It’s been a busy week, and one in which I experienced more than my fair share of luck. The first instance of this came on a steaming tropical afternoon in Scarborough, the largest city of Tobago, when a young woman passed me wearing a t-shirt that commemorated the 200th anniversary (2007) of the island’s abolition of slavery. Despite being caked in sweat and the remnants of my vegetable roti lunch, I called out and asked about her shirt. As it turns out, she works for Tobago’s Administration of Community Development and Culture. When I explained to her what I was doing in the Caribbean, she overlooked my disheveled appearance and agreed to put me in contact with her superiors at the Cultural Division. My second major stroke of luck came about through the fact that my visit happens to coincide with a new administrative campaign to improve Tobagonians’ understanding of their cultural heritage. Ms. Victoria Pat Mitchell, an official in the department, called my local cell number the next morning, and gave me news that was better than anything I could have expected.
She and her colleagues in the Cultural Division’s hierarchy—including Mr. Claude Joseph and Mr. Kerry Cyrus, to whom I am also indebted for their help—had recently decided that it was time to start pushing back against America’s cultural hegemony over the region and inspire a resurgence of national pride and awareness among Tobago’s youth. As a result, she arranged not only for some local musicians to perform for me, but also for the Cultural Division’s own production crew to film the sessions, and provide me with edited copies once we finished. The following Monday, I received a thorough introduction to Tambrin Music, which Ms. Mitchell assured me was the authentic Tobagonian folk genre. I learned that the name is derived from the word “Tambourine,” the European instrument from which its circular drums get their design. Tambrin Music was invented by necessity; since Tobago’s European slave masters separated workers who spoke the same language and forbade the use of African drums, the slaves constructed new percussion instruments out of goatskin, discarded cheese containers and the bark of Latan plants. Tambrin dances, I was told, are grouped into two rough categories: the European-influenced Jig and the more Africanized invocation dance, the Reel. Like most forms of traditional dance, each movement has a meaning—though Tambrin may be unique in that its steps were once used to trace secret, coded messages in the dirt, where they could quickly be erased.
A traditional Tambrin band has five instruments: three drums, a steel triangle and a fiddle. It is said that the skin of ewes (female goats) are better suited for the higher-pitched Cutter and Roller drums, while the Boom (or bass) is generally constructed from the hides of males. During our first film sessions, I watched through the lens as The Professionals, one of only five authentic Tambrin bands on the island, performed the traditional ritual of “preparing” the drums with liquor, and then heating them to the proper softness over a palm leaf fire. I have now achieved a solid understanding of this island’s musical heritage, and an appreciation for the often horrific conditions under which its cultural identity was formed. The task that remains before me as I head north is to understand the extent to which this heritage, and its contemporary music, continues to be shaped by African rhythms.
To do so, I hope to take advantage of another chance encounter I had with a local musician who was promoting his CD as we filmed near Scarborough’s historic Fort King George. After letting me record a few minutes of his song, entitled “Mediocre Man,” the artist, named Farmer Dan, invited me to an open-mic jam at a nearby club this Thursday. With any luck, this opportunity will help me to answer these enduring questions, or at least point me in the right direction.
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