From an Irish drum to a Thai flute, these instruments hit the right note of tradition

Aficionados are keeping musical heritage alive by sharing their sounds with curious travellers in Bangkok, Barcelona and beyond

It takes up to 10 days to carve and engrave a traditional khlui flute. Ronan O'Connell for The National

In an era when electronic tools dominate popular music, ancient instruments are being kept alive by small but passionate groups of performers.

One way that these musicians are safeguarding instruments such as the Vietnamese dan tranh, Ireland's bodhran, the khlui flute of Thailand and the Spanish guitar, is by passing on their knowledge to tourists.

Here are four unique instruments you can learn in different corners of the world.

The bodhran

My wife is nailing the rhythm but, try as I might, I just can’t find it. Eamonn Galldubh is instructing me, correcting me, encouraging me, but it’s all in vain because, for me at least, playing the Irish bodhran drum is proving to be a challenge.

A round, handheld drum that almost makes its user look like they’re wielding a shield, the bodhran is so old that there are varying opinions as to when it was invented. There is written proof of its use as a battle drum as far back as the 1600s.

Those early bodhrans are not believed to have been much different to those still commonly used in Ireland’s Gaelic music. Bodhrans typically measure between 25cm and 80cm in diameter. One side is hollow, providing space for the musician to hold the instrument and also alter the tone of its sound by pressing against the goat skin stretched tightly across the other side.

I was probably overconfident when my wife and I began our 90-minute Irish Music Tasters lesson at Waltons New School of Music in Dublin. Perhaps it was because I’m Irish, and foolishly assumed bodhran tunes would come naturally. Or perhaps it’s because the bodhran is a flat surface you hit with a stick. Pretty simple, in theory.

Yet I just could not maintain a pleasing rhythm. Instead, I conjured up a disjointed racket which, come to think of it, probably would have been pretty intimidating in battle.

The khlui flute

Nittaya Ruchiamsin’s slender fingers move nimbly, whether helping her wield a blade, operate a drill or play a wooden khlui flute. The 61-year-old Thai woman handicrafts these musical instruments in her Bangkok home, one of several traditional flute makers in Bang Sai Kai, a historic artisan community 1km south of Bangkok’s famed tourist attraction, the glimmering Wat Arun temple.

While Bang Sai Kai is not well known among foreigners, it’s been a hub of flute production for almost 250 years. That's when this village was first formed by families migrating from Laos, at a time when Bangkok was flourishing and about to become the Thai capital.

A fifth-generation flute maker, Ruchiamsin still uses many of the same techniques introduced to Bangkok by those Lao artisans. She spends up to 10 days carving and engraving a bamboo khlui flute, which then sells for between Dh180 and Dh2,200. This is no ordinary bamboo, either. The wood is gathered from a mountain mythically adorned by Buddha’s footprint in Saraburi Province, 100km north-east of Bangkok.

Ruchiamsin tells me that she and the other flute makers in her community welcome tourists into their homes to watch them work or learn the basics of playing the khlui flute. She played several traditional Thai songs for me while explaining, via an interpreter, the need to move your fingers smoothly when covering or exposing the flute’s tone holes.

My own long, thick fingers make it very hard for me to match her dexterous movements. But the experience of listening to Ruchiamsin play and witnessing her skilled craftsmanship, make it well worth a visit to this little-visited community.

The dan tranh

If I couldn’t play a drum, then I had no hope of mastering a 19-string musical instrument. That was the pessimistic thought that clouded my mind as I got my first look at the dan tranh, one of the oldest instruments in Vietnam.

It was being expertly played in a Hanoi home by veteran musician Nguyen Hang, the Vietnamese woman tasked with giving me a basic understanding of how to operate this large and complex instrument. About 1.1 metres in length, one end of the dan tranh rested on a table and the other on a small wooden stand that lifted the instrument just above the height of her lap.

She shows me how I should first pluck the strings with my right hand, then use my left hand to gently manipulate them. These notes reverberate through the instrument’s long wooden box, producing melodies so gentle and relaxing that they almost make me feel like having a nap.

The dan tranh, which has between 16 and 22 strings, depending on the model, is from the zither class of stringed instruments, which are also popular in Europe and the Middle East. It has entertained emperors, inspired generations of children and shaped Vietnamese music for more than 1,000 years. And the dan tranh remains popular, too, particularly as an accompaniment to a classical female vocalist, or as part of a Vietnamese orchestra. Try it for yourself, and you’ll appreciate the extraordinary skill possessed by these musicians.

The Spanish guitar

The energy and flamboyance of flamenco music have beguiled many a tourist to Spain. I was no different on my first trip to the European nation when I spent an evening enthralled by a show in its spiritual home of Andalusia, in the south of the country.

I was particularly impressed by the middle-aged man strumming up a storm on a Spanish guitar. It seemed like such a fun instrument that I vowed to one day give it a try. And that day eventually arrived. I visited Shine Music School, one of the top guitar academies in Barcelona, to pluck a Spanish guitar under the tutelage of veteran musician Strahinja Sajin.

The classical guitar was invented in southern Spain about 500 years ago and then, in the mid-1800s, the Spanish guitar emerged, which was lighter in construction and produced a livelier, more percussive sound. As Sajin watched on, I cradled one of these instruments.

Gripping its neck with my left hand, I began gently strumming with my right index finger. Within half an hour I was producing a rhythm, of sorts. Sajin smiled, tilted his head and told me I had made a “good attempt” at learning Spain’s favourite instrument.