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"

Dreaming of a Green Xmas

Fought the incessant snow and wind to play two impromptu gigs last weekend. Music broke out at the English School Xmas party, in the form of a couple guitars strumming carols to a djembe beat. An R2D2 karaoke machine was also in attendance, and much fawned over.

Sunday saw Nami-san's thing at GuruGuru in Kurayoshi. Due to the roads, there were maybe a dozen people there. It was very chilled out affair. Nami's first set was all sung in Spanish, a nod to DeNada, his backing band. I sat on the floor and beat out the Latin rhythms I learnt in Tokyo last month. The price of admittance also included a plate of curry and a delicious cookie. Since I only had large money, I was given a second cookie in lieu of 50 yen. A little bit later, I realized that the cookies came with a secret toy surprise inside. Oops! Generally, I don't partake, but... I wouldn't have gotten so fucked up if only I'd had the right change! Visiting the striped shirted inmates of Lawson much later, I laughed at how oblivious they were to late night munchie culture. On the way out, I saw the first snowplow I've ever seen in this country, plowing a parking lot. Meanwhile the roads were death. That's so Japan, man!


On the turntable: Juan MacClean, "Less than Human"
On the nightable: Patrick Bernard, "Music as Yoga"

The music never stopped...

Nami-san finished his tour of the area with a free gig Sunday evening in Kurayoshi. During the afternoon, Aya held a small festival to coincide with the event, offering music and cheap international eats. I was thrilled to be able to eat Mexican, Indian, and Brazilian food in the same afternoon, surrounded by friends whose music skills are overshadowed only by their sense of fun. Aya played a stripped down set with half their usual members, though Erika's dancing was as ecstatic as usual, not at all hinting that she'd had a mere hour of sleep the night before. Alama showed up later, and a free jam broke out, musicians rotating in and out, with the man himself keeping it steady for three hours or so. He is genki drink personified. I was hesitant to jump in, knowing that his songs usually build and expand and cause seriously sore shoulders in those who dare to keep up. This day, it was my lower back which screamed out, as I sat on a stool, reaching down through my legs to beat on a grooved log balanced on my upturned feet. At dusk, the main event began. It was held in a beautiful old house at the foot of the hill where the castle once stood. Kono and Mii-chan and I played a short opening set, a couple mellow jazz songs culminating in "Autumn Leaves," fine choice for this post-equinox weekend. Nami-san came on and played a mostly solo acoustic set of pretty mellow songs. Later a bunch of us eventually joined in, en masse rather than one by one, which seemed to prevent the usual gradual jam building. After playing tambourine from the shadows for awhile, the pace slowed again so I went out to the genkan. I sat alone, listening to the last two pieces, quiet and thoughtful, as a light wind caressed my face. This was it, the final waning moments of a summer which was as long as it was exciting and turbulent. Pure magic, this life. Thank you.


On the turntable: Zero 7, "When It Falls"

Your parking space awaits

Friday night I had perhaps the greatest rock star moment in my life. Nami-san returned to Yonago. Before his set, Motoi's group played. I hadn't seen him live in like 10 years, he having gone to LA for awhile to get improve his guitar skills. Wow. Even 10 years ago I thought that he may have been the best guitarist I've ever seen live, and that includes a lot of giants like Stevie Ray Vaughan. (Slow typing here due to mind having been blown.) Nami was in rare form too, burning thru a wicked bilingual version of "Me and Bobby McGee," the Kris Kristofferson version. The night built into an uberjam, with guitarists from all of the night's 4 bands on stage together, blowing up "Jailhouse Rock" into something that even the bloated Elvis couldn't digest. Leaning on the bar, I whipped maracas around, my legs twitching of their own accord.

But my rock and roll moment came late, at the after party. The musicians all sat around eating fiery curry and downing Asahi of the perfect temp. People would get on stage a few at a time to jam. I'd already provided backup on djembe to Michael as he crooned his French tunes. I'd later sung a Marley medley, ad-libbing lyrics in Japanese when I forgot the real ones, despite having heard them hundreds of times. But the aforementioned moment happened when I sat behind a stripped down drum kit, no cymbols, no snare, just a mere bass drum and pair of toms. Which I played with chopsticks.

Yet rock star moments are ofttimes accompanied by rock and roll lifestyle choices. I thought about this as I sipped chu-hi til 4 a.m. My body clock is part rooster, so a mere five hours later I awoke. Still drunk. Oops! Looks like no aikido today...


On the turntable: Sarah Vaughan with Clifford Brown