When I say spirit of percussion I am talking not just about the passion that one brings to the performance but also the passion and ingenuity of all the great inventors, inventions and ideas that are involved in the making of these instruments; the alchemy that is represented here; the transformation of various elements into sound; the combinations of wood, membrane, etc. What I have talked about before, the changing of spirit into a form. In this case into rhythmic noise. In my book, Drumming at the Edge of Magic, I describe rhythm and noise: "Strike a membrane with a stick, the ear fills with noise —unmelodious, inharmonic sound. Strike it a second time, a third, you’ve got sound."

Some people will recognize these instruments from the Planet Drum outings and of course from the Grateful Dead stage. For the first time you can see the Beast that Ramrod and I constructed for the air strike at the end of Apocalypse Now. The magnificent airbrush sea odyssey that covers the outer skin of these metal giants was the inspiration of Bill Kreutzmann.

The beast: After Francis Coppola asked me to go up the river with him for the underscore of Apocalypse Now I retreated into my sound world to survey the possibilities. I realized that my arsenal of percussion was without the deep dark tones that would be needed for the air strike and other profound moments in his film. The idea was to build three very large drums that would be suspended from a ring and were to be joined by smaller-tuned drums to give accent and color to the cannon shot of the larger steel drums. There were no drums that fit this bill. The only option was for us to build them ourselves. The fabrication of these monsters was a daunting task for me. I had never before attempted to construct something so large that was made of steel. Now that I think of it, the only other instrument of note that I fabricated was the beam, a long metal I–beam with strings tuned to a monochord. At the time Bill Graham had a shop in San Francisco that fabricated all his sets for the Fillmore and Winterland. It was called FM Productions. I called my old buddy Bill and asked him if he would let me and Ramrod have the use of his place for a few days to construct this contraption. He agreed and threw in a couple of his most trusted workers to assist and guide us through this maze of machinery. Willie John Cashman and were our helpers and artists in residence for this daunting task. Ramrod and I first went to the Alcoa aluminum factory in South San Francisco to purchase the steel sheet that we rolled into a drum to make the Beast. Of course it took us weeks to build this arsenal. It grew from three drums to chimes tuned to an oscilloscope to friction instruments that were to resemble steel rods that were rubbed with gloves to 31 metal tubes octave…on and on we would work till dawn and the day shift would chase these midnight raiders out. Soon the whole shop was caught up in the pursuit of the new instruments in the middle of the shop. (I thought that Francis spared no horses in the construction of the movie, why should I skimp on the sound? He even gave me his first-born son in typical godfather fashion. His son Giancarlo showed up at my door one day and said my father sent me to learn from you. I what to help you build these instrument and learn all I can. We bought a loose-leaf book and it was school for this lad. He was bright sand intelligent and the most loving kid I had ever met, it broke all our hearts when he was killed a few years latter in a freak boating accident. So Ramrod and I would buy the materials and bring them to the shop and spend all or waking hours in their construction…) Of course this madness reached the ears of Bill Graham who made his classic appearance one afternoon and delivered a classic freak out on me. He yelled and screamed obscenities at me for taking advantage of his crew and place of business, you are putting me out of business with this thing, I said a few days and not a few weeks. You go too far Mickey, on and on and on. In the end he gives me a big kiss and says some kind thing like, "build it already and get out of here before I call the cops". It was fortunate that I am not intimidated easily and that I knew he loved percussion dearly. This was his way of showing love. He was all over me, about an inch from my face--very much like a marine drill sergeant blows out a cadet. Gio never saw this side of him and was scared for our lives. We latter laughed so hard at this outburst that our sides hurt. It was his way of saying he respected the effort and looked forward to hear their sound in the movie, and don’t give up your vision ever, even if I scream at you. He was a real character who I always counted on to be there for me in a time of need. I miss him.

We envisioned three drums, one large in the middle and two smaller ones at each end. The large one I called Home Plate for it was the end of the line sonically. It was the last and most profound of all percussive sounds on the planet. Nothing could ever approach its low end or volume. It makes your hair stand upright and curls your toes. The force of its sound waves make your eyeballs sweat from its vibrations. The sound travels up your pant legs and vibrates your whole body into submission. Since it lives at chest level the sheer weight of its power is literally right in your face, in your chest. It jumpstarts your heart and massages your skin when played at full volume. Yet it also has a softer side. Very beautiful and full of tone, massaging you and quieting your mood. Home Plate has the ability to put you under its spell and soften you. It has a love vibe to it as opposed to its frightening other side. When I first started to explore Home Plate—this beast gave me a lesson in humility. I was learning for the first time to play suspended drums that were at eye level. This was new and exciting but proved to be a little dangerous. The large wooden clubs that I designed to pull the last drop of sound out of Home Plate could also be used as weapons. Unfortunately I was to be their first victim. The thing about this instrument is that it is a trancer. It will take you out there and you will lose some control over your movements. I was alone at the club and the beast was calling me for our daily exercise. I started, as usual, very slowly and quietly as I asked the drum to give me instruction, to lead me on to the next idea, the next level. I always view this beginning time with the instrument as very important because each new day marks a new adventure with and into the drum. If you do this first step right the process becomes a very centered meditation, a great focusing technique for what is to come. If you force yourself upon a drum you will lose the moment and fall into your usual old style, missing the magic of the moment. The mantra is, "Let the drum take you there." Go on the trip together, do not dominate the groove but listen to the drum’s voice and together you will find the groove du jour. After about 10 minutes it starts to heat up. I am energized now and the adrenaline is flowing. I start to get hot and want to run. As I go deeper the strokes are more forceful and rapid. Since this is new to me, the technique is strange and I must be wary of self- mutilation or death by drumstick. Then it happens, the right club loses it trajectory and strikes my head, I go down for the count, out cold. I wake up sometime later with the sticks in my hand and the drums looking silently down on me. A big lump on my forehead has already formed and it is throbbing something awful. Lesson One: Never take your eye off your opponent--even when you bow. I hobble away from this experience with its new name on my lips…what a beast, I thought. My respect and caution will always ride hand in hand when I approach this wild animal from hereon.

The eyes of the beast are the two outer drums, which are its constant companions. They add the color and two passing notes before the end of the statement, that is, Home Plate. These are the drums that Billy had decorated with marvelous underwater seascape motifs airbrushed on the sides. Unfortunately, Home Plate is just too big for the airport and will have to wait for a second round somewhere more appropriate. The slightly smaller and more decorate sister drums will be in the airport display.

A second smaller exhibit has already opened in the international terminal. Fred Leiberman, my co-author on Planet Drum and Professor of Music at UC Santa Cruz, took this one on, and it consists of musical instruments from around the world, not just percussion. This collection features the colossal cylinder drums from Burma and the Philippines. These babies are huge, one is about nine feet tall and the other is almost twelve feet tall. They stand as lone sentinels at the entrance to the terminal. One day, maybe fifteen or twenty years ago, I was foraging for stuff south of market when I looked up, and in my view, chained to the wall at the entrance of an international carpet shop, were these behemoths. Like two Shaquille O’Neals they were standing guard at the entrance to this shop. In my wildest dreams, I had never seen nor imagined drums this large. They made the huge O Daiko drums of Kodo look like peashooters. There they were. I started to breathe hard then started to sweat. They don’t belong here as a tourist attraction, cold and unloved, unappreciated. I must give them a proper home. I casually approached the owner to feel out his loyalty to these mighty giants that were poised in his entrance. He said that he knew nothing about them; only that someone had traded him for some rugs and stuff from the Far East. I could see he had no love for them and a fair price was agreed upon. The shopkeeper said I could come back tomorrow and unchain them from the wall and take ‘em away. No way I was going to wait till tomorrow. I called Ramrod, who, over the years, has always put up with my enthusiasm and I think has had a few laughs at my expense. I can get real intense over the things I love and covet. I told him I have come across some large cylinder drums and need his help to get then back to Club Front, the place we called home. I did not want to freak him out with the size of them but advised him to bring our equipment truck, not the small one, the big one. Also bring some large chain cutters. Ramrod doesn’t waste words; he doesn’t talk very much about little things or details. I’ll be there he said. They don’t call him Ramrod for nothing. He gets things done. I sat there for an hour or two not letting them get out of my view. I just sat there staring at them, wondering about their former life and times. What where they used for? How did they get here, who made them and when were they born? I remember the look on his face when he first laid eyes on them; they grew very large and then he smiled out loud. Oh my god, I thought you said drums. What are they? I had no idea at the time but I was definitely going to find out. We started freeing them from their captivity by cutting the chain link that was attached to the wall and then put them one by one on a large dolly and then into the truck. My heart was racing a mile a minute as we took them back to the club. Their only public outing was when we used them for the introduction of an Olatunji set at Oakland Coliseum. We placed the drums at both sides of the stage. Behind the drums were two ladders, which allowed the drummers to get to the top to play them. It was awesome. They have never been out until this exhibit. They are a must-see.

There are many great stories about these drums that I will share with you over time, memory willing.

Enter Sue DeVale. Sue DeValeis an ethnomusicologist specializing in Balinese gamelan. She is a world-renowned and very respected scholar. We have worked together on a few projects over the years like the Fahnstock Expedition, Music for the Gods CD, from the Endangered Music Project. More recently, she assisted me with the liner notes for the three-CD set of my recordings of Balinese gamelan. Jerry and I first met her in 1978. Garcia and I were walking through the field museum in Chicago, which we often visited while there, when lo and behold there was this din--a sound of tuned metal. We followed our ears until we came to this giant room from where the noise was emanating. There she was, a young ethno in all of her glory behind one of the most famous gamelans in this hemisphere. It seemed as though she had made a tremendous discovery while at the Field Museum. In a storeroom was a gamelan

orchestra left behind from the World’s Fair of 1893 held in Chicago, known as the World’s Columbian Exposition. The Balinese brought it over here but couldn’t afford the return freight. It lay in storage for eighty-four years until Sue and her colleagues fell upon it and restored it to its former glory. We sat in the corner for hours as these brilliant sounds of this distant land washed over us and took us out of our bodies. I remember leaving the museum and we were literally speechless. We said nothing to each other for ten minutes or so and then we burst into this rapid-fire conversation of what had just happened. Oh my god, do you believe that? Was that incredible or what? What was that? We both knew of gamelans and had seen the smaller varieties, but neither of us had ever seen a full-throated orchestra first hand.

The process of cataloguing and exhibiting one’s collection of instruments is a very complicated one, with much detail. The instruments must first be identified, then cleaned and organized. I must choose from the major body of instruments the specific ones I want to display. Many of the larger instruments are just too big for the terminal and will have to wait for another day. First, we lay them out on the floor and choose the classification varieties, and then we cull them for best examples of specific instruments. The multiples are placed back on the shelves and the chosen ones are gathered in proximity.

The truck from the airport arrives to take the instruments to the assembly area on the peninsula. The airport staff packs them carefully and lovingly. The display cases are custom made for each exhibit. There are some cases left over from previous exhibits that are appropriate for this one but other cases have to be fabricated for the large drums. The airport has its own woodworking shop for this purpose. The cases have to be secure and strong for the protection of the instruments and their security, and must also allow for a clear line of sight so as to be viewed from multiple angles. The arrangement of the instruments in their respective cases is an art form in itself and is done with the greatest of care and precision. Multiple viewing levels have to be created for maximum efficiency of space. The design is so important for the shape and order of things is what speaks to us. Then there are the identification cards describing each instrument, what it is and where it is from. A short rap is sometimes included on how it might relate to mythology or function in a society, or some other interesting factoid.

Then the photos must be culled from the Anaconda’s (my information snake) photo stack and outside photos are then secured. Then the photos have to be enlarged or reduced to the proper sizes to fit the cases or the large wall that runs down one length of the exhibit. There are also the video screens in the pylons that are constantly running. They are from my collection of videos about percussion from around the world. They show how some of the instruments are used in indigenous cultures and are 10-15 minute clips. There are also pylons for sound recordings that reflect the diversity of the instruments on display, which also play constantly.

Saying goodbye was a bittersweet experience for me. Last week Sue and I made the trip down the peninsula for a look-see at the gathered collection. Some came from my home, others from Club Front. Finally they were all joined together. There they were, sitting on tables, labeled and mute. Not a sound, they just lay there. All was deafeningly quiet, very still. I walked up and down the aisle, for this was the first time I had seen them in a lighted room all together in such a sterile place, as if they were in examinations room in a hospital. I wondered if the folks here could appreciate them or were they just another show for them. Were they going to be well cared for and happy? How am I going to arrange them all for display? What will I cut from the herd? What will stay? So many questions yet no answers. I walk past them and just touch them lightly; it is an eerie feeling. I rub some; pick some up for a little rattle time or a little squeeze. Then I gravitate to a quinto, a conga drum that was last played by the great conguero, Giovanni Hidalgo. It still has his scent on it. I can feel his vibe in the drum. I put it between my legs and begin to play what we a call a caballo rhythm, a rhythm that resembles a horse in a cantor. It is soft and sweet and it calms me. I play for twenty minutes while I wait for a staff car to take me over to the international terminal for a look at the new exhibit. It was a goodbye--it will be all right--I’m not leaving you kind of feeling. It was as if this drum was speaking through me to all the rest and reassuring them that this is the right thing to do. Each drum has its own voice, not the obvious first sound but the inner voice, the sound that lives beneath, hidden just out of reach of those who do not listen for it. This sound will only be revealed to those who seek it out and recognize its deep beauty. No two drums are alike nor are their secrets revealed to the unknowing. Today this drum was clear and sharp sounding, very easy to play. It wanted to be played; it invited me into its inner world. It made saying goodbye for now, easy.

Not enough can be said of the love shown by Abe Garfield and Dwyer Brown for their work and care that is taken in the assembly of this collection. They are true artists and it shows in every exhibit that I have ever seen over the past years. I just have not met them up until this goodbye episode. I feel so much better now.
Strike a membrane with a stick; the ear fills with noise—unmelodic, inharmonic sound. Strike it a second time, a third, you've got rhythm.


The bells are ringing. This summer, while on tour with the Mickey Hart Band, Bobi and I ventured out on the town for a shopping spree at the local antique shops. In the entryway to a gallery was hanging a kiln-fired bell tree; very unusual and prophetic. I noticed it right away as I am always scanning for sounding objects. As we entered the main gallery there she stood. The most beautiful Burmese hanging bell I have ever seen. Four Boddhisatvas guarded her. And it is about three and a half feet over all. I am drawn into this bell, as I seem to know it. I sense something in this bell that attracts me to it. Bells are very peculiar in a way that is quite different than drums. They are forged in metal, transmuted elements and not found in a natural state, such as wood or skin of animal. They are calling a different spirit world, a world of angels in the heavens. They are cold-tongued beasts that are usually poured or cast from other bells or melted down from objects like jewelry or cannon and forged by a very complicated and sometimes secret and coveted process. The clans that protect these secrets are very closed and guarded. These alchemists are transforming metals into a sounding object that will not crack under the weight of the impact of a hammer or other striking tools. Many bells are struck and they crack on first impact. The metal is brittle when cold and must be warmed by striking it softly at first to awaken it, make it ready for the task at hand whether it be to mark the time or call to service or used in ritual for meditation.

These are just some of the stories and insights that will be presented in this exhibit. Of course, you should know that there are many more instruments in the collection that just couldn’t be accommodated in the museum space. Many percussion instruments are LARGE because size has to do with loudness and drums are auditory drivers, that is to say, they rattle the bones and shake you awake. Check out the smaller instruments of the Gamelan Orchestra of Bali; the larger, more robust gamelan, will remain, for the time being, safely nestled at the Grateful Dead studio. I will, though, take out with The Other Ones, one large section of the orchestra. It lives beneath Home Plate. The Beast now has a beautiful metal companion. I am happy for both.

In Planet Drum I had only so much room to tell a story that spans the globe and runs rampant through every culture, an impossible and agonizing task. With this exhibit, I have more room to tell the inside stories of these instruments. Perhaps one day this exhibit will transform into another book, maybe CD ROM….yet again the Anaconda will shed its skin and reveal new treasures.