[Terra Nola documents the long-distance love affair between a New Yorker and New Orleans.] 
One thing that always amazes me is how much the culture in one city can impact that of another. For example, I've always been fascinated with the fact that there is a drumming circle in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, very similar to the one in Congo Square in New Orleans. In fact, folks from the Congo Square group actually formed the one in Brooklyn. When, how or why this happened seems to be a mystery. Despite my attempts at research, which consisted mainly of pulling things up on the web, I haven't been able to uncover much about how the need for a drumming circle in NYC manifested itself. Regardless, it's an interesting connection, and one I think about often. I run by the drummers every Sunday afternoon throughout the summer, and can't help but hear their rhythmic intonations floating purposefully across the lake into my window as I write my columns.
One clarification I should make is that in Prospect Park there is the Drummers Grove, as it is officially referred to, but also a drummers circle, one right across the street from the other. The more recent addition is much more than just a circle. It's more like a moving community of drummers, dancers, and vendors of food, housewares, jewelry and novelty items that appears seemingly from out of nowhere once a week on Sundays and disappears after sundown just as quickly. Add that to the crowd of spectators that inevitably forms around them and it becomes nearly impossible to not get swept up in the atmosphere created.
Although the drummers in Prospect Park are mainly West African with a little Caribbean thrown in for good measure, the spectators are as diverse as you can get. I've seen everything from runners to moms with double-wide baby strollers to Orthodox Jews to you name it totally mesmerized by the music. The crowd is perhaps as interesting, if not moreso, than those they observe!
A visit to the Prospect Park website resulted in more disappointment than anything. I uncovered only that the drumming circle has existed since 1968 after being formed by a group of drummers from Congo Square. No information exists as to what that group was doing in New York (happen stance?). The only other item of note I unearthed was that around 1997, the Prospect Park Alliance used $1 million to restore the area, which led to the addition of seating. Unsatisfied with this information, I navigated my way to a West African Drum Circle website where I was informed that the drum circle is facilitated by "The Elders", whomever they are. I quickly realized I'd taken a wrong turn on the information super highway and needed to get OFF.
Although I was uncomfortable calling any number where I'd have to specifically ask to speak to an "Elder", I realized that I was drawn to the drummers not just by the beat of their drums, but by the nuance of the exotic they provided to my otherwise pretty standard life. Even though I live in New York City where pretty much everything--and anything--flies, things can get pretty mundane.
Amidst my frantic fact checking and internet research I lost site of the main reason I wanted to write an article on Brooklyn's drummers circle in the first place: it reminds me of New Orleans, and of Congo Square. I haven't actually been to Congo Square proper in a number of years, unless you count the one at Jazz Fest where, now that I think about it, I don't recall seeing any drumming; I do recall plenty of booty shaking though.
I hit Louis Armstrong Park on one of my earliest visits to New Orleans. Although a friend paraded a group of us through the main touristy places, we stopped and sort of just hung out at Congo Square. It may have been my best people-watching experience. What started out as a few guys milling around, sizing each other up, perhaps, with itchy trigger fingers, soon gave way to a few tentative, laid back beats. I was so mesmerized I didn't notice when a few more people joined in, then a few more; before I knew it I was observing a full-fledged drumming circle. They materialized like magic, yes, but most fascinating of all was that they made it look so easy. None of us could resist the urge to sway to the beat. I was so caught up in the scene I felt like even I--regularly referred to as a "bull in a china shop" by my relatives--could join right in without breaking the drummers' hypnotic rhythm. They probably would have humored me, and I can assure you I would have given everyone a good laugh.
The last time I was in Congo Square was during a marathon, week-long stint in Nola in spring 2005. And I'll admit a voodoo tour (one of life's true guilty pleasures) was what landed us smack in the middle of Congo Square, whereupon our gleeful tour guide did his best to set a scene of wild voodoo dances accompanied by frenetic music. It would have been difficult to imagine given the complete lack of activity occurring at the moment, save for the customary photos being snapped, if I hadn't been privy to the thrills of live drumming a decade prior.
The drummers in Prospect Park bring to mind the current state of Congo Square post Big-K. Are people still going there? Are there enough percussionists and dancers to accompany them residing in town to make a get-together worthwhile? It would not surprise me, given the diaspora created in the aftermath of Big-K, if some of those drummers found their way to Drummers Grove in Prospect Park. By doing so they would be reliving an important cultural journey from nearly 40 years ago, and making a little of their own history.
