When starting out as a drummer or musician, there are countless pieces of advice floating around—from technical tips to philosophical guidance. But one particularly resonant piece of advice comes from Christoph Schneider, the drummer of the German industrial metal band Rammstein. He once said that a common error for beginners is becoming too obsessed with perfection or external validation too early in their journey. He summed it up simply: “It’s not important.” While this may seem vague or counterintuitive at first, it contains a deep truth about creativity, discipline, and the growth process. Understanding what Schneider meant, and why it’s such an important mindset for beginners, can help aspiring musicians navigate the early stages of their development with more confidence and freedom.
When people first start learning an instrument, especially something as demanding as the drums, there’s often a strong temptation to compare themselves to others, worry about how they sound, or fixate on technical mastery. It’s natural to want to be good. It’s natural to want to impress people or to sound like your idols. But this kind of thinking can be a trap. Schneider’s point is that in the beginning, those things simply aren’t important. What matters is developing a relationship with the instrument, finding joy in the process, and allowing yourself the space to make mistakes and learn. Worrying about being perfect—or sounding impressive—can kill that joy before it ever has a chance to take root.
The idea of “it’s not important” is also a rejection of ego in the learning process. When someone first picks up an instrument, there’s often an internal narrative playing in the background: Am I good? Do I look cool doing this? What will others think of me? These questions can lead to self-consciousness, which is the enemy of experimentation. Instead of trying new things, people stick to what feels safe. They may avoid improvising because they don’t want to sound bad, or they may never play in front of others because they’re afraid of judgment. By reminding yourself that these concerns are not important—at least not yet—you open up a space where real learning can occur. You’re free to be bad at something, which is exactly what you need in the beginning.
Schneider’s advice also challenges the idea that you need to have it all figured out from the start. Too many beginners try to define their style, their sound, or even their career path right away. But the truth is, none of that needs to be set in stone when you’re first starting. The early stages of learning an instrument should be about curiosity, exploration, and fun. You might think you want to play heavy metal, only to discover later that you love jazz or funk. If you treat every decision like it’s critical to your identity as a musician, you’ll be paralyzed by indecision. If, on the other hand, you approach it all with the mindset that it’s not important—that nothing is permanent—you give yourself the freedom to explore and evolve naturally.
There’s also something liberating about lowering the stakes when you’re learning something new. In a world that’s so often obsessed with performance, productivity, and outcomes, it’s easy to forget that learning for the sake of learning is valuable in and of itself. Not everything has to lead to a career. Not every hobby has to be monetized. Not every skill has to be showcased on social media. The pressure to constantly “be good” or to “make it” can suck all the enjoyment out of the process. Schneider’s reminder helps re-center the focus where it belongs: on the experience itself. Playing drums should be fun. It should be messy. It should involve hours of noise, of awkward rhythms, of missing the beat. That’s how you get better—not by aiming for perfection, but by accepting imperfection as part of the deal.
Another aspect of this advice is about patience. Progress in any art form is rarely linear. Some days you’ll feel like you’re improving rapidly; other days it will seem like you’ve hit a wall. If you’re too focused on immediate results or on measuring your worth by how fast you’re advancing, you’ll quickly burn out or become discouraged. But if you adopt the mindset that these fluctuations aren’t important, you’re more likely to stick with it in the long run. You’ll come to see setbacks not as failures, but as normal parts of the process. This kind of emotional resilience is crucial if you want to grow as a musician—or in any creative pursuit.
Christoph Schneider, having been part of one of the most successful and theatrical metal bands in the world, knows what it takes to build a musical identity. Rammstein didn’t become what it is overnight. Their sound, their stage presence, and even their individual skill levels evolved over years of experimentation, mistakes, and trial and error. If he says that some things aren’t important in the beginning, it’s because he’s seen what really is important: dedication, passion, and the willingness to keep going even when you feel lost or unsure.
The deeper meaning behind “it’s not important” is about perspective. As a beginner, you don’t yet know what your strengths are. You haven’t found your voice. So how can you possibly know what matters most? The answer is, you can’t—not yet. That’s why it’s better to keep things loose and open-ended. If you treat every small decision like it’s make-or-break, you’ll never give yourself the space to discover what truly resonates with you. In fact, trying to “be good” too soon often leads to imitation rather than originality. You end up copying what you think is correct, rather than exploring what feels true to you. But if you remind yourself that it’s not important, you might stumble upon something completely unique—something that could never have emerged under the pressure of trying to “get it right.”
This advice also applies to practice routines and habits. Beginners often ask questions like, “What’s the best exercise?” or “How many hours a day should I practice?” While those are fair questions, they can also mask a deeper insecurity: the fear of doing it wrong. But there’s no single right way to practice. The best routine is the one you’ll stick to. If you spend more time worrying about whether your method is optimal than actually playing, you’re missing the point. Play what you enjoy. Play what excites you. Try different things. Some days you’ll be locked in; other days you’ll feel off. It’s not important. What’s important is that you keep showing up.
Eventually, as you gain skill and confidence, you can start to refine your technique, define your style, and pursue specific goals. But in the beginning, those goals don’t need to be clear. They don’t even need to exist. Your job isn’t to figure everything out. Your job is to explore, to make noise, to fall in love with the act of playing. Whether it’s banging on a practice pad for hours, jamming with friends, or just tapping along to songs you love, every bit of time you spend with your instrument matters—even if it doesn’t look productive from the outside.
And maybe the most comforting part of Schneider’s advice is that it gives you permission to not be perfect. To not have answers. To not impress anyone. Because in the beginning, it really isn’t important. What’s important is that you’re trying. That you’re learning. That you’re giving yourself the grace to grow. And in a world that constantly demands outcomes, that’s a radical, freeing mindset to adopt.
