The first day of spring break, I sat silent and clammy rocking up and down hills in a yellow taxi destined for South San Francisco, home of the San Francisco Taiko Dojo. Less than ten stoplights into the ride, my stomach began singing the same the song it does when faced with maritime conditions, swimming with butterflies and sickness. To battle the nausea I gazed out of the window. My eyes fell into the busy streets crawling with people and cluttered with signs written in Turkish, Hebrew, Portuguese, Chinese, and little English—mostly to provide a translation beneath the foreign texts. It was my second time visiting the west coast, and first time in San Francisco, but I felt out of place and lost. The fact that I was headed to a taiko dojo only added to my anxiousness and excitement.
In 1968 Seiichi Tanaka, established the San Francisco Taiko Dojo as the first Taiko group in North America. Seiichi Tanaka first visited the Cherry Blossom Festival in San Francisco’s Japantown in 1967 but was surprised by the absence of taiko drumming. He felt it was his duty to introduce this powerful musical art form to the United States and he emerged in 1968 leading a small taiko group at the Cherry Blossom Festival. Tanaka-sensei, today considered the godfather of taiko in North America, had a contagious passion for taiko and more than forty years have passed since he founded the SFTD.
Hundreds of privileged men, women, and children have been fortunate enough to study taiko under Tanaka-sensei. With such an impressive repertoire it’s not hard to understand why I sat so uneasily before meeting such a legend in the taiko community. The idea of relinquishing my taiko responsibility and replacing my visit with a sake-dominated sushi dinner did cross my mind, but the taxi had just rolled up the freeway ramp and there was no turning back. Throughout my semester of taiko study, I had read countless pages on the SFTD but somehow I failed to ever see a photo of the taiko temple. I envisioned the SFTD at the center of South San Francisco with an elaborately decorated exterior. I’ll admit, my imagination thereafter escaped my control. I convinced myself the SFTD was surrounded by lavish Zen gardens with combed sand and trickling fountains of serenity. I fantasized about two giant dragon statues boldly guarding the entrance, like a scene out of Disney’s Mulan. When I realized this vision was becoming eerily similar to a Chinese restaurant near my house in New Jersey I didn’t let it go any further and silenced any more ideas.
The taxi finally began to slow down and I discovered I was deep in an uninhabitable warehouse complex crowded with moving trucks and storage containers. Then, a faded brown awning that read San Francisco Taiko Dojo jumped into view, tucked quaintly between two vacant buildings for rent. I realized even though the SFTD was none of the things I imagined, it still instantly won my attention and envy. I admired its simplicity and when I heard a clink from a bell followed by the boom of a drum, my ears perked up and a curiosity of the magic inside consumed me. I arrived twelve minutes early before the adult beginner class. The front door was propped open but at this time of night the sun was setting directly behind the roof of the building and light from the evening rays overwhelmed my sight so I could only see darkness inside.
Seiichi Tanaka has been rumored among many to demand his pupils to exert an irrational amount of physical activity. I’ve heard stories of students running endless laps around the parking lot which when completed comes close to the total distance of an Iron Man marathon. For this reason, I developed a strict criteria of proper manners that I was going to stick to, and take zero chances to be a candidate to receive a bachi beating from Tanaka himself. Bowing in a doorway or entrance to a room and saying “Ohayo gozaimasu” was one such etiquette precaution fundamental to accepted entry. Even though the phrase wasn’t long, the margin to mess it up was enormous. To ensure I delivered the greeting properly, I inked a phonetics cheat-sheet on the palm of my hand. After a deep breath and a breeze of confidence I walked up to the doorway, lowered my head and out came a horrible rendition of the greeting, “Ogio-ho-go-ziemess.” I butchered the greeting. Luckily the only ones to hear my attempt was an empty desk and a room collaged in photos, calendars, and various Taiko memorabilia. I decided to try my luck at the next doorway, “Ohio-Go-Zi-E-Mass” and like a call and response exercise, a friendly chorus of “Ohayo gozaimasu’s” answered my greeting.
Even though I still felt out of place, the students’ welcome was comforting, and as a fellow taiko player I felt accepted and at home in the presence of another taiko community. There was no teacher in the room but the class invited me to have a seat on the edge of their practice mats. The interior was similar in size to half of a basketball court and the first detail I noticed were the hundreds of egg cartons plastered against every inch of the unfinished concrete walls. There were also taiko-sized panes of Styrofoam hanging from the ceiling to absorb excess vibrations and purify the sound of the drums.
The class stood in a full circle and had just begun their warm-up and stretching routine. It all looked familiar to the Colby Taiko class routine but seemed considerably more rigorous and demanding. After 80 push-ups and sit-ups they sank their bodies into a squat position with their arms extended fully in front of them. They brought their hands together, interlocked every finger except for their thumbs, and twiddled them while counting to ten in Japanese, “Ichi! Ni! San! Yon! Go! Roku! Shichi! Hachi! Kyu! Jyu!” The exercise was repeated once more with their arms above their heads. The group went right into one-legged squats and at this point many of them seemed out of breath and their faces glowed bright red. Then the class assumed a “crab-walk” position and did dips on three limbs with one legged raised in the air in front of them until they could do no more. Right before complete exhaustion, the class stood tall and took three deep breaths, raising their arms simultaneously creating a group fluidity with elements of ballet. The tension and stillness of the room during these three breaths created an entirely new realm of concentration. It looked as if they were preparing for battle and my anticipation in conjunction with the coolness of the concrete warehouse floor gave me chills up and down my spine.
The diversity among the adult beginner class was impressive and unexpected. Among the group there were all different shapes and sizes, fruits from all trees if you will. One pale male player sported a blonde pony tail with a midnight colored Metallica tour t-shirt and baggy black cargo shorts accessorized with a confusion of metal chains and random zippers. Another soft-spoken player, who I at first confused with an Office Max employee, stood tall in a short-sleeve button down shirt accompanied with a red ball point pen in his front chest pocket. There was a lanky woman in her mid 50s who, besides tanning just a little too much, could fully keep up with the boys. There was an unforgettable grey-haired, double-chinned Korean man with a belly spilling out of his shirt and a voice as high as helium. Finally I noticed a short, athletic college-aged woman capable of being a collegiate track runner.
In total there were nine men and seven women all of whom had a voice to contribute. Each player was clearly at a different skill level, but their individual strengths complemented one another into a community-sound and weaknesses went unnoticed behind a curtain of confidence and cohesiveness.
Now that their bodies were warm and in the right state to receive instruction, the class lined up shoulder to shoulder and faced me and the doorway to my left awaiting Tanaka’s entrance. This image again reminded me of soldiers lined up awaiting orders from their superiors. I felt mildly awkward being the only one facing the group but used a wall of mirrors, which I found useful for observing all angles of the practice, to catch a glimpse of the lobby room and Sensei Seiichi Tanaka. Because of the ample amount of reading and discussions the Colby Taiko group has had regarding Tanaka-sensei and the SFTD, seeing him I felt frozen, completely star-struck. He looked very similar to a Tibetan monk and my first thought was how old he seemed. I tried to picture the young Tanaka, the same one that played at the ’68 Cherry Blossom Festival, but my mind couldn’t escape the present. I turned towards the doorway and as he entered I accompanied the rest of the class saying, “Ohayo gozaimasu”—my best one yet. He slowly paced behind the group and knelt before a gong. The group turned and knelt in an order based on seniority. Whoever had been playing the longest was arranged left to right, and the group bowed in after the strike of the cymbal. After a moment of silence, Tanaka-sensei began with a series of announcements and activities they would be focusing on that evening. He was also aware of my presence and introduced me as a taiko professor visiting from New York City. He then dismissed the group to setup the drums. I counted more than fifty full-sized taiko drums and seven drums that were more than five feet in diameter.
As the group schlepped the drums onto the practice mat, Tanaka-sensei began to walk towards me. I immediately stood up and when he was a few feet away lowered my head and bowed. He reciprocated, but I was very surprised when he extended his hand for a handshake as if he was turning his back on Japanese customs. Then I realized I was overanalyzing the situation and he was just trying to make his guest feel comfortable and welcome in his house of taiko—a gesture which I appreciated very much. The handshake was electric and he mumbled something in Japanese to which I replied, “I’m sorry?” Tanaka then said, “Everybody always understands me, it doesn’t matter what language I speak.” A smile illuminated his face and he said he was just kidding. I guess the rumors I heard about his alleged hostility were wrong, and Tanaka-sensei actually seemed very humorous and full of energy.
The first thing I noticed about the SFTD practice technique was the stance. The class stood like baseball batters because the drums were on elevated, tilted stands about three feet off the ground. Before the class was allowed to play, Tanaka asked them to do a marching practice, similar to our kuchi shoga warm-up techniques, but the class marched around the full circle of drums stopping at each to recite the piece physically and orally until returning to their original position. During this short exercise I observed a significant distinction in skill levels between the students. Many floated fluently around the drums as if they were innately connected to the individual drums. Others almost fell over and struggled to move while saying one thing and pretending to play another. Seiichi Tanaka did not single anybody out this early on in the practice. He instead addressed a few communal issues that everyone could benefit from, which I considered a valuable teaching technique to limit frustration and maintain morale among students.
Before asking the ensemble to play as a whole, Tanaka-sensei split the students into four teams of four to work on segments of a more advanced piece. I patiently observed the groups practice for thirty minutes while he perused the space between the taikos like he was riding a bicycle through traffic. He occasionally stopped to give individual attention to players and remind others to remain conscious of rudimentary techniques that may seem insignificant but greatly hinder one’s ability when ignored or forgotten, such as facing your belly button towards the middle of the drums at all times. When I first saw Tanaka-sensei use his hands to correct a student’s twisted stance by rotating his hips to evenly face the center of the drum, I thought to myself, “Really? Even in the acclaimed San Francisco Taiko Dojo people make the same mistakes that the Colby Taiko group does on Mayflower Hill? Wow.” I wasn’t sure why I was so surprised by such simple mistakes, after all everyone makes mistakes and this was the beginner’s adult class. I then realized that great taiko players and renowned taiko groups are exactly like professional athletes, what makes them so good is practice and repetition. My head almost exploded when I fathomed how many practices and piece repetitions Tanaka-sensei has been a party of.
My ears suddenly heard something familiar and my thoughts were thrown back into my baby crib accompanied with the sound of taiko lullabies. The piece the ensemble practiced went so well with the infamous nursery rhyme “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” that Tanaka insisted the groups sing it while rehearsing. My translation seems mediocre at best but the sound of the drums rang:
Don don don kara kara! Don don ka doro don kara kara chick! Don ka don doro kara kara! Doro kara don don kara kara!
At first it was hard for me to put the two together but it wasn’t long before I chimed in for the chorus. Even though the four groups were rehearsing different segments of the piece, they each developed a different dynamic and method of learning. Some students, usually those with more experience, assumed a leadership role in their respective groups while others contributed as silent participators who used the drums to communicate.
I like to think I can handle loud noises. When I’m in a car I enjoy as much blistering bass as my ribcage can handle and I spoil my speakers with the “Vol. Max” setting. I know damage is being done to my ear canals but without enough sound I also believe an opportunity is being forgone. As tough as I thought my ears were, there was a moment when all the drums seemed to be struck at once and damn it was loud. The pulse of the drums rocked by body and if I closed my eyes I could easily trick myself into thinking I was standing point blank range in front of a tower of subwoofers at a west coast rave focused in dark hard heavy electro. Thank god the San Francisco Taiko Dojo doesn’t have neighbors.
The violent strike of Tanaka-sensei’s gong instantly silenced the thunderous drums. He explained each group would perform what they had been working on and those not playing were assigned an individual to observe and critique. After a few lines the group lost confidence and became flustered, out of sync and rhythm. I caught a smirk on Tanaka sensei’s face and I realized he knew they couldn’t play what he assigned them, but he taught using the “high achievement takes place in the framework of high expectations” method. Tanaka-sensei let others be teachers and commentators without interruption even if he didn’t completely agree with the remarks made. I could tell that the peer review portion of the practice was very significant; it gave each individual a chance to have his or her voice heard. Notes about stance, grip, and emphasizing the down beat were juggled back and forth among the students.
The groups continued to choke in front of Tanaka-sensei, but he never lost his patience. He dragged a taiko to the center of the room and addressed the drum with a parental kind of care. He explained that courage is essential when you play, “Find courage by screaming loud. If you can’t hear yourself, scream louder, then your stage fright will go away.” I caught people looking around with faces wondering, is he out of his mind or ahead of his time? I actually found his comments very insightful and agreed if one releases their fear through voice or action then one will have nothing left to fear, and nowhere else to fall. He also emphasized the idea of “proportionate timing” in playing and body motions. Seiichi Tanaka played the piece flawlessly with the elegance of an angel and a true demonstration of strength. I was completely hypnotized by his movements and caught myself frozen in slack-jawed admiration, a face similar to art enthusiasts staring at an original Monet for the first time. It was in that majestic moment I realized everything in life depends on balance. But, like children on a see-saw, who wants to stay motionless in the middle all the time? The real fun is in the highs and lows of the right, or in this case, the conquering and fear of the taiko. During the adult beginner class cool down, after the drums had been put away, I felt an anticipation of next week’s practice creep into the room. The floor was cold again and I could feel the taiko’s energy building, waiting to be released again. The group stretched silently, it seemed all the excess vibrations in the room entered their bodies and calmly left with each breath.
Post-practice, 16 taiko students, Seiichi Tanaka, another San Francisco Taiko Dojo representative and myself stood crowded in the lobby room with our backs against the walls, creating just enough space for a fold-up table to house a steaming teapot and an assortment of glasses. I was served first and nervously held the palm-sized cup in both my hands, trying desperately not to drop it and burn my standing neighbors. Tanaka-sensei had a special mug about ten times the size of our petite china, and no one drank until he slurped the boiling beverage into his mouth. Before he took a sip, he asked me in front of everyone, “As our guest you can choose to lead us in a song, speech, or dance.” I was already nervous enough just speaking to the man, let alone completely embarrassing myself in three fields of theater I was entirely ungifted at. I initially thought he was kidding and laughed. When everyone’s face kept still I realized he was dead serious and that this was customary to ask any guest during their visit. The students’ had just performed over three hours for me and a short rendition of Will Smith’s “Gettin’ Jiggy With It” was all they seeked in return. The longer I waited to decide the more red my face became so I quickly weighed the pros and cons of each: song, speech, and dance. I thought a speech might be a chance to really express my gratitude (in a cheesy fashion). A song was out of the question because my voice was dissipated from an aggressive shouting match with a 49ers fan the night before. So, I had no choice—dance it was. “Where’s the music?” I asked while stretching a quad, preparing to explore the space. “Hear it in your head!” the group shouted. Then, with only little hesitation, I closed my eyes and started the same Irish- looking jig I used to pull out at high school dances. I held my crossed arms out in front of my chest and sank low to the ground kicking my right heel out followed by my left, over and over again. My fear of embarrassment and nervousness had left. It seemed this was an initiation of sorts, an experience we all shared and later laughed at. When I finally lost balance and crashed onto the floor, I was rewarded with a round of applause and a circle of smiles.
The commotion eventually faded and in the corner of my eye I caught Tanaka-sensei draping a scarf around his neck and making his way to the door. Everyone followed him outside and lined up beneath the SFTD awning like a school picture. The conversation kept constant and the teapot continued tipping as Tanaka-sensei slowly but humbly approached his car. His sea-foam green Honda mini-van suddenly screeched into drive and honked twice as it darted down the road. All of our hands rose to wave good bye until he was around the corner and out of sight. I wondered if he actually looks back as he rolled through the stop sign at 30 mph. “Believe me, Tanaka’s always watching and that’s the closest I’ve ever seen him to making a complete stop,” a student said standing to my left.
When I crawled into bed that night, I could still hear the echoing taikos, like waves still crash in your head after a day at the beach. All in all, my visit to the San Francisco Taiko Dojo was one of the strangest, most rewarding experiences in my life that I hold in my all-time book of highs. I would spend tomorrow in Napa valley, drinking wine out of barrels that one day might evolve into a taiko at rest in San Francisco or Maine…zzzZZZZZZZzzz…there are few things better in this world than taiko & wine.
Jordan Ansell ’12, Economics
Wow, you perfectly described my first experience attending SFTD earlier this week. I was so intimidated meeting Sensei Tanaka, and I was just observing the group in deciding whether to sign up or not. I need more practice before jumping into that dojo for fear of disappointing him! Anyway, nice post.