The Craftsman Who Blows Drums Prose

No one in the village called them drummers. I took it upon myself to call them drummers.

Drummers are also craftsmen, located in the end of the nine brothers of the eighteen craftsmen of the nine brothers. This is a written thing. The villagers don't pay much attention to it, what they care is to sell or not to sell in front of life.

Undoubtedly, the drummer is never lazy. The sound that runs out from the instrument clearly shows their tendon. Indiscriminately, that's another story in the book. They are only five people in a collapse, who filled who's number ah.

Playing my memory, they have been such a combination of gongs, drums, suona, cymbals ...... a person responsible for a musical instrument, like a farmer planting carrots, a carrot. There is no replacement, there is no alternate, honestly keep their own pit. I sometimes suspect that they are like a giant hand that lifts the village up and puts it down, puts it down and lifts it up, finding the right place for the villagers' emotions. They were in their prime, and their music was particularly sturdy, upward as a throw, downward as a fling, forward as a push. Therefore, some people call them gong masters, drum masters, cymbal masters ......

They are farmers in front of people, and they are still farmers after people, and the musical instruments in their hands have not changed their identities, and the village people's titles for them likewise have not affected their lives. They carefully allocated the body of the force, know how much effort spent in the cotton field, soybean field to make how much strength, gong master, drum master, cymbal master of the title to spend how much force, this account is clear, clear. Waiting for crops, is their real specialty, the beginning of spring beans planting melons, summer fertilizer in addition to insects, what season to do what work, the heart simply do not have to calculate. The drummer for the village people is only a small part of the livelihood, just like a field on the margins of the planting of a few vegetable seedlings.

They have been dealing with the soil all their lives. They have stepped on more footprints than they have blown notes. Their footprints are remembered only by the earth, but the earth's memories lie only on paper. They could never squeeze into the memories outside the village. Their instruments hang on the wall side by side with their farming tools, as if to remind them that you too belong to the earth. They press a musical hole with their dirt-hidden fingers, beat a drum, and push out a note as if threading a needle. They stacked, cupped, and knotted each note like a crop. They think of themselves as the last crop.

The gong is their captain, walking in the forefront, clanging, clanging ...... sound sounds like a tree, the branches on the tree seems to give the notes behind them pointing the way, the drums run this way, the suona runs that way, and the cymbals, chasing after the drums. The usually lonely village suddenly became crowded with so many extra things that no one could count them. People don't care about the loss of things in the village, not to mention that things are lost every day, including memories and past events. Everyone was alert and sensitive to the inexplicable extra stuff. Who has something in their house?

When a woman gets married, they are invited to come and blow. In the 1980s, brides got married by walking to their husbands' homes. The village people are still used to the daughter to get married called on the sedan chair. The red sedan chair is in the sound of the drummers. They oohed and aahed and lifted up the bride. They beat the gongs and drums, they blew and blew, and made the married daughter cry. With cigarettes in their ears, they blow and bang vigorously while leading the bride behind them toward her husband's house, drawing a crowd of lookers, including a bunch of us farts. The bride was wearing a red satin cotton jacket, neck tie a lake blue silk scarf, red eyes under the red face, can not see the sadness.

Someone in the family funeral, also asked them to blow. They put a white cloth on the suona, gongs and drums, and lead the filial sons and daughters with music. They blew a whimpering, a moment of urgency, a moment of slow, can not help but introduce people into the sadness, especially the suona, such as sobbing, as if that is the dead to the living of love. A suona, a gong, a suona, a gong, a gong, and then a suona, five people with a silky like a button, the sorrow of the silken strands, dense, the viewer smells all the sadness. When the sound of the drummer's voice was lowered, the filial sons and daughters at the back would bawl, and the louder the cries of the filial sons and daughters were, the lower the drummer's instrument was. When the weeping had lasted about as long as it should have, the blowers and drummers made a great noise in unison, and once more the sad sound of 'music' resounded over the village. That music from the home of the deceased has been floating to the cemetery, all the way over, it seems to be a punctuation mark, sadness is an exclamation point, memories of the ellipsis, cause loved ones to cry that is the stop, to the cemetery is a period tightly put together.

But there are exceptions. For example, the funeral of the old private school.

The old private school before the death of the old man, must ask them to give him a drum, to blow cheerfully, happily knocking, the younger generation can not cry, otherwise he had to insist on the heart.

There is a middle-aged man surnamed Wang, is a gong. Be neighbors with the old private school. In the Zhongshan suit led the whole China, the private school old Mr. also wear a long shirt, holding a walking stick in his hand, nails stay long. He is the only literate old man in the village, will be able to pair, can write spring couplets, understand the meaning of the mother and father, therefore, people call him private school old man.

The private school old gentleman called Master Wang they do not call master, but the musician. Master Wang was shouted by the old private school Mr. Wang pharmacist. The reason is that "music" can be pronounced as music music, can also read "medicine" sound. Not many people in the village can read and write, and they don't understand how a word can be pronounced in different ways, but the old man's words were the nail in the coffin. Because he was an old gentleman. The old private school teacher came to their house every day. As a result, it was found that the old gentleman was getting more and more energetic and looked particularly good. Every day, he wore a long shirt, held a walking stick, twirled his beard with his long nails, and occasionally shook his head and recited a few poems that we couldn't understand even if we listened to them. I vaguely remember that while he chanted in a staccato manner, he closed his eyes and swayed, gently and slowly, as if no one else was there. At the end of the last note, his head swung back just right, as if someone had given him a gong.

Some people joke about the old private school teacher, said, you old how to live as a human spirit, others are in the old, but you are young. The old private school Mr. hehehe smile, said, wonderful ah. Said this when he gently shook up. Later, the "three hairs" to solve this secret, said the old private school every day in the worship of the Medicine Buddha, he can not be essence? When people heard this, they thought back and forth, "Yes, the old private school teacher was with Medicine Master Wang every day, so how could he not be empowered? "Three hairs" is because his face is a peak of three hairs, thick and long, usually a little smart, like the movie "Liu Sanjie" in the housekeeper, everyone will be smooth mouth called down.

The private school old Mr. Junior agreed with him. Really the funeral is not sentimental at all. The masters blew ah, drum ah, knock ah, the private school old Mr. life to the full blow drum out. The villagers recalled the old private school teacher's life in the relaxed and cheerful sound of drums and whistles. The first time I saw this, I was in the middle of a long journey, and I was so happy to see you there.

In addition to the red and white wedding, they also blow when sending off new recruits. The difference with the red and white wedding is that the new recruit wears a big red paper flower in front of the walk, they follow behind and blow. When the new recruit walks fast, they follow him. They also blew cheerfully, and as they walked, they blew down a string of notes that contained blessings and longings. The recruits held their heads high in the red-hot music, their bright eyes shining, and the drummers blew the recruits' emotions brightly.

Drummers are countryside musicians who earn a meager living with their skills. Compared with other craftsmen, their status is a bit humble, and they just help people to enjoy themselves. Therefore, although many people liked to listen to the music of the drummers, they did not want their children to learn that craft. Slowly, the drummers' music is getting older and older, the tune, the accent, loose. The gong master, the drum master, the cymbal master, they can no longer blow the notes that can float all over the village.

They complete one skillful movement. Some of them blow, some knock, some hit, each of the movements are different, and there is no one to direct, but they can understand the rhythm from each other's gestures or eyes, and their own movements and other people linked into a mood, and switch scenes at any time.

They are the regulators of the village's mood.

The voice is a little monotonous and the movements a little mechanical, but he is responsible for setting the stage for everyone, and without his clanging, the other voices would be lifeless. Immediately behind him is the oboe player, soaring, surging, and able to focus everyone's attention. He played with a red face, and each note leaped around the room like a fat child. Next to him was the drummer, with a band around his neck, attached to a drum on his stomach, his two hands alternating for a while, and banging in unison for a while, thud, thud ......

Some people paid for their music, sometimes needing it to be joyful, sometimes needing it to be mournful. By virtue of what the owner needs, they let the instruments in their hands blow out happiness and knock out joy, or they can let them blow out sorrow and knock out sadness.

Their hands are authentic peasant hands, short, rough, rough, flat nails hide dirt, which exudes the smell of sweat and blood bubbles, and the instrument is far away, as if there is no possibility of meeting between the two. Sometimes I come across one of the drummers on a country road, barefoot, carrying a load of fertilizer to the fields, sidling past you with extreme caution, trying to keep the bucket of manure far away from you. A few beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and ran down his cheeks to his neck. His cheeks were loose, but the sweat went around them. When he plays the suona, his cheeks bulge and fill up, and sometimes you can see beads of sweat skittering and glowing on them.

Wang musician they do not care about the musician or pharmacist, a mind to do their farmers, blowing drums is just their side business.

When they were apart, they were plowing their own fields, and when they were together, they were conveying the message of a certain family, or a red happy event, or a white happy event. Equally happy, they are responsible for the red and white emotions.

When they are together, they are definitely blowing, one by one, they are blowing, knocking, beating ...... threading the needle like pushing a note out, so that everyone receives some kind of message,

The drummer is a combination of miles behind the miles is la la la, oooooo surely there is wow wow, less a sound will feel incomplete! , like a sweater with a missing stitch, no matter how good it looks, the sweater is always inferior.

Most of the body's strength is left to the land, only a small half of it is allocated to their hands of the instrument. Though, they earned the title of master.