The other night I went to my first drum circle. I'd never been to one before and didn't know what to expect. We met at the fire pit back behind my new church. There were about eight of us. I was the only woman at first. Later another woman joined us.
As soon as it started to get dusk, the "leader" lit the fire and we all gathered around. Most people had their own drums and a couple people brought Native style flutes. There was a box with tambourines and other percussion instruments for those who hadn't brought drums.
I expected the ceremony to start with a prayer or invocation of some kind but instead we sat around making small talk. Someone began tapping on a drum and one by one everyone else joined in with rhythms and counterrhythms. Far from being chaotic, pretty soon a "song" emerged and would go on for about 5 to 10 minutes. It was very hypnotic being part of the drumming and staring into the fire. Something very satisfying to my Aspie soul. It was one of those things where as they say you had to be there.
And thus the evening passed, drumming and chanting and talking, although very few words were actually said. They talked of other drum circles and musicians, most of whom I'd never heard of, about a passing African--a master drummer--who sat in one night, of street-corner drummers with five gallon plastic buckets. But mostly it was the drums that talked.
This is what music must have been like before it got to be formalized. What jazz and blues started out to be like, even country and folk and rock. People getting together to make music without a specific plan, without a script, just going where the spirit takes them. I fear in this computer age, in this electronic age, where everything is digitized and virtual, that we have lost something vital. That is why I am not on the computer much when the weather is good. So if you don't hear from me I am on the stage or at the drum circle, or doing other real things. Life is much too short to spend all of it in front of a screen.
As soon as it started to get dusk, the "leader" lit the fire and we all gathered around. Most people had their own drums and a couple people brought Native style flutes. There was a box with tambourines and other percussion instruments for those who hadn't brought drums.
I expected the ceremony to start with a prayer or invocation of some kind but instead we sat around making small talk. Someone began tapping on a drum and one by one everyone else joined in with rhythms and counterrhythms. Far from being chaotic, pretty soon a "song" emerged and would go on for about 5 to 10 minutes. It was very hypnotic being part of the drumming and staring into the fire. Something very satisfying to my Aspie soul. It was one of those things where as they say you had to be there.
And thus the evening passed, drumming and chanting and talking, although very few words were actually said. They talked of other drum circles and musicians, most of whom I'd never heard of, about a passing African--a master drummer--who sat in one night, of street-corner drummers with five gallon plastic buckets. But mostly it was the drums that talked.
This is what music must have been like before it got to be formalized. What jazz and blues started out to be like, even country and folk and rock. People getting together to make music without a specific plan, without a script, just going where the spirit takes them. I fear in this computer age, in this electronic age, where everything is digitized and virtual, that we have lost something vital. That is why I am not on the computer much when the weather is good. So if you don't hear from me I am on the stage or at the drum circle, or doing other real things. Life is much too short to spend all of it in front of a screen.
