THE GHANA CHRONICLES: Music is Music—6/20/23

 

Today the formal classes began and my part is to co-teach with Aaron Bebe Sukura, a Dagara-Ghanaian who I took one lesson with in 1999! I re-connected with him in Orff Afrique in 2016, again in 2018 and such a pleasure to sit by his side again to pass on the treasures of the Northern Ghana xylophone repertoire. The xylophone from that region is called a gyil and there’s some evidence that this was the instrument (it might have been a Senegalese balaphone) that the Swedish sisters sent to Carl Orff in the 1920’s that birthed the idea of the Orff xylophone. So a beautiful full circle that Orff teachers sit down and learn some of the music from the grandparent of it all. 

 

In the past, we’ve held classes in a carport because of the shade, but it wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing place to teach. So thanks to two students who suggested it, we moved the class to a large spreading mango tree, whose leaves provided sufficient shade. Indeed, that first time in Ghana when I traveled with my family, I asked musicians on three separate occasions if I could take a lesson with them and all three replied, “Meet me under the tree.” Both a necessity to get out of the hot sun and a lovely way to connect art and nature. 

We got off to a good start in those first two classes and then it was Market Day, so everyone scurried into town to begin their shopping— mostly fabric. Having been here before and not needing more fabric, I walked instead of bussed in and just strolled aimlessly through the bustling market. Which could have been pleasant if it weren’t for the many, many stalls selling dried sardine-like fish with a strong smell that is sheer torture for me. So I wandered for a bit holding my breath and then enjoyed the stroll back to the hotel. Having begun a daily walking routine of 5 to 7 miles a day back home that began during the pandemic, I was looking for ways to keep the body toned and trimmed. So the walk was welcome.

 

Later that night, the Nunya kids performed and were as impressive as they always are. Today (remember I’m writing this retroactively, so it’s actually July 10), I taught a group of 8 to 11 year olds at a summer camp and while I did as I always do, meeting them at whatever level they’re at and enjoying moving a few feet down the musical road, I couldn’t help but feel the yawning gap between their skills and their Ghanaian counterparts. No secret why— from the womb on, the Ghanaian children— or more specifically, the Ewe children in Dzodze (though I suspect it’s throughout not only Ghana, but the entire sub-Saharan continent)— are immersed in an adult musical culture that literally spends the equivalent of 3 to 5 hours per day drumming, singing and dancing. How could it be otherwise that the kids are extraordinary musicians? 

 

Later that evening, one of the Bay Area teachers took out his banjo and guitar and five or six of us sat around singing a wide repertoire of American folk songs. While I’m still struggling to more fully understand the extraordinary complexity of the Ewe repertoire (making some progress!) and feeling my admiration for it all increase with each new inch of understanding how complex and intricate and nuanced it all actually is far beyond just shaking your booty to the groove, it was a pleasure to sink back into more familiar territory. And a rare pleasure to harmonize with four male singers. Paul, the jovial head director of the hotel, was smiling ear to ear listening to us and later told us how much he loved the music. 

 

So while I am impressed, as many of us are, with technical virtuosity, compositional sophistication, soulful heartfelt expression, at the end of the matter, good music is good music, no matter how simple and straightforward it may be. I plead guilty to possibly over-praising the Ghanaians and holding the Americans’ feet too much to the fire and though a welcome change from the usual put-down of exquisite culture and stellar human beings by ignorant “first-world” people, at the end of the matter, people are people and music is music and whenever and wherever you can find good versions of both, enjoy it! Which I certainly did throughout this most marvelous— minus the fish— day.