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I remember the first time I heard a steel tongue drum. The teacher of a restorative class I once attended had set up several sound instruments by her mat. When it was time for Savasana, she serenaded us with her one-woman show, playing notes that varied in pitch, tone, and depth.
The music had texture. And it told a story. One instrument sounded like a thousand tiny pebbles dancing down a hillside. Another sounded like the wind chimes my mom keeps in her backyard but with a resonance that consumed my entire body. And, during the final minute or so, the teacher played a third instrument that possessed the most distinct notes of all.
She proceeded at a slow tempo with that last one. Each note, once created, had a lifespan that lasted at least until another note was born, creating harmonies that overlapped. “If déjà vu made a sound, it would be this,” I thought. It was mysterious and familiar. Her playing inspired me to sink more deeply into my inner world.
After class, I expressed my curiosity about which things made which sounds to my teacher. She gestured toward her mat and— as if she was Willy Wonka, the collection of instruments was her chocolate factory, and I was Charlie—said, “Play!”
The pebbly one she had used, I learned, was an ocean drum, the second a Koshi chime, and the third a steel tongue drum. I tested each of them, but I was most captivated by the drum. It required very little effort and yielded maximum magic. Mallets in hand, I felt like I had been transported back to kindergarten as I sat cross-legged and tapped away with no rhyme, reason, or understanding of how it worked.
“You can get these drums online,” my teacher said, likely noticing how enraptured I was by the experience—and possibly encouraging me to go home since the studio was about to close.
I knew then that I needed a steel tongue drum of my own.
Receiving My First Panda Drum
Eventually, reality set in. The cost of a steel tongue drum like the one my teacher used was *just* high enough that it wasn’t something I was going to purchase for myself on a whim. Although I came across a few less expensive options, Redditors who discuss the subject are adamant that you get what you pay for. (Apparently some cheaper drums are made with less-than-quality materials and produce a “tinny” sound.)
I had all but given up on my steel tongue drum dreams when, a couple years later, I received a generous Christmas gift from my brother and his girlfriend—a Panda Drum Plus. The brand is well known among yoga teachers and beginner steel drum players. Panda Drum offers several styles; the Plus model is eleven inches in diameter and stands about six inches high on small rubber feet.
It comes in nine different colors, from metallic shades to hot pink. Along with the Panda drum comes two bamboo mallets, a carrying case, and a beginner’s song book. (The set is on sale right now for $140—they’re usually $270.)
Playing the Panda Drum at Home
I tap one or two bamboo mallets against the parts of the drum labeled with numbers, which correspond to specific notes, in no particular order. The sound is full and deep and I can count to ten before it smoothly fades. When I need to distract myself from the stress of the day or unwind at night, playing my own melody on the Panda Drum and sometimes humming along allows me to turn inward and feel a little more present.
Online reviewers call the sound of the Panda Drum “mesmerizing.” And many have reported that playing the instrument helps them focus their attention and feel more relaxed. The Panda Drum doesn’t irritate my tinnitus, as have other steel tongue drums I’ve experienced. I am very intentional about striking it very lightly, though, especially since I’m playing it only for myself and not a room full of people. (As when playing any instrument, avoid exceeding recommended sound levels, which can trigger uncomfortable sensations or emotions.)
Some allow their children to play it as a concentration-booster or creative outlet.
I used to assume that owning a steel tongue drum would transform me into the most grounded, centered, and spiritual version of myself. Surely I’d play it every night before my hour-long meditation sessions. Certainly I’d become so skilled a musician that the melodies I’d create would allow me to just float off the floor as an outward display of my transcendent inner state.
Well, that’s not exactly what happened. But I still enjoy my Panda Drum.
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