Pushing Past the Grid - Alf Jackson's Physical Philosophy of Drumming

Few push drumming to its physical limits quite like Alf Jackson. His frenetic playing style—with no obvious bars or downbeats—is a limitless surge of texture and energy. Together with bandmates Julius Schwing and Jon Smeathers, Alf creates music that emerged from Tasmania's isolated scene, where experimental approaches thrive in unexpected ways.

"It's a language that was built on Bruny Island," Jackson explains. "I got sober when I moved down to Tassie and started noticing things about the world. I got right into sacred geometry. And so much of my musical language was built on numbers."

As a member of Dogs of Pleasure and Reptrillion Culture Club, Jackson’s music occupies a space where improv, jazz, noise, and metal intersect.

"As far as the drumming is concerned, it's been really about digging into pain and fatigue," he says. "It's a real test of what the body and mind can go through. That's been my approach to music making."

This physicality defines a lot of his attitude toward music. When asked about his current practice regime, he reveals a schedule more akin to an athlete than a musician.

"My drumming is massively off the kit. I'm a real exercise and nutrition junkie. There's room for improvement in a lot of players just by conditioning their hands. It's like when you start listening to challenging music, you adapt and develop as a player."

His commitment extends to unconventional methods: "I try to do battle ropes and a rice bucket. It's an old kung fu thing where your hands are chopping and grabbing in the bucket of rice. It's such a beautiful feeling. I usually have something playing, and I get into this trance with the rice."

Jackon’s projects are all based on improvisation. With over a decade of playing music together, he reveals an almost telepathic understanding with guitarist Julius Schwing.

"I think we've just been making music for so long together that we just really got to know each other," Jackson says. "It's like a dog with a ball. Once one of us latches onto something, the other person just supports. Sometimes we're both soloing but always supporting each other."

Reptrillion Culture Club expands this intuitive approach by adding John Smeathers, a saxophonist and CDJist. The pair met when John "just started rocking up to gigs and sitting in with his horn." Their friendship developed through unorthodox listening sessions that pushed their auditory limits.

"We would put on different albums at the same time and just sit there listening to the sound textures. It's amazing how quickly you acclimatise," Jackson recalls. "We would constantly have three albums playing for hours, and then four. We'd have a KPOP album that just came out yesterday, Yung Thug and Herbie Hancock, and whatever else."

The practice had a profound effect on their musical development. "I think that that period of listening really informed our music, hearing all of those cross rhythms that aren't necessarily on the grid and the way the color of the music changes over time."

Jackson's journey to this point began conventionally enough, under the guidance of a school drum teacher, also named Alf. "Alf was the most beautiful, self-sacrificing dude. He gave everything away to his students. He'd rock up to my house and just stand there and make me play snare marches. He would stand there with his hands behind his back looking out of the window."

"You had to learn the fundamentals first. It was that old-school jazz thing. And I'm so glad about that," Jackson says. "His approach was about slowing down, making sure that when you start a piece, it's at the tempo where you can play the tricky phrase down the page without stopping."

This foundation provided the platform for his later experimental explorations. From jazz training at the Conservatorium of Music in Hobart, Jackson eventually found his voice through influences like Meshuggah, Han Bennink, Milford Graves, and most pivotally, Zach Hill of Death Grips.

"Zach's impact on me... what he's pushing to get that sound out... I was like, this is way bigger than the noise he's making," Jackson explains. "There's that unknown in his playing, like if something's going to break. The whole thing sounds risky and out of control."

This sense of teetering on the edge permeates Jackson's attitude to performance and his relationship with his instrument. A lot of his kit is cobbled together from found objects—"most of my gear is made of things that find their way to me"—including a snare that once served as a garden birdbath and cymbals abandoned by former housemates. Cymbals are cracked and adorned with chains and rivets.

"Because the gear is munted, there's something very loveable about it. And because it's munted, it's almost like it wants to be munted more," he explains. When I suggest that his battered equipment would probably sound terrible playing conventional beats, he agrees.

"That's an awesome point—this kit sounds like absolute dog shit, especially if you're not beating them at full volume. If you try to play quietly, it sounds terrible. But the whole thing, when it's all making noise together, it’s a nice distortion. It's a complete package. There is no differentiation between the cymbals and the drums in a way. The sound is the whole thing together."

For drummers drawn to his fevered style, Jackson suggests a return to the fundamentals. "I would say to focus on the foundational stuff. Play your paradiddles with super exaggerated accents. Lift your sticks above your head for the accents. It's about deeply programming your subconscious."

"I'm a big fan of being thorough, running every single rudiment variation. My goal is to be panoramic. Wherever I am, I can be anywhere else and go in any direction."

“When I practice, I'm really strict. On one axis, I'll do every single combination of rolls from snare to the first tom - up and down. I'll be thorough. Then I'll go to the other axis, from snare to floor toms. Whatever it is, I'm pushing to fatigue.”

In an age where digital perfection dominates much of music production, Jackson's commitment to an embrace of unrestrained energy feels like a necessary counterbalance—a reminder that music exists in bodies as much as in sound waves. Pushing past comfortable limits often yields the most interesting results.

Like a dog with a ball—committed, unrestrained, and utterly in the moment.

DOP2 is out now on Isthmus Music on BandCamp. You can follow Alf Jackson on Instagram and YouTube.