I agree, no mo. I had mostly worked as a bassist on postage-stamp stages, and the drummers all had a crash cymbal aimeed right at my head. It's even NAMED a "crash cymbal!" - I guess so you "get it." I do have some fine weaponry, a pair of Direct Sound "EXTREME ISOLATION" headphones that drop external sound by 29db, but you can add MUSIC back in, through the little wire thing. Although I will never play with closed cans or in-ears if I can't have my OWN mixer-with-compression (or OFF switch) in there, it just takes ONE BLAST from soundman-idiot/guitarist-girlfriend "soundman" etc.
I'm actually lucky, I do have about 40% loss in my left ear above 6K, but I never liked those frequencies anyway. I know I've GOTTA BE sniffing up towards permanent tinnitus-land, but I'm 59 and just-in-time not remotely interested in money-for-sucky-jobs anymore. The Extreme Isolation cans were designed by a drummer to work great and stay put, so they're large, heavy, clamp like a... narwhale* and have "EXTREME ISOLATION" written in big letters on each side, which can occasionally trigger the resident halfwits into convulsions over their (half)-wittiness.
AND ANOTHER GREAT THING about declaring oneself in "recovery-from-trap-drums" is... rhythm. Just LOOKING at drum charts you'll see that everything is notated for... bass drum, hi-hat and snare. ONLY. So in what Robert Fripp calls the "tyranny of the drum kit", every rhythm ever conceived of by mankind is broken down by a trapkit drummer to... three parts only, and all the other drums are just for random bashing around those three parts. Even if they don't KNOW they're doing it, and/or ESPECIALLY if they don't know they're doing it! BASH BASH tika thud. BASH bash tika THUD. Thud THUD bash tika.... sigh.
So in their own quaint semi-addled way, all those Seventies rock bands who added the Bongo Dude (next to the two black chicks** singing "oooh oooh") were
searching for the "EXIT" door to trap-rhythm, or maybe the "ENTRANCE" door, heck they even CALL it "TRAP drums"
just so you "get it." Or maybe Bongo-Dude could get good blow, you never know; or you do.
*(I've never had a Great White Shark clamped on my head).
**(Wouldn't you have loved to have the chewing-gum concession-license at the Fillmores, Don Kirshner's Rock Concert etc? Package deal with the nasal-surgeon. Oooh-oooh, I'll say!)
