Meeting with Añá

Okónkolo, Itóteles, Iyá. These are the names given to the Yoruba African drums, the batá. A beautiful and well-known story justifies their sanctity; they imitate the voice of a magic fish that brings sacred information to the people. Each has two leather drumheads, the enú and the chachá. Six patches in total can make many notes, depending on where and how they are hit, according to the reverberation of the space, and the will of Añá. 

For a white pianist, the existence of these drums may be known, since they are mentioned in the academy. But being far from religion creates certain taboos. One day I put my hand on a set of batá and I became so obsessed with them that I did not stop until I had them. There was a magic in the patches, and in my hands a vice that did not diminish with the pain of hitting them. Life gave me some arbeliculá that would be my masters.

Leather, iron and wood. Do not forget the emptiness. The drums speak, and also possess the mind of the people. The triad fulfills all the necessary musical functions, in its individual duality. The big one is the mother drum, which calls, while the second one answers and the small one marks the steady rhythm. A closed team, but capable of being combined with any format. 

Each drum, from its function, teaches. Without human words, it can show spiritual paths and help to heal personality disorders. Learning must begin with the little one, the Okónkolo, and it is, for those who do not know their function on Earth, difficult and even torturing to repeat the ki-lá ki-lá ki-lá ki-lá eternally, while the others converse. Thus, the work begins with taming the ego, that which wants to stand out, to talk, to have fun, without paying attention to others. In nature it is not possible to be like that, to survive it is necessary to know that each being fulfills a function in the Whole. With very simple marches, the Okónkolo takes the head away from repeating the same notes, but does not allow to lose the stirrups, and works the firmness of the being, knowing that - although small - it is essential, and although simple, it is important. It resembles the two feet of a body on a long journey.

The toques have a rhythmic concept different from the European, of course. Each drum has its own march, and the beats are adjusted in a perfect puzzle, with different heights of sound alternating and coinciding, leaving tiny silences. The Itóteles, or second, is reputed to be the most difficult. Mastering its wide range of touches takes years, as well as knowing how to respond to the mother properly. But his voice is sweet, and his marches resemble birds responding to lightning. The Yoruba culture seeks understanding of nature, communication with its mystical forces. Of course, this ancestral music is a reading of the divine natural codes, hence the seriousness in its execution, and the importance in the life of the practitioners.

To enter nature, just to listen to the perfect order in which its sounds follow one another, is a healing and magical act, without a doubt. The fractal form with which a tree grows, is also in the constellations, and in the microorganisms that inhabit us. It is also in the sounds of the forest; everything is made in the same image and likeness. Johann Sebastian Bach knew this, and dedicated his life to replicate these structures creating the most complex musical science in the world, which has come down to our time varying through the centuries. The ancient Asians, slower and less grandiloquent than the Westerners, controlled the vibrations of their exquisite instruments with great concentration, knowing that sound was an essential part of Being. The music of humans is one more vibration emitted to the Universe. Just as the fishes sing, or the planets.

Trance is a way of stripping the human being of his mind and allowing him to be possessed by nature. In the Yoruba religion, each saint represents a part of nature, an energy, and this behavior is introduced into the human body through vibrations. Music is magic. The divine is in the organization of these vibrations, which by ancestral, is wisely polished to connect with the depths of the human, unlike other more modern rhythmic vibrations. The guide to access this dimension is the Iyá.

The Iyá, major, or mother drum, is the largest of the three. Its enú is large and sounds deep, taking various heights depending on where it is struck, and the chachá is usually very powerful, because of its penetrating sound. It is the head of the batá, the caller. With much more freedom than the Itóteles, it easily breaks out of its marches to enter into awkward counterpoints and imposing phrases. It is owed great respect, as playing it signifies a penetrating energetic experience, an encounter with Añá, the orisha of the batá.

Añá lives inside them. It is an energy that guides the musicians and turns the concert into a ritual. It enters with the blows in the head of the performer, frees him and drives him towards the beauty of singing and playing. It creates a reverberation in the space, where voices and sounds that cannot be seen can be felt, with the mixtures of the accumulated vibrations. Añá welcomes the saints and the dead who appear. It coordinates the rhythmic changes and shows the way to the singers.

It is a great fortune that our motherland has been shaped by Yoruba rituals, which give life to our mountains and connect us with the love and respect due to nature. Undoubtedly, it is the music that brings us closer to the divine, and the one that preserves the most sacredness in our Island. Knowing it is one more tool to change reality, from the vibration that acts as a guide to find the best in our lives, Love.