Ilesa in the Pantry!

The island of Cuba was a Spanish possession for almost 400 years (1511-1898). The land-owning elite held social and economic power, supported by slaves, both indigenous and of South American and African descent, until slavery was abolished in Cuba around 1886. Apparently, a part of the science of slavery was to make the slave totally dependent upon the land-owner: this was accomplished by separating the slaves from their friends & family, disallowing the observance of their customary rituals & traditions, and forbidding social interaction among the slaves. The end result of this was the slave force consisted of a large group of lonely strangers from all parts of Africa & South America, who spoke different languages and were not allowed to celebrate their native traditions - which included partying and making music. The drums, which were so integral in their culture, were not allowed. But percussion is not just a vocation. It is an integral fiber of one’s very being. It can not be repressed.

It can only be hidden.

In those days, Cuban slaves made percussion instruments out of whatever they could get their hands on - they found the very boxes that they packed cod-fish into all day made excellent bass drums (today called “cajons”) and smaller drums were made from wooden cigar boxes. As soon as the boss man was out of ear-shot, they would erupt into the universal language of rhythms that transcended all socio-economic and political boundaries. Liberated in spirit, if not bodily, these strangers created a temporary haven of joy. When the boss returned, he would only see somewhat exhausted workers, wet with sweat, sitting on cod-fish boxes. Secretly smiling.

It can only be hidden.

Recently my good friend Reg suggested that I drum on a can of peas and Vaisvil reminded me that I already had. Reefwalker refers to this piece as “the great percussion sneak”. It was literally recorded in secret, in a pantry, using only the dry goods shown in the photo at the top. Thanks to powered mics, which pick up even the most quiet delicate sounds, it was a perfect crime.

Nowadays at the Harris gated estate (well, old farm house actually, with a cattle gate that is never closed), one is free to play their instruments as they wish. It has become a sanctuary for wayward musicians. We understand that music is an integral fiber of one’s very being. It can not be repressed.

It can only be hidden.

MORE CANNED GOODS SOLOS!!