On testing (and failing)

As I write this, it's been about three hours since I took my 3rd-degree black belt test and about 2 hours since I was told I didn't pass.

I expected it to sting more, honestly, but I'm not thrilled about it (obviously).  I feel like I tested too soon and it wasn't the head sensei who failed me; I failed him.  I'm not the sycophantic type and I'm not trying to wax philosophical about it - he wanted to see more than I was able to deliver.  I failed because my body didn't have the proper understanding he wanted to see.

It wasn't all bad; I was pleasantly surprised how calm I felt when the test actually happened.  No hint of nervous energy after a day of butterflies in the stomach.  And I pushed myself hard the entire week.  It was 2-3 hours of intense, sometimes painful exertion a night, including tonight before the actual test.  I could have cut corners but I wanted to test myself.

So as I reflect about what I'm going to do from here, two things really stand out:

• I practice what I preach.

I talk about fear and failure in many of my blog posts, and how the fear of failure is often worse than the failure itself.  It's nice to know I truly believe that.  I had my doubts about this test, and was definitely nervous the entire day.  But every time I felt that doubt in my head, I said there was no going back and since I was committed, I was going to see it through.

Pulling out would have been so much worse.  I'd have to explain why and I'd have the question in my head for a good year of "could I have passed?"  If I'm going to fail, then dammit, I'm going to fail gloriously.  I'll laugh about it later much easier that way.

This is a major learning opportunity and I have to look at it that way.  In some ways I feel like I'm at square one, having to rethink and relearn a LOT of the basics I've taken for granted.

• Plan to test from day one.

I tried to learn brand-new material three weeks from the testing date and then learn what the head instructor wanted the emphasis to be (on ALL material) in the week of the test.  That was insane - and really, what was I thinking?  We tell other belts that the two weeks leading up to a test is NOT the time to be asking us to teach you a technique on your requirements.  Like three weeks is a big improvement over two...

As soon as you learn a new technique, you should be contemplating having to be tested on it.  This mindset is the only way you'll constantly question what you should be doing better.  Otherwise it gets easy to create arbitrary guidelines for when you should start trying to get ready.  Get ready now!  Don't wait until it makes sense "down the line", because who knows when that line will come?  It may never come unless you push forward to get there.

For taiko players, most of us don't really "test", but instead we learn new songs/new parts.  Maybe you know you'll play a song for the first time on a certain date, but why pace yourself?  If you think that the song is just around the corner, you'll push yourself a little harder.  And when the actual song happens, you might just be in a position of confidence instead of nervousness.

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I was told that I should definitely test again at the next opportunity.  I have about a year to get to that level, but there's a lot of things I have to work on - some of it familiar, some of it brand new.  I can sit on my laurels, I can admire what skills I do have, but I'll be damned if I'm going to be satisfied with just that.

The first time I auditioned with San Jose Taiko, I failed.  In two months, I'll have been with the group for 20 years.  The only way a failure should shape you is when it drives you to become better.  Stay hungry.

Looking good

In a recent karate seminar, the instructor had said, “karate is about looking good.”  As with most sayings like that, it doesn’t sound quite right.  There has to be more to it.

He explained it more by saying that if your techniques look good it probably means you’re doing them correctly.  Ah, now that makes more sense, yeah?  If you have good body mechanics, understand timing, have good balance, etc., you’ll probably have strong, fast, technically more correct technique than someone who lacks those.

Now in taiko, this is usually the case…but not always the case.  In taiko, we not only have a visual element, we also have an audial one.

When the group is playing together, it’s sometimes easy to see who may not look “as good”.  On further inspection, you might find that someone’s extension isn’t crisp or their butt sticks out or their movements are disjointed.  Still, in terms of ensemble drumming, that person/those people that aren’t looking “as good” may not lessen the quality of the sound of the piece.

…or do they?

Looking at solos, it’s relatively easy to look “good” to the audience. In general, if you’re really energetic and making big motions during your solo, most audiences won’t notice your striking technique, unless it’s really bad.  So the test here is how well can you play a part in a song by yourself and make it sound good?  By “sound good” I mean use proper striking technique that generates a warm sound, not a weak nor harsh one.  And then once you have that metric of sound quality, what happens to it when you solo?  Are you sacrificing the audial for the visual?

The only real way to hear yourself and do this test is to practice by yourself, without accompaniment.  It’s not always easy to do, depending on the song, but don’t worry about tempo, worry about a good sound.  And be honest with yourself!  If you’re playing and you realize your strikes are weak, don’t pretend they’re not.  If you run through a solo and you hear inconsistent, sloppy strikes, don’t convince yourself that you’ll “make up for it with energy and movement”.  It’s like saying “oh, the table tends to fall over when you put stuff on it, but isn’t it pretty?”

I find it interesting that looking good without sounding good only works in a group environment.  Don’t hide a weak aspect behind a strong one, and especially don’t hide it in the midst of your group!

Auditioning

Many years ago during one of our annual retreats, there was a discussion about who was being picked to play what parts.  In response to that, I said “every time you step on the mat, you’re being evaluated.”  And just the other day, in talking about a week full of seminars culminating in my next black belt test, I got told that “basically, the whole thing is your test.”

So what does this all mean for you?

Your group may have a system to determine who’s ready to play a certain spot or get to the next ranking, but it’s silly to think that there’s only a short window of time that you’re being evaluated in.  Everything you’ve done up unto that point – good and bad – is taken into account.  Have you taken to new spots well in the past?  Do you self-correct?  Have you been trying hard overall, not just for one particular spot?  Do you help others who are trying to learn the spot you got?  Do you get uppity when you get new spots?  All of that plus more come into play.

Sure, it’s easy to just say you need to be the perfect role-model and exemplary student when you practice, but none of us are perfect.   So instead realize that everything you do in practice (and sometimes outside of practice) is part of the audition for your next…everything!

Drill: Jumping Horsebeat

I've written a drill that can be done by anyone, but is also able to challenge everyone.  I turned to the ever-popular don doko to create what I call the "Jumping Horsebeat".  The "jump" in the name comes from the downbeat switching hands as you play.

To make sure we're all on the same page, I define don doko as notes falling on the 1, 3, and 4 of a 4-count pattern:  1 - 3 4 1 - 3 4 1 - 3 4 etc.  When sped up, this pattern mimics the sound of a horse riding at a fast pace, hence the name "horsebeat."  And no, I didn't make that name up, that's what it's been called since I can remember.  Sometimes this pattern is played as don tsuku, where the 3 and 4 are played quieter.

Below are five different ways to stick don doko in increasing difficulty.  Repeat each pattern slowly at first and while using a metronome if one is available.  You may have to start the harder patterns at a slower tempo, but you can always speed up in small increments as you get more proficient.  Each pattern is its own drill and is meant to be repeated.  There’s no need to flow from one to the other (yet!)

Drill 1: Alternating hands

R-LR|L-RL\R-LR|L-RL|R-LR|L-RL\R-LR|L-RL|

A pretty simple version of the horsebeat, each hit is done by alternating hands.

Drill 2: R-RL and L-LR

R-RL|R-RL|R-RL|R-LR|L-LR|L-LR|L-LR|L-RL|

Pay careful attention to the 4^th and 8^th bars.  This is where you’ll switch the downbeat to the other hand.

Drill 3: R-LL and L-RRs

R-LL|R-LL|R-LL|R-LR|L-RR|L-RR|L-RR|L-RL|

The switch on the 4^th and 8^th pattern is the same as in Drill #2.

Drill 4: R-LR and L-RL

R-LR|R-LR|R-LR|R-LR|L-RL|L-RL|L-RL|L-RL|

This one can get tricky so go slow at first!  Again, the switch happens in the same way.

Drill 5: R-RR and L-LL

R-RR|L-LL|R-RR|L-LL|R-RR|L-LL|R-RR|L-LL|

You may find that patterns you find easier are later down the list (pattern 4 is easier for you than pattern 3 for example), but don't worry about the order too much.  What’s important is to make sure that the dynamics are even – that no note sounds louder or softer than the one before it.  This is yet another reason to start slow and gradually build up speed.

 

You can do a lot with these patterns!  For example:

• Play the drills as written in order from #1 through #5 without pausing, then repeat.
• Start any of the patterns with the left hand instead of the right.
• Shorten or elongate the amount of bars you play before switching the downbeat to the opposite hand.  (2, 4, or 8)
• Play don tsuku instead, adding the element of dynamics to the patterns.
• Switching freely between patterns.  In other words, playing any of the six possible variations (R-RR, L-LL, R-RL, L-LR, R-LR, L-RL) in any combination that's not fixed.  This can be very difficult at speed, so start slow!

This is the kind of drill you can do anywhere, in the kitchen, the car, the bathroom, wherever your hands are free.  By "jumping" around, you’re working towards the ultimate goal here, which is developing hand independence. When you can trust in your hands to play what you want, you develop a sense of freedom and confidence that can only add to your performance!

Less is more, part 2.

During some of the downtime of the past annual concert, I was talking with our Lighting Designer.  He told me about a conversation he had years ago with a bluegrass musician.  During a discussion about bluegrass, the musician said, “it’s not about what you play, it’s about what you don't play.”

Let’s apply that to you, dear reader.  Instead of thinking about what you play, how are you defined by what you don’t?  How can not doing something make you a better performer/artist?  This post ties in a lot with my recent post about making your solos stand out, but doesn’t only apply to solos.

We can take this to a detailed level and look at specific patterns or notes. In a world where a lot of people play triplets during their solos, choosing purposefully not to do them speaks to your style.

Step back a level, and we can look at the visuals.  The moves you don’t do are only effective when presented against other people that do them a lot.  This is contrast, much like with musical patterns.  But even in terms of just what you do, like only angular or only flowing movements, a style is formed.

Another step back and we can look at style itself.  Never looking serious during a solo can define you.  So can never being predictable – but that’s a fine line, because if you’re never predictable, THAT’S predictable!

There’s also compositions, for those of you who either craft your solos or write whole pieces.  Some people never repeat the same pattern or section twice.  Other people might never do the same solo twice!  (That's hard, by the way…)  It doesn’t even have to be about the music either.  A composer might never fail to mention that someone gave them permission to write a piece, or leave out nothing (in other words, too much information!)

And finally, there’s behavior.  If someone is never late to practice, that defines them.  If someone never has an unkind word to say about someone, that defines them as well. 

Of course, the negatives apply as well, to all of the above examples.  Maybe a player never puts in any space (ma) during a solo, or never moves their arms away from the drum, or never changes their expression, or never changes their solo, or never arrives on time, etc.  Doing any of these doesn’t automatically make someone a bad person/player, but it does shape the narrative of who they are.

You can argue whether thought or deed defines a person more, but sometimes what’s not thought or done has just as much impact sometimes!

Sshhh.

In the course of our taiko journey, we learn songs.  The vast majority of people learn songs through gradual and repetitive line-by-line sequencing, and/or having things explained in great detail.  You might have a song taught to you one-on-one, or in a small group, or as part of a large group.  Regardless of how it's taught to you, there's one thing all of those ways have in common - you are told what to do.

In other words, an instructor says "play this" and you play that.  They tell you to "move your arms here" and you move your arms there.  But what would happen if you had to learn a song from someone who didn't talk?  If someone expected you to learn a song from them without using words - you had to learn by watching and doing - would it freak you out?

So maybe it's not likely that someone wouldn't use any words at all, but suppose they didn't speak your language or they just taught without consideration for those who want some dialogue.  Most teachers would at least use hand gestures and vocal cues, at the very least. Still, let's go back to the original scenario.  Would you try even harder to learn the piece despite the lack of explanations, or give up until someone helped you through it with words? 

How much do you rely on people to tell you how to do something?  How much then do you stop looking for other solutions and instead become expectant on others to teach you through words?  To some degree, we are all guilty of this, to be sure.  Some people can take it to such a degree, however, where it literally stunts their growth.  If it's not told to them, they don't find it worth learning.

Although we have our preferred ways to learn things, you won't always be taught in the ways that suit you best.  Being able to learn a song quickly is a skill, but being able to learn through multiple teaching styles is sign of true ability.

Foundations.

Back about...15 or so years ago, I was tinkering around with different martial art styles.  I had spent a good seven-ish years learning Shotokan karate, a year studying Capoeira, a year in Tae Kwon Do, and a class here and there in other arts.

I wanted to learn a breadth of techniques, hoping to gain a wide repertoire of ideas and possibilities.  I didn't think it would make me an awesome martial artist, but I thought it would be a good way to get better overall.  But it's been the 14 years in karate that has given me the foundation to do the crazy stuff I wanted to do when I was younger!

Now this brings me to taiko (of course). 

The flashier stuff can be a lot of fun to practice.  These are things like playing as fast as possible, as many notes as you can cram in, bachi twirls and flips, or even crossovers on the slung okedo.  But I find that I can hear and see the difference between the person who practices the fancy stuff more vs. the person who practices their basics more.

The person who focuses on the basics may not be able to pull off something fancy at first, but if they have the foundations of techniques, it will be a lot easier for them to figure things out.  The person that practices with the fancy stuff might be good at one of those things, but they'll have to practice each one separately and one won't necessarily help another.

It's not that you can't or shouldn't practice some of the fancy things, in order to push your skills.  Just take note of what you do when presented with free practice time.  Do you play a simple pattern or work on a ji?  Do you go all-out like your hands are full of angry bees?  Do you feel like you have to impress people around you?

I like playing something like don tsuku for a long time on okedo or even a straight beat on odaiko.  There's something satisfying with feeling the notes fit in the pocket, the striking even and true.  And from there if I want to do crossovers or have angry-bee hands, I use the same feeling that I had when working on the basics.  In other words, it carries over like a template of sorts.

It's not just even fancy stuff that a solid foundation will help with.  Good foundations make learning a new way of playing so much easier and you wind up working on the details instead.  It doesn't matter if it's odaiko or percussion, the more grounded you are in the basics, the more things relate.

Okay, enough lecture; my point has been made.  Tricks are junk food, foundations are vegetables.  Eat your veggies!  :D