Welcome to Makandal

Frisner Augustin’s drum students knew his “Take your time” as a mantra, but few could articulate what he meant by it. Most assumed he was talking about tempo, or speed. For example, the tempo is sixty beats per minute, and you’re running ahead at sixty-five. He stops you. “Take your time.” You start again, this time measuring out the beats with longer gaps in between. But somewhere down the line, you’re lost, and you stop. He sighs and gazes at you with the boundless patience of a Buddha. “You have to take your time.” Continue reading →

M te rete nan dèyè simityè, nan Ri Flèry Batye. Ou konprann? M te rete nan mitan dèyè simityè a. M te rete nan mitan katye a.

I lived behind the cemetery, on Rue Fleury Bathier. You understand? I lived right in the middle of “behind the cemetery.” I lived in the heart of the community.

(Frisner Augustin in an interview with Lois Wilcken, August 15, 1994, Brooklyn)

Behind the cemetery… In the geography of a city, town, or village, it’s simply a position along the back border of a cemetery. But it’s tempting to imagine other strange and metaphysical meanings, like fourth-dimensional spacetime, limbo, or the veiled anba dlo (under the water) of Haitian Vodou. Indeed, the deep culture of the cemetery disperses beyond its walls, and when Frisner was a child, the cemetery didn’t even have walls. You were never really “behind.” Continue reading →

She’s a coquette, a spirit woman reportedly of fair complexion, although she’s been known to inhabit every hue. When she leaves the luster and magic of Ginen to take possession of a human medium—to the heartbeat of drums, the sweet meander of melody, the seductive sway of dancing bodies—she fixes her wide and tender eyes only on the men. She’s vulnerable and prone to weep, but when you serve her with all your heart, she responds in kind with the nurturing power of love. Èzili… Continue reading →

January 24, 1981. At last! I’ve gone to my first Voodoo [sic] ceremony….I met Frisner and Ken in the building Frisner used to live in in Manhattan….Ken had a pair of claves for me to use during the ceremony. I was to beat the bell pattern to any songs that I knew the bell part for. We got into Frisner’s car and drove up to the Bronx.

February 14, 1981. I went to two ceremonies tonight. The first was in a Brooklyn basement, and I went with Frisner and Bonnie. It was quiet, partly because they didn’t want drumming. Apparently they’d consulted a spirit about this….The second was actually in a Manhattan apartment! On West 98 Street….During one of the songs, a spirit came down—practically in my lap. I got a good whack across the bridge of my nose, and Frisner’s drumming was interrupted when the guy fell over on the drum. My tape recorder slid off my lap, but I quickly rescued it. No harm done. I have a nice tape now, and my nose doesn’t seem to be broken. Continue reading →

Any other time, the rain twinkling like Christmas lights across the windshield would have enchanted me. Now, as we rode uptown toward Manhattan’s Columbia University, the image warned of trouble. Ten of us had crammed into Frisner’s green mini-van for a gig at the University. Numbering fifteen in all, we needed another vehicle, so drummer and flutist Luc Richard offered to take four others in his car. I had given Frisner a copy of the program, which named the venue—the International Affairs Building (IAB)—and I assumed he’d passed the information on to Richard. Never assume! I just learned that Richard’s only instruction was to follow us. All he knew about the venue was “Columbia University.” I thought about the Morningside Campus, whose four-dozen or so buildings occupy more than six city blocks, and I thought about the blur of the streetscape seen through wet glass. What if Richard loses us? The mobile phone was science fiction in 1983. If only we could stop the rain. If only we had that one Haitian worm! Continue reading →