Dr. John Will Parks IV is a Professor of Percussion and Distinguished Teaching Professor at Florida State University (FSU). He earned a Doctor of Musical Arts Degree in Performance and Literature from the Eastman School of Music; two Master’s Degrees in Performance and Jazz Pedagogy from Northwestern University; a Bachelor’s Degree in Music Education from Furman University; and studied with Patricia Dash, John H. Beck, Michael Burritt, Paul Wertico, and John Beckford.
In 2006 Dr. Parks won a university-wide teaching award at FSU, and as Director of the FSU Percussion
Ensemble led them to win the 2007 and 2011 Percussive Arts Society International Percussion Ensemble Competition. He has presented as a performer/clinician at the Belgium Basilica Festival, the Thailand Brass and Percussion Conference, three Midwest Band and Orchestra Clinics, 12 Percussive Arts Society International Conventions, National Public Radio, state MENC (NAfME) conventions, at leading conservatory and university music programs throughout the United States; and has lectured on the integration of technology into the classical curriculum at the Eastern Music Festival, Spark Laboratory, and the Leigh Stevens Seminar. Moreover, Dr. Parks has appeared on such podcasts as: The Entrepreneurial Musician, Everything Band, The Percussion Educator, and @Percussion.
Dr. Parks has performed with the Eastman Wind Ensemble on their 2000 tour of Japan and Taiwan; with the Schlossfestspiele Orchestra of Heidelberg, Germany; with the Florida Orchestra, Naples Philharmonic, and Eastern Music Festival Faculty Orchestra; as well as with the Kansas City, Alabama, Key West, Jacksonville, and Tallahassee Symphony Orchestras. And, in May of 2007, Dr. Parks made his Carnegie Hall solo recital debut at Weill Recital Hall.
Through his audio/video/image production company, Garnet House Productions, Dr. Parks has recorded and edited projects with She-e Wu, Thomas Burritt, Will James, Blake Tyson, Payton MacDonald, Scott Herring, Omar Carmenates, The John Psathas Percussion Project, Line Upon Line, the City of Tallahassee, the Percussive Arts Society, and the Tallahassee Symphony Orchestra, to name but a few. Furthermore, he is an inductee into the Engineering Wing of the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences as a voting member of the GRAMMY Awards.
When did you begin studying music?
My Mom thought everyone should learn to play piano, so she connected me with a teacher around third grade. This teacher was infamous for a ridiculous string of Superior ratings at state festivals. But at a cost: we only learned two pieces a year. Because I had perfect pitch, I thought it was easy since I could simply copy my teacher after hearing whatever she wanted me to play. Later I moved to another teacher, and that’s where the torture began: sight-reading, and contemporary music. In retrospect I had no idea what practicing meant, unless you were talking about soccer. Eventually I transferred to another teacher and would literally go weeks without practicing, and somehow I survived.
Meanwhile I wanted to play drums for Journey, but my folks were adamant that I not follow this path (obviously I didn’t know how that worked either). They started me on the trumpet in junior high. Yet I always found myself back in the percussion section because my mouthpiece was “missing.” It also appeared easier than piano or trumpet, because I could read a single rhythmic line with relative ease compared to Chopin. I was, of course, completely uninformed.
For my 8th grade birthday present my parents reluctantly rented a drum set from the local music store. I came home every day and played for hours and hours along with the radio. Unfortunately, my grades plummeted, and goodbye drums.
I then got a job at Belk’s in the sporting goods section, and saved enough money to buy a Gretsch Blackhawk kit out of a Sears catalog, and bought my first A Zildjian cymbal (which I still have) at a music store in Charlotte (I grew up in NC). The rest were all whatever the lowest quality cymbal could be from Zildjian. But I got enough of them to be able to try and figure out what Neil Peart was doing.
While attending a pep rally in high school, I heard the drumline and was hooked. Drums on slings, plastic heads, tenor drums set up like a drum set, completely anachronistic and ridiculous even for those days. I had never seen a drum corps or college drumline. Yet miraculously I made All-County Band on timpani, and George Naff was the clinician. He convinced me to apply for Spirit of America, and somehow I got on the trip to Europe playing Bass 3 (it was all by recommendation, not playing). Mike Mann was our instructor, and I bonded with him immediately (I think he was teaching Phantom at the time). Believe it or not we still text. I learned a lot, and was exposed to corps-style playing for the first time, which was eye-opening to say the least. From then, I started watching DCI and tried to pick up what I could.
In college, I was awarded a piano scholarship. But upon starting, I joined the drumline, symphonic band, orchestra, and jazz ensemble (all starting from scratch, I didn’t know anything about anything). It became clear to me where this was going, and my parents had no idea where this would lead. But I used that as motivation for percussion, and not piano.
After two semesters of getting killed by my piano colleagues (and teacher), who were showing up every week with multiple pieces for lessons, I was showing up with a line or two of a Beethoven Sonata. Mostly because I was never taught to read, so I went with percussion.
As a music education major, I planned on being a band director having my own marching band one day. But student teaching cured me of this, as I realized I did not have the special gifts required to teach students who were not totally dedicated to music as a career–and I truly believe that is a gift. I then went to Northwestern for my Master’s of Music with the intention of becoming an orchestra player. Then I stayed for my Performer’s Certificate, but due to faculty changes, I ended up with a second Master’s of Music degree in Jazz Pedagogy, and followed by earning a Doctor of Musical Arts Degree from Eastman.
What made you choose percussion?
I was instantly addicted to pop music as a kid. My Mom remembers me beating on her Tupperware, pots/pans, and metal trash cans from a very young age. All the signs were there in retrospect. My Dad sold insurance, he didn’t even listen to music. But Mom loved it and played a lot of classical music for us when I was young. She also took me to a lot of concerts.
Who were your primary teachers?
I’d definitely count Mike Mann from Spirit, as well as John Beckford, Patsy Dash (Chicago Symphony Orchestra), and Paul Wertico at Northwestern (he was still with Pat Metheny at that point). I’d count Bill Williams (Alabama Symphony Orchestra) – he taught me so much about playing in an orchestra. Then John Beck at Eastman. I’d put Mike Burritt in there too, plus tons of master classes with amazing people. I’ve learned so much from everyone; people in my sections especially. I try to learn from every experience – other musicians and kinds of music. I warm up to Dream Theater and Rage Against the Machine, not to mention all the other stuff I’m into.
When did you decide to pursue a career in music?
I would say, in high school, although I had no idea what that meant.
Did you have a specific goal: teach, compose, etc.?
I figured out at Northwestern that I wanted a combination of playing professionally (orchestral/chamber music) and teaching college. So I went hard at both, taking auditions and applying for every university position that came open. I figured I’d go with whichever of them happened first. I’ve never composed, I’ve never truly improvised unless it was free/classical, or by accident. And here we are!
Do you focus on a specific area of percussion, if so, did you always?
Yes, basically what I do now is prepare students for winning auditions (we have eight FSU students in DC premiere bands at the moment, six of them won positions in the last two years) and for top-flite graduate orchestral programs/conservatories, as well as university placement for DMs looking to run their own college programs. To that end, it’s a lot of snare drum, contemporary marimba, and tons of Bach, timpani, orchestral rep (all instruments), a lot of chamber music, and I also played a lot of drum set for a long time. I have zero experience with world music, jazz vibraphone, or anything like that. And I typically do not gravitate towards the avant garde.
Who impacted your musical growth the most?
Beckford for sure. My piano teacher at Furman, Derek Parsons, whom I love. John Paynter, and although quite a character, I did learn a lot from Victor Yampolsky. Don Owens was a massive influence I still feel every day. Paul Wertico for sure. John Beck is a zen master. Donald Hunsberger was one of my favorite–if not all-time favorite–conductors, as well as Gerard Schwartz, Carl St. Clair, JoAnn Faletta, and Ann Manson. Lots of other conductors taught me patience and how to keep frustration out of my playing. That’s just for starters.
What teaching positions have you held?
I was a Teaching Assistant at Northwestern from 1993-95, an Assistant Professor of Music at Samford University from 1995-98, a Teaching Assistant at Eastman from 1998-2000, an Assistant Professor of Music at the University of Kansas from 2000-2003, and from 2003 to the present I have been at FSU. In addition I served on the faculty at the Eastern Music Festival for several seasons, the Oklahoma Summer Arts Institute, and the Stevens Seminar in NJ, plus a lot of music festivals around the globe.
What percussionists have inspired you the most and why?
This is a big list and I’m not sure where to start. Of course my teachers. Then I would have to list: Jim Ross, Chris Lamb, Chris Deviney, Danny Druckman, Will Hudgins, Matt Strauss, Cloyd Duff, Alan Abel, Mickey Bookspan, Matt Strauss, Shaun Tilburg, Ted Atkatz, Jake Nissly, Anders Astrand, Jim Campbell, Leigh Stevens, She-e Wu, Eric Sammut, Gordon Stout, Christopher Deane, Steve Schick, Angie Zator-Nelson, Marc Dinitz, Steve Owen, Jon Bisesi, Svet Stoyanov, Ji-Hye Jung, Blake Tyson, Scott Herring, Susan Powell, John Tafoya, Kevin Bobo, and the Third Coast and So gangs (this list could go on for days).
As for drum set artists: Neil Peart, Steve Gadd, Peter Erskine, Jeff Porcaro, Todd Sucherman, Mike Portnoy, Steve Smith, Bill Steward, Jorge Rossi, Antonio Sanchez, and Gavin Harrison, (this list can go on and on as well).
Is there a specific genre you enjoy performing the most?
Symphonic playing is probably where I love to be most (on all percussion instruments), as well as playing Bach, rudimental snare drum, and drum set (even though I never have time for it anymore). I also love conducting/coaching percussion ensemble (anyone who knows me or the group here knows this well).
What composers do you identify with and why?
I wouldn’t say I “identify” but there are things I really admire about many composers. For example, I love Mahler. I mean Love. I can relate completely to the deepest struggles one can experience as a human being. Darkness, deep depression, feeling despondent, etc. Also what it feels like to be criticized constantly, although that’s more of a professional thing I no longer have to worry about.
But what speaks to me the strongest about his music is knowing what it takes to triumph and flourish in the face of despair—and that’s how I feel when I perform his symphonies or listen to them. That there is always hope. That’s true for a lot of composers, but Mahler is my desert island composer.
Do you get nervous before you play – if so, how do you deal with it?
I have found over the course of my life that nerves (or lack thereof) are directly related to level of preparation and experience. Lots of stuff plays into that of course: environment, perceived irrational thinking that life will end if you’re not perfect as a player, punitive action for “failure.” By the way, what is failure anyway? I’m not sure if I made this up or not, but I tend to tell students that nerves are your mind’s way of reminding you that something is important. I might have stolen it, at this point I can’t remember.
As for dealing with it, I try to be as prepared as possible and anticipate as many curve balls as I can. There are overlaps of course—say between a professional audition, a teaching position interview, a high profile solo recital, a chamber music performance “at home,” etc. But anyone who’s been in those situations knows that the perception of peril and the cost of imperfection is felt differently depending on the gravity of the performance—although palpable in all.
I did try beta blockers once when I played Bach in public for the first time, and didn’t like them (granted I had no idea what dose or how far out in front to try). Looking back, there were lots of times in my life I would have used them had they worked. Before stepping on stage to play, Escapades stands out. However I earned a solid 95 out of a 100 even though the middle section of the third movement and the coda were giving me anxiety dreams.
Do you ever make a mistake while performing? If so, how do you go about resolving it?
“What happens if…” is rarely as dire as we feel in the moment or looking forward. And yes, I never ever play perfectly. I try to play optimally instead. Don’t get me wrong, I always want to play beautifully and contribute artistically—no matter what I’m doing. But if I miss a suspended cymbal roll I’m not going to be too hard on myself if it’s just a fluke. And I’ll just make sure I get it the next night.
Has your practice regimen changed from when you were a student? And how do you keep your technique fresh on all primary percussion instruments?
Oh yes. I used to practice 7-8 hours a day in graduate school (well, at Northwestern; Eastman’s academics were so insane that I basically lived in Sibley Library so as not to appear the dumbest person at the school). As a professional teacher, I simply cannot put in the practice time that I used to—obviously. And I am obsessed with student success, so practicing takes a back seat to those responsibilities more often than not.
As for keeping my technique in tune, it’s situational—I don’t hit everything every day or every week. Rather I plan ahead—so if I have two weeks to play some serious snare drum, that occupies most of my practice time. But I will cross fade into other things as the weeks progress, especially if I have to play different things that are expected to be at a high level.
So now I simply plan for what’s coming and gauge the difficulty and timeline. Practicing to perform is like cooking a meal: some dishes take more time to prepare and cook, some are faster and easier. The goal is to have everything ready to put on the table at the same time—cooked and presented as optimally as possible. The difference is that it’s Thanksgiving, and the whole orchestra and concert hall are invited.
How do you define a good musician and a good teacher? And has your definition of both changed from when you were a student to the present?
I use this metaphor a lot regarding musicianship: say you are one of fifty visual artists brought into a room with fifty blank canvases—one for each artist. The still life you have to paint is the same for everyone. A simple rose in a vase on a table. After everyone finishes, the canvases are hung in a row for people to walk down and observe. What then makes people gravitate towards a particular canvas or two, or three over the others?
It’s the ability to look at the same challenge as everyone else—but to create something truly singular and special that speaks to people. To use a single brush to articulate strokes in ten different ways, to mix and match colors with infinite shades, to create something three dimensional instead of flat, to invent and introduce consistent new ways of thinking and seeing. To think about proportions, angles, to think about character, style, rules (and rule breaking), the accumulation of knowledge through ridiculous amounts of studying art and artists, knowing your gear and having exactly what you need to express yourself organically, while winking over your shoulder at the performance tradition.
As for teaching—it all applies. The art of it is the presentation to the learner—and to that end, realizing that the number of arrows in your quiver prepares you for more personalities and learning styles. Let me give an example along those lines: I was coaching something the other day, and I realized just how many times I’d worked on it with students over my 25 years of college teaching. Coupled with every performance I’ve heard—it would be easy to “know” what the student was going to do before they did it, and not actually be present or pay attention. And I’d likely be right. But the trick is to remember that while you might have heard and/or performed the piece (any piece really) 1000+ times—it might be their first time playing it for you. And you have to treat it as though it were your first time listening. To be just as excited and present as you were the first time someone brought it to you. And finally, I heard someone say this once, and I believe it to be true: the best teachers give their students just what they need, exactly when they need it. And sometimes it’s not what you’d think.
Do you think that performing and teaching are intrinsically intertwined? If so, how and why?
Absolutely. Every teaching moment is in itself a performance. Recently I was asked how I felt about being observed, and I said that I considered myself observed at all times, in fact I welcome it. Every rehearsal is a performance, and every rehearsal coaching is a performance— just in different contexts. The places where they overlap are some of my favorites: clinics, for example, or master classes.
Has teaching made you a better musician, if so how and why?
Working with many of the most gifted students in the country challenges and inspires me on a daily basis; enhancing their strengths, addressing weaknesses and trying to prescribe ways to overcome them, and helping them discover their own artistic voices. I’m not really a cookie-cutter person and want them to put their own unique signatures on everything they do. And as I illuminate alternative or additional ways to conceive, create, and polish for my students, I find myself doing the same thing in my own playing. For instance, I don’t just bring a single suspended cymbal on stage to cover a part. I bring several. I try different colors with different mallets, as well as combinations. I’m in charge of painting the orchestra, and I owe it to everyone to find just the right fit. And as I get closer to the performance, I start to hone in on the exact sounds I want.
Here is an example: a few weeks ago I played the Ravel piano concerto (G major) with the Naples Philharmonic, and I had probably four sets of suspended mallets out, several options for cymbals, two different triangles, and a few beaters. All for these seemingly easy notes—but each one is so important. As the sequence went on, I totally went out on a limb and tried a Zildjian Oriental Crash of Doom for the notes in the piano solo section of the first movement, and this beautiful little sparkly 14” for the rolls and other notes after trying two different 16” cymbals.
The solo triangle roll after the harp cadenza—the scary one, I used a Baby Abel, and tried the handle end of the beater a few times through—just to make it softer in case I got the Music Director’s attention. But the next day I played around with other beaters, changed some angles, and what I eventually came up with was beautiful, and definitely something you’d notice.
The Principal of the section said something really nice to me during our most recent series—he said: “Thank you for making every part you play sound amazing.” That’s what I want my students to hear when they are working, whether here at school or professionally. Life is too short to start and stop with what’s on the page.
What is Garnet House Productions and what motivated you to create it?
It was a full-service media production LLC. For a while I was doing so much freelance video work for the city and other entities that I had to incorporate for tax purposes. It also allowed me to have a business credit card, so I could deduct expenses like equipment, travel, meals with clients, that kind of thing. It helped me keep the business separate from my “real” job. Plus it also served as a label if an artist needed one.
While it feels like I record constantly (and I suppose I do—right now I have two college marching band records, a project with our new string bass professor, a humongous project with Tom Burritt, and the group is recording First Circle), I found that I didn’t need to have it maintained with the state anymore, and I have a great tax guy who helps me sort everything. Some years it’s a lot, some years not as much. But it’s so much fun, and I’m fortunate that I can pick and choose what I want to work on.
Knowing what you know today, would you change anything about how you prepared for your career? If so, what and why?
If I say yes, then there’s an excellent chance I wouldn’t be sitting in this chair, in this amazing office, at this wonderful music school, and listening to my students rehearsing next door. Not to mention all of the other amazing things that have happened and continue to evolve in my life.
So short answer: I would not change anything. Would I like to have some notes back over the years? Yes. Could I have planned better for certain things? Yes. Could I have handled difficult situations and people differently with positive results? Sure. But I have learned from those experiences, and don’t often repeat my mistakes. And I share those mistakes with my students so that they can avoid them later in life.
What words of wisdom would you share with a student who aspires to make a career as a performer and as an educator?
It is true—my career looks very different from anyone else’s—especially at this level. I started late, I was clueless, I was so far behind everyone else. But one thing that all who know me will confirm— is that all someone has to do is tell me, “No, you can’t do that.” And once that is said, you’d better get out of the way.
People (including my Father) told me for years and years that I’d never “make it” as a musician. That I’d need a real job, or a fallback. You’ll never get into Northwestern. You’ll never get a job at 25 years old. You’ll never get into Eastman. You’ll never go on tour to Japan. You’ll never get the Kansas job. You’ll never get the FSU job. You’ll never play a solo recital in Carnegie Hall. You’ll never be on the Executive Committee of the Percussive Arts Society. You’ll never become a voting member of the Engineering and Production wing of NARAS (Grammy Awards). And on, and on, and on. Well, look how all of that (and lots of other things) worked out.
My advice: don’t ever let other people tell you what you can and cannot do. Sometimes you hear just what you need to hear, exactly when you need it—and you should listen when people level with you about our field—the chances, the few positions, the competition level. But ultimately it comes down to you. Do the work, be ready when opportunities come calling. Treat everyone as you wish to be treated and don’t be a jerk. Choose your teachers and schools carefully. Take your responsibilities as an artist seriously. And also remember that it’s not the end of the world if you miss a note in Porgy every now and then.
To learn more about Dr. Parks, please visit johnparkspercussion.com
And for more information about his audio/video production company, please visit garnethouseproductions.com.
