The Nigerian Talking Drum

David G. Such

Rhythms have always held an important place in my own music and in my exploration of the world's music, which is why I often gravitate toward Africa where one can find old cultures, drumming groups, and some of the most intriguing and complex rhythms anywhere. A few years back I accepted an offer to meet and talk with students at the University of Lagos, the capital of Nigeria. My friends considered me crazy. One warned, "Africa's a dangerous place, dude!" He was right. I read about some of the intertribal and civil wars that commonly break out throughout the continent. Nigeria stands as no exception, while groups divided by tribal, ethnic and religious affiliations battle for control of the oil rich north. However, Lagos, located near Nigeria's western coast, seemed far enough removed from all that.

After arriving in Lagos, I immediately sensed a deep tension, as though the city could ignite at a moment's notice. One of the first musicians I met, was a popular musician named Femi Kuti, the son of the famous Nigerian musician named Fela Kuti. Femi invited me to his concert at a large auditorium on a sweltering Friday evening. My driver stood well over 6 feet tall, massive and muscular. When we hit a traffic jam that kept us immobile for 5 minutes another driver began to inch into the space in front of us. That prompted my driver to leap out of the car, go up to the window of the encroaching car began yelling at the closed window. He had both hands on the roof of the car, ready for that window to roll down. Fortunately, it didn't, and after a few minutes, my driver returned, sat back down, and cooled off.

My driver then asked, if I was going to stay through the entire concert. "Sure, why not?" I replied.

He went on to explain that Femi's concerts usually end with beer bottles flying indiscriminately through the air along with random outbreaks of fist fights. "The hospitals become quite full on a Friday night," he went on to say.

Later, Femi told me that these concerts provide a "safe" outlet for the Nigerian people living in Lagos, because they work hard, life is difficult in Lagos, and so many things go wrong with the government.

One night I went to a local bar, which was recommended by the receptionist at my hotel who said it was situated near to a police station. The bar consisted of plastic lawn chairs and tables placed on the sidewalk and the street, inches away from ongoing automobile traffic. A single gas powered generator kept a large light bulb aglow and a small freezer cool. The bar served only one item--beer.

The bar quickly filled, and a Youruban man dressed in western garb asked in English if he could sit at my table. I knew he was Yoruban from the scars on his face, which he received in his teen years to mark his rite of passage into manhood. I heard some interesting stories from him. He began telling me about his village not far from Lagos, but very far removed from urban life styles and thinking. He mentioned the name of a 70 year-old man who had several wives. One of his more recent wives could not conceive.

"So this is what she did," the man said. "She saved her money and bought for him another wife who was able to conceive. She loved him that much," he concluded.

After my lecture at the University of Lagos, I was invited to visit and meet the students at the University of Ife, the tribal capital and heart of Yoruba culture. The two-hour journey by mini bus went well enough, and I was relieved to leave Lagos and its air of tense frustration. Ife rewarded me with a rich display of music, drumming and culture. Often times, while driving around by taxi, I would come upon a ceremony of some type, such as funeral, happening on the street or nearby. I would get out and video tape the performances, talk to some of the musicians (if they spoke English), find another taxi, and journey on.

At the University of Ife, I met a student who was the son of a master drummer who plays the talking drum--a drum that the Yoruba use for ceremonies and ensemble performances. Basically, the drum mimics the tones of the Yoruban language, which allows speakers of the language to understand what the drummer is "saying" literally on the drum. I was hooked.

For the remainder of my time in Ife, I researched the talking drum, talked to performers and sought out some instrument makers in order to learn about the instrument. The following pages are a sampling of what I found.