And the Beat Goes On

Sounding the drum with West Philly choral and percussion ensemble Voices of Africa. by Mary Armstrong

Published: October 11, 2006 The name grabs attention: Voices of Africa. Their occasional subtitle — Women Who Drum — is even catchier. Yet, knowing they are local, how many times have you passed up their show to check out a touring act? It took years for the stars to align in my case.

And even then it was the sweetener that lured me to the Rotunda that blissfully bright summer night two years ago — the promise that after the concert proper the cross-generational, West Philly drum and voice group was offering a hands-on introduction to the drums in the VOA canon — sakara frame drums, sangba large drum, sekere gourds and bells. A mere 10 bucks more and I could have internationally respected experts gently guiding me into some simple rhythms on these rare instruments.

ft: Akosua Nyo Agyiriwah, Zakiyyah McKelven, Nana Baakan wah, Adwoa Tacheampong and Blanche Baxter.

That night five women in vibrant African dress, head to toe, eased out onto the informal stage, spreading warmth and greetings as they took up their drums. With a nod the room flashed from silent anticipation to thundering glee. VOA's interplay of rhythms had us grinning and desperately trying to pat along with all of them at once, our hearts pumping the basic pulse. After two numbers I jumped up and darted from the room — not to escape, but to call everyone who might reasonably get over to 40th and Walnut streets to drop everything.

Once audience and players alike caught their collective breath, the teaching began. Shy people were tickled into trying something a little showier; confident ones were asked to play the thump-thump-thump-thumpa-thump beat the rest of the drummers would build upon. Everyone was made to feel empowered. Music was made.

Sharing knowledge and empowering people, rather than formal performances, is how Voices of Africa began. "We started off as a family group. I have four kids, two sons and two daughters, who I was homeschooling," explains Nana Bakaan Agyiriwah, VOA's founder. She says her personal journey is a common one in the African Diaspora. Agyiriwah went from Roman Catholic, complete with parochial school, to Islam ("all four of my kids have Muslim names") to traditional African religion. She is now an Akan priestess. Along the way the kids benefited from the best ideas of each path. Any parochial school kids remember singing your lessons? That was something all of Agyiriwah's kids did. Setting facts to melodies helps to imprint them. It also helped Agyiriwah to observe that the kids would naturally harmonize among themselves — and what kid doesn't treat every reachable surface as a drum? Thus the first inklings of Voices of Africa were born.

Gradually word got out about these kids who sang culturally uplifting material. Invitations to entertain at community events followed. Performing at the 1986 Yam Festival, at the Lee Cultural Center, at 44th and Haverford — where the long-lived, renowned African-American dance and drum troupe Kulu Mele Dance Ensemble is headquartered — changed everything. That's where they met Brother Obrafo, the dance instructor who had worked with Arthur Hall Afro-American Dance Ensemble. He became VOA's first teacher of dance and rhythms. "We started a children's dance company. Then I realized that not all wanted to dance, so we added drums and singing, so nondancers could have a part," Agyiriwah recalls. So it went for years, with community events featured prominently on VOA's schedule.

Now, 20 years later, the ensemble is all adult women, some with kids of their own. But what happened to the boys? Agyiriwah laughs and says that once the sons got old enough to gracefully bow out, they didn't waste any time. "My oldest son is an awesome dancer. He doesn't perform anymore, but you can see his own son has the gift. The other — well he never wanted any part of it!" Singing in a monotone she gives a comic impression of an unwilling singer trying to get cut from the herd.

Daughter Zakiyyah McKelven, who now handles the bookings, recalls how the group morphed from family ensemble to the serious world-traveling players and teachers they are today. "I was 6 when I gave my first performance. I was terrified. I cried and ran off the stage!" VOA was not the kids' idea, that's for sure. "We did it 'cause mom wanted us to do. We were just following her lead," says McKelven.

"Around 14, I started to grow as an artist." But for her that didn't mean turning to pop or hip-hop. McKelven feels homeschooling defused teenage rebellion. "I was homeschooled until eighth grade, I was 13 in ninth grade. That's when I noticed I was different" — in the best of ways, she says.

"Then we started to get bigger gigs. My last two years of high school and college it really took off." She recalls their invitation to perform at the Women's Music Festival in Indiana in 1995. Mom fills in the details: "We had never played before 500 people before. It was awesome! We got a five-minute screaming-and-hollering standing ovation!"

That kind of reception is nothing short of affirming. Says McKelven, "We invested in ourselves as percussionists, making it more of a profession rather than a hobby we enjoyed with mom."

Since that time, music from all parts of the African Diaspora has been folded into the repertoire, which now varies from Liberian wedding songs to Brazilian, East Indian and even a new hip-hop number.

Education is still important to VOA. "The biggest thing with inner-city kids is they don't want to admit anything moves them. Even today the sexism is rampant," says Agyiriwah, adopting a snide tone to add: "'Mmm-hmm, five women, what they gonna do?'"

"Then to see them thaw: 'O my god! I can't believe how good you were!' say the presenters. 'You girls rock!' say the kids."

As you read this, VOA are part of a healing weekend at Omega Institute, in Rhinebeck, NY. That's very much in line with VOA's mission, says Agyiriwah. "It's amazing to see the healing that goes on in the churches. We start beating our drums to the rhythm of the heart and build from there. It reminds me of David in the Bible — 'Make a joyful to the Lord.' The suburban Presbyterians, who refer to themselves as The Frozen Chosen, bragged about how we thawed them out."

(m_armstrong@citypaper.net)

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