Ba-dum, dum. Ba-dum, dum, dum, dum.
I hear the drums from the road and smell the patchouli oil before my feet hit the sand. A full moon and bursts of fire illuminate crowds of black figures in the distance. The drums continue to beat, louder and faster. It reminds me of a scene in Joseph Conrad's book Heart of Darkness in which the protagonist suddenly finds himself in the middle of uncharted tribal territory, and it scares the hell out him.
Of course, I've been told ahead of time what to expect at Treasure Island's weekly drum circle. The dreadlocks, hula hoops, glow sticks and dancing hippies don't frighten me.
Still, the loosely organized drum circle, attracting more than a hundred people every Sunday evening, can be a shocking sight to the unprepared. The last thing a tourist expects to see in this world of towering condos and neon-lit motels is a bunch of half-naked men and scantily clad women dancing sinuously to the ancient beat of the drum.
But for the last five years, a multitude of drummers, dancers and curious folks have flocked to the small area of beach behind the Bilmar Hotel to partake in an activity thousands of years old. What started in 2001 as a community-building project for two University of South Florida students and a few friends has turned into a massive non-commercial destination for an eclectic group of people all dancing to the beat of several different drummers.
And what a group of drummers they are. Young women in flowing dresses, aging hippies, experienced African drummers and children of all shapes and sizes banging on all manner of drums, including West African djembes, goblet-shaped Egyptian dumbecks (popular with belly dancers), cone-shaped Nigerian aschikos, Native American frame drums, bongos, PVC pipes, buckets, water bottles and … an upright bass?
"It just makes sense," the instrument's owner, Will Carrol, says, plucking the strings and tapping on the wooden exterior.
Drum circles are nothing new to the area — dozens have come and gone throughout the years, each attracting its own different crowd. But according to the older drummers, some who have been gripped by the beat their entire lifetimes, few circles have experienced the staying power of Treasure Island's event. And few have attracted so many people from different backgrounds and locales.
Take, for instance, Tony and Joyce Botellho, two New York natives who recently moved to Sarasota for retirement. They heard about the gathering like most people — from friends — and decided to come down with a few lawn chairs and check it out.
"We're just sitting here and relaxing, listening to the rhythm and seeing all the sights," Mr. Botellho says.
He smiles, because by "sights" he means the women that tend to gravitate toward the middle of the circle swaying, shaking and grooving. For a beach drum circle, this constant array of women moving in and out of the circle is not just a bonus — it's a necessity.
"It's got to have beautiful women," says the shirtless "DJ Prophet," an English turntabalist who has started playing bongos. "And plenty of them."
When a particularly hot body starts dancing, the whole dynamic of the circle changes. The drummers beat harder and the women dance more intensely. Heads stop bobbing. People stare.
The crowd-stopper at the moment is a Mila Kunis lookalike in a tiny red bikini. Two young Gap-clad women clutching expensive-looking handbags join her.
Of course, not everyone is here for the dancing girls.
"It's a celebration of the sunset," says Marcia Peterson matter-of-factly. "They play, I dance. I dance, they play."
The St. Pete resident, whose drum-circle attire features bracelets, necklaces and a large jester hat all decorated in flashing red lights, discovered her first circle two years ago at the regional Rainbow Family gathering in the Ocala National Forest. She found the Treasure Island circle a year ago, and enjoyed it so much she made her three teenaged kids come with her.
"When I first mentioned it to them they didn't want to have anything to do with it," she admits. "But now they come every week."
Her two boys look on transfixed (by the drummers or the girls, I can't tell which) while her daughter tells me why she "just loves" the drum circle.
"It's a really fun spiritual party," 17-year-old Miranda Burton says. "It's like a weird carnival."
"It's hard to find something we all enjoy," the mother jumps in to say. "This is something we do together as a family."
"I don't worry about my kids being here," she adds.
Not all parents would necessarily agree. For as much family fun as there is to be had at the drum circle, some elements make it seem like a glorified keg party. Beer bottles litter the sand, unshaven men carrying red plastic cups try to pick up girls, marijuana smoke wafts downwind of the drums.
Peterson, in true Florida fashion, blames the tourists.
"Sometimes the tourists don't get the spirit aspect of it," she says. "Sometimes they kind of ruin it."
Pointing to some of the more inebriated celebrants, she adds, "For some people it's a big party. For us it's something more spiritual."
The crowd has reached about 140 people now, and smaller circles of dancers and hand drums form on the outskirts of the main circle. The main group captures a particularly alluring beat, triggering old men to shuffle, middle-aged fathers to bob up and down at the knees and their wives to let loose and swing their hair. A few people take out cell phones and snap digital photos.
But some of the best sights at the weekly event aren't about drumming or dancing. There's Rob Piper with his five-foot-long Burmese python Viera; a gaggle of Goth teenagers wrestling in the sand; a small group of circus performers breathing and twirling fire (the source of those bursts of flame I saw on my way to the beach). When one performer sticks a fiery stick down his pants, the onlookers gasp … and whip out their cell phones again for more pictures.
"It's happening all over America," long-time drummer James Champion leans over to tell me while he taps at a dumbeck. "They're all picking up the drum now."
As the full moon rises, the circle gets tighter and the participants get louder. The sound of the hand drums combined with the dancing crowd is starting to have a narcotic effect on me.
I turn away from the circle and walk back toward the parking lot. It is long after 10 p.m., but people are still pouring onto the beach, lured by the sound of the drums.
This article appears in Jul 19-25, 2006.
