I would like one of these please...

Two weeks ago I was in Atlanta for a workshop weekend and got the opportunity to attend an open drumming circle at the Lake Claire Community Land Trust, which is just east of downtown Atlanta. What an amazing experience.

After a luscious dinner at a Japanese seafood/sushi buffet, my friend Molly (Quintessential Sophism) asked if anyone wanted to go to the drumming. It ended up being just the two of us heading down, and we got there around 10 or so.

We turned down a crowded street and drove about 3/4 of the way to the end before deciding we should probably just park and walk the rest of the way. As soon as we got out of the car, we could hear the drums-it was more than just hearing them, because the actual sound was very faint-but their pulsing rhythm could be felt rolling through the air. It may sound silly, but it is hard to understand without being there and feeling it.

Just before the end of the street, there was a hastily made roadblock, with volunteers from the neighborhood "manning the gates," so to speak, requesting a donation to get into the drumming. A woman approached and asked if we were there for the drumming and if we had been there before. Molly indicated that she had, but that it had been nearly six months and that we were coming to meet up with a friend of hers who lived in the neighborhood. The woman explained that they were requiring an admission fee as crowd control; apparently, teens from the local high school had begun to attend the drummings regularly and some of them were taking advantage of the shadows and loud drums in order to deal and use drugs. So, they were now asking musicians and dancers to pay a dollar and others to pay five dollars. But, since we hadn't been in a while and were friends of a resident, she said that we'd just say we were his guests this time. I would have been perfectly happy to pay the money-it was all staying right there in the community to help maintain the grounds, etc.

After passing the gate, we continued to the end of the road, then followed a bark-chip path around behind a garage, past a mound of bark and into the darkness. The voices of the drums grew more distinct with each step, their beat creeping under our skin, causing our fingers to tap of their own accord. We continued on, coming upon a small playground with a tire-swing and slide and other children's toys scattered in the sand at the base of a tall tree.

Around the next bend, the orange glow from the bonfire cast writhing shadows against the brush that bordered the path. Then the circle opened before us, illuminated only by the fire at its center. Bodies danced around the flames, some convulsing wildly, some just swaying gently as if brushed by the breeze. Beyond the fire, an earthen embankment rose from the sand. It had been terraced to form a natural amphitheater and the rows were filled with people-some dancing, some playing instruments, some just sitting quietly and watching the spectacle before them. We paused for a moment, then entered the circle.

Molly immediately took a spot next to the fire and began dancing, while I stood back to take in the place. The beating of the drums pulsed through me, becoming a living, breathing, pulsing thing that completely took me over-replacing the rhythm of my own heart beat, lifting my feet, swaying my body, filling my ears and transporting me to some far-off place.

There must have been close to 150 people there, and nearly 20 drums of varying shapes, sizes and tones. A man in a sarong danced around the flames winding an intricate and haunting melody around the rhythm of the drums with his flute. Two didgeridoos hummed and buzzed just barely audible above the pounding of the drums.

The staccato notes of a steel drum took the lead and in that moment, with the sand under-foot, the sparks of the fire rising to meet the stars in the darkness above and surrounded by the lushness of banana trees, palms and ferns, we were no longer in the middle of the city, but rather on some remote tropical island, drifting through the night.

As the rhythms and melodies wove their magic across the clearing, time both slowed to a crawl and raced ahead with abandon. All too soon the man in the sarong danced his way around the fires, gently giving warning that things would be winding down in ten minutes.

Molly danced her way over to me and suggested that we start back to the car, to avoid the throng once the drumming stopped. As we made our way back to the real world, we laughed and smiled, filled with the energy of the night. What a magical, uplifting and renewing experience.

Anyway, the point of all that was to explain why I want one of these:

http://www.givingtreemusic.com/drums.html

I'm not sure which I would prefer. Being a complete novice, it might be best to choose the Ashiko, as they indicate that it is one of the best drums to learn on. However, I am also drawn to the Djembe, which is described as producing "distinctive low and high pitches creating sounds that are unmatched by any other drum."

Of course, I would pick drums that are extremely beautiful and masterfully made by hand and cost between $400 and $600. And a drum would be in addition to the guitar (which I am still, ever so slowly, trying to learn) and the piano (which I have had 10 years of lessons on as a kid, but haven't played in nearly 15 years and which I want to re-learn).

There is a part of me that is just screaming for some form of musical outlet, as you might be able to tell. In addition to the instruments, I am trying to work myself up to doing karaoke. I think I might have mentioned that before (a long, long, time ago), but I am still at the "working up to it" phase.

But I need to get over this sinus infection and cough before I can even consider singing. And, of course, get over myself and my irrational fear of looking the fool.

MUSICA!!!! MUST HAVE MUSICA!!!!