Practicing the Didgeridoo
15/02/14 05:28
I went to considerable effort to bring a didgeridoo home from Australia. I’m not sure that others in my family were eager to have me come into possession of the instrument and then there was considerable speculation as to how best for it to travel. We left Australia with my didgeridoo as a carry on. It fit easily into the overhead compartments for the flight to Los Angeles. But in Los Angeles, I discovered that I would not be allowed to carry it on for the trip home on the airlines. I guess Qantas airlines is a bit less fearful of the instrument than US domestic airlines. I hastily wrapped it and checked it for the flight home and it arrived without any damage.
I am a trumpet player and understand the concept of embouchure. I even knew about circular breathing before I traveled to Australia. But I have not become accomplished with the instrument in the eight years that I have owned it. I’m sure that is due in part to the lack of practice. The techniques are quite different from those required to play the trumpet. First of all, the opening of the instrument is much wider than any brass mouthpiece. A trumpet player buzzes the lips. For the didgeridoo, one has to nearly flop them. When learning to play brass instruments, one learns to have strong diaphragm support and sufficient air pressure. The amount of air for a didgeridoo is actually less despite the length of the instrument. It is a process of blowing lightly and allowing the lips to flap in the breeze as it were. I know I am not describing it well here. But then again, I don’t really play the instrument.
And then there is the fact that the sound made by the instrument is an acquired taste. Not everyone likes the sound. I think that finding a place to practice the didgeridoo is similar to what I might imagine for those who play the bagpipes. But since we have a bagpipe player who practices at the church because the sound of the instrument threatens to disrupt his peaceful home, I am not without a place to practice. After hours, when the church is empty it is unlikely that I would bother anyone with the sounds of practice.
The didgeridoo is an ancient instrument developed by indigenous Australians. I think that it emerged in Northern Australia long before Europeans had visited the continent. If you know where to look, didgeridoos occur naturally. Termites hollow out the interior of the branches of eucalyptus trees, leaving a hollow tube. Most didgeridoos are about a meter or a little bit longer. Some can be as longs three times that amount. An experienced player can make a tone on the branch just as it is found in the bush. Most, however, take a bit of beeswax and form a flexible mouthpiece that adjusts to the lips of the player. This makes it gentler on the face and provides a better seal so that the air goes through the tube and doesn’t leak out around the lips.
I suppose that it should be noted that the name we use for the instrument, didgeridoo, is nowhere as ancient as the instrument. it is a kind of onomatopoeic word in English invented to describe the instrument after English settlers arrived in Australia. Different tribes have different names, but there is no single indigenous name for the instrument. The Anindiyakwa people call the instrument ngarrriraakpwina, but most English speakers can’t pronounce the word properly. The Waray people along the Adelade River call it bambu, which sounds like it is spelled in English. It is also known as Yirtakki, Yiraka, Mako, Kurmur and Mandapui in various parts of the Australian continent.
Its sound is unmistakable. When you are in the place where it is played, you feel it as much as you hear it. In that way it is similar to the pedal pipes of a good pipe organ.
Like a few other wind instruments, it is possible to create an underlying bass tone and to vary the upper harmonics as you play. Didgeridoo players punctuate the sounds with various clicks, yelps, barks, squawks and whooshing sounds. Some of the sounds are made with the lips and tongue and others are created by tapping the outside of the instrument with fingers or a stick. One of the instruction books on the didgeridoo that I brought home from Australia suggests that one practice by getting the lips flopping and then pronouncing words without interrupting the flopping. The same book suggests that one practice circular breathing by drinking from a glass of water while inhaling through the nose. Both exercises are easier said than done. The water glass exercise, however, resulted in a bigger mess for me to clean up.
Like any other instrument, it takes a gifted artist to make the hollow branch sing. William Barton, who is currently touring the eastern part of the US is one of those artists. At 32 years old he has spent nearly half of his life performing with symphony orchestras and chamber groups. He has selected instruments that are pitched to traditional musical keys and he can play them in tune. Barton is a one-person movement to expand the acceptance of the instrument into western classical music. He has played at Carneige Hall, The Concertgebouw in Amsterdam, the Pompidou Center in Paris and, of course, the iconic Sydney Opera House. The artistic directors of orchestras around the world seek him out for bookings to play with their ensembles.
I’m certainly not opposed to the sounds of Australia blending with western symphonic sounds. But for me there will always be something about the sound of the didgeridoo that speaks of the flat red desert of the center of Australia. There is no concert hall finer for the instrument than the open spaces around Uluru where the sounds can bounce off the giant rock. The tone seems to mimic the lay of the land and blend into the otherworldly scenery that defies description.
So I picked up my didgeridoo yesterday and made a few sounds.
I think I still need more practice.
I am a trumpet player and understand the concept of embouchure. I even knew about circular breathing before I traveled to Australia. But I have not become accomplished with the instrument in the eight years that I have owned it. I’m sure that is due in part to the lack of practice. The techniques are quite different from those required to play the trumpet. First of all, the opening of the instrument is much wider than any brass mouthpiece. A trumpet player buzzes the lips. For the didgeridoo, one has to nearly flop them. When learning to play brass instruments, one learns to have strong diaphragm support and sufficient air pressure. The amount of air for a didgeridoo is actually less despite the length of the instrument. It is a process of blowing lightly and allowing the lips to flap in the breeze as it were. I know I am not describing it well here. But then again, I don’t really play the instrument.
And then there is the fact that the sound made by the instrument is an acquired taste. Not everyone likes the sound. I think that finding a place to practice the didgeridoo is similar to what I might imagine for those who play the bagpipes. But since we have a bagpipe player who practices at the church because the sound of the instrument threatens to disrupt his peaceful home, I am not without a place to practice. After hours, when the church is empty it is unlikely that I would bother anyone with the sounds of practice.
The didgeridoo is an ancient instrument developed by indigenous Australians. I think that it emerged in Northern Australia long before Europeans had visited the continent. If you know where to look, didgeridoos occur naturally. Termites hollow out the interior of the branches of eucalyptus trees, leaving a hollow tube. Most didgeridoos are about a meter or a little bit longer. Some can be as longs three times that amount. An experienced player can make a tone on the branch just as it is found in the bush. Most, however, take a bit of beeswax and form a flexible mouthpiece that adjusts to the lips of the player. This makes it gentler on the face and provides a better seal so that the air goes through the tube and doesn’t leak out around the lips.
I suppose that it should be noted that the name we use for the instrument, didgeridoo, is nowhere as ancient as the instrument. it is a kind of onomatopoeic word in English invented to describe the instrument after English settlers arrived in Australia. Different tribes have different names, but there is no single indigenous name for the instrument. The Anindiyakwa people call the instrument ngarrriraakpwina, but most English speakers can’t pronounce the word properly. The Waray people along the Adelade River call it bambu, which sounds like it is spelled in English. It is also known as Yirtakki, Yiraka, Mako, Kurmur and Mandapui in various parts of the Australian continent.
Its sound is unmistakable. When you are in the place where it is played, you feel it as much as you hear it. In that way it is similar to the pedal pipes of a good pipe organ.
Like a few other wind instruments, it is possible to create an underlying bass tone and to vary the upper harmonics as you play. Didgeridoo players punctuate the sounds with various clicks, yelps, barks, squawks and whooshing sounds. Some of the sounds are made with the lips and tongue and others are created by tapping the outside of the instrument with fingers or a stick. One of the instruction books on the didgeridoo that I brought home from Australia suggests that one practice by getting the lips flopping and then pronouncing words without interrupting the flopping. The same book suggests that one practice circular breathing by drinking from a glass of water while inhaling through the nose. Both exercises are easier said than done. The water glass exercise, however, resulted in a bigger mess for me to clean up.
Like any other instrument, it takes a gifted artist to make the hollow branch sing. William Barton, who is currently touring the eastern part of the US is one of those artists. At 32 years old he has spent nearly half of his life performing with symphony orchestras and chamber groups. He has selected instruments that are pitched to traditional musical keys and he can play them in tune. Barton is a one-person movement to expand the acceptance of the instrument into western classical music. He has played at Carneige Hall, The Concertgebouw in Amsterdam, the Pompidou Center in Paris and, of course, the iconic Sydney Opera House. The artistic directors of orchestras around the world seek him out for bookings to play with their ensembles.
I’m certainly not opposed to the sounds of Australia blending with western symphonic sounds. But for me there will always be something about the sound of the didgeridoo that speaks of the flat red desert of the center of Australia. There is no concert hall finer for the instrument than the open spaces around Uluru where the sounds can bounce off the giant rock. The tone seems to mimic the lay of the land and blend into the otherworldly scenery that defies description.
So I picked up my didgeridoo yesterday and made a few sounds.
I think I still need more practice.