The establishment of the fiery killer
The beginning was very humble. The non-large room faced the street. Opposite was a Maccabi pool on the plethora of gorgeous bikini pieces that lay sprawled on mats and fried themselves to death under the scorching sun. Most of the room area was grabbed by a "flute" drum set I purchased from Bar Mitzvah money and my grandmother's generous help
My grandmother, Eva Mark-Reich, was a racial grandmother who enriched my record with her entire trip abroad. She flew endlessly, determined to spend her money on life and the good and not leave too many heirs. Before each flight I used to equip her with a long list of reservations And during her trips to London, New York, Paris, Berlin, and beyond, she would jump to record stores and quite naturally seek out the newest of Vibrators , Kiss 's Sex Pistols, etc. In most cases, she was more up-to-date than the sellers The vigorous one that would urge them to look more thoroughly for the records that appear on her lists. A failed to achieve, she would ask her friends, Mikey cool men and women like her, bring Mnsiaotihn abroad.
I have always fantasized about drums, but it was only during my Bar Mitzvah celebration that I finally realized that was what I really wanted. In the auditorium she played a kind of wedding band, and the drummer promised me a turn on the system, after I promised him in return for an enlarged tip at my father's wallet at the end of the evening. As I stepped onto the raised stage and gripped the sticks in front of the terrified crowd watching me, I felt like the king of the world. Or at least like the King of the Hall. I hit drums and drums with all my might, and I didn't understand why most invitees fled while holding the quarter of chicken that they managed to extract from the plate. The drummer's tip was particularly great, but it did not make up for the curved rescues and ripped skins.
I practiced on the drums every day, right after I got home from school. The neighbors hated it. I didn't like me in the Maccabi pool either, because when there were swimming competitions there, I used to hit one strong blow on the snare drum, just before the shotgun fired, which always caused some swimmers to get confused and leap into the water prematurely. I did it both because it was funny, and also as a revenge for the pool operating without minimal consideration for its neighbors. There were competitions, ceremonies and noisy nocturnal parties with atrocious music, and the attendants always grabbed our private parking lots and caused the residents of the street a lot of nerves and anger.
I was a pretty crappy drummer, and refused to internalize the fact that a few years earlier, I had been ejected like a ballistic missile from the drum class I had signed up for, as the teacher announced that I was lacking in rhythm and had better learn to play flute. Also from the guitar department, I was blown away with a similar diagnosis. Just fucking teachers, I decided, and for me to play it on my flute!
Neighbors squirmed between wanting to maintain a good relationship with my parents, and their eagerness to hammer my head because of the noise I made. The house shook every time I stormed the drums. I spent all my aggression on the miserable system, and every time one of the drums was torn, I drove in Carmelit to 20 Prophets Street, where the music store (records and musical instruments) of the m