Pat Steward on Live Aid, Bryan Adams, and a Lifetime Behind the Drums​

From the surreal chaos of Live Aid to four decades beside Bryan Adams, Pat Steward’s career is a masterclass in longevity, instinct, and pure love for music. In this conversation with ANOMIE, the legendary drummer reflects on the evolution of his playing, the magic behind timeless songs like Summer of ’69, life inside Odds, and why discovering a great riff still gives him chills. Honest, funny, and deeply passionate, Steward proves that great music never expires.​

ANOMIE: You grew up on the West Coast and spent some time in California before moving back to Canada. What were those early environments like musically for you?

PAT: In our home, no one really played except my older brother, who played guitar. We had a piano, I think my mom played when she was younger, but it wasn’t a musical household in the sense of constant jamming. My stepdad liked to play country rock, Eagles-type stuff, and would pull out the guitar once in a while.

In the early ’70s, when I was about ten, my brother and I were glued to the radio. We always had it on during family drives. I still listen to the radio today. People are often surprised by that, but I tell younger musicians, it’s a great way to hear what’s current alongside classic rock. Depending on the station, you might hear anything from new wave and post-punk to The Cure or late-’80s/early-’90s alternative. Radio has always been there for me. Even when I’m travelling abroad, driving through Germany or England after a show, I’ll tune in to hear what’s happening locally.

I became interested in drums around age five. My parents were English and had moved to Canada in the early ’60s, so they were Beatles fans. We had some of those records at home. When Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band came out in 1967, I was five, and that record really captured my imagination. A couple of years later, I started taking drum lessons when I was about seven, but I didn’t stick with them long. The drums just sat in my room for years. I’d go in and mess around, playing whatever came to mind.

Then, when I was about eleven or twelve, a friend introduced me to Bad Company’s Can’t Get Enough. He put the headphones on me and said, “Here, you try.” Somehow, the things I’d learned in those early lessons surfaced, and I just knew what to do. From that moment on, drumming became a constant part of my life.

ANOMIE: Do you remember the moment when drumming stopped being something fun and started feeling like a real path?

PAT: I don’t know if there was a single epiphany. A lot of people describe having a definitive moment where they decided, “This is what I’m going to do.” For me, it was gradual. I’d come home from school and practise. Eventually, I found a couple of other musicians, and we’d learn songs and jam together.

One of the first real gigs I ever did was a New Year’s Eve show when I was in school. They handed me a setlist, and I realized I didn’t know all the songs. I had to work on the ones I didn’t recognize. I remember doing a gig around 2003 where I had to learn a bunch of songs I didn’t own. Since there was no Spotify or YouTube at the time, I used LimeWire, which was technically piracy, to build a playlist and learn them. You do what you have to do to make it work.

That New Year’s Eve gig was a turning point because I got paid $500. I thought, “This is great. I’d like to do more of this.” After that, I kept working with the same guys, playing weekend gigs at local legions and clubs, places where people my parents’ age would gather. For a young musician, getting tied into those recurring gigs was valuable. You were working, getting paid, and constantly learning new material. That was my version of the dream at the time, and I’ve essentially been doing the same thing ever since. Sometimes, when work was slow, I’d play in five or six different bands at once, doing showcases with original music or playing pubs. At one point, I got heavily into blues, which pushed me to learn a style I hadn’t explored before.

ANOMIE: You mentioned studying jazz at Malaspina College. How much did that formal training shape the way you approach rock drumming today?

PAT: It helped a lot, not just in terms of drumming, but in understanding music generally, how to listen, chart arrangements, and communicate with other musicians. About ten or fifteen years ago, I started doing recording sessions where people used the Nashville number system. Because I’d worked on piano and scales, I immediately understood what the numbers meant in relation to chords and keys, it made collaboration much smoother.

I realized how important it is for drummers to learn another instrument. For a long time, rock drummers in the ’70s and ’80s only played drums. Today, it’s impressive to see younger musicians playing multiple instruments, bass, guitar, drums, often within the same project. It gives you a much broader musical vocabulary.

ANOMIE: Afterwards, joining the Bryan Adams band during the Reckless era must have been surreal. What was it like stepping into that as a young musician?

PAT: It was incredibly exciting, but also a bit overwhelming. In 1984, Bryan Adams was already a huge deal in Canada, even before Reckless came out. I wasn’t necessarily a huge fan, I was deeply into British ska, the English Beat, and XTC. My band at the time was doing that kind of music. Bryan and the guitarist had heard about us and came to check us out. They took a chance on me, even though what I was doing was quite different from the classic rock and ACDC-style influences they were known for.

When we started playing together, I had to learn those styles quickly. I’d have these little breakthroughs moments where I’d suddenly understand what made that music work. I was 22 at the time, and it was a huge learning curve. Meeting Bryan was also my first encounter with real fame. Up until then, I’d just been playing in small Vancouver bands. Suddenly, I was involved in videos, major tours, and everything that came with it. It took some time to adjust.

ANOMIE: We have to ask about Summer of ’69. It’s one of those songs everyone knows. Do you still feel the same energy and excitement playing it live?

PAT: Absolutely. When you’re on stage for two hours playing all these amazing songs, certain moments hit differently. With Summer of ’69, you can feel the audience waiting for it all night. As soon as it starts, they sing along word-for-word. That’s been happening since we first toured the song in 1985, Bryan would often back off the mic and let the crowd take over. It’s exciting because you know the song means something to people.

Recently, I was in the studio with some guys who are ten years younger than me, and they were telling me how that record shaped their youth. Those stories never get old. Music takes on a life of its own. I was reminded of that recently watching Jack White talk about Seven Nation Army. He wrote it casually, and now it’s a global soccer chant. You don’t plan that, it just happens.

ANOMIE: Noel Gallagher talks about that too, how he wrote Champagne Supernovain 30 minutes. It’s insane.

PAT: It’s amazing. Even with Bryan, you look out at the crowds now and there are just as many young people as older ones. I think good music is timeless. If it’s good, it lasts.

ANOMIE: You’ve played massive stages like Live Aid and global arena tours. What’s the difference between playing to tens of thousands versus smaller venues?

PAT: Oddly enough, the smaller shows can feel more intense. After touring Reckless in ’85, I came back to Vancouver Island and played some local clubs. In a room of 100 or 150 people, you can feel every pair of eyes on you. That was daunting.

More recently, we played the O2 Arena in London, which is massive. But six months later, we did a record-release tour and in Leeds, for example, we played a 400-seat club. We did three shows, matinee and evening, and sold 1,500 tickets. Then we played a 1,000-seat venue in Newcastle built on the site of the first mass-constructed railway. It was incredible. In a small room, you feel the audience’s proximity. People ask how you handle walking onto a stage at the O2 without freaking out. Honestly, you just get used to it. You look around and accept that this is what’s happening.

The psychology is interesting, though. In a big room, you feel like you need to play bigger to fill the space. In a small club, you need to dial it back. I learned that in Brazil, where we played a 1,200-person venue right after massive shows in Mexico. I walked out in “arena mode” at full intensity, and it was too much for that room. You adjust. Whether it’s a giant stadium in Buenos Aires or a tiny club, the energy from the crowd is what makes it amazing.

ANOMIE: You’ve balanced session work with being in bands like Odds. Does your creative mindset change depending on whether it’s your own project or someone else’s?

PAT: The job is fundamentally the same, it’s a pop song with verses and choruses. But emotionally, it feels different when you have ownership. When someone hires you for a session, you want to deliver exactly what they envision. You bring energy and focus, but you’re serving their vision.

Recording is a process of refinement. You run through a song, listen back, identify what needs tightening, and try again. Sometimes you overthink it and completely blow a part you’d nailed earlier. Other times, you nail it in two takes and move on. With your own band, you’re part of shaping the song from the ground up. That shared ownership changes the dynamic.

ANOMIE: Odds had such a distinct sound in the Canadian rock scene. What made that band work so well creatively?

PAT: I was actually a fan of Odds before I joined. Two of the four members were highly accomplished musicians, and the others were deeply invested in songwriting, they cared deeply about the overall sound.

The original drummer, Paul Brennan, had a completely unique sound. You could hear an Odds song on the radio and instantly know it was them. They worked incredibly hard in those early years, touring nonstop and obsessing over arrangements. They’d record rehearsals, listen back, and ask themselves: Is that too busy? Does that lyric get lost? That self-critique is essential.

At the time, the industry was chasing Bon Jovi-style glam rock, but Odds wanted longevity. They weren’t interested in writing a label-mandated hit; they wanted to write music that lasted. By the mid-’90s, that independent spirit defined the Canadian sound. There was a whole community of like-minded bands just focused on their craft.

ANOMIE: Looking back at the albums you made with Odds, do you hear an evolution in your playing?

PAT: Definitely. I joined halfway through recording Good Weird Feeling. Paul Brennan had just left, and I initially tried to emulate his style out of respect. The producer, Susan Rogers, pulled me aside and said, “Don’t do that. You have your own sound. Let’s capture that instead.”

Around that time, I was listening to Soundgarden and was very into Matt Cameron’. Bringing that influence into Odds created a different sonic palette. Because the bassist and one guitarist were pretty high-level and accomplished musicians, we could improvise and push each other in ways that elevated the whole band. Over the two years between Good Weird Feeling and Nest, my playing evolved significantly simply from being part of that unit. Playing consistently with strong musicians forces you to grow. Freelancing teaches you adaptability, but nothing replaces the chemistry of a steady band.

ANOMIE: You’ve collaborated with Bryan Adams for over 40 years. What makes a musical partnership last that long?

PAT: Openness is key. Bryan is the songwriter and leader, so my role is to serve the song. Early on, I’d get a demo, sometimes just a cassette, listen to it, and absorb the arrangement. The structures were always clear. When the songs are well-composed, they almost play themselves.

I’ve suggested ideas over the years, trying something different on a bridge or chorus, and sometimes Bryan is open to it, sometimes not. His longtime writing partner, Jim Vallance, is also a drummer, so the demos are usually well thought-out rhythmically. My main contribution is often subtle variations in the bass drum patterns. Beyond that, you rely on instinct. If you’ve listened to pop music your whole life, you intuitively understand what a song needs.

ANOMIE: You’ve worked across rock, blues, pop, and alternative. How do you adapt your playing style for different artists?

PAT: The core adjustment is intensity and approach. With Bryan, I’m at a ten. With someone like Jann Arden, I’m at a six or seven. Volume and velocity shift depending on the room and the artist. With Colin James, who plays blues and R&B, I approached the kit entirely differently, lighter touch, different tuning, different sticks. I’d spent years studying Texas blues before working with him, so I already understood the feel. With Matthew Good, whose music was heavier and more alternative, I adapted again. The common thread is respecting the song’s architecture. If an artist brings a well-produced demo, your job is to enhance what’s already there.

ANOMIE: After decades in music, what keeps it exciting for you?

PAT: A great riff still excites me as much as it did when I was 20. Bryan just sent me a new single called Tough Town. The first time I heard it, I got chills. It has that same magnetic quality as Wonderwall or early Police records. I still feel that same rush when I discover something new. I’m grateful that I still feel like that 20-year-old version of myself when it comes to music. Whether it’s jazz in a hotel room or an Oasis song I somehow missed, the excitement hasn’t faded. Passion is everything. If you lose that, what are you doing?

ANOMIE: What’s been a truly surreal moment in your career?

PAT: Two stand out. The first was walking into that rehearsal space in North Vancouver in 1984. Bryan called, asked me to jam, and that meeting changed everything. The second was Live Aid. Someone told me there were 90,000 people in that old wooden stadium. Standing on that stage, looking out at that sea of people in the heat, it was surreal. Thankfully, it was all captured on film.

ANOMIE: What are you listening to lately? What’s inspiring you right now?

PAT: I’ve been listening to Lola Young’s Messy. The production grabbed me immediately, and the lyrics are brutally honest. I also love the new record from Wintersleep, a band from Halifax. Their drummer is a friend I met years ago when Odds played his hometown. Hearing their new stuff now is full circle.

I still revisit old AC/DC, Van Halen, and Led Zeppelin. Those songs hit just as hard now as they did when I was 18. I think there’s no such thing as being “late” to great music. Right now, somewhere, a 15-year-old is discovering Champagne Supernova for the first time. That’s the beauty of it, good music doesn’t expire.

@patsteward