Drum rolls and Tupperware | Ian McMillan

Only one thing stopped me being hailed as a teenage Ginger Baker. I didn't have any drumsThe other day I saw a sight as culturally and artistically significant as, say, the Angel of the North spreading its rusty wings by the A1 or that long and oddly moving crack they sliced into the floor of Tate Modern a few years ago. I saw a lad in a baseball cap clamber off a bus clutching a pair of battered drumsticks.He wasn't just holding drumsticks, of course: he was holding an interface of art and scie...

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