Power of Drums

Many years ago, I was teaching high school English in a rural high school in Northern Kentucky, Oh, we were classified by our system as a "suburban" high school, but we knew the truth. We knew which kids wouldn't be there when the tobacco had to be stripped and which kids would definitely be in a tree stand the first day of deer season waiting on a buck. Not to mention that the principal knew exactly which fishing hole to raid on Senior Skip Day. Shoot, some freshman boys came to me one fall, John Deere hats-in-hand, because they wanted to start a "Huntin' and Fishin' Club," and they thought I looked like someone who knew my way around a gun and a rod. They were actually half right.

Now, it's true that some of these kids came from the city down the hill and had been kicked out of their own schools for some kind of bad behavior or another. Then we, the teachers and students of "that school up on the ridge" were supposed to somehow either scare these miscreants straight or give them so much country loving that they turned into decent human beings. Either way, it was a tall order. But it was in this climate that I had some of my best moments in teaching. For some reason, tall orders call for a lot of creative thinking and passion.

I don't know when it happened exactly, but one day in the mid 1990s, I was reading the Kentucky Post when I saw a headline that stopped me from skimming the rest of the news that day: "Banks to Lead Drum Workshop." To most readers that might have meant a couple of local banks were sponsoring an arts event, but to me it meant one thing: Dennis Banks, the Ojibwa Activist, was somehow coming to my neck of the woods. I drove to the Carnegie that day to hunt down Arlene Gibeau in her office. I had to get into that workshop! Never mind that I had never played drums in my life.

As it turned out, that was the least of my worries since I found out on the first night that we were going to make drums before we could even think about playing them. Then we were going to learn a bunch of songs from Dennis' culture and put on a concert--in one week. He said this to us like a bunch of mostly white people from Kentucky did this all the time and should have no problem cutting drum heads out of Elk hide and lacing them together to make a drum fit for a concert sung in vocables and Ojibwa. Oh, yeah, and Dennis was not fond of the word "play" as it referred to drum. We were going to learn to make drums and to drum and how to behave in the presence of a drum. He had his work cut out for him. Talk about tall orders.

Yet, by the end of that week, we had each crafted our drum with the help of a partner, knew how to behave around drums, sang in syllables and other languages, dressed in red and black for our concert, and felt so good we could hardly stand it. We were transformed! I knew that I wanted this feeling for my students.

In the five years that followed, I went to the workshop each year to assist in any way I could, bringing my Dad one year, my Mom the next and finally, my good friend and teaching buddy, Karen. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was slowly building the framework for my students to follow. Once Karen became involved, the two of us went into an absolute collaborative frenzy, deciding that the act of making a drum had propelled us toward a whole new idea for a humanities course, "Celebrating the Creative Spirit." So when our principal mentioned that he wanted someone to work on piloting a Humanities Course for high school, Karen and I were ready to jump.

We jumped right into a Humanities Institute that summer where teachers from Highlands, Southgate, and Simon Kenton began to formulate ideas for their courses. The end result? Karen and I invited Dennis Banks to our school(via a TIP grant from Kentucky Arts Council) to lead our students in a week-long drum workshop. Of course, because of Dennis' travel schedule, we could only get him during the notoriously snowy month of February. Imagine our surprise when school had to be called off for a snow day during our week-long workshop, and thirteen of our twenty drum makers still showed up to work on their drums with Dennis. In that moment, Karen and I believed in the transformational power of drums! One week before, some of these kids would have ditched school for a Jerry Springer re-run. But now, consumed with the passion of filling their own tall orders, they just couldn't let themselves down.

Let Freedom Sing--a review

This review aired on WVXU's Around Cincinnati on March 28, 2010. You can listen to the review by going to the audio link to the right of this blog.

Let Freedom Sing: of 19th Century Americans by Vivian B. Kline is a treasure chest of historical research wrapped up in the packaging of a novel. Published in 2009 by Outskirts Press, this imaginative work earned Kline the “Innovator, Educator, Writer Award” at the NAACP’s 54th Annual Dinner in Cincinnati. Besides illuminating the struggle for freed slaves during the difficult Reconstruction period, the author presents a fascinating look at Cincinnati’s role in the art, music, commerce, politics and social change agenda of the late 1800s.

Kline’s premise--and major structural device for the novel--is that a group of 21st Century students have gathered in their Cincinnati classroom to do research on the travels of the Fisk Jubilee Singers in order to eventually turn their collective work into a musical. In this frame story structure, the students are free to write about their findings in any form they find comfortable and are encouraged by their facilitator/teacher to work collaboratively. The historical narrative takes the form of diary entries from Ella Sheppard, letters between Maria Longworth Nichols and Susannah Gilbert, linked together with some actual narrative passages where characters interact in person. Kline frames the students’ project work with their meetings about what they intend to do, how it’s progressing, and what they finally think about the prospects of turning their historical research into a musical.

At first, I was skeptical that couching this history in multiple viewpoints would work for me as a reader. Fond as I am of unifying, distinctive voices like that of narrator, Jack Crabb, in Little Big Man, I feared I was in for a bumpy read. But Kline is so careful to get her frame story students writing in the language of the era and the stories themselves are so appealing to anyone who cares about local history, that I soon found myself discussing many of these historical figures and events with my friends and family. I was hooked in by the beginnings of baseball and totally captivated by the high-powered literary salons hosted in New York City by the Cary sisters of North College Hill.

And there are plenty of colorful characters to discuss. Here’s a partial list for your consideration: Jenny Lind, the Nightingale Singer, P.T. Barnum, promoter extraordinaire,Horace Greeley who ran unsuccessfully against Grant for the Presidency, Nicholas Longworth the Cincinnati arts patron and wine maker, Mary Todd Lincoln portrayed here as a grieving wife, Frederick Douglass the orator, Robert Duncanson the artist, and the first woman to ever run for President, Vicky Woodhull, among many others. The exciting part about the story for me was finding out the role Cincinnati and Cincinnatians had in shaping the future of Fisk University, a school located all the way down in Nashville.

Vivian B. Kline was led to write this novel when she made a puzzling addition to her collection of historic picture postcards. When no one in our area was able to identify the group of black performers photographed in
antebellum clothing, Mrs. Kline set out to find the story behind the postcard.
A library in Harlem ultimately identified the group as the first Jubilee Singers who traveled the country--and eventually parts of Europe-- to raise funds for their struggling Fisk University. This post card sent Kline on her remarkable research mission that resulted in Let Freedom Sing: of 19th Century Americans which has the interesting subtitle: An Historical Novel, or Could it Be a Musical? With the author already transforming these historical events into dramatic vignettes, letters, and diary entries and the Fisk Jubilee Singers leaving behind a published repertoire of spirituals, can a musical be far behind? Imagine the costumes!

Eli the Good--a review

(This review aired on WVXU's Around Cincinnati on March 14, 2010. Check links to the right of this blog to listen to the review.)

Eli the Good, the fourth novel by Kentucky’s favorite son, Silas House, is shelved as a work of young adult literature. But the story and scope of the novel transcend this label, as House frames the events of America’s Bicentennial through the 10-year-old eyes of Eli Book. Themes like the power of friendship, the lingering effects of war, self-acceptance, and love of family--even in the face of stark disagreement--lift this account of the summer of 1976 to the level of the 1930s as decribed by Scout Finch( in To Kill a Mockingbird) or Buddy (in “A Christmas Memory.”)

In the spring of 2009, I attended one of House’s writing workshops where he shared his notion of the essential ingredients of story. A good story, according to him, must have both a mystery and a love story. By his own yard stick, House creates a memorable character in Eli, who eavesdrops his way around the shadowy adult mysteries of the Book household discovering the hidden love stories that might keep his family from flying apart.

Mysteries abound from the onset. Why has Eli’s free-spirited Aunt Nell returned to the family? What ancient disagreement with his sister still nags at Stanton Book’s heart? Why does Stanton wake the family with his screaming? And why does Eli’s sister, Josie, goad her parents at every turn? Eli hides under tables, risks the spidery space beneath the porch, and hangs in the hallways, hoping to piece together clues from the adult conversations. When the clues tantalize, but don’t quite add up, he enlists his best friend and neighbor, Edie, to help him plunder his father’s letters home from Viet Nam. The answers aren’t quite what Eli expects.

The love stories in this novel are complex and beautiful. Part of Eli’s yearning stems from the overt devotion he witnesses in his parents’ love for each other. He sometimes feels invisible to them as they exchange meaningful gazes and brush each other’s hands. Another love story exists between Loretta Book and her sister-in-law, Nell, as they revel in each other’s sisterly company and dance in the rain together. And yet another love story finds best friends Edie and Eli, confiding secrets and sharing their love of nature, in the easy pre-dawn of adolescence while Eli’s sister, Josie, suffers the pouty, full-blown drama of teenage love and rebellion.

House underscores the mounting tensions for the characters with frequent allusions to the music of the time. Eli and his mother dance to Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl,” Nell sings Dylan snippets sadly from the porch swing and advises the ever-skeptical Josie about which Dylan tunes will “rip your guts out,” and later Nell gives Eli the title, “Mother Nature’s Son,” a song she urges Stanton to play on the Gibson while she sings. Following this song, an explosive argument foreshadows that some mysteries will soon be laid bare for the Book family.

As usual, the characters in a House novel are presented in precise, intimate detail--from Eli’s adoration of his mother’s easy, natural beauty at the Fourth of July celebration to his horror at seeing nothing behind his father’s war-traumatized eyes when Eli casually horseplays in a thunderstorm. Important, lyrical scenes develop in nature, backed by bird call, witnessed by foxes and silent beech trees. When darkness falls, House treats us to characters’ favorite words, like “gloaming.”

“Eli the Good” is the title Nell confers upon her struggling young nephew to start him on his path to identity. Kings titled “the Good” rather than “the Great” were much more likely to be kind to their people, she explains. As she dubs him king of his backyard, the reader knows she is hoping he will grow up to be a kind man, able to face the cruelties of the world without becoming part of them. I was sorry to conclude my visit with the Books. Their mysteries and love stories--in the hands of Silas House’s poetic and musical craft--add up to one good story.

Come and Go, Molly Snow

Come and Go, Molly Snow is a book about grief, redemption, and music. Published in paperback this past October by The University Press of Kentucky, the novel was Mary Ann Taylor-Hall’s first, garnering praise as a hardback from The Los Angeles Times, Publishers Weekly, and People Magazine--just to name a few sources of acclaim. There was even talk of a movie version that ultimately collapsed under the weight of a bad script. That’s unfortunate, because the story is intrinsically cinematic in its flashback format, capturing everything from atmospheric breakdown scenes to spirited bluegrass music “breakdowns” through the plucky voice of Carrie Mae Mullins, an extraordinary woman fiddler who enters the mostly male world of bluegrass music.

The story begins with Carrie reflecting on how she ended up on a farm near Lexington, KY recovering from a breakdown, barely trusted by her two elder hosts to wield a knife for pitting peaches. The author uses the frame story of Carrie’s recovery to reveal gradually one of the major questions of the novel: how does one get beyond the death of a child?

The challenge of writing about grief hinges on the writer’s ability to make the inner landscape of a character accessible to the reader. For Judith Guest, author of Ordinary People, that challenge was met by alternating the inner suffering of two major characters, the grieving father and son. Both tell the story in first person, letting the reader piece together the tragedy beneath the surface from two viewpoints. While most first person narrators are by definition “unreliable,” as the reader only gets one subjective point of view, Taylor-Hall builds trust in Carrie Mae the same way J.D. Salinger had readers believing Holden Caulfield, by creating a character with a distinct, authentic voice. We believe and feel her descent into the monotone of grief because we have already heard her passionate voice describe the myriad emotions, sounds and sensations of playing in an ensemble.

In fact, music permeates the entire novel. Carrie describes her attraction to the handsome band leader, Cap, through their harmony singing, when she says,“harmony’s all there is or needs to be, when it’s right” and characterizes her often absent father’s depth of blues as “oh, my daddy was not easy listening.” The music even extends into Carrie’s thoughts on language when she considers the onomatopoeia of one word:

“Cease--what a word, like the breath going out of everything.”

And the music of Taylor-Hall’s language as it filters through Carrie set me jotting down quotes I wanted for later, just because they were surprising and succulent. As Carrie struggles with whether or not there is something after this life, the task in front of her of slicing peaches produces this insight:

“The gold, moist slices, red at the inner edge, gather the light to them. They look like light itself, as if to say, ‘You want to believe in something, believe in peaches.’”

The other characters in this novel serve to guide Carrie toward her eventual path through their examples--good and bad--and through their ample humanity. The sumptuous Cap, heart-throb to the masses, yet clueless about his own desires, the hardworking, nurturing granny, Ona, with her own tragic loss, and the ravenous-for-adventure retired banker, Ruth, who seeks the Holy Land and just maybe another fling, Pearls Girls, the all-women band formed by friends, Louis, the hard-driving banjo picker who resents Carrie’s “invasion” of his all-male band, the lively Molly Snow herself, who steps in and out of the narrative bringing Carrie both joy and pain, and spectres of all kinds who haunt Carrie in their longings, including her parents and a ghost called Little Lady Kidwell.

This novel poses many questions about the nature of existence, but thankfully leaves the answering to each of us on our own paths with our own casts of colorful characters. Come and Go, Molly Snow is a book for those who ask the important questions, but don't expect the answers to be easy.

HealthRHYTHMS and Fine Arts Fund Sampler Weekend

"Have drums, will travel" was our mantra for Creative Aging, The Coalition for Music and Wellness, and me for Fine Arts Fund Sampler Weekend. On Saturday February 20, Jim Waddle--board member for Creative Aging and volunteer coordinator of their drumming offerings--and I met up at Media Bridges in downtown Cincinnati for an hour of intergenerational drumming. We had a circle of about 27 drummers for our first session representing all age groups from toddlers to seniors.

As we finished up a successful session, volunteers from FAF and Media Bridges helped us pack the drums back in my Jeep for a drive over to Music Hall where an all-day art expo for kids was taking place called "Get Smart with Art." We formed a very large drumming circle with kids, parents, Music and Wellness Coalition, and Creative Aging drummers. The kids used drums and percussion that they made earlier at the expo, or joined us on some of the wide-array of Remo drums we brought in. My fondest memory of this session is seeing a young man from our Media Bridges session rejoin us so that he could play the gathering drum in this huge circle. The expression on his face as he wielded the big mallet was one of absolute joy.

On Sunday, February 21, I toted the drums over to Campbell County Public Library in Cold Spring for another lively intergenerational circle featuring some drummers from the Campbell County Senior Center, lots of parents and kids, and even Pam Temple from WNKU and wild carrot. She was performing at the library later and just thought it might be fun to join in.

I usually present some kind of program for Fine Arts Fund Sampler, either with Raison D'Etre, or solo. But this one was so exciting because of the full participation of the attendees who found their "walking talking rhythm" in their names and shared drumming. (photo courtesy of Janet Arno, Campbell County Library.)

A is for Appalachia and What Comes Down to Us

Two titles from University Press of Kentucky light the way toward better understanding of a culture and a craft. A is for Appalachia!,written by Linda Hager Pack and illustrated by Pat Banks, lifts a lamp to the history, geography, and culture of the collaborators’ beloved heritage. In What Comes Down to Us: 25 Contemporary Kentucky Poets, Jeff Worley spotlights the diversity and vitality of modern verse in the Commonwealth. Both books enlighten in their method of presentation and rich content.

I chose to pick up the children’s book first, of course. Drawn in by the marvelous cover art by master water colorist and Kentucky Arts Council Roster Artist, Pat Banks, I couldn’t wait to see why novelist Silas House declared this book “the perfect read.” Could it be because in his recent blog, A Country Boy Can Surmise, he had declared “Appalachia” to be the perfect word in that the letters seem to depict the rising and falling mountainscape with a little moon dotting the “i”?

Or could it be the perfect read because it is organized like an old-time children’s reader for teaching the alphabet by presenting a word and a picture for each new letter to aid the pupil’s comprehension?

My reading lesson on Appalachia began with the letter “A” which is for “Appalachia,” a region and culture defined by Pack in her text along side a breathtaking mountain vista created by Banks. The effect is stunning: here’s what the place encompasses, now witness it’s beauty and essence.

My lesson continued with some predictable forays into the letters “B” and “C” for “baskets” and “coal.” Since I was already well-schooled in some aspects of Appalachia, I expected these lessons. But I was completely surprised and delighted by the honest dichotomy between churchgoing ways and joy of living presented in the letter “D.” Pack handles that divide in her wry commentary on the dulcimer and fiddle as she advises the “youngin’s” not to view “the devil’s box” boldly explained and illustrated on the page before them.

Another interesting lesson is “J” is for “Jack Tale” which includes a text version of the tale superimposed on a beanstalk illustration that rivals the beauty of any fairy tale book I knew as a child. Well-presented also are “N” is for “Native Appalachians” supported by the clever inclusion of the Cherokee alphabet and “Y” is for “Yarb doctor” emphasizing the healing role herbs and plants play in the remote mountain regions.

Pack teaches children’s literature at Eastern Kentucky University, so it is easy to see how this book could be used by teachers to springboard a unit on Appalachia. But more importantly, Silas House was right. This is the perfect read to share with those you love.

Presenting poets chronologically is common in anthologies; however, Jeff Worley, a poet and professor himself, sheds light on the poetic process by following each set of poems in What Comes Down to Us with a brief biography and the poet’s commentary on the sometimes mystical matter of craft. The effect on me as a reader was surprising. Normally I would want to skim through a book like this reading the people I know about, saving the new folks for later. Instead, I found the format of first, writer’s face and birth date,then, selected poems, then, biography,and finally,reflections on craft and influences tantalizing enough not to “jump the order.” It was almost as if the title and format enforced a cosmic flow leading “down to us,” as the title suggests. By the end, I felt I had witnessed a stellar poetry reading with mini-workshop, all under my humble living room lamp.

The subjects for this over 100-poem collection include joy, death, family relations, and Kentucky history. It would be hard to pick favorites amid the exquisite verse, but I will share a few hard-to-shake glimpses.

I was smacked in the face by the imagery in Wendell Berry’s “The Man Born to Farming.”

Instructed in the mystery of all craft by Richard Taylor’s “Notes for a Manual on Form.”

Appreciated the importance of who’s telling the tale in Frank X Walker’s “Revisionist History.”

Experienced the power of a “made thing” -- like a poem that can distill emotions from disparate experiences-- with Leatha Kendrick in “Refusing a Spinal.”

Wondered with Frederick Smock about Cassius Clay’s gold medal at the bottom of the Ohio River.

Read the skies and predicted a moon landing with Nikky Finney’s “Black Orion.”

Laughed uneasily and inevitably at an outdoor wedding gone wrong with Kathleen Driskell.

This collection is a must-read for anyone interested in the scope and craft of contemporary poetry. What Comes Down to Us affirms Kentucky’s place in the literary landscape while shining a light on the poetic process itself.

This review first aired on WVXU's Around Cincinnati with award-winning host, Lee Hay. An audio link is included at the bottom of this blog.

Reviews on "Around Cincinnati"

I've been reviewing a few books--mostly having to do with Kentucky or music--for the radio culture and arts magazine, "Around Cincinnati" which airs each Sunday evening at 7pm on WVXU. I will be posting my reviews here following their air dates with a link for you to listen to them posted at the bottom of this blog. Please feel free to give me some feedback.