In August 1980, just before classes began at Colorado State, my husband (then a relatively new love interest) and I and group of friends jumped into the back of someone’s old pickup with a gallon of the old kind of mezcal (with the worm) and warm lemonade (yeah, college students move) and headed to Red Rocks Amphitheater to see Santana. A late start plus miscalculations about travel time along the 75 or so miles meant that our parking spot was in the back of one of the lots. Upon arrival, we were told that, due to weather, the concert was being moved to the Denver Coliseum. Obviously, sets were simpler then.
Our delayed arrival paid off. We were among the first to leave, to arrive at the Coliseum, and then to race into the general admission “seating” where we were able to stand at the stage. If allowed, and I asked, I could have jumped up to sit at Carlos' feet. Our much younger ears didn’t balk at the proximity to the speakers and the passion and musical power of a much younger Carlos was jaw-droppingly impressive. That night’s version of “Europa” was so lovely and long and luxurious, that we wondered how it would have sounded at Red Rocks. Last weekend, and 43 years later (!), we did not, unfortunately, hear “Europa,” but the tall, layered Creation and Ship Rocks on either side of the arena sent “Samba Pa Ti” straight into my heart. Carlos is still able to bend his strings, to pull out the sweetness of his guitar like no other. And his wife, the effing amazing drummer Cindy Blackman, was in the house, wowing us with her energetic solos and seamless rhythms with the other percussionists. Stellar. Who needs MDMA, when Carlos can bring his audience so naturally into ecstasy.
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As a person who has thrilled at the opportunity for new experiences and connecting with people and cultures different than mine, our Hudson High School New Dimensions class trip to Manhattan in 1978 had me ramped up with excitement from the time our bus dropped us off at our midtown hotel. Walking in the Lower East Side, hearing my first opera (Carmen at Lincoln Center), the shows and street venders of Broadway, looking across the city from the World Trade Center observation area . . . it all opened my spirit and my heart.
And, then, we spent an afternoon in Harlem. . . the Harlem Gospel Choir, whose powerful, emotive voices resounded in the small church, sitting along the edge of the studio as the Dance Theater of Harlem practiced, under the direction of Arthur Mitchell. There was something about this area of the city that took me to another level – a combination of happiness and an undefinable sense of recognition and sense of place. NYC has called me back so many times over the years. . . day trips from my husband’s family home in PA, visiting my son at NYU, conferences for the Women’s Caucus for Art, The Feminist Art Project and the UN, my daughter’s camp at Barnard, visiting friends who live in the West Village. And, each time I find myself in Harlem, for art or the blues or restaurants, I felt that inexplicable awareness and appreciation for its history and challenges and cultures and people. Around the same time my son and his partner were considering apartments in the Harlem area, I heard Tedeschi Trucks’ “Midnight in Harlem” for the first time. I found myself in tears. I still can’t fully describe the reason. I felt it right that they should live there. That didn’t come to be. They found something else in the area. And, this is more about my own reaction to Harlem. But, that song and others by that band have found themselves in frequent rotation on my playlists and hearing them live became a goal. I thought that goal would be realized in NYC, but, perhaps even better, at least acoustically, it happened last weekend at Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Morrison, Colorado. The amazing architecture of natural rock and skillfully designed sound systems – funneled the soulful sound into my body, expanding it and bringing forth, again, tears of connection. I may never know why Harlem does this to me. For now, I am grateful for the experiences it has created for me and in me. #memoriesat60 #missing community
My children were young. We were still relatively new to Billings. I was seeking out ways to connect deeply with others. I had already participated in a women’s spirituality retreat with Jean Shinoda Bolen at the Feathered Pipe Ranch west of Helena, but the rest of the participants were from out of state. Something intrigued me about the idea of going back to the ranch to build and learn to play an ashiko drum with the Drum Brothers. In 1997, I went and a new passion was born. The simultaneously diffuse and focused attention required to play polyrhythms. The waves of rhythm filling the room and my body. The pure joy of being so intensely present and connected. The sweet high when our hands and souls were in sync within the music. And the freedom in the dances accompanying these songs. This rhythmic journey and its communities took me to retreats and workshops, found me buying a djembe, a set of djun-djuns, congas, frame drums, a doumbek, a tambura in Venezuela, shakers and sticks and learning how to move my body in expansive ways. I was grateful to have amazing drumming and dance teachers: the incomparable Nigerian Babatunde Olatunji, master drummers Abdoul Dumbia from Mali and Joh Camara from Guinea, master dancer Youssouf Koumbassa from Guinea, Bangoura, a member of WOFA, the dance and drum from Guinea that performed at the ABT and came to our house for dinner and, so much learned from the Drum Brothers of Missoula and Arlee. I created a drumming circle in Billings and my dear friend Robin and I began teaching free gatherings so that we could recreate the magic locally. We played on the Rims before remembering that the drums were designed to send their sounds miles away. {My apologies to those who lived below.} Robin and I played in front of the Sun'e Eye in Monument Valley. We played for an outdoor wedding, for church services, Vicki Coffman and Bess Fredlund’s improvisational theater and dance performance at McCormick’s Café, and casually, at my house, with the Puentes Brothers from Cuba. But, mostly for each other. It was a glorious adventure and exploration. And then ... I learned to weld… and a new passion began to eclipse this one. Now, my steering wheel is most often my instrument as I play along with songs in my car. The rhythms, though, are forever part of me. Synchrony, sustaining a rhythm together, group music making... fosters pro-social commitment, communion, caring for each other, supporting each other, and bonding among diverse groups of people. (I encourage you to watch Mathew Marsolek's TedX talk below for a brief introduction.) My enjoyment of building community was expanded and enriched in 1997 when I first discovered polyrhythmic drumming with Matthew and the Drum Brothers at Feathered Pipe Ranch. This path took me to drum and dance retreats, workshops and classes with the Drum Brothers, Babtunde Olatunji, Abdul Dumbia, Joh Camara, Youssouf Koumbasa and others. Perhaps the most powerful and rewarding experiences were several summers at the Boulder River Rhythm Retreat. |
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