The Didgeridoo Is Sacred to Aborigines,
Who Hate the Fakes

Revered Musical Instrument Is Widely Knocked Off;
'The Mountain Dew Didj'

FREELAND, Md. -- For thousands of years, Australian aborigines have painstakingly harvested the hollow branches of eucalyptus trees to make didgeridoos, their sacred musical instrument.

Aborigines walk through the bush in northern Australia, tapping on trunks to find those that termites have hollowed to just the right thickness, giving what is said to be the world's oldest wind instrument a sound quality somewhere between a foghorn and a trumpeting elephant.

Wayne Turrong Peckham, an aborigine in Mereeba, Australia, remembers what his grandmother taught him about the didgeridoo's use at ceremonial sites called bora grounds. "Sacred instruments were only brought out in the dark, and played by the elders during initiation ceremonies," says Mr. Peckham.

So it isn't surprising that Mr. Peckham doesn't look too kindly upon Tim Whittemore, the 35-year-old creator of the soda-can didgeridoo. Mr. Whittemore, who plays his instrument for passersby on the boardwalk at Ocean City, Md., is one of the growing number of non-Australians who have jumped on the didgeridoo bandwagon and spawned an industry of distinctly foreign adaptations of the instrument, such as Mr. Whittemore's Mountain Dew didgeridoo.

The reality-TV series "Survivor 2," which was set in Australia with a didgeridoo soundtrack, has also interested Americans in the odd instrument. The sound appeals to Deadheads and club-hopping kids alike, and thus is associated with a certain hippie sensibility. But the didgeridoo really took off after the Olympics in Sydney in 2000.

At L.A. Outback, a Laguna Beach, Calif., retailer that sells didgeridoos and other Australian goods, sales have doubled annually since 1998, the first year the store was open, to 4,000 last year. Ditto for the Didjeridoo Store in Anaheim. Online, eBay has hundreds of real and improvised didgeridoos for sale, and direct-from-Internet sales are estimated by Australian companies at tens of thousands a year.

Aborigines and didgeridoo purists say they are happy to see all the interest in the instrument and their culture. But they hate the fakes, many of them knockoffs produced in Australia for the tourist and overseas markets. Aborigines, including Mr. Peckham, who craft authentic didgeridoos can spend months on a single instrument, harvesting a termite-hollowed tree, removing the bark, cleaning and tuning it. They paint the didgeridoo with intricate, bright designs that vary by region and the instrument's ceremonial use.

But counterfeiters cut corners, need no termites and put out instruments that cost far less than the $300 to $600 the real ones sell for. Some hire backpackers to paint aboriginal designs on their didgeridoos for tourist shops, and in some cases they have moved production to Indonesia, where labor is cheaper. "There are a lot of white guys who make more 'garbage didjs' for the tourists," says Reid Dalland, a New Yorker who has four termite-hollowed didgeridoos.

Making matters worse are foreigners such as Mr. Whittemore who make the instrument not just out of soda cans but of polyvinyl chloride plumbing pipes, leather, glass, aluminum and hemp. You can buy one for $20. Fakes are sold both to tourists in Australia and via direct mail to Americans. Aboriginal didgeridoos can't compete in this market, says Mr. Peckham. "We don't like the way our culture has been bastardized," he says.

Three years ago, the Australian government started a program to label authentic aboriginal art, including didgeridoos. Aborigines must fill out a six-page application, prove that nonindigenous people play no role in manufacturing, and pay a $20 annual registration fee to get the authenticating red, black and yellow triangular labels to affix to their art.

Didgeridoos are central to aboriginal culture, going back to the people's creation myth, which has original man and woman conjuring animals and birds with the instrument. The name, bestowed by colonists, is meant to describe the instrument's sound. In the aboriginal tradition, the didgeridoo is used for dancing and sacred ceremonies, including funerals, initiations and healings. And since there's a shortage of trained players today in Australia, the good ones often fly from province to province to play at such gatherings.

Last month, American didgeridoo fans held their own second annual festival on the Maryland-Pennsylvania border. People flew in for that, too -- mainly from California and Colorado -- to buzz their lips into the hollow instruments, trading tips on how and how not to blow. It can take months just to get the breathing right. They camped out in tents on the hilly green property of their host, didgeridoo maker John Madill, and set up a makeshift shower from PVC pipe left over from Mr. Whittemore's didgeridoo-making.

Mr. Whittemore has never been to Australia, but he was intrigued when he saw the instruments on TV. The lung strength and lip stamina he developed during years of playing the tuba in his high-school band helped him master the long periods of circular breathing required to make the didgeridoo sing.

Nicknamed "Big Blow," he is revered by many American didgeridoo players. He coaxes frenetic, jazzy syncopation from the six-foot-long instrument, making sounds no aborigine would deign to make.

Mr. Whittemore creates didgeridoos from trash, such as the one made of disposable aluminum trays (think Chinese takeout food), coated with epoxy paste, and painted with disco-inspired colors. "Everything is a didj in waiting," says Mr. Whittemore.

Not everyone agrees. Listening to Mr. Whittemore play during the festival, Steve Petree, of Stillwater, Okla., turned up his nose. "I prefer wood," he said. A few people at the festival make a living performing and recording didgeridoo music, but most are hobbyists who say they drive their families and neighbors crazy as they try to perfect their drones. "You just can't stop," said Al Reis, an administrator at the Naval War College in Newport, R.I. "It's like a disease."

At the festival, there were workshops in didgeridoo-making, tongue technique, yoga and aboriginal basket-weaving. And debates raged over whether beeswax or epoxy makes a better mouthpiece.

At a sunrise prayer service on the second day of the festival, Barry Higgins, also known as White Crow, recited a Native American-inspired prayer as 10 bleary-eyed people sat in folding chairs around a smoldering campfire. The low sounds of the didgeridoo mingled with the chirping of birds, and despite all the synthetic camping equipment and the occasional plastic instrument, it didn't seem so far from the aboriginal tradition of oneness with nature.

But it is blasphemy to Phillip Hall, who lives in Sydney, Australia, and runs the labeling program of the National Indigenous Arts Advocacy Association that certifies authentic art, including didgeridoos. A creator of aboriginal paintings on crocodile and kangaroo skin, he is a member of the Euahlayi-Gumaliaroi nation of aborigines.

He doesn't approve of foreigners' adaptations of the didgeridoo: "It is just like if we went to your country and moved the stars and stripes around on the flag. This instrument belongs to our culture. It is a sacred object."

Here is Tim Whittemore's Response

Dear Editor,

I would like to thank you for your recent article on the Australian Aboriginal instrument the didjiridu. I find it necessary however to clarify a few issues, and correct a number of inaccuracies. Given that I was sorely misrepresented through multiple mis-quotes and flat-out fabrication, I’ll begin by correcting the fictional infomation printed about myself.

I was described as having “...jumped on the didgeridoo bandwagon and spawned an industry of ... adaptations of the instrument...” Here we have 2 fabrications in just one sentence. I’ve been playing didjiridu formally for over a decade, and playing around with it for another 5 years or so before that. I would hardly call that jumping on the bandwagon. More importantly is the extremely erroneous statement that I am one of a number who “spawned an industry of ... adaptations of the instrument...” My unusual material didjiridus take a lot of time and cost to create, and in the past decade, I have sold 3 such horns. This is worlds apart from spawning an industry.

The article continues to view me as an embodiment of the ills in the didjiridu market today by stating: “...Mr. Whittemore who make[s] the instrument not just out of soda cans but of polyvinyl chloride plumbing pipes, leather, glass, aluminum and hemp. You can buy one for $20...”. There are so many falsities here that I can’t help but wonder if Miss Abboud accidentally jumbled her notes. What is true - I use soda cans, PVC piping and aluminum. What is false - that I use hemp, leather or glass, or that any of my horns can be purchased for $20. Given that I was never asked about my production costs, prices, or quantities made or sold, you can see then why I am perplexed at how the article can possibly make such a statement.

The soda cans and aluminum didjiridus I make require lots of epoxies and fiberglass to hold them together. The cost for these materials (purchased wholesale direct) is between $90 to $140 per instrument. The average construction time is about thirty-some hours. When someone is interested in one, the sale price ranges from $275-375. It doesn’t take a genius to do the math and realize that at best I average around the minimum wage for a return on my investment. Subtract the cost of materials (not to mention the time) for the half dozen or so instruments I made that could best be described as “experiments gone awry”, and even Arthur Anderson couldn’t hide the fact that my didj making operates at a loss.

Now consider the PVC pipe didjiridus I make. First, by telescoping the piping together in increasing diameters, a quality low note didjiridu can be easily constructed and tuned for my own use in various musical applications. I also sell smaller PVC didjs as beginner instruments. I form a mouthpiece, add a few gentle curves and decorate them to make them more aesthetically appealing than plain straight PVC. This takes time, and requires investment in a few tools including a high quality gas mask for my health safety while working with the pipe. I cannot sell these for less than $40 to produce minimum wage returns on my time and cost involved. I sell only 1 or 2 of these a year, as most people simply take my advice in purchasing a 4 or 5 foot length of thin wall 1inch PVC pipe and a 1 inch PVC coupler for a mouthpiece. They learn the playing basics on this $2-3 worth of material, then search out a better instrument when their playing abilities warrant it. Again, this is hardly what I would call spawning an industry.

As far as my introduction to the instrument, I have no idea where Miss Abboud came up with the idea that I “..was intrigued when [I] saw the instruments on TV.” As I described to Miss Abboud when she asked me, I came to the instrument through experimentations on my tuba. Nearly every instrument is capable of not just established tonal aesthetics, but of a multitude of sonic possibilities. It is only through experimentation that some of these hidden tonal potentials may be discovered and potentially refined into a new aesthetic. I was experimenting with such alternate tonal possibilities on my tuba in my late high school/ early college days. Most successful were the thunder imitations. Human beat-box and whale song imitations were of only a moderately humorous result, and far less successful was the nasal tone that could best be described as a poor tuba sound. Though at the time I explored this sound no further, it was my first “near-didj” experience. Not long after that, I saw an Army brass quintet concert, where the tuba player demonstrated a didjiridu for all of about 20 seconds. Shortly after that, I heard the avante-jazz album by Lester Bowie titled “I Only Have Eyes For You”. This recording features Steve Turre playing his trombone in didjridu style with great success. I was hooked.

I apologize for the autobiographical tangent here, but there is a reason for it. After asking me how I got into the didjiridu, and getting that answer, how is it possible to report that I became intrigued about the instrument when seeing it on TV? Jumbled notes? I don’t know. The point is that it is yet one more blatant inaccuracy contained in this article.

Here is yet another statement that can only be either erroneous or used out-of-context. To quote the article: “Listening to Mr. Whittemore play during the festival, Steve Petree, of Stillwater, Okla., turned up his nose. ‘Iprefer wood,’ he said.” Since I only played wood instruments at this gathering, such a statement makes no sense. Maybe there is a sentence missing from my copy of the article.

These are all points that I know are false. If there can be that much wrong information in this article just about me, then I have to wonder how much other information in the article can I count on to be truthful and not be used out of context?

The concentration of the article really centers around 2 issues. First, the issue of tradition and didj purism, where it is desired to keep the instrument’s use firmly embedded in its cultural roots. Secondly, the issue of market exploitation in order to make a quick buck.

As far as market exploitation is concerned, there are plenty of didjs that can be purchased for $20-30, most notably those made in Indonesia with pseudo-Aboriginal style designs and carvings on them. These instruments are available across the USA in small new-age and import shops, and are rarely marketed with any information beyond being an Australian instrument. They are quickly drilled out by machine, with no care being given to their playability. At best, these instruments produce a mediocre sound, at worst, they have cracks, and can produce no sound at all. As soon as the sticks are hollowed, they are intricately hand-decorated with art that obviously took a great deal of time to produce. Considering just the shipping costs and retail markup, it’s clear that the artists cannot be making more than a few cents for many hours of work.

Concerning traditional use, keeping the Yirdaki (original Indigenous name for didjiridu) completely “pure” would first mean eliminating use of the name “didjiridu”, as the European settlers coined this onemonapaeic name for the instrument. To be truly pure, use of the word “didjiridu” would only occur when trying to explain to someone what a “Yirdaki” is. Next, to be completely pure you would have to limit the Yirdaki’s use to the Northern Territory of Australia where it originated, as it wasn’t until relatively recently that its use spread throughout all of Australia. Such complete purity would not only require that no alternate material instruments be built, but that no didjiridus be bought or sold. The Yirdaki is an integral part of the Aboriginal culture that created it. As the article points out, for some, this interwoven bond is so strong, that any non-Indigenous use of the Yirdaki or any foreign adaptation of the instrument is considered blasphemous and insulting. For those people who feel this way, I respectfully acknowledge your views.

There are also other views that accept contemporary usage of the didjiridu while still honoring the traditional role of theYirdaki in Aboriginal culture. There are Aboriginal bands that successfully combine rock and roll styles with traditional Aboriginal songs. Yothu Yindi is but one example.

It is contemporary usage of the didjiridu that has the greatest chance to bring awareness to first the instrument and then the Aboriginal culture, art and wisdom from which it came. The jam band Dr. Didg is exposing the instrument to countless thousands of Deadheads, Tracy Chapman used the instrument on her New Beginnings CD, and Yanni incorporated David Hudson’s playing into his music.

Though typically brief and subtle, didjiridu is increasingly used in commercials, where it is almost never seen. Sometimes this creates more confusion about the instrument and its heritage. The biggest misconception by passersby on the boardwalk where I play for tips, is that it is the same instrument in the old cough drop commercials. Though this misconception is severely diminishing, still not a night goes by without at least a half dozen cries of “Riiiiiccooollaaaaa”.

Though my didjiridu playing (and making) is definitively not traditional in any sense, I am still the first exposure to the instrument for countless thousands of people, be it through a concert with my band, or solo didjiridu performances on the boardwalk in OceanCity, MD. For the boardwalk, I have created a flip-page display mounted on a music stand whose first page reads ”Would you like to know about this instrument? Just turn the page.” Interested and curious passersby learn about the didjiridu as I continue playing. Those who read past the introduction of the ancient termite/Australian Aboriginal relationship, are often amused at the interactive nature of the presentation as I play while they read, and many are truely grateful for learning about the didjiridu. Some even become fascinated enough to learn to play, and then order a “real” instrument from Australia.

Beyond concerts and busking on the boardwalk, I sometimes do presentations for schools and other large groups of people. I pass out 100 or more unadorned PVC didjs, and teach the basics of playing, after covering the origins of the instrument, and pointing out where the audience may have heard the sound of the didjiridu before. For every person exposed to the instrument, more potential interest is sparked not only in the didjiridu, but in the Aboriginal art and culture that created it.

On the subject of authenticity, this is a real problem. Even termite-hollowed Eucalyptus instruments from Australia are often harvested and completed by whitefellas. This is a real problem when such instruments are sold as authentic. If you are searching for an authentic instrument, insist on documentation, or purchase from a reputable Aboriginally owned and maintained site such as www.djalu.com

For non-Indigenous didjiridu makers, some insist on telling you right up front that the instruments they make are not authentic. Some don’t, and still others make instruments that are practically impossible to be mistaken for authentic Yirdakis, yet they’ll clarify it anyway. As for me, though my style is fairly unique and my homemade trash didjs are unmistakeable, it is never lost on me the inherent cultural recognition that any didjiridu produces and the debt of gratitude that is owed to Australian Aboriginal peoples. I do my best to pass on this acknowledgement as I introduce others to the instrument.

While the article focused on a “purist” viewpoint that is shared by some, it did so with a spirit of sensationalism created through a patchwork of misinformation and fabrication. I love experimenting with the instrument’s musical possibilities, and with creating my own unique didjiridus. In this article, however, my uniqueness became an easy target for scapegoating unethical practices that go on today in the didjiridu market. An ironic misrepresentation on my behalf to be sure, yet not the reason that I felt compelled to respond. For a journalist to mis-represent a person by selectively omitting facts is one thing, but to create a certain image convenient for your article through multiple false statements is an abuse of the quintessential elements of the worst kind of journalism. It is shame for this pattern of falsification employed throughout the article that made me feel obligated to respond. I have no illusions about journalism being a perfect or ideal art, but invented facts are the playground for rags such as The National Inquirer, not papers such as the Wall Street Journal.

The article did however bring to light some of the opportunistic abuses that exist in the didjiridu market today- an issue seriously in need of more exposure. This purpose would have been better served however if the article had concentrated more on facts, and less on trying to paint a picture of cultural theft and abuse in all non-Indigenous use of the instrument. As we’ve made clear, there are those who feel this way. There also are plenty who do not.

There were so many people at the gathering who could have helped you in obtaining more than enough facts, so that you would have no need to fabricate your own. A few even have friendships, business dealings, instruction, and occassional extended visits with some of the most notable Aboriginal Yirdaki players and makers. You were amidst a wealth of knowledge and contacts who would have gone out of their way to help, if only you had asked.

Lastly, a glaring grammar mistake consistently appeared throughout the article. Aborigine requires capitalization, not just when appearing as the first word in a sentence. Aboriginal people deserve no less respect than Americans, Deadheads, or other Australians who all did receive capitalization in your article.

Despite the need for all these corrections, I again thank you for your article on the didjiridu.

Here is John Madill's Response

Leila,

Thanks for taking the time to join us at our Didjeridu Solstice Gathering and for writing the article that appeared in the Wall Street Journal. Although I feel somewhat betrayed by the content of your article, the good news is that it will draw more attention towards the plight of the Australian Aboriginals.

I really wish that you had been clear to us on the direction that you wanted your article to take. There were many of us here that would have helped you immensely to create a more accurate and factual representation of the issues involved. I can assure you that everyone that was here is aware of, and sympathetic to the issues regarding the didjeridu trade.

To start with, what is a fake? Is a Fender Stratocaster a fake Gibson Les Paul? I submit that they are both derivatives of a guitar, and neither are fake. A fake, in this instance, would be an instrument that resembles a specific item that is INTENDED to be recognized as an original. It is my goal, as an instrument maker, to create something unique that is a derivative of the original, yet doesn't try to take anything away from the original. My instruments are inspired by, and pay homage to the Aboriginal people of Australia and their Yirdaki, but are not intended as a replacement. Neither Tim's or my instruments are represented as traditional instruments.

Furthermore, there are many articles in the Wall Street Journal on a daily basis that applaud the creativity of companies and people that make that "better mousetrap" without once calling their creations "fake."

The biggest problem is not with makers of instruments like Tim Whittemore or me, but instead the largest source seems to be Australia itself ... including both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal makers. The Australian didjeridu "industry" seems to encourage the production and sales of decorated firewood that are passed off as musical instruments. Not only that, the mass harvesting of immature eucalyptus trees for use in the manufacture of these instruments to meet the demand of people all over the world is damaging to the environment.

As an aside, Tim's first attempt to acquire an authentic instrument netted him an unplayable decorated log that almost discouraged him from ever learning the instrument. He does own authentic instruments, and does enjoy playing them, but his income level has dictated that he learn to create his own, as he can't afford to purchase the instruments that he needs. The few sales (maybe 2) that he has made over his years of making instruments came from listeners that made direct requests for his personal instruments. I doubt this constitutes any real threat to the Aboriginal people.

Not only are white Australians partly responsible for the production of "fake" instruments, but also Aboriginals to whom the didjeridu is not a traditional instrument. In addition, unscrupulous Australian capitalists are taking the majority of the profits from the true artisans and craftsmen, and in some cases are paying for the Aboriginal labor with beer and other alcoholic beverages, further feeding the rampant alcoholism that seems hereditary amongst Australia's native people.

It is also not uncommon for non-Aboriginals to be hired to make the tourist instruments, and Aboriginals to be hired to decorate them. Are these instruments then to be classified as "authentic?"

The second largest source of "fake" didjeridu come from Indonesia. These instruments are created specifically to look and feel like Aboriginal instruments and are often sold through spritual or new age centers. Not very spiritual to me ...

There is good news ... great traditional didjeridus do come from Australia from makers like Djalu' Gurruwiwwi. During my recent stay with Djalu' and his community, we were personally taught how to make and play instruments in a traditional manner. Not only that, we were encouraged to take what we were taught and share it with others.

You see, to Aboriginal elders like Djalu', the yirdaki (traditional name for the didjeridu) is more than a commodity that is manufactured and sold. It is a messenger that brings attention to it's traditional owners who deserve to be looked at and listened to.

White Australia's early treatment of the Aboriginal people amounted to nothing more than genocide. Things change, but for every person exposed to the didjeridu there is a spark that is created that draws attention to these people and their plight. It also focuses attention on their traditional spirituality and respect for the land and all of it's inhabitants.

Please also keep in mind that many people can not afford a traditional instrument as their first, and often opt for an inexpensive derivative as a starter didj. This is true in Australia as well. During our stay, many of the Aboriginal kids were seen and heard learning to play on pieces of PVC pipe, and we were told that once they learned how to play, they'd get a eucalyptus yirdaki.

After that first exposure to the didjeridu, whether the instrument be synthetic, traditional, or a hybrid, both listeners and performers are launched on an expedition to learn about Australia's First People.

So, in closing, thank you for exposing a new group of people to the didjeridu and it's traditional owners. I suspect that during this process your exposure to the instrument has sent you down a surprising path as well. I can only hope that we can clear up many of the misunderstandings.