On a list of the truly great rock ‘n’ roll drummers, it would be exceedingly difficult to not put Stewart Copeland near the very top. His reggae-tinged rhythms and seemingly effortless cymbal work helped propel the Police to the top of the world throughout much of the 1980s. His drumming has also placed countless awards upon his shelves and earned accolades including Rolling Stone magazine naming him the 10th greatest drummer of all time.

Yet today, you’re as likely to find Copeland with a Strat in his hands while fronting his newest project Gizmodrome. Or you may even find him composing orchestral music to be performed with some of the finest symphonies in the world. You see, drumming is only one aspect of what Copeland continues to give the world.

Though he is adamant that he has his musical and inspirational lapses like the rest of us, his prodigious output would indicate otherwise. Even with his busy schedule, Copeland took the time to honor Sweetwater with insight into his lauded career. In his trademark manner, which always balances his encyclopedic knowledge of music with his sly and boisterous humor, he shared the lowdown on his playing, his continued commitment to Tama drums, and, though his muse may ebb and flow, why the passion to create continues to push him every day.

Sweetwater: Tell me about your relationship with drumming today.

Stewart Copeland: I don’t see myself as a drummer, or any profession really. I guess I’m a musician, and it squirts out as different applications of music. Some of it is banging on drums, or playing guitar, or as I’ve rediscovered, singing.

Does performance inform your composition?

Occasionally, yes. When you’re composing, there’s the love of music — the surge of melody and harmony — that’s what it’s all about. But occasionally you apply your left brain to the application. “Ok, what’s this music doing here?” And then you start to apply rules and regulations to the flow of music, shoehorning in that raw flow of music. Then slicing off some of that to make it say specifically this or that teaches you a thing or two about how to make music serve a purpose. And then you get down on to tape or digitize that and ship it.

You were raised in multiple countries, including Beirut, Lebanon. And you’ve toured the world many times over. Does that inform your composition as well?

Absolutely. It’s inevitable. I mean, we’re all a product of our society, culturally. I grew up in the Arab world, in the Middle East, in the capital city of an Arab country. And yet, it was American music — my own cultural, tribal identity — that I connected with. I’m not one of the Shia from this village, I’m not one of the Armenians in that part of town. I’m one of the American kids. And our music is Elvis Presley and the Beatles and the Kinks.

And yet, the way different cultures’ music will shift the accent of the beat definitely informed a lot of the way you play.

Well, the world provides a rich tapestry of musical spices and flavors. Even just in the world of rhythm, before you even get into harmonic inflections and melodic cultural identities. The pizzica music of Southern Italy, a close relative of the tarantella, Arabic music with the baladi rhythms, and Jamaican music, reggae all share, by coincidence, a similar rhythmic device, which is the emphasis on the third beat of the bar while leaving a gaping chasm where one should be. It’s interesting that, completely independently, these cultures, which have no overlap, arrived at this cool rhythmic trip. And that’s what gave me a leg up in figuring out reggae. Not a lot of people realize that my cultural misappropriation is actually from the Arabic world.

Do you utilize a lot of modern technology in your performances?

No. My performances are stripped. As a drummer, I do have a big, bad drum set with all kinds of widgets on it. But wherever I play, I play on store-bought TAMA drums. Whether I’m playing in Hamburg or in San Diego, TAMA show up. I don’t believe in having one unique instrument that “only that instrument will provide!” No. Give me a set of drums and I’ll play them. Plug and play is my philosophy. Even more so, now that I’m a guitarist. I walk up to my Marshall stack, I plug it in, a couple hitches on the knobs, turn around and play!

You were one of the very first TAMA endorsers.

Forty years. That’s pretty much all I need to say — 40 years.

What makes them stand out to you?

Back in 1974 or ’75, I was playing in a band called Curved Air, and I had my big Ludwig drum set, bought by the record company. But I was earning money on the side as a reviewer for Sounds magazine. One day, I get these Japanese drums. And this was a time when Japan wasn’t known for high-precision industrial product. Suddenly, in that environment, these TAMA drums arrived, which were absolutely superior! These Japanese drums were better made, better designed, and had more substantial stands. It was like, “This is a drum set that landed from Mars! This is totally next level.” The sound of the tom toms was an explosion, but with a definition of sound.

People forget that before TAMA arrived, stands were these spindly little stands designed for Buddy Rich and Louie Bellson. The TAMA stands were a full inch diameter. I could climb around like an orangutan on those cymbal stands. The contrast in the size and heft of those stands in relation to the previous designs was quite stunning. In every way, they just completely outclassed the traditional, sought-after, American gear.

You also have a signature TAMA snare. But it is based on a Pearl that you used to record all of your biggest albums. Tell me about that original snare.

I don’t know where that snare came from. And neither does Jeff Seitz, who’s been my tech through the whole time. We don’t know where it came from. But [the signature] took a lot of different prototypes to nail the sound of that one. And I really think they got there. And it’s a hit drum. A couple times that I’ve checked into a studio, they’ll have a Ludwig Black Beauty, and then they have one of my drums in there too. It fulfills a specific, distinctive function, which is that high crack. If you want that high crack, “Let’s get that old Stewart drum out.”

In designing the drum, were you specific about materials and specs?

No. Their metaler just figured that out. The brass, the angle of the hoop, everything. And actually, the Pearl drum was a hybrid. It’s not a Pearl drum really, because it has different hoops on it. God knows where those hoops came from. And they’re mismatched. That was the combination! In fact, we got neurotic about “the drum” and “the snare.” And after playing all the records with it and playing shows around the world, it was always that snare.

Another signature sound of yours is your use of delay on your kit. How did you first come to use that effect?

In 1978, three blonde heads get a phone call. “Guys, the money has dropped. You are now wealthy men.” So the three of us went down to Manny’s on 47th Street and bought half the store. We loaded up with Roland Chorus amplifiers, a Roland Space Echo — I’m looking at them right now! — all this stuff. That afternoon, after buying all of this gear, we went down to our show, and it was the soundcheck from hell. Everybody was plugging in their new gear and playing with everything. And I had this echo. Since I didn’t have a guitar, I put a mic on my snare and put it through the echo because I had heard that, in reggae. And within seconds, with just the snare drum and a leaking kick coming back through my new Roland amp with delay, we had a whole new animal of rhythm now.

Do you still mix electronics into your drum setup?

No. I’m very organic. In fact, when I play with an orchestra, it’s completely acoustic for a specific dynamic range. Instead of with a rock band, which is from seven to 12, with an acoustic orchestra, it’s from zero to four. There’s no microphones, there’s no PA, there’s no need for soundcheck. Sixty guys just go out there on a wooden stage and play the music. And, by the way, I’m there on a drum set designed to play up against stadium amplifiers. Twenty feet away from me, the nice lady is playing the beautiful violin solo that I wrote for her and would love the audience to hear. That’s where the zero to four dynamic range comes in.

How do you have to adjust your technique for a performance like that?

Well, the good news is that all the technique that was drilled in at an early age suddenly has purpose. Subtleties of the drums, your Joe Morello stuff, actually have relevance again. And there are a few other advantages all around. One is fewer headaches from all that banging and clanging. And the drums just sound so beautiful when they’re that quiet.

When you’re performing, what is the one piece of gear, other than your drums, that you can’t live without?

I’m a standard rock ‘n’ roller. I need a Marshall stack, a Stratocaster guitar, and I need a TAMA drum set. On bass, give me a Jazz. I think those are the quintessential American instruments. Those are the Harley-Davidsons of music. The Cadillacs. Well, Marshall’s English. So it’s American musicians like Jimi Hendrix playing on an English amplifier called Marshall. But the Stratocaster, that’s Fullerton, California.

You brought up bass. It’s astounding the quality of bassists you’ve had the opportunity to play with — Sting, Les Claypool, Stanley Clarke, and the list goes on.

And Armand, who’s not as well known. But he’s way in there! Armand Sabal-Lecco from Cameroon. He was on the original Gizmodrome, and he also played with Paul Simon, Peter Gabriel, and all kinds of people. I mean, I’ve got the bass player Rolodex from hell! Of all my chuckle buddies in life, most of them are bass players.

Each of those players has such a wide variety of styles. What do you look for in a bassist?

It’s the pocket. You look for that pocket. And if you land on a pocket with the guy, then you’re in. But there are different kinds of pockets. Les Claypool and Sting, now there’s a wide contrast. But they each very much have their own kind of pocket. It’s the shape of the 16th notes where a lot of the character of music comes from. If they’re slightly dotted, if they’re slightly shuffled, if it’s triplets, if they’re 8th notes instead of 16ths. A lot of character derives from that. So that’s where the musical identity of bass players and drummers find that common ground.

You have a very free and unique technique when it comes to your cymbal work. What were your drumming influences that helped define that style?

Well, Arabic music is in my DNA, informed by Buddy Rich, Mitch Mitchell, Joe Morello. In fact, where I live now is the world of Joe Morello and “Take Five.” That sound of the drums, full relaxed. Just letting the drums sing.

Have you ever lost the interest or passion for music?

Oh, totally! Many times. In fact, frequently. I’m currently in such a state. And I’ve discovered that that’s a good thing. When I was in college, I wanted to be an editor, and I started a magazine when I was at Berklee. And that’s what I was going to do. But I ended up in a band after all. Then after I had had my whole career with the Police, there was a 10-year period where I just forgot about it. I became a film composer, and the drums sat in a room and became a useful place to hang cables. Then Les Claypool said it was my civic duty to play. So he dragged me back into Oysterhead, which got me back into shape. But every time I take a break and come back, I find it’s a whole new pleasure dome, and it’s a lot more fun.

But when you run into a plateau on this instrument, go over to that instrument. Music is a wider world than whatever your instrument is. You’re not a guitarist, you’re a musician. You’re not a drummer, you’re a musician. You’re not a singer, you’re a musician. When you get sick of singing, go pick up a guitar or a piano, or even a page! I urge all my rock ‘n’ roll buddies, “Look, that reading/writing music thing, it ain’t rocket science.” And it’s so useful. I can walk out with a 60-piece orchestra, flop the scores on their stands, count them in, and at the end of one two-and-a-half-hour rehearsal, we’re good. In fact, with the Chicago Symphony, I’ve done it in one day. So I would urge all rock musicians, musicians of the ear, to keep the connection of the music and their ears, but pick up the page.

Are you naturally more of the ear or the page?

I’m of the ear, totally. And when I’m in the classical world, I’m running to keep up with the guys who are walking. On drums and rock ‘n’ roll, I know what I’m doing. I got this. But that’s what makes it interesting. That’s what keeps it fun. That’s what keeps it a challenge.

Do you feel that gives you a unique perspective when it comes to the classical world?

Definitely. I play what you call classical music, which is actually — technically, since I didn’t die 200 years ago — orchestral music. And that instrument, the orchestra, can do very cool stuff. There’s no reason why 60 guys cannot rock the house. So the purpose to which I put the orchestra is absolutely my life in rock ‘n’ roll. The experience that I’m going for is Chuck Berry. That’s pretty much what I’m trying to achieve with an orchestra.

What keeps you inspired to keep creating throughout your various artistic endeavors?

Well, it’s easier than flipping hamburgers. Actually, it’s easier than life and more fun than flipping hamburgers. There are a lot of mountains to climb out there. And what I’ve realized is that the journey is the mission.

You’ve racked up an impressive list of awards and recognition, such as being ranked very highly on Rolling Stone’s Top 100 Drummers of All Time. What does that mean to you?

Not that much, really. The thrill does, I’m sorry to say, wear off. You get that award, and the day that you get it, you think, “I’m the coolest and most wonderful thing!” You put it on your shelf. Six months later, you walk by and don’t even see it. All of these things really are great to make you stop for a minute and add it all up and think, “Why yes. This must mean that I’m worth a ____.” But not really. It only gets you so far. I’d rather have a milkshake.

What piece of advice would you pass on to other musicians?

A couple things. Actually, I’m writing a book on what to pass on to future musicians, called The Rockstar’s Handbook. But to pick one for you, I’d go back to plug and play. Plug in, turn around, and play without getting into footpedals and “Where’s my sound?” and “I need to tune up that tom tom.” Just turn around and play.