Gala Soiree at the Sorano

May 1, 2008

Last night I had the good fortune to attend a concert in honor of one of percussion’s living legends, Doudou N’Diaye Rose, born in Dakar in 1928. The celebration was to honor 50 years of musicianship, as he has invented new kinds of drums, allegedly created no fewer than 500 rhythms, and has played with everyone from Dizzy Gillespie and Miles Davis to Peter Gabriel. Though many men did not train female percussionists, he did – in fact, he leads an all-female drum group called Les Rosettes, which is apparently made up entirely of his own daughters and granddaughters (!). Phenomenal women, they were, and incredibly expressive, powerful artists, at one point even playing an art ‘musical drums,’ running from one drum to play the next person’s, all without missing a beat (of course). So multicultural is Rose, too, that last night he teamed up with fabulous Taiko drummers from Japan, and so we were treated to a mixture of African and Asian rhythms that had some people getting up from their seats to dance and leaving others simply spellbound with admiration.

The show was not all the music, however. The feast of the senses began in the lobby, where all the Senegalese glitterati congregated to show off their sumptuous outfits, extravagant makeup and gorgeous head ties. I had the poor fortune to be seated directly behind a woman adorned with the latter, but when life hands you a lemon, make lemonade: I took a picture so I could share with my readers why it was I felt so very milquetoast among a crowd sporting breathtaking creations in red, orange, green and magenta.

It is funny, but when I used to work in Chelsea and would pass NY film crews almost daily, I never noticed the actors, though I daresay I brushed shoulders with them more than once. I made it a point never read those magazines that tell you who was spotted where in the city unless I was sitting in a doctor’s office, and so the closest I came to stargazing was when a former colleague jabbed me in the ribs to let me know that we were standing just behind Chuck Close in a bar (if I could remember which one it was, I’d tell you, but as strong spirits were involved, and as I was and am still a lightweight, despite several years in publishing, I have since forgotten. Oddly enough, I seem to remember a dish of hard boiled eggs at the bar: not something I’ve encountered before or since, I must say, so this might help you in your search). In NYC, however, I could never have afforded to attend a red carpet event like this (remember, I worked in publishing: academic publishing, no less!), yet here I was in Dakar, in the same audience as all the crème de la crème of Senegalese society, from government officials to fashion designers. (Although there was also of course the stumblingly drunk man who appeared onstage around midnight and had to be forcibly escorted out).

One thing you should know about concerts in Senegal, even at the national theater Daniel Sorano where this event was held: if the program is slated to start at 9 pm, go and have dinner. Come back after 10 p.m. and things may slowly be getting started. You will not hear a note of music before 10:30 p.m., and the concert will assuredly not wind down any time before 1 a.m. The taxi drivers with whom you must then haggle to get home will try and get a night surcharge, but if you are inspired enough, you can talk your way around this, as we did.

When I finally crawled under my mosquito net around 3 a.m., I was tired, but contented.

About the Author : Tamara-Diana Braunstein brings us her stories from Senegal every week. She was born in Brooklyn, New York. She is a restless wanderer who earned an MA from the University of Freiburg and has worked in a youth hostel in the French Alps, a law firm in Montreal, the Metropolitan Museum of Art as well as in university press publishing. At the moment her home base is Dakar, Senegal, where she is supposed to be teaching but is doing far more learning, as you will see by reading her blog at www.senegalschoolmarm.blogspot.com