In high school, I briefly joined the our high school [U.S.] football team because, among the un-cut sports, it seemed like one of the most well-balanced for conditioning and teaching someone how to get started with intensive fitness.
While I joined too late to really grasp and take part in critical parts of it (especially camp and scrimmages) that probably would have given the best of the applied fundamentals, I enjoyed what I learned during off-season conditioning in the weight room (mostly thanks to a handful of hilarious and goofy Junior Varsity (JV) and Varsity teammates who’d blast “Coach’s 80s [Music] Favorites” between sets), defense and hitting drills on the blocking sled (basically a big padded dummy for you to run up to, block and push).
Of course there were things that come to mind when you’re very inexperienced in the middle of a sport that has an aggressive reputation — some are reasonable like how to tackle properly (I missed the chance to do a lot of that by joining late and missing the camp) and build confidence on the field, people get bigger and more lethal with their hits as they progress beyond freshman year into JV and Varsity teams.
But what spooked me most after the season was over was a dream where my actions crossed into the real world: I’m at practice doing drills with the blocking sled, hitting it, driving forward, and hearing the coach say “Good hit.” and running back into position before waking up to realize I shoved my pillow from across my bed into a wall at the side of my bed.
I’ve been reluctant to deeply train in a lot of striking combat sports because of that event:
The muscle memory and actions in my subconscious were real, and I realized if I wasn’t able to keep a simple motion like basic blocking, doing a more aggressive push or hit could potentially injure other people too.
Would that stay with me forever? What if stayed with a girlfriend and when a dream or nightmare like that comes up and I wind up attacking her without knowing what I was doing?
Recently I’ve been focused on how to cohere the sounds that come from working on practical tasks — construction for example — into something that people can approach, engage, enjoy, and celebrate from the perspective of music.
If you’ve heard or partaken in some of my participatory pieces before, Watershed (using “raindrops” from clapping, etc. like you might have heard elsewhere), or Breathing (breath and wind-aesthetic noises), there are ways to cohere random noises that
On a spectrum starting from the precise control a composer might have with a traditional instrumental or symphony vs. what happens when embracing random (the musical term is aleatory) events in music like John Cage’s 4 minutes and 33 seconds or Pauline Oliveros’s games for deep listening, there’s an in-between place where you can facilitate noise and “frame it” that’s especially interesting to me in music that can have a role in accelerating the way a community takes care of its basic needs while giving room for people to explore and build their own skills (again, construction in Detroit neighborhoods and a dream that inspired ways to merge both concerts and construction into the same event).
Which brings us back to percussive hitting motions.
Returning to a classic* (at least, classic for dating back to 1997 haha) video of a shamisen and Taiko drum duo, I realized that building the stamina and coordination involved with striking a large drum might actually be very similar to the kind of practice that goes into learning how to strike and build up the basic form and endurance that’s conducive to (though definitely not a substitute) learning the basics in some combat sports/martial arts like boxing.
This isn’t as big a leap as one might think. Johnny Nguyen ( I like to imagine him as my big brother or cousin as we share LA-Vietnamese roots ) stakes much of his professional image in teaching about boxing, his website is titled Expert Boxing, and at the same time, he swears by the role dance had in transforming his ability to move and work the ring as a better fighter.
You know how after working out, you feel pretty good as the endorphins release, and then your capacity to be present with or navigate past lots of silly and otherwise petty events magically goes up? I’m pretty sure being a taiko drummer would do that on a lot of levels. Even in my brief experience with playing in the University of Michigan-Dearborn’s West African Drum Ensemble, the joy and mental clarity that came from playing on the sanban (a medium sized laundry hamper-sized drum often heard in West Gunean drum ensembles) or dunnun (the largest drum, think of an extra long barrel) was second to none.
Unlike playing a stringed instrument, where you’re suddenly met with countless variables plus the risk of carpel tunnel, there’s a kind of peace that comes from the simplicity of being very physically engaged as a drummer.
So seeing the drummer in this taiko video swinging giant drum sticks to literally (albeit rhythmically in an artful sense) and noting that he looks as fit as someone who does lots of pushups and chinups on a regular basis, it wouldn’t be too far off to look at learning an endeavor like boxing with the same attitude: there’s an art and rhythm that comes with striking the bag (or opponent, though whether one chooses to engage another person is a different case), and when sparring with an opponent, there’s an element of improvisation and pacing that comes in which is very similar if not the same as learning to improvise with another musician during a jam — albeit the outcomes and goals might differ greatly.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_M4K5wk9DCM
While I joined too late to really grasp and take part in critical parts of it (especially camp and scrimmages) that probably would have given the best of the applied fundamentals, I enjoyed what I learned during off-season conditioning in the weight room (mostly thanks to a handful of hilarious and goofy Junior Varsity (JV) and Varsity teammates who’d blast “Coach’s 80s [Music] Favorites” between sets), defense and hitting drills on the blocking sled (basically a big padded dummy for you to run up to, block and push).
Of course there were things that come to mind when you’re very inexperienced in the middle of a sport that has an aggressive reputation — some are reasonable like how to tackle properly (I missed the chance to do a lot of that by joining late and missing the camp) and build confidence on the field, people get bigger and more lethal with their hits as they progress beyond freshman year into JV and Varsity teams.
But what spooked me most after the season was over was a dream where my actions crossed into the real world: I’m at practice doing drills with the blocking sled, hitting it, driving forward, and hearing the coach say “Good hit.” and running back into position before waking up to realize I shoved my pillow from across my bed into a wall at the side of my bed.
I’ve been reluctant to deeply train in a lot of striking combat sports because of that event:
The muscle memory and actions in my subconscious were real, and I realized if I wasn’t able to keep a simple motion like basic blocking, doing a more aggressive push or hit could potentially injure other people too.
Would that stay with me forever? What if stayed with a girlfriend and when a dream or nightmare like that comes up and I wind up attacking her without knowing what I was doing?
Recently I’ve been focused on how to cohere the sounds that come from working on practical tasks — construction for example — into something that people can approach, engage, enjoy, and celebrate from the perspective of music.
If you’ve heard or partaken in some of my participatory pieces before, Watershed (using “raindrops” from clapping, etc. like you might have heard elsewhere), or Breathing (breath and wind-aesthetic noises), there are ways to cohere random noises that
On a spectrum starting from the precise control a composer might have with a traditional instrumental or symphony vs. what happens when embracing random (the musical term is aleatory) events in music like John Cage’s 4 minutes and 33 seconds or Pauline Oliveros’s games for deep listening, there’s an in-between place where you can facilitate noise and “frame it” that’s especially interesting to me in music that can have a role in accelerating the way a community takes care of its basic needs while giving room for people to explore and build their own skills (again, construction in Detroit neighborhoods and a dream that inspired ways to merge both concerts and construction into the same event).
Which brings us back to percussive hitting motions.
Returning to a classic* (at least, classic for dating back to 1997 haha) video of a shamisen and Taiko drum duo, I realized that building the stamina and coordination involved with striking a large drum might actually be very similar to the kind of practice that goes into learning how to strike and build up the basic form and endurance that’s conducive to (though definitely not a substitute) learning the basics in some combat sports/martial arts like boxing.
This isn’t as big a leap as one might think. Johnny Nguyen ( I like to imagine him as my big brother or cousin as we share LA-Vietnamese roots ) stakes much of his professional image in teaching about boxing, his website is titled Expert Boxing, and at the same time, he swears by the role dance had in transforming his ability to move and work the ring as a better fighter.
You know how after working out, you feel pretty good as the endorphins release, and then your capacity to be present with or navigate past lots of silly and otherwise petty events magically goes up? I’m pretty sure being a taiko drummer would do that on a lot of levels. Even in my brief experience with playing in the University of Michigan-Dearborn’s West African Drum Ensemble, the joy and mental clarity that came from playing on the sanban (a medium sized laundry hamper-sized drum often heard in West Gunean drum ensembles) or dunnun (the largest drum, think of an extra long barrel) was second to none.
Unlike playing a stringed instrument, where you’re suddenly met with countless variables plus the risk of carpel tunnel, there’s a kind of peace that comes from the simplicity of being very physically engaged as a drummer.
So seeing the drummer in this taiko video swinging giant drum sticks to literally (albeit rhythmically in an artful sense) and noting that he looks as fit as someone who does lots of pushups and chinups on a regular basis, it wouldn’t be too far off to look at learning an endeavor like boxing with the same attitude: there’s an art and rhythm that comes with striking the bag (or opponent, though whether one chooses to engage another person is a different case), and when sparring with an opponent, there’s an element of improvisation and pacing that comes in which is very similar if not the same as learning to improvise with another musician during a jam — albeit the outcomes and goals might differ greatly.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_M4K5wk9DCM
[Feel free to ignore my comments -- rarely in spaces where talking about this stuff with people who interface with symphonic/orchestral music at an analytical level so I'm taking the opportunity to ramble reflections out loud]
Listening again to Orient and Occident all the way through for the first time in probably over a decade, I'm starting to appreciate some new layers to the piece. There are the overt elements of counterpoint in the call/response which strike us right away, and then there's a subtler dimension of stylistic counterpoint too -- a lot of unison voicings (akin to what's heard in traditional Turkish/Arab orchestras) and some embedded octaves/artificial harmonics but also harmonies and chords (presumably on the occidental side) in a way that drastically go against the "oriental" traditions. A Turkish friend once scolded me for adding drone notes during an improvisation on a melody that reminded him of traditional Turkish music. I'm shuddering from the recollection now that I can listen closely with more seasoned ears than my high-school self would have ever known haha
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