We’ve spent some time chatting about the various styles and types of hand drumming across different countries—traditional, folkloric, village, and city styles—and also about drum circles and open jam sessions. If you’re interested in learning more about each of these styles, I invite you to check out the articles already here on my website, where I dive deeper into the specifics.

Today, I want to explore djembe solo styles in West African drumming, particularly in the context of traditional, ensemble, or any time you’re playing. This isn’t a strict “how-to” guide, nor is it meant to suggest that there’s only one way to do things. It’s just how I look at it, and it may be very helpful for you as well. I will be sharing some of my many observations, extensive studies, and experiences gained from years of being immersed in this wonderful drumming music and having such great drum teachers in many different styles from many different countries.

One thing I would like to start with is an observation that stands out to me—and something we’ve discussed is how djembe styles have evolved into playing on higher-pitched drums and achieving lightning-fast tempos. We’ve all seen the videos—and yes, they are jaw-dropping! Many of us, myself included, watch these drummers and wonder, “How on earth do they play that fast?” It’s truly incredible. But here’s the thing: it’s easy to get trapped in the notion that this speed defines what djembe playing is or that it’s the only valid style. Let’s be real—most of us aren’t going to match that level of speed and power. It’s fantastic and awe-inspiring. If you think you can do it, I totally support you! And that’s fine. However, I just want to point out there are other ways that are much more accessible.

So, how do the rest of us find our unique voice within the rich tapestry of hand drumming? What does it mean to “solo”? Is it simply playing by yourself? Is it accenting or leading others? Is it a call and response with what a dancer is doing or a back-and-forth with other musicians? It encompasses all of this—and so much more. To me, when we talk about a solo, it’s about conveying your creative ideas, whether you’re working within a specific context or exploring free expression with no boundaries. There are countless ways to approach soloing. First and foremost, it’s vital to remember that playing the djembe—whether in a supporting role or soloing—is a language. It’s filled with vocabulary, phrases, and expressions. There are rhythms that may feel like a form of baby babble, with simpler phrases reminiscent of early language development.

In the realm of West African drumming, I like to break down solos into categories: Super Traditional, Djembe Language, Western Conceptual, and Chaos/Creative. Super Traditional solos are rooted in authentic practices, where phrases carry specific meanings. My teachers from Guinea often spoke about how the djembe once conveyed a mélange of language—phrases that had direct implications. While I’m not sure how much of that has persisted, I’ve learned from Bolokada and other Guinean master drummers that there are certain phrases that are actually mélange language.

At one time, I am told by several people, djembe solos were all mélange language. One solo chain Bolokada taught me is designed to invite dancers to join us. The late great Mamady Keita, (R.I.P.), referred to djembe parts that go to specific rhythms and specific dance steps as “solo original,” meaning certain phrases are linked to particular rhythms and dances. Furthermore, each rhythm in Mali village style and traditional drum styles has an accompanying solo ride, which fits into the rhythm composition just like an accompaniment part. That means you can play it without even changing it or moving away from the other parts, but to start your solo you do just that; you use it as a way to express creatively, then return to it in a call and response type manner.

The call and response system happens on every level of drumming in West African drumming and especially in your djembe solo. It can happen between your solo and the rhythm, between the rhythm and your solo, and a dancer or the song as well. There is always call and response, push and pull, question and answer, yin and yang. However you want to describe it, it’s there. Djembe language covers a broad territory. We use slang and popular phrases that sometimes continually change the more popular they become. You can go to a dance conference and hear someone use the phrase in a piece in NYC, then hear the same phrase slightly different the next week in LA.

There are no strict terms, other than a commonality that seems to exist. Some of the phrases have come from the super traditional category, from unison class and breaks, and even from neighboring countries. It can be something a drummer heard and put into use; so there is slang as well. In its most common or basic form, it can be compared to saying “hello” or “how are you?” Pretty much everyone around the world knows “hello,” especially with a smile!

The joy of studying West African drum forms and others from the African diaspora is that you can connect with musicians across the globe. The language of rhythms transcends barriers, allowing us to play together—sometimes without even sharing a spoken word. I’ve made these connections in places like India, Europe, South America, West Africa, and Thailand. I almost never can speak much of the vocal language and usually neither can the teacher teaching me. However, we end up traveling, hanging out, studying, and performing together without any problems whatsoever because we all speak drum language.

Once you know the fundamentals of the system—how to learn, how to listen, how to react to the teacher, and even how to ask the right questions—you can play with anyone anywhere. At least, this is my personal experience.

Western conceptual approaches drumming through more analytical lenses. It looks at phrases as if they are memorized songs and categorizes rhythms numerically, which relies on a different part of the brain. This method can be useful, but it’s crucial not to get stuck in this mindset. Relying solely on analytical understanding might keep you from experiencing rhythm in your body, which is at the heart of West African drumming—a rich oral tradition. Western notation can sometimes help, but we need to remember that feeling and expressing the rhythm is paramount.

Chaos and creative approaches allow for unfocused creativity where you can let loose. Those who feel constrained by traditional structures might find liberation in chaos, just as those trapped in a chaotic environment could benefit from learning elements of the other categories. Ultimately, it’s all about striking a balance.

Within each of these categories, subcategories arise because there’s a plethora of approaches when it comes to soloing. The techniques vary by region and style. For instance, in Mali, the solo ride offers a foundation you can embellish; in Guinea, a series of phrases may transform into chains. There’s also a straightforward technique called the “anchor,” where you establish a note or phrase as a reference before branching out and returning to it.

To answer the initial question from the beginning: what most of us can do, regardless of age or experience, is learn to play phrases linked as a solo chain. Just to clarify, that’s what I refer to this as. Quick dazzling rolls may catch attention, but expressing yourself through phrasing can often leave a deeper impact—sometimes even more impressive than just speed alone.

And it’s something that most people who study, even just a little bit, can learn to do. The focus is on space before and after the phrase. It’s a musical way to play that also combines dynamics and good hand technique.

There’s so much more to these techniques and styles, and I look forward to diving deeper into them in part two!