Pan – heartbeat of the Carnival

Culture Matters

Carnival Love

DARA E HEALY

When the music fills you up

Let we jam in this party show the love to somebody

Iron of we life yeah, everybody nice yeah

Come and join the line, heal all that is hurting

– Nailah Blackman, Iron Love

THE CURTAINS lifted gently on the breeze, floating the sounds of the steelband practising into my bedroom. The sounds of pan were comforting, but at the same time exhilarating, creating that familiar pounding in my chest. Carnival was coming.

My love affair with pan is enduring, an important part of my personal Carnival ritual. But my love affair is specific. I would brave Laventille Road, dodging speeding cars, stray dogs and weary residents trudging uphill with their groceries. The slightly treacherous journey did not matter – my reward was near. “Come dahling. Lock back and come back!” Safely parked, I would head towards where the pans were set up, find a spot and settle down to listen and appreciate. Desperadoes.

Imagine a time when it was inconceivable that anyone could listen to steel pan in concert, or that pan players could travel the world showcasing our national instrument. Today, such reactions are normal, expected. But acceptance did not come without significant struggle. The Mighty Sparrow provided a graphic description when he sang, “If your sister talk to a steelband man/Your family want to break she hand/Put she out/Lick out every teeth in she mouth.”

Historians point out that playing pan was a form of resistance against the way members of the fraternity were treated. They beat out their frustrations over impoverished circumstances and being relegated to the outside of accepted society. It was a typical vicious cycle. The more pan players were ostracised, the more they rebelled and the less they were accepted.

The 1930s-1960s were particularly challenging, with labour uprisings for better working conditions, as well as the sociopolitical strife that focused on race and class inequality. Indeed, in 1935 calypsonian Tiger sang that anyone with money could “commit murder and get off free/And live in the governor’s company.”

But the reality for pan players would slowly improve. Eventually, “many middle-class persons (and a few white elites) employed the pannist to provide music at their weddings, baptisms and other similar social engagements.” Soon, politicians also began to incorporate the steel pan into their official functions. The pan began to be associated not just with national pride, but would become an integral aspect of the desire to move our nation away from colonial norms.

Incredibly, in spite of the negative environment towards the pan and its players, the innovation and experimentation within the pan community continued. Ellie Mannette stands out as one of the supreme innovators of the instrument, conceptualising the convex shape and the ability to fashion a more complex array of notes.

In acknowledging the global contribution of Mr Mannette to the development of pan, the New York Times recalled that he was “among the first to fashion a steel drum that had all the notes of the chromatic scale, so it could play any melody in any key.”

The formation of a steel pan association took the movement in a more structured direction. By the 1970s and 1980s, women began to be accepted and across the country more of them joined the bands.

Lord Kitchener was another powerful force towards the elevation of pan. In his composition Pan in the 21st Century, he described pan as “very terrific and tantalising.” From Tribute to Spree Simon to the beautiful Pan in A Minor and the cheeky Iron Man, Lord Kitchener successfully showed us the magic that could happen when the worlds of calypso and pan collide.

The foundation laid by Mannette, Bradley and others opened a pathway for the younger generations to celebrate and express their love for our instrument. However, as I looked at calypsonian Baron proudly standing next to the street sign named in his honour, I thought about what would make my love for the pan more fulfilling.

When I can make that journey up Laventille Road revelling in all the landmarks documenting the history of our instrument. When the streets are named for the people who contributed to the growth of this industry and when the communities that filled the world with the love of pan benefit from its creation. These gestures would go a long way towards healing the hurting that Nailah referenced in her song. That is the kind of love we need to show our instrument. The kind that lasts for generations, for all time.

Dara E Healy is a performance artist and founder of the Indigenous Creative Arts Network – ICAN