Men's Movement Marching To Beat Of His Drums

I don't want to get into this thing very far, because if we do, we will get home too late for supper.

I'm talking about a "men's movement," of which you may be aware. Like lots of movements (teens, women, black pride, New Age) it is full of nuances and complications. So we'll stick to the basics.

In a recent Newsweek cover story on men, "Drums, Sweat and Tears," the magazine proclaimed: "These are exciting times: the men's movement is dawning . . ."

Now it seems that men, without women, go to conferences - or retreats, or workshops, gatherings, whatever you want to call them.

Here they take sweat baths, chant, holler, dance and bang on drums. It sounds quite explosive.

Such gatherings exist all over America. Locally, men have convened at these kinds of purification confabs at Carnation and the Olympic Peninsula. They make a lot of noise.

Underneath all this, guys are trying to "find themselves." In part, they've become aware that there is more to life than working long hours to fill somebody else's quota.

That's an oversimplification, of course, but as I say, we must try to finish this before supper.

The so-called men's movement got a big push back in 1990. Bill Moyers did a show called "A Gathering of Men," mostly a documentary on Robert Bly, the poet, and a voice for unfulfilled males. His book, "Iron John," has been a best seller for 30-40 weeks.

Anyway, these male gatherings (literally hundreds) do feature drum beating. It helps the old release mechanism. Bang. Bang. Bang. Drumming is big business these days.

And I've found the guy who makes drums for these cowhide-whaling males. He is a handsome, earnest, bright fellow, age 40, who just happens to be an outstanding wood craftsman.

His name is Brad Evans and he has his shop on Vashon Island, right behind the K-2 ski factory. Brad told me that he first got into drum-making back in 1986.

In his time, he has been a cabinetmaker, a builder of houses, a kitchen designer and a maker of expensive, one-of-a-kind furniture. Even before that he restored ancient cars that used wood in their bodies.

But at the suggestion of a friend, Mark Fuller, an artist, he made a conga drum. Later he would meet Michael Meed and Robert Bly, both big in the men's movement; also Sam Keene, whose bestselling "Fire In The Belly," is another favorite book among the yearning, seeking males.

More and more Brad got into drums. He began attending "conferences" or retreats, or whatever they call them. He really got into the movement himself. And he began to sell drums.

"I found there is a tremendous hunger and interest in them," he said.

Soon Brad Evans was making more and more drums - congas, tumbas and African Cubans. They vary in price from $160 on up to $625 for a black-walnut tumba.

"I estimate I make about 15 drums a month," he said, "although it's hard to put an accurate figure on it because I'm away a lot at conferences. It takes me about 20 hours to make a finished drum."

Brad gets his choice woods from Architectural Woods in Tacoma. His drums come in pine, cherry, ash, walnut and fir.

He figures that 80 percent of his sales come at face-to-face meetings at male gatherings. He does about 20 percent of his business via mail order.

"What pleases me, too," he says, "is that drum teachers are persuading their students to buy custom-built drums. The value is in having one for a lifetime. Every drum I make comes with a lifetime guarantee."

He gets about 25 letters a week requesting brochures. One would guess, at this point, that Brad must be rolling in money.

"Actually, it's a struggle," he says. "The demand has become so big that I've had to hire help, and it's hard to come out with a real profit margin."

If you are a male, if you feel the urge to scream, run around and dance, sweat near some hot rocks, it's all coming into fashion now. And if you, as a lonely, unfulfilled man, want to beat hell out of a cowhide drum head and that makes you feel better . . . well . . .

Write to B.D. Drums, P.O. Box 2117, Vashon, WA 98070. Brad will send you a brochure.

Emmett Watson's column appears Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday in the Northwest section of The Times.