Japanese taiko vs. North American taiko

photo credit: www.emrmagazine.com

Ooh, controversial topic, right?  Nah.

I was just thinking to last week when Yurika was playing YouTube clips of taiko groups and I couldn't see them, just hear them.  For different clips, she asked if I thought it was a Japanese or North American group, and I was able to tell each time.  But how?

Well I'm going to start by saying this post isn't about judgement or rating.  It's going to be objective in the hopes that people reading it will consider aesthetics and factors they may not have noticed before.  I also want to say that while many of the things I note below may be true, they are not in any way exclusive to either region.  And finally, I'm not going to guess right each time, it was just a fun game.

1.) Kiai.  This is the easiest way for me to tell which of the two types of taiko I'm hearing.  Japanese kiai tend to sound like Japanese words with Japanese phonetics, and often - not always - use more hara in execution.  NA taiko often has kiai that are heavy on the "s" sound, and the vowels often have English phonetics.

2.) Patterns.  Often, NA taiko has a lot of polyrhythms and syncopation.  It's not like this is uncommon in Japanese taiko, but I find it's not as prominent.  Again, not a judgement, just an observation.  I think it comes from the Western ear and the music people listen to growing up.  With Japanese taiko, you get patterns that are not always in a predictable meter, that still have a flow.  For example, you might get two measures of eight followed by something in six, then something in four, then back to eight, or something in fourteen...ish.

3.) Repetition.  Somewhat related to the above, but I feel like there's more repetition in patterns and sequences in Japanese taiko.  Listen to a song like Miyake, Hachijo, or Zoku and you get a LOT of the same pattern...and then some more of it.  Listen to pretty much any NA taiko song and patterns are changing fairly often, especially in solos.

Those are the main three aspects I notice, but rather than go into a few others I can sometimes notice, I want to stop there and ask you what you notice when you listen to taiko music.  Can you spot differences, accounting for different levels of skill?

And let's not forget that taiko goes well past Japan and North America!  How do South American groups sound different than European groups than groups from Asia?  It's not that you have to judge, I just think it's a great tool to just have that awareness that there are differences, then the skills to hear them!

Even if you disagree with my points above, even if you can point out songs or groups that prove me wrong, at least you're being aware of those aesthetics, which is my goal for this post in the first place!

Western Notation

 photo credit: drummagazine.com

 

In taiko, most songs and patterns are taught by rote (repetition), by kuchishoga (vocabulary of notes), or even by online videos.

Western notation is sometimes overlooked as a tool or thought of as making the learning of taiko as "less authentic".  I find it to be an invaluable skill, despite its limitations for taiko.

I can't write a new song on a sheet of paper and hand it to my group for them to play, because most people in the group don't read notation.  But I can give it to a few people outside of practice who do read music for them to try things out.  I can also put my ideas into notation software like Sibelius for me to hear patterns played back and then tweak things around.  This helps for when I want to present something not-written to the entire group, because I'll have some of the kinks worked out already.

But even more important than teaching patterns with notation - in my opinion - is how it makes you think of music in a different way.

Knowing notation means having a better understanding of how patterns can sound totally different when just one note shifts a tiny bit earlier or later.  It gives an ability to see patterns in your head in a very specific way and that ability can help you craft more interesting patterns.

Having notation "in your pocket" so to speak helps when you have a pattern or song idea in your head that you want to capture.  Sure, you can record that on your phone, but sometimes you're in a place where you can't do that, like a business meeting or already ON the phone, and a quick scribbling is all it takes.

Finally, learning notation enough to be useful to most taiko players really isn't a lot of work!  There are a lot of online resources that will teach you the basics.  All you'll ready need is to know:

• How to designate meter and what the numbers mean (4/4, 7/8, etc.)
• Notes and rests (whole, half, quarter, eighth, sixteenth and maybe thirty-secondth)
• Dotted notes

And that's it!  There's extra stuff that can be useful like dynamics/volume indicators, marks for repetition, accented notes and the like, but since most taiko pieces don't have to worry about pitch, harmony, chord progression, etc., you can take the basics and do a lot with it.

It takes practice and a willingness to do it until it becomes useful, but you won't regret learning any of it.!

Now you're in charge.

photo credit: www.cnn.com

Imagine a freak accident happens, like a dinosaur eating the teacher.  And other dinosaurs have also eaten all of the people in your group that have been there longer than you, who have taught more classes than you, etc.

Now it's all up to you.  What could you teach?

Let's say the day-to-day logistics are taken care of, by others who are able to step in to make sure bills are paid, floors are swept, checks are cashed, etc.  But you're the lead instructor now.

Were you paying attention before?  Could you convey the important points about your group's style and honor the intentions of those who came before you?  Were you content with being spoon-fed and receiving feedback, or did you try to understand fundamentals on your own?  Were you thinking of how certain styles of teaching worked with the group more than others?  Did you take for granted how much planning went into figuring out what to teach, class after class after class?

This is all food for thought.  It's easy to go to practice and receive a lesson, but if you're aware of just a little bit more about what it takes to plan and teach a class of adults, if you try to understand more than just what information is presented to you, you'll be prepared for things far less severe than dinosaur attacks, and be far more valuable to the group - and to yourself!

Kime and making mistakes

Kime, as I wrote about in a post here back in 2010, is all about the focus of intention and energy.  It comes from the Japanese verb "kimeru," which means "to decide".

In martial arts, kime is often seen as that laser-like focus on the target, whether real or imaginary.  It takes practice to hone that focus, learning when to turn it on or off and getting faster at doing just that.  Most martial arts have this aspect in their training, which comes in extremely valuable when in a situation when there is actual danger.

When sparring, there are two different forces at play, the physical and the mental.  The physical is easy to spot.  One person attacks, maybe both, there's some maneuvering, some defensive techniques, etc.  Those are very visual mechanics.  The mental aspect is not always as easy to spot, however.

A combination of techniques (say, two or three moves in sequence) is just a physical attack.  But add to that a strong force of will, a determination to impose that will on the opponent and take over their space, that's a...spiritual attack, if you will.  Not in religious terms but in the intention to disrupt or overpower the other's state of readiness or confidence.

Once aware of this second plane of attack, an observer can see when the intention of one person - the kime - has affected the other, whether on the attack or the counter-attack.  Sometimes the kime has more effect than the physical attack, especially if the other person wasn't ready or prepared in that moment.

And that brings me to why I thought about this post in the first place.  Sometimes, when two people engage in an exchange of techniques, the person who "lost" the exchange will often drop their intention, their mental guard.  It's an admission of defeat.  When that's done against a black belt, I often see the black belt (myself included) use that dropped guard as an invitation to attack yet again.  It's one thing to acknowledge defeat, but why yield to it?  That person just got defeated in the one exchange and then their reaction to that defeat then caused them to be hit yet again.

Going back to the idea of kime, think of making a mistake when you play taiko.  Think about the mistakes you've made or the kinds you're more prone to making.  How do you react?  When you mess up a solo, do you stop or freeze with your hands in some position, as your brain tries to re-orient itself?  When you play the wrong pattern, do you make a big deal of it with your facial expressions or body language?  Do you  yield to defeat?

I'm not perfect at it, but I've learned when I'm sparring and have "lost" (or even when I "win") an exchange, to stay ready, to stay focused, to even be looking for them to drop their mental or physical guards.  It's taken practice, but more than that, it takes intention.  Any one of you can have that intention, that kime when you make a mistake.  Just don't let the mistake become TWO mistakes because your reaction to it causes more attention than the mistake itself!

To impress or to inspire?

photo credit: insearchofadam.wordpress.com

PJ Hirabayashi said, "Don't play to impress, play to inspire."  While a good piece of advice, it can be difficult to define what makes them different from each other.  

Trying to impress the audience is a very short-term goal.  I can and have been impressed with different things, in taiko and karate and other arts I've never studied.  But that feeling sometimes goes away by the time I'm in the car for the drive home.  There might have been a few cool moments, but they don't necessarily stick.  Being inspired, on the other hand, can last days, weeks, even years.  It might come from a small thing that's not meant to stand out, but resonates with you for a long time.

A lot of it comes from the person's intention in how they both approach and play the drums.  If the intent is to impress, to make people go "wow, that's cool!", then that's fine, but a very surface-level goal.  And often there's no telling if it worked or not, so there's no way to know if you succeeded or not.  It's easy to think "yeah, I was impressive", but that can easily lead down the road of self-delusion.  If, however, a person's intent is to represent themselves to the best of their ability, then success is decided by that person, not the audience.  And as with impressing, while there's no way to tell if it worked or not, it comes from a much more genuine place.

Another way I view the differences comes from my experience in taiko.  I've seen some people play the same solo in the same song for years.  I'm not going to be impressed after such familiarity; the "wow" factor is gone after so much exposure.  But I can still be inspired by it!  The way someone moves, or how they "sell it" to the audience, or the way the phrasing builds until the climax, whatever it might be, those are the kinds of things that can still inspire me to be better.

I won't go as far as to say wanting to impress people is a bad thing, or that I've never had that intention myself.  But it's a goal with limited pay-off, like giving a candy bar to a hungry audience.  It's enjoyed in the moment, but too many of them and the audience doesn't want any more and they're probably not feeling well.  Ok, maybe that last bit doesn't apply, but y'all get my point.

Impression can have impact, but inspiration can effect change.  Which would you rather impart to an audience?

Mistakes as entertainment

Have a watch at this.  Listen for two minutes, the length of the story told.

In this clip, one of my favorite artists, John Cleese recounts a story about an accident on stage during a live performance.  Can any of you relate?

Does hearing the advice that Eddie Izzard gave to John Cleese resonate with you?  Does it make mistakes seem a little less daunting?  What about the idea that not worrying about things makes it more fun, and that the audience can feel that?

Food for thought, eh?

Wabi-sabi

image credit: www.zenvita.com

Wabi-sabi is a Japanese aesthetic that can be defined as "flawed beauty".  It's the art of imperfection.  A crack in a cup gives the cup more personality; an aged book makes the book more interesting. There's a lot more to the definition, but for purposes of this post, that will do.

In taiko, we tend to like things to look as much alike as possible.  We strive, in kumi-daiko (ensemble drumming) to have people play as one.  The default seems to be to achieve perfection where everything looks and sounds perfect.

But would that be a good thing?

At the SJT studio, we have one of our original taiko, an ex-whiskey barrel with one head removed.  It looks old, the metal rings are still attached from it's boozier days, and we rarely ever play on it.  The sound from it, however, is unique.  It's not bright and punchy like any of the other taiko I hear - not just in our collection, but in other performances.  The attack is very loud and crisp, the decay is quick but deep.

Many years ago, at either our 20th or 25th anniversary concert (I forget which), we used another of our original taiko that was also without a second head.  The sound was unique and chosen for a takebue piece.  Because it didn't look as nice as we'd like, we draped it in a cloth for the performance.  Without that drum, I think the song would have lost a lot of its musical quality and been another flute+drum piece.

So consider, while we strive for perfection, that perfection isn't the only goal.  Quality doesn't always mean flawless and sometimes beauty can be found in the differences between things.

(If you like this post or the idea of wabi-sabi, I highly suggest looking online for pictures or even articles on the subject!)