Another bit of Ethnomusicology

It was a while ago, but back in October I went to a Taiko concert. Now since this was performed by community groups, it definitely wasn't the pinnacle of Taiko, but some of the performances were definitely impressive and some of the songs pretty challenging. That said, you could also tell me not to discount the concert just because it was amateurs performing - it's a look into the musical hobbies of people in Japan.

To get some foreign words out of the way, Taiko refers to music played in a drum ensemble of often 10-20 people. Drums can range from as small as a piccolo snare drum to the size of a Smart car. And the word Taiko can probably be used to label one of these drums, though there's probably specific terminology that I don't know about yet used to name each and every size drum.

What I really walked away from the concert with is the realization that significantly more than most music I've seen performed, Taiko is as much a visual spectacle as it is a musical one. Take for example how people who play the largest drums often take as long as two beats to wind up for a single strike. I liked how that gesture communicated a sense of power. Another visual spectacle that several groups used was the playing of a single drum by three people. In one situation, one person would play a pattern for a measure or two before moving to the side to let another person take his place and play the same pattern. In this fashion they would rotate between the three of them and after doing this for a while, increase the frequency at which they changed who actually played the drum.



Although this image is generally a bit blurry, you can still see how much the performers wind-up to strike some of the larger drums.

And here's a short video where you can see some of the grandeur that people portray during performances.

Can Never Say No to a Music Festival

Two weekends ago I made my way down to Kiryu Music Fronts (Japanese site, sorry), the annual music festival in my town, where local performers get to fill all the towns clubs at the same time, and I get to go to any of those clubs for the low price of ¥1000 ($8.75). It's kind of like SXSW if it were held in a small Japanese city and lacked all the overwhelming hype and crowds of Austin in March. In actuality though, the clubs this year were pretty empty compared to last. First of all, the festival last year was a whole weekend long, from Friday night to Sunday night; this year was only a Sunday night. Also the whatever crowd made it out to the festival were more than likely spread thinner than last year after the organizers expanded the number of participating clubs from four to seven.

The event itself aside, watching these Japanese bands in succession hammered home a point about Japanese culture that I have noticed in numerous other situations. Japan really is an incredibly paternalistic society. The dominance of males in music in the U.S. is apparent by how few women there are in bands. Or if there are women in bands, they're only singing and never touch an instrument. Even considering these facts, Japan keeps its women musicians at still farther flung fringes of musical society.

The group I liked the most, Epopsan, had four members: one guitarist (male), one singer/dancer (female), one keyboardist/producer/singer named Ogiwara (male), and one keyboardist/singer (female) who by the way was visibly pregnant. First of all, their music was electronic pop: they used a lot of melodies and thick, clean textures, but wouldn't shy away from letting a beat or loop run on its own for half a minute. Most of the music was prepared ahead of time and it seemed that it was played from and controlled by a production unit. So naturally, the person who came across as having the most power was Ogiwara, who controlled the prepared loops. In terms of traditional musicianship, the guitarist (who stood in a back corner of the stage while the two women flanked their Ogiwara in a line of three across the front of the stage) commanded the most respect. The pregnant keyboardist seemed to only play token hooks and some atmospheric parts, so she came across as number three in the band member hierarchy. And the last woman who danced and sung came in at number four.

The vocals didn't figure into the equation very significantly. However, that's where it starts to get interesting. Not only were all three of the singers underwhelming, but the women sung with thin, girly, and adolescent voices. So that's what clinched their bottom spots in ranking the visible importance of each band member. Their use of thin and weak voices is consistent with how Japanese women speak when in public, especially of those who work in service industries. Besides reinforcing their overall subservient role in society, this shrill voice is simply irritating.

But even though the girls of Epopsan used thin, weak voices, at least they sang in tune. The group that played before them - I don't remember the name, and I won't ever regret forgetting - had a pair of women in their 20s fronting a rhythm section of men. They not only used adolescent voices, but they couldn't stay in tune. There were in fact times when I cringed at notes that were absurdly flat.

Although some people worry about the role that women play in popular music in the U.S., only singing and having no role in the rest of the band's work of playing instruments, recording, and lugging around instruments, the situation in Japan is much worse considering that singing, the one thing they are expected to do, they are expected to do in a way that strips them of the power they're given when they stand at the front of the stage. Though I must say I do respect the keyboardist for performing and even dancing a little while pregnant.

Here are some videos of Epopsan.