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Nobody goofs off. Nobody fidgets. We just jam, to the best of our ability. are wound around the outside. And there's a kind of one-man-band compendium of things to whack, a stand holding a drumhead, a tambourine with bells, a wooden cowbell, and a cymbal. Hands reach forward. But Howard insists on going round the circle and choosing in an orderly fashion. He has a firm, strong voice, and says everything very clearly. It strikes me that this clarity, this presence -- a musician's presence -- is what is holding everything together. Without saying anything else he picks up his guitar and starts to strum a simple rhythm. It's a good guitar, a steel-stringed Fender jumbo, resonant without being overwhelming. There's nothing tentative about his playing. He keeps time with his foot. I end up with the steel-balled maraca. I shake it. Nothing happens. Benny and one of the aides quickly lean over to show me the right way to use it, which is to roll it backward and forward over the palm of my hand. Now I'm getting somewhere. I find myself following the rhythm by watching Howard's foot, because not everybody's into it yet and we're still a bit ragged. We haven't quite cohered. After a couple of minutes whatever we've been doing comes to a natural end. More accurately, Howard brings it to an end. There's no tapering off or trailing away. We stop. Some of us swap instruments. Benny wants the maraca, and gives me his tabla. Howard suggests that Wayne put down the South American flexi-whatever because producing a steady rhythm with it is quite hard. He picks up a drum instead, and we're off again. Howard tries a different rhythm, then another, echoing and amplifying some ghost of a pattern he hears in the jumble of sound. He's a fly fisherman, casting his line, seeing if we'll bite. And suddenly we do. I don't know how it happens. Carlo is playing the bike-pump flute. He hits on a simple riff, a swooping glissando that goes up and down the scale in a leisurely arc. I can feel the pleasure he takes in making this sound. Its shape reminds me of an aqueduct, a line of perfect arches stretching across the landscape. All at once, without anything being said, we all realize what he's doing, and start to follow. For a brief spell of time (although we have stepped outside time) he's the Pied Piper, the leader of the pack, Miles Davis at Antibes in '62. And by following what he plays we become a functioning collective whose whole is more than the sum of its parts. Nobody fidgets. Nobody goofs off. We just jam, to the best of our less-thanperfect but God-given ability. Again, Howard brings us in for a smooth landing before we start to fall apart. There's more swapping of instruments, and we set off again. We're not bad, but we never quite regain the sweetness of the previous set. Later we do another exercise in cooperation. One person walks, or shuffles, or stamps across the room and we have to match the way he moves on our instruments, keeping time. David, who's getting a bit uppity, tries to throw us off, halting suddenly with one foot in the air. We stop, too, eyes riveted on his upraised foot, drumsticks poised in midair. I feel like a dog waiting for a cookie. " M u s i c is an extremely natural way for kids to engage," Howard tells me later. "It's very playful. We bring out the instruments and away we go." It's clear that, for the duration of the class, the children are involved and cooperative. But what happens when the hour is over? Does the process have a lasting effect? "It's very difficult to attribute a change in a kid's behaviour solely to music when there's so much going on in their lives. But I see it and the teachers see it all the time. Certainly within a session we see kids starting to communicate with each other and relaxing into forming healthy relationships -- not only with me, but also with each other. If they're overly expressive they are able to control their impulses more, to give other people more room. There certainly are changes that happen; it's just extremely difficult to quantify them." I wonder if there's any downside to working with kids in this way. Yes, says Howard. Music therapy can look easier from the outside than it really is. Things don't always go smoothly. And central to any success, in music as in all therapy, is the therapist-client relationship. "I work with kids who are difficult to deal with. Usually the music draws them in. I appeal to them in different ways than their regular teachers. It can be draining. But I love playing music. "And the music carries me." A proud supporter of the arts in your community. I m Long & McQuade MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS Phone:986-0911 1615 L o n s d a l e A v e . a n d 8 o t h e r l o c a t i o n s in B . C . May | June 15