Master Djembefola Menes Yahudah has fire in his eyes as he saunters out from the back room, flanked by three men in traditional garb with djembes strapped around their necks. He tosses a glace to three over his right shoulder, then to the others already playing on stage up above. Then, like lightning, Menes and his djembe quartet start slapping the skins in rapid syncopation, joining in with the chorus of dunduns and bells coming from the stage. The sound fills the old church to its brim. The thunderous vibrations make the ceiling quake. I start to feel my hips shake. All the while the kora player, Amadou Kouyate, thumbs mesmerizing melodies on the 21-stringed West African harp. He weaves and winds around the rhythm like his family has been for generations, 150 generations to be exact. He comes from a line of jali, who served as historians, story tellers, praise singers, poets and musicians in West Africa; the kora is in his blood. Around this time the dancers sashay in front of the stage with grace and ease. Drums and dancers reverberate in unison. I find myself shuffling my feet and grooving to the beat. I’m not alone; the sweet sounds of Urban Foli have infected everyone with dancing fever. Gloria Estefan was right – the rhythm is gunna get you.
And just like that a beautiful thing happened – like a phoenix rising from the ashes – the triumphant return of the Baltimore Rhythm Festival. After a 7-year-haitus, the Rhythm Festival continued its mission of peace through music last month, bringing the city a much needed dose of rhythm.
The free all day event opened with a blessing at 11:30 and featured performances from the Fez Tones, the Fritete African Drum and Dance Ensemble, the Baltimore-bred tribal jam band Telesma, ConneXions Academy Ensemble, the Liberian Women’s Chorus for Change and Urban Foli. The festival also featured a series of drum workshops, including a healing drum circle to reduce stress and increase joy, a drum care and tuning workshop, a children’s drum circle, and other workshops where you could learn about West African, Irish and Afro-Cuban rhythms.
Coming down St. Paul Street approaching the nonchalant stone structure of St. John’s Methodist Church I had no idea what I was getting into. A church would prove to be an ideal location for the Rhythm Festival, an event I would describe as nothing short of a religious experience.
There is something special about rhythm. It is primal. It comes naturally, whether it’s tapping your feet or clapping your hands, drumming on your lap or trying (and failing) to beat-box. Rhythm is a musical element that transcends all genres. It is connected deeply to movement – the beat of your heart pumping blood through your body, the heel-toe rhythm of your feet on the street. Rhythm Festival co-director Rory Turner says there is “a magic in it.” Rhythm is “a commonality” he says, it “helps people connect with one another.” Rhythm and movement are the “unifying point,” Rory says.
“We don’t often acknowledge or notice our existence as being in the world, connected, in the moment with one another,” Rory says, but “drumming reminds us.” He explains how the festival incorporates “different traditions old and new,” bringing cultures across the globe under one roof, showing that “underlying differences is the possibility of connection.”
Entering through the green double doors I can immediately feel this connection like electricity in the air. The afternoon sun pours through the windows to reveal particles of dust suspended in the air. Paper lanterns, festooned from the arches and pillars, hang above tables where people are selling drums, rattles, bells, CDs, t-shirts, fair-trade coffee and tea. Half the room is engulfed by a drum circle. The attendees vary in every way imaginable; old, young, big, small, black, brown, white, tan, tall, short, hairy, tie-dyed and everything in between. The only thing rivaling the diversity of the festival-goers is the range of percussion instruments at their disposal. With my trusty djembe slung over my shoulder, I can truly say I feel at home.
Soon the time comes for the liberation jam. An actual shaman stands on the edge of the circle closest to the stage shaking a rattle. Whatever it is that you love, bring it here, he says, inviting everyone to join in the improvisation or dance their prayers in the middle of the circle. The rhythm builds as more people feel moved play along to the beat. To jam with no preordained structure is a freedom like no other. The intensity rises, the jam takes shape, the air becomes still and thick. Let your body feel the rhythm of this place, the shaman says. The vibrations, the dancers, the dust in the air all seem to flow together. I feel the rhythm in my heart. The beat continues to twist and turn, and after some ululations and chanting, the jam comes to an end. Thank you so much for your blessing, the shaman says.
After more jamming, checking out workshops and tasting the delectable food the Rhythm Festival has to offer, the Baltimore-native band Telesma begins their performance. The band has been a part of the Baltimore rhythm scene for over a decade. The six-piece band plays a funky set hypnotic, meditative music, laced with tribal beats. They used unique instruments such as a didgeridoo, a jaw-harp, and a variety of drums. I find myself captivated by what they call a “man-drum” – a shirt designed by the guitarist using trigger pads, allowing him to play himself like a drum. A melting pot of styles, from traditional drumming to psychedelic rock, Telesma gives a performance you won’t soon forget.
Beginning the evening concert, emcee Kibibi Ajanku introduces the ConneXions Academy Ensemble. Coming from the Baltimore City Charter School ConneXions Community Leadership Academy, this group is composed of 6th-12th graders dancing and drumming. Their set showcases music from the Mandinka peoples of Senegal and Gambia in West Africa.
The Liberian Women’s Chorus for Change is the next to take the stage. Through an initiative of the Philadelphia Folklore Project, this act features award winning Liberian vocalists and dancers, singing songs about domestic violence and making women’s voices heard, calling people to action on social issues. Two drummers accompany the dancing and singing with booming, complex and virtuosic beats. They end their set by bringing all the children forward to sing a song of thanks, reminding them: “sing with your soul.”
When introducing the final act, Urban Foli, Kibibi rallies the audience, saying that next group “comes like thunder,” urging the crowd to listen closely, because “the drums will speak.” She is right. They produce a sound as solid as the church’s stone structure. With each drummer playing a part that fits in the groove like a piece of a puzzle, the mystical sound of the kora dances playfully around the beat while the dancers, in perfect sync, use their bodies to outline the music.
Menes Yahudah, a Master Djembefola (which mean “djembe player”), stands out as the leader of Urban Foli with his immense presence, undeniable skill and his colorful knit hat with something resembling a Mohawk blooming from the top. The group performs an en electrifying and entertaining suite of pieces inspired by the traditions of the Bambara people in Mali. The goal of Urban Foli is not only to try to preserve traditional music and history, but to continue this legacy by making it their own, incorporating their own personalities and musical tastes. Complete with complex drum lines and surprising tempo shifts, Urban Foli brings the festival to its climax. During their performance, the crowd shows their appreciation by moving to the beat, and when they finish their set they are greeted with a deafening roar of applause.
With the hairs on the back of my neck on end and goosebumps up and down my arms, I knew that I had witnessed something truly meaningful. Pure joy and understanding washed over the room as the concert came to a close. Everyone left the festival fulfilled, having gained a greater knowledge of rhythm, relinquished their bodies to the beat, enjoyed some good music and made some music themselves. Thanking everyone for attending the festival, Kibibi said that although the festival may have gone away, “it is all about the way you come back.” The Baltimore Rhythm Festival wasn’t the only thing to make a return that chilly early October night. Along with it came countless traditions, both ancient and contemporary, and community brought together through the undeniable connection of rhythm. The Rhythm Festival is back, and it won’t be going anywhere any time soon.
