In this chapter, author one, Adriano Adewale, traces his personal experiences with the berimbau as a primary source of communication and expression. Adriano firstly offers a brief overview of the history and construction of the berimbau, followed by outlining his personal approach to the instrument and the resulting musical case studies. In order to convey this personal account directly, we will hear Adriano’s voice written in the first person for the remainder of this chapter.
The Brazilian berimbau, also known as Urucungo or Berimbau de Barriga (“belly bow”), is a gourd-resonated musical bow originating predominantly from Western, Central and South African cultures. It consists of a wooden bow, measuring around one meter and 80 centimetres, braced by a single string made from steel wire or in colonial times, a cord twisted from plant fibre (Shaffer, 1976).
A gourd resonator, hollowed out, is tied to the bow using a cotton string, serving as the instrument's bridge. Positioned vertically, the gourd hangs at the bow's lower end, while the bow is gripped with one hand, the little finger is placed underneath the cotton string, between the gourd and wooden bow. The remaining fingers wrap around the bow's wood, clutching a coin or stone ("dobrao"), which, when pressed against the string alters the tone, typically raising it by a half-step above the fundamental note. In the other hand, a thin stick, and a small shaker (caxixi) are held. To produce sound, the string is struck with the stick, allowing the player to vary the timbre by pressing the gourd's open end against the chest or stomach. Diverse sounds are achieved by striking the string at different positions and utilizing various parts of the instrument such as the gourd and wooden bow. Traditionally, the berimbau yields three distinct notes: the tonic of the open string, a half-step above the tonic attained by pressing the string with a coin, and a note called 'chiado,' produced when the stick strikes the string while the stone lightly presses against it. As part of the Brazilian tradition, a caxixi (shaker) is grasped in the same hand as the stick and played simultaneously.
As mentioned earlier, the berimbau has a strong association with Capoeira, the African-Brazilian form of martial arts and dance. The music played for capoeira has berimbau as its main instrument, determining the beginning, ending, and the dynamics of how the capoeira players should play whilst in the capoeira game. Capoeira served as a powerful tool for slaves to fight against, protect and free themselves from slavery and slave owners in Brazil. Capoeira was prohibited in Brazil in 1890, however, slaves would still practice it. The berimbau played not only the role of providing music for capoeira, but it would also alert capoeira players to approaching police or slave owners through special rhythms that only capoeira players would know. It was a secret language, played by the musical bow. There are specific rhythms played in capoeira, which are traditional and known by all capoeira players. They are rhythmic patterns that inform the players of the different styles and moments of the capoeira practice.
Across various genres such as Western classical music, jazz, and Brazilian popular music, numerous composers have incorporated the berimbau into their compositions. Examples include Lauren Hiller's "An Apotheosis of Archaeopteryx" (1979), Baden Powell's "Berimbau" (1964), and the contemporary work of Greg Beyer. While many of these artists drew inspiration from the berimbau's traditional context, it was percussionist Nana Vasconcelos who pioneered innovative techniques and approaches to the instrument. His ground-breaking work, notably showcased in the album "Africadeus" (1973), portrayed the berimbau as a soloist instrument, influencing subsequent generations of musicians.
The berimbau is an instrument that represents the cultural identity of Africans and African-Brazilian people, their history and the way Africans have adapted to and transformed the culture of the new environment, without losing their roots and connections to a place called home. In my own live performances, I introduce the berimbau as an instrument that did not want to travel to Brazil. However, when it arrived in Brazil it transformed and reinvented itself. This is a parallel story with the Africans who were taken to Brazil as slaves, as well as many other people who, for one reason or another, have been forced to emigrate from their homeland.
With only one string and seemingly a minimal amount of available musical tools, the berimbau allows one to pinpoint and explore the essential elements needed to communicate through sound. Since an early age, I always felt a strong connection to sound and music. I would spend hours listening to the sea and the birds. When it was carnival time in Brazil, the power of the drums felt like a magnetic force pulling me towards it. The same experience happened when I heard a great rock band, a great orchestra, or even a person’s performance of a cappella voice. At times, it was mesmerizing to see musicians playing complex and intricate music that was extremely fast and precise. However, there were times this would not make sense to me. I wanted to find a connection, and it was not there, even when musicians played fast, with many notes. What was behind that mystery, and why did this happen?
Music is widely acknowledged as a fundamental vehicle for communication and a channel for expressing emotions and meanings (Hargreaves, MacDonald, Miell, 2005). It is precisely this aspect of music that interests me, including the ways in which musicians harness the fundamental quality of sound and transform it to communicate emotions and meaning, creating the possibility of profound connections to others. This phenomenon is not only connected to the technical aspects of organizing sound within diverse musical and cultural contexts. In fact, there is perhaps something much more significant beneath the practical surface of music making. Something that is felt and cannot necessarily be described; an experience that transcends analysis and is felt as an emotional response and bodily experience. What causes this to happen? What are the essential ingredients that enable contact? How much of this is technical, and how much depends on the intention behind the music making and the musician’s mindset? Can the musician achieve this solely, or does it require a connection to something greater than human experience?
Having the chance to explore my artistic expression through the berimbau at Sibelius Academy, has opened avenues for exploring and innovating in music-making, placing this instrument at the forefront, and giving it a prominent role. This creates a space that isn't dictated by Western norms. However, this transformative process doesn't start by entering this new space, but rather, it requires leaving behind a seemingly familiar space. The latter is a realm where narratives have shaped perceptions of the world, placing certain values, respect, and possibilities tailored for specific people living in a particular manner. Despite instances where I felt unwelcome due to my cultural background, appearance, and choice of instruments, I was led to believe that I belonged in that world, adopting its values as my guiding principles. Yet, through an introspective journey searching my cultural identity, a sense of belonging, and traveling to Nigeria and Benin, I discovered a new world, both externally and internally. This journey began to forge fresh paths in music-making and artistic expression. My understanding of identity and belonging changed, and I could no longer restrict myself to experience the world solely through a Western perspective. Doing so would perpetuate colonization and suppress parts of my true self. Instead, I embarked on a quest to reconnect with my ancestral roots and explore my unique artistic identity.
The African Brazilian music tradition offers me a new way of expressing myself through music, ways of dealing with the musical material, different concepts of beauty in music and how music is understood within the society, as discussed in Turino (2008), for example. The approach to sound and how I can organize it in diverse ways have opened new possibilities of expression for me and other musicians. Recently, as part of my doctoral research, I performed a solo concert for solo berimbau. The concert lasted fifty minutes with an audience of around ninety people in a theatre space. Through the early stages of preparing for the concert, I questioned whether it would actually be possible, and acknowledge that the various possibilities of music making through berimbau were also unknown to me.
There were polarising forces which raised doubts. The idea that the berimbau is a limited instrument because it has only one string, the fact it is placed in a marginalised position within Brazilian society, and the transformation of an instrument from mostly accompanying, to becoming a solo instrument that plays a major role, for example. However, my own process revealed berimbau as a non-limited instrument, rather emphasising the musician behind the instrument as the main source of ideas. This discovery happened through a daily routine where I would play berimbau and discover something new. It was empowering and gave the reassurance to continue the journey. After the end of the concert, I felt like the musical journey had just started and there is more to be done and discover.
