Exciting rhythms from the sailors of Ghana to the tam-tam of the Sioux or the Polynesians blowing in the buccin
(not the Roman trumpet, but the shell) to announce foreigners' arrival, invaded the Spirit of 66, which vibrated under
the hypnotic hammerings of Drumplay. Drums, djembes, tam-tam and shells took the temple of rock music and some
adventuresses and adventurers (among which some archaeologists like Indiana) on a magnificent journey to the countries
of the sun and the sea. To the countries where the freedom becomes sacred thanks to the declamations of a crazy,
flying poet on these strong rhythms.
The atmosphere was almost religious. The atmosphere was warm. The compositions of at least a dozen minutes,
entailed a tapping of the hand on the glass or the table. Quickly, heads began shaking and feet beat the measure
or tried to follow it as the rhythmic variations were numerous and rich. One minute the attention was
not on alert. Eyes had difficulty to follow Warren's powerful hands caressing the djembes or Phil's magic wands.
Bit by bit, multicolored landscapes materialized in front of us, brought to life by a crazy drumkit animated by Phil Kester, better
known in GongZilla, african-latin-equator percussions of Warren Levert, the tam-tam or James Onysko's vibraphone.
With regular intervals, this music of the previous history without guitar or embellishment left the first place to the poet
Daniel Thompson, singing the love of life, man and freedom.
Us, spectators, hung on his lips to seize a word, a known sound...."Train !...Sailor on the Road...Tell Chief Wahoo..."...
trying by means of the music, to reconstruct the weft of these declamations.
The rhythms, the sounds and the poems transformed the Spirit of 66. Bit by bit the landscapes took form, humanized. Drumplay does for music what
the painter Customs officer Rousseau did for the fantastic exoticism. Everything became light, everything made us smile, everything was full of colour, everything was sharpness.
It was luxuriant but without excess ; every sound was defined and was pure, existing only for the others. Musical notes overlapped and crossed the room as the
beams of a morning sun triumphing at night.
The rhythms seized bodies, massaged them slowly or violently, but they were never satisfied... They invited us to travel towards the virgin areas and indicated the road leading to sources even of music, to this mode of
expression which allows the communication with queen Earth, with Gaia more alive than ever, with gods.
This returning to our roots, into a universe where the music is tangible thanks to the shamans of Drumplay, stays
an unforgettable experience, phantasmagoric, in our world where " fairy electricity " fast imposes its law,
relegating to eternity these forgotten rhythms.
When the rhythms become music...
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