#edobayashi

When I got to the theatre before the recital began, I prepared my greetings to all the people whom I had met the week prior: students, Shachu people, concert helpers. It was a beautiful thing having the support of the others present, since we were all in this together. When I got backstage, I immediately started getting dressed. A few of the older Shachu men were impressed that I could dress myself, and every so often I would catch them glancing over to make sure I wasn't screwing something up. The only fix was centering the obi knot in the back, but otherwise, it was an A+ job. Chizuko and Eri, thanks for teaching me well!

I sat in the audience for most of the performances in the first half. Everyone did a fine job, although you could definitely point out the nerves in some people. Watching them, put my mind at ease, at least a little bit. When it was my turn to head back, I took off my glasses (for the first time ever in a performance!) and circled up with the Shachu members performing with me. Suzuki-sensei chose some incredibly talented players for me, and all that was running through my head was that I couldn't screw up the same parts as during the rehearsal: the tama (solo) sections from Shichome, the fourth piece in the suite.

I was blessed to claim about half of the audience for myself: Gaba instructors and clients, as well as friends from Japan and Hawaii. I wanted to make them proud, but what made this performance different was that I was focused on making myself and my sensei proud of my hard work. As I knelt down in seiza for my fifteen-minute performance, I mentally prepared myself for the moment, and when my bachi finally hit the drum for uchikomi (the introduction solo), the sound echoed throughout the hall...

I don't want to overanalyze my performance, but there are a few things need to be prefaced. The performance was fantastic by audience standards. I was exactly on beat with Suzuki-sensei for the entire time, and the audience most likely couldn't tell what happened midway through. In Hawaii, I performed so much that I learned two important things about messing up: keep recovery time low and fake it well. Naturally, the tama sections did not go as planned, and while I did keep my recovery time low and faked it very well, I ended up improvising instead of playing the real parts. Rather than let Suzuki-sensei call out the kuchishouga for me on stage (like he did when others blanked out), I made the selfish decision to pretend like I knew what I was doing. So from the on-stage perspective, I feel like I disrespected his teachings and kicked my own hard work out the door. I apologized to Suzuki-sensei and the other members backstage when we thanked each other, and all Suzuki-sensei said was 「それから勉強して下さい」. Gulp.

Despite the mishap, it felt good to be on stage again surrounded by incredibly talented musicians. I haven't felt that "together" with others on stage very many times, and I am proud of myself for being able to do that. However, this experience begs the question: Who is a performance for? Is it for myself, my teacher or the audience? I still haven't found a clear answer to this question, but I'm sure as is the case for most open-ended questions, it depends on the situation. Or maybe a performance is for all three... if that's the case, then it makes sense why I am such a perfectionist when it comes to music.

Thus far, I have had two lessons with Suzuki-sensei. We have been focusing on the taiko (shime) part to the kihon-kyoku, or basic suite, of matsuri-bayashi. While I did substantial work on the piece in Hawaii, I have had to break bad habits in the past month during my practices. Conveniently, my commuter pass extends all the way to Asakusa, so I have managed to rent studio space at Miyamoto for merely 420円 per hour, twice a week! Next month, I'm upping it to three times a week so that I can have some time to practice chu-daiko as well for Yuu-sensei's lessons.

Taiko here has been a very different beast. I have seen many performances so far, and there seems to be a huge emphasis on nuance and perfection. I had the pleasure of attending Oedo Sukeroku Daiko's 発表会 happyokai, or end-of-the-year recital last month. Their students performed pieces that I got to play with KETE, but the level of musical interpretation here was impressive. Such a treat!

This attention to detail has been mirrored in my lessons. Thankfully, I get to record my Edo-Bayashi lessons with Suzuki-sensei for review. On my first lesson, not only was I introduced to traditional etiquette, but I finally began to realize what kind of musician I am striving to become. I knew that I found the right teacher, and I have Kenny-sensei to thank for this. Between many "lost in translation" moments, and disrespectful involuntary use of うん instead of はい , my first meeting was a demonstration of the skills I had acquired in Hawaii and an assessment for what I would do next. He told me I was ready to begin "Level 2" of the kihon-kyoku for the following lesson. I quickly learned Edo-Bayashi is a deceptive mix of similarity and difference that I will have to internalize before I can master it.

My lessons with Yuu-sensei have taken me on a very separate journey. My first two-hours with him were focused entirely on correcting my form on the chu-daiko. As I already know, even the slightest change in one's kata can be a very painful process, but ultimately, I will become a better player for it. The group lessons have been incredibly mentally stimulating. From duple-meter to complex phrases, the material covered is presented in the way of REPETITION, something that I had lost touch with in Hawaii. My focus had been on absorbing and learning as much as possible in a short period of time, which was all very important to my development as a musician; but now, I am taking a step back to hone in on perfection.