Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Close but no Cigar

That night, I go to the square with my sister. As we approach I hear the far-off hum of drums, Up close, I find myself listening some of the most kickass street musicians I have ever heard. The lute playing is fiery and bluesy, an infectiously danceable groove that nonetheless has that unmistakable flavor of authentic musical tradition.

On any of the three or so nights I spent in the square, there were betewen four and eight different groups of musicians, arranged in a circle. They are arranged in the same format (see DIAGRAM at right ) : The center of the action is the lute player, who usually had long curly jerry-curled hair and a mismached adidas warm-up suit, playing what a 4- or 5-string lute, usually with a small amp, or sometimes an unamplified banjo. He needs a little extra "umph" to cut through between 3 and 9 drummers, playing a variety of percussion instruments, ranging from the goblet-shaped darbukka, double-headed skin drums, metal castanets called krakebs, and others. Around them, the audience stands and watches. Every five minutes or so, the lute player calls everything to a halt and spends upwards on ten minutes asking for money, frequently invoking the name of Allah. Nobody ever gives anything more than a grudging dirham, except dumb tourists like me. If you do, they make a big show of seating you in the "place of honor", a beat-up plastic stool. It was from there I made the following recordings.

The music was HOT. I captured a little on my handy M-Audio portable recorder. Listen here:

After the night was winding down, I struck up a conversation with one of them. He informed me that he and the rest of the musicians in the square were not Gnawa are all but Berbers - or chleuh, descendants of the indigenous inhabitants of North Africa. And this was confirmed by the fact that although they were playing lutes, there was no guembri among them. The music was fantastic, but I still hadn't found the Gnawa.

So why did Jamal the hostel guy tell me the square was full of Gnawa? Because it was full of guys like these pictured on the right. These guys, dressed up in these costumes, with a fez with a long tassel, sometimes carrying those krakebs, or metal castanets, are called Gnawa, and they usually approach you, grinning, and won't leave you alone until you give them some money. But they, like these guys I saw on the street in Casablanca, seemed kind of silly, kind of more about entertainment and getting a few dirhams than about any particular tradition. And nobody was playing a guembri. So I had found some awesome Berber musicians, and these weird street Gnawa, but the haunting sound of the guembri was still dangling, just out of reach.

All signs point South

One thing stood out in my mind: in the midst of one of the music circles, a little black-skinned guy with a bushy beard and a khaki suit - sort of a Moroccan Fidel Castro lookalike - danced up to the middle and said a few words to the musicians. Although I speak almost no Arabic, I caught that he said he was from Essouaria. They immediately made a big fuss and seated him at one of the "seats of honor".

The next day, I found a sweet internet cafe, the Naokazo cafe on Rue Ladhak, near my hostel. A few sweet mint teas later I struck up a conversation' with Charif, a graphic designer who

I met a couple of French-speakers who told me about the International Gnawa festival in Essouaria. One was Caroline, the French-born cafe owner who had lived in 7 countries for a year or more. We had a long talk - her story is an unusual one. She gave me their numbers and wished me good luck. She also had friends in Essouaria who helped organize the festival. She also said - "Do the stuff you want to do now - before you have kids. Because once you do, it's all about them". I hoped she was right.