Hey hey, taiko people! Sorry for the late late post. I’ve been moving and saying a temporary goodbye to Eriko. Just trying to adjust to another new lifestyle.
When I initially wrote this, it was snowing for the first time in Tokyo this season, which then melted within 24 hours. I’m embarrassed to report I’ve gotten chilblains while being here, despite coming from a place known as “Chiberia,” but the lack of central heating is new for me. Give me a break!
Someone recently showed me the AI essay making capabilities, which is discouraging as a new blogging human. However it has encouraged me to make these substacks as weird as possible and to focus on my perspectives. Tell me I’m special, please.
A few weekends ago, Eriko and Ivan, the couple I lived with and my closest friends, and I went to Hachijojima, which is an island still in the Tokyo prefecture. (Jima = island). Because of the internet and AI, I won’t write much about information and the history of Hachijojima, but you can read more about the 2 stratovolcano island here. In brief, the island is about 1 hour by plane from the mainland (Tokyo city proper). There are other islands in the Tokyo prefecture (Aogashima, Miyakejima, Ogasawara islands to name a few) that vary in distance from the main city, but also consists of differing cultures.
Besides the constant rotation of hail, rain, and sun, Hachijojima is nearly perfect. They limit the amount of rental cars allowed on the island, keeping the roads relatively quiet. This means you’ll only run into traffic at the popular, busy local onsens (natural hot springs). The vegetation reminded me of Hawaii, thus tropical and beachykeen, and whales a’ spouting. The hiking has spectacular views, and although much of the land is privately owned and requires a guide, you’ll learn that the land is covered in beautiful ferns, resembling trees, that can tolerate the island’s intense humidity.
Most importantly, TAIKO IS EVERYWHERE. You can casually find it in cafes, restaurants, libraries, museums, hanging out in front of residential homes… is this real life?
So here’s a TAIKO KEY because we’re about to get deep in taiko talk:
JI: repetitative back beat, base beat, or rhythm to hold everyone together.
HACHIJO DAIKO: in brief, originating from Hachijojima, the taiko is on it’s side on a tall stand with one person playing ji, and the soloist on the other side. Often the soloist is facing the spectators, and like all styles, has its own unique use.
KYOKU: the melody or the “main lines” that is often accompanied by a ji.
KUMIDAIKO: ensemble style of playing (but deep in my thoughts, it’s more complex than that and I’ll get into that another day)
NAGADO: Chu daiko. Often considered a barrel drum, and sometimes made out of wine barrels in America. This is popularly used in kumidaiko groups, especially around North America. Usually a low sound, and can be found in Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples.
Yuta Kato, an internationally recognized taiko teacher/ performer/ cool California dude, was kind enough to introduce me to Getsukyoukai member Chris, who has been teaching English on the island for 10 years. He managed to get Hachijo Daiko groups Yosarekai and Getsuyoukai members together for a typical Hachijo Daiko hang. Separate note, I highly recommend listening to Eien’s interview with Yuta if you’re interested in Hachijo Daiko. It’s a beautiful description of the islands’ people and culture too.
A brief run down of their practice (starting with food):
The night started with drinking and eating in a small studio which included beer and Hachijo shochu (these distilled potato or barley alcohols are local staples on the island), sato imo (potatoes that you can peel), sweet lemons with edible peels, something that reminded me of poke, and some of THEE freshest maguro sashimi. One of the members said that fishing for maguro is a gamble in Hachijo because it’s not a guaranteed catch like other fish in the area. Other folks have expressed that the fresh catch of Hachijo has spoiled them, and mainland sashimi cannot compete.
Back to Hachijo Daiko
I was told if you're not drinking, it's not real Hachijo Daiko. Before the days of the popular Japanese karaoke parlors, folks would hang around the Hachijo Daiko and eat, drink, and play. Instead of karaoke genres, there is one person playing a supporting base, which usually consists of 1 of 3 rhythms, which is decided on by the opposing soloist. It was the evening’s entertainment to just hang out, enjoy each others’ company, and get wasted and express your inner truths.
About midway through the night, Okuyama san, leader of Yosarekai, stepped onto the small raised platform and started to play ji. We soon rotated soloists, and eventually rotated the ji player as well. The rest of the evening went back and forth between playing and drinking. As expected, everyone played at least once, despite taiko experience. As soon as 22:00 hit, Okuyama san replaced the drum with Yuta Kato’s father’s invention: a muted taiko with blankets stacked inside to not disturb the neighbors.
Before the pandemic, Ho Etsu Taiko would open our show “Emergent” with a solo piece similar to Hachijo Daiko. Jason Matsumoto and I would pass solos back and forth and gradually gain speed. I never asked Jason what went on in his mind, but for me, this piece was about drawing in the audience through building excitement and playing whatever kind of emotion we were experiencing that day. What were these emotions you ask? Personally, I was usually serious and nervous about the long show ahead, wondering if I was in good enough physical shape and stamina, and sometimes struggled to become present. I wanted to look good and sound good.
So of course at the Hachijo Daiko practice, I was quickly told that I was trying too hard. It wasn’t a stage performance, but just a casual hang. However, the ji player does have a different set of expectations. Okuyama san explained that the person playing ji must play it exactly as what the soloist sets. The ji player should then fall into a meditative trance while keeping this ji, in order to allow the soloist to express themselves with a consistent, reliable rhythm underneath. This position also involves being able to catch speed changes and ending at the same time as the soloist, even if it’s your first time meeting. Yosarekai goes off of listening and feeling, while Getsuyoukai makes eye contact, but neither speak while they play or preemptively write solos. True expression perhaps.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/Co_B_h-OyaF/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
I was informed that the 2 groups have differing views of approaching Hachijo Daiko. Getsuyoukai’s theory is to deepen your toolbox first. They practice skills development weekly while sober, so that when moments like these occur, or even for stage performances, they have skills to rely on even if drunk and can relax. Whereas with Yosarekai, their weekly practices closely resemble what I experienced. Okuyama san explained that the soloist has to become present with the ji and listen intently to their partner. You don’t have to do anything fancy. Although both groups don’t have the same philosophies, they are able to come together and play without being critical of each other’s techniques or theories.
Please also note there are many other groups and solo artist on the island such as Rokuninkai. I was fortunate enough to meet Suguru Ishi san, a taiko maker and soloist who’s traveled internationally to perform. He actually built the wooden guest house we stayed at. Yes, a drum maker, drum player, and home contractor. DOES EVERYONE PLAY TAIKO ON THIS ISLAND???
No they don’t. Everyone calm down. However, this style of taiko represents this island’s way of life that I became enchanted with in just 3 days. I didn’t want to leave. I’m incredibly appreciative of the generosity of the locals, the information I learned from the people there, and hope to return for their 24 hour Hachijo Daiko festival. Although this was an incredibly small taste of Hachijo Daiko, this style consists of teachings that can be translated to life, such as finding a deeper presence while playing ji, and letting go of inhibitions while simultaneously listening intentionally to what the other person is playing when soloing. I hope to learn more.
At the end of the night, Okuyama san mentioned that something he finds different in North American kumidaiko is the intent presence of a consistent ji for everyone to really listen to and absorb. Rather than focusing on the consistent ji, perhaps kumidaiko focuses on the kyoku lines and looking good, which may stray away from rhythmic cohesion.
To the taiko players reading this
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Before coming to Japan, I focused on the the kyoku lines while playing ji, and would sometimes adjust to everyone else instead of staying consistent. This is far away from melting into the rhythm. Rather, this approach might be lazy or lacking trust. While playing kyoku, I would try my best to listen to the ji, but depending on the space, nagado can be so overpowering that you can’t hear it; with so many people playing the same line, it becomes easier to match the other people playing the same lines.
Although Tawoo and Gocoo are not kumidaiko (a post for another day), their pieces are examples of one approach to keeping the same rhythm amongst the players of varying levels. Let’s discuss their piece “Madagascar.” There’s a section where 2 bar solos bounce to different people while everyone else maintains the a groove (example at 00:53). When I first started, I would physically turn my attention to the soloist, but 2 bars were quick. There were usually 6-8 soloists and I couldn’t keep track of who was where. The soloist also wouldn’t visually engage back with me.
Kaoly san explained that during this section, the solos are meant to float overhead doing whatever they want, while the groove maintains a meditative rhythm across everyone else. The goal isn’t for everyone else to hype up the soloist or for the soloist to do something fancy, but the goal is to maintain a groovy beat for the soloist to rely on. The soloist’s job in return should express themselves, playing WHATEVER they want for that short spurt without needing to worry about straying away from the rhythm. This approach allows anyone to solo despite experience. When the solo is over, they should fall right back into the groove once their solo is complete.
Although Hachijo Daiko and Tawoo are very different, there is heavy attention on the groove and everyone’s duty to maintain it. What if this is an example of American vs Japanese culture? Perhaps in America, the cultural norm is showing our support through drawing visual attention to the soloist and even audibly cheering you on. Maybe we prefer to put our focus on the main attention grabbing part because that’s what we find important, and it’s just generally fun. Whereas in Japan they show support by maintaining a solid foundation, but may not appear supportive by the untrained eye.
Of course it comes down to preference and there’s no right or wrong. In both, there are faults too. One could argue that North American kumidaiko puts too much emphasis on the soloist and flashy stuff instead of quality, rhythmic sound and deep expression. On the opposing side, if you don’t pay attention to the soloist, maybe the solos get lost and they all start to feel the same, losing the audience’s attention. Maybe it’s capitalism vs socialism. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe it’s Maybelline.
Anyhoobs, just some taiko chunks I’ve been thinking about. Many things have happened since the Hachijojima trip. Ume blossoms are in bloom, there’s no longer a consistent cat in my life, I got lost and missed a large part of a local Saitama taiko festival, and experienced a very quick Setsubun (throwing of the beans to get rid of the demons at a temple)! Now that I’m settled in the new place, I’ll be back to posting more regularly. Til next time!