For Whom the Drum Beats
By Michael Swaine
The town my mother lives in has a population of 4000, yet it's the biggest town in a six-county area. You wouldn't think that she'd find much to do, but somehow her social life always sounds more interesting than mine.
"I was at the powwow the other night..." her latest report began. Mom's been to a number of powwows put on by local Native Americans. She enjoys them, but usually leaves soon after the drumming begins. It's not that she doesn't like drums, it's just that the sound from three large drums, each surrounded by a half-dozen men hammering away, fills a smallish room pretty effectively. Mom decided that the wisest counsel was to step outside and give the sound some room.
I've never been to a powwow, but I've hung around the perimeter of a few drum circles, usually put on by people who are not Native Americans but wish they were. These faux powwows seem to be all about synchronization. In yuppiespeak it would be, "Let's make sure we're all on the same page," but drum circle drummers and dancers would probably put it differently.
The effect, even out there on the perimeter, is pretty hypnotic. You soon find yourself moving with the rhythm and feeling like you're a part of something bigger than yourself. I don't mean more important, I mean bigger: thousands of pounds of human flesh, swaying in synch. There's power in synchronized motion, which you sense especially clearly if you're in a drum circle that rashly decides to convene on a post-and-pier deck rather than on terra firma. Or driveway firma.
The drum circle is one kind of drum-beating exercise, designed, I gather, to produce group solidarity.
