Loud

When I first talked to my teacher about buying a drum, I asked him to choose one for me.

The following week, I arrived at class with an empty bag and he had me play a beautiful goatskin djembe for class. Afterwards, he told me it was the one he picked out for me.

It was loud. A beautiful, crisp, gorgeous sound.

"I know you like to play loudly" he said. "So I chose this drum for you."

Even as I write this, there is a cowskin soaking in Sidy's plastic tub, waiting to get mounted on my latest drum shell. It, too, will be a loud drum. Probably even louder than my goatskin.

And then there is the Jeli dun dun. I told Sidy I wanted to buy his. It is a big metal can with tanned goatskin heads. You play it with one hand. In the other is a bell, which you play with an iron ring on your thumb.

Loud.

Let's face it. When we play, we are expressing ourselves. Our energy. Our enthusiasm. Our joy. For me, that is pretty out there. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a quiet person.

I can be quiet, when necessary. I can sit in silence for long periods, especially when I am at prayer. But my normal 'self' is pretty high energy, which often means high volume.

My teacher knows this about me, and is teaching me to chanel that energy into my drumming.

One of the drum circle facilitators I have encountered has made it clear that I am too loud for his taste. Tonight, I was so worried about it I played badly all night because I was so self concious. It was really a bummer. As I left, he commented on how loud I was. Again.

As I drove home, I decided I probably won't be going back to that drum circle any time soon. It is just too hard to try and be something I am not. It doesn't feel good.

Now I've found it

Last night I drove up to Milford MA for the drum circle there... and I gotta say, it rocked.

There was a good sized crowd of about 30 folks. Tons of djembes. And more excitingly, people who can play them. We had great fun 'talking' to each other in the rhythms. Very friendly people... good rhythms and great energy. Nice.

I am noticing a big difference in my playing skills. I think I have finally turned some kind of corner and feel much more comfortable playing in that kind of situation. I found myself doing little solo riffs here and there, without apology. My drum is still one of the sweetest sounding in any group... and I am less afraid of it being loud and just go with it. During the break, a few folks came up and complimented me on my playing and I was really psyched about it.

Here's another thing. I played my neighbor's drum for a set, and even though it was a bit out of tune, I still managed some nice slaps and tones. I think I am finally getting the hang of this crazy instrument!

Milford Drum Circle is on the first Thursday of the month at the UU church. 7pm. Come if you can. It's a good time.

Blood kin

The other day I was playing with my teacher.

We were playing hard. The adrenaline was pumping. I was in the groove.

Suddenly he stopped.

"Let me see your hands" he said.

I reached over and showed him my palm. The tip of my finger had split and I was bleeding. I looked at the drum and saw that there was a red blotch in the middle of the skin.

"Tape it" Sidy said.

So I wound sport tape around my bleeding finger and started to play again. It wasn't until later, when I was alone, that I could feel any pain.

No Words

I am a verbal person. Part of how I perceive the world is through language. I see and respond and describe. It is how I am in the world.

When I first started studying with Sidy, I loved it best when he would tell us things. He'd talk about the meaning of a song, where it fit into his culture, when it was played. I hung on every word. He could show me a part over and over, but what I would remember, later, at home, was his voice telling me

"Tone tone, slap slap slap."

In my mind, I would hear his words, his voice, his accent, while I grappled with a new part. I knew that the traditional way to teach did not involve telling... but was happy that Sidy adjusted his teaching for us.

In Mali, something changed.

I worked with a teacher who didn't use language to teach the drum. He taught by showing. No words at all. No facial expressions, even. Just the drum itself... and his hands. He'd play a part until I got it, then move on to the next piece. It was a rhythm unbroken by the appelle, seemlessly flowing from solo phrase to solo phrase, one into another. He'd announce the transition by emphasizing his hand position so I knew it was time to change. No words. At the end of the first day, I felt drunk with excitement. I really had no idea how my teacher felt... but I knew that something had clicked for me, in just that hour.

Yesterday, Sidy came to my lesson and we hardly talked at all. He said the name of the rhythm... but really, I would have known just by the break. We played, working over the pieces I have been learning. Then, a new one. No words, just showing me... first at regular speed, then slowly. Then bit by bit because I needed it broken down.

Then, I could play it.

No words. Just the drum. What joy.

Mazé's drum

I came back from Mali with a drum that belonged to one of my teachers.

I hadn't intended to buy a djembe. When I went to Mali, I thought I'd pick up a sangban or kenkeni. But after playing on cowskin a couple of times, it seemed to make sense to get another djembe to reskin with cowhide.

So given the choice of all the djembes in Mali, Sidy asked which I wanted and I selected Mazé's. No problem. I paid a reasonable price, Mazé got a brandy new one and I brought home a well loved, well played beauty with a dusty old goatskin and green ropes.

Yesterday the head popped. I was sitting in my office. The drum was in a bag next to my desk. Suddenly I heard a popping sound and panicked for just a moment wondering which drum it was. (I absolutely adore the skin on my goatskin djembe and it will be a sad day when that one breaks.)

But no. Luck was with me and it was the djembe I was intending to reskin anyway.

I spent the morning taking the drum apart. At first I was planning to keep all the ropes, but as I stripped the drum, I decided it would be lovely to really take it down to the bare rings and start from scratch. This is my own drum. It is a beautiful, heavy, round Malian djembe... and it will be great fun to rebuild it. The top of the bowl has a few cracks, so those will be repaired. The outside of the bowl is scratched from years of tunings, so I am going to lightly sand the exterior and oil it.

The rings are brutishly thick rebar which seems to be in great shape, so I will wrap them in fabric and make a new rope harness, at least on the top ring. Then I am going to get some new green rope to string the verticals. I have a cowskin coming from Mali later this month, which Sidy will help me mount.

I am excited because, while I have rebuilt drums before, I have never done one of my own. And the fact that this drum holds some of the spirit of one of my teachers makes it all the more of a joy to work on.

New Rhythms

In Mali I worked on Suku, Dansa and Maraka.

Today I started learning Koreduga. The timing on it is kicking my sorry ass.

I can also play the accompaniments and some solo phrases from Mendiani, Madan, Sounou, Sidiyasa, and Wassolonka.

Ok, I just have to say it

I love the shape of Mali drums best of all. Guinea drums are beautiful, it's true, but there is something so wonderful and luscious about the big round bowl of a Mali drum. I especially love to see them naked, without ropes or skins or even rings... just the wooden shell in all it's sculptural, curvy beauty.

There, I said it. I hope to get some good photos of shells while I am in Mali. I'll post them here when I get back.

Mali Bound

It's official. I have my tickets, got my shots, and am heading to Mali in January.

So, here's the scoop so far:

Tickets via Royal Air Maroc. We fly through Casablanca with a 15 hour layover... but will be put up in a hotel for the time we are there.

Shots:
Yellow fever
Polio booster
Regular flu shot
Meningitis

Last year I got Hep A and Typhoid, so they are still good.

I also have a prescription for anti-malarial drugs, Cipro for diarrhea and Ambien to sleep on the plane and help with jet lag.

Travel insurance: Check.

Still to do:
Register with the US Embassy.
Pack.
Get some gifts for Sidy's parents.
Arrange for the Visa with the Malian embassy in NY.

I am flying with a couple of other students. We have a few folks planning to join us in Mali. Sidy is going to meet us at the airport and that is a moment I am really excited about, stepping off a plane into the warm Malian night and finding my teacher standing there waiting for us. What a scene.

Allons y!

New piece

The beginnings of another solo part to Mendiani. LOVE it!

tttsssssssss, tttsssssssss, tttsssssssss, tttsssssssss, tsstsstsstsstsstsstsstss...........

Or something like that, LOL.

We'll see where this goes. The funny thing is I didn't really understand the underlying structure of Mendiani until I started playing this... and then suddenly, like a lightbulb, it went off. I wonder if it will help me play the rest of the solo parts better. I'll keep you posted.

My Hands

My hands are changing.

Where once was soft, smooth skin, now strength.

Callouses. Suddenly the creases in my palm are so pronounced I think a palmreader could read them blindfolded, just by touch.

From the top they look like ordinary hands. Long thin fingers. Nails painted. You might wonder where my rings are.

But turn them over and you know.

These are the hands of a drummer.