Architectural Dance Steps

I've mentioned in these pages that I was worried about the increase in posts about music. The fear lies in not knowing the proper steps while "dancing about architecture," a famous quip that I'd attribute to Dorothy Parker, though not without conjecture. Yet I also seem to recall Goethe's claim that architecture is frozen music, so there you go. Whatever the case, I can't write about last weekend without mentioning music.

Friday night I was in Osaka, to catch Kodo's annual year end show there. Enjoyable as always. It started out with clackers which resonated loudly thru my head to the point that the sound cleared out my sinuses. Much welcome relief after days of rain. Marcin and I sat omnipotently up in the balcony, our wisecracks drawing frightening-close comparisons with the two old codgers from the Muppet show. Many of the musical pieces tread familiar ground, though it was nice to see Yoshikazu play Odaiko again. After his long solo, as he knelt in his own sweat, back heaving, I imagined him thinking, "I'm getting too old for this shit."
Afterward, a few of us went backstage to say our hellos, then moved on to some trendy spot for a New Year's party. Later, our mad dash for trains was epic, missing the last Keihan train by five minutes, the last Hankyu by one, me humming "Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown" until stepping aboard a warm JR train filled with drunks.

Saturday, MatsuMiki and I went to visit Keith and Masumi at their new digs in rural Kyoto. Local Legend Tim was in town for the party, which included a few of the local housewives and their kids. After dinner, we started to play some acoustic versions of Keith's songs. Although I've taken loads of drumming workshops this year, I haven't played in front of an audience since June, and was looking forward to connecting musically with my friends. But before things began to really cook, one of the kids fell down, drawing blood. Game over, man.

Sunday I spent drumming, three hours on Miyake, three on Yatai. Neither of these pieces are difficult musically, but require serious demands physically, particularly the calves, shoulders, and abs.. (My arms are still heavy as I write this post.) After the workshop, I rushed over to KyoDai's Seibu Kodo for Big Frog Day. I've long wanted to see this place, the center of late '60s student riots and still beyond University control. (Back in Isla Vista, I had been equally happy to see radical bands like Public Enemy, Disposable Heroes, and Rage Against the Machine play in the former Bank of America building torched during anti-war protests in 1970.) Passing thru a torii arch painted psychedelic colors, into an open lot now in full hippie vibe. I'm sure most of the usual Kyoto longhairs were here, washing down fry bread with Chai, or buying new clothing made of hemp. Many more were inside, watching Nami-san going thru his set. I've seen Nami's gigs a dozen times and have played percussion for him occasionally. (Even Ken-chan banged away on tin cups at one show.) He seems to follow some kind of hippie underground railway, playing each town with a collective of local musicians like myself. But this was the first time I'd seen him play fully fleshed out with a large band, including a young drummer playing with what I initially thought were rather unimaginative fills. But the main difference is that he was up there and I wasn't. Another quick impression was that the young girl singing backup sounded a lot better than Isako and her Yoko Ono-esque whelps and yawps. I assumed that these backup musicians were some KyoDai students. Imagine my shock when they later came out alone to play the second set. It had been Big Frog all along. Rather than Nami opening for them, they had chosen to play together. On their own tunes, they were really incredible, no real surprise considering that they're essentially the Phish of Japan. Throughout the entire show, a couple of artists were creating their visions, spray-painting white designs on clear plastic sheets hanging behind the stage. It was like watching spiders at work. Meanwhile, the band was cranking thru some really ripping songs, and despite my extreme fatigue I still found the energy to dance, far in the back with the drunks and other casualties. A couple nice hippie touches to the show were a dog wandering the stage and yawning, plus Nami-san missing his cue to rejoin the band. He wandered onstage midsong, played a few chords before putting down his guitar, made some bizarre hand gestures, then wandered off again. (Not unlike the dog, really.) Around this point I noticed Isako, having just arrived late from a long drive down from Tottori. When it was over, we both went backstage. I really felt guilty about initially underrating the band's drummer since he turned out to be an extremely friendly and nice guy. The gang seemed to be settling in with their respective substances and I didn't want to intrude, so after a short visit with Nami, I headed back out to the friendly freak scene outside. I'm sure there were some other friends around, but I was too tired to dive in. Nor did I want to linger too long on the fringe, so I created space by heading home to a Herzog DVD and his own unique take on lovable outsiders.



On the turntable: Adjabel, "Acoustic Revolution"
On the nighttable: Kerouac, Saijo, Welch, "Trip Trap"