School Library Journal Review
Gr 1-3-On a day when Max doesn't feel like talking to anyone, a strong breeze shakes two heavy twigs to the ground in front of his brownstone home. Picking them up, the young African-American boy begins to beat out a rhythm that imitates the sound of pigeons startled into flight. Soon he is tapping out the beat of everything around him-rain against the windows, the chiming of church bells, and the thundering sound of a train on its tracks. The snappy text reverberates with the rhythmic song of the city, and Pinkney's swirling, scratchboard-oil paintings have a music of their own. This is an effective depiction of the way in which self-expression takes on momentum, as Max's quiet introspection turns into an exuberant celebration of the world around him.-Anna DeWind, Milwaukee Public Library (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Publisher's Weekly Review
Max doesn't much feel like talking, so he lets his drumsticks (two twigs, actually) respond to questions and imitate the sounds of his city neighborhood--pigeons startled into flight, rain tapping against a window, a train thundering down the elevated track. By linking Max's ``drums'' to activities from each previous page (for example, his grandfather is seen washing windows on one page, and in the next, Max is drumming on the cleaning bucket), Pinkney unobtrusively tugs the story forward. The fluid lines of his distinctive scratchboard illustrations fairly swirl with energy, visually translating Max's joy in creating rhythm and sound (Pinkney is well suited to the task, having been a drummer since the age of eight). A serendipitous ending finds the drummer from a passing marching band tossing a spare set of real drumsticks to the delighted Max. Ages 4-8. Children's BOMC alternate. (Feb.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Horn Book Review
On a day when Max prefers his own company to that of others, he finds two twigs that make a perfect pair of drumsticks and dedicates himself to using them to express himself with rhythm, rather than speech. Superb illustrations convey the details of urban life and capture the inherent quality of restlessness in Max's activities as well as the sense of renewal he achieves through making music. From HORN BOOK 1994, (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Kirkus Review
Sitting on his stoop near the end of a tidy block of row houses, Max seizes on a couple of sticks that blow from a tree and begins tapping: on his own thighs; on the bottom of Grandpa's window-washing bucket; on a hatbox his mother brings home, bottles, a garbage can. Unobtrusively, Pinkney slips in new information about Max's family in each spread, as the boy experiments creatively with what's at hand, imitates rhythms he hears (``the sound of pigeons, startled into flight,'' church bells, the wheels of the train where his father's a conductor). In a satisfying conclusion, the drummer in a passing band tosses Max his extra drumsticks. Pinkney's scratchboard illustrations, designed with a sure hand and overlaid with rich, subtle shades of sky blue, leaf green, and brick applied in free, painterly strokes, are superb; they vividly convey the imagination and vitality of this budding young musician. A perfect marriage of idea and art. (Picture book. 4-8)
Booklist Review
Ages 4-8. Max makes music that imitates the sounds of the city around him and the rhythms within himself. Sitting on the steps of his house, the small boy finds two sticks and taps on his thighs; then he pats on Grandfather's window-washing bucket, and it's like light rain falling on the windows. When Mother comes home from shopping, he taps on her hatboxes and on his friends' soda bottles. He imagines the sound of a marching band in the clouds. On the neighborhood garbage cans he pounds out the sound of the subway thundering down the tracks. The text is a spare, rhythmic accompaniment to Pinkney's scratchboard illustrations of oil paint and gouache, which swirl and circle through the double-page spreads, filling them with energy and movement. The small solitary boy doesn't feel like talking, but his music communicates with the world. In a great climax, a marching band--just like the one he imagined--comes sweeping around the corner and the last drummer tosses Max his spare set of sticks. "Thanks," Max calls, and he doesn't miss a beat. ~--Hazel Rochman
