e is without doubt one of rock's foremost contemporary drummers. The sheer panorama of differing styles and musical formats he embraces in his playing attest to his scope as an artist, from the stylized, highly polished rock of his early work with Genesis to the groove and pop of songs from his solo albums like 'I Missed Again' and 'It Don't Matter to Me,' with their roots in the Stax-Motown sounds of the Sixties; from the impressionistic jazz stylings of Hand in Hand' and the progressive rock of Brand X to his directly emotional and intentionally unadorned playing on `Mama' and `That's All' (from Genesis' most recent album), their styles so reminiscent of Ringo's very personal and affecting work with the Beatles. Add to the aforementioned a hint of his potential as a big band drummer as he kicks the band into gear with driving accents on the instrumental 'Westside,' and you have a rough look at the spectrum of Phil Collins' drum work.

Yet it is that very dimension that makes his most difficult drum style in this volume to properly discuss. For no sooner does one come to know and recognize one stylistic facet of his repertoire than he seems to move on to another-equally interesting, yet rooted in a completely different musi-cal bag. Throughout one is never in doubt as to who is playing; his style is as recognizable on Peter Gabriel's esoteric `No Self Control' as it is on the straight-ahead rock of Genesis' No Reply.'

It's as if his own quixotic personality, sense of humor, and proclivity for the put-on (after all, he did begin his career as an actor) allow him to be both the serious musician which he is and simultaneously an irreverent one -able to disregard the all too important self-image that has worked to plague so many rock artists in the past.

Dating back to Genesis' earliest albums, a rhythmically intricate and fluid style was evident in his playing. For Genesis was a band that sought a more sophisticated approach to rock than was apparent in that of most bands of the time. They combined time and tempo changes, complex arrange-ments and progressive ideas about song length and structure, all of which required a drummer with both tech-nical command and innate musicality to bring off and Phil Collins possessed both.

His is a big sound on drums -somewhat reminiscent of John Bonham's, yet sharper, more finely honed. There is that sense that he is completely at home with whatever tempo the band is performing. The attack he brings to the drums punc-tuates the rhythmic line with an assurance and intensity. His tom-tom fills are some of the most distinctive in rock; and even a simple figure like the drum break he plays on 'In the Air Tonight' can become a memorable part of the arrangement. It could partly stem from the way he sets up his toms-opposite from that of most drummers, with the shell sizes decreasing in diameter towards his hi--hat - that makes his fills so unique. Yet ultimately it is, as for any gifted performer, neither a mouthpiece nor a choice of strings, but a refection of the player himself.

He is definitely one of a new era of thinking drummers, able to make use of the electronics now available to the instrument and the myriad of sound modifications that exist in the present- day recording studio. During our talk he expressed a notion which, at the time, I found disconcerting: "The sound of my drums and how they're recorded have become more important than the actual beats I' playing. " Yet later, in listening to his version of the Beatles' `Tomorrow Never Knows,' I understood what he meant. For the limiting and compression applied during recording gave his drums a unique tonal quality.

Conversely, on `Hand in Hand, 'where his drums were recorded wide open, ambient and echoey, they evoked the sights and sounds of a primitive, tribal percussion ensemble. In either case, it was the manner in which his drums were treated in the studio that initially suggested that `mental picture' that inspired what he played. In this way, for Phil Collins, the recording studio has become another dimension of his instrument, and one he has learned to play expertly.

On No Self Control, ' a song from Peter Gabriel's album of the same title, Collins (with help from producer Hugh Padgham) took the technology even further, employing noise gates which altered and metamorphosized the sounds originally produced on the drums. What emerged was an odd and distorted collage of rhythmic phrases which perfectly complimented the song's eerie theme.

His role as the voice of Genesis, along with the almost staggering amount of projects he has taken on, have, at times, worked to overshadow his contributions to drumming. From producing artists like Eric Clapton and the underrated yet emotionally affecting singer/songwriter John Martyn, to his work with Brand X and Robert Plant, it's not hard to under-stand why, for some, Collins the drum-mer has taken a back seat to Collins the singer, songwriter, producer.

Yet during our interview he was quick to point out that he remains, at heart, a drummer first and foremost. When talking about this subject he responded in an uncharacteristically somber manner (generally he is the essence of joviality): "I hope people haven't forgotten that I'm a drummer, because drums have been the basis of everything else I've done, and are still my main source of expression."

Last year, when Robert Plant once again returned to the recording studio after the demise of Led Zeppelin, it was Phil Collins whom he chose to play drums on this, his first solo project. It was a role that could easily have left even the most established of drummers more than a little apprehensive, for in performing on tour some of Zeppelin's older material, the shoes of John Bonham would be hard to fill. Yet for Collins the album and subsequent tour would prove to be a delight, for, as the drummer says. "All I had to do was what I do best play the drums."

Actually it is his diversity that has earned Phil Collins a unique niche in contemporary music. He has emerged as a sort of Renaissance man of rock. It's as if each accomplishment only leaves him yearning for the next. He is, without doubt, a positive role model for drummers everywhere, an example of someone whose dimension as a musician totally negates a once over-told joke that some instrumentalists used in describing their four piece bands: "Yeah, we're a quartet, three musicians and a drummer."

There is one additional element that has recently become evident in Collins' drum style. It's neither a style nor a sound, but something much more elu-sive: Maturity. Without the loss of intricacy, it has brought an essential quality to his expression-that of feel-ing, of every drumbeat having an elemental relationship to the music.

Moreover, it has allowed him to join a select group of drummers, like Ringo Starr and Levon Helm, whose voices speak through the instrument in clear, direct tones.

Like Humphrey Bogart in his later years, when the man and the roles he played became no longer separable, Phil Collins and the panorama of styles he embraces need not be thought of except as one. For despite the many hats he may choose to don in his music, they have all become his.

HITMEN: Your drumming bridges the funky, Stax-Motown sound of the Sixties with the intricacy and sophisti-cation that players like Bill Bruford, Neil Peart, and Carl Palmer have brought to the instrument during the past decade. Do you see yourself as part of a new school of rock drumming?

Phil COLLINS: Because I've known Bill Bruford for quite a long time I tend to put us into a similar category stylis-tically. Yet what we each listened to as younger players was very_ different. He was always a jazz fan and into drum-mers like Art Blakey and Max Roach while I was listening to Ringo Starr and Charlie Watts. In other words, I was into song music while Bill preferred instrumental jazz. When he was with Yes we used to hang out and listen to records together. He turned me on to players like Tony Williams and Billy Cobham, which, of course, was to later affect my own drum conception.

HITMEN: Your playing on the early Genesis albums contained a lot of time signature and tempo changes. Obviously you had grown from Sixties rock to a more technically advanced style of drumming.

COLLINS: Well, I've always been into playing different types of music. Brand X was pretty much English fusion, and some of our more erratic tunes like `Nuclear Burn' reflected an interest in odd times and interesting harmonic changes. Ultimately I'm interested in the role drums play in any particular song. The other night I was doing a session with Steven Bishop-adding my drums to a song that had already been recorded. As I saw it, my job was to highlight the verse, highlight the chorus in other words, to make the entire song work. That's what I feel I do best. I'm far from being a fantastic stylist. Technically I get by, whereas Bill (I'm using Bill Bruford as an example because we're both English; we share a similar cultural background, and are about the same age) will play something and then be able to write his part out, and improve and alter it take after take. If I come up with a part during rehearsal that I like, I'll tape it; otherwise I'd never remember it or be able to play it the same way again.

Getting back to your question, those early Genesis albums are just a reflection of where the band was at, along with the music we were individually listening to. When we recorded Foxtrot, Selling England by the Pound, and Nursery Cryme, the Mahavishnu Orchestra with Billy Cobham were very much in vogue. Their style of playing odd time signatures and complex rhythmic figures influenced our music. Personally speaking, I feel I was trying to do a little too much on those early albums. I was trying to prove to people that I could play. In doing so I wasn't necessarily playing what the music required. We were collectively guilty of that as a group. You tend to try to prove what you're capable of musically and make the mistake of displaying that technical ability at every opportunity. Something like that only resolves itself as you gain maturity as a player and as a person. You eventually feel comfortable playing something very simple if that's all the music requires. Our music didn't consist solely of complex arrangements though. If you look back upon Selling England by the Pound you'll find a song like `The Cinema Show,' which has a very elaborate arrangement and is played in seven. Next to it is `I Know What I Like,' which is very much a straight ahead progressive Beatles rocker.

HITMEN: You're in Genesis, have two successful solo albums, have recently toured and recorded with Robert Plant and produced an album with Eric Clapton. A question commonly asked you is how you do it all and maintain your own identity on drums.

COLLINS: Some say these things are the reflection of a tormented soul. I view it rather differently. It depends a lot upon what kind of musician you are. Some drummers feel that to be oneself means playing one style of music, and being true to that style. I'm more a chameleon, and I adapt and change based upon whatever song I happen to be playing. I don't mind putting on different hats because I feel that each song, in each musical environment, suggests its own particular rhythmic feeling. When I recorded my first solo album, Face Value, some critics took the fact that it contained a lot of different musical styles as a lack of direction. Others saw it as a sort of healthy diversity. So it depends on which side of the fence you're on. I like to think of myself as being `healthily diverse' rather than lacking in direction.

HITMEN: Was listening to artists like Booker T. and the MG's very popular in England?

COLLINS: It seemed to be a very natural thing. I attended a theatrical school and played in a band there. The music we listened to was The Byrds' Younger Than Yesterday, The Beatles' Sergeant Pepper, and also The Temptations, The Supremes, and The Miracles. Our band used to perform our own versions of songs by all those groups, playing `Reach Out and I'll Be There,' and `Can't Hurry Love'-which I recorded on Face Value.

HITMEN: Were drums then a natural extension of learning how to project as an actor?

COLLINS: That's a question I've never asked myself, so I don't have any answer other than to say that I was brought up to be someone who held no fears about being involved in any form of self-expression. As a young boy my mother and father, who were involved in amateur dramatics, used me in their shows. Therefore, being in front of an audience has always been a comfortable environment for me. I've never ex-perienced any type of stage fright in my career. Strangely enough, I'm often more comfortable singing in front of 20,000 people than I am in a one-to -one conversation.

HITMEN: Generally people begin playing drums upon hearing music and being moved by it or seeing another drummer play. Having begun playing at such an early age, you must have been drawn to the drums somewhat instinctively.

COLLINS: I was given a snare drum at age three, and by age five I had taken to it completely. The drum hadn't ended up in back of the cupboard like some toy. I kept mucking about with it and playing that snare until I was five, when my uncle presented me with a strange set of drums that fit into a suitcase. It was a funny little set, nothing proper, nothing like legitimate drums. All there was to it was a wooden cross with a hole at either end and a pole that extended out; mounted on one pole was a triangle and a tambourine, and on the other was a little toy drum. I'd sit in the middle and hit each instrument. My uncle used to set it up for me and I'd sit and play along to the variety shows on television. If I had been fifteen or sixteen and had been inspired by someone it would be easy to explain why I play drums. I can only say that drums are something that have always been a part of my life.

HITMEN: Do you remember how you used to practice back then? Were you playing rudiments and executing little beats on your kit?

COLLINS: Actually all I did was to prop my record player up behind me and turn it up as 'loud as it would go. It was only a one-speaker job and not really very loud. I'd sit in front of a mirror and play along to English groups like The Shadows. God knows how I originally got my feet to do one thing and my hands another. When I was twelve I bought a proper kit, a Stratford, which was a subsidiary of Premier. I kept them until I was about fifteen, at which time I bought a Gretsch set from a friend, Bruce Rowland, who was playing in Joe Cocker's Grease Band. It wasn't until The Beatles came along in 1963 that I really became serious about being a musician. I was thirteen and began to look at myself as a musician. It was Ringo who gave me a clear course and a direction to move towards. Prior to The Beatles, early rock-and-roll meant nothing to me. My brother used to listen to artists like Elvis Presley, Bill Haley, and Eddie Cochran, but I never really liked those records.

HITMEN: Neil Peart spoke about how to get really good anything it has to be a sort of obsession.

COLLINS: He's right; when you're pushed into something you usually end up shying away from it. Most parents send the kids off to a legit piano teacher, which is often the worst thing you can do. The kid wants to have fun with the instrument; he doesn't have the per-spective at a young age to say, `I'll practice for three years and then be able to join a group.' Learning proper technique is important, yet it has to be taught in a parallel course with just being allowed to express yourself.

HITMEN: It seems that in every article I read about you, the opening para-graph lists all the various projects you're working on, how you're about to produce someone's upcoming al-bum. It seems as if you're booked well into the 1990's. Where does that leave drums?

COLLINS: Drums have always been, and still remain, my main tool of expression. In the Genesis concerts I sing because I have to. The tour I did with Robert Plant was great for me; all I had to was what I do best -play drums. I find it odd that I don't appear in drum polls these days. People seem to think I'm not a drummer any longer. Drums were the beginning of everything for me. Even if I'm out front singing with Genesis, I still consider myself the band's drummer.

HITMEN: There's something about drums being a non-melodic instrument that sometimes separates you from the other musicians. Your role in Genesis is a positive one for other drummers. Was songwriting for you an extension of playing drums?

COLLINS: Well, many of the songs I've written were done with a sort of rhythmic phrasing that obviously came from playing drums. Actually, up until the time I recorded Face Value, I can't say that I had written any songs. For Genesis I wrote bits and pieces, acting as sort of an arranger for the band. Everyone else in the group was writing, yet I could play, so when a new piece of music came along I'd set the rhythm and tempo for it. My main contribution was to take individual sections that had been written and combine them with other bits to create a complete song. Those combinations of things became very interesting songs when combined. Albums like Foxtrot and Selling England by the Pound may sound a little heavy-handed today, yet at the time they represented new musical directions for the band.

HITMEN: They were interesting in that the compositions wouldn't begin and end the way standard rock tunes of the time generally did. A song like Dance on a Volcano,' which was in seven, didn't sound like seven because the rhythm was played differently than the way most bands played that meter.

COLLINS: That album, Trick of the Tail, was one on which I put a lot of myself forward. The group had just lost Peter Gabriel, and had to pull together a bit more. We all knew what we had to do and were excited at the opportunity to do so. Another song from the album is `Turn it on Again.' It's a bit like `Dance on a Volcano' in that it's also played in an odd time signature, thirteen. Yet because of the way I played, you don't get the feeling that it's in any kind of complicated time pattern. One of the things we try to do in Genesis is to take a complicated time pattern and make it sound as simple and fluid as possible. We don't choose to play in odd times just for the sake of trying to sound hip. What usually happens is that Tony Banks or Mike Rutherford will come up with a riff and that riff just happens to be in an odd meter. In accompanying that riff I'll play my drum part in a way that best suits the feel and style in which the phrase was written.

HITMEN: There's something about odd times that seems to mystify a lot of drummers. Do you remember a specific time when odd times became clear to you?

COLLINS: Those early songs with Genesis were things that the band worked out together as part of learning to play what we individually had written. Once in a while I'd play something in the rehearsal room that Tony or Mike liked, and suddenly they'd ask, `What was that you just did?' Generally I'd reply by saying, `I don't know; I just came up with it.' At that point we'd rewind the tape and lock into the pattern I had played. I've never been fluent with time signatures. I'm fine with seven, because seven's an easy one; yet apart from that I've never been able to just flow in and out of odd times. There's a tune I play with Brand X called `And So To F,' which is in nine. The only way I can play that tune in concert is to actually sing the bass line while I play. If I deviate from that I'd be sunk.

HITMEN: Yet a lot of Genesis' recordings do show a definite time change without the slightest sense of strain or disruption of the music's flow.

COLLINS: I'm obviously pulling the wool over your eyes. In Genesis we've never recorded different sections of a song separately and then later spliced them together, so I do have an idea of what I'm doing and how to make those transitions flow smoothly. It's just that I've never felt completely on top of them, whereas for drummers like Simon Phillips or Billy Cobham I'm sure that's no problem. On our latest album, Genesis, we tried to stick to one tempo for each song. In the past we used to employ a lot of tempo slow-downs and speed-ups, in which the tempos would vary from verse to chorus, along with signature changes from four to seven to nine, a solo in thirteen, that sort of thing. We did so almost just to prove that we could, and because at the time, during the early Seventies, bands were doing that sort of thing.

Ultimately, once you've learned how to use odd times in your music you no longer need to prove to yourself that you can. Of course one never really masters that avenue of playing, and you can always learn more, yet as our songwriting-which is the main thrust of the band-changed, we moved away from that school of playing. Abacab, for instance, was an album that stuck mainly with 4/4, and for no other reason than that's how the songs felt best.

Part Two of the Hitmen Interview