OP Callaghan – An Interview Article

OP Callaghan – An Interview Article – by OP Callaghan.

I’ve considered myself so fortunate to be able to write this column. As a drummer, it has been important to me to highlight those of us who know what it’s like to always sit in the back, have the most shit to carry, and are consistently robbed of the ability to lay eyes on adoring fans, due to having the singer’s (or guitar player’s, bass player’s, etc.) ASS blocking the view. I have truly enjoyed every one of the interviews, and have met some wonderful people along the way. As I was finishing my most recent interview, it occurred to me (as I am very self-critical) that I seemed to ask a lot of the same questions during these interviews.

But there is a reason.

I have always been a music fan. But when my 1st grade music teacher’s teenage daughter brought her drums to school one day, I lost my mind. Experiencing those gold sparkle drums fill the room; seeing, hearing and feeling them, resulted in a reflection and re-evaluation of my six year old self. Prior to this, I wanted to be Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, Paul McCartney, and Gene Simmons.  Now, I wanted to be Peter Criss!

I told my parents the good news. After engaging in a puzzled glance, my parents patiently listened as I expressed every detail of the day’s events. I was careful to remind them that when I became a famous drummer, I would be able to be self-sufficient, and they wouldn’t have to worry about my clothes or food, and I would even buy them a new living room set. (Apparently, that was a big future purchase, and a topic of discussion in our house.) Despite my less than sound reasoning, that year for Christmas, I got a snare drum, and a “Music Minus One” drum instruction LP. I learned it from start to finish, playing on additional frisbees and cardboard boxes to take the place of the rest of the drums. My dad witnessed this pathetic self-made kit, and set to work getting me additional drums to augment my “kit”. I had an additional snare drum with no snares as a tom, an old toy bass drum, and a single discarded high hat cymbal mounted to a music stand. I was on my way.

Over the next few years, I got my first “real” drum set; a 4-piece Gretsch ‘60s jazz kit, in champagne sparkle. They were gorgeous. I eventually added Roto toms, additional cymbals, and a set of bells and wood blocks with successive birthdays, Christmas days, and money earned from paper routes, raking leaves, shoveling snow and cutting grass. I became obsessed with drums, drumming, drummers, and more drums. My parents, who were not musicians, bought me records, got me lessons, lent me money for emergency drum head replacement, gave me rides to gigs, and when I was old enough, lent me their car for drum-related outings. I played in a few different groups before joining my first real band at the age of 16. It was short-lived, as the other members were much older, and in my worldly opinion, more into the image than the music. At 17,  I formed “Albany Style” with then-SUNY Albany students Drew Keriazes and Dave Stein. This endeavor was my first success story, as we played throughout New England, often opening for my idols and sharing the bill with some of the best musicians and people I’ve ever met. Black Flag, Agnostic Front, and Corrosion Of Conformity provided musical guidance, as well as life lessons, to this impressionable young man. When it became clear that my Gretsch Jazz kit was simply too small and quiet to compete with the big noises I was involved in, I made the grown up decision to trade them in on a brand new set of Tamas. These monsters would certainly elevate my performance, as well as my future status in the scene. Unfortunately, my meager savings would not cover the balance, so thanks to layaway, I began making weekly payments. I had an upcoming gig, still owed a good chunk, and was getting nervous that I’d have to borrow a kit. Once again, my Dad came through, and without my asking, he paid them off one day and brought them home. Soon thereafter, my big “gig” playing at a VFW Hall in Albany, or a roller rink in Connecticut, or a club in Mahopac, found me sitting behind a giant kit, with a giant grin. My folks would go to these gigs and stand off to the side, smoking cigarettes and dodging punks and skins as they bounced out of the mosh pit. Our rides home, often with other bandmates in tow, were an analysis of the performance, with constructive criticism from my Dad regarding dynamics, and concern from my mother that I would be killed in the pit. I think that my bandmates enjoyed those rides more than the gigs!

After a year or two, the other guys graduated from SUNY and moved on to careers, other bands, and law school, while I moved to the Adirondacks to finish high school. I continued to play in bands, and my folks continued to show up at gigs, supporting me at every junction. After all, they were music fans, regardless of my abilities.

Years later, when I started singing in a band, my dad bought 20 copies of our first album when it came out. He insisted on paying full price, and proceeded to walk through downtown Saranac Lake, handing out copies to his friends and acquaintances.

So, as I sit on this Father’s Day 2025, reminiscing and writing, I am eternally grateful for the support I received from my parents. Their love and devotion to me and my music were unwavering and omnipotent. I am so lucky to live this life, to play drums, and to write this column. My dad passed last year after losing my mother five years earlier. One of our last conversations was about my drumming, as I had recently purchased an old Gretsch kit, identical to my first. My dad laughed when I told him what I’d paid, and quipped, “You could have just kept the old ones and bought drum microphones!”  Ugh.

So I guess my reasoning for asking similar questions in my interviews is that I am looking for similarities to my own story. Thinking about it makes me smile. I hope you’re enjoying it too.

Happy Father’s Day to my dad and all the other dads out there. Keep supporting those future musicians!

We lost a super-talented drummer this week. Our thoughts and best wishes go out to everyone who loved Mark Garrett, a 40+ year veteran of the 518 scene. Mark was a great drummer and a sweet guy. We miss you already, Mark.

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