“Yoh, me nitakuswop!” Translation: “I’ll swop you!” (The Brit’s version of ‘swap’). If words and faces ever made impressions, this would be the textbook definition.
Looking back, this chilly phrase made such a profound impression on the campus band crew. So remarkable was the phrase, it damn well deserves copyright.
For such kind of impressions, vivid is only but a bunch of letters; barely an adjective enough. Sui generis would be the word fit for the job.
The chief; boss of the band incubated the phrase and grew it into a signature cliché. It was every bit of a joke and serious caution. The catch – you had to know when to laugh it off or let it vex. How? One look at the chief’s face was enough to tell.
Cracking laughter in the middle of an ominous ‘nitakuswop’ would have been awry, like a gutsy bull fighter waiting to take on furious horns by hand, only to have their guts gored. Graphic.
At best, you would get a final warning, and at worst be swopped. But when the moment was right, everyone let out a spirited cackle, including the chief.
You should have seen him hurtle out this phrase, syllable for syllable. It was a mastery of delivery – every little twitch of the lip, every instant blink, every slightest nod or the tiniest rise of eyebrows – in untold synergy, they all agreed with the threat; you’re getting swopped, and there ain’t nothing you can do!
Moreover, dude had the skill of a veteran. If anyone could bat the drums while blindfolded, and still make heads turn to the groove, it was this guy. Heck, if anyone could make a good beat with bare hands; no sticks, it had to be him. You ain’t seen this much of a drummer.
Thuds on thuds! His kicks on the bass drum were as the gallops of a race horse on the track. Standing a feet away, you’d have thought your chest was strapped onto a dinosaur’s heart.
The snare as well; it slapped deep, cutting through ear wax into the head, and bursting out through the skull, just like a perfect slap on an unwary, lean face.
While on the drummer’s stool, batting his drums, the chief wore an “I’ll bat you too” face. Stern! One stare, and you’d start playing haywire notes.
For the sake of scaredy cats, such magnitude of skill should often go along with a smile while on the job. It makes it bearable for spectating eyes.
But drummers frown as hard as an old school tutor holding a cane high up in the stratosphere, right before striking. You don’t wanna lock eyes with that face.
It will batter down your composure, blunt your acuity, even flatten every sharp note your fingers ever memorized; and you end up playing flat music.
Now, if this drummer chief so much as muttered ‘nitakuswop,’ without breaking a grin on the face, you were as good as swopped. Everything about him was synonymous with the threat.
This threat was necessary; a necessary evil should we say? The chief had to maintain his band’s stellar-level music standard, trail blazed by the previous cohort of highly seasoned musicians. Their bar was so high it inspired a popular legend of a musical era of heavyweights.
Everyone seemed to have this legend on the tip of their lips, waiting for an opportune moment to buzz it out. Be it times of inspiration or admonition, applaud or rebuke, you would be certain to hear one of the heavyweights mentioned.
One of those heavyweights, as it was said would spend sleepless nights in a row sharpening skill on the keys. Right now, dude runs keys like the Queen runs the Monarch, absolute magnate!
That fascination around the good old legendary times was much palpable, and it defined how music ought to have been played.
Consequently, the band’s standard was set pretty high, and pressure to keep up shot up. The chief had to keep a tight leash on quality standard.
Part of this was on-spot relegation in case you faltered, known as swopping in band jargon. And yea, I was swopped once. Boy did it irk, ha!
Besides the whole relegation experience, I picked up on something more meaningfully than anything musical: to make a perfect impression of anything, you have to embody it, become it in every sense.
It’s the reason the chief would hurtle the phrase with such profound meaning attached to it. He embodied it – with proficiency in drumming, a serious intent on maintaining the band’s legacy, and an occasional touch of humor.
It was superficial. Nitakuswop was written on his face!
Well, here’s a cheat sheet on making such indelible impressions:
Wanna crack up grown-ups like tickled toddlers? Become a joke yourself. Want some fame? Become a sensation. Wanna frighten? Become a dread. Wanna inspire? Excel. Wanna threaten? Become an all round threat!
Impressions are all about becoming what you want to represent in the littlest of things. Once formed, they stick to the mind like stubborn gum to a shoe sole, and no amount of time could erase them.
Terrific!