The Power of Drum Circles and Other Participatory Music Spaces
Photo from Earthsong Rising
Growing up I never saw myself as a musician.
Sure, I picked up the guitar for two weeks in high school, but all I remember is messing up my strumming patterns a few times and promptly giving it up a week later.
I’d made up my mind:
Playing music isn’t for me. I’ll listen to it, make mixtapes, and attend concerts–but I’m never going to be the one on stage beaming pure emotion straight into the hearts, minds, (and booties) of the audience.
Music-making was an impenetrable sonic voodoo magic. And two weeks attempting guitar solidified it: I’m not cut out for this.
Music-making is an edge for many people
Today, I see the same sentiment echoed almost every time a spontaneous moment of music begins to emerge among friends.
Folks are often hesitant to sing. “…I’m not trained.” They’re scared to strum, “…nobody taught me.” And they let their comfort zone get the best of them. The fear of looking bad crushes the flower before it can bloom.
We compare our untrained musicality to the talented few we see on our devices, and our brain stem paralyzes us: “I’m not a singer.” We say to ourselves.
“Comparison kills creativity and joy.”
Our resistance to music-making is largely cultural
Our music anxiety is a byproduct of Western society. My time in Brazil taught me that a whole bus of strangers can spontaneously burst into song. And you can have a multi-generational dance party driven by a cheap guitar, metal spoons, and some pans.
In the West, we’ve detached from our ancient musical roots. To sing is as human as to laugh, dance, yell, cry or fuck, yet we’re divorced from the reality of our bones, the soul-animating life force that courses through our blood.
Concert stages teach us to be onlookers instead of participants
The concert as we know it wasn’t even invented until the late 1600s. And while I’m totally stoked to see highly accomplished musicians perform on stage, I often wonder if making such a strong distinction between “audience member” and “performer” is good for us.
The culture of staged concerts subtly reinforces how we see ourselves: as musician or non-musician. Many indigenous cultures have music-based rituals where every able-bodied tribe member participates. Say “I can’t play music” to a tribe member and they’ll either laugh or get confused. You can speak, can’t you?
In Brazilian Capoeira, two players dance-fight as a circle of fellow martial artists sing, clap, and play percussive instruments around them. Nobody’s there to win a grammy. They’re just having a good time.
Both song and dance are human universals: activities that are present in every culture known to man. To sing is human. Cultural fear holds us back. Comparison holds us back. Even capitalism holds us back: “Am I even a musician if I’m not making money?”
My hippie friends brought me back to music
Today, strumming nylon strings is my meditation, my Mount Everest, my journal, and a sacred space where I channel deep emotional truths. I believe I was destined to find this six-stringed hollow wooden box. Like Goku to the dragon balls or Thanos to his infinity stones.
Yet the journey from, “No way, I can’t play,” to, “Sure, I mess around.” Was anything but inevitable. My creative confidence was built up over countless whimsical nights at a communal house with seven kind-hearted hippies. They built a safe container for guests to mess around and make mistakes.
And many fledgling music-makers follow a similar trajectory: First, we’ll do a basic beat on a hand-drum. Then we might hit something with a limited range of notes, like a hand-pan or kalimba. We’ll sing a little bit — if everyone else does, of course. Perhaps we learn a chord or two on the ukulele. And then we’re off and running.
Sure, the music won’t be recorded. The jams are often simplistic and amateurish. But that’s the point! Music is a boundless wellspring of creativity incumbent in the human spirit. And in a time when we spend so much time online comparing our lives to others, mindlessly divorced from our bodies, scrolling and scrolling through an uncertain future — music is a reprieve. A casual hippie jam is a beacon for connection. A dumb, funny, and powerful excuse to exorcise the bullshit from our monkey minds and just play.
And it's not just for the pros sweep-picking arpeggios on stage. Music is for everyone.
