Clinton St. Quarterly— Fall/Winter 1988 only r omeone asks Obo Addy how he felt playing during the finale. "It was great. The organizers talked with us and arranged the order but we d idn ’t plan what we were going to play. Musicians know that music is one Ianjazz drumming but drumming—its past, present, and fu ture. He leans, tightens, he grits his teeth, and then he releases himself in a long steady roll up and down the different pitched drums of the set. Backstage, a young Russian rock drummer, who has come to the States to play in a back-up band for Alla Pugachove (the Russian rock n roll queen), stands almost at attention, his eyes glued to Cobham’s drumsticks, astonished that he is on the stage hearing Billy Cobham in person. As Billy finishes the solo, the audience roars a long applause and suddenly Billy is standing next to the speechless Russian. Billy sets down his sticks and the Russian wipes the sweat from Billy's brow. Zakir Hussein and Alla Rakha return to the stage for a trio of tablas and traps. Billy plays with some brushes. Zakir joins in. they pick up speed, and soon all three drummers are playing without holding back in an act of leaving room and filling the space. Zakir has played with many jazz drummers in a kind of marriage of improvisational musics, and Billy has played all over the world with many kinds of bands. Billy signals to Zakir. They talk through their drums, swap sounds, ideas, listen as much as play, and hit a rhythmic groove that is comfortable and yet innovative. Suddenly it is Billy Cobham alone again, beginning a bell pattern, initiating a theme. He is joined by Tito Puente and together they play a duet on timbales. Zakir adds a tabla line and then the troupe from Nigeria picks up on the feel of what is happening here: the heart of improvisational music. Obo Addy's group adds layers, and poon dancers from his group join the ■Migerian dancer. Layer upon layer of tseund, filigrees over the basic 4/4. You Lan break it down, hearing a rumba Tade in and out. The basic down home African rhythms at the core reach out around the globe. SamulNori swirls into a pattern and their headdresses spring to the back- beat. One of their drummers does a dance that puts his body at a slant so close to the ground you think he must be riding a pulley. SamulNori joins the other dancers, drummers riffing with drummers, all the while the music holds its shape while it expands. We re standing now, arms raised, exhilarated, moving if we can find room or jumping up and down, hoping this will last on and on. We feel fresh, e ffo rtless. happy to be human and alive; we feel in tune, connected to the coherent rhythm of the universe. guage. But when you get together you have to listen. You have to be a little bit sensitive—and everyone on that stage had that sensitivity." Zakir Hussein comments about the performance. "I thought it was fantastic to play there. I would have liked a little more time to get to know the other musicians. During the first show we warmed up but the second show was much better. It was an honor to be on stage with these masters. When I first was asked to perform at Bum- berdrum. there was no mention of the drum finale stuff. But when all these drummers appeared, we decided to do something. When you have great masters on stage, people who are very positive about playing together, then you can do something. Everyone was watching each other, wanting to help build something. "There is incredible drumming all over the world," Hussein added. "It was a commendable e ffort and it would be a lot of fun to have this annually. I really would like to be part of future performances. ” While Zakir Hussein and Ustad Alla Rakha tune their tablas. Zakir comments: "Since this is an integrative concept, we will continue on with the same tempo used by our friends from Ghana. " Alla Rakha brought a lot of Indian music to the States along with Ravi Shankar and is Zakir's father. Zakir explains that the sarangi (violin) player will play a repeated melodic line and Zakir and his father will improvise on top of that using a rhythmic cycle of 16 beats (four bars of 4/4 time). "Your response is very important to us. You're performing just as much as we are on the stage. It's great to jam with you here ton ight." The audience applauds and shouts loud approval. As we slowly leave the Opera House, a Hungarian woman te lls about her experience. "I saw one of the most healing experiences that I ’ve ever partaken of and I'm delighted that i t ’s happened in Seattle. My family from Hungary is here to enjoy that with me. I am utterly delighted. I saw nations coming together expressing themselves in the form of art, coming together the way they don 't do on the diplomatic tables. I ’m delighted, high, happy. This is what I want to see in the world and I hope that you keep doing th is ." Bumberdrum. A hard act to follow? Maybe. . but an act worth following. Over and over. At Bumbershoots, at other festivals, and in our selves, our attitudes, our lives. Writer Melissa Laird lives in Seattle. Long a CSQ contributor, her prize-winning stories on Hanford have contributed greatly to the decline and fall of that nuclear machine. Bruce Dugdale is a Bumbershoot staff photographer. Andy Frankel has studied with the Oyelami Troupe in Nigeria. illy Cobham's solo begins like a | J demonstration of the range of possibilities available to a trap set—fleshing out rhythms, tying to gether patters, bringing in scales, playing with the full texture of traps and somehow referring to the music we have just heard here on the stage. Cobham, who has played with Miles Davis. Billy Taylor, Larry Coryell, the Mahavishnu Orchestra and many others, summarizes the evolution not The soothing melody of the sarang/ opens. Zakir Hussein and Alla Rakha begin their exchange—solos alternating with duets. Double tablas ring out, dazzling the opera house. The organic sound of the deep left drum alternated with the high-pitched pattern of the right hand, embellished with rapid swirls, skin upon skin in an amazing array of sound. Father and son swapping bars, nodding, signifying. The audience is delighted and amazed. Oh—so this is what tablas really sound like. And two of them together? Not the usual combination. Zakir pronounces some of the tabla syllables for us and plays the composition of a deer loping across a meadow, with his elbow literally skipping across the drums like a running deer. Zakir is a flamboyant tabla virtuoso. The swirls of Alla Rakha well up like a small fountain that grows into a great waterfall, bringing with him decades of playing the drums in villages and cities, for crowds of all ages, and the vast vital life of a country that, in spite of transformation and attempts at influence from the outside, retains its core and never really changes. “ This may be my father's last performance in America." Zakir remarked. Alla Rakha is now 70 years old. He teaches music at a school in Bombay for students with no financial resources. The audience is very moved. As the tabla players finish. John Kertzer announces that they will be back. Only now do we get the notion that the musicians will satisfy our almost unspoken desire by playing together. M u s ic ia n s k n o w t h a t m u s ic is o n e la n g u a g e W h e n y o u g e t t o g e t h e r y o u h a v e t o l is te n . Y o u h a v e t o be a l i t t l e b i t S e n s i t iv e— a n d
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