In the heart of Cleveland’s vibrant music scene, where gospel harmonies blend with jazz rhythms, Robert Hubbard’s story begins on Crawford Road with what his father called the “Lawn Crusaders.” Picture this: a wooden stage, carefully constructed at the edge of concrete steps, where a young boy’s hands first found their rhythm on a borrowed drum set, while summer air carried the sound of praise across neighborhood streets.
“We would take church outside,” Hubbard recalls, his voice carrying the warmth of cherished memories, and with a slight sadness in it. “All the kids who went to school with us, who would never come inside, they saw us play outside.” It was more than just a performance; it was a bridge between worlds, where sacred and secular merged on the humble front lawn of his family’s church, creating an impromptu community concert series, becoming the soundtrack of countless Cleveland summers.
A preteen, Hubbard attacks his snare drum like a seasoned pro, sweat dripping onto his secondhand church shoes. This is the Lawn Crusade Hubbard’s father created– part revival, part block party, wholly Cleveland.
BC: Your father’s “Lawn Crusade” sounds revolutionary – taking church music to the streets. How did those summers shape you?
Robert Hubbard Jr.: [laughs, tapping his foot on the floor] Man, that stage was our Woodstock. Kids who’d never step foot in church showed up. They’d stop their bikes to watch us tear up “Pass Me Not” with a backbeat. We didn’t have a proper hi-hat for years – just two warped cymbals from the pawn shop. But when my brother Rod locked in on the tambourine… Magic!
The Family Band
The Hubbard family was a walking orchestra of sorts. While Robert found his calling behind the drums, his brothers carved out their own musical territories. Rod, the naturally gifted younger brother, could replicate complex rhythms effortlessly – a talent that would later lead him to the piano. Their brother Ron emerged as a “virtuoso singer,” completing the family’s musical trinity. It was a household where talent wasn’t just encouraged; it was expected. Standing six feet tall by sixth grade, Hubbard seemed destined for a different kind of spotlight. But while his physical stature suggested football fields, his heart beat in time with snare drums and cymbals. Unlike Rod’s innate abilities, Hubbard was a devotee of practice – a characteristic that would later define his career and teaching philosophy.
BC: Your brother Rod could apparently play anything by ear. Competitive much?
Robert Hubbard Jr.: [grins] Rod? Man, God gave that boy perfect pitch and left me with perfect persistence. I’d stay up drilling paradiddles while he’d waltz in from basketball and nail a Chopin étude cold. But when we finally synced up on Kirk Franklin’s “Melodies From Heaven”, the congregation and folks swore the roof levitated. [smiles and laughs]
For those unfamiliar with the intricate language of percussion, imagine an orchestra where each drum and cymbal speaks its own dialect. The hi-hat, two cymbals that meet like synchronized metallic butterflies, creates everything from subtle whispers to urgent commands. The snare drum – that sharp crack that gives pop music its backbone – can speak in volumes ranging from a gentle tap to an authoritative declaration. The bass drum provides the heartbeat, that deep thump that resonates in your chest and moves your feet before your brain can process the command to dance.
Hubbard mastered each element through relentless dedication, turning technical precision into emotional expression. His journey through Cleveland’s music education system would prove as complex as a jazz improvisation, with unexpected turns and profound resolutions.
The School of Hard Knocks (and Even Harder Auditions)
The path to Cleveland School of the Arts wasn’t a straight line for Hubbard. His first audition, alongside his brother, ended in rejection – a moment that could have deterred a less determined soul. “We didn’t get in,” he recalls matter-of-factly, though the memory still carries weight decades later. “I was super nervous.” But Hubbard, already earning $50-60 per night playing jazz clubs while still in high school (roughly $125-150 in today’s money), returned better prepared. His persistence paid off, landing him among talented peers like Lafayette Carn, Frank McComb, and Valerie Hill. The school became a crucible where raw talent was refined into professional skill. His road to Cleveland School of Arts, locally known as CSA, reads like a blues ballad – two rejections, a tearful plea to the school board in desperation, and a defining moment involving sixth-grade renditions of Fame.
BC: CSA was the performing arts school that I attended. I wasn’t a resident of Cleveland either but found a way in – it was the place to be then. You mentioned you had to choose between football and music? I recall students being allowed to do both, study at CSA and participate in sports at John Hay High School.
Robert Hubbard Jr.: [leans forward, voice tightening] Picture this: 15 years old, 6’2”, begging the district office to let me play linebacker for John Hay. The secretary said, “Pick art or pick sports.” I walked out sobbing past the Terminal Tower on my way back home. But it lit a fire in me. Next day, I played my snare so hard I broke three sticks [ he laughs].
Gig Economy 1980s Style and The Silent Supporter
By junior year, Hubbard was a jazz club mercenary – $60 cash nightly, matching his father’s pastor salary. The tension? Palpable.
BC: You were out performing your dad at 17. How’d that make you feel, and how did it play out at home?
Robert Hubbard Jr.: [pauses. teary eyes form ] Pop’d say, “Gene Krupa didn’t sleep past dawn! Neither are you in my house.” I’m hauling gear in at 2 AM, he’s banging pots at 7. But Mama [smiles softly] I found out after she passed she’d been hustling Avon parties to fund my lessons, and more. Sold enough mascara to buy my first real Zildjians.
Success brought its own complications for Hubbard. By age 18, Hubbard was matching or exceeding his father’s pastoral income, earning $250-300 weekly in the late 1980s (approximately $600-725 today) playing gigs that ended at 1 AM. This created tension at home, where his father – a gospel legend known to stars like Mahalia Jackson and James Cleveland – insisted he still rise at 7 AM, struggling to reconcile his son’s success with his own sacred calling. “Nobody sleeps in my house past 7 AM,” his father would declare, even as young Robert was contributing to the household income through his late-night performances. The conflict reflected a deeper tension in the African-American musical tradition, where the line between sacred and secular music has often been contested. Perhaps the most poignant revelation for Hubbard came years later, after his mother’s passing. Behind the scenes, she had been selling Tupperware and Avon products to fund her children’s music education, while deliberately downplaying her own musical talents. This silent sacrifice exemplified the complex relationship between art, family, and faith that defined the Hubbard household.
Robert Hubbard Jr.: “When I found out how after my mom passed, and how great she really was,” [Hubbard shares, his voice softening. He pauses]. “She was just as dope as my dad in the music.”
It was a revelation that added new depth to his understanding of his musical inheritance.
Dreams and Reality: The Berkeley Decision
The Jackson State chapter reads like a Stax Records biopic – midnight practice sessions, HBCU band showdowns, and a Berklee dream deferred.
BC: Why Jackson over Berklee?
Robert Hubbard Jr.: [snaps fingers] Money talks, right? Berkeley wanted $600 rent for a roach motel style apartment. Jackson State’s band director Handy Carey said, “Son, we’ll feed you rhythm and red beans and rice.” First day, the drumlines playing 32nd-note rolls at 120 BPM? Knew I’d found my tribe.
The story takes an unexpected turn when Hubbard and his friend Lafayette faced a pivotal decision about attending Berkeley College of Music. The reality of $600 monthly rent in late-1980s (roughly $1,450 in current dollars) forced them to confront the harsh economics of pursuing their dreams, and the realities of living in America as a black male from a family with no considerable means. “We couldn’t go like that,” Hubbard reflects, “because there’s a whole bunch of great musicians just like us.” This moment of reckoning led to an important lesson about the music industry and those pursuing dreams: talent alone isn’t always enough. The business of art requires more than just artistic mastery – it demands financial literacy, strategic thinking, and sometimes difficult compromises.
The Cleveland Connection
The city of Cleveland itself plays a crucial role in Hubbard’s story. From the streets of Crawford Road to the hallways of Cleveland School of the Arts, the city’s rich musical heritage provided fertile ground for his development. The local jazz club scene, where young Hubbard cut his teeth, was part of a longer tradition that had nurtured talents like Jimmy Scott and Albert Ayler. Even the institutional conflicts – like the tension between John Hay High School and the School of the Arts – helped shape his understanding of music’s place in society. “The guys that would terrorize school arts were the soft guys….. They weren’t the really tough and scary guys from the school,” he recalls with a laugh, illuminating the complex social dynamics that surrounded artistic pursuit in urban education.
Legacy and Lessons
Today, Hubbard’s story resonates as a testament to persistence, family dynamics, and the transformative power of music. His father’s tough love, though challenging, helped forge the accomplished musician he would become. “What you see now, and what you might hear now is because of him,” Hubbard acknowledges, his words carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom, some painful memories, but success at last.
The story of Robert Hubbard is more than just a musician’s biography – it’s a lens through which we can examine the intersection of faith, family, and artistic pursuit in American life. It’s about the economics of following one’s dreams, the complex dynamics of family expectations, emotional trauma and sacrifice, and the way music can bridge seemingly insurmountable gaps between communities and generations.
BC: What’s the throughline between banging pots and mentoring Grammy winners?
Robert Hubbard Jr.: [eyes gleaming] It’s all call-and-response. Those summers teaching the block kids paradiddles? That’s why I drill my students: “Make them feel your beat before they hear it.” Last month, a former student sampled our old Lawn Crusade recording on her debut album. Full circle, baby.
The Beat Goes On
In an era where instant success often seems the only story worth telling, Hubbard’s journey reminds us that some rhythms take time to perfect, some harmonies generations to resolve, and some of the most profound music begins on humble front steps, where a young boy with drumsticks first dared to dream. His story continues to inspire new generations of musicians, proving that the distance between church steps and center stage isn’t measured in miles, but in dedication, practice, and the willingness to keep time with both tradition and innovation, and the ability (and blessing) of being fortunate enough to weed through and surpass the jackals and sharks that circle us all. In the end, like the best jazz compositions, Hubbard’s life story shows that it’s not just about hitting the right notes – it’s about finding your own voice within the greater symphony of existence, and allowing your voice to be heard.
Robert Hubbard Jr.’s debut instructional series “Rhythm Theology” drops this fall. Catch him Sundays at Greater Abyssinia Baptist Church – the hi-hats are finally top-shelf.