Who would you most like to study with?

[James]

If you could study with any teacher dead or alive, who would it be? Why?

[antelope]

From Guinee with Famoudou Konate and Fadouba Oulare
and from Mali with Soungalo Coulibaly, Sega Sidibe but most of all with Mare Sanogo...

[michi]

Wow, you don't muck around, do you James?

That's a very deep and probing question, likely to reveal as much about the teacher as the student…

Thinking about this, there are a lot of names I could drop and say "I'd like to study with Famoudou, Soungalo, Fadouba, Bangouraké, Bolokada…" These people are all considered at the pinnacle of achievement and they are world famous.

But, when I think about this question honestly, I find it reaches a lot deeper than just name dropping. And I find myself almost shying away from confronting the question, because it raises a lot more issues than just musical ones. To me, my choice of teacher reflects as much about a teacher's musical skills as it does about myself and the lessons I need to learn; some of them difficult and unpleasant (for me personally, not necessarily difficult and unpleasant for people in general).

So, the three teachers I would like to study with the most:

• Tuza
  
  Tuza was my first African teacher, and it was because of him that I first travelled to Africa. I have spent a lot of time with him over the past six years, and I consider him the teacher who has been the most instrumental in my development. He was the one who encouraged me, who saw the power and talent I have, and showed me that I had something valuable to contribute other than software engineering. It was his confidence in me that made me continue with something that I might otherwise well have dropped again.
  
  What I love about Tuza's music is the sheer joy that radiates out of it. His playing is very different from the Guinean style. More musical, more groovy, more "bent", and his Ghanaian background shows through in his music. At the same time, he is one of the fastest and most skilled players I have ever met. Tuza's precision is stunning at times, especially when he plays his traditional Treshi (Kpanlogo) drums—five or six at a time—and does the most incredible things with machine-like precision, but never loses the musicality in the process.
  
  I deeply respect Tuza for his artistry and joy, and his ability to pass on that joy to his students. I owe him a debt of gratitude for having shown me that this joy is in me too, and that it is OK to let it out.
  
  
• Epizo
  
  Epizo is an enigma to me. Every time I hear him play, my jaw drops. The man is a genius. His music is witty, clever, interesting, surprising, and powerful. I consider him one of the best djembe players alive. (Never mind that he is probably also one of the best balafon, dundun, kora, and God knows what else players alive…)
  
  I've studied with Epizo for five successive Bundagen camps, and every time I go there, he challenges me to the core. He challenges me musically—he expects 120%, and when he doesn't get them, he lets me know in no uncertain terms. He challenges me personally. There is never any "well done" from Epizo. The only feedback I ever get is critical feedback. The closest he ever comes to positive feedback is a qualified and reluctant nod.
  
  Every year, there is a moment during the camp where I want to wring his throat, where I despair and get angry at the same time and think "Why am I wasting my time trying to be a drummer when people like Epizo could do what I can do now by the time they were six years old?"
  
  Epizo can be truly abrasive at times. To me, taking that kind of challenge is difficult. I'm not exactly a spring chicken, yet, Epizo treats me like a wayward teenager at times. When that happens, I reach deep into my limited stash of humility, swallow my pride, and realize that here is another lesson the djembe is teaching me. Another lesson that I need to learn.
  
  Two months ago, at Bundagen, I was drumming for the dancers, playing Jondon. Epizo wanted an accompaniment part that I hadn't come across before, and the only way to play it at speed for any length of time is to break the hand-over-hand pattern and play alternate hands instead, shifting the on- and off-beat from left to right and back again. I got the pattern, and sat there holding accompaniment for a good fifteen minutes, while Sibo was going off beside me and Epizo was teaching the dancers. I was firmly locked in, strong, loud, and happy. A few dancers even gave me the thumbs up and thanked me during the lesson for the strong groove.
  
  Then, out of the blue, I lost it. I mean, I lost it! Suddenly, I lost the pulse, the handing, the groove, everything. I could not longer do what I had just done perfectly for a good fifteen minutes. Epizo gave me "the look". I came back in, stayed locked in for five or six bars, and lost it again, Epizo giving me another one of his looks. (Believe me, that kind of look from Epizo speaks volumes…) I tried three or four more times, making things worse each time, and finally sat there silent with my drum between my knees, flabbergasted. I felt ashamed, humiliated, couldn't understand why this had happened, and felt a total fool.
  
  After thinking about it for a few seconds, I thought it was best to accept that there are moments when things leave me, and got up to walk away, lick my wounds, and think about the new lesson the djembe had just taught me. Humility in spades, this time…
  
  As I got up, Epizo walked over to me and said "What are you getting up for?" I looked at him feeling very ashamed and said "I'm very sorry, but I can't do this right now. I think it's better for the dancers for me not to play at the moment." He said "No, you stay and play. It's OK. It happens. Just stay and play for us, please."
  
  It's difficult for me to describe my emotions at that moment. Shame, confusion, gratefulness. The dancers stood there witnessing the interchange and looked at me. Looked at me with kindness and encouraging smiles, instead of disapproval. I took a deep breath, resigned myself to the situation, sat back down, and reluctantly grabbed my drum, starting to play again when Sibo played the call. About ten bars later, I lost it again, my hands in complete confusion, refusing to repeat what they'd just done perfectly ten times in a row. I was devastated. Nothing like this had happened to me in years. The last time this sort of thing had happened was years ago, when I was a beginner.
  
  Epizo looked at me again. But this time, not with "the look", but with a nod, saying "It's OK, relax", smiling a little. At that moment, I was deeply grateful. This was the first time there was encouragement from the man who had been so hard on me all this time. And the look he gave me indicated that this was an important moment. It mattered what happened right here and now, and there was a recognition in both of us of that significance. I understand now that, had I got up then and left, I would have lost something very profound.
  
  So, I gritted my teeth, tried to relax, and played. Five seconds later, it was as if the entire episode had never happened. My hands doing their thing on auto-pilot, strong, clean, locked in, and musical.
  
  I will go back to Bundagen again next year, to confront whatever challenge Epizo will throw at me then. Most likely, I will be just as angry, will want to wring his throat just as much, and will walk away as a better musician. Epizo's lessons don't come easily for me. But, boyoh, they do teach a lot…
  
  
• Mamady
  
  Mamady is a complete contrast to Epizo. He's about as easy-going a teacher as one could ask for. Patient and understanding, he doesn't stand there and tell you "Come on, I know you can do better than that, and I want you to apply yourself. Oh, and by the way, I'm not going to explain this or break it down for you because you need the challenge, and I'm not wasting time on dumb people."
  
  Instead, Mamady makes it easy. He is the teacher who can make me play things that, thirty seconds earlier, I wouldn't have believed I could do inside of the next twelve months. Like Epizo, he also gets people to perform at their 120% level, but without the whip.
  
  Mamady's didactics are unmatched by any other teacher I have met. He is clear, precise, and has a unique ability to show people how to play complex rhythms and feel and understand them. In the process, he empowers his students. They suddenly realize that they can do this, and that it is actually not all that difficult.
  
  Yet, Mamady isn't without criticism. He doesn't make me feel like I've failed when I get something wrong, and he also gives me "the look", but it's a very different kind of look. It says "I heard this, it wasn't right, and you need to devote some attention to this bit."
  
  I don't get the whip from Mamady, but I take his criticism just as seriously: when Mamady says there is something I need to work on, it is a statement of fact from a professional; when Epizo says (with "the look") that there is something I need to work on, it's a personal challenge.
  
  So, after having been told by Mamady that there is something shaky that I need to work on, what do I go and do? I go home and practice what Mamady indicated I should practice because I don't want to disappoint him the next time I see him.
  
  Unlike any other teacher I had, Mamady doesn't just teach music, he teaches the stuff behind the music: where it's played, by whom, and for what reason. But more than that, he tells stories. Not just stories like the rhythm notes in his book, but stories that make things come to life and make them real. Stories from his childhood, life in his village, the time he spent with his teacher, what it felt like being taken away to the ballet.
  
  These stories make the music real for me and give it context. They show me the deeper reasons why getting myself involved with this art is a worthwhile pursuit. Mamady acknowledges the lessons the djembe has to teach and makes them explicit. He shows his students that heeding those lessons is a good thing. He is deeply steeped in the tradition of this music and its relationship with worldly and spiritual life, and he understands the importance of passing this tradition on to his students. It is Mamady's narrative that makes him such a compelling teacher: he imbues the music with the stories that give rise to the music.
  
  And then I listen to him play… He is not the fastest player or most skilled player in the world. But listen to the music! There something in Mamady's playing that is beyond skill, beyond speed, beyond intellectual trickery. It is the aesthetics of his music that continue to grip me. Mamady has an unparalleled combination of skill, musicianship, wittiness, artistry, and sensitivy that I have not heard from any other player. There is deep satisfaction for the listener in Mamady's music—satisfaction that goes beyond flashy licks and technical wizardry. He touches something in people's emotions that is satisfying at a very fundamental level. Whenever I listen to him, he keeps surprising me while, at the same time, creating a sense of "this is right, it should be that way." To me, that is the hallmark of a true artist.
  
  Mamady is the most musical teacher I have met, and the teacher who has made me grow more than any other, both on a musical and on a personal level. I am humbled and honoured by that.

Michi.

[Mikeleza]

Wow, quite an interesting read Michi. Thanks for sharing.

There is something so special about Mamady, something magical and he is such kind, gentle teacher. Its true that he has an ability to get people doing things they didn't think possible moments ago... and you know I think the secret to this as a teacher is positivity. If you look too disappointed by your students and you are too critical, it can make the students lose hope in themselves. Mamady gives everyone a feeling of confidence that they can do it too and that is a special skill as a teacher.

I recently bought some albums of Famoudou and have been completely blown away by the thinking and genius of the music. I find it very interesting because not only is it musical and full of groove it is also VERY CLEVER. Unfortunately I have never had the chance to learn from Famoudou but since purchasing these albums, I have a burning desire to meet and learn from him.

If anyone can give suggestions about how I could do this I would really appreciate it!

I am coming from Australia

[Paul]

Great read Michi, thanks..

I just had a small experience with Mamady and Epizo, both in packed classes but they are great and I would like to see them again.. Obviously i'm gutted to have lost the chance to ever see Fadouba and as a result i'm determined to check out the older generation while I can.

I'm hearing about some great stuff in europe these days and I would really like to check out the Adama diarra/harouna Dembele workshop, I believe Harouna has a 2 week pro camp in Burkina now for a max of 10 people, this would be amazing..

Definatly want to see sega sidibe and Ibrahama Sarr..

We had Nansady Keita over a few weeks ago and that was a pleasure, we did Soli detutalama (not sure on spelling) and Tassaba, he has got great info aswell on the rhythms and seems very deep in the tradition... Blistering chops..

[BobF]

Since you didn't specify which instrument, I would've loved to study the bala with Alkhaly Camara. No bala player I've heard comes close to what he could do on that instrument.

[michi]

There is something so special about Mamady, something magical and he is such kind, gentle teacher.

[...]

Unfortunately I have never had the chance to learn from Famoudou but since purchasing these albums, I have a burning desire to meet and learn from him.

If anyone can give suggestions about how I could do this I would really appreciate it!

You could come to Mamady's and Famoudou's camp in San Diego next year, June 19 to July 2, and you'll get to enjoy both of them at once

I'll be there for sure!

Cheers,

Michi.

[EvanP]

Michi,
Great piece! It just reinforces how little I've learned and how far there is to go. I'm putting the San Diego camp on my calendar, although I'll be in the beginner session!

Thanks for sharing,
Evan

[e2c]

My guess is... that there are some wonderful teachers (quite likely, many wonderful teachers) out there whose names nobody here has ever heard.

And I'm talking about teachers who live in Europe, the USA and elsewhere, away from Africa.

There are tons of good musicians out there, all over the world, who will never be "names." That doesn't mean that they're any less able than the name players, though. (I've heard a number of people who've deliberately chosen to avoid the music biz whose work is, on the whole, better than many of the "name" musicians in their respective fields - imo, at least.)

So... no names from me. Just a hope that I will have the chance to study with some of these gifted folks.

And a note that for me, it's music and melodicism and a deep understanding of/love for the music itself (as well as dance) that matters most, not flash and speed.

There are plenty of people who can play jaw-dropping solos out there, on all kinds of instruments. But - crucial "but" - some of them seem at a real loss when trying to do ensemble work. Detached, even.

Not my cuppa.

I'd also like to suggest that "study" and "learning" the music isn't limited to those who teach drums.

Take some dance classes. Get out there and move. I think you will feel the music differently when you go to play it again.

Listen to sounds in the natural world, and human-made sounds, too. If you take time to do that, you'll hear things - patterns, rhythms, even little riffs and "songs."

Those things can really add to one's playing. (A lesson I need to take myself!)

Sometimes I think that we're so fixated on learning to do something the "right way" that we don't take time to let it sink in and become part of us.

I think it's good to just "tune up" a bit in some of the ways I've just suggested.

(I realize this is a bit of topic drift, but I think it's applicable all the same.)

Just my .02-worth...

[bops]

Michi, great stories, as always. Thanks for sharing

For me, this is an easy one.

[Mikeleza]

There is something so special about Mamady, something magical and he is such kind, gentle teacher.

[...]

Unfortunately I have never had the chance to learn from Famoudou but since purchasing these albums, I have a burning desire to meet and learn from him.

If anyone can give suggestions about how I could do this I would really appreciate it!

You could come to Mamady's and Famoudou's camp in San Diego next year, June 19 to July 2, and you'll get to enjoy both of them at once

I'll be there for sure!

Cheers,

Michi.

OH MAN!!! That sounds like a plan...

[Michel]

Sorry Soungalo passed away.... But that's the way it is. Definitely Mare Sanogo, I hope it will happen one day. From the teachers I know: Sidiki Camara. The way Michi describes Mamady, I think you can compare him with Sidiki. Patient, modest, confusing interesting rhythms,and for me very important: very Mali. Sometimes you are happy playing an accompaniment, he looks at you with a smile, followed by one slap on a unexpected place and you are out.... Just to test. How did he do that, you ask yourself: I thought I was steady holding the accompaniment. But no.
Ibrahima Sarr is great as well. Good sense of humour, wonderfull technique, I think I will visit him this winter.
There is a great new generation which is combining the tradition with modern djembeplaying. Adama Bilorou, petit Adama, Harouna Dembele, Thomas Guei: they are all on my list as well.

Last but not least my own teacher Mousse Drame. He has a very rich background, great skills, humour in his lessons, and he is very encouraging. As a beginner you want him to be your first teacher. After that you will never stop playing/learning. And untill this day I met nobody who could explain his accompaniments. They are great, very musical, complicated, sometimes 4 or 5 complicated two/three bar accomps. But besides his students and probably his family nobody knows/plays them.

[Mikeleza]

Michi, great stories, as always. Thanks for sharing

For me, this is an easy one.

Sorry but who is that?

[bops]

Mike - it's Soungalo Coulibaly.

[Waraba]

Ladji Camara at Lesly Dance & Skate in NYC about 20 years ago gave me my fundamental moment. It was an $8 to play along with the dance class lesson. He showed me a part to play and I had no idea what he meant. I just shook my head and wouldn't do it. I'd thought he would be upset if I tried to play it and did it wrong. But he didn't get mad. Instead, he said, in an upbeat voice, "Try!" And I did. I tried badly and played it badly. By the end of class, I had the pattern.

So I've been trying ever since.