While in Recife, Brazil, I want to find a percussion class for beginners. I've heard that learning to play the Pandeiro is a good way to instil rhythms. A Pandeiro is like what we in English would call a tambourine - a small flat drum with metal jingles around the edge.
An Internet search for "Percussion classes in Recife" yielded a page full of names, phone numbers and instruments taught. I had zero confidence in calling any of these people from Australia. There was no indication as to when the classes were held, for what instrument, or what level. I don't want to find myself in a class for professionals, when I am a rhythmically-challenged beginner.
Then a pianist friend contacted me. He has a friend in Recife, whom he hasn't seen for more than twenty years. Would I meet up with him and give him some CDs? He delivered the package to my house.
Before leaving Australia, I connected with Cristiano on Facebook, then messaged him to introduce myself and to say that I have CDs to pass on to him. Then I had a brainwave. I asked him if he could help me to find a Pandeiro class. He responded that he himself plays Pandeiro, and asked if I was experienced player. Did I have my own Pandeiro? No, and no! I'm just a beginner wanting to improve my rhythms.
I asked if he could teach me. Could he come to the hotel? Perhaps there would be a garden where we could play. Our online discussions began to stretch my Portuguese language skills.
Arriving in Recife, I go on Facebook to notify Cristiano that we are here. What day is he available? I don't hear back from him immediately - he responds when I'm not online. It takes a few tries before we are communicating in real time.
He gives me a phone number and asks me to call. Now I feel queasy. Speaking by phone in a foreign language is one of the hardest things to do - without visual clues, you really have to concentrate really hard on what is being said. I can't bring myself to do it. I continue to message him online.
Now Cristiano asks me for the hotel phone number. I send it, with a sense of trepidation. He will call me. The phone in my hotel room rings. I can no longer avoid it. I pick up, and it's him. He speaks slowly and I can understand most of what he's saying. His voice is sonorous and he sounds like a nice person. We arrange to meet in the hotel foyer that afternoon.
Sitting in an armchair in the hotel lobby, I suddenly look up into the face of a man of about my own age, with kind eyes and an impressive mullet of greying hair. He is holding a motorcycle helmet with a large red torch taped on top, and a big round leather box. We greet each other, and I invite him into the hotel garden. We sit down at a poolside table and I hand him the package of CDs.
We spend the afternoon in conversation, in Portuguese and German. He used to live in Switzerland, and that's where he met my friend.
Now he opens the round box and brings out the Pandeiro. It's large and heavy, a circle of wood with hide stretched tightly across it, and shiny metal discs around the edge. He shows me where to grasp it with my left hand. All the fingers must clutch, except for the middle one, which alternates resting on the hide and lifting off, to alter the sound from "closed" to "open". Although my broken left wrist is gaining strength, I have trouble with this manoeuvre. Cristiano shows me how to twist the instrument to relieve the weight. Now we focus on the right hand. He indicates a crescent-shaped section on the right of the drum where most of the wear is evident. Four beats. 1. Edge of thumb. 2. Four fingers. 3. Wrist. 4. Four fingers. Don't control the thumb; throw it. It "jumps", to give a strong resonant sound. The first beat must be the strongest. The beat must be continuous.
He sings some familiar songs and I must keep the beat going. I have trouble coordinating, and sometimes I lose the beat. But I'm starting now to be able to pick it up again.
As Cristiano says, you must "feel" the beat.
He encourages me to buy a pandeiro of my own, and to practise by holding the beat while I listen to my favourite music.
"You have rhythm", he says. And this is the nicest thing I could hear today.
An Internet search for "Percussion classes in Recife" yielded a page full of names, phone numbers and instruments taught. I had zero confidence in calling any of these people from Australia. There was no indication as to when the classes were held, for what instrument, or what level. I don't want to find myself in a class for professionals, when I am a rhythmically-challenged beginner.
Then a pianist friend contacted me. He has a friend in Recife, whom he hasn't seen for more than twenty years. Would I meet up with him and give him some CDs? He delivered the package to my house.
Before leaving Australia, I connected with Cristiano on Facebook, then messaged him to introduce myself and to say that I have CDs to pass on to him. Then I had a brainwave. I asked him if he could help me to find a Pandeiro class. He responded that he himself plays Pandeiro, and asked if I was experienced player. Did I have my own Pandeiro? No, and no! I'm just a beginner wanting to improve my rhythms.
I asked if he could teach me. Could he come to the hotel? Perhaps there would be a garden where we could play. Our online discussions began to stretch my Portuguese language skills.
Arriving in Recife, I go on Facebook to notify Cristiano that we are here. What day is he available? I don't hear back from him immediately - he responds when I'm not online. It takes a few tries before we are communicating in real time.
He gives me a phone number and asks me to call. Now I feel queasy. Speaking by phone in a foreign language is one of the hardest things to do - without visual clues, you really have to concentrate really hard on what is being said. I can't bring myself to do it. I continue to message him online.
Now Cristiano asks me for the hotel phone number. I send it, with a sense of trepidation. He will call me. The phone in my hotel room rings. I can no longer avoid it. I pick up, and it's him. He speaks slowly and I can understand most of what he's saying. His voice is sonorous and he sounds like a nice person. We arrange to meet in the hotel foyer that afternoon.
Sitting in an armchair in the hotel lobby, I suddenly look up into the face of a man of about my own age, with kind eyes and an impressive mullet of greying hair. He is holding a motorcycle helmet with a large red torch taped on top, and a big round leather box. We greet each other, and I invite him into the hotel garden. We sit down at a poolside table and I hand him the package of CDs.
We spend the afternoon in conversation, in Portuguese and German. He used to live in Switzerland, and that's where he met my friend.
Now he opens the round box and brings out the Pandeiro. It's large and heavy, a circle of wood with hide stretched tightly across it, and shiny metal discs around the edge. He shows me where to grasp it with my left hand. All the fingers must clutch, except for the middle one, which alternates resting on the hide and lifting off, to alter the sound from "closed" to "open". Although my broken left wrist is gaining strength, I have trouble with this manoeuvre. Cristiano shows me how to twist the instrument to relieve the weight. Now we focus on the right hand. He indicates a crescent-shaped section on the right of the drum where most of the wear is evident. Four beats. 1. Edge of thumb. 2. Four fingers. 3. Wrist. 4. Four fingers. Don't control the thumb; throw it. It "jumps", to give a strong resonant sound. The first beat must be the strongest. The beat must be continuous.
He sings some familiar songs and I must keep the beat going. I have trouble coordinating, and sometimes I lose the beat. But I'm starting now to be able to pick it up again.
As Cristiano says, you must "feel" the beat.
He encourages me to buy a pandeiro of my own, and to practise by holding the beat while I listen to my favourite music.
"You have rhythm", he says. And this is the nicest thing I could hear today.
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