Wrapping Up: ...and this one's for you.

And here we are!  No bells, no whistles, just one last post.

Two posts ago, I focused on this blog.  My last post focused on me.  And this one, dear reader, is about you...my audience, the taiko community, taiko fans, the whole lot of you!  I had too much I wanted to say and it didn't flow together well, so I decided to make a list of different things:

1.) The taiko community is a microcosm of the world around us.  There are people you like, there are people you disagree with, there are people who sacrifice a lot to make things happen, there are jerks, there are movers and shakers, there are those who just want to go with the flow, there are people who are here for the social aspects, there are people who are just here for the art.  We like to think taiko as this special, unique experience that brings everyone together and magically makes things better...but we're just another art form, among too many other forms to count.  The struggles outside of taiko don't go necessarily away within taiko, and I think that realization (or the refusal to accept that realization) causes a lot of frustration for many people.

But it's not to say that taiko isn't transformative for many of us, for both the players and the audience.  It's also not to say that it can't bring about change, empowerment, growth, and a whole host of good things with it.  What's more, by making positive change within our taiko community, we can make positive change in many communities - local, global, musical, artistic, political, what-have-you.  Being realistic about are art form might seem like a bummer at first, but better to see what a thing really is so you know what it can really do!

2.) There are celebrities in the taiko world, but celebrities - in any realm - are still people, with good traits and bad, strengths and flaws.  I've nothing against those who wear this title, but it's really really good to realize that there are people who don't put themselves out there that sometimes do (or have done) more than any of us might realize.  The people who have the loudest "voice", or are the most prominent, or the most featured may very well be great resources, but you owe it to yourself to look in other directions, look around the corners, and try to see what others are doing that you might not have noticed at first.

Having said that, learn from as many people as you can!  We have so many resources in the way of teachers right now, founders and "classics" and people that are more than willing to provide knowledge.  We're still at a point where we can actually meet these people in the flesh, so take advantage of this as much as possible!

3.) No style is better than any other style.  No one way is the "right" way of playing.  No ethnicity/gender/race/creed/orientation/religion/age/cheese preference/height/weight makes a person inherently better than any other player.  What's good for one group may not be at all what works for another.  It's really important to acknowledge your biases (we all have them), then understand why you like one group more than another, rather than state your opinion as a fact.

4.) The question of "what is taiko?" is only as important as you want it to be, but it's a question that will never be definitively answered.  What is taiko to you may very well not be taiko to the person next to you, and you're both right...and wrong.  It's a fun question to pose at times, to make you think and even re-consider your definitions, but it won't make someone enjoy a performance more or less, it won't determine whether or not a player is skilled or not, and it certainly won't make you a better player or not.

5.) Gratitude first and foremost.  Those without it tend to always be searching for something to make them happy, but those with it can easily find happiness even in the little things.  Sometimes the amount of gratitude I see in this community can be overwhelming, and I hope it continues even longer than I do.  Appreciation is sometimes harder to come by, as people and groups may do things that you don't quite agree with, don't quite understand, but you don't have to like something to appreciate that it was done - or for why it was done.  Many of us have privilege in our groups that we take for granted, that other groups only wish they could have.  The sooner you realize what those things are, the sooner you'll appreciate them.

6.) Authenticity is something the community doesn't address often, but it can be a huge issue on a personal level.  I hear and see both people and groups worrying about being "authentic" in playing taiko.  To me, if you are genuine about getting better, about learning, about sharing, about approaching the drum with nothing to prove, then you are being authentic to yourself.  If you're trying to practice what you've been taught to the best of your abilities, then you are being authentic to yourself.  If you are exploring in different ways than what's "normal" because it truly speaks to you and your artistic vision, then you are being authentic to yourself.  Mind you, you can be authentic and alienate people around you!  It's not always easy to be authentic when there's baggage or group dynamics or life getting in the way, but just because something doesn't come easy doesn't mean it's not worth working for.

7.) Regardless of whether or not you teach taiko, you are a taiko teacher.  People learn taiko from you even if you've never led a class or a workshop.  They're watching you on stage, they're listening to you after a show, they're learning about taiko from you at work, etc.  You represent all of us, every group out there.  No pressure.

But seriously, the things you say may very well have an impact on another player.  On the flip side, sometimes it's what you DON'T say that has the most impact.  We can all agree that the sound, the feel of taiko makes people feel something, but don't forget that we are just as much a part of what makes that sound as the drum is, and that we have the power to make an impact with our words and actions our actions off-stage just as much as striking the drum on it.

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And my final piece of advice?  Question everything.  If you don't know what questions to ask, look up that tag on my blog; I asked a lot of 'em.  If this blog is remembered for one thing, I hope it's for the idea that nothing should go un-examined, even when it's uncomfortable.  Ask yourself questions - ask your compatriots, students, teachers, founders - but don't always expect straight-forward or easy answers!  A good answer, in my humble opinion, often leads to more questions.  Always search for your own truth.

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Well, here we are, at the end of a pretty decent run.  I know that this blog wasn't a major force or a huge resource in the taiko world, but I didn't intend for it to be.  It was enough work as it was!  But I really enjoyed maintaining it and I really enjoyed that it helped people out as well.  If you go through my posts and see something you want to ask me about, I'm easily found; please do!

Now go out there and inspire someone.

image credit: http://www.best-speech-topics.com

Wrapping Up: This one's for me...

The penultimate post!  Such pressure.

Anyways, one of the reasons I started this blog so many years ago was for it to be an outlet for my thoughts and rants as well as a place to chronicle some of my adventures, performances, and tours.  So this post is going to be about me and how things have changed over the history of this blog.

I know some of my posts riled people up, and while I do enjoy fostering debate, this was really a bad forum for any sort of discussion.  Still, it gave me a chance to say things, propose ideas, challenge people - and I still plan to do that, even if in a limited capacity on things like the Taiko Community on Facebook.

I found that I wound up with new insights and perspectives in writing a lot of my posts.  The whole Question Everything series made me less judgemental in my opinions as I tried to just pose questions and come down on one side or the other.

The biggest benefit from my blog, personally, was in practicing what I preached.  I felt obligated to walk the walk I was laying down.  Trying harder, pushing myself, expecting more from myself, being a better student, being a better teacher, all of it.  Not saying I ascended to a higher plane or anything - I'm only human!  But I found that I would take the more rewarding option, even when it was harder in the short run.

A good example of this was last week we were about to do a round of Roy Drills, 30-40 minutes of one ji on naname going from slow to fast to slow to fast and then switching to the next ji.  I contemplated grabbing the bachi I have that are about an inch shorter, to make it easier on me, but then I considered all the stuff I've said in the past about challenging oneself, to not go the easy route.  I wound up using the longer pair and dealing with the difficulty.

I always loved hearing from people that enjoyed the blog, from those who found a drill really helpful to those who never considered a different perspective, from those who just liked having something to read about taiko to those who supported me composing or practicing the asalato.

The end of this blog does not mean the end of my passion, the end of my playing, the end of pursuit of excellence.  I know I'm not a pioneer like those who started groups long ago, I don't have a unique style that people flock to me to learn, I'm not a prodigy, I don't have all the answers.  But I do have questions!

At the end of the day, I'm just a taiko player.  I play because it feels good to play.  I play because I learn more about myself every time I approach the drums.  I play because it's in my blood.  I play through the blisters, the sore feet, the broken bachi, because it's in my blood.

Stay tuned for the final post!

image credit: http://www.succeedinginsmallbusiness.com

Wrapping Up: The Blog

 
Going to talk about the blog a little bit, with two final posts to follow.

I started this blog on February 26th, 2009.  That's 8 years and 7 months ago.  The idea at the time was just to be a brain dump for me, but also to hopefully be entertaining and at times provide advice and/or drills.  I had minimal experience with blogging, never really took the time to make this blog more attractive to get more traffic (sorry!), and most posts were written in less than a week's advance time.

Many times I would stare at the screen hoping for something to inspire a topic, sometimes for longer periods of time than others.  When inspiration hit at random times, I wrote notes down to go to for when those creative droughts hit.  Sometimes I felt I had some really interesting things to talk about, other times I would finish a  "post" and feel very unsatisfied with it.  It was almost like being a writer, because I was, well...writing.

I never wanted fame from this, but I did like hearing when people found my posts useful, and I even liked the few times people would argue with me, because it made me think and led to further discussion.  Unfortunately, a blog isn't a good place to have conversations, so comments were few and far between.

I know I started repeating myself, intentionally when I came up with a new angle or deeper understanding, but as I reviewed my posts, unintentionally many times as well.  After posting twice a week for many years, I'm not surprised that happened, and it's another good reason to come to an end.  I'm sure I'll have more to say, more questions to ask, but it won't be through here.

A few random statistics for you to munch on:

- There were 875 published posts at the time of this post, plus 30 drafts that were either not fully-fleshed out or just didn't sound right.

- In the last year, the U.S. gave me 59% of my viewership, followed by 10% from the U.K., 5% from Russia, and 4% each from Canada and Germany.

- Last month I had 1,126 page views.

- My most popular post of all time was "The Tall Whisper" back in Dec. 2010, but I think some of this was due to people searching for pictures like the one I posted.  The two most popular posts in the last 12 months were my Question Everything posts on kiai and bachi.  (Links on the previous post.)

- 467 people viewed my Glossary, which was "in progress" pretty much always, ha.

- Most people found the blog from Google or directly, but very few from Facebook, which is surprising.  But I didn't link many of my posts on Facebook, certainly nowhere near 875 of them.

- The average time spent on my blog was 1m24s.  About enough time to read a single post, I would guess.  Like this one.  Which you are doing now.  :)

image credit: https://janefriedman.com

Wrapping up: My favorite posts

I've written 902 entries as of this one.  903!  That's a lot of stuff to wade through, much of which is just me saying I played here, did this thing there, and lots of rambling...

But sometimes a post of mine really expresses what I'm thinking, and/or causes me to think more.  Sometimes a post still has impact to people years after I've written it.  Sometimes a post reflects an ideal or philosophy I continue to try and meet.  So here's what I was able to pull, that speak to what this blog was all about.  I truly hope that within the links below, there's something that resonates, that inspires, that helps someone reading it.

Opinions
What the @%#&! is taiko?
Identity, self, me, art!
Taiko don't care
Terminology
Superstars
Extracting meaning
Who plays better taiko?
Too late.
Japanesque
Perspective
History
Traditional?
The art of the struggle
Cultural Appropriation
Excuses, revisited
Video: Madonna and taiko
Is this taiko? Vol. 01
Taiko in an age of instant gratification

Thanks 

The issues around you

Drills
Hand independence
Drill: 23468 
Drill: My Favorite Drill
Video: Konnakol (just a little bit)



Question Everything/Questions
Question Everything: Bachi
Question Everything: Ego
Question Everything: Kuchishoga
Question Everything: Ki
Question Everything: Training in Japan
Question Everything: Shatter the illusions
Question Everything: Are you any good?
Who sculpts you?


Advice
Failure *is* an option
Do simple things well
Ack! (stage fright)
Limitations aren't fixed
Soloing, part 3: Musicality
Soloing, part 5-2: Rhythms on multiple drums
Soloing, part 9-2: Endings
The Tall Whisperer
Excuses
Snap!
Loop of progression
Mouthful of sprinkles
Standards and comments
Perception of Quality
Being creative
On testing (and failing)
Respect
Suck or fail?

Just because it's easy...

Out of the box
Taiko Elevator
Working on Rhythm
Soloing for the song (feat. Ringo Starr...kind of) part 1


Miscellaneous
Pulling back the curtain: What's touring like?
12 weeks, 12 songs: Epilogue
Competitions - The findings

Big post in progress, come back on Monday!

The post I'm working on is actually taking a while.  So yeah, come back Monday.  It's not the last post, but it's taking a lot more work than most!

NATC 2017, ruminations

Okay, I promise this is the last post about NATC.  But now that I've dissected what I enjoyed and why, I wanted to put some thoughts and questions out there...

1.) All those taiko groups that aren't on social media.

We heard that about 50% of the groups in North America aren't on social media.  So that means they're not seeing the threads on Facebook, seeing what's out there, sharing what they're doing.  I wonder why not?  And then I wonder if it matters?  Would it be more trouble than it's worth?  Would it really enhance their experience?  Food for thought.

2.) What/who is the "future of taiko"?

At Taiko Jam, On Ensemble was referred to as "the future of taiko".  But are they?  Nothing bad to say about OE, but when I see what the "taiko landscape" looks like since they started, I see a lot of the same stuff out there.  And that's not a critique either!  Just an observation.

I definitely see their influence out there, as people and groups both try to emulate what they see in OE as well as being more open to different approaches and musical sensibilities.  But there's still an overwhelmingly large number of community groups and those numbers seem to be growing just as much as ever.  Maybe the actual numbers would tell a different story, but I don't see the future of taiko being much different for quite a while.  That's not a good nor bad thing, just...a thing.  Am I wrong?  Tell me otherwise!

3.) Where can NATC go from here?

I heard there were about 700 people at NATC 2017.  That included workshop leaders, performers, participants, volunteers, people at the marketplace, observers, etc.  That's a lot of people.  But it's really not been able to get bigger than that (Stanford was the largest so far but I forget the number).

It's hard to find facilities that can provide all the things we need for all the workshops and performances, while also provide housing and food and still be affordable.  And it's hard to find volunteers since there are a LOT needed already, and a larger conference would just add to that number.  Anything outside of the major "taiko hubs" means finding people to help is really hard!

I know some people wish NATC was longer, but then it makes it harder on some people taking even more time off work - people including workshop leaders, facilitators, etc.  Possible, just difficult.

Half the attendees are new to NATC (first-timers), so that means the half left over (~250 this time?) are people who have come before.  If we're only seeing about ~250 people that have been before, after 10 conferences, does that mean people stop wanting to come/can't come, or do people stop playing taiko?  Or are we just not able to let those people sign up because we have to limit our size?

Granted, maybe we don't need a larger conference!  Maybe this is the ideal size and even with resources to make it possible, a larger one would just be too cumbersome.  I know TCA probably talks about this sort of thing, but I think it's a good topic to think and talk about as part of the community.

Anyways, that's it for NATC-related posts, I promise!  Not sure how many posts I've got left to go, but it's almost coming to an end!

(post-post) NATC 2017!

Ok, I'm mostly recovered, so I can talk about my experiences at NATC 2017.

First off, it was a great conference.  There will always be hiccups and behind-the-scenes chaos of some sort no matter what, but things ran pretty well!  It was my 9th NATC out of the 10 that have been held, and I really regret missing that first one...  I'm still processing a lot of what went on last weekend but I wanted to get things written down, for my own sake as well as for the blog's.  So here goes, in no particular order:

1.) The "Women in Taiko" STI was awesome.

I didn't go to the 3-day event before NATC, but I definitely felt the impact.  I've heard from some of the attendees and felt the residual energy throughout the Conference.  For a community with so many female players (about 66%) , there's an inverse number of male workshop leaders.  Why is that?  The idea of a woman on stage as kazari-mono (decoration) is very common, why is that?  How many women weren't able to become as famous as their male counterparts because they spent their time raising the kids?  How many women players that are good aren't taken as seriously because they're considered "cute"?  Lots of issues, lots of questions.

I'm hoping this topic can be expanded on and addressed within our community!  Really glad it happened.

2.) Going as a participant was invigorating.

I've been a Workshop Leader for several NATC, and went as an observer/assistant for the last two.  Being an Observer means I have freedom to go to different workshops, but it's not quite the same experience, I've come to realize.  Taking workshops and going through the motions of the lesson, trying new techniques or new approaches to technique, those had an impact on me.

I find myself inspired from the simple act of moving differently from how I've been moving for years now.  It opens doors and hints at new possibilities.  I don't want to leave my style behind, but instead see how much of my own style I can cultivate within the boundaries of the group's style.

3.) Longer conversations had impact.

There are a LOT of conversations to be had at NATC.  Most of the time they're about catching up with old friends, getting to meet new people, or quick chats about how a workshop went.

I got to talk for a long time with 4 different people in particular, people I've known for a while but have never really been able to get to know.  People who play, people who used to play, people who lead, people who teach, people who made things possible, people who still make things possible.

These conversations ranged from asking meta-questions to talking about the nuances of technique.  And these conversations, more than anything - more than participating, more than watching performances - have my head buzzing, gears turning.

4.) I don't get to "geek out" over taiko often enough.

I spent 20 minutes alone in the marketplace talking with a couple of well-known taiko players about sub-division drills and practice tips.  Before that, I spent time talking about different ways to clap and with which hand.  During walks across campus I had discussions about pedagogy and practice.  During meals I talked with friends about naname stands and relative heights.  I live for those kind of exchanges, even after 24 years of the art.

5.) No post-NATC blues.

I've seen/heard people get the "blues" after leaving NATC, because they're leaving this environment of so much learning, cooperation, support and connection.  For me, I pretty much use all my 'extrovert juice" for the year in those 4 days, and by the time I leave, I'm feeling a really good balance.

6.) I really hope to teach workshops again.

In one of my workshops, people were talking about a technique being really difficult that I've spent decades working on.  It made me want to teach workshops again (not that I haven't wanted to, but this stoked the flames again).

It's funny, after saying I loved being a participant, I also really miss teaching, too.  I'm thinking of offering things that haven't been addressed much in the past, things I spend a lot of time thinking about and working on.  With all the time I've spent analyzing workshop feedback, I like to think I could craft some really good workshops!  Time will tell.

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I needed NATC for it's ability to collectively kick-start my creative and inspirational juices.  A lack of sleep and sore calves from all the walking around campus is a small price to pay.  And even though I said this on Facebook, a big thank you to everyone who made NATC happen this year, as well as to everyone who's made it happen from years past.  It was great to talk to people who've read my blog and hear how it's been helpful, and so I hope I can continue providing that even if on a smaller scale through teaching and sharing my thoughts on the Facebook Taiko Community as topics come up.

Looking forward to NATC 2019!  Yikes!  :D

(post) NATC 2017

So it's the day after conference, but I'm writing this far in advance because I *know* I'll be in no shape to write anything.  I probably had a lot of fun and embarrassed myself a couple of times doing wacky things.  Probably!

I'll see y'all on Thursday!

(pre) NATC 2017

Woo!  Heading out this morning to San Diego for the long-awaited North American Taiko Conference.

I'm feeling calm about it, but looking forward to seeing old friends and making new ones, challenging assumptions and learning different approaches.  I'm planning on not getting enough sleep and walking many many miles back and forth across campus, because that's the norm, haha.

If my blog has helped any of you, made you think twice about something you never thought much about before, or just been entertaining over the years, I'd love hearing it if you find me this weekend!  I'm guessing I've got about a month left for this thing before I put it to rest.

So enjoy yourself if you're going this weekend, and if not, I hope you can make the next one!

Wrapping Up: Fear vs. Failure

These two things are topics I came back to again and again in the course of my posts.

Which is worse?  Is the fear that prevents you from trying something worse than actually failing at it?  Is failing at something you've been practicing for a while worse than messing up because you're so worried about it?

To me, fear is far more crippling than failure is.  You can and will fail as you progress, screw up on the road to getting better.  But you can learn from failure!  It might very well suck at the time, but a year later the sting is gone and you've probably taken steps to make sure that failure never happens again.  But fear?

Fear will keep you from trying.  And not trying means not doing, which means you can't get better at something.  Fear will spiral around in your head and wind up convincing you that something with a small risk could end up with the worst humiliation ever.  Fear can actually affect your technique and make you more likely to fail!

You might make a failure a bigger deal than it is, but ultimately it's something that actually happened.  Fear is a product of the mind that can be expanded to ridiculous levels with no basis in reality.  You know why kids learn so quickly?  One reason is that they have no fear, no baggage about "what if..." and "but I might..."  They just do.  And if they mess up, they mess up.  It doesn't have the impact we as adults give it.  We can learn from that.

Would you rather be someone who only plays a limited amount of things because they're worried about looking like a failure in front of others?  Or someone who's open to trying new things, often messing up, but getting better with every attempt?  Which of the two types is going to wind up better off in the long run, with more experience to draw from, more practiced skills?

That's not to say that failure is minor.  While I recommend brushing off mistakes and errors during the performance, I strongly recommend taking them seriously after the show.  If you don't address the things that went wrong that were within your control, you're not going to get better and you're limiting the potential of the ensemble.  But failure is rarely literally failure in these situations.  Your bachi aren't going to explode into 50 pieces and blind someone.  You're not going to hit the drum so hard that it rolls into the audience and crushes someone.  You can't screw up a song so badly that the composer catches on fire!  Mostly likely, you get off tempo or play the wrong section.  That sucks, but is it really "failure"?

Failure can and will happen, but once it does, the song continues.  You move on.  Fear can and may happen, but it won't go away until you make it go away - either by forcing it out or doing the thing you were so worried about.  I would rather fail almost any day rather than fear the failing.

So what about you?  What do you fear in your art and how can you overcome it?  Where did you fail and how did you learn from it?  And has fear of something caused you to fail?

I'll end this post with a quote attributed to Bruce Lee.  "Don't fear failure. — Not failure, but low aim, is the crime. In great attempts it is glorious even to fail.”

image credit: https://holykaw.alltop.com

Wrapping Up: Improvisation

Not sure exactly when I'm ending the blog, maybe end of September?  As I get close to the last post, I decided I wanted to talk a bit about the things I think about a lot in a series called "Wrapping Up".

What a better topic to start with than improvisation?

Improv is quite the art.  I've written about it at length, as you'll find if you've read my posts.  To be good at improv, you have to first be good at the thing you're improvising in.  For taiko, this means musicality and technique, but also often movement and energy/expression, as well.  Some people are better at it than others; most of us will need to practice it to get good with it, let alone comfortable with it.

Want to be good at improv?  Work on risk management just as much as your musical ability.  Improv means not playing what you've always played and sometimes not playing what's the most comfortable for you.  This means you might not play something great.  Which means you might not play something good.  Which means you might fail.  But that's a risk you have to take, in order to improve the skills that can make your improv better.  Eventually, your skills grow, your comfort increases, and the risk diminishes.  What's more, even when you do encounter a "fail" moment, you're better able to handle it and move on, IF you've been practicing!

Another thing that you'll need to be a good improviser is being able to adapt to the situation.  Maybe you don't want to overshadow/out-do someone, maybe you need to match a mood, maybe you need to kick the energy up three notches, whatever.  Or maybe you're not the only person improvising, so you need to balance what you're doing with other people.  Sometimes these observations are easy to take in, happening over an entire song or set, but other times you need to react within a few measures before reacting yet again.

And the last component is having a large repertoire to pull from, in terms of patterns and movements.  If you're totally comfortable improvising but only have five patterns you can play, that's pretty limiting.  If you can only improvise to a slow dongo, you're pretty limited to what songs that'll be useful in.  If you can only improvise using large movements, what about songs that don't call for them or when in smaller venues?  The more things you can pull from your "kit", the more pieces and situations you'll be able to fit into when you improvise.  Where do you get more patterns?  Listen to more music.  I can't (and won't) stress this enough!

Good improv takes mental acuity and active practice.  While a set/scriped solo delivered spot-on can be super-rewarding, for me it's never matched the feeling of being "in the zone" and having things come out of my hands and really really nailing it.  I hope it's something you already practice, but if not, it's never too late!

Image credit: http://www.musicgraphicsgalore.net

Random truths

Over the years, I've written a lot, learned a lot, un-learned a lot, too.  Along the way I came across things that turned out to be truths, and some things that turned out to be "truths".  The former are rules that apply to all of us, any time.  The latter are things that are selective, only work in certain situations, etc.

Just wanted to share a few truths that helped me out over the years:

- Only you can make you better.  All the workshops, seminars, teachers, and playing time amounts to nothing if you aren't willing to be somewhat vulnerable, open-minded, and have a critical eye of yourself.

- Teaching is just as much an art as the art itself being taught.  The best players don't automatically make for the best teachers.  And some people can teach you a lot without being anywhere near as good as you are, if you're open to learning.

- Just because someone is good, doesn't mean they're right.  Don't let celebrity status determine who you follow.  Have your own thoughts, test out things for yourself before embracing them blindly.

- The person who struggled may be a better teacher than someone naturally gifted.  Someone really good at a skill without trying may not have felt the need to step back and break down the nuances of mechanics, while the person who struggled and tried really hard to improve might be aware of a wealth of details they had to learn to get better.

- More notes does not mean a better solo.  More notes means faster hands, but it doesn't mean musical hands, in-tempo hands, fitting-the-song hands, or varied hands.  Often, the best players are the ones who can say the most with the least amount of notes.

- If it's ensemble drumming, benefit the ensemble.  It doesn't help the song if you stand out drastically, even if you feel like you're having a blast.  Sometimes it helps to step up, sometimes it helps to cut back.

- Be authentic.  You can take movements from others, you can play songs to be like other groups, you can make decisions that make you like other organizations, but in the end, you need to know who you are and why you're doing what you're doing.

- Training in Japan is a solution, not the solution.  There are great opportunities and teachers in Japan, but don't neglect the vast resources you have access to without having to travel abroad, especially if you live in North America.

- The question "what is taiko?" is only as important as you want it to be.  This is a question that will never be fully answered.  While what matters is what taiko means to you, realize it might not mean the same thing to the next person.  Who's right?  No one.  Everyone.

- The more popular you want taiko to be, the more people will use it in ways you don't like.  Can't have it both ways.

- Playing harder doesn't mean playing better.  There's a point where you're just punishing the poor the drum as well as your own body.  Ask an expert of any physical art - you gotta relax to reach your full potential.

- Listen to your body.  If you're playing in a way/style that hurts, stop doing that.  Whether it's as easy as trying a different foot position or as difficult as leaving a group, it's your body.  You only get one and pain can last forever.

- Taiko is awesome.  Regardless of why you play, who you play with, or what you play on, realize you are creating art, not just consuming it.  We need that in our society.  You can inspire, motivate, surprise, and move people with a single hit on the drum.  Keep it up!

image credit: http://www.thebridgemaker.com

NATC is just around the corner...(again!)

I think I used that same title last NATC, ha.

In a few weeks a bunch of us taiko nuts will be down in ever-sunny San Diego, playing and sharing and watching and talking and overdosing on taiko.  Woo!

I always enjoy NATC, whether teaching or not, whether helping out behind the scenes or not (but at this point, it's never "not"!)

It's interesting that historically, 50% of the attendees are new to NATC.  This is their first conference and they tend to be the most excited, most starry-eyed, and most tired afterwards!

For the first time in a while, I'm going as a participant instead of a teacher or observer, and I'm looking forward to learning new things - or at least learning new ways to learn old things!  It's hard for me to have that experience, simply because of all the things I've done and all the time I've spent doing them.  It's one thing to learn a new style of playing, a new song, even a new instrument, but to put my ego aside and be open to re-learning how to strike, how to listen, how to think, that's something I hope I can be a good example of.

If you're going to conference, I hope you come - and leave - with these two things:

- Realize, what you have is what someone else wishes they could have, whether it be equipment, talent, opportunities, or even a personal attribute.  Appreciate.

- Also realize that the conference couldn't happen without so many people doing so many things behind the scenes, both before and during the weekend.  We have people willing to volunteer, to teach, to coordinate, to help where it's needed.  Gratitude.

I hope to see many of you there, and it's always a sincere pleasure to hear from those of you who have enjoyed my blog and benefited from it.  Play on!

image credit: https://taikocommunityalliance.org

Oof. Tired.

I thought I would have time to post something between concerts, but I need to be nice to my brain and rest some more.  7 hours to Mendocino on Thursday, played a concert Friday night with minimal time to tech in, 7 hours back on Sat, and another concert with little time to tech in last night.  So...goodnight!  I'll be back on Thursday.  :)

Memorable quotes

I was thinking of all of the advice, stories, pearls of wisdom I've heard over my 23 years of taiko.  Unfortunately, with my wonderful memory, I've forgotten a lot.  Ah well.  A few lines, however, have stuck with me.  As part of me wrapping things up slowly here, I wanted to leave you with the few that come to mind readily and how I've interpreted/used them.  Apologies if I don't get the wording quite right!  And in no particular order:

1.) "Play to inspire, not to impress."  (PJ Hirabayashi)

This was one of the first pieces of advice I can remember outside of ones directed solely at technique.  It wasn't even something directed at me specifically.  This is probably the one piece of advice given that I've thought the most about.

Impressing people takes skill, yes.  You can't really impress people if you're not good at something.  The problem is, it's often very temporary, and often very conditional.  You might have an impressive move or routine, but if the person after you does something more dazzling, well, so much for your impressiveness.  And while someone might remember the time you did that really fast passage followed by a handstand, how much impact does it have the day after?  Would they even remember it?  Would others?  If people do remember it, to what end?  You might have people trying that move out, but aside from that, what does it do?  It has impact in the moment, but not so much afterwards.

Inspiring people doesn't necessarily take skill.  Sometimes it's the person not as good as the next who really puts it out there and inspires people, or overcoming a challenge/struggling that people identify with.  Inspiring can also be a long-term process, such as seeing someone climb "through the ranks" so to speak to play more songs, harder parts, etc.  Playing to inspire means not trying to have the loudest notes or the trickiest patterns or the loudest voice on stage, because it comes from within - the intention to do your best and to represent yourself, your group with authenticity.  It may not feel as exciting, but it's the kind of thing that can have lasting impact on those not just watching, but also those around you.

2.) "If all taiko groups looked the same, taiko would be a very boring art form."  (Roy Hirabayashi)

This seems like a pretty obvious statement on the surface, but when you think about it, how many songs are played by the same groups in NA alone?  Miyake, Omiyage, Yatai-Bayashi, variations of Yodan Uchi, etc.  This isn't a critique of those songs or any groups playing them, just a comment that in some ways, NA taiko (and in other places) is still relatively new as an art form.

There's a lot of "same-ness" in NA taiko, a lot of groups doing similar things with similar songs.  So does that mean taiko is a boring art form?  Hell no.  But what does it say about the art form in North America?  It's not easy to compose an entire show full of new works that are as exciting or as fun as the stuff already available, sure.  But if we rely on open-source pieces, play the same things as other groups play, wear similar clothing, etc., how does the art form evolve?

Or maybe the question is, does it need to?

3.) "Your performance might be a person's first time they see taiko, or a person's last time they see taiko."  (Kenny Endo)

This one is a classic that I think most people have heard - or many people, at least.  It's a really good reminder to never dismiss a performance you're in no matter how disorganized the setup is, how small the audience is, even what mood you're in at the time.

Imagine being on the other side, watching a group perform something you've never seen before, that you might find so much joy in...except the person playing a thing right now seems really disinterested.  Eh, so much for that, maybe you'll go do something else.  And later, when someone asks how that art form was, you might not have a great view of it.  There's a ripple effect that benefits no one.  As much as you love taiko, you'd hate it if someone came away with that viewpoint, right?  Pushing that extra inch, that extra drop of sweat, sometimes can be a huge difference.

4.) "It's all in one, man."  (Russell Baba)

This is a great piece of advice.  Having trouble with meter or worried about when to come in because the count is tricky?  Sometimes you just have to teach yourself how to feel it, rather than think it.

When I was in my percussion ensemble in college, I got sheet music that I simply could not follow along with.  My sight-reading skills were terrible.  So I re-created it in notation software and listened the crap out of it.  "This passage sounds...orange, then there's 3 sections of crazy, so then I know the goose horn hits five seconds later, and then bam I play here."  That was WAY easier than trying to keep up with 14 time signatures happening within a 30-second period, times 100.  Yeesh.

It can even be just knowing where the downbeat is in a solo, knowing where the accents are inherently.  It's about getting the tempo in your body instead of having to actively listen for it, which adds to the number of things your brain is trying to juggle at that time.  It really is like juggling, because instead of looking at each of the objects in the air (which gets impossible after only a few), you instead should be working with the flow and shapes of how things rise and fall.  It's one big picture...

Feeling the pulse of a song, in your head, in your body, that's a skill that more taiko players could stand to learn.  And it's not something best practiced in the studio/dojo, that's something you can learn just by listening to more music, different music, music that challenges your ear and makes your foot tap out a beat.  It's all about feeling a groove - any groove, all grooves - that a song provides and moving with the beat, not having to count on top of it.  An easy skill?  Not often.  But damn there are few skills quite as valuable.

---

There are so many good artists out there, not just in taiko but all over.  And there are so many good quotes that can really change how you think about your art, if you take a few and really think about them.  And that's what I'd like you to do, to think about something you heard a while back that stuck with you.  What's there below the words, below the surface?  Where can it take you?

image credit: http://blog.oxforddictionaries.com

What really matters

As I start winding down my blog, I'm trying to think of what posts I want to end with, what points to make.  And in doing that, I was thinking about what really matters.

That, dear reader, is entirely up to you.  No one can tell you what matters to you but you.  I and others might be able to shed light on things you hadn't considered, but it won't make you suddenly care about them.  Only you decide what your motivations and interests are.

It's important that your group(s), if you're in one, are able to give you the things that matter to you.  Maybe it's camaraderie, maybe it's stage time, maybe it's the ability to express yourself, whatever.  But more importantly, you need to know what matters to you.  And the best way to know is to ask yourself what your priorities are, what would hurt if taken away from you?  Those are the things that matter.

I've posted about everything from overcoming fear, to stage presence, to balance - but maybe those things don't really matter to you.  I hope I did touch on the things that did, somewhere in my blog, and I hope I made you think about them in greater detail.  If I'm really lucky, I helped you find even more things along the way.

And so I'll end this post with something to consider.  There are things that matter to you greatly that may not matter to others, to people with just as much experience and/or passion as you.  Never fault someone for those differences and try to avoid judgment, lest they do the same to you.  We may not all get along, but if you think of kumidaiko, of ensemble drumming - as drumming with the community, not just your group - then you might start thinking of how to play together in a broader sense.  And that would be something, wouldn't it?

image credit: https://i.ytimg.com

Compositions for outdoors vs. indoors

So over the Obon weekend, I got to enjoy a lot of collegiate taiko, as well as play taiko myself.  One thought I had this weekend was how some songs are suited better to an indoor environment than outdoors.

Sounds die off a lot quicker when you're outside, and there's competition from environmental sounds (wind, conversations, traffic, etc.)  Complex patterns often get lost, while quieter passages sometimes can't even be heard!  It's a shame when I can see notes being played that I can't hear.

It can also be hard when there's not a strong, identifiable ji or underlying pattern that supports the rest of the song.  It can be simple, like dongo, or something with more flavor, but when there are interlocking/competing patterns without one of them being the clear base, I find some songs become harder to follow outside.  These same songs indoors might be easier to hear with tones decaying slower or timber more easy to differentiate.

This doesn't mean a song has to be boring so that parts can stand out, not by a longshot!  It comes down to volume and execution, usually.   But having a group of people playing different patterns on multiple drums while one person in back plays a polyrhythm on a shime can be hard enough to be clear indoors, let alone when that shime is really hard to hear outside!

Sometimes it helps just having more bodies - more hands, if you will.  But unless those hands can play together really well, more hands can easily mean more audio "clutter" which doesn't help.

Another possible solution might be to modify a song for outdoor use.  Simplifying patterns, switching out one section for another, etc.  No need to scrap a really good song because 5% would be hard to hear!

My point here is to consider how different environments can affect how a song is received.  When we play the instruments, we hear them louder than anyone else.  When we rehearse, many of us hear them indoors, and for others we hear them relatively close to us.  Putting yourself in a potential audience's shoes can be really enlightening, even leading you to compose songs specifically for an outdoor stage, perhaps?

image credit: http://cdn.playbuzz.com

Sorry, another postponement.

Hi readers!

Well it's the day after San Jose Obon and I am probably dead.  Since I'm writing this before it all happens, I can only assume, but I'm usually dead after.  Coming off a trip to Maui and a cold and work emergencies, I don't have time to blog for today's post, but I'm sure Obon will give me plenty to think about.  See you Thursday!

Maui Taiko's 20th Anniversary!

Maui Taiko's 20th Anniversary concert was a blast!  It was really awesome to play with them on stage, and an honor to have them invite us to be at their first concert!

We had a rehearsal of some sort each day we were there but the last, and they were very sweaty rehearsals, heh.  But the show went off really well, with a crowd of about 700!

One thing from this performance was how much I take for granted with concerts and stage shows.  For people new to that kind of show, there are factors like makeup, lighting, spikes, etc., that has been the norm for us for so long.  It's fun to see people excited and a little nervous over those kind of details.

The show itself was a pretty ambitious one.  It was their 20th Anniversary (involving 4 classes/tiers), but they also invited us, Marco Lienhard, two local minyo (Japanese folk dance) groups, and a group from Japan, Uneme Taiko, that they connected with many years ago.  That's a lot to coordinate and it was impressive how it all came together.  Oh, and Maui had an Obon to play at the night before the show, which is crazy but it sure didn't stop them from putting it out there for the concert!

Having members of the group with family there made it all the more special, with food and accommodations and parties (and after-parties, and after-after-parties...)  As much as I'm the last person to enjoy sun, I'm looking forward to another trip back out there.  We ate lychee nuts right from the tree, picked pineapples from the bush to be eaten minutes later, were well-fed by a lot of generour friends, and if it wasn't for my metabolism, I'd be 10lbs. heavier right now!

During our free time, there was food, shopping, food, beaches with turtles, food, beaches without turtles, food, a Lavender farm, food, and a farm where we picked lychee fruit and pineapples from (which is food).  If it wasn't for my metabolism, I would be a lot larger right now...

And while I did avoid getting burned, I did come away with a cold that I have to shake before Obon weekend hits, because it's going to happen whether or not I'm feeling well!  Hope to see some of you there!

Just a busy little taiko player...

Going to keep this short...

So two weekends ago was Swingposium, right in the midst of a HUGE project for me at work.  And by the time you read this post, I'll have flown out to Maui for Maui's 20th Anniversary concert where they've asked SJT to perform as guest artists.  Can't wait!

Then this weekend is SJ Obon, which is always crazy busy/fun.  And the weekend after that is NATC, yee-haw!  But that means right now?  Too much going on to give decent time to a blogpost.  So enjoy your (holiday) weekend, depending where you live, and I'll see you again on Thursday!

Failure defines you best

Scary title?  Nah.  I just think of it this way.  Success doesn't define you, but failure does.

When you're doing well, you can shine, you can grow, you can achieve.  But when you fail, how you handle that failure shows the world (and you) who you truly are.

Maybe things come easily for you, maybe you're really talented.  That's great!  But when something challenges you and makes you struggle to learn or understand it, do you dig your heels in and try harder?  Do you try to find a way?  Or do you give up and/or make excuses?

Maybe you have access to a lot of great, quality equipment.  That's great!  But what happens when you don't?  What happens when you have to use drums that don't sound as good as what you're used to, don't fit the angles that feel best for you.  Do you take it as a challenge?  Do you enjoy the experience?  Or do you complain and make the performance less enjoyable?

Maybe you've been teaching for a while and have some really good things to teach.  That's great!  But what happens when a student doesn't get it right away?  What happens when a student asks questions that challenge what you've been teaching?  Do you engage, dialogue?  Do you maintain composure and put time aside after the class?  Or do you get frustrated and neglect the other students?  Or do you keep repeating your point of view without addressing the question?

Heck, maybe you even just flat-out fail in a solo somewhere.  Then what?  Most of us would jump back in and finish, but afterwards, after the show, are you angry?  Do you let that anger seep out into your words and actions with others?  Do you laugh it off?  Do you laugh it off to the point where you don't learn from it?  What do you do?

How you react to failure, to difficulties, really speaks to your character.  We're none of us perfect and there will always be times when we just get upset, when we lose our composure.  But there are defaults, there are patterns, and that speaks to your personality.

So who are you when you fail?

Image credit: http://30daystox.com

Day off!

Taking a post off, since it's getting crazy-busy with this Swingposium collaboration and almost non-stop weekend taiko.  Swingposium, workshops for the public, Maui Taiko's 20th anniversary concert, San Jose Obon, NATC, several local festivals, one not-so-local festival, and a concert!

And then it's September.  Ouch.

So yeah, given all that and the news that I'm not going to be blogging for too much longer, I feel I can take a post off.  Go practice something in the meantime!

Winding down...

This blog has been active for a long time now.  Getting close to 9 years!

But all good things must come to an end, even if it's not entirely by choice.  I'm also finding that I'm starting to repeat myself on some topics, so maybe it's a good time to wind things down, take a retrospective at what I've written, and end strong.

I'm not ending with this post, oh no.  But the end  is on the horizon, wherever that horizon might wind up being.

If you've been reading, if you have questions or topics you'd like to see me address/rant on, now's the time to tell me.  I've taken more than a few suggestions over the years, and it's fun to see where an idea leads.  Maybe yours?

I don't think there will be a lot that's different for a while, just my usual rambling and pontificating about things that come to mind that I think might help others.  But stick with me for a little while longer, and I'll try to make it an enjoyable finish!

image credit: https://lifeaftercaregiving.files.wordpress.com

Question Everything: What questions matter to you?

The questions you ask determine the answers you get.

I question everything.  It's not always endearing, but it's what I do.  And when I post under the "Question Everything" tag, I tend to pose questions and not try to give answers.  It's more than just because I know I don't have all the answers and want to remain mostly neutral.  It's because sometimes, the answers are less important than the questions are.  Sometimes, the exercise of thinking through the question leads to new ideas, new possibilities.  But even more important than that?  Knowing the right questions to ask.

Let's say you're watching someone play taiko and taking a look at their skills.  Do you ask "how could I make them better?"  "Am I better than them?"  "What can I learn from watching them?"  Maybe you ask multiple questions, which is good!  But think of the questions in this case, not the answers.

If you can look back at the questions raised your head, what do they say about your thoughts and motivations?  What kind of answers do they lead you to?  I'm not asking what answers you actually get, I'm asking what categories of answers open up depending on the questions asked.

So let's take the previous example above, watching someone play taiko.  If you're asking questions about how to improve their skills, how to make them "better" (whether or not you have the opportunity to do so), then your answers are going to be more specific, more focused.  But are they slanted towards a sense that you can improve on what you see?  Or that you want to show off how much better you think you are?  Which category do the questions you ask fall into?

Do you compare yourself to them?  Do you ask if you're better than them?  Are you trying to find reasons to put your own skills down?  Or maybe trying to find ways to make yourself feel better?

Are you trying to figure out what you can learn from someone when you watch them?  Are you focusing in one area that you think is the most important, possibly missing out on other, maybe even more interesting areas?  Are you looking for something you think you might see, rather than observe what you actually see?

I could go on and on, but you get the point.  Your mindset will tend to determine the questions you ask, and therefore, the kind of answers you'll receive.  So here's a scenario: someone who can't play fast patterns might watch someone who is really good at it.  This person figures that by watching the player's hands, they'll have a chance to figure out better technique.  And so they focus intently, until they see something that seems useful in the hands.  But what if the fast hands come from being relaxed, which comes from using the body more efficiently, from the core muscles to the lower body?  The answers lie there, not where the person is focusing on.  By thinking they can find the answers in a specific area, the questions are limited and provide limited answers.

There are a lot of ways this can go, and as humans we all have biases and blinders to deal with.  I just want you to realize that a lot of the conclusions you reach are a product of the questions you allow yourself to ask.  What about the questions you haven't considered, that other people might ask?  What answers are you missing out on because of questions you haven't thought of?

image credit: https://singularityhub.com

But I'm not tense!

Tension is your enemy.  And it's insidious, in all the places you're not aware of, creeping in often as soon as you turn your attention elsewhere.  It's even worse when you know it's there but can't get rid of it!

A few weeks back in the dojo, talking with a student about sparring, I told him that he was way too tense.  His response was, "but my shoulders aren't high up!"  That response took me aback a bit because it was a almost a non-sequitur at the time.  How did that matter?  But it did make sense, in that I understood what he meant...even though he was completely missing the point.

When I'm teaching at the dojo or working with people newer to taiko (or just our style of taiko), I'm often telling students to relax.  Sometimes it's as easy as reminding them to breathe!   One of the most visible signs of tension is when the shoulders are up too high.  If you've ever had a massage, you'll know there are a lot of sore spots on the upper shoulders and lower neck!  That's where tension likes to creep in, especially those of us who work on a keyboard a lot.

And this is what that student was getting at, thinking because his shoulders weren't scrunched up high, he wasn't tense.  Thing is, you can be tense no matter what position you're in, no matter what's up or down.  You can drop your shoulders and tense up to a painful degree.  If you want to be technical, unless you're lying down flat (and maybe even asleep), you're probably holding tension. Are you standing?  Well you'd collapse if you didn't hold some tension, so...

People may not feel tense, but the human body is great at compensating.  When something hurts, other muscles take up the slack.  When I hurt my back, my core muscles did a lot of the workload and I was told the strength of those muscles was the reason why the pain wasn't as bad as it could have been.  Stress is uncomfortable to the body, so think of it as a form of pain - and so the body will naturally try to compensate, so that you don't have to feel it.  Problem is, sooner or later, you *will* feel it, in soreness or injury down the line.  If you're younger, you won't feel it maybe for some time, but trust me, if you're ignoring stress now, you'll pay for it later.

So when you can, when you're practicing, instead of thinking, "am I holding tension?" think instead, "where am I holding tension?"  Find it, at least some of it, and try to get rid of it.  Breathe, stretch, collapse, shake it out, whatever.  And you have to assume it's there, because if you're in any sort of stance, if you're moving your arms up and around, you have tension.  If you think you don't, unless your art involves you lying in a puddle on the floor, you're sorely mistaken.  And maybe just sore!

image credit: http://blogs.clemson.edu

Technique - the cause or the effect? (pt. 2)

I usually don't add to a blog post that I've just done, but after my last one, I've been thinking more about the idea of seeing the result of technique vs. the cause of it

When you watch someone do a really cool thing, it can inspire you to try that thing yourself.  "Wow, that jumping triple kick hitting all three targets was really cool!  I'm going to try it!  Huh, I apparently suck at it..."   Or maybe, "that guy played 5 different drums with overlapping strokes and really fast patterns, I can do that too!  Oh wow, I'm not hitting things well at all..."

That's human nature, after all.  We see, we love, we want to do.  And it's not to say you shouldn't be inspired!  But you shouldn't also be discouraged by failing to be able to do as well...if you understand what's going on here.

I saw Akira Katogi play a couple of songs at TaikoBaka a few years back.  Here's a clip of him playing.  His style may not be unique, I don't know, but it was the first I'd seen like this and it was really really fun to watch.  So of course, when I got back on a drum, I lightly tried what I had seen, and as expected, I was horrible, haha.  But I planned for that.  I just wanted to see if I could figure out some of the techniques used, and...nope!  Not from just watching it once.

It's very clear that he has a lot of practice doing this sort of playing, but on top of that, he has good fundamentals that feed into his style of playing.  It's complimentary.  And while I might have really good this or excellent that, I'm missing the practice and the modifications I would need to make in order to do what he's doing.  So I wasn't disappointed, but instead more impressed by how easy he makes it look.

And that, that's what I hope to accomplish through this (and the last post).  Realize that impressive moments often come about through hard work and long practice.  The un-sexy stuff, if you will.  And sometimes it's the boring stuff that is really the hardest to do!  Keeping your right and left hand sounding even no matter what drum/style you're playing, staying on tempo in a solo, knowing to play a little quieter so that you don't overshadow another part, etc.  Those take a talent most of us take for granted...

Now, don't ever feel you shouldn't want to do the impressive stuff you see others do.  But realize, those moments are just moments, passing points in time and that still require strong fundamentals to achieve.  And while it's possible to replicate a moment through practice, it may very well be a lot of work for a little gain.  Maybe if you're going to put in a lot of work on something, it should be something that brings everything up so that you don't have to work a lot later.  Make sense?

image credit: https://previews.123rf.com

Technique - the cause or the effect?

We often see the result of a technique and want to be able to do the very same thing.  Watching someone playing a pattern really fast can be impressive, and it's tempting to just try and replicate it.  Watching someone do an acrobatic, fancy kick can be impressive, and it's tempting to jump up and try it.

But it's likely, you'll wind up getting tense amd hitting a bunch of wrong/bad notes, or pulling a muscle and falling over...

In talking with a student in the dojo earlier this week, he was saying how he needs to "hit hard".  I asked him what he meant, and he said if he was hitting someone bigger, he would need to "hit harder".  I told him if his technique was good, he could hit hard enough; he would have the ability to choose how powerful to make his strikes.  A bit later he said how he thought my jab looked like a hook so he was trying to arc his as well.  I told him it shouldn't hook, it just goes in straight.  When I thought about what he meant, I realized he was probably talking about how the elbow joint bends after snapping the punch out, because after that moment of tension, I'm relaxing the arm and it naturally bends a bit (and there's the "hook" he's seeing).

The effect that you see that impresses you is a result of good fundamentals, or at the very least a lot of practiced motion.  Either way, that person who impressed you understands how to do the thing they're doing.  You're likely to only see the impressive part, the result, unless you can step back and look at what's going on under the surface.

For a lot of fast notes on multiple drums, a person needs to be relaxed, have flexible wrists, know how to link their hands to their hara, know how to utilize their hara, and still have the presence of mind to listen for when things don't sound right so they can adjust in subtle ways.  To do a jumping spinning kick that has the potential to cause damage, a person needs to have strong leg muscles, be able to coordinate which parts of the body from head to toe to use when, and also have the ability to activate and deactivate tension in the muscles needed at the right time.  All of these steps described come with thought, training, and practice.  But they're not "sexy".  They're not what people go WOW for.  They go WOW for the result.  We all do, in some things or others.  Being able to see past the initial WOW and notice all the components needed to make it happen is a skill, and comes from both you working on fundamentals over time as well as the ability to appreciate that work in others.

A couple of other analogies I've come up with:

If I give you something you've never thrown, like a hand-axe, and tell you to hit that target over there, you can focus on the target and hope you hit it, or try to be in a steady, solid position and align your arm as best you can, your grip as best you can.  The former focuses on the result and will most likely end with an axe clattering on the ground, while the other might end the same way but with information you can use to better the next throw.

If I tell you that "Sam died," but you don't know Sam, you may very well not care.  You have no reason to care.  The result has no impact.  But if I first tell you that Sam was this person in my life and did all these things for me and then died in tragic watermelon accident, you very well might be astounded, saddened, or feel something.  You need something to enable there to be an impact in the first place.

So think about or find something that makes you take notice, maybe something that gives you a WOW.  Then look deeper.  What are they doing that enables them to wow you?  What is their body doing?  What's consistent about their technique?

When you realize that infrastructure is the way to producing amazing results, it can seriously change how you look at technique overall!

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How much ma can you stand?

Ma is the Japanese word for a gap or space.  In taiko, ma is a concept that is really useful, but that many don't really embrace.  So here's my question to you:

Imagine you're playing a solo on a stationary drum.  Doesn't matter what type.  Play play play, and then stop playing, even though it's still your solo.

How long can you go before you need to return to the drum?  How long can you stay still/hold a pose, make a motion (or several), move around, whatever, before you feel like it's uncomfortable and you need to make some noise?

Be honest with yourself - I'm sure you can imagine yourself not playing for a while, but really, with people around you watching, the rest of the group behind you supporting, the energy all around you, can you really hold out for a long time?

Ask yourself, why are you uncomfortable without playing notes?  What is it that compels you to return?  Is that something you can work on?  Could work on?  If not, why not?  Couldn't you make use of it in your personal repertoire?

Mind you, there's a point in any song, in any solo, where you can have TOO much ma.  But most of us won't cross that threshold.

This isn't to say that people need to play less notes in their solos, and it's not a judgement of any sort.  I Just want you to self-examine and feel that uncomfortable-ness on purpose for once, and use that feeling to start some internal dialogue.  Because why not?  Questions can lead to answers and answers can lead to growth.

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The issues around you.

This quote is attributed to Ian Maclaren, a Scottish author.

When I go to a conference, participate in an online discussion in the FB taiko community, or even just have long chats with taiko friends, sometimes I'm reminded that my taiko is not their taiko.  My struggles are not their struggles.  This doesn't only happen when I talk to people, it can happen just by thinking about it, but it tends to happen more when other people are involved.

Most of us live in our own taiko bubbles, like we live our life in a bubble of some sort.  No, not going to get political, but we tend to be with like-minded people, play with like-minded people, etc.  In taiko, it's easy to forget that your group is not like other groups, that other groups have issues that your group does not.

Your group might not have budget issues, membership issues, location issues, concerns with social justice, authenticity concerns, repertoire deficits, equipment woes, identity conflicts, growing pains, etc.  But some other groups do.  And while you might not have any way to help them out - or even know which groups are facing which issues - sometimes it's important to realize that these issues may shape how they view you or treat you.  It's not that you should walk on eggshells everywhere you go, but again, refer to the quote above.

Many conferences ago there were a couple of "Non-Japanese in taiko" discussion sessions, and I felt the people who benefited the most weren't those who had issues within their groups, but the Japanese-American players who were surprised to hear that there were any issues at all.  When I attended the "Women in taiko" discussion session last conference, there were issues that I was reminded of, that I don't necessarily have to think about for myself on a day-to-day basis.  I'm sure if I went to an LGBTQ discussion session, I'd be enlightened about issues I'm not aware of or have to address.

It comes down to being a compassionate, aware human being.  Not being wracked with guilt because you can't know everyone's personal trials, but just knowing that everyone has their own issues, issues that you may never have even considered.  Be kind.  Always.

Question Everything: Traditional taiko

I've been seeing more people talk about/offer classes in traditional taiko.  It's clear this is to differentiate it from contemporary taiko, but what exactly is "traditional taiko"?

I'm not going to give a history lesson of taiko here, but ensemble drumming is a relatively new art form.  It was something that came into being in the early 50's, which puts it around the same age as jazz.  So when I hear people talk about "traditional" taiko, it either means ensemble drumming (kumidaiko) in the earlier years, or taiko before it was made into ensemble form.

For the latter, there are some older forms of taiko that aren't so much done as an ensemble, styles like those that come from Miyake and Hachijo.  But when people say they're teaching those styles, they tend to use the names of those styles

So that means it's probably referring to the former.  But what makes taiko traditional?  Is it only using Japanese patterns and rhythms?  What are those?  One person's dongo is another person's swung triplet.  Is it not using non-Japanese instruments?  Most taiko groups I've seen, regardless of what they play, only use Japanese instruments - or if they incorporate others, do it in very few pieces.  Is it not using non-Japanese movements?  Good luck identifying that one.

Take the katsugi okedo and the popularity of "crossovers".  This idea came from the Korean style of drumming called Samul Nori, adopted by Kodo.  Is it now "traditional"?  It's been "around" in Japanese taiko for ~20 years now, so...you tell me?  If it's not traditional to you, will it be so in another 20 years?  40?  Ever?  This is when the definition argument starts getting blurry.

Not that it's a huge movement, but is the increased sighting of more "traditional" taiko teaching makes me wonder if it's a resistance to more contemporary taiko?  But only in North America?  Or Japan as well?  Or is it more wanting to show people what taiko is without adding bells and whistles, sort of a matter of pride?

This is not a judgement post, because I always try to observe and question, then to pass those to my readers to (hopefully) stir more questions.  So if you use the term "traditional" taiko, what does that mean to you?  And if you hear someone else talk about "traditional" taiko, ask them what that term means to them!  See what you can learn.

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