Commenting: Coming to Terms with Thinking a Drum Circle Is Cool

I spent my teen years drinking 40s of malt liquor in various outdoor locations throughout the Lower East Side, going to shows in dive bars and squats, and hating pretty much everything. While I thankfully managed to avoid physical demarcations of these years, such as Crass tattoos and mohawks (I have a fear that some ugly lump lurks on my head), I maintain a deep-seeded fear of all things even vaguely hippy or corporate. When I heard about 88boa Drum, I had my reservations about what fifteen-year-old me was telling my adult self was essentially a drum circle sponsored by The Man. Luckily, adult me will go to pretty much any outdoor event and an 88-minute composition launched at 8:08 PM, on 8/08/08, played by 88 drummers, appealed to my ageless appreciation for numerical continuity. Plus, The Boredoms, the drum piece's composers, may be called many things but hippies isn't one of them. So I got my ticket.



The weather on 8/08/08 cleared just in time to give me a nice bike ride along Kent to the park on the East River where 88boa Drum was to take place. As I neared the park, there were throngs or people on all sides jamming traffic; bikes were locked on any surface a chain could get through; people were sitting on top of cars having picnics; ice cream trucks were circling in heated competition, resulting in adults of all shapes, sizes, and Brooklynite tribes trying to look cool using popsicles in place of the standard beer prop. In short, it was nice.

Once I got through the line and past the obligatory massive out of shape bouncers in black shirts, I found my way to a perch atop a cement partition in the midst of the green grass that ran the length of the park except for a few well-worn paths. The drummers were indeed in a circle beneath an elevated white circular platform which contained the conductors, this year Brooklyn's Gang Gang Dance since 88boa Drum in LA got the actual Boredoms for the West Coast. I am fairly sure that the show did not actually commence at 8:08 but I'll never know for sure; I did not look at my watch. I chose to remain forever under the veil of ignorance and believe that all the precious eights aligned.

The drums started with a gradual build up, playing in sections unaccompanied by music. Hmmmm, I thought, this is it? I wearily watched a girl on a nearby blanket in paisley shorts start trying to do that special outdoor-festival-style dancing. "I can't believe you dragged me to this," fifteen-year-old me snidely muttered inside my head. "First you started being friends with sensitive singer song writers, then you play in a country band, then you listen to indie music, and now this? I can't believe I'm you." Then something wonderful happened. Paisley shorts couldn't catch the beat; she was flailing like a fish on a deck! Brilliant! The Boredoms had composed something immune to horrible dancing!

The sun started going down and my apprehensions put to rest. The movements of the piece of music grew increasingly complex and powerful and crazy colored lights throbbed out of the central structure. Prerecorded vocals and synthesizer tracks swam through the drummers and washed over the crowd. There were moments at which the composition reminded me of bad disco in a good way and others where I could feel the cement barrier beneath me reverberating with purely primal beats. It's a rare instance when it's pleasant to be in a mass of humanity, but smelling the dirt and grass, watching boats glide by and seeing police car lights pulse across the river, and knowing that all of these people around me were experiencing the same thing was one. When the drums stopped the silence was a massive crushing absence.

I went to a punk show at Don Pedro's later that night. Mulling about outside, a friend scoffed when I told him where I'd just been, "You know you just went to a giant drum circle?" I smiled slightly and said, "Yeah . . . and I liked it." Because ultimately, that's what I really took away from those punk years: doing what I want to and not caring what other people think. My teen years left me chuck full of stupid biases, but I also have a serious backbone thanks to them. I have grown and changed and I will try most things out. But don't worry, as hard as Nike tried to woo me with this event, The Man is still not cool in my book. Although I did take His free poncho, I won't be buying His shoes.