Thursday night after walking out of the D-Fest kickoff party, I felt like I had entered one of those scenes in a musical where people randomly burst into song and dance on a street corner. A crowd of people had formed and was dancing circles around a man playing a very elaborately constructed homemade drum kit. This wasn’t just a drum and some sticks; this was a very intricate creation consisting of a wooden frame, pots, pans, buckets, cymbals and a kick drum, made entirely of household items. The crowd was instantaneously captured by his beat and he seemed to secure additional hostages as more and more people spilled out of the venue, seeking out some after hours entertainment. It was a picture-perfect, and almost choreographed scene: a girl holding her shoes in her hand yelled “You gotta dance people” to everyone that walked by and one guy got so lost in his ‘moves’ that he rolled his ankle in the process. The “T-Town” trolley rattled thru the streets and passengers cheered as they passed by. As our street corner friend drummed away, people drew on the ground with sidewalk chalk, scribbling all kinds of messages and imaginative images. Before I jumped into my cab, I looked over my shoulder and noticed a hopscotch had been drawn and those that had moved on from dancing had transitioned into hopping thru their own personal Alice and Wonderland.
Friday and Saturday, that same one-man-drum-show popped up at various points throughout Tulsa’s Blue Dome District. He always caused a crowd to stop and huddle around him, and he inspired many just passing by to dance to their destinations. One local that I spoke with mentioned he had seen the drummer performing several times in the streets of D-Fest and that one of those days, a guy jumped in and freestyle rapped along with his drumming.
Saturday afternoon, while walking downtown, I picked up the trail of an inviting tribal beat, which seemed to be bouncing off of the tallest of the downtown buildings and projecting into the streets of Tulsa. A drum circle had formed in the courtyard of the Crown Plaza Hotel, where many of the artists and industry affiliates of D-Fest were staying for the week.
The scene unfolded in the quad, surrounded by vibrant green grass and the BOK building soaring in the background. People knelt down straddling their drums or held them in their laps. A female participant had taken the seat off of her bike and plopped it down in the grass, to act as her chair. After they were all securely positioned, one person would start a beat, usually the guy playing the clave, and all the others would join in unison. At times, someone would change up the entire direction of the sound, which would cause the others to follow suit. Occasionally, the drumming would stop and a random person in the circle would chant or call out a “Woo-hoo,” “D-Fest,” or “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah,” which would start them all back up again, with a rejuvenated gusto.
To say the circle was diverse, would not do it full justice. There was an older lady, a guy in a cowboy hat and a wife beater, and there were those tie-dye shirts again. A guy in a rainbow top chased after his tiny puppy that had broken free of the leash as girls hula hooped along the stone patio. An overly excited passerby snatched up a hula-hoop and yelled out, “Am I a failure?” as it hit the floor. There were drums of all different shapes and sizes, very serious drummers, such as the girl with tape on her palms and fingers, and obvious amateurs. Regardless of size or ability, all were openly accepted.
They drummed until they worked up a sweat, and then took an occasional break, which didn’t last long. It was obvious from the packed coolers and nearby water bottles that they were planning on gracing the courtyard with their presence until the sunset took back their light.
Words by Nicole Jones, photos by Sidney McMullen
