For a split second it sounded like a pile of tins collapsing: a ringing volley of plinks, clangs and bongs that poured out of a yard on Tragarete Road in western Port of Spain. But then, amid the metallic cacophony, a rhythm kicked in. Steel pan.
I followed the sound into the yard and walked into a practice session of the Silver Stars, fifty or sixty players standing in front of a collection of steel drums. They were swaying nonchalantly, stepping from foot to foot keeping time, but their hands and arms were working hard, some flicking around a single pan just eight inches deep, others moving between six or seven full-sized oil-drums.
They were practising for Panorama, the major competition for the year, which takes place at carnival time. It’s possible to see pan yards practising at most times, but early in the year is especially good. Visitors are welcome to pitch up and watch.
Steel pan is a home grown Trinidadian sound, born of a unique West Indian musical inventiveness (in Curaçao they have even been known to tune up garden forks) and the fifty-five gallon drums of the oil industry. Silver Stars themselves are not Trinidad’s most famous band, but they place consistently well in the national competitions and are a regular at national celebrations and Trinidadian fetes.
They are still known, because of their roots in St Mary’s College, Trinidad’s most prestigious school, as a ‘white boy’ band. In the fifties students from this school braved expulsion and general approbation by forming their own steel band (this came both from the establishment, with whom pan was anyway unpopular, but also with roots players, who saw them as muscling in on their instrument). Over the years, however, Silver Stars have been trail-blazers. At one stage they were taken to court for noise pollution, for playing pan after 8pm. Now everyone practises in the evenings.
The ‘white boy’ label is a misnomer nowadays, looking around. The bulk of the players are of African extraction, but there are plenty of Indians. Over there was a ‘Chinee’ man in a baseball cap, and beside him a ‘Dougla’, a pretty young woman with plaits. Douglas are of mixed African and Indian descent.
I point out, to the African-looking woman next door to me, a girl with fine features, with almond, Oriental eyes, a light brown skin and curly black hair tied back.
‘Oh, she a coco-panyul’ (pronounced cocopayol). ‘She is my daughter.’ Coco-panyul is a mix of every ethnic group you can imagine. Typically Trinidadian.
And they are all sorts too. A couple of students, one with chest-length dreads, and his mate in baggy trousers and a tank top, are playing tenor pans. A mum ranges over four medium sized drums (called quattrophonic) close by. And beyond her is the ‘seven bass’ section, with a white Californian woman at one end and at the other a smiling woman in mini-skirt and revealing top. Jumping and swaying between her seven drums, she is completely carried away, lost in the music.
Like any orchestra steel pan has an extraordinary power to move. I’ve seen hardened correspondents gag with emotion. Sometimes pan is as soft as notes on velvet, but tonight it is loud. At Panorama they have to get their sound out and up to the judging platforms. The core ‘stage side’ membership of 30 has expanded to nearly 100. And pan is entirely percussive, which gives it a wonderful energy. And a fantastic, unexpected visual quality besides.
As they neared the end of the song, they built the music up, running through the multiple scales of a tremulous crescendo, hundreds of metallic notes chasing and clambering over one another. Suddenly, in a moment’s pause they switched key, and all sixty of them moved together in time. And then they hammered out a massive metallic climax. Unlike any orchestra I’ve ever seen.
For an overview of music in the Caribbean and a full annual calander of musical events across the Caribbean, check out our Caribbean Music Guide.
