I work part time at Fiddlers Green, an acoustic strings shop that has a lot of American "traditional" musician clientele (bluegrass, folk, etc). When asked if I'm playing with anyone, I usually mention the assertion above, which in turn gets me a few raised eyebrows...While it may or may not be obvious, I am not Zimbabwean. Nor have I ever visited. So what business does a Texan girl like me have in playing traditional Zimbabwean music?
My Summer Shield
I played classical marimba through grade school, and when I moved back to Texas from Hawaii I inherited one. I boasted that I wanted to start Austin's first marimba band, but was pleasantly surprised to hear that there was a guy named Joel LaViolette who had already spear-headed that. So I introduced myself to him, and learned that he had studied traditional Shona music while living in Zimbabwe, and he wanted to form a group that would maintain a focus on just that. As someone who does "alottamovin" and is fascinated by other cultures, this piqued my interest...
I showed up to our first practice casually late, and my hair was still wet from swimming at Barton Springs. Joel glanced down at his watch, and looked disapprovingly back at me. I had a sudden flashback to my old band hall... feeling my gut sink when the band director caught me trying to slip in late. This was the first indicator that Joel wouldn't be just another free spirit making some hippie music in Austin, TX, but that he was disciplined and there would be structure around what we did.
He asked what our intentions were for the project, I replied that I basically wanted to play gigs and inspire people to dance. I imagined playing something like this:
In my initial mindset, the western music theory I understood would just transfer over. The music would maintain an African sound, but still allow me to keep one foot in the comfort of my own American music heritage. I would be in my element, and I could show off my skills. My ego would remain intact.
Such is a summer shield.
On learning traditional Zimbabwean music
(from the perspective of a Western musician who has never been to Zimbabwe, but has a history of going places she knows nothing about)
Within the first few practices, it became apparent that this was going to be like learning a foreign language. You can memorize the dictionary in another language, but to be "fluent" you have to understand context, cadence, and be able to pick up on subtle queues from those with which you're communicating. Learning the music, Joel would show us our individual parts, and then pair us together (one person is the lead- Kushaura, and the other person's part is relative/responsive to the lead- Kutsinhira ) in another room to interlock our parts. Then we'd bring it together as a group and play the same song until we fell apart. The songs move in cycles... there's not really a clear cut way to end most of them.
Reading sheet music/ being able to repeat what I hear have always been relatively easy for me. In Kupira, the individual parts are pretty straight forward and repetitive. But the way we interlock polyrhythmically is so foreign. To a westerner, one might say most of the songs are in 12/8... but it still feels like a western rule being applied to a totally different way of thinking. In fact... the more I draw from my previous music education while I play with Kupira, the worse I am at playing it!
And then there's the Hosho. It's a pair of gourd shakers with hundreds of seeds inside. Hundreds of variables that snap, swish, roll, etc... The right hand of the hosho drives the pace... and yet the left hand maintains a laid back swing that implies "be patient... I will arrive when I've arrived". In this style of music, time is not as rigid as western styles. The hosho reveals all...
The only way for me to really understand the music is to spend time with it... to play the cycles over and over and over until I stop thinking about it... and start feeling.
My Winter Shield (Continued from previous post)
I joined Kupira late last summer while I was still involved in other creative endeavors. But as I noted before, winter is a time of barrenness, and it forces you to observe what stays rooted even when the fruit isn't there
*Time for a Gardening Metaphor!*
Just like moving into Fall/Winter shields... you might have to dig up your tomato plant (as fruitful as it may be, it also attracts a lot of unwanted pests, and can't handle severe climates ) so that you can plant a root crop (like carrots and beets). You cannot see the fruit of your labor, but you trust that if you tend to it well, it will give you sustenance in the long run.
Metaphor over. Real talk time.
When my creativity froze over, I dropped out of everything.
Everything except for Kupira, the band that practiced complicated music at 9:30am on a Monday. We all showed up yawning, but there was always a quiet enthusiasm... a sense of commitment and responsibility to something unspoken. Then and now, these practices are what I look forward to each week. I could not dream of a better group to be able to play this music with. These are some of the most talented, humble, patient, and respectful guys I know.
Being a "creative artist" or trying to do something different is not a motive for being a part of this group. It's the exact opposite... it's the acknowledgement that the music I play doesn't start with me, but from a long tradition of people before me. I am a student to Joel, to my fellow bandmates, and to the music itself. I am not Zimbabwean, and playing the music doesn't give me creds to claim any identity just like having a traditional Samoan tattoo doesn't give me any Samoan heritage creds. But it does offer me a frame of reference as to who I am, and what my identity is.
Kupira is Shona for an offering you would give to your ancestors, or the people who have come before you. I play this music with humility and reverence.
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