A Different Drummer

Ahmir “?uestlove” Thompson helped kick-start Philly’s neo-soul scene, pals with everyone from Jay-Z to Norah Jones, and is one of today’s most in-­demand musicians. But his most ­impressive feat is ­becoming an icon in the swaggering world of hip-hop while staying true to the geek within

Even if Ahmir wanted to play the R&B sex-god role or wear a Kevlar vest, he couldn’t. There’s something in Ahmir’s brain that keeps him from going too commercial, something that Kenny Gamble didn’t always heed. For all the infectious and even moving soul and R&B Gamble turned out (“For The Love Of Money,” “If You Don’t Know Me By Now”), he’s also responsible for “The Hustle,” which helped spawn the aural disease classified as Donna summeritus, or disco. The Roots came close to a hit with the sing-along chorus and twangy riffs of “The Seed (2.0),” but you won’t find Ahmir just trying to repeat its success.

Ahmir was hard-wired soon after his birth by his father, doo-wop legend Lee Andrews, whose name is etched in the Philadelphia Music Alliance Walk of Fame. Much of Ahmir’s childhood was spent on the road and watching Andrews and his Hearts rehearse at his home at 52nd and Osage Avenue, where he’d scold his elders — correctly — when anyone hit a wrong note. His mother, Jacqui, sang for the Hearts, and her suspicions that her son wasn’t like the other kids was confirmed when he was four. “It was raining one day, and two little boys were playing in the gutter,” she recalls. “I told him to go play, because that’s what little boys should do. He asked them about music and traveling, and they looked at him and said, ‘Man, what the hell are you talking about?’ I said, ‘Oh my God. My son isn’t going to be accepted.’”

Her fear sent Ahmir to private school, probably a good place to educate a kid who, at 11, was drumming professionally. At the High School for Creative and Performing Arts, he met Trotter and formed Radioactivity, which begat the Roots. His education also continued at home. When Ahmir was caught with a copy of Prince’s 1999 that replaced the one his parents had already thrown out, punishment wasn’t an ass-whipping — it was listening to Coltrane for a week.

School wasn’t any easier. Radioactivity lost a talent show to four guys called Boyz II Men, and Ahmir shared classes with bassist Christian McBride and pianist Joey DeFrancesco, virtuosos-in-training who set the achievement bar ludicrously high. “I lived in their shadows,” he says. “Joey’s dad showed up in English class, and we thought he was in trouble. The teacher’s like, ‘Kenny Kirkland’s sick, and Miles Davis wants you to replace him in Europe.’ Joey was 16.” Then there was archnemesis John Roberts, who beat Ahmir, three years his senior, for the drummer’s seat in the All-City Jazz Band before eventually playing for Janet Jackson and Stevie Wonder. “We’re friends,” Ahmir says today, “but he’s always been a nightmare for me — this eighth-grade runt playing like he’s Billy Cobham.”

With ease, Ahmir rattles off references to jazz musicians, ska bands, specific drumbeats in obscure soul tunes, and just about anything else buried in his collection of 46,000 vinyl records. His knack for drawing from a seemingly endless well of musical knowledge is overwhelming, as are the names he can drop. The sprinkler system in his record room was inspired by rapper Q-Tip’s house fire. Actress Annabella Sciorra is a friend, and a huge hip-hop aficionado. Producer Chad Hugo of the Neptunes has a recording studio in the dashboard of his car. What’s impressive is that Ahmir tells these tales without sounding like a jerk. He’s a fan, not a lecturer, and a fiend for all aspects of pop culture. When you look at him — his bulk, the untamed garden of hair, his wiry beard — Ahmir is imposing, like a sleepy-eyed lion in wait. But there’s an Urkel hiding behind the Afro.