DUMMERSTON — They were the No Nukes Band when they played their first gig at an anti-nuclear rally on the Common in Brattleboro in April 1989.
Twenty-five years later they're known as Simba, and the band not only survives, but also thrives, in having developed a deep connection with the communities of southeastern Vermont.
Simba celebrates its 25th anniversary at the Simba Silver Summer Solstice Dance Party Extravaganza on Saturday, June 21, at 8 p.m. at Evening Star Grange in Dummerston Center.
Known for stepping up to play practically any event that benefits communities along the Connecticut River, from Northampton, Mass., to White River Junction, the band is beloved and well attended at every venue.
This year the band's faithful “Simba dancers,” as founding member, drummer, and vocalist Johnny Yuma calls them, will be honored as the band trades the stage for the floor and showcases the dancers on the stage.
After all, he says, the dancers “come out and support us and make the party happen.”
For Yuma, solstice gigs are a perfect contrast to the band's activist events. Here, the band comes together “to celebrate the light,” either to hope for its return at the winter solstice, or else to celebrate the year's longest day at summer solstice.
The band for this year's show - Bob Stabach on sax and flute; Yuma on drums and vocals; Derrik Jordan on guitar, percussion, violin, and vocals; and Dan DeWalt on keyboard, steel drum, and trombone - are joined by Wim Auer on bass and Steve Sonntag on trumpet and percussion. Steve Lecach, another longtime member, will be away for this show.
And, for this event, as has been usual over the years, a special guest will join the band: this time master drummer William Rodriguez, formerly of Cuba, who will provide “even more firepower throughout the evening on congas and timbales,” Yuma promises.
Life lived in the moments
At an average age of 60, band members admit their collective memory is a bit sketchy. But Stabach, at 71, said he recalls the date of the anti-nuke rally in 1989. He's helped, as well, likely because he and his significant other got together the month before. They celebrate 25 years together this year.
No one else in the band was able to recall the exact date of the event, but all recalled vividly that it was a no-nukes rally on the Commons in Brattleboro.
Also lost to time, as far as the band can tell: at least one other musician appears in an old group photo, evidently a member of the No Nukes Band at the time but whose name no one can recall.
It is perhaps a privilege of age and experience that none of those interviewed was the least apologetic for any lapse in memory. Rather, as one of the area's longest running bands, it's perhaps a badge of experience and longevity.
Jordan recalls that when Simba started playing bars and developing a following, “we were known as the water and juice band.” He said the bar owners didn't particularly appreciate that, but “we had a lot of fans - a lot of hippies - and we were a dance band. We were very interested in making people dance.”
He adds that Simba's dance rhythms were primarily world beat, “way before it had a name.” That appealed to this crowd, and still does.
More than the sum of its parts
Stabach recalls those early years of playing together as similar to what were called “happenings” in the 1970s - a spontaneous coming-together of people that always included music, where dancers and musicians “blissed out” on grooves and rhythms that evoked community and connection between the band and dancers.
He describes as spectacular the past winter's solstice celebration party. “It was a happening from the very first note to the last note. It was just flowing out of us. It was just incredible.”
He describes Simba's audience synergy as integral: “We create the musical vibrations and the audience responds to those vibrations. It gets their bodies moving and the energy is reflected back to us.”
He adds, “There is an energy cycle there that is part of being in the zone when that happens.”
That's not to say every performance is as affecting. But when Simba brings it together, “our result isn't just having a good time; it's a special connection” with community, Stabach says. And it's a community that's enriched by a quarter-century of experience and love.
Voted in 1991 as “best in the region” by the now-defunct newspaper Leisure Weekly, Simba's popularity is rooted in the depth of talent and musical backgrounds each member brings to the stage. Members rarely see each another except when they perform. They rarely even rehearse as a group.
The band is filled with multi-instrumentalists. Its members bring to each performance a wealth of funk, reggae, Latin, world-beat, soca-calypso, ska, jazz, and blues.
There is a level of professional development, of maturity, and of experience that makes their sound popular. Yuma says the band's gig in the Twilight on the Green series in Putney a few weeks ago brought hundreds out.
“They were spilling over onto the streets,” he recalled.
'He had an epiphany...'
Stabach explains that when he was 10 he played clarinet, and at 12 switched to saxophone. Ah, but the spark: He says it was when he was 13, and sitting in with his dad's swing band, that he had an epiphany: “I knew I wanted to play music for the rest of my life.”
Indeed, Stabach has been a professional musician all his life, and says that when gigs were slow he turned to carpentry and housepainting to make ends meet.
The No Nukes Band evolved into Simba almost immediately. Stabach recalls that, starting with Simba, the band wanted to play dance music with a Latin jazz inflection that appealed to the alternative communities, what he calls “the local countercultural, left-thinking types of people.”
That remains essentially true today, with an aging and devoted “white-haired” fan base, he says.
On stretching the possibilities
DeWalt, who began his training as a classical musician in his early days, says that when he hooks up with a band that's good, with musicians better than he, it stretches the possibilities of what the band can do and what he can do - and that excites him.
He recalls that, in the beginning, “Johnny and Derrik knew stuff about world music I didn't know. And with Bob knowing jazz, why would [I] not [join the band]?”
What's remarkable, he says, is that Simba has never had a leader: “That's amazing. That might be the reason that it worked,” he explains, adding that it's extremely rare to find a band surrounded by such talent, leading to such a rich musical experience, and that withstands the test of time.
Simba has had many talents sit in over the years, including Eugene Uman, Samirah Evans, Draa Hobbs, Tony Hecht, and Molly Melloan.
Different lights of the world
DeWalt noted that it's important to balance the song of activism with pure celebration. There are things wrong in the world, and it's vital to call them out. But the band's solstice celebrations “are a celebration of light in a majorly affirming ceremony, and that comes not only through music,” but also with “this ceremony, with the drums, people dancing together, doing their thing.”
He adds, “It's very powerful. It's sort of a seasonal charge for [the dancers] and it gives them juice to launch into the next part of the year.”
DeWalt says that, to Simba, balance means it's “pretty important to send out affirmative message of love and peace.”
Yuma says he cannot remember how many summer and winter solstices the band has played to date, but he knows it was “almost every one.”
Evening Star Grange is but the latest venue, as he remembers playing solstice gigs at West Street Arts in West Dummerston and at the Shrine Club, which Yuma says was “a trip and huge room.”
“Between putting it out there, the way it's received and the dancers are reacting to it, it's a good feeling we all get,” Yuma says. “I've loved playing with these guys and this band all these years.
He explains further that playing for the community is a privilege: “When we play to our own community and look out, seeing familiar faces of family [and] of friends, it's a rewarding feeling that you actually serve a purpose in your community.”
He says he always thanks the crowd for coming out: “When people come up and thank us for playing, Derrik and I look at each other and say, 'This is why we do this.'”
As far as the solstice gigs go, Simba will only stop if dancers stop coming. “We'll keep doing solstice even when we're getting a little long in the tooth,” Yuma says with a smile.