Practice what you preach

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Some of you know what "Roy Drills" are.  Some of you have even actually experienced it, you lucky people you.  For those who don't, Roy Drills are a torture creation by Roy Hirabayashi, one of the founding members of SJT.

His idea was simple: follow the lead person in the center as they play a pattern, speeding up or slowing down, changing patterns when they do.  It sounds easy enough, but then do it on naname or tachiuchi (upstand).  Try not pacing yourself, playing earnestly.  And most importantly, don't stop!  Stopping = bad.

I've done it countless times over the years, since my first few months of taiko through just last week.  It's not as difficult as it used to be, so I like to sometimes go to the other side of the drum and play "left-handed".  That's a challenge.  Don tsuku, doro tsuku, don doko, all at fast speeds for long periods of time with the "weaker side" definitely pushes me.

So last week, doing these on the left side, during don doko, I could feel my left arm really getting stiff.  And I had to remember all the things I tell people when they're getting tight and stiff while playing taiko.  Don't use muscle.  Relax.  Use the body as much as possible.  Breathe.

And then, when it got tempting to back off and coast in order to save my arm from catching on fire, I remembered to set a good example, to hurt tomorrow, and just make it happen.  Not going to say I looked flawless by that point, but it was important to me to keep pushing because I keep telling others to do so - and because I want to get past where I am now in order to get better!

Anyways, that was just an example where I had to put my money where my mouth is (or bachi were, I suppose).  So now I ask you, think about all the advice you give, all the teaching you've done (either as a teacher or a peer), and ask yourself, do you do all of the things you tell other people to do?

Most of you are probably saying, "yes, of course I practice what I preach."  But do you really?  You may earnestly believe it, but when have you tested yourself?  When were you in a situation that pushed you to draw from the well of advice you give?  When did you last watch video of yourself and have OTHER people look for the things you tell them to do?  It can be scary, it can be humbling, but you know...if you want to get better, there's really no better way.

Progress!

Constraints and creativity (article)

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I don't normally link to other articles in my blog, but this one ties into something I've talked about before when it comes to creativity, parameters, limitations, not taking things simply and thinking out the box.

https://www.fastcompany.com/3067925/the-science-of-work/how-constraints-force-your-brain-to-be-more-creative

Please take a look; it's not that long of a read.

There are a few things that I wanted to highlight from that article:

"Without constraints, the research suggests, we tend instead to simply retrieve exemplary use cases from memory; we typically sit on a chair, so that’s how we think of chairs."

We see this in taiko all the time.  Drums are drums.  Stands are stands.  Bachi are bachi.  But is that all they can be?  What else can you strike the drums with?  What else can you do with bachi?  We don't tend to think that way because we're so comfortable with doing what's expected.

"We dedicate our mental energy to acting more resourcefully. If you ask someone to design or build a product, you might get a handful of good ideas. But if you ask someone to design or build it while sticking within a tight budget, chances are you’ll get much better results."

If you want to be creative, having too much to work with can actually be a hindrance.  If you have four drums to play on, where do you start?  But if you only have one, you're more likely to explore than one drum than if you had four to split your attention over.  If you know you can have twenty people to play a new song, you might not utilize them as creatively as if you only get to use four.

Anyways, just food for thought.  If you're trying to be creative, trying to come up with new ideas and feeling frustrated or overwhelmed, narrow your options down and focus on limited resources and see what happens!

Anything but obvious.

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A few practices ago we were jamming in the studio.  I wound up on the hiradaiko/odaiko and handed a bat.  For those who aren't familiar with this or haven't seen it, a baseball-style bat is not uncommon to use on the larger drums.

Ooh, big bat, BIG drum.  Would be so easy to just pound a nice loud note out, even if I didn't play that many!

But, by doing what's easiest, what's expected, what I've seen hundreds of times before, what am I missing out on?  It's what I'm supposed to do, but...is that all there is?

So after I got through a bunch of twirling-the-bat, I went to soft hits.  After soft hits, I played multiple notes even softer.  After that I lightly pressed it against the head to make a buzz.  Then a slap followed by a buzz.  I wish I had tried the handle to make noise, to see how it sounded.

How could this apply to other situations?  Say you're in a song with a lot of notes and the other soloists are playing a lot of notes and now it's your turn...  Sure, you could play a lot of notes.  That's expected.  But if you don't, that'll stand out, for sure.  And you can always play more notes later, but better it's by choice and not because that's all you're thinking about doing.

Is everyone starting their solo at the drum?  Maybe start by moving away from it.  Are all the solos funny?  Maybe yours is intense.  Are all the solos very busy, movement-wise?  Maybe you stay still and deliver.

It's really hard to think of options "in the moment", so watch other people and ask yourself, what else could they do or be doing?  Will you do it?  Could you try?  It's not to do something different because you're trying to be different - that can get tedious.  It's about knowing there are options and knowing when to exercise them!

Strength in softness

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Last weekend, Kodo came through the Bay Area to perform their show "Dadan".

Dadan is different among Kodo shows - and most taiko we normally see - in that there are no women, no fue, no dancing, just men and drums (percussion).  I've seen Dadan on DVD so I knew what to expect, but seeing it live brought something to light for me.

If you've seen Kodo before, you know they're all in better shape than most people will ever be.  Cut, in fact.  And when you think "a bunch of men playing drums for 2 hours", you might be inclined to think of loud, powerful, strong songs and enough testosterone to fill a swimming pool.

But I was impressed by the lack of reliance on raw strength.  I was impressed with the nuance of dynamics and appreciation for softer volumes when loud was such an easy choice.

And that makes me think about my/your/our taiko, what we're used to doing.  What's your default volume when you solo?  What's the default dynamic for new songs in your group or when you're teaching older songs to new people?

When does quiet say more than loud?  If everything is loud, then silence is sometimes deafening.  If you don't quite get that, listen to Monochrome, one of Kodo's most iconic songs.  There's a passage where all the players, all on shime, build to a chaotic, rising surge of volume, and then with a cue from the lead, they all stop.  Even when you know it's coming, it's striking.  Then quiet notes come creeping in.  Purposeful.  It makes you want to hear instead of being forced to listen.

So for all of you/us that are comfortable with loud, whether it be through drum or voice, even if you don't change your style of playing, start thinking about when you could make a difference by changing dynamics.  Appreciate the wealth of options you have and you'll find yourself a much more well-rounded artist!

My first pair of bachi

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When I first started practicing with SJT, they gave me a pair of bachi, or drumsticks.  I think they lasted for quite some time, but when they splintered or got too worn, I could buy another pair from the group's stock.

Problem is, those bachi were way too short for me.  I didn't realize it for somewhere near a decade into my training, but once I got a pair about two inches longer, everything changed for the better.  I didn't feel cramped.  I looked and felt balanced.  I could reach the drums and be far enough away to have proper extension and posture.  The fulcrum of my strike was finally balanced and if anything I had to make sure I didn't over-hit, because generating power was tremendously easier.  I can't go back.  I won't!

But as I constantly strive to do, I question everything.  And I reflected back on those days of playing with equipment that wasn't optimal for me.  It's no one's fault; that's the size everyone was using (and I had to fit into tabi that were too small for my gigantic feet, too!)  But was it a waste of potential growth?  Yes.  And no.

On one hand, I can only imagine how much better my striking and form might be had I a longer pair.  But on the other hand, I can grab a pair of our volunteer bachi (that we give people for workshops) and while they're super-short for me, I can play well with them.  It won't sound worse, it won't look bad to others...it just won't look as good or feel as good to me.

Essentially, I learned how to play with a handicap, then was able to break free of it later.  I gained a skill I might not have learned if I never went through that - the ability to utilize strong fundamentals through something less-than-optimal.

Imagine only getting to use pencils that are only 1-inch long for years.  And then one day, you discover full-length pencils.  You can sit upright now, you can sharpen them dozens of times, you can even wiggle them between your fingers.  But in that time spent with the short "nubs", if you will, what did you learn?  You might have learned to be more concise, you might have had to learn to relax your hands more since you couldn't rest the side of the pencil against the webbing of your hand.  And those skills definitely transfer to a full-length pencil.

What's the lesson here?  Adversity builds character, but sometimes it builds more than that.  Maybe you have to play a performance in a space that's too short for comfort.  But rather than just gripe about it, use it as an opportunity to find how technique is universal, not just in optimal places.  Maybe the MC or announcer for your group said something really awkward or frustrating.  But instead of playing in an foul mood, use it as an opportunity to put yourself in the performance and joy of the moment.

Looking back at when you had less and finding the lessons you learned from it is something you shouldn't ever overlook!

Change it up

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We do things the way we like.  We settle into habits that are comfortable.

The problem is, growth is rarely comfortable.  You want to be able to do 100 push-ups?  Be able to teach a wide range of skill levels?  Or maybe solo on odaiko for 5 minutes straight?  I guarantee you those are not going to come easily.

For some things, you have to try a little bit harder every time you try it.  Build endurance, muscle memory.  For other things, you have to experience a situation that is uncomfortable, that you struggle through and learn valuable lessons from.  But there are other options, too.  Here's one: change what you prefer.

• Do you like to teach by talking a lot?  Then try saying much, much less.  You're forced to use a different skill set to get your point across. 

• Do you like to play simple patterns when you solo?  Force yourself to add syncopation and/or not in predictable chunks of 4.

• Do you like to play a lot of notes when you solo?  Cut back and make the ones you play more meaningful.  Utilize movement, fill the space.

• Do you tend to let other people talk and not speak up?  Raise your hand, make a point.  Be heard.

• Do you wind up staring at the drum(s) when you play?  Force yourself to look up and out, even if it means playing less notes or moving around less.

Personally, that last one is something I have to keep working on - force my gaze up and off the drums.  It's not easy but it will never change if I don't work on it.

If you make one (or more) of these changes intentionally, for a practice or two, or try other ideas like these that I didn't mention, you gain a sense of perspective, make a challenge for yourself, and I guarantee you it will lead you to improvements.

If you only like things a certain way, you can grow...until you no longer can, and also no longer want to.  That's a dead-end mindset.  Always strive for growth!

Taiko in an age of instant gratification

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Instant gratification!  Twitter and status messages so everyone knows exactly what you're thinking.  Movies to download in less than a few minutes.  Music you can access instantly through a variety of online services.  Online shopping with overnight shipping.  Food from everywhere in your neighborhood coming to you.

If you want it, you can have it right away.  If you think it, you can broadcast it to millions right away.

How does taiko fit into a world like this?

One of the beautiful aspects of taiko is that playing it, experiencing it, puts you in the present.  In the now.  But that moment keeps expanding as long as you keep playing.  If you're practicing, you can focus on form.  If you're performing, you can focus on putting yourself out there.  It also teaches you about your role in a community - in this case, an ensemble.  You can't have your solo when you want it, nor your favorite piece to play when you want it.  It's "not about you."

Looking at social media, in a tweet or status update, I can say what I want and people will take it how they want it.  It could be seen as political.  Biased.  It could lack context and be mis-read.  In a solo, there are no words, just sound, motion, feeling.  It can affect people, speak to people.  When I communicate through a solo, the message is simple - I want to entertain you, delight you.  I want you to feel the joy I feel, in that moment.  It's about connection.

The most satisfied taiko players I know, the ones who are the most genuinely happy, are the ones that connect with other players.  Not through social media, but that person-to-person connection that helps people get better, helps people build and garner resources.

There's also the concept of ma, or space.  When you're playing a song, not just listening to it, you have to give the notes their proper spacing.  You have to listen to where your notes fall and how they line up with the rest of the group's.  You have to have that awareness and connection to the people around you to do well.  We tend to rush things as people.  We tend to speed up, we tend to make motions faster than they need to be.  Why?  I'm no psychologist, but maybe it's our culture, our want to get to the next thing quicker.  Recognizing that feeling of speeding up and acknowledging ma is a humbling, powerful feeling.  It's not about what *I* want, it's about connecting to the song and to the ensemble.

Related, we also tend to lean forward, stare into our screens, hunch over our keyboards, etc.  Taiko forces us to be in our bodies, be aware of our posture, work with our entire bodies and think about how the rest of the ensemble is moving, not just focus on the bubble around us.

Learning taiko teaches us patience, as well.  Odds are, you didn't get good quickly.  It took time to get where you are now and there's much more room to grow, right?  You might want to learn that new cool song right NOW but did it happen?  Nope.  It probably took you hours, days, maybe weeks!  And that was for one song.  However, all that time spent learning was time spent growing - getting better at playing, getting better at learning, too!

Also, if you play taiko, you are no longer just a consumer of art, but a producer of it.  Realize that this is a wonderful, important thing!  People that watch you play get to see, hear, and feel your output.  It's something anyone who performs gets to give their audience, something that can't be simply downloaded or purchased.  A recording is better than nothing, but so much less than being there, experiencing what you are generating.  What you are doing is valuable - for you, for your group, for your community, for people you'll never know you touched.

Technology might change, but connection will always matter.  What do you think?