I first became aware
of Japanese percussion when I attended a Kodo performance
in 1989. To say the group had an impact on me would be
a significant understatement: their music and artistry
has resonated throughout my life and my development as
a musician since that concert, and served to spark my
ongoing fascination with Japanese percussion.
While in university, I joined Montreal's community-based
taiko ensemble, Arashi Daiko. With Arashi Daiko, I was
fortunate to attend workshops with other North-American
taiko groups, and with Kodo members Yoshikazu and Yoko
Fujimoto. Meeting these two artists, as well as Canadian
taiko performer/composer and friend Kiyoshi Nagata, inspired
me to continue my learning in Japan.
Up to this time I was exposed to what is commonly referred
to as "taiko", or kumi-daiko, and I was largely
unfamiliar with the older roots of this modern style
of percussion. The "taiko style", as performed
by numerous North-American groups, as well as the well-known
Japanese ensembles such as Kodo, Ondekoza, and soloists
such as Eitetsu Hayashi, is largely an amalgam of elements
from traditional Shinto kagura music and modern influences
ranging from jazz to contemporary composition fused with
a theatrical stage presence that is equally influenced
by kabuki as it is by popular styles.
In 2000, I participated
in the first Taiko Koh-kan workshop
presented by Kodo on Sado Island, Japan, which focused
on developing a personal approach to taiko playing.
This workshop revealed that what I had taken for granted
as
a largely traditional form, the music performed by
Kodo and others was really part of a bigger, older picture,
and that there was a greater depth to be mined. The
same
year, I was fortunate to meet Japanese flutist Kohei
Nishikawa in Montreal and collaborate on an
ensemble project that joined traditional Japanese music
elements
with the Euro/American chamber music tradition. In
Tokyo, he introduced me to Taichi Ozaki (stage
name Kaho
Tosha ), a well-known
performer and teacher of traditional Japanese classical
percussion. Since then, with Kaho-sensei I
have been able to touch on the music of nagauta (which
forms a large part of kabuki), elements
from noh theatre,
as well as the kagura styles rooted
in the Japanese countryside.
To many, the image of a sweating, half-naked
man beating a drum the size of a mini-van with 2 huge
sticks raised
above his head represents the dominating image of Japanese
percussion. While this striking scene does reveal something
about the country, there is a great deal more to discover.
Japan is to a large extent, and certainly when compared
to many western-European or Christian dominated cultures,
a drum-country (although the sound of pachinko now
drowns out even the drums). The huge variety of bells,
gongs,
drums, wooden instruments and cymbals is staggering.
While the music of Japan's many festivals is largely
very energetic, loud, outdoors music, the sounds of
noh and kabuki can range to the quietest, subtlest extremes.
From frightening intensity to the gentlest whisper:
the
power of expression that so impressed me at that concert
in 1989 remains essential.
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