Amid the distant thuds of conflict and the tension that has marked everyday life in Ukraine for years now, something rare took place on a spring weekend in Kyiv: more than 200 drummers, their families, and teachers gathered not in protest or fear, but in celebration. DrumIsland Fest 2025, now in its third year, was not just a music event; it was a statement. Not political, but personal. That rhythm still matters. That community still matters. That life, even under strain, continues.
The venue, just across the Dnipro River, seemed made for the moment. A 500-seat theater pulsed with energy as young and veteran drummers took the stage in competitions that spanned everything from full drum kits to concert snare and mallet percussion. Some kids barely reached the pedals. Others carried the weight of experience in their sticks. Outside the auditorium, a separate area buzzed with vendors, informal jam sessions, and impromptu lessons between strangers.
Organized by Dmytro and Oksana Khoroshun, the DrumIsland fest had the hallmarks of a larger, international affair but retained the soul of a grassroots movement. With international guests like Christin Neddens from Germany and Alirio Torrealba from Venezuela on hand for clinics, and video shoutouts from legends like Evelyn Glennie and Walfredo Reyes Jr., the event felt bigger than its physical size.
And yet, it was the smaller moments that made it unforgettable. A girl no older than eight absolutely locked into a groove with the calm of a seasoned pro. A local teacher, Volodymyr Pihenko, brought dozens of his students by bus and later led open-air drum circles for anyone who wanted to join. There was no divide between “professional” and “amateur.” Everyone had something to offer, and everyone was heard.
One evening, after a long day of clinics and showcases, the hotel lobby filled with participants, teachers, and parents tapping rhythms on tabletops. Someone clapped a triplet. Someone else joined in. What started as a scattered beat turned into a groove. Nobody was performing. Nobody was filming. It just happened because rhythm, when shared, doesn’t need an audience.
Grand Prize winners like Isay Chornobryvets and Kyrylo Lushchenko, both under ten years old, didn’t just wow the judges; they reminded people why festivals like this matter. Isay came from Poltava, Kyrylo from Mariupol. Cities known for hardship, yet here, they were sources of joy, pride, and musical excellence.
By the end of the festival, there were plenty of trophies handed out, but the more lasting gift was intangible. A sense that music still builds bridges. That, despite everything, people still show up for one another. That somewhere in Kyiv, for three days in April, drums didn’t just keep time, they kept hope alive.
As DrumIsland grows and the country’s circumstances shift, there’s no doubt it will evolve. Bigger sponsors may come. International recognition will likely follow. But for those who were there this year, it may always be remembered as something more than a festival. It was a reminder that even when the world feels unsteady, the beat goes on.