Saturday, 23 June 2018


Drum Arabesque Communique # 7: Pressure, release, pressure, release (pressure....)

I've not been drumming much this week, but in all other musical regards I am constantly reminded of the beauty in simplicity, and the immeasurable importance of subtlety in feeling. All these ideas just keep dancing around in my head in a simple waltz that slows on the third beat, always letting the tempo slide into slower and slower cycles. By way of contrast, the complex books I am reading require of me a slower and more careful approach, as sentences stretch over many lines, becoming paragraphs depicting the most picturesque of ideas, becoming pages turned over and still the central arguments build with tenacity and precision and an unstoppable logic that finally when the hammer is brought down and the author deigns to speak the final words, I am left carrying the weight of a thousand years of poetry condensed into a page turned over a paragraph that all began with a single idea.

It is this combination of the simplicity of the waltz, and the complexity of ancient literary texts that brings me to today's lesson.

I've talked about it before in class, the notion of pressure and release, roughness and smoothness, open rhythms and closed rhythms, sustained and separated notes bookended by hammering boot marching, gunfire patterns of hail-storm quality. It is these competing pressures of all life that contribute to good music. Never more so than in music intended for dance, which in itself seems to be an expression of competing pressures, of intellectual conceptions and thoughtful, deliberate choices in choreography, and the utterly instinctual movements of one who is IN THE DANCE, devoid of thought or language or syntax, unaware of composition, choreography or conception.  One who feels the contrasting pressures and responds as birds do to thermal layers in the atmosphere.

So the question then is, how do you create pressure in music? Take the classic combination of a slow Chiftatelli, or even a slow Macedonian Cocek, followed by a filled Malfuf...for example.

Cocek x3                                                                  Malfuf  x2
D-kT-kTk/D-kT-kTk/D-kT-kTk/                 DkkTkkTk/DkkTkkTk

The second part, the x2 cycles of Malfuf, is played quickly, taking as much time as a single Cocek cycle. This also utilises one of my favourite patterns of making five feel like four.

That's three Cocek, and two Malfuf, for a total of five rhythm cycles, played over the time it takes to play four of the 'tonic' rhythm, the dominant, slow Cocek.

It's a good idea to record yourself playing one of these rhythms, and to practice playing the other over the top. Practice playing Malfuf at the same slow tempo as the Cocek, then practice doubling the tempo. Practice all this in your mind as well as on your drum. I said that I haven't drummed much this week, but I have practised every day on my knees and on my dog and on my steering wheel, listening to the world and playing counter-rhythms to the patterns in my head. This kind of daily drill, maintaining a circadian discipline, is, I think, the source of the deep confidence that I have in my hands. They know more than I do, they trust more than I do, because I let them guide me in my everyday practice, and as such, it is never a chore, it is only the instinctual reflex of an animal at rest.

In nature, the sun rises and sets, the moon lights the darkness, the dawn brings a chorus of birds and twilight is forever shaded blue and mysterious with the pending shadows of night.

So too it shall be with our music.


PS...One of my cats disappeared this week.  The grief my family has felt at his loss has been a powerful reminder to love those nearest to you, to enjoy their company and to revel in their kindness.  What we loose may never again return to us, so give thanks and be conscious of the goodness in your life.  I enjoy the experience of death for this very reason, it sharpens the senses and makes every moment of joy (now tinted with sadness) all the more powerful.

We look before and after
and pine for what is not
our sincerest laughter
with some pain is fraught
our sweetest songs
are those that tell
of saddest thought.

Percy Shelley, from The Nightingale

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