Bell Pattern

A few years I learned a rhythm called the bell pattern. It's a rhythm that's heard a lot in Afro-Cuban music. When I first learned it, it was a semi-complicated pattern that over time I became comfortable with. Janet loves to throw it into a lot of her music, and it's a fun and driving rhythm. But I knew that the bell pattern has a lot of importance in Cuban music and is an essential time-keeper for more complicated patterns. I knew it was a part, like clave, that are the shoulders upon which whole worlds of music rest on. The bell is in fact a variation of clave. 

In my percussion class, I am finally learning how important bell is, and I am so thankful for the head start I got on learning it. Now that I am learning patterns within the context of bell, I feel that there is a new and gigantic world of rhythm that I am being introduced to. I think it's great and amazing. I am so loving that class. But what I love the most is that things are slowly making connections in my head. I love that I am building upon all the knowledge and experience I already have under my belt, but in a way that makes me feel like I am beginning to really understand things. Yes I have this one factoid down, and this other factoid, but now they are starting to link up and make sense. It's like when you're putting together a jigsaw puzzle from disparate pieces and very slowly a larger image starts to take shape, and all of a sudden you see that different colors and shapes actually have a logic and place. But boy oh boy, is this a big puzzle. I haven't even finished putting all the edges together yet. There is still a whole lot of filling in I need to do.

The F-Word

No, not that F-word.

FOOD!

So I've started running again and I have to say that one of the drawbacks (or benefits, depending on what side of the fork you're on) is that I am constantly voracious. This is a little surprising to me since I've only been on 3 runs since my winter hiatus. But if you utter the words "tempura udon" around me I will never rest until I get a bowl of that. Same goes for "chili dog" or "hamburger" or "burrito." Heck it's just better if you don't mention any food-words around me at all. I've been a little worried that age and genetics are catching up to me, but I know that if I keep running, I'll end up being that gristly thing I used to be when I was training for Bay to Breakers the first time. 

But really, I am trying to improve myself. It is not easy, given the fact that work keeps me chained to my chair all day (but I do go out on daily lunch-hour walks--hey, doesn't that remind you of prison?) and that other things in my life keep me occupied (like taiko, or catching up on all the Oscar-nominated movies, or that other thing I don't get enough of--sleep!). But spring is in the air, thanks to global warming, and my future and humanity are creeping up on me. I don't want to be on medication before I'm 50.  I don't want a cane. I don't want to ever, and I mean ever, talk to you about fiber. 

So running it is. It doesn't solve everything life throws at you, but it makes you feel good. I was trying to think of reasons not to go running all afternoon, but at 4:45, 15 minutes before work was over, I realized that any excuse I had was just lame, and I begrudgingly changed into my workout clothes, begrudgingly laced up my dorky running shoes (silver! egad!), and plugged the ipod into my head and plodded off into the dying January daylight. That's the one thing I like about running, the ease of it. All you need to do to be a runner is to take that first step, and all the other steps fall into line. You just go left-right-left-right until you've met your goal. The only hard part is occupying your mind in the meantime. Me--I like to listen to music and take in the world around me. At this time of the year, the last rays of the sun hit the treetops straight on, so that they are seemingly lit by an internal fire, and the white, puffy clouds take on a pinkish tinge, and the young undergrads huddle beneath their winter coats rushing off to dinner singly and in pairs before long nights in the library. It sure does feel good afterward, steaming in the winter air, your muscles loose and hot, more miles under your belt, moving closer to the goal you've set out or yourself. But step aside, yo, I'm hungry!

Saying it Out Loud Makes it So

OK. I am going to run Bay to Breakers again this year.

There, I said it. 

Actually, I already signed up for the race and payed the %$@&ing bucks ($9) to have my bib mailed to me. Which means that now I have to train for the darn race. Yes, you are now a witness. 

I have no plans of bringing a friend with me (though if my usual B2B partner wants to drive up from LA to join me, she is more than welcome).  My training this time is different. The will is more personal. I want to run and finish this race for me. I'm not doing it to prove anything. I'm not doing it to please anyone. I'm doing it for ME. 

I want to get into shape again. I want to have that first B2B body I had when I was training so hard for it the first time. Only now the great hurdle is knowing that this race is not as big of a hurdle that I thought it would be the first time I ran it. It's a fun easy race and that hill in the middle is nothing. But I want the physicality of it. I want the sweat and muscle and determination. But I want those things for other things. We've been doing 2-slant stuff in taiko, and I have to admit--I am so winded after playing. That is bad. I want endurance. I want to feel the strength of my body. I want aches and shin splints and time in a hot bathtub and the agony of looking at my watch and realizing I still have 15 more minutes to go and trying to find the mental strength to get through those last 15 minutes. I want the quiet meditative time of running hills, of pushing through walls. The journey is in the struggle.

I'm ready for that. I ran 30 minutes last Wednesday, and for a body that hadn't run for a couple of months, and instead indulged in many holiday meals and was enjoying the deadly sins of gluttony and sloth, I did pretty good. Well, it was pretty good when I was running, but now, 2 days later, my legs are killing me. Muscles that I didn't know I even had are screaming for attention and sympathy. But that's ok. That's actually what I've been craving for.

I'd like to feel alive again. I'd like to feel sweat and accomplishment. It's the third Sunday of May. You should do it too!

A Very Big Tree

When I went to Hawaii with my mother in 2001, we were standing outside a restaurant in Hilo and we both looked in wonder at that tree back there. The scale of living things in Hawaii is amazing, more so in Hilo, and we'd never seen a tree that big before. We asked my mother's Aunty, whom we had been visiting, how old that tree was, but she didn't know, and in fact, she confessed, she had never noticed that tree before. It's one of those small moments I won't forget. Life can be so monumental sometimes, and we don't even realize it.

I went to that same restaurant, quite by coincidence, while in Hilo a couple of weeks ago. It made me miss Mom horribly.

Songs for Sensei

I played in Mark Izu's Songs for Sensei show at the De Young Museum last night. It was such an honor. The more he told the stories about his sensei, who is his sho teacher, the more I realized how important this show was to him, and how honored I was to be included in this. The Sho is a reed instrument composed of multiple pipes that is played traditionally in Gagaku music, or traditional Japanese music played for the Imperial Court. Mark, besides being a talented and celebrated jazz bassist, is an experienced sho player. Before I met Mark I didn't even know what a sho was.

It was touching to me to see how a person like Mark, whom I consider a master musician, express his gratefulness and gratitude to his own teacher in a full length show. It made me appreciate the fact that even when you become very accomplished, one doesn't forget their roots and those who taught you your lessons along the way. 

As a taiko player I consider myself an amateur, but being involved in this show has made me feel like maybe one day I can attain the experience of someone like Mark. As Janet and I were driving home from the show, I thanked her for including me in this, because I had assumed that Mark had asked her to perform and that she had included me because I am always willing and mostly available to play taiko with her. But she told me that Mark had asked her and I to perform with him, and I told her, Oh! I didn't know that.  I sat there in the silence of the car. We were crossing the Bay Bridge, over the water, between here and there, the lights of the city casting their glow in the night. San Francisco was behind us, home was growing closer. We were moving away from one show, and as we passed through time and distance, we were traveling toward new horizons. Our lives reflect upon themselves. It was kind of one of those moments that I know I will never forget, and right now I can't quite explain why that moment was so overwhelming for me. Maybe someday.

It was a great show. Jazz is a new genre for me, and I studied my cues, studied the music. I am proud that I was able to hold down the rhythm in 5. I am happy that we pulled off Threading Time, the most challenging song for me (and the song that included a part of Kai To Ryu. I don't know what we would have done if we couldn't have pulled off the Kai section of the song!). I am totally impressed at our performance of Chikara, which for me, is a song that you can only nail if you have a complete ESP-mind-meld with your fellow player (or if both of you are metronomes, which we are not). I am greatly humbled to have worked with musicians who have been in the business for probably more years than I have been alive.

And for blog's sake, here are a couple of pics. Preset for the show. So many instruments! And it's not even so much that there were so many instruments, but that all the musicians playing those instruments were so darn good on them!

Shoko (the koto player), me and Janet in our fabulous white outfits. 

Backstage pass, yo!

I learned a lot. I am very humbled. 

Yes, that's the right word. 

Humbled.

Take 5

So, coming back from vacation has been quite a trial. The first thing my boss said to me after asking me about my vacation was if I was willing to work overtime.  I looked around at the precarious piles of work and agreed. I stayed late and worked on the weekend. But there were also all the other things I'd been putting on the back burner, unwilling to think about. I need to learn a brand new song that we're going to perform at RCW's Inauguration Party. I still haven't worked on it, and that looms heavily over me. Oh, and I have to do a 2-drum slant solo in it too. I don't have much experience with 2-drum slant solos. Please, come for Obama. 

But even more pressing is the performance with Mark Izu at the DeYoung Museum for their Friday Nights at the DeYoung series. I have to say firstly that Mark is such a nice guy. He is sweet and mellow and is such a sharp musician. This guy is brilliant and way out of my musical league--I'm not even sure we're playing the same sport. The fact that I get to tag along with Janet as one of the performers in this project is such an honor. Which means that I have to work extra hard for this gig. First off, it's jazz. I've never performed jazz before. Sure, I appreciate jazz--heck, it was the public radio stations in LA that played jazz that really got me hooked on music in the first place. I had no idea what I was listening to, but I would study it. I would really pay attention and try to understand what jazz was until finally I came to the realization that what jazz was is an appreciation for innovation, for expression, for feel. I mean, I still claim complete ignorance about jazz, but what really draws me in is the journey that the music takes you on. You have to let go of everything about where you think a song will take you, and instead take the hand of the musician and let them lead you to places you've never been.  It's the where-we're-going part that is a challenge to me right now.

Yesterday we had rehearsal at Mark's and I got a better picture of what we'd be doing. I took copious notes and have been looking at them all day. I can do this, I know I can. Part of it is learning what we're going to be playing, knowing when (approximately, give or take 3-5 minutes) we are going to be playing it, and letting the idea of "feel" guide the rest. Oh, and then there is the playing with Janet part. I couldn't imagine a better person to lead me on my first jazz gig, and part of this leg is learning to play with her and just feeling and anticipating. I'm totally following her lead, but part of the challenge is knowing when she is going to start, when she is going to stop, and how to work with her in between. I am glad I have worked with her so long because some of it comes natural, but some of it is studying her body language and the phrases and movements she speaks the music with. But I have to admit some it is just hanging on for dear life. It is a good learning experience. 

Another new thing for me is learning a song in 5. I think that means the song is in 5/4, but don't quote me on that. There are 5 beats to a bar, or what I imagine a bar to be. There are 5 units to a set. Oh, whatever. I just think back to the struggle learning a song in 6 was, and actually, learning this song in 5 is worlds easier. I don't know if it's experience or just the fact that songs in 5 are fun. I have a suspicion that if Janet hadn't told me the song was in 5 I would have never known something was amiss, but she told me that I probably would have been confused. I'm just curious to know how long it would have taken me to figure out something was weird. Maybe it's just a good groove. But anyhow the stressful part is that at moments I'm the only one holding down the groove, and it may be for a long time, and it will be under other people solo-ing, so I will have to be solid. Today I was at the copy machine, waiting for my endless copies to come out, and I was practicing the 5 groove. 

 

This is gonna be interesting.

New Year in Hawaii

(I thought geckos were green??)

Spent this past New Year celebrating Hawaiian style. It was SOO nice to get away from everything--work, chores, Oakland. Our time in Hawaii revolved around food. There would be an activity, and then it was time to eat. Activity, eat. Rest, eat. Heck, the first thing they did on the plane was feed us. I love meals in boxes. They're like opening little presents that you put in your belly:Our first task was to pound mochi. I've never actually done that before. The vast majority of mochi I've ever eaten comes in little cellophane packages from Marukai. But this year we pounded it ourselves. Most of us hadn't done that before, but we had adult supervision. Here are some really old mochi pounding hammers being soaked before the pounding--I think they must be 100 years old, no exaggeration:
This is me wielding one of those bad boys (no one lost any fingers):And heck, why not a video:

I also helped with the actual forming of mochi. Think really sticky play dough:We made about 8 batches. The first batch was fun. The second turned out the best, and all the rest got harder and harder. It was raining a beautiful, tropical rain and it was WARM there, compared to the near freezing temperatures we left behind. In order to recover from all our hard work we ate traditional Hawaiian food--handmade lau lau, kalua pork, and poi!The next day was New Year's eve and food prep day. I helped make maki-zushi rolls (sorry no pic) and helped taste test Okinawan sweet potato tempura. I have had tempura all over the world, but no where did it taste as good here (oh, and that's someone making tako--octopus--on the right):That night we said hello to the ancestors, and I attended my first Buddhist service. I'm sure God won't mind. It was interesting, and not particularly different in structure than your usual Catholic service. There was standing and sitting and chanting/singing. It was short and sweet. Afterward we had a sake toast to the New Year as well as soba, which apparantly is some good-luck tradition. They also handed out bouquets of freshly picked mizuna, which we added to the traditional ozoni soup (made with our own mochi!) you eat on New Year's. Everyone gets to ring in the New Year by pounding the bell:In Hawaii, fireworks are not illegal, and one of the funnest parts of New Years was going to the supermarket, buying a bag of fireworks, and throwing it in the communal pile. We spent a good couple of hours putting flames to those babies and lighting up the night. I'm happy with a sparkler or one of those spinning flower things, but we also had fountains and crackling things and really loud things. Here is me enjoying a sparkler:They seemed a lot funner when we were kids.

This one was a crazy idea:
And here is a strand of firecrackers. These things are tres-illegal in California, except maybe on Chinese New Year, but even in Hawaii these things required a permit. We strung them from the roof and lit them. They were quite a sight and created so much smoke it looked like a war zone:



I mean literally, we stopped traffic with that amount of smoke.

After New Year's, the festivities slowed down, which gave us time to take in a little bit of the beach. I thought that the beach in January would be cold and rough, but it wasn't that bad. The waves were a little big, but after a little coaxing I dove in, under the waves, past the breakers, and bobbed up and down in the water with the rest of them. The water is clear and warm there.The sunsets are beautiful, and I didn't want to leave. Ah, but alas, I am back in town. We have a show this Friday at the DeYoung, and I was in rehearsals for that today, but more on that later.

Here is my last view of the islands from the plane. I'll be back!