I can safely say I did not drop a bachi (I have
never dropped a bachi on stage. Knock on wood). We did, however, royally mess up
Kaito Ryu.
Heiya was about as much fun I've ever had on stage. My
Kanki no Wa solo was awesome, if I do say so myself. We made it through
Timbuktu and
Laban, and even though the sax guy missed his cue in
Timbuktu, we taiko players, being the pros we are, managed to save it without a hitch--I don't think so anyway. I couldn't see anyone but Janet.
Mokuyobi went fine except for the fact that I think I may have stepped all over Carolyn's solo and then was like a deer in the headlights when I realized I was totally in the groove of my own solo and was doing just fine until I looked up to see everyone else playing my solo CUE-IN, and there was that terrifying moment of WTF because everyone was just looking at me like what the freakin-frack is she doing? I don't know if I saved my solo or what, but I managed to play the second half of my set solo kinda-sorta ok. I knew before going into this show that I was going to have a short and sweet solo because the only one soloing after me was Janet, and this would be her last solo of the show and her last real moment on stage, so just give her the spotlight already and be done with it. I know that
Mokuyobi is a strong solo song for her because she's been playing it for so long and teaching it to people all over the country. I've heard two versions of it on CDs of her group, and have memorized them down to the kiai's (that's not always a good thing, cause you're kiaing the exact same thing the composer is, and I have to admit, that's kind of embarrasing, because, like, you want to be all original and spontaneous but it's hard because the composer is standing next to you and saying the exact same thing). Anyway.
This concert was all about trying to give all that I could give, and I
totally got into it. After the concert people were saying how it was all about my facial expressions, and I have to admit I was trying to put some effort into that. I am absolutely sure that when I see the video I am going to
DIE of embarrasment. Oh well. I gave 110%. No, that's so inaccurate. There's no percentage to explain the effort I put in. I gave this concert my
soul, and that means more than any percentage could. A soul is so much more than any word or any analogy or any mathematical equation. It's one thing to just beat the crap out of a drum and say that
that was 110% because now your arms ache and your hachimaki is soaked in sweat, but it's another thing to play with all your soul so that when you're done you just want to cry because you just left a bit of your self out there in the music.
After the concert, in the quiet of a backstage dressing room, Janet said, "You break my heart when I see you play." I was a little confused; I wasn't sure what to make of that. She must have seen it on my face because then she said, "It's because when I see you play I know that you love this more than
all of us." I wanted to ask more, so much more. But I think in my heart, I knew exactly what she meant.
And so I said, quietly, because it was all I could say, and all that there was to say, "Yes, I think I do." And then I walked away, because my heart was a little broken too, because my heart was broken before I even walked into that theater. Over a year ago, when she first came up with the idea for the ensemble, I was elated because the thought of being able to make music with someone like her was so exciting. I tried so hard, worked so hard to learn the music and the kata and the solos and the timing and the sequence and how to put more of myself into the kiai's and how to put more of myself into the performances and the solos. Everything was going so well. I had the music, the encouragement and the
inspiration. It was in me.
And then, just weeks before the concert, I had to suddenly go back home,
home-home, back to the one who first brought me rhythm, my first heartbeat. There was the blur of days and nights and cold rooms and the news that the first heartbeat I ever heard would eventually fade away, like something stolen in the night, a decrescendo. Not yet, but. The music left me then. This performance would have been the first time my mother saw me play taiko, but since she wasn't there I had to play with my soul so that the music could transcend the 400 miles that separate us. Around my neck I wore a heart-shaped ring she had given me.
I couldn't have done this if it weren't for the passion and confidence to play taiko that Janet gave me such a long time ago, and still continues to give. I remember once when we were learning something new and hard and instead of her saying that we weren't playing something right, she suggested that what we did was good but that we should try it again, and this time let's try it
this way and see how it sounds
. It's her spirit of "I
know we can do this" that is so heartening.
This concert was hard and so emotionally difficult but I think I got through it because I knew I could do it. Janet taught me that.
I really think we made something I can be proud to give to my mother.
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