To clap or not to clap

Went to a Matsurishu concert tonight thanks to a last-minute free ticket (thank you, Shikata-san!). The group is led by Yoshihiro Kawarazaki, who teaches the ass-kicking, ego-destroying shime+oke-daiko class that I try to survive every Wednesday. But I digress... Matsurishu tonight exhibited some excellent taiko, including a very good rendition of Yatai Bayashi plus some original pieces. Including one with funky-looking XXL-sized slung drums that must have been the result of a romantic encounter between a hira-daiko and a katsugi oke... totally cool (check out the picture below)!

Matsurishu. Picture shamelessly stolen from their website
Now, one of the pieces they did tonight was the old standby the odaiko solo, and I was yet again reminded of the different ways that Japanese and Western audiences appreciate this piece and, perhaps, all taiko in general. The observational fact is that, during the piece, a Japanese audience will clap at a different moment from a Western one: a Western audience will usually applaud after something technically funky, such as a bachi toss or a spin, whereas the Japanese will applaud towards the end of a particularly physically long and hard passage. Not necessarily technically challenging in the Western perception, but buckets-of-sweat, muscle-cramping tough. Hideyo has coined a phrase that describes the feeling spot-on: "monotonous and strenuous".

You can then theorize that the Japanese particularly appreciate the drummer pushing himself/herself to his/her limit and then beyond it, and that to them it's not the fancy skill and technique that's appealing but the drummer's willpower to keep going through the pain. In this context, their applause can be viewed as going beyond mere appreciation - they are encouraging the drummer to help him/her overcome the physical strain and push beyond it. We Westerners, then, do not see taiko in this spiritual light but rather view it as mere technical trickery that results in a loud bang. But things may not be as simple as that since, tonight, the moment when I really wanted to cheer (but didn't for fear of annoying my then-stoic neighbours) came when the two odaiko players, one with his back towards us and the other invisible behind the big drum, entered into an unmistakable and beautiful call-and-answer improv duet. For 30 seconds or so they communicated flawlessly one with the other without any visual cues, and to me it was this tricky interaction between the two human beings, connecting in a dimension completely orthogonal to speech or even body language, that was supremely attractive. But, alas, this moment was seemingly lost on the audience around me, who burst into thunderous applause only a minute or two later during a particularly sweaty solo.

Now, there are three more points that I want to make on this topic (I would write even more, but I am guessing Deb is starting to doze off...):

First, the whole experience reminded me of the time we went to see Amaterasu, not realizing that for many people the main draw was not Kodo but the purely unsurpassable Tamasaburo Bando. The almost exclusively Japanese audience that night was clearly divided into two camps: those that burst into applause whenever Fujimoto Yoshikazu even so much as touched a drum, and those who cheered, gasped, or plain swooned whenever Tamasaburo flicked a wrist or bent an elbow. The two camps were alternately clearly puzzled, annoyed, and bemused by each other.

Second, the difference between Western and Japanese audiences is not lost on seasoned performance groups such as Kodo. Having seen Kodo perform both in Japan and in North America, it is obvious that their North American shows feature a much trimmed odaiko solos. I am glad to say that their Japanese shows retain the funky finesse we get from them outside of Japan.

Third, tonight I was reminded of the Earth Celebration concerts last August, when we watched Kodo under the Sado-ga-shima sky and played, first, 'guess-when-they-will-clap' and, then, 'let's-see-if-we-can-get-them-to-clap'. I remember with fondness that by the end of EC I was managing to start the Japanese audience clapping about three times out of four, proving to myself that I was at least beginning to get a sense of When even if I wasn't fully getting the Why. Oh, the fun we gaijin have.

A Kodo concert back on Sado. The audience is looking a bit bored, so Eichi-san must be doing something technically very tricky. No chance of getting them clapping now until he stops that nonsense and beats on a drum steadily for a couple of minutes ;-)

To clap or not to clap

Went to a Matsurishu concert tonight thanks to a last-minute free ticket (thank you, Shikata-san!). The group is led by Yoshihiro Kawarazaki, who teaches the ass-kicking, ego-destroying shime+oke-daiko class that I try to survive every Wednesday. But I digress... Matsurishu tonight exhibited some excellent taiko, including a very good rendition of Yatai Bayashi plus some original pieces. Including one with funky-looking XXL-sized slung drums that must have been the result of a romantic encounter between a hira-daiko and a katsugi oke... totally cool (check out the picture below)!

Matsurishu. Picture shamelessly stolen from their website
Now, one of the pieces they did tonight was the old standby the odaiko solo, and I was yet again reminded of the different ways that Japanese and Western audiences appreciate this piece and, perhaps, all taiko in general. The observational fact is that, during the piece, a Japanese audience will clap at a different moment from a Western one: a Western audience will usually applaud after something technically funky, such as a bachi toss or a spin, whereas the Japanese will applaud towards the end of a particularly physically long and hard passage. Not necessarily technically challenging in the Western perception, but buckets-of-sweat, muscle-cramping tough. Hideyo has coined a phrase that describes the feeling spot-on: "monotonous and strenuous".

You can then theorize that the Japanese particularly appreciate the drummer pushing himself/herself to his/her limit and then beyond it, and that to them it's not the fancy skill and technique that's appealing but the drummer's willpower to keep going through the pain. In this context, their applause can be viewed as going beyond mere appreciation - they are encouraging the drummer to help him/her overcome the physical strain and push beyond it. We Westerners, then, do not see taiko in this spiritual light but rather view it as mere technical trickery that results in a loud bang. But things may not be as simple as that since, tonight, the moment when I really wanted to cheer (but didn't for fear of annoying my then-stoic neighbours) came when the two odaiko players, one with his back towards us and the other invisible behind the big drum, entered into an unmistakable and beautiful call-and-answer improv duet. For 30 seconds or so they communicated flawlessly one with the other without any visual cues, and to me it was this tricky interaction between the two human beings, connecting in a dimension completely orthogonal to speech or even body language, that was supremely attractive. But, alas, this moment was seemingly lost on the audience around me, who burst into thunderous applause only a minute or two later during a particularly sweaty solo.

Now, there are three more points that I want to make on this topic (I would write even more, but I am guessing Deb is starting to doze off...):

First, the whole experience reminded me of the time we went to see Amaterasu, not realizing that for many people the main draw was not Kodo but the purely unsurpassable Tamasaburo Bando. The almost exclusively Japanese audience that night was clearly divided into two camps: those that burst into applause whenever Fujimoto Yoshikazu even so much as touched a drum, and those who cheered, gasped, or plain swooned whenever Tamasaburo flicked a wrist or bent an elbow. The two camps were alternately clearly puzzled, annoyed, and bemused by each other.

Second, the difference between Western and Japanese audiences is not lost on seasoned performance groups such as Kodo. Having seen Kodo perform both in Japan and in North America, it is obvious that their North American shows feature a much trimmed odaiko solos. I am glad to say that their Japanese shows retain the funky finesse we get from them outside of Japan.

Third, tonight I was reminded of the Earth Celebration concerts last August, when we watched Kodo under the Sado-ga-shima sky and played, first, 'guess-when-they-will-clap' and, then, 'let's-see-if-we-can-get-them-to-clap'. I remember with fondness that by the end of EC I was managing to start the Japanese audience clapping about three times out of four, proving to myself that I was at least beginning to get a sense of When even if I wasn't fully getting the Why. Oh, the fun we gaijin have.

A Kodo concert back on Sado. The audience is looking a bit bored, so Eichi-san must be doing something technically very tricky. No chance of getting them clapping now until he stops that nonsense and beats on a drum steadily for a couple of minutes ;-)