner cuts a familiar figure in his signature aviator sunglasses. The shades are less rock star affectation than a by-product of Fuchs\u2019 dystrophy, a condition which led him to undergo a pair of corneal transplants over the last decade.<\/p>\n Born in Tulsa \u2013 to a white Okie father and Mexican mother \u2013 Keltner grew up in Southern California where, in the mid \u201960s, a chance encounter with teen pop hit-maker Gary Lewis thrust him into the hothouse of the Los Angeles studio scene. By the late \u201960s, after turns on the road with Delaney & Bonnie and Joe Cocker, Keltner would follow fate into the most rarified musical circles, as an invaluable ally in the solo careers of Lennon, Harrison and Ringo Starr. In addition, he\u2019s maintained decadeslong collaborations with Dylan, Eric Clapton, Ry Cooder and Randy Newman, helped define hits for everyone from James Taylor to Steely Dan, and remains a talisman for a whole new generation of stars eager for the Keltner touch.<\/p>\n With his 80th birthday approaching, Keltner is in a reflective mood, ruminating on a life filled with musical magic and coloured by loss. He rattles off a long list of felled friends, from childhood pal Albert Stinson (a gifted jazz bassist taken by heroin at age 24) to his early mentor Jim Gordon (the Derek & The Dominos drummer consumed by mental illness, and later sent to prison for killing his mother), and victims of drug and alcohol abuse including Jesse Ed Davis and Carl Radle.<\/p>\n \u201cI sometimes wonder why that didn\u2019t happen to me,\u201d says Keltner. \u201cI\u2019ve died twice that I know of, and came very close another time, from overdoses, and I\u2019m still living. That\u2019s one miracle. There\u2019s been many other kinds of miracles I\u2019ve experienced. The main one being my wife.\u201d<\/p>\n Keltner and spouse Cynthia met in junior high school in Pasadena in the late \u201950s, and have remained together ever since. \u201cI probably would\u2019ve had a similar fate to some of those guys if it hadn\u2019t been for Cynthia,\u201d he says. \u201cShe\u2019s always been my grounding.\u201d<\/p>\n \u2018Sensitivity to the songs\u2019 is invariably cited as Keltner\u2019s USP, but that\u2019s not all he\u2019s sensitive to. As he looks back with MOJO over his life and career, the master drummer finds himself choking up more than once.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know, I read somewhere that when you get older you cry more easily. I\u2019m finding that\u2019s true,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019ve always been a crier, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/flatplan-plus-content.s3.eu-west-1.amazonaws.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/7\/2025\/09\/GettyImages-85363644.jpg” alt=”UNITED STATES – JANUARY 01: Photo of Levon HELM and Ringo STARR and Alex VAN HALEN and Jim KELTNER; L to R: Alex Van Halen, Levon Helm, Ringo Starr, Jim Keltner – posed, studio, in the early 1990’s, wearing sunglasses (Photo by Robert Knight Archive\/Redferns)” title_text=”Photo of Levon HELM and Ringo STARR and Alex VAN HALEN and Jim KELTNER” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text module_class=”image-gallery-caption” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”|300|||||||” text_font_size=”16px” text_line_height=”1.2em” custom_margin=”-10px||||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n Levon Helm, Ringo Starr, Alex van Halen, and Jim Keltner in the early 1990’s, wearing sunglasses<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n What are your earliest memories of music?<\/strong><\/p>\n My dad\u2019s collection of old 78s. There was R&B stuff like [Louis Jordan\u2019s] Saturday Night Fish Fry, with great singing and real funny lyrics. Then there was Benny Goodman records with Gene Krupa. There was a song called Disc Jockey Jump, with Krupa playing an arrangement by Gerry Mulligan. If I played it for you right now, you\u2019d think it was recorded last week. It\u2019s very modern, especially the drum sound. I always tried to emulate that. To this day, I still emulate that sound.<\/p>\n Seems like you came from a rhythmic family background.<\/strong><\/p>\n My dad was a drummer. He met my mom at a recreation centre in Tulsa, playing for a dance. When they got married, he sold his drums to get some money. And she warned him: \u201cOne of these days you\u2019re going to have a son and he\u2019s going to want some drums\u201d (laughs). My mom\u2019s brother, my uncle Willie Mendoza, played bass.<\/p>\n What was your childhood like?<\/strong><\/p>\n Growing up it was me and my sister, Judy Kay. We had lost my little sister, Jacqueline Marie. She died when she was six and I was eight. And it killed me. It killed a part of my soul. The day of her funeral, I went up and saw her in the casket and started crying. I just cried forever it seemed like. Then I remember they were bringing my mom out, my dad and my uncle were carrying her. My mom basically had a nervous breakdown. So they sent me to be with my aunt and uncle and my cousins, down in the swamps in Louisiana, for a while. It was a great distraction.<\/p>\n You began playing drums just as you hit your teens.<\/strong><\/p>\n My dad was a Shriner and they had a marching band, he was one of the drummers. My mom took us [to a parade] one time and we sat on the curb on main street. As they came closer the sound of the drums just filled my whole body. That piqued my interest. I went with my dad to a rehearsal in the basement of this Shriners club. And they were all old men \u2013 like in their thirties (laughs) \u2013 smoking cigars, drinking Scotch and telling dirty jokes. I listened to them play and practise all night, doing their cadences. At the end of the night, I picked my dad\u2019s drumsticks up and played the exact same things I had heard. They were all impressed and my dad was impressed. That was obviously a big moment. That\u2019s what prompted my dad to get a drum set for me.<\/p>\n Just a few months later, your father uprooted the family and moved to Southern California\u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n One of the reasons was my mom. She was sneaking out with my aunt Connie to Cain\u2019s Ballroom in Tulsa all the time. They loved dancing. My dad was a hard-working guy and had two jobs \u2013 he was a painter during the day and at night he was a Deputy Sheriff. He called Tulsa \u201cthis godforsaken place\u201d. I don\u2019t think he meant it. But we left for California with a tiny little trailer hitched to the car. He had a gig lined up in Santa Monica, but it fell through. My mom said, \u201cLet\u2019s go back \u2013 they all said you\u2019d be right back just like everybody else.\u201d And that pissed my dad off. So we stayed another day and sure enough he got a job at Santa Anita racetrack. We ended up moving to Pasadena.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”pull-quote” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” header_2_text_align=”center” header_2_text_color=”#111111″ header_2_font_size=”46px” header_2_line_height=”1.2em” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”pullquote-name” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” header_2_text_align=”center” header_2_font_size=”46px” header_2_line_height=”1.2em” header_3_text_align=”center” header_3_text_color=”#111111″ header_3_font_size=”38px” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n Were you always determined to be a professional musician?<\/strong><\/p>\n No, I was a baseball player, a pitcher. I was really good. For me, the drums were fun but it wasn\u2019t as big a deal as baseball. Then this strange thing happened where I would be playing, working up a sweat, especially in the sun, and I would break out in hives. I was young and athletic, and it made me crazy. One day, I mowed the lawn, and went to get a haircut, and rode my bicycle up to the barber. While I was sitting in the chair, I started breaking out again. It got real bad, and I passed out. Not only did I pass out, but my lips swelled up massively, my ear lobes swelled up, my neck started to swell, my eyelids swelled shut. The barber panicked and called the paramedics. By the time they got there it had worn off. That led me to becoming a guinea pig for the doctors at UCLA, who were studying this condition, urticaria \u2013 they\u2019d never seen it come on so violently and then disappear after 20 or 30 minutes. They were developing an antihistamine at the time and had me testing it. That was the thing that transitioned me from baseball to drums. Drums became the full-time passion.<\/p>\n You grew up in the rock\u2019n\u2019roll era, but pretty soon you were hooked on jazz.<\/strong><\/p>\n Like every other teenager, I liked the songs on the radio at the time, doo-wop and early R&B. But then I met my buddies who were jazz guys, hardcore jazz snobs. My very best friend in life was Albert Stinson. He ended up playing [bass] with Miles Davis. Albert was my main partner and we\u2019d go see music. I fell in love with Elvin Jones, big time. We\u2019d see all these drummers \u2013 Shelly Manne, Irv Cottler \u2013 guys who lived in LA and would be in different places playing. My problem was there was another drummer named Mike Romero, a guy who lived around us, and he was just incredible. I thought I\u2019ll never be as good as Mike, so why should I keep trying? I was ready to quit. But Albert said to me one time, \u201cYou\u2019re going to be a great drummer someday.\u201d Because he said that, I didn\u2019t quit. He saved me and I stuck with it. Later, he got me my first real jazz gig with John Handy.<\/p>\n But fate intervenes and you join a Top 40 pop band, Gary Lewis & The Playboys\u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n When I joined, I went from making $85 a week to $250 a week. First thing I did was buy a brand-new Corvette (laughs). But talk about fate. Gary changed my whole life. He comes into the music store where I work, and he just happens to be the son of my favourite entertainer in the world, Jerry Lewis. I loved Jerry \u2013 used to cut my hair like him for years. Suddenly I\u2019m at his house in Bel Air once a week rehearsing. Playing with Gary, that put me on the path to the pop, rock world.<\/p>\n You only lasted a year or so with Gary \u2013 at which point you got fired.<\/strong><\/p>\n I became really full of myself. I\u2019m this young cute kid and I could be a little funny too \u2013 I was trying to be Jerry Lewis (laughs). So I would get all the attention. Pretty soon at the press conferences, I was getting too many questions. So I got fired. But that was a great lesson. A very important lesson in learning how to behave when you\u2019re the sideman as opposed to the star.<\/p>\n You soon fell into a studio scene in LA that, coincidentally, was filled with a bunch of your fellow Tulsans.<\/strong><\/p>\n When I met Leon Russell he said, \u201cOh, you\u2019re an Okie too?\u201d There was this whole Tulsa clan in LA, and they took me in and showed me what I should listen to and how to play. Being in that environment, I got to learn up close from the most incredible drummers: Hal Blaine, Earl Palmer, Chuck Blackwell. And then eventually Jimmy Gordon became kind of an idol of mine. I loved the feel and precision of his playing.<\/p>\n In the late \u201960s you joined up with Delaney & Bonnie \u2013 but they fired you too.<\/strong><\/p>\n We were scheduled to do some TV show and I had booked myself a flight to New York to do a record with G\u00e1bor Szab\u00f3 and Lena Horne \u2013 and I wasn\u2019t going to miss that for anything. I said to Delaney, I got to go do this thing \u2013 I can get a sub, I can get Jimmy Gordon, I can get anybody you want. And he said, \u201cNope \u2013 you\u2019re the drummer.\u201d That ticked me off. So I left. The next day when I was at the hotel in New York I got the call: \u201cYou don\u2019t have to come back.\u201d<\/p>\n You bounced back, though, with Joe Cocker and Leon Russell on Mad Dogs & Englishmen. That seemed like an incredible circus.<\/strong><\/p>\n Playing with Cocker, this white version of Ray Charles, he was just on fire then. You had Leon as the musical director and all these great musicians and singers in the band. The reviews and the response was astonishing. It was incredible, but not sustainable either. The lifestyle took over pretty quickly and it got nuts.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”pull-quote” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” header_2_text_align=”center” header_2_text_color=”#111111″ header_2_font_size=”46px” header_2_line_height=”1.2em” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text module_class=”pullquote-name” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” header_2_text_align=”center” header_2_font_size=”46px” header_2_line_height=”1.2em” header_3_text_align=”center” header_3_text_color=”#111111″ header_3_font_size=”38px” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n You landed in England playing with Eric Clapton \u2013 the start of your \u2018Sideman To The Stars\u2019 career. Was that ever intimidating, working with someone who was considered \u2018God\u2019?<\/strong><\/p>\n Clapton had really been enamoured of Delaney & Bonnie and he came in and basically became one of us. Eric was the first big English star I worked with, but he was such a normal dude \u2013 he just wanted to play and hang.<\/p>\n It was another stroke of good luck, through Clapton, that led you to John Lennon\u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n I was staying at Eric\u2019s house in Surrey. We had been recording in Barnes, in London at Olympic, and getting back really late. One morning the phone kept ringing and no one was answering \u2013 and for some crazy reason I decided to pick it up. It was Phil Spector and he wanted Eric to come play on a [Lennon] session. I didn\u2019t want to wake Eric up. And so Spector just said, \u201cWell do you want to come and play on John\u2019s record?\u201d And I didn\u2019t know it was Imagine \u2013 it didn\u2019t have a name yet. Couple days later I\u2019m in the studio with John and Phil. The very first song I played on was Jealous Guy.<\/p>\n You got very close with Lennon and played on nearly all his albums until the end.<\/strong><\/p>\n John was so full of life and so full of energy in the studio. And, obviously, he was John Lennon so his songs were just killer. Being on the same page, loving what we were playing and hearing, that\u2019s how the friendship was born. And I was very close with John. He was in our lives so strongly, me and my wife. It was like, How did this even happen? Everything happened so fast in those days, you know? When John took that break [in the mid \u201970s] he partially did that to save his own marriage. He had gotten really out of hand \u2013 we all had. He had his son Sean and then him and Yoko made the Double Fantasy album without us \u2013 me and [guitarist] Jesse Ed Davis and [bassist] Klaus Voormann. But I have a letter that John sent, a mimeographed letter, we each got it, and he says, \u201cGuys, we\u2019re gonna get back together very soon. I want to make another record.\u201d But he was gone not long after that. You can\u2019t imagine the frustration of knowing we could never make music again or just be around him. There was nobody like him.<\/p>\n You developed a similarly close relationship with George Harrison, playing on all his records. Why do you think John and George \u2013 who could\u2019ve played with anyone \u2013 stuck with you?<\/strong><\/p>\n I always felt that John and George were huge fans of Dylan, and huge fans of Ry Cooder and Randy Newman, and they knew my association with those guys. That was one of the things that worked in my favour.<\/p>\n And, of course, in the process you also connected with Ringo Starr. Was that awkward initially since you were taking his place in a way?<\/strong><\/p>\n Going back to the \u201960s, every time I would hear a Beatles record I would be amazed at the drumming. It was not powerful, it wasn\u2019t precise, but it was still serving the music in an amazing way. That\u2019s what I wanted to do. When I met Ringo, he embraced me, which I really appreciated. I didn\u2019t want there to be a negative vibe. But we got close and talked constantly about drums and drumming. I remember Ringo telling me he was [naturally] left-handed and that\u2019s what made him go for a fill in a different way. His time feel, where he felt the time, was the beauty of it.<\/p>\n It\u2019s interesting that although you\u2019re obviously highly skilled, you\u2019re not known as a technical player either.<\/strong><\/p>\n On one hand, I was affected by the guys who did have that wonderful technique and I wanted that. But on the other hand, I would hear someone like Ringo or Charlie Watts or \u2013 God bless him \u2013 Levon Helm play, and I would realise, it\u2019s really about the music, and how you allow for the music to blossom. Maybe get out of the way. I did an almost systematic undoing of technique in my playing for many years.<\/p>\n Leon Russell first brought you in to work with Dylan \u2013 cutting Watching The River Flow and When I Paint My Masterpiece \u2013 in 1971. What was that experience like?<\/strong><\/p>\n For me, at the time, Bob wasn\u2019t that big of a deal. I had a sense that Bob liked not being a big deal. He wanted to not be a big deal. In the control room, standing next to Bob, I felt comfortable enough to say something really stupid. I said something \u2013 unbelievably \u2013 like, \u201cBob, I hear you got a lot of kids\u201d (laughs). I remember distinctly, he didn\u2019t acknowledge it in any kind of way at all. I was thinking, \u201cWhy did I say that? Why did I say anything?\u201d I learned my lesson with Bob to just be cool.<\/p>\n How does one maintain a 50-year relationship with Bob Dylan?<\/strong><\/p>\n Bob is really particular about the people he plays with. He can tell if you\u2019re listening to him, or just there, or playing for yourself. He has a trust in me and vice versa. You can\u2019t play your very best without a certain amount of trust, otherwise you just go on automatic. And automatic is not a good thing, especially in the studio. What\u2019s so unique to me about Bob is his vocal phrasing. His phrasing is not that of a rock singer or a crooner. He\u2019s more from the jazz world than he is from anything. That\u2019s the way I think of Bob. He told me he came up in those [New York City] clubs, used to do gigs with [jazz pianist] Cecil Taylor, that\u2019s the kind of stuff he was exposed to. That\u2019s one of the things that drew us together musically.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/flatplan-plus-content.s3.eu-west-1.amazonaws.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/7\/2025\/09\/GettyImages-461247872.jpg” alt=”LOS ANGELES – 1973: American session drummer Jim Keltner in studio 1973 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Ginny Winn\/Michael Ochs Archives\/Getty Images).” title_text=”Jim Keltner” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text module_class=”image-gallery-caption” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”|300|||||||” text_font_size=”16px” text_line_height=”1.2em” custom_margin=”-10px||||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n Jim Keltner in studio 1973 in Los Angeles, California<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n You were there for Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid\u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n When we did Knockin\u2019 On Heaven\u2019s Door, that was such a moment. We were in the dark, looking at a big screen with the film showing, and Bob\u2019s playing this song, with these You largely avoided touring for most of the \u201970s, but ended up going on the road with Dylan for a couple years at the end of the decade during his Born Again period. What prompted that?<\/strong><\/p>\n I stayed off the road for all the obvious reasons \u2013 mainly I was working almost every day in the studio. With Bob, he asked several times for me. He never said in so many words, \u201cCome on the road with me.\u201d He\u2019d say, \u201cYou want to come down and listen to the new record?\u201d Maybe to see if I\u2019d like it and go out with him. Because of that I got to listen to a couple of his records before anybody, just hanging with Bob. With [Slow Train Coming] the instructions were for me to listen to the record, and then come up and see Bob in his office afterward. I sat down and started listening. There were all these songs about Jesus. It\u2019s like, \u201cWhat? What is he saying? What\u2019s happened here?\u201d Suddenly, I was crying like a baby. Crying uncontrollably listening to these songs. There was a box of Kleenex sitting there \u2013 I don\u2019t know if Bob knew I\u2019d need it, but I went through that whole box. Later on, some real Christian friends of mine called it the anointing: \u201cThe anointing was on you.\u201d I got up after the last song, walked upstairs \u2013 and I had never been into the room where he wrote \u2013 and opened the door and he\u2019s sitting there typing. I just remember telling Bob, \u201cWherever you\u2019re going or whatever you\u2019re going to do, I want to go do it with you.\u201d<\/p>\n Sounds like you were profoundly affected.<\/strong><\/p>\n On the road, I\u2019m being hit in the head every night with these songs, and you would\u2019ve thought I\u2019d want to be like Jesus, to be more like what he talked about. And I actually went the opposite way. But when that period was done and I got back to normal life, it had changed me. I had real feelings of connection, spiritually, that I know I didn\u2019t have before that tour. I think this was fate. This was another one of those fateful things in my life that involved Bob Dylan. How many people can say that?<\/p>\n Among the other big figures who\u2019ve enlisted your services is Neil Young. You\u2019ve done some great work with him over the years, particularly in the early-\u201990s where you and Booker T. & The M.G.\u2019s backed him on tour.<\/strong><\/p>\n I always told Neil how much I loved Crazy Horse. I saw them play a couple times live and I was amazed at how they \u2013 with hardly any effort really, and not a great deal of facility \u2013 made his songs come alive in such a compelling, honest way. For me to be able to play with Neil, I just wanted to do that. In the studio we did a record that was very tame, [2000\u2019s] Silver & Gold, but it had really cool songs. When I would hear things back, I\u2019d think, \u201cOh I wish this was more like Crazy Horse\u201d (laughs). But I found myself having a whole lot of fun playing with Neil live. And I realised playing with him was like playing with a jazz guy too. More than I would have thought.<\/p>\n Remarkably, after six decades, you continue to be the go-to session drummer for a whole new generation of artists \u2013 people like Phoebe Bridgers, Jenny Lewis, Conor Oberst, Perfume Genius\u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n The latest one was Lana Del Rey. I knew her name but didn\u2019t know her music or anything. And my great grandkids, a few weeks ago when they were here, said, \u201cGrandpa, who are you playing with now?\u201d They love that I played with the guys in The Beatles \u2013 to them that\u2019s a big deal. Anyway, I just mentioned Lana to them. \u201cYou played with Lana Del Rey? You played on Watercolor Eyes?\u201d \u2013 that song is in the Euphoria TV show. And I don\u2019t know Euphoria, but that\u2019s one of the most popular shows for their generation. That day in the studio with Lana, I discovered she\u2019s got one of those amazing voices.<\/p>\n You don\u2019t carry yourself like someone who\u2019s 80. What\u2019s your secret?<\/strong><\/p>\n Since I\u2019m a kid and my little sister died, and everybody was trying to comfort me, people would say, \u201cYou just gotta pray and everything is going to be OK.\u201d My aunties would say that, my mom \u2013 \u201cJust pray, honey.\u201d There\u2019s never been a time when I sat down behind the drums where I didn\u2019t say a little prayer. Never a big crying kind of prayer, just a little thank you for making this great. There was a long period in the studio where I would go, \u201cGod, help me to play better than I\u2019ve ever played in my life today!\u201d (laughs). For years, I never really believed it, it was just something I did. But as time went on, and the more I look back, the more I know God has answered every prayer I\u2019ve ever had. I think you need to have a spiritual connection \u2013 and music is the greatest form of spirituality there is.<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_divider color=”#111111″ module_class=”custom-divider” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_divider][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”]<\/p>\n This article first appeared in the August 2022 issue of Mojo<\/em><\/p>\n Images: Getty<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Master Drummer to Dylan, Lennon, Neil, Lana Del Rey and dozens more has come through overdoses and epiphanies to be the heartbeat of the greatest rock and pop.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":13,"featured_media":3102,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_lmt_disableupdate":"","_lmt_disable":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3063","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-mojo-presents"],"acf":[],"modified_by":"kschwarz","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3063","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/13"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3063"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3063\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3110,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3063\/revisions\/3110"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3102"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3063"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3063"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3063"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\u201cI thought I\u2019ll never be as good as Mike [Romero], so why should I keep trying? I was ready to quit.\u201d<\/h2>\n
Jim Keltner<\/h3>\n
\u201cJohn [Lennon] was so full of life and so full of energy in the studio… Being on the same page, loving what we were playing and hearing, that\u2019s how the friendship was born.\u201d<\/h2>\n
Jim Keltner<\/h3>\n
changes, and those words. My God! Then, the fact that Katy Jurado, the Mexican actress, she\u2019s got these big ol\u2019 eyes like my mom, and her husband is this white guy, this sheriff, and he\u2019s dying at the edge of the river. And Bob\u2019s singing\u2026 and, man, I just started crying. I\u2019m playing, but I\u2019m crying hard. And I\u2019m thinking, \u201cDon\u2019t blow it, don\u2019t blow the take!\u201d A few years later, I did Short People with Randy Newman. And I was in the same situation, but I was laughing instead of crying. I was hearing Randy say these words that had me cracking up, and I\u2019m thinking, \u201cDon\u2019t ruin it, this is a good take!\u201d<\/p>\n