Venice Beach maintains pulse
By Andrew Wenzlaff
Feb. 4, 2004 9:00 p.m.
At about 4:30 p.m. last Sunday, the sun was already so low on
the horizon that the pedestrians on the Venice boardwalk had to
squint to look toward the ocean. But those who did saw a
congregation of about 50 people moving, bobbing, and making quite a
racket in the middle of the beach, silhouetted against the setting
sun.
A closer look revealed a seemingly grab-bag gathering of
individuals, with many character types present. Some were
playing drums, and others played electric keyboards. In the
circle’s center, people danced. And many just watched.
The ocean breeze, the smell of petruli and the sound of music
wafted through the air. It was the traditional and persevering
Venice Beach drum circle, a place where scores of strangers meet to
socialize in the language of rhythm. Despite its reputation for
being as affiliated with bongs as with bongos, those partaking in
the fun are not just hippies.
“People come from London, Paris, all over,” said
Inez Williams, a well-dressed singer and flute player at the
circle. “You’d be surprised. People come from all walks
of life. There’s lawyers and doctors
(participating).”
Near the circle’s center sat an older man wearing a green
eye patch and green-framed glasses. Retired illustrator Bill
Clark was a show all by himself using homemade drums and
noisemakers. Clark has been coming to the drum circle for 10
years.
“(I play) anything that makes good noise,” Clark
said.
Among the instruments he felt fit that description were a pot
filled with water, a spring stretched across a bucket, a hammer and
a handy bottle of Italian seasonings which he perforated
rhythmically with a corrugated metal rod, covering his sweater in
plastic shavings.
“(The Venice Beach drum circle) is the only place in the
entire world where you’ll find a homeless person banging on a
water bottle sitting next to an executive with an $800
conga,” said long-time drum circle participant, photographer
and Web site designer, Sondra Tatum.
The drum circle has a long tradition with a hazy history. Tatum
says it dates back to the 1950s, when conga players assembled in a
now-extinct Venice beatnik coffeehouse called the Gas House. By
1959, they had migrated toward the ocean, where they started to
play along the boardwalk on Saturdays and Sundays. It has always
been an informal drum circle, meaning there are no leaders or
followers.
Tatum said she had been an admirer of the drum circle since the
’70s when she moved to Venice Beach to recuperate from a
serious surgery. For a year and a half, Tatum watched and listened
to the drum circle from her apartment, yet not joining the
circle.
“I truly believe to this day that the drum circle was
paramount to my healing,” Tatum said.
Years later, Tatum became a regular participant in the circle,
built its Web site, and became one of its strongest advocates. But
the community surrounding the circle hasn’t always been as
welcoming as the group that welcomes all to join its beat.
Tatum’s main challenges have been countering the local
naysayers and being a liaison with local law enforcement.
“Every four or five years, some yuppie, gentrified type
people move in and try to change things,” Tatum said.
In the summer of 2000, after a multimillion-dollar
reconstruction of the broadwalk, the “yuppies” Tatum
mentioned made a push for less noise in the Venice area. They
specifically attacked the drum circle, starting a petition to get
the circle removed. In response, Tatum started a counter-petition
which garnered over 5,000 signatures in the circle’s
support.
After various meetings with the community and the authorities,
the drum circle endured, (only because it made some compromises)
but it had to make some compromises. The circle moved from the
boardwalk to the sand, and the beach patrol began the practice of
dispersing the party about an hour after dark. But friction with
the community continued.
“The people who want the drum circle to stop play
dirty,” Tatum said. “They send the cops out there all
the time, telling them that drugs are being sold and women are
being raped.”
Their allegations are not always unfounded. Tatum, who said she
works closely with the police department from the officers all the
way up to the captain, said “(The police department tells) me
they’ve got a file two inches or more thick on just drum
circle incidents.”
According to her, relations with the police degraded in the
summer of 2001 when a drummer started hollering that another member
was sexually harassing her. When the police arrived, they were
attacked by some intoxicated members of the circle. Backup was
summoned, a helicopter arrived on the scene, and the beach was
evacuated.
“There have been a couple of times when a couple of people
have done notably stupid things that are completely out of
character with most of the drummers,” notes Marc Madow, an
influential Venice Beach drum circle advocate and producer of the
film “Venice Beach.”
“Like in any other society, there are idiots,” Madow
said. “There’s alcohol, there’s drugs,
there’s a lot of things that don’t belong there that
are not part of the experience of drumming.”
Tatum herself said she doesn’t attend the circle after
dark because “it’s too dangerous,” and she
prefers the less rowdy drum circles in Griffith Park, Santa Barbara
and Santa Cruz, where there’s less hassle with
authorities.
“At the Santa Barbara drum circle, you can go with a
bottle of wine for God’s sakes!” Tatum said. “You
can go out there and smoke a joint and nobody will bother you
(because) it’s not as large of a crowd.”
The drum circle’s attendance has been growing in recent
years, partially because of the publicity raised by Tatum’s
Web site, which she started in 1999.
“In the heat of the summer, the drum circle can get 200
people strong between the visitors, the drummers, the dancers and
the people just checking it out,” Tatum said.
Madow said during the summer he had seen up to 700 people attend
the circle at one time.
According to Tatum, most of the regulars know each other, but
they rarely communicate verbally. She added that until she started
introducing players to each other via her Web site, people who had
been playing next to each other for years didn’t even know
each other’s names.
“It’s very social,” Tatum said.
“It’s just not social after you leave. Everybody leaves
and goes their different directions. But when you’re in the
moment, oh golly, it is so social. People communicate with each
other through their drum beats.”
Madow agrees camaraderie is high among those who frequently
attend the circle, but said he has heard quite a bit of verbal
communication within the group. He said he once noticed a
homeless man and a wealthy executive socializing amicably.
“I live on a street that I’ve lived on for
years,” Madow said. “There are people across the
street: I don’t even know their names. But down at the
drum circle, there are very few people that I didn’t have a
conversation with, because there is no barrier. When you happen to
be standing next to someone, you just talk. I’ve met way more
people down there than I’ve met anywhere else that I can
remember.”
