Drum Circle?
I had such a weird experience last night. I’m far from a drum circle aficionado, though I go to them occasionally. When I lived in Durban, South Africa, I used to go to a late-night drum ‘triangle’ (my dear mathematician friend Kevin once noted the actual shape and named it thus) sometimes when I hadn’t played enough gigs that week. It was a place to let loose. The music was not as precise, layered or multi-dimensional as the traditional African music it sort of represented, but it was open, mostly respectful, a place to ‘just blow,’ and support others to do the same.
A few times I’ve met people who were into rhythm from the drum circle perspective, and when they’ve found out I could play hand percussion pretty well, they’ve asked me or expected me to lead, to facilitate. I’ve done that, under duress, with a small group, but it’s definitely not my thing. As I’ve said many times (speech number 17? Or is it 31?), I would never say people shouldn’t do the drum circle thing. Sometimes beautiful things do come out. But, well…mostly what’s played is not that interesting. Lots of it is a semi-conscious regurgitation of the pop music rhythms we are fed from day -270. Am I on the verge of snooty? It depends on your perspective, I guess. I’m trying to say everybody should express themselves, in public if they so choose. Feel free, create community, interact, feel the healing, all that. I used to play for a couple of team-building companies, bringing hand drumming to the corporate world, for money. I liked it because it made people happy. This is no small praise. I hated it, on the other hand, because I felt like it spread the idea that that’s what African music was about—sit around in a circle and bang whatever you feel. This was in South Africa and even there, with or perhaps because of the incredibly dicey racist history, a lot of people seemed to think this way. My friends who ran one of these companies used to say in their shpeal, “This instrument is not like a guitar or a piano, where you have to take months and months of lessons before you can play anything. No. We can all start playing together. Right now.” Well, yes. It is true. Rhythm is easier to access than other aspects of instrumental music. Play on a table. Play on your knees. We walk in rhythm. We run and ride horses and play ping pong in rhythm. And we dance, of course. Do young people still dance? I’m sure some do but like in the old days? Like in my grandfather’s day, or, to the real extreme, like in Africa? I remember young and middle age people trying to dance at my sister’s wedding (couples, not free form), then Grandpa got up and just killed it. He made us all look silly, and I had no idea he danced at all. It was just a thing you did, back in the day. [1]
I digress-ed. So, yeah. The dilemma. Anybody can make some nice, rhythmic noise on percussion instruments. With a little coaxing, or not, they can even play together. But that seems to block the idea in some people that these instruments come from serious musical traditions. And, like in other traditions, one can study, learn, grow, hit and overcome plateaus, and be challenged, for decades, or for life. Tabla, mrdungam, ghatam, kanjira and others from India. Are you kidding? Those rhythmic traditions are out of this world. Afro-Cuban, -Haitian, -Brazilian, -Puerto Rican, -Domincan, -Martiniquen, -Venezuelan, -Colombian, -Peruvian…have I left any out? Of course! People from those cultures understand. Rhythm is precise and amazing and free and athletic and challenges our perception. They know they come from Africa. A lot of people in the US have forgotten.
So, I really, really, enjoy studying rhythm. Harmony and melody too, but especially rhythm. It’s my thing. There are many of us out there. And, if we’ve gotten somewhere, particularly if some of our
In the first, everybody does what they feel like.
The second approach is more in line with African, Jazz, Rock, or Indian Classical styles, and many folk traditions too. A lot of music is done this way, and maybe there are some reasons. You could think of it as standard, small group performance practice extended to the participatory circle experience. Now I’m talking about people improvising one at a time and then (hopefully) giving up center stage and supporting their peers while they have a go and contribute their improvisation. I know, once in a while two sensitive people can improvise together, there is call and response, trading fours, and so on, but you get the idea? Listening, supporting, then having your turn. Like a conversation, dig? My favorite is when the support players improvise to the soloist’s lead, keeping the groove and creating rhythmic interplay. Now the analogy is an animated conversation. “That’s right. Say it, sister.” “Uh-huh. Bring it on!” People still do this during speeches in West Africa. “Nba…” “…
I guess I should get on with the story. So, I was at a drum circle the other night. Friends who study Jembe and Dunun but also enjoy the freedom of an open jam had invited me. I showed up during a jam and added my accompaniment ideas while warming up. Then I worked my way into doing some solos in between those of others whose improvisations were coherent and audible. There is a lot of judgement here, but, like a conversation, you take a chance and jump in when you think you can add something inspirational. As for playing with those from model one who play in quieter, continuous solo mode, you can choose to support by reinforcing the rhythmic cycle, you can join them (adding yet another improvised strain to the mix), or, if you have the chops, play over the top…’Cause they ain’t never gonna stop and give you a turn! They just keep on rumbling. This is actually the way it has worked in every drum circle I can remember going to. It is a combination of the two models.
So, in one particular jam, us Mandeng enthusiasts were playing a semi-traditional rhythm along with the others. Whether the others knew that or not, it was a framework. I had soloed a bit and then slid into an accompaniment part to support a friend on the other side of the dununs who was doing his thing. Then, this woman to my left playing a jembe horizontally on the ground starts talking to me. I couldn’t make out what she was saying so I quieted my contribution and leaned over to give her another few chances to communicate, personally, to me. Then I made it out:
“Don’t dominate,” she said.
“What?”
“Don’t dominate. You’re dominating.”
“I’m not even soloing. I’m playing accompaniment. You mean you want me to play quieter?”
“You’re dominating. Don’t dominate.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That guy over there is taking a solo. I’m supporting him. We play together.”
“Don’t dominate.”
“All I can do is play quieter. Is that what you’re asking?”
“You’re dominating.”
“Whatever.”
“Do you want me to show you?”
“Yeah, sure. Go for it.”
At this point she moved to an open chair on my right and started playing what looked like a continuous circle-style rumble. Her hands were playing all the subdivisions (1/16th notes, if you’re so inclined), right hand occasionally shifting from near the rim to nearer the middle of the drum. I say that it looked like this because I couldn’t hear anything she was playing. She said, “You see?” a couple of times and then, two or three times, she said, “Let’s go,” while apparently adding more intensity to her movements. I tried to honestly connect with her, hear what she had to teach, despite the fact that she was, ironically, attempting to ‘dominate’ me and my playing. Finally, I stopped for a second, leaned in to hear, and then told her, straight up, “Honestly? I can’t hear anything you’re playing.” Then, as in a conversation you’re trying to politely transition from, I acknowledged her now and then but played on as normal. At the urge of my friend who had been previously soloing, I took the lead again for a few phrases, did an echauffement[2], and called the others out with a break. Everyone stopped and applauded (not for me, but for the jam, the experience), as usual. During my solo, my new friend said things like, “Oh. Aggressive!” “Let’s go!” then, “Look around! Look up! Look at the others! Listen! You’re not listening!” I did look up and try to be sensitive to her opinion, but I was soloing too. I was playing to the rhythm not to any particular participant. In the second of the two modes I outlined above, I was conducting for a minute to bring the rhythm up and out. This is what we—traditionally influenced rhythm enthusiasts–do, and we let each other do it, trading that role.
This woman continued to divide while paying lip-service to unity. Just as we finished and everyone else seemed to be celebrating the post-jam catharsis, she said to me, “You probably voted for Trump too!” Then she stormed off. This left quite a mark. Regardless of your political persuasion, she was now attempting to throw her worst insult at my character because she didn’t approve of my contribution to the group experience. I was a bit shaken, to the extent that I stood up and addressed the whole group. I told them that we over on this side (we don’t always sit on the same side but were that evening), were not trying to take over. We study African music. We were just having fun, doing our thing. We value everybody’s contribution and the experience is for everybody. People chimed in saying positive things. “Absolutely.” “We love what you do.” And, from one African-American participant, “After all, that’s where the music comes from, right?” I was close to further explaining my dismay by elaborating on the woman’s diatribe against me, culminating in her post-jam Trump comment, but the organizer told me to sit down and let it go, which I did.
Later on, when things were wrapping up. I couldn’t help but bring it up again and tell some of the others what had been going on. Those I talked to said they could see something was happening but weren’t sure what it was. They were generally incredulous that she was telling me how to play. They were supportive, calming, re-affirming, taking my side. One friend even said it really helped his state of mind to see me dealing with her in a calm and patient way. He said he would have been pissed off and shouted at her or whatever. We agreed that the woman was either, “two fries short of a happy meal,” as one friend put, or just really ignorant of percussion music. She wanted to control and subdue people who know how to play and make them blend with the group, most of whom did not know how to play very well.
But enough of massaging my own ego. That’s how the discussion went and that’s how the gentle, supportive people that I talked to saw things. However, I couldn’t help but wonder, what was that woman’s perspective? She seemed to be coming from some place of knowledge, of confidence in that setting. Was she a drum circle facilitator? An old pro but from a different aesthetic? I have already made the point that I study rhythm and hand percussion traditions as serious music. In my view these are the various and sundry classical musics of the African Diaspora, Indian Diaspora and so forth. Their aesthetic loci are not western tonal harmony or coordinated orchestral performance from the written score, but expressive groove created through non-isochronous timing, multi-dimensionality created through layers of ostinati, simultaneous implied metric structures, melodies hear-able from multiple starting points and multiple relationships to the primary beat structure, and more, all expressed in both compositional and improvisational material.
However, with the proliferation in the west of the instruments long used to celebrate this aesthetic, there has been a comparatively puny proliferation of the aesthetic itself. There seems to be a sizeable contingent of people who take these instruments as instant music makers, for everybody. As hinted at above, this is a true component of their worth. As much as it is troublesome to my ego to admit that my ‘serious’ music is played on some of the same instruments we give to babies to throw around the crib, this only helps to obscure in some peoples’ minds the complexity and beauty of rhythmic expression, not obliviate it.
Most people I know who study in one or various lineage traditions don’t bother going to drum circles, or they don’t go often. There is a divide between those who study and learn older music and then recreate it and those who just let their experience guide them,
But wait, the ethnomusicologists like to go on about the participatory, community nature of African music. This preceding model sounds like show-boating, taking over, screaming (as Jembes do), “Look at me, center stage!” But the thing to understand is that in a generalized African ‘traditional setting’ (this line can be blurry, as traditions have always evolved), most of the participants are dancing, singing, and clapping hands. These community members tend to have highly evolved rhythmic senses, but they don’t just grab loud instruments and jam. This is the realm of the apprenticed musicians; they are specialist music makers who work for years on their craft. Some of these people, especially in the cities, make their living playing. That’s all they do. (See Traditional vs. Modern Apprenticeship for additional discussion)
But this participatory model is still different from the concert model so familiar in the west. People don’t buy tickets and sit to watch. They get down. They dance and sing, perhaps even have a whole-body religious experience, and the musicians are the facilitators of that experience. They are ‘paid’ by their standing and function in the community, or by the organizers of the wedding they are animating, or by playing instead of hoeing weeds or sowing seeds or harvesting in an agricultural work party, or by earning tips from participants who are moved enough to offer money or goods. There are 101 gray areas, I know. Perhaps you have been moved to a whole-body religious experience at a concert which you paid to attend. At
But my point is, some people at drum circles are treating the experience as a participatory experience in which most people play instruments. And, they do so without an agreed upon common repertoire or technical expectations. Other people at those circles work at percussion music as their craft or hobby and are there to perform, to jam, mostly for and with others who appreciate what they do. They are there to inspire, to be on stage, at least some of the time.
This seems to me to be a relatively new hybrid. People who don’t understand Mandeng, Ewe, Ashanti, Yoruba, Kikongo, Afro-Cuban, or Afro-Brazilian music (I could go on, those are just examples) might have gotten the idea that people just sit around and make that stuff up. Such people would be right in two senses: 1) The music is always evolving; and, 2) There is a lot of improvisation. They might also play on wooden crates or hoe blades or beer bottles when there is no ‘instrument’ to strike. However, you don’t in those contexts just sit down and play whatever. You don’t play unless you know the language and can keep up. In some cases, in certain contexts, you need to be initiated.
But in the drum circle, lots of the people do just make it up. What’s more, some of them have never played that kind of music before. This can be incredibly empowering and freeing…“Music is just flowing out of me!” But what of the clash of this free-for-all music making with the followers of tradition? Most of the time, like in all relationships, people make compromises, accept each other, and allow their fellow speakers to do their thing from their own, unique, beautiful perspective. This is the amazing side of the phenomenon, which, as far as I know, doesn’t exist in ‘older’ cultures. Sure, people jam in Ireland or India or Indonesia, but the drum circle is not culturally specific. It might seem African from the outside, but I think I’ve made a decent point that it is not.
And what of those clashes that don’t easily resolve themselves in peoples’ hearts, like the one that inspired this long essay? Should there be many circles, those for followers of specific traditions, those for non-followers/non-studiers/only-in the-moment players, and yet more for the disciples of several traditions combined? “This is a Hindustani/Gaelic circle. Over in the park on 4th and Broadway you’ll find a Mandeng/Gamelan mix.” Well, that’s a cool idea. Maybe in Dubai, Brussels, Toronto, or Aukland.[3]
For me, I like to keep the traditions separate most of the time, but am interested in well-thought through, composed or arranged hybrids. Long standing music traditions all have their particular aesthetic loci and attendant nuances and complexities. I like to explore from within, to speak a language I know (metaphor! :-)). After the ‘dominating’ experience, I am more inclined to avoid drum circles, as some of my trad-leaning peers do. Better to spend my time organizing people who have a strong interest in trying to play one kind of amazing music and do it well. Also, I don’t want to feel like I am stepping on someone else’s aesthetic. Deep down, I have felt this way at many circles I’ve attended. That’s why I don’t like ‘facilitating.’ I don’t want to tell people what to play or show them how they should play…unless they’re interested in a particular type of knowledge that I have. Classical violinists shouldn’t profess about Gamelan (unless they know something about it), and I don’t wish to profess about drum circle aesthetics. Maybe I shoulda grabbed that woman and asked where she was coming from.
Addenda
- Not long after the altercation discussed above, I was invited to play with some friends at a camp style music and healing festival in the countryside. I have mostly finished (I think!) my life experiences with psychedelics, mostly several decades ago, but I am still open to the possibilities for healing and transformation, as popularly documented by authors like Tim Ferris, Dave Asprey, and others. In that spirit, I accepted a good friend’s offer of a micro-dose of mushrooms during one of the night time percussion jams around the fire. I didn’t lose my sense of self, hallucinate, or even feel more than slightly buzzed, but I did grapple with the dilemma hinted at above, and came to a sort of melancholy resolution. I decided, or rather felt strongly, that drum circles just didn’t feel right for me. I realized I gained no satisfaction from either blending in anonymously (this gathering was so big I could hardly hear any difference) or in stepping out, in loud flashy style to play over the top. That felt like pure ego, trying to stick out as ‘the dude’ at the party, rather than contributing to an inspiring conversation among friends. Somewhat tangentially, it is a goal, almost a mantra, of mine that in music and in life, I don’t strive to impress people, but rather to move them. This can be in a support or lead role, but at the giant fire jam, I didn’t feel effective, or interested, in either.
- Some months after that experience, I tried another, much smaller drum circle, indoors on a freezing winter evening. As in the past, I was invited by friends and wanted to see them and socialize a little, on a weeknight, in both verbal and musical conversation. I had a wonderful time! My technique was on without effort, the ideas were flowing, and I felt I could really offer something inspiring to the effort, in lead and support roles. We had fun together! A month or so after that, I went again. It was not quite as good, but almost. Hey, such is life! The day after that I had a beautiful session with a few pure Mandeng enthusiast friends. The timely juxtaposition of these two experiences helped me to realize that they each offered freedom of a different character. The Mandeng jam was an intense experience of physical energy and mental precision. We pushed each other, improvising on known structures, stretching them and ourselves, and ended with a runner’s high as potent as the high from the transcendent musical connection we shared. The drum circle, on the other hand, offered the freedom to participate as much or as little as I felt like doing, to play loud then soft, to bow out and listen, to try different ideas, different combinations of familiar material, and to morph those into still other material. The former experience was like running up (or down) a mountain, the latter like wandering in a meadow. Both so nice when you’re open to the possibilities.
Footnotes
- From Efrain Toro, who grew up in Puerto Rico: “…I come from the root. I come from hearing the music, feeling the music, because I could
dance, since I’m little because we could dance! We had to dance. It’s the only way to…if you go to a party, you have todance, if you couldn’t dance you were poop. Not only that, you were unhip.You see? You were unhip. “Wha’? You don’t know how to dance? So unhip!” Do you see? You don’t want to be unhip, you want to dance! But today, it’s unhip to dance. So how can you play styles of music where you don’t move to it? It’s crazy. The world makes no sense.” (Personal conversation, 2012) ↑
- A French, West African term for the intensification and speeding up
section of a rhythm, usually performed during a dance solo, at the end of a drum soloist’s improvisation, or at the end of the piece. Literally, ‘heating up.’ ↑
- https://www.worldatlas.com/articles/the-most-cosmopolitan-cities-in-the-world.html ↑