I attended an African drumming class in Cambridge, near
MIT. This event was much more
personalized due to my own participation and the intimate environment in which
it took place. Upon arrival, Moussa, the
teacher was surprised to see people besides his “regulars.” As we entered the small art gallery off the
Central MBTA stop, Moussa was already jamming with his eclectic group of
regulars. His nephew Solo, who was
visiting from Mali, outfitted us with drums and away we went.
We were all given Djembe drums of
different sizes. It almost felt natural
to hold the drum after we had learned the basics just hours before by Mr.
Agbeli. Moussa started with the basics,
teaching us three different types of “hits” on the drum— bass, edge, and slap—
used to create different sounds.
Everything was done in rhythm, even the technical teaching of different
sounds. Moussa taught us “beginners” a
very basic rhythm that combined all three hits and served as the background
rhythm to what would become an overlapping array of synchronized sounds. Once we learned this rhythm, Moussa said, “Do
what you can do. You will not be me, and
you will not be anyone else this class.
We have played for years, and you start now.” I found this notion of accepting our
“novice-ness” interesting and refreshing.
This set up a very relaxed learning environment.
Moussa got all of us playing our
basic rhythm together and then gave his other students various rhythms to play. He would point at someone and say, “HERE!”
and then play a rhythm over and over again.
The student would watch, attempt, and then perfect the rhythm, all while
we played our basic rhythm with a bass drummer.
He would then go on to the next person and teach them yet another
layer. He repeated this process with his
regular students until all were busy with their respective rhythms. Moussa would then solo, mixing rhythms I knew
from my jazz, funk, and gospel drumming background, such as triplets, with
those that I had never heard before. The
unbelievable crispness, loudness, and speed he played with sometimes distracted
me from my own rhythm. I was lucky
enough to sit next to him, and when he could tell that I was catching on
quickly, he gave him his backup Djembe so that I could play a “good” drum. He said to me, “Here, now you are
professional,” and I took the drum with pride.
Moussa showed off his skills, but never intimidated his students, always
laughing and encouraging them by pushing their limits. We learned a very specific rhythm to “count
in” the group. Rather than the American
“1, 2, 1234” method, African drumming consists of a distinct rhythm that the
group plays together to count in and another distinct rhythm to end the piece.
Moussa implemented a “call and
response” or “do as I do” method of teaching, though he stopped occasionally to
give advice, especially to us beginners.
He told us to relax our arms, breath, not to think, and told Teddy to
relax in his chest in order for his hands to do what his brain demands. The most interesting piece of advice he gave
us was not to count. This was especially
hard for me, having learned drumming in a very rudiment based system designed
around playing written music to a metronome.
His advice proved useful, and once I stopped trying to figure out a time
signature, I began to hear the various interlocking patterns and didn’t judge
my timing off of counting but rather off of the other drum patterns. I immediately connected this experience to
the Titon reading on Agbekor, both in
that we learned through full speed rehearsals and developed ears for intricate
weavings of other patterns.
The “regulars” were all white and
were aged from about 30-60. There were
both men and women, and they seemed to come from very different
backgrounds. Many of them had worked
with Moussa for around 5 years, and one woman had been there for over 11. She said she once walked by and heard the
drumming, saw white people involved and decided to give it a try. She now works with Nani Agbeli and has taken
four trips to Mali to both learn and perform.
Most of the other regulars had similar stories, stating that they never
planned to start drumming but once they tried it, they couldn’t stop. Moussa explained to me after the class that
he started as a young boy, and his father did not approve of him choosing music
as a profession. He explained that he
would play in the street, play at weddings, baby showers, among other
events. He told me that he would play
easily for 14 or 15 hours a day and then finished the class with a comedic and
blunt, “Has everyone paid me? Good, see you all next week!”
*I know this is about a hundred
words over, but I figured better to give a complete description rather than cut out
important info that I’d learned.