Ornoth

Four days after returning from Asia via Tokyo, I undertook a new adventure: Japanese ritual drumming—or taiko—in the form of a four-week beginner’s workshop offered by local group Pittsburgh Taiko.

Big drums have been used in Japan for centuries in religious rituals and to inspire troops in battle. However, kumi-daiko—the current style and form of performing in ensembles—wasn’t established until 1951 by an inventive Japanese jazz drummer.

Taiko Beginners Workshop

My first exposure was seeing the local group Pittsburgh Taiko perform at the local lunar new year celebration back in 2016. A month later, Inna and I went to see them perform alongside Japanese-American taiko master Kenny Endo.

I’ve always been a fan of percussion (except for vibraphone, which hardly qualifies). I’ve done my share of playing around, including both West African hand drumming as well as rock kit, so I was intrigued.

When that local group offered a beginners workshop in the fall of 2016, Inna and I registered. However, when it rolled around, I was in Maine to caretake my dying mother, and in my absence Inna, who is also into drumming but has no affection for things Japanese, opted to sneak out halfway through the first session.

However, a year and a half later, I saw them again at this year’s lunar new year, and learned they were going to offer another beginners workshop, which I was finally able to attend. We had 10-12 students, which matched the approximate number of people in their performance group.

The first sessions were painful. One of the first things I learned is that your stance is supposed to result in your hips being at about the same height as the barrel-like chudaiko drumhead. Since that isn’t much more than two feet off the ground—and impossible to adjust—it resulted in my essentially having to play while performing a front split. Neither comfortable nor stable for someone of my height! That was reinforced by four days of severe DOMS that followed the session, thanks to my woefully underdeveloped cyclist’s arm muscles.

Week two started with even more pain. Although the group does some warmup exercises before playing, they illogically start with ballistic exercises like jumping jacks, and only do gentle muscle stretches afterward, which is backwards and dangerous. Going from a cold start straight into an exercise that involved simultaneous hopping and kicking caused me to severely pull a calf muscle. Initially that injury made even walking difficult, and kept me off the bike for two full weeks.

We started making progress in that session, when we were introduced to the first two lines of the standard practice piece called “Renshuu”. However, after staying to watch the experienced group prepare for an upcoming performance, I noticed the discouraging ring of tinnitus.

In week three we learned most of the rest of Renshuu, and we took the opportunity to record video of the teachers playing it, so that we could practice at home, which was helpful.

Things started coming together for the fourth and final class. We spent some time going around the room round-robin style, giving everyone a chance to play improvisational one-measure solos. I can’t say mine were particularly great, given my lack of familiarity with the instrument and its playing style.

We also played Renshuu through a couple times before the teachers sat down and had us (as a group) play it for them in formal performance style. As you would expect of any Japanese art form, taiko isn’t simply about making music as a group; it’s also about synchronized and choreographed movement, elegance, and visual appeal. Our first “performance” went reasonably well, and marked an emotional peak for the class.

Beyond the drumming, one of the things that appealed to me about taiko was its potential as an exercise in mindful movement, much like my kyūdō (Japanese archery) practice did back in Boston. In that respect, it was half successful. At first, I was too busy trying to understand the rhythms and use the correct hand; but the more familiar I became with each piece, the more attention I could spare to focus on my body, my stance, and the timing and expressiveness of each movement. It might become a meditative exercise at some point much further down the road to proficiency.

Which brings up the obvious question about whether I will continue with it. Taiko would suffer with the same limitation as kyūdō: it’s not a core priority. When we talked about the possibility of a followup workshop, I found myself reciting a litany of dates I couldn’t make: two weekends in Italy with Inna’s family, two more for a meditation retreat, and that doesn’t even include all my summertime cycling events! I’d like to continue and will make an effort, but I won’t have much success until the end of the busy summer season.

Of course, continuing would also raise the question of public performance, which isn’t something I’m particularly comfortable with, either. A nice idea, but realistically my lack of any inherent musical ability will out, and I’d rather that not happen in front of a knowledgeable audience.

All the same, it was an interesting experiment and experience, and hopefully something I can make room for during months that are a little less packed with more important “interesting experiences”!

On Sunday, Babatunde Olatunji died. I can’t even begin to tell you the influence he had. Without Olatunji, there would be no African drumming in the United States. There would be no djembes, no jun-juns, no hand drumming circles at all. He brought West African music to the United States, and taught generations of Americans the compelling songs and rhythms of his native land. He co-founded Mickey Hart’s Planet Drum. He is the originator. The whole world has lost one of its most sparkling jewels.

Fanga alafayia, ashé ashé
Fanga alafayia, ashé ashé
Fanga alafayia, ashé ashé
Fanga alafayia, ashé ashé
Ashé-ashé, ashé-ashé
Fanga alafayia, ashé ashé

What are your favorite ways to relax and unwind?

Typically, I'll go off and find a place to be alone and enjoy nature and the sun. That often means a walk up to one of the docks on the Charles River, where I'll sit in the sun and watch the water. Or a bike ride down to the Arnold Arboretum's "Conifer Path", where I have a particular spot where I'll sit and enjoy the pine meadow and the hillside beneath me. Or, if I want to ride further afield, down to Castle Island, where a radio tower is on a tiny island out in Boston Harbor, connected to the mainland by a long, narrow causeway. But regardless of where, what's important is the quiet contemplation and sense of appreciation that it fosters.
 

What do you do the moment you get home from work/school/errands?

Well, I guess the only thing I reliably do upon getting home is check the cat, AIM, and email.
 

What are your favorite aromatherapeutic smells?

In case you didn't read my 8/14 post "Heaven on the Seventh Floor", I don't like most smells, and I particularly hate manufactured smells. One of the few odors that I enjoy is the smell of an evergreen forest on a summer day, experienced first-person.
 

Do you feel more relaxed with a group of friends or hanging out by yourself?

If you want relaxed, then definitely alone. Being with a very small group of close friends can be energizing and exciting, but it's not often 'relaxing'.
 

What is something that you feel is relaxing but most people don't?

First: drumming. I find both hand and kit drumming to be a good emotional release. Second: the city. I derive energy from urban areas: all the interesting people to watch, the beautiful architecture, the energy of youth (particularly here in college-oriented Boston), the vibrancy of a thriving arts community, plenty of nightlife, lots of like-minded people, and it all within walking distance of my own private enclave of peace and quiet.