Academic literature on the topic 'Stones (in religion, folk lore, etc.)'

The tradition of attributing mythological and religious meanings to natural phenomena, the formation of a ritual culture associated with trees, stones, water sources, atmospheric phenomena, etc., refers to the most ancient sacred practices of human communities. This stimulated philosophical, cultural, and anthropological studies of this phenomenon in the context of Orthodox culture, aimed at identifying the relations between pagan and Christian symbols and rituals and analyzing the problem of dual faith among the Orthodox population of Russia. Historical studies of the manifestations of folk religiosity are still at the stage of generalizing empirical material. The subject of the article is a study of folk religious practices in the historical context of Khrushchev’s anti-religious campaign. The focus of the study is on the Orthodox traditions of venerating water sources. The specificity of the approach is the analysis of the elements of folk religiosity (using the example of the veneration of “holy sources”) as a manifestation of everyday practices of adaptation and survival of believers in the USSR. Despite the banishment of religion from public space in the era of Nikita Khrushchev, belief in miracles and miraculous healings and visits to holy places were common not only among Orthodox Soviet people, but also among those who were considered “atheists”. Regional features of folk religion in the Urals were the redefinition of holy places in the multi-ethnic space of the region and the use of water sources for folk medicine in an underdeveloped health care system. For certain categories of Soviet citizens (former priests, monks and nuns, marginalized elements, etc.), the sphere of folk religiosity was a space for the realization of subjectivity, different from the “normative” one. As a result of a comparative-historical approach, it is shown that the practices of venerating holy sources in the Urals fit into the all-union framework of the phenomenon.

In the Garden of EdenThe covers of the first three volumes of Kuml show photographs of fine Danish antiquities. Inside the volumes have articles on the Stone Age, the Bronze Age and the Iron Age in Jutland, which is to be expected as Kuml is published by the Jutland Archaeological Society. However, in 1954 the scene is moved to more southern skies. This year, the cover is dominated by a date palm with two huge burial mounds in the background. In side the book one reads no less than six articles on the results from the First Danish Archaeological Bahrain Expedition. P.V. Glob begins with: Bahrain – Island of the Hundred Thousand Burial Mounds, The Flint Sites of the Bahrain Desert, Temples at Barbar and The Ancient Capital of Bahrain, followed by Bibby’s Five among Bahrain’s Hundred Thousand Burial Mounds and The Well of the Bulls. The following years, reports on excavations on Bahrain and later in the sheikhdoms of Qatar, Kuwait and Abu Dhabi are on Kuml’s repertoire.However, it all ends wit h the festschrift to mark Glob’s 60th anniversary, Kuml 1970, which has three articles on Arab archaeology and a single article in 1972. For the past thirty years almost, the journal has not had a single article on Arabia. Why is that? Primarily because the character of the museum’s work in the Arabian Gulf changed completely. The pioneers’ years of large-scale reconnaissance and excavations were succeeded by labourous studies of the excavated material – the necessary work preceding the final publications. Only in Abu Dhabi and Oman, Karen Frifelt carried on the pioneer spirit through the 1970s and 1980s, but she mainly published her results in in ternational, Englishlanguage journals.Consequently, the immediate field reports ended, but the subsequent research into Arab archaeology – carried out at the writing desk and with the collections of finds– still crept into Kuml. From 1973 , the journal contained a list of the publications made by the Jutland Archaeological Society (abbreviated JASP), and here, the Arab monographs begin to make their entry. The first ones are Holger Kapel’s Atlas of the Stone Age Cultures of Qatar from 1967 and Geoffrey Bibby’s survey in eastern Saudi Arabia from 1973. Then comes the Hellenistic excavations on the Failaka island in Kuwait with Hans Erik Mathiesen’s treatise on the terracotta figurines (1982), Lise Hannestad’s work on the ceramics (1983) and Kristian Jeppesen’s presentation of the temple and the fortifications (1989). A similar series on the Bronze Age excavations on Failaka has started with Poul Kjærum’s first volume on the stamp and cylinder seals (1983) and Flemming Højlund’s presentation of the ceramics (1987). The excavations on the island of Umm an-Nar in Abu Dhabi was published by Karen Frifelt in two volumes on the settlement (1991) and the graves (1995), and the ancient capital of Bahrain was analysed by H. Hellmuth Andersen and Flemming Højlund in two volumes on the northern city wall and the Islamic fort (1994) and the central, monumental buildings (1997) respectively.More is on its way! A volume on Islamic finds made on Bahrain has just been made ready for printing, and the Bronze Age temples at the village of Barbar is being worked up. Danish and foreign scholars are preparing other volumes, but the most important results of the expeditions to the Arabian Gulf have by now been published in voluminous series.With this, an era has ended, and Moesgård Museum’s 50th anniversary in 1999 was a welcome opportunity of looking back at the Arabian Gulf effort through the exhibition Glob and the Garden ef Eden. The Danish Bahrain expeditions and to consider what will happen in the future.How then is the relation ship between Moesgård Museum and Bahrain today, twenty-three years after the last expedition – now that most of the old excavations have been published and the two originators of the expeditions, P.V. Glob and Geoffrey Bibby have both died?In Denmark we usually consider Bahrain an exotic country with an exciting past. However, in Bahrain there is a similar fascination of Denmark and of Moesgård Museum. The Bahrain people are wondering why Danish scholars have been interested in their small island for so many years. It was probably not a coincidence when in the 1980s archaeologist and ethnographers from Moesgård Museum were invited to take part in the furnishing of the exhibitions in the new national museum of Bahrain. Today, museum staff from Arab countries consider a trip to Moesgård a near-pilgrimage: our collection of Near East artefacts from all the Gulf countries is unique, and the ethnographic collections are unusual in that they were collected with thorough information on the use, the users and the origin of each item.The Bahrain fascination of Moesgård Museum. was also evident, when the Bahrain minister of education, Abdulaziz Al-Fadl, visited the museum in connection with the opening of the Bahrain exhibition in 1999.Al-Fadl visited the museum’s oriental department, and in the photo and film archive a book with photos taken by Danish members of the expeditions to the Arabian Gulf was handed over to him. Al-Fadl was absorbed by the photos of the Bahrain of his childhood – the 1950s and 1960s – an un spoilt society very different from the modern Bahrain. His enthusiasm was not lessened when he saw a photo of his father standing next to P.V. Glob and Sheikh Salman Al Khalifa taken at the opening of Glob’s first archaeological exhibition in Manama, the capital. At a banquet given by Elisabeth Gerner Nielsen, the Danish minister of culture, on the evening following the opening of the Glob exhibition at Moesgård, Al-Fadl revealed that as a child, he had been on a school trip to the Danish excavations where – on the edge of the excavation – he had his first lesson in Bahrain’s prehistory from a Danish archaeologist (fig. 1).Another example: When attending the opening of an art exhibition at Bahrain’s Art Centre in February 1999, I met an old Bahrain painter, Abdelkarim Al-Orrayed, who turned out to be a good friend of the Danish painter Karl Bovin, who took part in Glob’s expeditions. He told me, how in 1956, Bovin had exhibited his paintings in a school in Manama. He recalled Bovin sitting in his Arabian tunic in a corner of the room, playing a flute, which he had carved in Sheikh Ibrahim’s garden.In a letter, Al-Orrayed states: ”I remember very well the day in 1956, when I met Karl Bovin for the first time. He was drawin g some narrow roads in the residential area where I lived. I followed him closely with my friend Hussain As-Suni – we were twentythree and twenty-one years old respectively. When he had finished, I invited him to my house where I showed him my drawings. He looked at them closely and gave me good advice to follow if I wanted to become a skilful artist – such as focusing on lines, form, light, distance, and shadow. He encouraged me to practice outdoors and to use different models. It was a turning point in our young artists’ lives when Hussein and I decided to follow Bovin’s instructions. We went everywhere – to the teahouses, the markets, the streets, and the countryside – and practised there, but the sea was the most fascinating phenomenon to us. In my book, An Introduction to Modern Art in Bahrain, I wrote about Bovin’s exhibitions in the 1950s and his great influence on me as an artist. Bovin’s talent inspired us greatly in rediscovering the nature and landscape on Bahrain and gave us the feeling that we had much strength to invest in art. Bovin contributed to a new start to us young painters, who had chosen the nature as our main motif.”Abdelkarim Al-Orrayed was the first Bahrain painter to live of his art, and around 1960 he opened a studio from which he sold his paintings. Two of his landscape watercolours are now at Moesgård.These two stories may have revealed that Bahrain and Moesgard Museum have a common history, which both parts value and wish to continue. The mutual fascination is a good foundation to build on and the close bonds and personal acquaintance between by now more generations is a valuable counterbalance to those tendencies that estrange people, cultures, and countries from one another.Already, more joint projects have been initiated: Danish archaeology students are taking part in excavations on Bahrain and elsewhere in the Arabic Gulf; an ethnography student is planning a long stay in a village on Bahrain for the study of parents’ expectations to their children on Bahrain as compared with the conditions in Denmark; P.V. Glob’s book, Al-Bahrain, has been translated into Arabic; Moesgård’s photos and films from the Gulf are to become universally accessible via the Internet; an exhibition on the Danish expeditions is being prepared at the National Museum of Bahrain, and so forth.Two projects are to be described in more detail here: New excavations on Bahrain that are to investigate how fresh water was exploited in the past, and the publication of a book and three CDs, Music in Bahrain, which will make Bahrain’s traditional music accessible not just to the population of Bahrain, but to the whole world.New excavations on BahrainFor millennia, Bahrain was famous for its abundance of fresh water springs, which made a belt of oases across the northern half of the island possible. Natural fertility combined with the favourable situation in the middle of the Arab Gulf made Bahrain a cultural and commercial centre that traded with the cities of Mesopotamia and the IndusValley already in the third millennium BC.Fresh water also played an important part in Bahrain’s ancient religion, as seen from ar chaeological excavations and Mesopotamian cuneiform tablets: A magnificent temple of light limestone was built over a spring, and according to old texts, water was the gods’ gift to Bahrain (Dilmun).Although fresh water had an overwhelming importance to a parched desert island, no studies have been directed towards the original ”taming” of the water on Bahrain. Therefore, Moesgård Museum is now beginning to look into the earliest irrigation techniques on the island and their significance to Bahrain’s development.Near the Bahrain village of Barbar, P.V. Glob in 1954 discovered a rise in the landscape, which was excavated during the following years. It turned out that the mound covered three different temples, built on top of and around each other. The Barbar temple was built of whitish ashlars and must have been an impressive structure. It has also gained a special importance in Near East research, as this is the first and only time that the holy spring chamber, the abzu, where the god Enki lived, has been un earthed (fig. 2).On the western side of the Barbar temple a monumental flight of steps, flank ed on both sides by cult figures, was leading through a portal to an underground chamber with a fresh water spring. In the beautiful ashlar walls of this chamber were three openings, through which water flowed. Only the eastern out flow was investigated, as the outside of an underground stonebuilt aqueduct was found a few metres from the spring chamber.East of the temple another underground aqueduct was followed along a 16-m distance. It was excavated at two points and turned out almost to have the height of a man. The floor was covered with large stones with a carved canal and the ceiling was built of equally large stones (fig. 3).No doubt the spring chamber was a central part of the temple, charge d with great importance. However, the function of the aqueducts is still unknown. It seems obvious that they were to lead the fresh water away from the source chamber, but was this part of a completely ritual arrangement, or was the purpose to transport the water to the gardens to be used for irrigation?To clarify these questions we will try to trace the continuations of the aqueducts using different tracing techniques such as georadar and magnetometer. As the sur roundings of Barbar temple are covered by several metres of shifting sand, the possibilities of following the aqueducts are fine, if necessary even across a great distance, and if they turn out to lead to old gardens, then these may be exposed under the sand.Underground water canals of a similar construction, drawing water from springs or subsoil water, have been used until modern times on Bahrain, and they are still in use in Iran and on the Arabian Peninsula, especially in Oman, where they supply the gardens with water for irrigation. They are called qanats and are usually considered built by the Persians during periods when the Achaemenid or Sassanid kings controlled Arabia (c. 500 BC-c. 600 AD). However, new excavation results from the Oman peninsula indicate that at least some canal systems date from c. 1000 BC. It is therefore of utmost interest if similar sophisticated transportation systems for water on Bahrain may be proven to date from the time of the erection of the Barbar temple, i.e. c. 2000 BC.The finds suggest that around this time Bahrain underwent dramatic changes. From being a thinly inhabited island during most of the 3rd millennium BC, the northern part of the island suddenly had extensive burial grounds, showing a rapid increase in population. At the same time the major settlement on the northern coast was fortified, temples like the one at Barbar were built, and gigantic ”royal mounds” were built in the middle of the island – all pointing at a hierarchic society coming into existence.This fast social development of Dilmun must have parallelled efficiency in the exploitation of fresh water resources for farm ing to supply a growing population with the basic food, and perhaps this explains the aqueducts by Barbar?The planned excavatio ns will be carried out in close cooperation between the National Museum of Bahrain and Aarhus University, and they are supported financially by the Carlsberg Foundation and Bahrain’s Cabinet and Information Ministry.The music of BahrainThe composer Poul Rovsing Olsen (1922-1982) was inspired by Arab and Indian music, and he spent a large part of his life studying traditional music in the countries along the Arabian Gulf. In 1958 and 1962-63 he took part in P.V. Glob’s expeditions to Arabia as a music ethnologist and in the 1970s he organised stays of long duration here (fig. 4).The background for his musical fieldwork was the rapid development, which the oil finds in the Gulf countries had started. The local folk music would clearly disappear with the trades and traditions with which they were connected.” If no one goes pearl fishing anymore, then no one will need the work songs connected to this work. And if no one marries according to tradition with festivity lasting three or sometimes five days, then no one will need the old wedding songs anymore’’.It was thus in the last moment that Rovsing Olsen recorded the pearl fishers’ concerts, the seamen’s shanties, the bedouin war songs, the wedding music, the festival music etc. on his tape recorder. By doing this he saved a unique collection of song and music, which is now stored in the Dansk Folkemindesamling in Copenhagen. It comprises around 150 tapes and more than 700 pieces of music. The instruments are to be found at the Musikhistorisk Museum and Moesgård Museum (fig. 5).During the 1960s and 1970s Rovsing Olsen published a number of smaller studies on music from the Arabian Gulf, which established his name as the greatest connoisseur of music from this area – a reputation, which the twenty years that have passed since his death have not shaken. Rovsing Olsen also published an LP record with pearl fisher music, and with the music ethnologist Jean Jenkins from the Horniman Museum in London he published six LP records, Music in the World of Islam with seven numbers from the Arabian Gulf, and the book Music and Musical Instruments in the World of Islam (London 1976).Shortly before his death, Rovsing Olsen finished a comprehensive manuscript in English, Music in Bahrain, where he summed up nearly twenty-five years of studies into folk music along the Arabian Gulf, with the main emphasis on Bahrain. The manuscript has eleven chapters, and after a short introduction Rovsing Olsen deals with musical instruments, lute music, war and honour songs of the bedouins, festivity dance, working songs and concerts of the pearl fishers, music influenced front Africa, double clarinet and bag pipe music, religious songs and women’s songs. Of these, eighty-four selected pieces of music are reproduced with notes and commented in the text. A large selection of this music will be published on three CDs to go with the book.This work has been anticipated with great expectation by music ethnologists and connoisseurs of Arabic folk music, and in agreement with Rovsing Olsen’s widow, Louise Lerche-Lerchenborg and Dansk Folkemindesamling, Moesgård Museum is presently working on publishing the work.The publication is managed by the Jutland Archaeological Society and Aarhus University Press will manage the distribution. The Carlsberg Foundation and Bahrain’s Cabinet and Information Ministry will cover the editing and printing expenses.The publication of the book and the CDs on the music of Bahrain will be celebrated at a festivity on Bahrain, at the next annual cultural festival, the theme of which will be ”mutual inspiration across cultural borders” with a focus on Rovsing Olsen. In this context, Den Danske Trio Anette Slaato will perform A Dream in Violet, a music piece influenced by Arabic music. On the same occasion singers and musicians will present the traditional pearl fishers’ music from Bahrain. In connection with the concert on Bahrain, a major tour has been planned in cooperation with The Danish Institute in Damascus, where the Danish musicians will also perform in Damascus and Beirut and give ”masterclasses” in chamber music on the local music academies. The concert tour is being organised by Louise Lerche-Lerchenborg, who initiated one of the most important Danish musical events, the Lerchenborg Musical Days,in 1963 and organised them for thirty years.ConclusionPride of concerted effort is not a special Danish national sport. However,the achievements in the Arabian Gulf made by the Danish expeditions from the Århus museum are recognised everywhere. It is only fair to use this jubilee volume for drawing attention to the fact that the journal Kuml and the publications of the Jutland Archaeological Society were the instruments through which the epoch-making investigations in the Gulf were nude public nationally and internationally.Finally, the cooperationon interesting tasks between Moesgård Museum and the countries along the Arabian Gulf will continue. In the future, Kuml will again be reporting on new excavations in the palm shadows and eventually, larger investigation s will no doubt find their way to the society’s comprehensive volumes.Flemming HøjlundMoesgård MuseumTranslated by Annette Lerche Trolle

In the late 2010s, I owned and operated a bespoke drum-building company, and during that time, I was commissioned to build a frame drum by the partner of a musician who was also a magic practitioner. The commission was fitting despite my business not being related to magic or Paganism directly. I have been working with drum construction in all of my research projects during my academic career, a touring percussionist for decades, and the company focussed on making drums inspired by Lovecraftian narratives and Lovecraftian Futurist music. Due to the nature of Lovecraftian horror and science fiction being potentially supernatural-related, and given my performance experience and ethnomusicological background, I understood the details of the request and planned my construction in accordance with their interests. The decisions made regarding materials, style, and decorations with respect to the expected functionality, performance techniques, and desired aesthetics outlined a distinct relationship between the magical and musical qualities desired in the final product. These decisions were informed by the values upheld by the commissioner of the drum – values that parallel those of the performers, makers, and audience that make up the joint musical and magical community. The ways in which these decisions were informed, then, regulate the interactions not only with the music involved but also with the musical instruments and their construction. Perhaps this is less evident in a situation where an instrument is mass-manufactured, but taking as an example the set of decisions associated with this bespoke commission, informed by values based on a belief system and the practices associated with that belief system, a network of maker, player, and expectations of the instrument’s function can be highlighted. In turn, this raises interesting considerations about the relationship between building instruments and magic-related practices. Fig. 1: Commissioned drum that houses magical associations along with performative expectations. (Photo: Lisa Courtney) Most of the discussion herein pertains to building frame drums and my client’s interest in Wicca and Paganism, but neither magic, nor this discussion in general, need to be restricted to Wiccan, Occult, or Pagan practices exclusively. Magic in the broad context of how it can influence and inspire creative, ritual, or sonically functional practices can fall under the umbrella of Shamanism, Satanism, Spiritualism, Theosophy, Voodoo/Vodun, Taoism, Shintoism, Druidism, or any area of perceived magic (even fictional or self-constructed belief systems). Magic in the context of being a highly valued concept and concern makes magic (using any definition) relevant and a vehicle for better understanding the complex relationships between creative production and cultural, religious, and/or social values and belief systems. Drums and magic (using this broad definition) simply form an excellent, clear example of this dialectic network. Music and magic are inexorably linked together (Godwin; Connor, Sound and Musical). There are numerous accounts, both folkloric and academic, of how sonic qualities such as tempo, timbre, and pitch work in conjunction with hermetic powers, spiritual happenings, and theosophical practices through harmonic, melodic, and rhythmic means (Sharpe). Broad considerations of music and cosmology arise in Blavatsky’s esoteric instructions, functional use of music appears in the heterophonic improvisation supporting shamanic practices of Korean musok (Koudela and Yoo 94), and even the scientific explanations of Kepler link music to astronomy attempting to show the intertwined nature of music, spirituality, and the human soul. Lewis, in Witchcraft Today, cites multiple instances of music in relation to magic practice, from accompanying incantations to ritual dancing, to a long list of contemporary popular and folk music artists performing magic-related and -inspired material. The human body is sometimes used to produce this sonic enhancement or connections (Eason), but musical instruments are also used for a variety of reasons. Drums are often one of those instruments, incorporating the textures, pulses, or simply the sheer volume they can provide. Drumming is an essential part of engaging with Zangbeto, the vodun guardians of Benin (Okunola and Ojo 204); playing damaru (sometimes made from human skulls: Cupchik 34) is a highly valued musical element of Tibetan Chöd magic practices (Cupchik 34); Druidic land healing ceremonies rely on frame drums to open magic channels between the practitioner and the Earth (O’Driscoll); the original function of Czech vozembouchy was to ward off dark energies and provide protection during rituals (Connor, Constructing the Sounds 25); Korean Mudang use drums (and music/noise) to allow deities and spirits to speak through them at Gut ceremonies (Wróblewski); similarly, Tlingit Ixt (shamans) employ frame drums to both represent and conjure the ancestors about whom they are singing (Olsen 212). It probably cannot be said which came first – the intention to use percussion instruments for magical practices, then constructing them accordingly; or making percussion, then deciding these instruments are useful for magical purposes. However, recognising the influence that magic has on drum-making contemporaneously can be informative, unravelling how performance in magic-related contexts and the construction of percussive instruments designed to be used for such purposes, or those selected for their musical or magical properties, highlight a dialectic between drum-making and magic. Musical instruments are made, generally speaking, with a few common intentions in mind (Connor, Constructing Musical), then designed and built with specific performance expectations and functionalities informing the final construction (Connor, Constructing Musical). Frame drums follow this model; therefore, the commissioned drum mentioned above, where the magical element was considered a primary concern for the patron, can assist with outlining the design/maker-player-inspiration/beliefs/practice network that links them together. When starting the dialogue between maker and patron to realise the drum being commissioned, which wood should be used was the initial consideration. They wanted something “powerful” and “meaningful” but did not know what was available or would exactly match their practice interests, so I suggested some wood I had recently been given that thought might suit: a neighbour had a black walnut tree on their property which had been struck by lightning and was no longer considered safe and it was chopped down due to compromised structural integrity. Pieces of it were given to me. After describing this wood, even though all they knew about the properties of the tree was that it had been struck by lightning, the choice to use it was made instantly, citing simply the fact that it was special, had potentially absorbed the element of electricity into the element of wood, and hinting at the notion that “it was meant to be” as the reasons for incorporating the black walnut into the drum. Fig. 2: Black walnut wood from the tree struck by lightning. (Photo: author) Next was the number of sides for the drum. Most frame drums are circles or something similar, so that would count as either one-sided (not a moebius strip, but rather a simple circle) or infinite-sided (if taken as a number of infinitesimally small mini sides). As a maker, I also offered various other ‘barrel-style’ frames including 5-, 7-, 8-, 11-, and 13-sided models, each with their own Lovecraftian or related association (many of these are prime numbers, but in this case, that is irrelevant). The patron chose the 13-sided version of the barrel frame construction. The skin for the drum was not discussed, simply for the reason that options other than goat skin were more difficult to obtain and there was a time frame placed on the order, as the drum was a gift for the patron’s partner. Once the basic elements were set, we chatted about how the drum would be played, given that the performance style and playing technique would heavily inform some of the construction decisions. We also briefly mulled over the desired tone/timbral qualities, and finally the decorative aspects that would wrap up the construction decisions being made, allowing me to move forward and realise the project in accordance with the commission parameters. Each of these aspects held multiple considerations, akin to architectural design (Vitruvius; Pelletier), based on a triad of materials to be used, functionality expected, and aesthetics valued by the maker, player, and (in this case) the commissioner. The decisions made are consequential to the final design holistically and are therefore important, but of greater concern for this discussion is what informed these decisions and why. Effectively, only six decisions were made; each one was or would have been influenced by magic, affecting almost all aspects of the construction in some manner. With regards to the first decision on wood type, the black walnut was chosen, but not for its density which would have slightly increased the drum’s sustain, its availability (abundant), or discouraged for the fact that black walnut is heavy, and therefore, depending on the primary performance technique expected, the wood may have repercussions due to its sheer weight. Instead, the decision was made based on the one fact that it was struck by lightning. This gave the now-owners a sense of magical injection into the wood, and therefore drum itself. The feeling expressed was that there existed a (great) possibility that the wood, being a primary magical element that represents a connection to the Earth, stability, and the specific properties of the black walnut (Teague), was enhanced by the lightning. Various wand makers suggest that a wood type may have powers it possesses or resonates (Maclir) or links to the magical lore associated with the wood (Beggetta, Gross, and Miller; Theodore). Here, the wood was merged with or infused with another magical element, lightning, sometimes considered representative of power, energy, or brightness/purity (Teague). Whether or not these qualities were something that the patron was seeking or simply a bonus is irrelevant; the fact that the tree had been struck with lightning translated to a specific decision based on magic-related traits valued by the commissioner. The number of sides was actually suggested by me; however, to be clear, the final decision was confirmed by the patron. I offered the 13-sided barrel frame construction as a consideration based on the fact that I already offered these as part of my regular frame drum options, inspired by Lovecraftian horror narratives that include references to the number thirteen, the most recurring being “the thirteen gates of the Necronomicon” found in cosmic horror stories (Levenda; Tyson 13-21, 385-402). To be clear, although Lovecraft, Paganism, and magic are more than simply aligned (Price), Lovecraftian horror often implies magical practice diegetically, but the reader typically discovers the perceived magical elements to be something supranatural rather than supernatural, thus magic becomes explainable science, at least exegetically (Littmann). The number 13 still has relevance in the stories, where it shows up, which is why I often used the number 13 in my drum designs. However, it was another association of a 13-sided drum that aligned with the interests of the patron. In Pagan calendars, there are thirteen full moons per year—the final one serving as the mark of harvest and the new year celebrated during Samhain (Wittington). Acoustically speaking, 13 sides change the drum’s timbre (as compared to a circular frame), slightly reducing the midrange, and increasing some higher-end frequencies, but the acoustics of the instrument were of seemingly lower importance than the magical associations the 13 sides provided. For a Wiccan or Pagan, this choice of a number of sides was one of two that probably would not be ignored (the other being a 5-sided option). Playing techniques expected to be used are often a primary consideration for making instruments in my personal experience, both during my time as a frame drum maker and during my internship with a drum builder in Germany as part of my PhD research. The playing techniques expected during creative/expressive performance definitely informed the construction of the drum, but magical expectations, meaning how the drum was expected to be played during magic-related practices, were also a consideration for the expected playing technique. Factors like playing with hands only, using a beater or stick only, a combination of the two, use of finger rolls, beater position (i.e. upright like a bodhran tipper, sideways like a shaman drum, or above like a trap set or pow-wow drum), and position of the drum itself (i.e. upright holding it from underneath, resting it on the player’s knee, held between the player’s legs while seated, or being held by handle) were discussed. How the drum is going to be played for a performance partially depends on the expectation of the drum’s function musically—is the player going to stand on stage, sit in a recording studio, or participate in a ritual, for instance. In this case, there was an expectation of all three, but given the nature of the commission, that being a patron commissioning the drum as a gift for her partner as a romantic and magic-based token of affection with added functionality, the magic-related expectation became the principal influence on her decisions. In the end, the patron opted to incorporate all the possibilities for performance techniques, giving her partner the most flexibility. This decision provided her partner with the capability to participate in ritual activities easily as well as giving him ergonomically sound means to perform (creatively) with the drum in a recording or live setting. The tonal qualities of the drum were already partially decided, but one other important point was also discussed: one influenced by magic considerations. The leading edge of the drum (where the rim of the frame interacts with the skin stretched over the top of it) has several possible ways to be designed. For my drums, I offered two options that can be considered what equates to more or less the two timbral extremes: a flat leading edge similar to a typical shaman drum or bodhran, or a timpani-style leading edge that has a curved, quarter-circular rounded edge with a very small ledge underneath that. The flat edge makes the drum respond with an even set of frequencies when struck in the centre of the skin and often has a shorter sustain to the sound produced in comparison to a drum with a rounded or pointed edge (Crosby). The timpani-style edge gives an emphasis on lower frequencies, often complementing those with a highlight of high frequencies (giving the aural illusion of fewer midrange tones) and adds a fairly long sustain to the sound created (Crosby). For a creative performance-only commission, the decision would be almost entirely timbral, but for this patron, a consideration of ritual practices and magical context came into play: the lower tone expected to be provided by the timpani leading edge, combined with the longer sustain aligned with the patron’s sensibilities of how the human body may respond to those tonal qualities. Furthermore, the sheer volume was taken into account, as the loudness perceived when playing a lower-pitched drum with a greater sustain can assist with awakening spirits or deities as seen by a practitioner of Paganism (Gustafson), thereby making the timpani leading edge the appropriate choice for the commissioned drum. Visual aspects of drum construction are often almost purely aesthetic. This, however, does not exclude them from being an integral part of the drum’s construction, and in fact, they may be the initial factor to which a player or audience member reacts when first interacting with the drum. The commissioned drum already holds some aesthetic distinction, given its shape and the material choices made. Beyond that, some other visual aspects were notably influenced by the drum's expected magical association. The black walnut being used had a greyish tint to it in an unfinished state, but the suggestion I made was to finish the wood, oiling the frame instead of staining it, giving it a more or less natural finish, but much darker in hue. As far as I can tell, that was entirely a personal taste choice and not based on anything magic-related, but the other visual choices, both decorative, were definitively inspired by Pagan or Wiccan beliefs. The outside of the frame was requested to be wood burned with designs that included various sigils and markings meaningful to the patron and her partner. The sigils have a direct relationship to magic, and it was/is expected that when the drum is played, the decorations would “speak to the universe,” emanating their messages through any given ritual or performance (akin to Tibetan lungta or wind horse flags; Adalakanzhu 13). The specific meaning of the sigils is being redacted on purpose due to the private nature of their meaning; let it suffice to say that they are simultaneously magical and romantic in nature, binding the couple in various ways. Parallel to the wood burning on the side and bottom of the drum was a design made from henna on the front of the skin. The design also presented sigil and sigil-like elements alongside magic or fantastical artwork serving as a sort of cultural flag that the instrument was not only an instrument of sound creation but also one of magical practice (see figure 3). Figure 3: Decoration on the front of the commissioned drum's skin Fig. 4: Wood-burning decorations on the bottom edge of the commissioned drum This commissioned drum is not the only example of relationships between an instrument’s construction and the belief system upheld by the maker, player, and/or audience of the music made with it. Another drum I made recently was for a graduate student who obtained his master’s degree from my current university: as a congratulations gift, I built a drum for him. Upon his request, the drum was 11-sided, which aligned with some of the student’s Buddhist beliefs and practices, and also incorporated all expected playing techniques into the construction, with mainly shamanic and meditative performances in mind (see figure 5). Fig. 5: 11-sided drum built for a graduate student who is also a practicing Buddhist Another example is a 5-sided drum I created for a professional musician performing in a Neo-medievalist band with very strong Gothic and Pagan influences and aesthetics. The shape of the drum was selected for both its timbral qualities and the relation to Lovecraft and the occult, specifically a pentagram reference being made indirectly and directly (in the form of a Necronomicon symbol emblazoned on the goat-skin head; see figure 6). Fig. 6: 5-sided drum in progress (finished in 2017) Fig. 7: A commissioned 5-sided, Lovecraft and magic-inspired drum. (Note: this is not the drum mentioned above, but a different commission with similar traits) Another 13-sided drum that was also commissioned to be a prize for a contest that was Pagan and Lovecraft-related, was also decorated with a large Necronomicon symbol and other rune and rune-like sigil images (see figure 8). Fig. 8: Lovecraft-inspired drum for competition prize Even the 7-sided drum I offered had a belief system inspiration: my aunt who wanted to learn to play the bodhran, and wanted a style that showed off her religious faith, commissioned a 7-sided drum as a Christian-based frame that was just as representative of beliefs as the magical or Lovecraftian-inspired frames. In all cases of barrel-style drum frames, especially those with an odd number of sides, the timbre is affected by the overall shape and ways in which the membrane vibrates, creating a series of interference patterns that often highlight some of the upper frequencies and dampen some of the midrange frequencies simultaneously (an enhancement of the bass comes from the leading edge of the drum, as mentioned above). The point to note here is that the number of sides does slightly have acoustic considerations, but more than the sound, the number of sides has strong semiotic and visual aesthetics (plus some ergonomic factors) that inject social and (sub)cultural values into the drums via their design, which is what makes the number of sides important. Fig. 9: 7-sided drum for a Christian patron Something to which I have already alluded is the notion that values upheld by the performers, makers, and audience of a community are entangled with both the music involved and the musical instruments played and their construction. Concepts of circles can represent reincarnation, protection, cycles of celestial bodies, or notions of regeneration, and translate to frame shape or ensemble performance configurations. Drum shapes as well as skin types can influence sonic qualities that in turn evoke magical properties or specific deities/demons. Beliefs can fuel trance-inducing rhythmic patterns played until an ecstatic state is achieved by the practitioner, which practically requires consideration for performance techniques employed, and therefore instrument design. Widening the lens that focusses on the relation between drum-building and magic practices, an undertaking of any creative or design endeavour comes to light in which a level of agency decides expected functionality, materials, and aesthetics. Examining how the makers, operators, and community members involved develop the network between themselves and what they produce can highlight the perception, value, and ways in which they incorporate the world around them physically and philosophically. Acknowledgment Unless otherwise noted, all photographs by the author. References Adalakanzhu, Ella. “The Wind Horse Flag.” Skipping Stones 14.1, (2002): 13. Beggetta, Albert, Barry Gross, and James Miller. Compendium of Wooden Wand Making Techniques. Fox Chapel, 2021. 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