An Irishwoman's Diary

I HAVE a boogaraboo in my kitchen. No, it isn’t a celebrity-endorsed gadget for grinding fenugreek or chopping halloumi cheese. It’s an African hand drum. Every now and again – usually when I’m sure my neighbours aren’t trying to get the kids to sleep – I have a sneaky session to myself; and it never fails to cheer my heart.

Hand drums are amazing instruments. A piece of calfskin or goatskin stretched across a wooden frame, and hey presto; you have a hand drum.

Despite this simplicity of construction, however, they come in a million shapes, sizes, colours and designs. At least, that’s what it feels like when you turn up for one of John Bowker’s drumming workshops and he starts unloading his collection of instruments from the van. Red drums, blue drums, tall drums, short drums, hairy drums. You feel like a child in a sweetshop.

Part of you, however, is also afraid of making an ass of yourself. I had signed up for the workshop on a whim, but was acutely aware that I had never touched a drum in my life. I studied classical piano, for goodness’ sake; music, for me, meant reading Beethoven from a book, not boogieing in public.

I had visions of being drummed out of the group, with the words “what made you think you could play a drum, you fool?” echoing in my reddened ears.

But Bowker doesn’t do that kind of drumming. He doesn’t believe that you have to be really good to be a drummer; rather, he believes that drumming is really good for you. He is passionate about the use of music as a healing tool. As explained through words it all sounds very solemn and worthy, but as experienced in practice it doesn’t work like that

because drumming is immediate, physical, and great, great fun.

A gangly man with long grey hair, an English accent and a lopsided smile, Bowker comes in, sits down, plays a few notes and you’re off.

One of the first things he says is that you shouldn’t worry about making mistakes. This is where his skill comes in; not for nothing has Bowker, who has been living and teaching in Co Clare for 15 years, earned a reputation as Ireland’s leading drum circle facilitator. Don’t worry about holding the rhythm, he says. When people play together, he says, it’s easier to hold the rhythm than to lose it. And everybody believes him, and behaves accordingly. No showing off, no competing, no slagging.

For people raised in the passive-aggressive atmosphere of the past decade it’s quite magical to be able to slough off all the skins of self-defence and anxiety we’ve grown during the years of “prosperity” and move into a space which is both self-enhancing and – and this is crucial – utterly collective. Early in the workshop I remember sitting with a drum tilted between my knees (I had solved the “which drum?” conundrum by simply grabbing the instrument nearest to me) and was listening to the people on the other side of the room pick up their rhythm.

My hands were resting on the side of my drum. I got quite a fright when I felt its skin vibrate in sympathy with its fellows, even though I wasn’t doing anything at all. I shouldn’t have been surprised, of course. It’s just physics; vibrations travel along wood floors. But we have become isolated creatures, us mobile-wielding, headphone-wearing humans. The concept of community has become quite alien to us, even as an intellectual concept. We certainly don’t expect to feel it in our bones.

DRUM CIRCLESwork as a sort of three-dimensional exploration of community. The group is divided into sub-groups, each of whom is speaking with a different rhythmic voice at the same time. It's not chaos, though; it's music. The voices are ordered, coherent. Nevertheless something mysterious happens to a rhythm when you play it, without stopping, for an hour or more.

It starts to turn inside out. You start to hear patterns that aren’t really there – at least, they are there, but nobody’s actually playing them. They emerge from the combination of musical lines, the way a carpet emerges from a series of woven threads.

Something mysterious happens to a person, as well. You feel different. Not tired; on the contrary, you feel energised. But you also feel flooded with goodwill. The scientific explanation is that when you’re playing the drums with 40 other people over a lengthy period of time, your brain literally tunes into the situation. The pattern of your brainwaves settles into the kind of state which researchers have found to be associated with deep meditation. It’s a state many of us aspire to – but it’s easier said than done. Deep meditation requires no little discipline and practice and dedication. To get a glimpse of enlightenment in just a few, fun-filled hours is pretty miraculous.

Bowker works this miracle on a regular basis. He and his Tribal Spirit team hold regular workshops in the Boghill Centre in Kilfenora, Co Clare – there’ll be a weekend session from September 25th to 29th, with further dates scheduled in October and December. He also visits The Sanctuary in Dublin’s Stanhope Street a couple of times a year. He supplies the drums – all you have to do is turn up and enjoy yourself. But be warned. If you enjoy yourself enough, you too may end up boogaraboogieing in your kitchen.

John Bowker can be contacted at john.tribalspirit@gmail.com or on 065 6835736