Drum maker Phillip Supersad beats a global rhythm

October 16, 2025
These drums aren’t just instruments, they’re passports to the world.
These drums aren’t just instruments, they’re passports to the world.
The sound of Jamaica from the hands of Phillip Supersad.
The sound of Jamaica from the hands of Phillip Supersad.
With the Kete Repeater drum in hand, Phillip Supersad showcased his skill and spoke about the drumming culture.
With the Kete Repeater drum in hand, Phillip Supersad showcased his skill and spoke about the drumming culture.
Phillip Supersad showcases his craftsmanship as he builds a drum on Johns Lane in Kingston.
Phillip Supersad showcases his craftsmanship as he builds a drum on Johns Lane in Kingston.
Hand-carved, heart-made, and totally unbeatable.
Hand-carved, heart-made, and totally unbeatable.
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Phillip Supersad, 68, has been beating drums since he was 14, but over the past two decades, he has carved out a unique niche as a maker of authentic Jamaican drums that now find their way into the hands of musicians around the world.

When THE STAR visited his Johns Lane, Kingston workshop recently, Supersad was in deep concentration, carefully tightening the skin on a hand-carved drum. Around him, half-finished instruments leaned against the walls, waiting to be shipped abroad.

"Right now, mi just a put di final touches pon some drums that people abroad have requested," he said. "Drumming, like ceramics, take mi all over di world, and now di drums dem a travel too," he quipped.

Supersad's passion for drums began in high school, sparked by a classmate who brought a drum to class.

"When I was in high school there was a place out by Ferry called Jamaica Cast and Drums, where my schoolmate go buy a drum and bring it come school and start play it. Mi couldn't believe di magic weh a come offa him finger dem. One day him just push di drum inna mi hand and say, 'Play this,' and dat is where it develop," Supersad recalled.

That moment ignited a love that would later merge with his artistic journey. He went on to study ceramics at the Jamaica School of Art, but drumming never left him.

"Mi woulda go school inna di morning and chant binghi drum from morning till night," he laughed.

"When everybody gone, dat's when we work. Di principal come one day and say, 'All unno do a play drum,' but when him see wi work done, him couldn't believe it."

Supersad and some classmates even formed a group called Cultural Training Centre, blending visual arts and the rhythms of the drum.

"Di drumming actually inspire di ceramic work, because both a dem have rhythm, form, and movement."

Ironically, Supersad didn't start making drums until years later. After leaving art school, he avoided drums for 15 years, focusing on other work, including a consultancy in Grenada with the Organisation of American States.

"Mi end up link wid di Grenada National Dance Theatre Company and start play again. Den in Italy, mi form a band, and we get so popular dat one day we miss a show and di people dem mob us outside di Pontificium, asking why we never play," Supersad recalled.

His shift from player to maker came through a moment of typical Jamaican frustration. He recalled paying a drum maker for a piece, but did not get it even after one year.

"Mi haffi go deh wid some choice words on my lips and a sharp machete before I got a drum, and it wasn't even the drum I asked him to make, it was somebody else's drum him give me," Supersad said.

That experience led him to experiment. He created his first clay drum inspired by the African udu, a large pot with holes producing different tones. Today, his workshop is a shrine to Jamaican craftsmanship, producing several types of drums, including the Zion drum, played under the armpit with sticks, and his version of the Kete drum, traditionally used in Nyahbinghi ceremonies.

"Normally dem made with steel, but mi version have strings like how Africa used to make dem," he said.

"Every drum have a name and a story. Even di Indians have dem own [called] di tabla. But mi want Jamaica have we own version of di djembe too. People might laugh and say, 'a likkle man inna him yard a try make drum,' but mi a do it fi make a Jamaican product."

Despite concerns that drumming is a dying art, Supersad is optimistic.

"People say drumming dead inna Jamaica, but mi tell dem say dem nah listen to wah gwaan a road. Musicians have been taking Kumina and Buru rhythms and putting dem in reggae from long time. Count Ossie do it, and dat's how Nyahbinghi come about."

He recalls playing at a kumina event where, even after the drummers stopped, the drums seemed to continue on their own. He also pays tribute to legendary percussionists like Bongo Herman: "You couldn't walk near him when him used to play; di man a King!"

Despite the challenges, Supersad mentors young people in the craft, even though many shy away from what he calls "dirty work". He is grateful to organisations such as the Institute of Jamaica and Jamaica Cultural Development Commission for supporting drumming through competitions and workshops.

"Reggae is entrenched in Jamaican culture and anywhere in the world you go Jamaica is associated with reggae. I would just love to see the younger generations carry on the legacy, and to do that we have to appreciate the instruments that create our music," Supersad said.

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