Kodo

The Children Of The Drum
It was late September 2003 and Kodo, the world's most famous kumidaiko (Japanese taiko drumming group), had made a rare trip to Ehime-ken to play the eighty-year-old Uchiko-za. Tea-colored and better suited for pipe smoking than massive bursts of percussion, the rustic kabuki theater was crying dust from the rafters, literally breaking under the booms of the Kodo beat. Kodo drummed with such disregard for the hallowed building that they were indeed bringing down the house.

Kodo rocked Uchiko-za like only they could, bringing the crowd to its feet and the ceiling to the crowd, but that would come as no surprise to anyone familiar with the groups' work. They've won awards for excellence in Japanese classical music, international visual music and have been recognized by the Japanese government for their One Earth Tour. They've released over 15 CD's, have a DVD movie and live together harmoniously on Sado-ga-Shima, an island off the coast of Niigata. Sado Island was once associated with exiles from Honshu, but is now best known as the site of Kodo's Earth Celebration held every summer.

Most of all, Kodo has performed tirelessly for over 20 years, sending shivers down spines across Japan and the world. Kodo, whose name can be translated as both Children of the Drum- as well as Heartbeat-have the energy of the former and perpetuity of the latter, playing exhaustive, spirited sets for upwards of an hour and a half.

Though world renown for drumming, Kodo's success is also due to their choreography and success as performing artists. They are a versatile troupe of young men and women, led by the venerable Yoshikazu Fujimoto. A Kodo concert is a visual feast of contorted, often near naked bodies, smashing full throttle force into immovable leather drums. It is small drums, big drums, even a flute thrown in for fresh sound. It is glowing geisha and stoic samurai. It is drum rolls and long suspense-filled pauses; It is living artistic expression. When the thousand pound o-daiko drum is rolled out and smashed for the concert's finale, the only parallel is an ant pounding on a castle door. And yet the subsequent sound is deafening.

Kaoru Watanabe, a 6-year Kodo veteran drummer and flutist, had recently thrown out his back, and it was now clear why. He rollicked the leather drum with such fervor that he might as well have been spanking his own spine. This was the opening set, all members and all drums, joined in euphonious percussion. Then, after the first of many ovations, Kaoru began the second set alone, entering slowly, positioning a forearm-length flute to his lips, blowing silence into the chattering crowd. Sweat dribbled down his face as Kaoru whistled stirring sounds from his flute. Later in the show another flutist commenced to play. This time, taiko beats followed and the sounds immediately clashed. The drums rolled, slow at first, quicker after a moment, and then, finally, bellowed like mountain echoes of a train chugging down the tracks. The flute compositions were taiko's anti-sound �Esoft and sweet and soothing �Ebut when the drums joined in, the two fit perfectly. Soft melodious winds coupled with booming, powerful blows. The flutes were nearly silenced but the point had been made; to Kodo, music was not one sound but many.

Kaoru's life is like that in a way. He did not grow up with one sound but many. Born in St. Louis, Missouri, in 1975, Kaoru is the only Kodo member born outside of Japan, but as his mother was a member of the Japan America Society, access to traditional Japanese art forms was never a problem. When a well-known Japanese taiko performer - Oguchi Daihachi - donated drums to the St. Louis chapter, Kaoru decided to start the regions first kumidaiko. He was 12.

But Kaoru never dreamed of leather drums let alone joining Kodo. Instead he jived to jazz, and when he enrolled in the Manhattan School of Music in New York City, he was finally in the right place, just stops on the subway from Bleecker Street, Greenwich Village’s jazz and blues mecca. This satisfied Kaoru for a while until, on a visit to Japan, something clicked. He saw a taiko group perform in Nara, and said, “I can do that.�EThrough a friend he heard of Kodo, and soon after, he moved to Sado Island and enrolled in their apprenticeship. Joining Kodo, Kaoru admits, was a severe change from the improvisational musical form of jazz, but he still feels right at home. The group nurtures his creativity, and living in Japan has afforded him the opportunity to learn Japanese. Being nisei (2nd generation Japanese born in America) his first language is English, but it had always been Kaoru’s dream to be able to speak to his grandparents, who still live in Japan. And he wanted to see the old land that his parents left in search of a new life in America.

Kodo makes sounds to mirror the concert’s every movement: players behind curtains musically depict the transport of drums on and off stage. When a masked samurai pounces in front of the crowd, drummers beat to his every step. Monkey-like in movement, the marauder hops like an African rain dancer, looking frightful and comical at the same time. When he finishes Kodo lines seven members in a row, softly rolling on platter sized drums creating the sound of rain on a tin roof. Progressively the sound grows louder until finally it is no longer pleasing but caustic to the ear, a din made worse by Uchiko-za’s confinements. Kodo has blended bliss and anger into one piece of music.