Episode 9: Drumspeakers

I love writing dialogue. In fiction. I hate writing in nonfiction; my memory, even my hearing fail me as a recorder, and my notes are scattered helter-skelter codes.

But I try.

Taiko practice has ended. My friends and I are standing around after, kibitzing, and discussion is on the upcoming drag show.

"My knees are killing me; it's even worse with drag practice," says Holly.

"Yeah. And Jazmine keeps smacking my back so hard." Nicole rubs her back for emphasis. "She should put her hand lower."

"And grab your butt? She totally grabbed your boob in the one turn!"

Laughter. They're both in the drag show; not me. I offered to don a burqa and "perform" John Cage's 4'33", but that's too much art and not enough fun. Okay, I'm done snarking on that.

And I wasn't really taking notes here.

"You could do the drums. A blog on the conversation of the drums would be amazing," interjects Katie.

Yes. Yes it would.

"You can steal the idea; I give it you."

By all means.

What we just finished, before the kibitzing, was a conversation all its own. Seventeen people pounding on drums, the Japanese taiko (a mixture of different sizes and, in a pinch, a few garbage cans upside down), mixing harmonies and rhythms.

One drum, the shimedaiko placed behind the twin taiko rows, leads the conversation. DUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUM.

And the sixteen answer: DUUM!

The call: DUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUM.

And the answer resounds again: DUM... DUM. Bodies respond with one arm, then the second, falling on the cowhide.

DUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUM.

DUM!

Then together, caller and answer, a conversation mixing its stride and speaking over each other. What would be rude in words is a beautiful beat.

Repeat, add a last DUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUDMDUMDUM with greater force and launch into a conversation apart from the shimedaiko. It continues to speak, keeping a rhythm and time of eight-beat cycles, but the conversation expands and overflows past its bounds.

DUM DUM DUMDUM (scream SO--REI!) DUMDUM DUMDUM (HAI!). When the melody cycles through four times, the conversation changes. It slows but resounds with more force. (SO--REI! SU!) DUUUM (SU!)DUUUM (SU!) DUM DUM. Four cycles. Then a sharp break, the stamina of the conversation lightening for a DUM! CLACK CLACK CLACK. Bodies join the dialogue more actively; swaying to the beat and raising the sticks high, letting gravity pull them back down; the drummer is already in an implicit negotiation with the physics of earth. But now the sticks clack together as the body squats and curves left, center, right. Two cycles, instead of four. The variety of in conversation that keeps in interesting.

Inwardly, I'm having a mental conversation. Am I doing right? Is my left arm hitting with the same strength as my right, keeping the beat even? What's the beat? Crap, I miscounted? Did sensei see? And I bet these are the same thoughts wandering through sixteen other minds.

Back to DUM DUM DUMDUM (SO--REI!) DUMDUM DUMDUM (HAI!).

Now the hard part. Our bodies have to converse with each other in threes. Four cycles and we jump clockwise, switching positions on the drums. I leap back and Nicole jumps forward; Holly shifts left in our triangle of drums. All around us similar jumps flow together.

And the drum beats on. We switch again. Now we solo.

One drum, Holly in front. All sixteen other drums fall silent.

DUM DUMDUMDUM DUM! DUM DUMDUMDUM DUM!

Nicole and I rush in with the same answer, three drums synchronized.

Then we shut up and Holly leads in again: DUM DUM DUM DUM DUMDUMDUMDUMDUMDUM DUM!

Nicole and I stumble in. They were all supposed to be CLACKs on the rim of the drum.

There's whispering as the next group does their solo, more individualized choreography. A unique discussion adding to the drama of drumming.

"I thought we were doing the clicking?"

"We are. I just, my arms are tired."

"It's okay. It's practice."

There's a lot of nervous laughter after quick recriminations. Sensei said, before beginning, "If you screw, just keep going! Don't worry about it." I hoped she didn't realize how confused we just were. I was. She's awfully attractive. Yeah, I'm hot for taiko teacher. Sorry, can't hear you. The conversations rise and merge togeth--

(ONE... TWO... PA-CIFIC TAI-KO!)

DUM DUM DUMDUM (SO-REI!) DUMDUM DUMDUM (HAI!).

And if you were upstairs, as we shook the University Center, your body was in the conversation, too. Shaking along. Shh... the drums are talking, and they drown you out and bring you up at the same time.