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[Editors note: James Asher wrote this unsolicited review of the 2001 World Rhythm Festival as part of his visit to America from his home in London. It is reprinted here with his permission and is also published on his web site.]

Our first port of call was Seattle - to attend the World Rhythm Festival. Here we met up with Arthur Hull, who was the guide and focal point of our entire tour. There was much diverse activity in Seattle, spread out through about seven different locations within a kind of municipal complex.

Workshops, demonstrations, outdoor free-range drumming/ drum circles abounded along with a universal percussion fever! 2001 marks the ninth year for this festival, and it's clearly built up quite a momentum and strong following by the local community. There were many varied performances from a wide range of cultural styles, instrument combinations and age groups. The high points of Saturday and Sunday‘s events were the Great Northwest Drum circles, led by Arthur Hull. About 300 people came to the Saturday event, and there was a hugely infectious buzz emanating from the participants.

Arthur was on his best most exuberant and playful form, and I began on my mission of filming and recording the circle. On the Saturday I positioned myself fairly discreetly towards the edge of the circle facing inward. This gave me a reasonable vantage point, and prevented a sense of being too intrusive, though it was not as effective from both a vision and sound perspective as the next day, when I stationed myself in the centre of the circle, allowing a much clearer view from the hub of the circle.

My communication abilities were severely curtailed at this point having contracted laryngitis. Here I was, surrounded by a bunch of great people, unable to persuade my voice to come out with anything more than some bizarre random whispery squeaks! A very strange predicament in which to find yourself!

There was a variety of action at the centre of the circle beyond Arthur‘s congenial conducting as master of ceremonies, including dancing and some saxophone playing by Christine Stevens (from Remo). Somehow the alarm system got triggered so this brought a curious end to the jubilant antics of the Saturday circle. On the Sunday, the circle was not quite as full as the day before, but driven by just as much enthusiasm. There was honoring of several people made, including John of ‘John‘s Music‘ who has obviously been central to organising the festival for quite some years.

Traveling to and from the festival we used the city‘s monorail, which offers a highly impressive spectacular view of the towering ‘scrapers‘ of Seattle. For the two days after the weekend we had fun just being tourists, and especially enjoyed a visit to the harbour area, where ‘low-flying fish‘ are thrown from and to sellers on fish stalls, and there‘s also a profusion of very intriguing craft goods and art available, amongst a glorious array of fresh fruit and vegetables

[Editors note: This unsolicited review of the 2001 World Rhythm Festival was written by Walter Alter and is reprinted here with his permission.]

Hi drum people,

Happy Shell suggested that I write about my impressions of the Seattle Rhythm Festival. With there being at least a half dozen events going on simultaneously, I can only report on a small fraction of what was there. It should also be mentioned that I am a novice drummer. I met some Oregon south coast drummers last summer while playing the didge at their drum circle and one of them was making his own ashikos. Being a woodworker currently preparing a sailboat for a Mexico cruise, I started making my own drums shortly thereafter. Had I been abducted by grey reptilian drum-aliens, my conversion to drum playing couldn't have been more immediate or complete. So, naturally, when word got to me about Seattle, nothing short of an extinction level event could have kept me from making the drive up the coast.

Being that this was a free event and having friends to stay with in Seattle made the experience financially easy. I was anxious to meet drummers and start jamming ASAP. I think I may have been the first arrival at the Flag Pavilion patio at 10 am on Friday, fresh and eager as a pilgrim monk. Little by little folks started showing up with ashikos and djembes, the first of an incredible panoply of drum configurations. I even saw another 4' Congolese ngoma like my "Godzilla" which I built after attending a Massego workshop in S.F. several months earlier.

The patio hosted a non-stop free form drum jam that lasted the entire weekend. On the first day there was also a gathering of school trained drummers on another patio concentrating on the traditional song forms. They were hot but a little too disciplined for the proletarian rabble that began to ebb and flow through the main drum circle that always had at least 20 drums and usually 50 plus cooking at any one time. I'm self taught and like to play freeform, finding rhythms within rhythms and often going off the edge of my skill level. Very occasionally I'd hear a traditional rhythm start up fresh after a break in the jam, but that quickly got modified into one of a half dozen strongly pulsed rhythms that could hold up to the tendency towards chaos that my anarchist soul finds interesting as a source to structure.

Once I got over some of my newbie nervousness and found a groove or two, it was fun to study the social dynamics of the group. Some participants would manifest a group role into their playing, and often the more accomplished drummers would spontaneously take the lead in keeping everyone on the beat or speeding the tempo. There weren't many dancers at the jams that I noticed, at least at first. And when dance magic cast its spell, it was usually a free wheeling Rainbow Gathering motion rather than traditional African moves. It would have been cool if some of the dance instructors had stopped by the jams like some of the drum workshop teachers did.

Sometimes the role playing got a little heavy handed with the occasional prima donna complex, but basically it was a party and fun as hell. Once, a really good player worked his way next to me and started implying that I was to play according to his lead. OK, maybe I was getting a little raggedy. At one point I tried playing an entire song with nothing but flams, just for the heck of it. But that's no excuse to give an earnest neophyte the stink eye and demand conformity. Later, when I passed by him on the way to a workshop and said howdy, he blew me off. Well, fold it five ways and stick it where the sun don't shine. Drumming shouldn't be the attitude Olympics. Build yer pecking order over at the karaoke bar and let the lead drummers who give the jam shape, play batteria captain with enthusiasm and friendly encouragement.

A slight problem occurred when it began to drizzle and the patio party had to move under the eaves of the Flag Pavilion. Sunday was a busy day for the Seattle Center and we were crowded against the building, still drumming like the babalu brigades when some Seattle Center security flack started rudely bumping his way straight through the circle numerous times like he was on a WTO training mission. Eventually we copped to the fact that we were partially blocking a fire exit and immediately everyone cooperatively moved camp 15' west. It might be a good idea for organizers of such events to liaison effectively with the facility's security apparatus and go over some of these scenarios. The security commando in question evidently came on duty with a chip on his shoulder amplified by the heinous sight of rampaging dreadlocks and bare feet, no doubt.

The workshops I attended were knockouts, every one. I was unfamiliar with the reputations of the various teachers, but it was evident that they were uniformly at the top of their fields. Arthur Hull must be a living legend. He led the opening night circle and did several workshops. The guy is falling down funny and can communicate core ideas effortlessly at every skill level. His technique of mirroring the chant and reply game by leaving sentences uncompleted and then prompting the group to chime in with the answer was marvelous good fun.

The opening ceremony featured a sampling of the many drum traditions that were to be featured in the performances and workshops. Needless to say the Indian tabla, played by Vishal Nagar, was the hit of the evening. You know, I just don't know how earthlings manage to play them things like that. While he was playing I imagined him back home at the local finger gym, moving massive weights on a thousand year old bow flex apparatus finger by finger, each tendon rippling under the flesh like bridge cables across the chasms of ignorance. Heh...sorry..blink blink...I'm back now.

One thing that impressed me was that all the instructors I saw emphasized that there is much latitude in interpreting the standard rhythms. I think we often internalize instructional books and videos assuming that its diagram of a rhythm is inviolate. Pepe Danza made some things about this issue clear in his Uruguayan rhythm workshop when he noted that while all Uruguayan music may be based on the Clave beat (the Bo-Diddly beat), it is never played in its textbook form, being improvised infinitely. The instrument he played was a marvel. The "cajon" is like the pyramid in the dollar bill only with the top amputated and the eye poked out. (non US readers can think- tall truncated pyramid). It is inverted with the base as the playing head and is made entirely of wood, no skins. Pepe made that puppy dance and wiggle in a blur of back beat, implied back beat and ephemeral back beat.

When I walked into Brent Lewis' workshop on basic drumming, I recognized him from the patio jam I just came from. I knew he was good and asked him then if he was a professional musician. He said cryptically "sometimes". Heh, I don't think there is a drumming tradition he hasn't mastered with a capital M. You know what I mean- when the player states the rhythm once at the beginning and never again plays exactly that, but a dense fabric of improvisation in which the key beat is always there, felt like the ghosts of ancestors. A questioner mentioned something about congas and he effortlessly started teaching conga technique on the djembe. But I cannot get that heel-toe movement and sometimes I hit this wrist nerve that is more fun than wet fingers in a light bulb socket.

My first introduction to polyrhythms was at Mandido's workshop. You knew that his quiet, even tempered manner was the gateway to some rhythmic theme park. His workshop was titled "Drumming Madness Intermediate" & I knew that this was my kind of fun. My draw dropped when he played 4/4 with one hand and 3/4 with the other. When I tried it myself, it became evident to me that polyrhythms probably require something close to a split personality disorder. Again, the impression was left that there are no hard and fast rules to drumming. The end of his workshop was a bedlam of play anything and listen for the polyrhythms. Trying to get the hang of the 4/4 3/4 hand jive was instrumental in keeping me awake on the drive home. Thanks, Mandido.

Geoff Johns introduced some interesting social ideas in his workshop on Haitian drumming. I had a previous interest in aspects of Voodoo worship and was worried that this would sort of be a taboo number for the public. But he dove right in on the theory of rhythmic trance driving; teaching us a Haitian break leading into a modification of the rhythm with the explanation that this is done to shift gears in the trance ceremony to deepen the spiritual contact state of the participants. Before long we were all glassy eyed, staring at the ceiling...heh...just kidding. The big drum technique with Haitian drumming was interesting. It uses a hammer like stick with one hand to tap the side of the drum and to really pound out the downbeat on the drum head.

After each performance, Godzilla and I raced outside to jam some more. When I first arrived a couple of women drummers were passing around some hand cream. I thought "man no use cream, cream for baby..." I had never drummed all day before and based my folly on having played through a lot of beginner's sausage finger swelling and old man joint distress. I'm gonna tell you one thing kid, bring the cream, the chapstick, the motor oil, whatever. The skin of a drum head will soak the oil out of your fingers like the IRS on a junk bond survivor. Then they crack at just the right place and you play pain pinball- ka-ching ka-ching. Two fingers ended up totally spiraled in electricians tape and many other rings of black doom indicated my tribal affiliation.

I did catch one performance and it was a doozie. Naby Camara and Mapathe Diop did a drums of fire duel on Sunday afternoon that stopped me in my tracks. I had wandered in to the food mall area where the big stage was to rest my leg bones and re-caffeinate. I could hear a pretty intense drum corps going at it on stage but couldn't see much since the place was busy with the regular Sunday attendees on top of the drumsters. Then these machine gun solos blasted the fog out of my brain and I dragged Godzilla over to where I could see what was going on. These two gentlemen simply did the impossible with the human rhythmic sense. The backup drum line was cooking, playing fast and hard. I was surprised that they were all white guys, even the djun djun. There was one brother with a set of small graduated congas, playing them with what looked like the big end of a pool cue. I wish I knew what they are called.

Everyone was totally focused and flawless and Naby and Mapathe played follow the leader for a while, then each playfully tried to commandeer the mike while short crisp rolls intertwined with long flam fests that blurred into rolls again and blurred out into staccato barrages with 32nd note rests at all the impossible places. My brain was going 90 miles an hour with the little voice shouting "remember that one, dammit!! blap daddly ap ap ap blap....remember that one too!!! dada dada blap blap blapeta blapeta...!!" I eventually tired and gagged the inner idiot and just stood there open mouthed, practicing for my Alzheimer's years, in total amazement.

In earlier days, I may have given up drumming right there. You see such beauty and it's like staring at the stars on a warm night, it just knocks you over. But as I grow more stubborn and wisdom and fun find themselves on the same interstate, I headed back out to the patio and jammed until my buddy dragged me off, arms still twitching, for our dinner party with some local friends.

This event is etched on my cortex like a big yellow smiley face. Drumming nonstop for two days added a foundational solid feel to my basic technique. Playing with others for long stretches gave me a sense of how drum creativity weaves in and out of a number. Sometimes we played hot, other times tentative, but the jam always came back to life and hit the happy beat harder and faster. If any of you have a big drum event within reach, just do it, put it on the credit card, sell something on EBay, borrow from your mom...get there and get it into your marrow.

Walter Alter