THE ADAPTATION of TAIKO DOJOS to the COVID-19 PANDEMIC By

The Adaptation of Taiko Dojos to the COVID-19 Pandemic

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Authors Conrad, Matthew Ryan

Citation Conrad, Matthew Ryan. (2021). The Adaptation of Taiko Dojos to the COVID-19 Pandemic (Master's thesis, University of Arizona, Tucson, USA).

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THE ADAPTATION OF TAIKO DOJOS TO THE COVID-19 PANDEMIC

Matthew Conrad

A Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of the

FRED FOX SCHOOL OF MUSIC

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements

For the Degree of

MASTER OF MUSIC

In the Graduate College

THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

2021

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I thank the faculty and staff at the University of Arizona who have supported me during

my studies in this master’s program, and assisted me in the development of my research interests

and research skills. Before I even imagined this thesis, I benefitted from the support of a great

many professors in the Fred Fox School of Music, and also from my professors of anthropology

and Japanese language, and I owe each of you my gratitude for all of your help. I especially want

to thank Dr. Jennifer Post, my primary advisor for this thesis for her thoughtful feedback and

guidance throughout this project which has allowed me to create a quality thesis out of what

began simply as a strong idea. I also extend my thanks to committee members Dr. Nathaniel

Smith and Dr. Brian Moon, for their extremely helpful feedback and advice on this project.

I thank the many people at Odaiko Sonora who have supported me in my journey as a

taiko player, particularly my All Ages Recreation Taiko sensei Karen and Ishani, and more

recently Nicole as my sensei in the Community Group, who have helped immensely to hone my

skills as a taiko player, and whose creative thinking and dedication to the dojo have allowed the

art to survive the pandemic. Without your creative thinking this project would not exist. I also

thank the community of the South Bay Beat Institute, and my sensei in this dojo, Rome and

Kristin, for their own efforts in developing my skills and their own creativity and determination in building entirely new classes and communities where the art could thrive in a virtual space. In both dojos I also thank my classmates who have been a support and inspiration in navigating the

year’s uncertainties and mastering this art under such strange circumstances.

I also want to express here gratitude in a larger sense that the taiko community has truly

acted as a community during these dark times. Recognition of the value of weathering this storm

together in friendship and a shared passion for this art form, the effort put into navigating

financial and technological challenges, and the persistence in maintaining communication between dojos through such events as conferences and guest speakers truly show the resilience of a community. This resilience of course plays a large role in the topic of this project, but beyond its direct role in this study I am indebted to this neighborly and supportive community for helping me, and each other, to endure this difficult year.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abstract ...... 8

Introduction ...... 10

Background ...... 10

Elements of Taiko...... 12

Literature Review ...... 13

Methodology ...... 18

Thesis Structure ...... 20

Section 1: The Context of Taiko and Virtual Learning ...... 22

Chapter 1: The Context of Taiko ...... 23

The History of Taiko in Japan ...... 23

The History of Taiko in the United States ...... 25

Taiko Principles ...... 26

Chapter 2: The Context of Virtual Learning ...... 29

Virtual Learning Prior to the Pandemic ...... 29

Virtual Learning During the Pandemic ...... 30

Section 2: The Pandemic Experience ...... 33

Chapter 3: The Zoom Classroom ...... 34

From the Studio to the Screen ...... 34

The Challenges of Technology ...... 36

Adjustments to the Pedagogy ...... 39

Value of Evolving Technologies ...... 42

Chapter 4: The Studio ...... 44

From the Screen to the Studio ...... 44

Safety Precautions in the Studio ...... 47

Adjustments to the Pedagogy in the Studio ...... 52

Public Performance ...... 54

Financial Impact ...... 59

Value of Hybrid Pedagogy ...... 60

Chapter 5: Home ...... 62

Sonic Intrusions ...... 62

Diminishing Performance Skills ...... 65

The Challenges of Technology at Home ...... 67

Value of the Home Space ...... 70

Conclusion ...... 71

Taiko Glossary ...... 73

Bibliography ...... 75

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1: Tutorial of the wipeout game created by the sensei at SBBI...... 41

Figure 2: Dacker’s chart as adapted for Odaiko Sonora ...... 45

ABSTRACT

This study addresses the experience of the taiko drumming community during the

COVID-19 crisis, the precedence of the community’s actions during the history of the art, and

the implications of the pandemic-era learning experience for the art’s future. In the past year the

spread of COVID-19 forced most music educators and performance ensembles to significantly

modify how their art is approached. The learning experience has transitioned from the physical

medium into the virtual medium, and as educators made this transition they have had to modify

their pedagogy to best suit this new context. Financial concerns have been a challenge during this

process as well, and as some educators in the later months of the pandemic chose to again

implement some degree of face-to-face learning, their pedagogy was additionally affected by the

need for stringent safety precautions in the learning space.

In this study I examine the impact of these developments on music education specifically

in connection to taiko, and in particular to my field experiences with two dojos: Odaiko Sonora,

based in Tucson, Arizona and the South Bay Beat Institute (SBBI), based in San Jose, California.

I interacted with Odaiko Sonora over Zoom throughout the pandemic, as well as face to face

both before the crisis and during its later months. SBBI I encountered entirely virtually. My field

experiences with both groups are connected to the wider context of my arguments through two

categories of literature: the history and philosophy of taiko, especially in the United States, and the larger picture of virtual music instruction both before and during COVID-19. I argue that the response of the taiko community to the crisis is informed by the principles and philosophy

central to the art form, and by a historical precedent of past management of crises by the

community. Additionally, the experience of pedagogical experimentation and modifications has

exposed new approaches to the art that may remain advantageous if maintained beyond the pandemic.

INTRODUCTION

Background

March 7, 2020:

After the class was over we moved to the closing circle, in which we took turns counter- clockwise and in senpai-kohai order to describe something positive we got out of this day’s class. Ryu and I went first as we were the most junior members of the group. People had a range of comments to make, from detailed descriptions of weak points they were glad to have improved to short statements of appreciation for the class or the group. After this circle we bowed, recited arigato gozaimashita, and then some of us stayed behind to help load drums in the van for the more advanced groups concert at the Zoo. We gradually made our way out of the studio, while chatting, before heading home.

March 28, 2020:

Class today was significantly shorter than it normally would have been due to Karen not wanting us to have to stare at a screen for such a long part of our day. She was aiming for one hour rather than the standard two, although we had enough to talk about that we ended up running an hour and a half. Our closing circle discussion was over logistics; the question of whether to continue AART sessions, the best length for a Zoom meeting, payment concerns, personal technical frustrations with Zoom, and strategies for how to continue mastering the piece Nebuta without a studio to go to. Karen stated that earlier she had doubts about continuing the AART class (considering focusing her energy instead on the Community Group during the crisis), but in light of the energy we have brought to the group this week and everyone’s enthusiasm last week during the first Zoom session, she fully intends to continue the series.

The above excerpts from my field notes are only two short weeks apart. The first was from my last taiko class with Odaiko Sonora before the pandemic shutdown, and the second from the first taiko class I attended on Zoom. Both focus on the practice of the closing circle which most taiko dojos (a community dedicated to the practice of a Japanese art such as taiko) include at the end of a class session, and the shape which both closing circles took reflect the two very different realities we experienced as a dojo within a very brief timespan. The first paints a picture of the nature of a taiko dojo, from respect for the group, especially one’s senpai, or more senior members, dedication to a positive and supportive environment, willingness to lend a

helping hand, and some formal behaviors such as the greeting upon leaving and the circle itself, which maintain the values of the group in action. The second demonstrates the disarray of our early Zoom meetings, during which we were preoccupied by the questions of whether and how to continue, and the discouragement of constant bad news as the pandemic worsened.

Our community eventually did find our feet again, albeit on unfamiliar ground. We discovered and shared strategies for home practice, learned how to navigate Zoom, and figured out how best to go about meeting virtually. In April 2020 I eventually joined a second dojo based in San Jose, the South Bay Beat Institute (SBBI), which had created a brand-new collection of virtual class series in light of the pandemic. This dojo quickly created a tight-knit community of geographically dispersed students that would have been impossible without Zoom. Through creative strategies, willingness to adapt, and a dedication to the principles of taiko, both of these communities managed to endure the crisis, an outcome that a year ago we were not at all certain would be the case.

This thesis addresses the transformations experienced in the taiko community during

COVID-19, both on the end of the students and the sensei (our instructor(s) in the dojo).

Teachers have had to significantly modify their pedagogies in response to the new learning environment, and students likewise have had to adjust how they engage in the learning process with the loss of the traditional classroom. In my participant-observation I experienced these changes from the perspective of the students, while also coming to understand the perspective of the sensei through observation and interviews. The pandemic impacted every aspect of the taiko experience, including pedagogical methods, personal practice, and financial considerations. I look at each of these areas, address how they have been affected by COVID-19, and discuss solutions which have been devised in response.

I address the pandemic experience of taiko dojos primarily through the examples of the dojos with which I conducted fieldwork during the pandemic. The topic of the experience of

COVID-19 across all taiko dojos and the wider discussion of the response of music education to the crisis is difficult to generalize. However, I address this larger picture in connection with the experience of my fellow players because it does provide a context for the topic of this study and it begins to paint a more complete picture of these larger topics. This discussion narrates the experience of taiko dojos during the pandemic and considers how this experience may impact the future of the art. A number of creative and rewarding strategies developed out of necessity during the crisis that will continue to have application once the crisis is over. The taiko community not only transformed its pedagogy and operations during the pandemic, but it may have been itself transformed by these adaptations.

Elements of Taiko

The typical taiko performance is comprised of a number of elements, which I briefly address here for clarity. Taiko is an ensemble tradition with roots in Japanese musical traditions,

Western jazz, and martial arts. Members play wooden drums of various sizes with leather or skin heads. However, additional elements such as flute and dancing often accompany the drumming.

The art form as it is known today emerged in the mid twentieth century, and has roots in various older Japanese drumming traditions in addition to Western jazz. While it originated in Japan, the art is now present in several other parts of the world, with particularly strong presences in North

America, South America, and Europe (TaikoSource).

The chu-daiko is a medium-sized drum which is the most commonly used in performance. The o-daiko is much larger and typically plays slower, supporting lines. The shime-

daiko is a small, high-pitched drum that keeps time for the other players with a repeating rhythm.

The drums are struck with bachi: thick wooden sticks with enough weight to sufficiently impact

the thick leather head of a taiko drum. These vary in weight and thickness, with much smaller

and lighter sticks being used for a shime-daiko than an o-daiko. Kiai are emotive shouts often uttered by taiko players in performance. These may be improvisatory or composed depending on the piece. The fue (alternatively yokobue or shinobue) is a transverse flute, tuned to a specific key, that provides melodic accompaniment to the drumming. Dancing often adds to the visual

impact of a piece. In Odaiko Sonora this typically was done with a matoi, a type of banner

historically used by Japanese firefighters. In addition to the above instruments, the organization

of the dojo is an important element.

One crucial aspect of taiko practice is the social structure of the dojo: the senpai-kohai

system. This is a seniority-based system in which a taiko player defers to more senior members,

or their senpai, and may receive mentoring from these senpai. In turn, a player has a

responsibility for such mentoring to their junior members, or kohai. At the top of this system is the sensei, our teacher. All members of the dojo must navigate both roles depending on with whom they interact (although the sensei and the most junior member embody only one of the roles).

Literature Review

The literature which informs my understanding and reflexive experience falls into two categories: the history and principles of taiko, and online learning before and during the pandemic. The historical literature focuses on the predecessors to contemporary taiko and its development in both Japan and the United States. In the early chapters of his ethnography Taiko

Boom (2012), Shawn Bender discusses the history of Taiko in Japan and his involvement in the

performing group Kodo. He makes clear the values within the art form and its connection to

issues of identity and physical space. His narration shaped my thinking about the significance of

social movements to its development in terms of the relationship between the Buraku

(marginalized community in Japan associated with “impure” occupations such as butchery and leatherwork) and Japanese drumming. Through Heidi Varian’s “The Way of Taiko” (2005), I gained an even deeper understanding of the history of the art. She provides an overview of taiko ranging from technique to history. Her historical discussion allowed me to identify the commonalities between the art’s history on both sides of the Pacific, and how the values of taiko have been shaped by this history. More detailed histories of taiko in the Unites States can be found from Susan Asai, Martha Robertson, and Izumi Masumi. Asai in “The Cultural Politics of

Issei Identity and Music Making in California, 1893-1941” (2016) discusses the musical lives of early Japanese American immigrants. She addresses the role of music in community pride and resistance against discrimination. Robertson in “Ballad for Incarcerated Americans: Second

Generation Japanese American Musicking in World War II Camps” (2017) argues for a similar function of music in the much more dire context of the Japanese American internment. Izumi in

“Reconsidering Ethnic Culture and Community: A Case Study on Japanese Canadian Taiko

Drumming” (2001) discusses the similar history of internment in Canada. These histories of

Japanese Americans in the United States expand on the significance of the Buraku history. The

building of community through music during crisis has developed the values of contemporary taiko. More recent history of the art can be found from Deborah Wong in Louder and Faster:

Pain, Joy, and the Body Politic in Asian American Taiko (2019). Wong’s work primarily

discusses taiko in connection with Asian-American identity and activism. Her analysis of these

issues provides a more contemporary context to my assertion that the art’s history informed its

response to COVID-19.

I also draw from sources relating to the principles of the art. There is no standard list of

principles that applies to all taiko dojos, but the minor variations in the same general philosophy

can be observed among most dojos. Kimberly Powell, in “Inside-Out and Outside-In” (2006)

discusses the principles articulated by San Jose Taiko (not to be confused with SBBI- this is a nearby dojo with which Powell has worked closely). The principles as listed on the Odaiko

Sonora website (2021) present a similar set of principles with slight variations. Both lists enable me to articulate the values of taiko as I experienced them in my fieldwork. I then apply these principles to the significance of the pandemic experience to the art. Bender’s “Taiko Boom”

(2012) addresses the principles of taiko as well as the history. A significant portion of this study

is centered around Bender’s field experiences with the Japanese taiko group Kodo. These

passages shaped my understanding of the physicality of the art as well as the values of

community which inform it. I also briefly reference Linda Fujie in “The Process of Oral

Transmission” (1986). Fujie relates the effect of changing technologies on student’s expectations

in earlier decades by demonstrating the constant nature of technological change. This is a

precedent to pandemic-era experiences with video chat technology.

Several authors address the state of virtual learning prior to COVID-19. Their works affirm the value of the medium outside of a pandemic, that is relevant to a post-COVID-19 future. My own appreciation of virtual learning and its future application is central to my interpretation of my field experiences. Evangelos Himonides in “The Misunderstanding of

Music-Technology Education: A Meta Perspective” (2018) argues that the emergence of virtual

music pedagogy is the next step in a long history of adaptations to evolving technologies. I

myself adopted this view of the medium over the course of my COVID-19 experiences. Evan

Tobias in “Let’s Play! Learning Music Through Video Games and Virtual Worlds” (2018) discusses the use of video games and other computer programs in the aid of music pedagogy.

Rohan Krishnamurthy in “Percussion, Performance, Pedagogy, and Technology: The Impact of

Virtual Music Lessons in Percussion Education” (2013) addresses how video chat technology has been used to conduct private percussion lessons. Both sources deepened my understanding of the medium’s advantages through their examples of its successful use. Carol Johnson in

“Teaching Music Online: Changing Pedagogical Approach When Moving to the Online

Environment” (2017) proposes four models for virtual music pedagogy centered around teachers, students, experts, or subjects. These set the stage for my understanding of her application of this theory to the pandemic in later works.

My literature on pandemic-era virtual learning consists of scholarly analyses and more informal primary sources on the responses of music and performance instructors. Johnson’s research on virtual pedagogy has continued into the pandemic. Both her article “A Conceptual

Model for Teaching Music Online” (2020) and her brief column “Moving Towards Adaptation

of Online Music Pedagogy” (2020) address how unfamiliar instructors approach the medium.

They provide me with pandemic-era examples of how Johnson’s ideas may be applied. I in turn

relate these to my own experience. Dan Keast and Paul Sanchez in “Transmuting Face-to-Face

Private Lessons to Successful Virtual Lessons During the COVID-19 Pandemic” (2020) address key technical challenges faced by students and instructors during the pandemic. They propose multiple solutions, although some of these expose how economic class effects online education. I discuss Keast and Sanchez’s work in connection with both the economic and technological issues faced during COVID-19. I framed much of my discussion around a statement from

UNESCO’s International Commission on the Futures of Education (2020). The report addresses the effect of the pandemic on educators worldwide, alongside policy recommendations. While policy is beyond the scope of my study, the global challenges which UNESCO details are crucial for framing my taiko experience in the larger picture of education during the pandemic. These sources directly pertaining to COVID-19 are of direct relevance to the ongoing crisis addressed in this study.

I expand the discussion of issues faced during my fieldwork through primary sources covering similar challenges faced by other instructors. Susan Gringrasso in “Practical Resources for Dance Educators! Choreographing Our Way Through COVID-19” (2020) reports on the experiences of multiple interviewed dance instructors. Julia Shaw in “COVID-Era Music

Education: What Choral Teachers Can Carry Forward” (2020) discusses the challenges faced by choir instructors. Charles McCormick in “No Campus? No Problem: The Radcliffe Choral

Society’s COVID Experience” (2020) reports on the COVID-19 experience of Harvard’s

Radcliffe Society. Each of these sources gave me valuable information on the pandemic experience of additional participatory performance traditions. I compare these to my own taiko experience to describe the larger picture of music education during COVID-19. Two sources discuss the responses of entire departments to the pandemic. William Hayes in “The Show Must

Go On: Performing Arts Majors Adjust to COVID-19 Precautions” (2020) addresses the department-wide response at Austin Peay State University. Jonathan Melancon in “Music

Classes Getting Back” (2020) describes the experiences of the music department at the

University of North Florida. These sources also allow me to extend my own reflexive experiences at Odaiko Sonora and SBBI. Many of the issues I discuss are relevant to all performance instruction and not only taiko. Similar experiences of dance or choral instructors

demonstrate the universality of many of the experiences of the taiko community during COVID-

19.

Methodology

The data in this study is gathered from participant-observation with two taiko dojos,

interviews with sensei of both dojos, and literature on both taiko and virtual pedagogy. The first

dojo with which I began my participant-observation process is Odaiko Sonora, based in my own location in Tucson. I began working with this dojo in February 2020, prior to the arrival of

COVID-19 and the move to virtual learning. In these early weeks I was simply engaging in face- to-face classes in their beginner series co-taught by sensei Karen and Ishani. Roughly a month later we moved to the virtual medium in light of the pandemic, and this experience quickly established itself as the topic of my study. In April 2020 a professor referred me to SBBI, based in San Jose, California, and I began work with this dojo as well. These classes were co-taught by sensei Rome and Kristin. These two dojos operated in distinctly different ways during the pandemic. Odaiko Sonora moved online and yet maintained a local identity and community throughout the pandemic. Once possible, the dojo developed a hybrid virtual/physical approach that kept the community rooted in Tucson. SBBI very quickly developed a geographically dispersed community despite having been previously rooted in just one city, and more fully embraced pedagogies that were only possible online.

My research process involved active participation in the classes of both dojos along with careful observations of the proceedings which I would then record in my fieldnotes. I worked to carefully balance my dual role as researcher and student during this process. These were performing ensembles that anyone was welcome to join, so unlike some ethnographic projects,

my identity did not inherently separate me from the identity of the community studied. This meant that the line between my two roles was particularly blurred, and I had to account for this in my process. During classes I was entirely the student in my thoughts and actions, though I made sure to mentally note all that was occurring. Immediately after class I became the researcher and recorded in my fieldnotes all that I had observed. Discussions, both formal and informal, also informed my research. Social conversations with classmates and instructors were a significant part of classes during breaks and before and after class. I consider these conversations to be a facet of my participant-observation process. I also arranged formal interviews with my

Odaiko Sonora sensei Karen on April 23, 2020, and with my SBBI sensei Rome on April 24,

2020. In these interviews I was able to collect information on pedagogical concerns, future plans, and financial challenges that were not immediately evident through the participant-observation process.

My research is also supported by literature on the history and principles of taiko, and on virtual learning before and during the pandemic. These sources helped to shape my thinking about the topic as I entered the analysis and writing stages of the project. In the late summer of

2020, my participation, observation, discussion, and interviews relating to this tradition encouraged me to consult secondary sources in support of developing research questions. During these later months of the project my different forms of inquiry overlapped; my participant observation continued throughout the project and many events detailed in this project occurred in the fall and winter of 2020 or the spring of 2021 while I was also consulting research sources for my study. In the spring I joined the more advanced Community Group series at Odaiko Sonora, taught alone my sensei Nicole. All activities were conducted in compliance with IRB standards.

Thesis Structure

This study is divided into two sections. The first section provides important contextual information on both the art form and its pandemic-era virtual setting. It also supports my arguments in the second section where I discuss the pandemic experience of the two taiko dojos where I conducted fieldwork, as representatives and examples of the effect of COVID-19 on the taiko community. Chapter One addresses the context of taiko itself. This includes the philosophy that informs the art as well as the historical background of the art in both Japan and the United

States. These contextual discussions help explain the precedent and the values behind the decisions and actions of the taiko community during the COVID-19 pandemic. Chapter Two discusses the context of virtual learning. This discussion expands beyond taiko itself, addressing the larger picture of how music educators engaged in virtual learning prior to the pandemic, and how they adapted to the medium once the pandemic necessitated it.

The second section of this study explores the experience of dojos during the past year and is divided into chapters based on the three locations in which the pandemic experience has occurred. Chapter Three addresses the location of the Zoom classroom, addressing how the dojos handled the move into the new medium, what technical difficulties were faced, how they were solved, and how pedagogical methods were transformed by the different needs the virtual medium presented. Chapter Four looks at the location of the studio. Months into the pandemic, my local dojo determined that it would be feasible to return to the studio if significant precautions were implemented. This chapter describes the transition into a modified studio space, the precautions taken in this space, and how the pedagogical methods were again transformed in this context. This chapter also addresses the concert experience as an additional example of a modified face to face experience during COVID-19. Additionally, this chapter discusses the

financial impact of the pandemic on dojos, its causes, and strategies for mitigation. Chapter Five looks at the space of the home, addressing the need to consider sonic intrusions when home is the only available space for practice and attending class. Topics include the negative affect on performance skills that results from the reduced ability of the instructor to provide feedback through the screen, and the challenges of technology as they exist in the home space from the student end. To close, I examine the significance of these experiences and modifications to the future of the art.

SECTION 1: THE CONTEXT OF TAIKO AND VIRTUAL LEARNING

Chapter 1: The Context of Taiko

The History of Taiko in Japan

Taiko as performed today in Japan is a relatively recent creation, comprised of instrumentation and stylistic elements from various traditional Japanese art forms, and Western jazz during the mid-twentieth century. These origins of the art and the experiences in its history helped to shape the values and habits utilized by taiko during the pandemic. In the Japanese language, “taiko” literally means “drum,” and by this definition, “taiko” has been present in

Japan for thousands of years. Kumidaiko, translated as “ensemble drumming,” can be used to specify the contemporary style, however taiko is more commonly used. Traditional contexts for drumming can be found in sacred theatre, and court contexts. Kagura is a sacred, religious music and dance tradition from which multiple instruments have been borrowed in the development of kumidaiko. Other traditions which contributed primarily instrumentation to kumidaiko are gagaku, the traditional music of the courts, noh, a theatrical tradition catering historically to the upper classes, and kabuki, a more melodramatic form of theatre historically catered to the general public. The tradition of war drumming was also an important historical predecessor to the instrumentation of kumidaiko. Matsuri, or festivals, also contributed instruments, style, and repertoire to modern taiko. In the present day, there is much overlap between matsuri and kumidaiko. The dojos from this study regularly incorporate pieces associated with specific matsuri (Varian 2005, 21-28).

The Buraku people are extremely important to the history of Japanese drumming. They are a historically (and often presently) outcast community in Japan with a long history of involvement making and playing drums. The Buraku have been discriminated against due to their work in professions seen to be polluting or impure, such as butchery and leatherwork. A

focus on leatherwork by the Buraku helped link their community to drum-making, and the activity of social, ensemble drumming was a unifying force in the community for generations before the contemporary emergence of kumidaiko. The shared experience of discrimination was processed through the communal act of drumming which also provided a refuge and a source of pride (Bender 2012, 36-46). This empowerment can be traced throughout the subsequent history of the art, particularly as it reached the United States and Asian American faced a discrimination of their own.

Japanese jazz drummer Daihachi Oguchi is generally understood as the creator of kumidaiko. After his return from the Second World War, his dissatisfaction with a sacred drum score lent to him led him to consider Japanese drumming in terms of his jazz experience. Oguchi was inspired to create an ensemble out of traditional Japanese drums of various pitches, modeled after the hierarchy of the different pitches of drums when he played jazz. He added dramatic arm movements and emotive shouts, and increased the tempo of the music to be more appropriate to modern times. In 1951 he founded Osuwa Daiko, the first of the kumidaiko dojos (Bender 2012,

49-51). Another jazz influence is that of solos passed among players in the middle of many pieces. After the emergence of kumidaiko, the music spread rapidly across Japan, thanks to television and the cultivation by the Japanese government of the art as a form of intangible cultural property (Varian 2005, 28-30). Kumidaiko, and in particular the physicality, drama, and strength of its performance, can also be understood as an assertion of pride and identity in the wake of Japan’s defeat following the Second World War (Bender 2012, 119-120).

The History of Taiko in the United States

In the late 1960s kumidaiko would find its way across the Pacific through the efforts of

Grandmaster Seichii Tanaka (Varian 2005, 30-31). However, Japanese musical expression in the

United States began prior to the emergence of kumidaiko by a generation. The initial Issei

generation, or first generation of Japanese immigrants to the United States, began in the 1890s

and like any immigrant group they brought their music to their new country. In the face of

discrimination, music quickly became a means of asserting identity and community, and of

rejecting the pressures of assimilation and erasure. The expression of community included many

arts beyond the drum, such as the tea ceremony, which served to affirm and celebrate Japanese

identity (Asai 2016, 304-305, 313-319). The use of music acquired even greater importance

during the Second World War, as Nisei (the second generation) and older Issei were relocated to internment camps. Pre-kumidaiko forms of drumming, among other musical practices such as the koto, served as a reminder of normalcy and as an expression of pride during a time of crisis

(Robertson 2017, 294-295).

Kumidaiko arrived in the United States with Grandmaster Seichii Tanaka, a Japanese national who studied under Daihachi Oguchi before moving to the United States in 1967 and founding the San Francisco Taiko Dojo a year later. The art form appealed greatly to the Asian

American community as Sansei (the third generation of Japanese Americans) and the early Asian

American movement addressed questions of racism and the memory of internment in the midcentury (Wong 2019, 9-13). Kumidaiko has also appealed to those outside of the Asian

American community due simply to the enjoyment of the art or the appeal of its principles, but unconnected from issues of identity and historical experience (Alhgren 2018, 3).

The history of the art form both in Japan and the United States demonstrates a precedent for both facing hardship and adapting to change within kumidaiko and its parent traditions.

Kumidaiko has been formed into an organized and choreographed ensemble tradition out of several separate arts, in the meantime enduring discrimination and in response developing

strength through identity.

Taiko Principles

Taiko is deeply informed by philosophical principles which have guided the practice and

performance of the art prior to COVID-19, and in the last year have shaped the response of the

taiko community to the pandemic. The articulation of these principles varies from dojo to dojo,

yet all variants are generally shaped around the same key ideas. In this study I focus on two lists

of principles: those of San Jose Taiko, as they are particularly well presented and have been

detailed well by one of the important authors in my literature, and those of Odaiko Sonora, to

compliment the list from San Jose Taiko and develop a broader presentation of the art’s

philosophy. In my work with both Odaiko Sonora and SBBI I observed that many of the actions

and choices made during the pandemic were informed by the philosophy behind these principles.

San Jose Taiko lists four defining principles: attitude, kata, musical technique, and ki.

Attitude revolves largely around respect: for one’s fellow players, for the instructor, for the

instruments, and for oneself as merely one part of a whole. This principle also applies to a

personal sense of self-discipline, which allows the player to commit to rigorous drills and the

physicality of taiko playing. Kata is the correct form of taiko playing: taiko drummers must use a

low, wide-legged stance and correct motions which allow a player to become that mere part of a

whole in synchronicity with one’s fellow players. Musical technique is similar. This principle

refers to the specifics of how a performer moves their elbows, fingers, shoulders, or other parts of the body. These are listed separately because kata is a specific, rote code of correct actions, a common theme in Japanese arts, while technique is a method and something more universal to drumming pedagogy. Ki, derived from the Chinese word chi, is the most nebulous of these principles. Literally, it translates to “energy,” but the philosophy behind ki goes much deeper.

San Jose Taiko refers to it as oneness with the drums, with one’s fellow players, with the audience, and with the art itself. It is better understood through experience than explanation, and it can be realized through the rigorous technical training that develops correct kata and the synchronicity with the larger group. Proper ki unites the rest of the principles (Powell 2006, 43-

52).

Odaiko Sonora lists their basic principles as sound, body, mind, and spirit. Sound refers to the musical sounds produced by the correct techniques, as well as the effort to constantly improve them. Body refers to kata in the context of the importance of being aware of one’s body.

Breathing plays a role in this awareness. Stretching before practice plays a role as well, and a student must learn the limits of their body in a given day for the best practice. Mind is similar to the San Jose Taiko principle of attitude, though in addition to respect for fellow players, instructors, and the instruments, it includes an understanding of and respect for the history of the art. Students place the dojo, themselves, and each piece they play within the wider context of taiko. Spirit correlates with SBBI’s principle of ki, and to a lesser extent, attitude. Students must form a “heartfelt love of the art” that will be conveyed in one’s playing and thereby shared with the audience (Odaiko Sonora 2021). The experience within taiko of addressing crises and adapting to changes across contexts and continents has prepared the taiko community for the

current period of change, in which the events of COVID-19 can and have been informed by historical precedent and taiko principles.

Chapter 2: The Context of Virtual Learning

Virtual Learning Prior to the Pandemic

Virtual music education did not begin with the pandemic, and the tools needed in the past

year were pioneered by music educators in earlier years. Prior COVID-19, Carol Johnson (2017,

442, 449-450) studied the modifications music instructors made to lessons and classes taught

online. She noted that there was not yet an established overall pedagogy for online music

instruction, yet she observed some common experiences in the medium. Many of the experiences

during the pandemic were mentioned by Johnson: problems with internet bandwidth,

unfamiliarity with technology, and the benefits of asynchronous learning, including location and

flexible meeting hours. Responses to these situations were highly individualized, and not yet

uniform across the field.

Johnson studied virtual learning as an option rather than as a necessity. Without

imagining the pandemic, Johnson advocated for the greater embrace of this medium and the

reimagined pedagogies it requires. Virtual music education may better serve long-distance and

disabled learners, and there are pedagogical advantages found in new technologies. During the

pandemic the medium was used for the purpose of social distancing rather than any of the above reasons. This has forced instructors to familiarize themselves with the medium. After COVID-19

this familiarity may allow the medium to fulfill the additional advantages.

Evangelos Himonides (2018, 120-137) frames virtual learning as the next step in a long

history of new technologies in music education. He presented a timeline beginning with the

prehistoric invention of early instruments, moving across time through the inventions of paper,

printing, sound recording, and the contemporary creation of computers and the internet. His

argument that virtual learning can be categorized alongside the earliest flutes as developments in

music technology paints the medium as a future to be embraced rather than a departure from tradition. He lists several of the advantages of this latest moment in technological history, including computer assessment of musical ability and the use of computerized pianos to notate a

performance. Himonides’ purpose is to convince skeptical music educators to see the value of

the medium in their own pedagogies, and prior to COVID-19 he felt the advantages of the

medium to be underappreciated. During the pandemic this long view of technology was crucial

both for comprehending what educators have experienced during this crisis and understanding

where we might go from here.

Virtual Learning During the Pandemic

The approach to online learning was just as individualized during the pandemic as before.

In university education, articles written in 2020 reveal varying responses to the pandemic The

greater number of instructors engaging with the medium means an even greater number of

responses. Keast (2020) as a department chair at the University of Texas Permian Basin reports

that much of his faculty had difficulty navigating the new circumstances, and he provided several

equipment suggestions to improve the virtual learning experience. Hayes (2020) reveals similar challenges faced at Austin Peay State University, although the strategies devised in response are less oriented towards expensive equipment. Gringrasso (2020) reveals the variety of responses of interviewed dance instructors to the pandemic, as Shaw (2020) also does in discussing the responses of choirs. Both of these studies focus on creative adaptation to the circumstances. My own field experience with Odaiko Sonora and SBBI involved a variety of approaches as well.

Many of the same advantages and disadvantages which Johnson addressed in her 2017 report remain true. Keast and Sanchez (2020, 61-62) report mainly on the challenges, including weak

internet connection and poor video and audio quality, as well as the barrier between teacher and

student presented by the screen. We also faced these issues in my experience with Odaiko

Sonora and SBBI, along with the unfamiliarity and suddenness with which we had to navigate

the new medium. Both financial stress and sonic intrusions specific to the pandemic added to this strain. Financial stress threatened the ability of both students and instructors to continue with classes. Sonic intrusions presented an obstacle to proper practice at home. In most living situations either family or neighbors must be considered when making noise, making it difficult to play at the proper loud volume of taiko.

In the last year Johnson (2020a, 7-11) continued to apply her pedagogical ideas to the

current situation. She reiterates a need for an overall pedagogical model for virtual music

instruction, and proposes a handful of possible options. These are pedagogical recommendations

rather than reflections about pedagogy during the pandemic. Johnson’s models include student-,

teacher-, expert-, and subject-centered pedagogies. Within each there are specific techniques that

make use of technological opportunities while remaining organized around an approach. This is

of particular use during the pandemic as nearly all music instructors have been forced to engage

with the virtual medium. The scope of Johnson’s suggestions are useful and broadly applicable

to the needs of many music educators and could be applied to virtual music instruction after

COVID-19.

Johnson (2020b, 1-2) has evaluated actions taken in response to COVID-19 by examining

the effectiveness of purely social Zoom meetings for students and educators. The examples she

studied functioned as check-ins on the well-being of students and of stress levels in response to

the pandemic. This study highlights the difference between pre-COVID-19 virtual instruction and the mental health needs specific to the isolation caused by social distancing. The Radcliffe

choral society has employed this strategy themselves, with multiple members making the effort to organize Zoom meeting unrelated to rehearsal (McCormick, 2020 1-2). During 2020, such means of encouraging virtual community were done in both of my dojos through holiday parties.

UNESCO’s ICFE (2020) reports on how the impact of COVID-19 has transformed nearly every aspect of education. Several inequalities are exposed in this report, many of which I did not experience myself during the pandemic because I had access to technological and financial resources. These however were a crucial aspect of the larger pandemic experience to consider.

Many students could not access digital resources that are indispensable for simultaneous social distancing and learning. The past year’s increase in online education created an opportunity for student voices to be better represented in pedagogical decisions. Education must be reimagined without the assumption that it is occurring in a physical school space. UNESCO finds that the revelations of the pandemic can be applied to the future of education: In her preface to the report,

ICFE Chair Sahle-Work Zewde asserts that “COVID-19 has the potential to radically reshape our world, but we must not passively sit back and observe what plays out.”

SECTION 2: THE PANDEMIC EXPERIENCE

Chapter 3: The Zoom Classroom

From the Studio to the Screen

The Zoom classroom has defined a large portion of both dojo’s COVID-19 experiences, yet my field experience did not begin with this new medium. I joined Odaiko Sonora in February

2020, and I was able to observe their standard pedagogy before we transitioned into the Zoom classroom. My initial class series was All Ages Recreational Taiko (AART). The series was centered around repertoire, with six week long units each dedicated to an individual piece. This entry-level class series was designed to teach standard Odaiko Sonora repertoire to newcomers.

A student could join the community group after mastering several AART pieces. While I

experienced Odaiko Sonora’s transition from the studio setting, I only ever engaged with SBBI

online. My initial class series with SBBI in April 2020 contained a geographically dispersed

crowd. This community can only exist online, and when Zoom becomes less necessary for safe

instruction, such communities will still need virtual learning in order to continue. Even so,

participants did experience an adjustment period early in the pandemic, just as Odaiko Sonora

did.

I first encountered SBBI when a professor of mine forwarded me a message on April 5

from the sensei. They were reaching out for people to join their new Zoom class series. I was

informed of two series at the beginning: “Tap-Along, Play-Along Taiko” and “Taiko Zoom for

Kids.” The dojo’s Zoom offerings expanded in the time since, however, and I also attended

several “Tap-Along Play-Along” sessions, in addition to repertoire sessions and yokobue classes.

Most of these lasted between a month and six weeks, and people could choose from these series

at their discretion. However, the same core group of people more or less remained the same

during my time with SBBI, with only slight variation in the class from week to week. Overall,

SBBI may be discussed as a singular community the same as Odaiko Sonora.

In both Odaiko Sonora’s and SBBI’s classes there were students who depended on the

virtual medium to attend. The SBBI class series began with an entirely new group of people who

would not have previously been members due to their distance from San Jose. SBBI participants

ranged from California, to Nova Scotia, to the United Kingdom. The ability to create such a

community was an advantage of the virtual medium forced on us by the pandemic. In my short

time with SBBI I came to know many talented and thoughtful people that I would likely not have

met without the transition to Zoom. The transition to Zoom also allowed a member of Odaiko

Sonora to reconnect to the community in the AART series after she had moved to Tucson to

New Mexico. My experience adjusting to SBBI was relatively easy, as there was no studio

experience for me to compare classes to, and also because by the time I began I was already

becoming comfortable with Zoom.

The philosophy behind taiko assumes a physical context whose loss during the pandemic

has a deeper significance than a mere change of pedagogical routine. The connection between

mind, body, drum, and fellow players is approached as a spiritual connection (whether simply in

practice or as belief). This is an aspect of ki (Powell 2006, 52), and when the physical context of

this connection is lost, ki itself is at risk. While this situation has presented a serious challenge,

virtual learning was an inevitability during COVID-19, and both of my dojos had to determine how to continue teaching and learning with the available resources. These resources can be particularly useful once one grasps them, however. Gringrasso reported that many of the dance instructors she interviewed were surprised at what they could accomplish through Zoom, despite the loss of the studio. With no other choice it was best to “jump in and embrace the adventure”

(Gringrasso 2020, 5). In taiko that meant we had to determine how to maintain commitment to

our taiko principles in the new setting despite their close relationship to physicality. I believe

Odaiko Sonora and SBBI managed this transition well.

The Challenges of Technology

Maintaining these principles in the new medium was not without its challenges. Both

dojos faced regular difficulties using Zoom. Technical issues started during our very first Odaiko

Sonora virtual meeting on March 21, 2020, and they endured throughout the pandemic. I was not

present myself for the very first Zoom class as I suspected I might have symptoms of the virus

(though I eventually received a negative test result), so I emailed our sensei explaining that I

would not be attending that day. I found out later there had been no studio meeting anyway, and

that we would be meeting exclusively virtually for the foreseeable future.

In an interview with my sensei Karen (April 23, 2020) I learned what this first Zoom

meeting had been like. According to her, they had not made progress on skills or repertoire. The

first meeting was primarily a chance to connect with one another, commiserate over the spread of

COVID-19, discuss the group’s plans moving forward, and familiarize everyone with the new

technology. It is important to remember how few people had used Zoom prior to COVID-19. I

had only used the program a couple of times with an out-of-town professor, and my primary experiences with video chat were over Skype.

I was present for the second of these meetings, while people were still familiarizing themselves with the features of Zoom. There were a lot of features to get used to, and our dojo had a wide range of ages and technological skill levels. I myself had some trouble adjusting, and many in the group who did not grow up with computer technology faced an even steeper learning

curve. The most important lesson we immediately noticed was that the lag inherent to video chat would prevent us from synchronous, unmuted playing. We had to accept that only one person, typically our sensei, would be heard at any one time. In this setup, each individual’s experience in their home space was of them playing synchronously with the sensei, though a student could not hear the other students and the sensei could hear no one at all. While imperfect, this was the closest that current video chat technology could bring an ensemble to synchronous musical practice.

It took some time for most students and the instructor to learn how to best operate the program and get the most out of the classes. Important skills for having the best Zoom experience included muting and unmuting oneself, turning the camera on and off, and switching between speaker and gallery view. Participants also had to be mindful of the lighting in the space where they participated. The sensei needed to be able to observe a student to see that they were grasping the material. Lighting that is too dark or too overexposed would make it difficult for this evaluation. Poor camera angles could prevent this as well. A computer could not replicate the ability to observe an entire person in three dimensions, but if the camera adequately displayed a student’s arm motions the sensei had at least something to critique. These struggles with the features of Zoom were not limited to the early pandemic, although technical difficulties became less frequent over time. As recently as March 2021 I failed to consider my lighting and I was barely visible for the duration of an entire SBBI class.

The SBBI community also struggled with Zoom, its features, and its bugs in the early days. Many technical challenges faced in the early weeks were the same as Odaiko Sonora’s, as both dojos were facing the same new medium. There were occasional internet connection, camera, and microphone struggles from me and my fellow students, and on occasion our sensei

also faced technical challenges. Camera angles and lighting were also difficulties during these

early weeks. Another difficulty for SBBI was navigating time zones. The dojo was based in

California, but we had students in faraway locations who had to plan their meetings around very

different schedules from that of the sensei.

The obstacles presented by technical difficulties has been recognized in several reports on

pandemic-era education. Keast and Sanchez (2020, 1-4) noted the problems many students and

teachers faced with lighting, internet connection, and audio and video quality. These were an

annoyance at the best of times, but during the pandemic they acted as an interruption to

education in need of solving. Their proposed solutions involve state-of-the-art webcams, microphones, lamps, and other expensive equipment, all of which would be excellent solutions, but unfortunately money was a barrier. We generally did not rely on such solutions in my two dojos, opting instead to work around the challenges with existing resources. Gringrasso (2020, 3) in her dance study touches on solutions that are much more financially accessible, and similar to our own solutions. She noted that such challenges as intermittent internet connection were not surmountable for every student of the interviewed instructors, so the instructors modified their entire approach to the dance lesson. With money as an issue, such creativity was the ideal approach to handling technological barriers. Not every technical difficulty could be solved this way; internet connection was often beyond an individual’s control, and there was no current solution to time lag in the present day’s video chat technology. One could, however, work around these issues with alternative strategies: class recordings and muting all participants except oneself, overcoming these obstacles by sidestepping them rather than eliminating them.

Adjustments to the Pedagogy

The challenges presented by this new medium necessitated a new way to approach the pedagogy. Each individual had to learn the features of Zoom, and if unfamiliar, to any video chat technology; for the first few weeks many struggled with proper camera angles and lighting, their cameras and microphones, and the chat feature. One of the major issues with video chat was that

there was always a lag between one player’s actions and the audiovisual the other participants

received. This was not a problem for spoken Zoom meetings such as business meetings or lecture

classes, but for a performance ensemble this made synchronous playing an impossibility. After

realizing the inevitability of this issue we determined that only one participant could unmute at a

time; typically this was the sensei. In this scenario each student experienced synchronous playing

with the sensei, but no students were able to hear one another.

Camera mirroring also had to be considered. When facing an instructor in person a

student understands that the instructor’s right hand is on one’s own left side, but over video chat

it was difficult to determine whether the program has automatically mirrored the video. On one

hand this presented an opportunity: if a student could successfully navigate Zoom’s settings they

avoided the classic in-person challenge of needing to mirror the teacher’s motions, but this was

not easily accomplished on every version of Zoom. In light of this our sensei in Odaiko Sonora

began using colored wristbands to differentiate between their right and left hands. The sensei

also often faced away from the camera to product the mirroring effect, and by April 2021 had

begun to incorporate cameras both in front of and behind them. The latter strategy allowed

students to choose which camera angle they prefer.

Each sensei in SBBI also consistently made creative use of Zoom’s features. They also

devised their own solution to the mirroring problem by setting up two different camera angles

which they regularly switched between. One was their front-facing camera, which is the same

camera angle Odaiko Sonora most often employed. While viewing this camera angle a student

simply needed to be aware of their own Zoom mirroring settings and if necessary mirror the

instructor as they would in person. The second camera angle, nicknamed the skycam, was

overhead. Our sensei used this camera to demonstrate the sticking of a passage (proper sequence

of right- and left-handed strokes), which would need to be memorized by students upon returning

to the front-facing camera.

Our SBBI sensei created multiple warmup exercises only possible over Zoom. One

common warmup was the “wipeout game,” a rhythm exercise which used Zoom’s whiteboard

feature. The whiteboard is a blank white canvas on which Zoom’s annotation options can be seen clearly. These included drawing, highlighting, various stamps, and an eraser. In the wipeout game our sensei used the number stamps to present a line of 1-8, and on command we all played eight even beats in a loop. Our sensei sporadically erased random numbers, and we had to insert

rests for each erased number as soon as it was erased. This exercise forced us to think quickly

and develop a strong sense of rhythm. Another game, “teleflocking,” developed our hand-eye coordination during the opening stretches. While stretches would normally be led by the sensei, during teleflocking they were passed instead among volunteers. Each volunteer was free to

choose whatever motions they wished, and everyone else had to copy these motions. Students

needed to switch from speaker view to gallery view for this exercise, as one could not be sure who would be called to lead next or what motions they might do. When concluding this exercise it was best to switch back to speaker view so as to see the sensei better. In this way SBBI embraced an approach that moved smoothly between different Zoom views depending on the purpose of the exercise.

Fig. 1: Tutorial of the wipeout game created by the sensei at SBBI

In taiko as in other performance traditions, social distancing forced music educators to rethink their approaches to education. The virtual medium provided an opportunity to continue meeting even as physical gatherings were suspended, but the differences in the new medium’s functions meant that old methods could not be identically maintained. Johnson refers to attempts

to continue with in person practices in virtual learning as “lift and shift.” She is strongly against

this approach on account of the significant differences between the physical and virtual media

(Johnson 2020b, 1). This approach was discouraged by experts in online learning even before the

pandemic, though in the last year this matter has been especially important as more educators

have moved online, often continuing with old methods despite their ineffectiveness. Keast and

Sanchez (2020, 63) also acknowledge need for new approaches. The Radcliffe Society has

created multiple activities that take advantage of the virtual experience, such as social Zooms

and the use of audio editing technology to simulate a synchronous performance (McCormick

2020, 1). Gringrasso (2020, 28-29) also touches on this point in her dance study. Many of the dance instructors she interviewed realized they had to change their goals in light of the shift online, designing more Zoom-friendly lessons such as technique and repertoire discussions.

UNESCO (2020) observes in their report on the pedagogical impact of COVID-19 that the definition of school as a physical space is being redefined. Their recommendation is that we respond by expanding our concept of what learning is. Through the discovery and adoption of new pedagogical techniques instructors can effectively continue the learning experience for their students, but it is necessary to abandon preconceived notions about pedagogy and fully embrace the virtual medium as a separate entity.

Value of Evolving Technologies

The events of the last year forced us to adapt our learning experience to a medium that departed significantly from the familiar. The nature of virtual space functioned very differently from that of physical space. In response to this we had to adopt alternative ways of learning, while familiarizing ourselves with Zoom and troubleshooting technical challenges. The adjustment to new learning media was not without precedent in the Taiko community, however.

In the 1960s, some younger students began using tape recorders as a tool to memorize parts.

Despite the displeasure of instructors who preferred imitation and memorization, this habit eventually became widespread enough that instructors were forced to accept it (Fujie 1986, 233).

Bender (2012, 183-185; 193-194) reports that a textbook organized primarily by Daihachi

Oguchi in 1994 marked a departure from the physical foundation of taiko, yet its written

descriptions of drum types and proper technique managed similar goals in its own way. The taiko

community additionally had an internet presence prior to COVID-19 through YouTube videos,

email, and the use of social media.

The taiko community’s experiences during the past year were shaped not only by the pandemic, but also by its timing within the history of technology. This discussion would be quite different had the pandemic occurred in previous years. For all my observation about the challenges of technology and the limitations of Zoom, there would have been even greater obstacles had the crisis occurred prior to the internet (or even during the internet age but prior to video chat technology). Had COVID-19 occurred twenty years in the future, technologies not yet imagined would have themselves shaped a vastly different pandemic experience.

Changes in technology interrupt traditions, but are a constant and all arts must respond in order to continue thriving. During the pandemic it has been especially necessary to adapt to new technology for the survival of the art, as in-person gatherings became unsafe. Both Odaiko

Sonora and SBBI have come up with creative solutions to the challenges of the new medium.

These solutions take advantage of Zoom’s features to maintain a quality learning experience even if it is impossible to replicate all of the benefits of in-person studio practice. Ideally these strategies may still be maintained after the pandemic, as many of them still have instructional value even when traditional gatherings are safe.

Chapter 4: The Studio

From the Screen to the Studio

While we were not able to return to the traditional context during the pandemic, we were

able to return to a modified physical medium. As the fall of 2020 was approaching our sensei at

Odaiko Sonora determined that it would be worth considering a return to the studio as long as

stringent safety measures were implemented. The idea was discussed for a few weeks in the late

summer of 2020 before we made any decisions. After considering the numbers and the possible

precautions our sensei announced that we would implement modified lessons in the studio. These

lessons would involve a handful of small groups, and all students had the option of either

partaking or remaining entirely online.

We separated our groups based on shared levels of cautiousness in daily life. Our sensei

emailed us a chart listing six levels of risk tolerance ranging from least to most cautious. This

chart was adapted from the work of Evelin Dacker (2020), who formulated a theory of social

containers based on shared levels of COVID-19 precautions, and honest communication with

one’s container members. Listed behaviors within each level related to the frequency and

purpose of a student’s outings, the size of their container, and the precautions they took in public.

We were emailed a poll allowing us to self-report our risk tolerance levels, and two small groups

were created based on the answers. One safety precaution was our own behavior outside of class

and the maintenance of a dojo community based on honesty and respect. If we have self-reported a risk tolerance level of three, then it was our responsibility be honest and maintain a level three

lifestyle outside of class. Our fellow level three classmates attended their group specifically

because that is the maximum level of behavior around which they felt comfortable. If a student’s

habits changed then they had to inform the sensei and potentially change groups.

Fig. 2: Dacker’s chart as adapted for Odaiko Sonora

As we returned to the studio in the fall of 2020 we essentially entered a hybrid phase:

there would still be Saturday Zoom meetings every week alongside our new studio meetings. As

this hybrid became a routine both settings began to function as a pair. In-person sessions began

to focus on technique issues that could not be as easily critiqued through the screen, while the

Zoom meetings began to focus primarily on repertoire. For those comfortable with revisiting the

studio, the full picture was best experienced by engaging in both.

Not all students were able to revisit the studio, however. In addition to those opting not to

return we had one student in the Zoom meetings who was not local to Tucson and therefore

could not participate in the return. In the case of SBBI, I myself was a student who could only

attend online as I was not local, and the same was true of most of this community. Additionally,

SBBI did not return to local lessons in the fall of 2020 as Odaiko Sonora did. Our sensei chose to

continue instructing over Zoom and to suspend their in-person class series until they determine it is safe (South Bay Beat Institute).

Odaiko Sonora’s decision to return to a physical space allowed us to again access a context for learning that best suited the needs of taiko players. While many valuable pedagogical

adaptations were discovered during the process of virtual learning, the physical space was the

context in which kumidaiko developed. Many of the art’s features depended on this context.

These include synchronous playing, the significance of the dojo space, and the symbolism of the

opening and closing circles. Bender expands on his instructor’s quote, “Your god is in the sky,

right? Our spirits are in the ground,” as he narrates his experiences in the Kodo village, in which

the physicality was even more significant than in most dojos. All members of the village worked

together on the drum-making, construction, and farming, in addition to their hours a day of

practice together. Together they ensured the functionality of the community and therefore of the

performing ensemble. The location of the village was the foundation for all community building and learning that follows (Bender 2012, 127-133). Odaiko Sonora did not function as an isolated village as Kodo did, yet we too were centered as a community by our studio space, our practice within, and our dedication to its upkeep.

The process of deciding to return and determining how best to go about it were approached with the Odaiko Sonora principles in mind, and in particular the principle of respect.

The needs and comfort levels of the group were first considered before even deciding to return at all. The separation of small groups was an act of respect towards variations in comfort levels and lifestyles among students. Unwittingly we were acting in accordance with a UNESCO recommendation for educators during and after the pandemic: including both instructors and students in the decision-making process through a two-way dialogue that considered the voices of both (UNESCO 2020).

Safety Precautions in the Studio

Once we returned to the studio we implemented a number of safety precautions to make classes possible. To return after months of meeting exclusively on Zoom allowed for many of the missing physical elements to be revisited. However, the new studio classes were different than pre-COVID-19 classes. We were still in a pandemic, and while we had collectively determined returning to be an option, this was only safe with the proper precautions in place. The reduced class sizes of these sessions allowed us to remain far apart. During pre-pandemic AART classes, there were roughly thirty students in the studio at once, and the only concern for physical distance involved the need to avoid hitting one another with our bachi. As we reentered the studio in the fall, the class size was much smaller. My group ranged between four and six people,

depending on the week. This was our solution not only to maintain safe distance but also a way to significantly reduce the risk of COVID-19 transmission. As with any indoor space during the pandemic, ventilation was also a concern. To ensure we had sufficient air circulation, our sensei implemented two solution: first, the garage door at the front of the studio was kept halfway open, and at the back we placed giant fans blowing towards the front. This way we maintained a constant air cycle throughout the class, reducing yet another potential risk factor for infection.

Face masks were one of our most important safety tools during class. Everyone who attended class was required wear one prior to entering the building, and to remain masked at all times until exiting. The only exception to this rule were water breaks. While unrelated to pandemic safety, hydration was an additional health necessity for a strenuous art like ours. We were required to spread out during break and only lift our mask to drink water. Conversation remained a part of these breaks, as their purpose is not only hydration but also a mental pause from work, and we were allowed converse either unmasked and far apart, or closer together but masked.

One major safety precaution was informed by the cultural origins of taiko. Typically we were barefoot on the studio floor, but there was the concern that contagions may be tracked in if bare and shoe footsteps overlapped. This was easily solved by implementing a Japanese cultural norm into our own studio space: the removal of outside shoes when entering a building. In a

Japanese home a person usually must remove their shoes in a small mudroom-like space known as a genkan, where they change into slippers known as uwabaki. These slippers must be worn everywhere in the house except in a traditional straw-mat (tatami) room where one goes barefoot. In our studio, our entrance was our genkan, and we changed into uwabaki at a blue tape line that marked our “slipper area.” Our studio floor where we actually practiced was our tatami

room, and we changed out of our uwabaki at this threshold. At both thresholds we were expected to change footwear very carefully to avoid cross-contamination. By committing to these measures, the cultural roots of the art form itself protected us from the contagion that might have prevented it.

Another key precaution that made these meetings possible was a disinfection routine at the start and end of class. Sanitizer was available in the entrance for us to use before slipping into our uwabaki and before touching anything. This was also available upon leaving at the end of class. We also had isopropyl alcohol for use on the floor. Cross-contamination concerns extended to instruments as well as foot traffic. At the start of class, we each rolled out only our drum from the corner. This is the only drum that we were permitted to touch. Our sensei attached blue painter’s tape to two sides of each drum’s rim, which was the only part of the drum to be touched. The use of tape protected the drums: the tape was disinfected with bleach after class, which could damage the drumhead and shell. Our bachi presented another potential risk for cross-contamination, so each student was required to bring their own bachi.

At the close of class, our sensei assigned each student a breakdown or disinfection task.

One task was to disinfect each drum’s tape with bleach after its user returned it to the corner.

Another was spraying the studio floor with isopropyl alcohol, which another student wiped with a Swiffer. A third task was to sanitize any doorknobs, light switches, or other surfaces that may have been touched. After disinfecting the space and saying our closing words we would carefully change back into uwabaki and then outside shoes, then exit before our sensei locked up.

Over the holidays these in-person meetings were paused for a couple of reasons. First, the local infection numbers in Arizona were increasing, and we determined that a break from in- person contact was necessary despite our safety precautions. Second, enough people would be

out of town that we would not have the numbers to sustain a group. We therefore decided to focus just on the holidays and regroup in January 2021. Since we were regrouping anyway, our sensei felt it would be a good time to reevaluate how we approached in-person meetings. It was also an opportunity to break from class and focus on life, family, and mental health.

We discussed the logistics of this hiatus before we convened in December 2020. Our sensei said we might meet outside in the parking lot and have greater distance between one another. She would send out a new risk tolerance poll so we could reevaluate groups, based as before on both our comfort levels and our lifestyles. On January 7 we received more specific details via email. We were resent the risk tolerance chart and asked to respond before attending any classes. Another prerequisite was to take a COVID-19 test and receive negative results.

While tests were an expectation, all of our activities in the studio were based on the premise that everyone was an asymptomatic carrier. While a negative test was crucial for ensuring the safety of the group, behaving as if we were all positive maintains this safety should the former safeguard fail. Every layer of precaution was an additional barrier between a student and infection.

I was able to take a COVID-19 test at the university on January 20, and received my negative result the next day, I could return to the studio when classes resumed. My own return was not as straightforward as others in the group. I attended two AART sessions in late January before being invited to attend the Community Group in early February. However, that week I had my first COVID-19 vaccine, which left me too unwell to visit. Class was cancelled due to a symptom scare the following week, and the week after I received my second vaccine. Therefore I was kept away from the studio for three weeks before finally rejoining, this time as part of a new

group. These personal experiences are an example of how easily nominally routine proceedings

can be complicated by the pandemic.

Many safety precautions in the spring of 2021 were similar to those in the fall of 2020.

Naturally, face masks were still a requirement, as was maintaining adequate physical distance

from one another. However, now that we were outside, the context for some indoor precautions

was removed. Ventilation was no longer the concern it had been inside the studio. When indoors,

we needed to mimic the behavior of outdoor air through our setup with the fans, but once

outdoors this was not necessary. There were no longer genkan or uwabaki because we now

remained in outdoor shoes for the duration of class. Because we remained in our shoes, there was

also no sanitation of the ground. However, people did need to be mindful of what they touched,

and we still brought our own bachi and avoided classmates’ drums. Everyone brought a large rug

to lay in their designated space, where their drum and bachi were to remain. This strategy

visually marked a bubble that could only be entered by its owner. In this way the risk of cross-

contamination was greatly reduced.

While these many precautions rendered our studio experience quite different from our familiar pre-pandemic experience, they were what allowed us to return at all. Most of what was lost in the in the move online was regained due to these safety measures. These included the

ability to see and hear each other well, and to be critiqued on the technique of all body areas.

This is another example of the principle respect in action: our respect for one another’s health

and actions based on that respect make possible our regained existence as a physical dojo. In

other words, the values that inform our taiko community are what support it.

Adjustments to the Pedagogy in the Studio

These precautions in the studio led to new pedagogical modifications. Some aspects of a lesson from before the pandemic could no longer be included in light of the need to maintain distance. This included either switching or sharing drums, or clicking one another’s bachi in swordplay-inspired motions. All of these were removed from in-person instruction in the fall of

2020. The pedagogy upon returning was also affected by the twin relationship it eventually developed with Zoom meetings. As mentioned earlier these physical meetings began to gravitate towards technique while the virtual ones gravitated towards repertoire. Much of our lesson content in the studio revolved around drills in which our stance and motions could be critiqued.

Our actions in class were designed around a broadcasting laptop at the back of the room.

Our sensei was not only teaching us but also anyone who was watching from home. Most of the instruction was catered to the webcam, so the ability to step off screen to provide individual critiques was limited. In addition to participating in class we had to take care to not block the view of the sensei. The laptop also became a participant in the closing circle and occasionally a

Zoom attendee would be asked to lead the opening stretches. When in-person instruction resumed, the virtual medium remained an important consideration.

Despite the changes, these modified classes were worth pursuing for a number of reasons.

First, our technique diminished greatly while we were only meeting via Zoom. Returning to the studio allowed our sensei to correct bad form. We were able to receive criticism on issues like stance (an ongoing concern for me in particular), stroke, and grip. A second advantage of these meetings was the ability to play correctly and loudly without concern for sonic intrusions at home. I will address the problems of sonic intrusions in greater detail in the following chapter, but in brief we all have needed to be mindful of neighbors or family at home. Additionally, many

of us did not have access to proper equipment. To be in the studio (or parking lot) with real equipment without concern for noise was crucial for developing proper skills. The studio meetings were also beneficial for mental health by reintroducing the human element. For me, meeting only virtually was socially isolating. Being able to connect in person, even with the barrier of precautions, was crucial for AART to grow from a collection of individuals into a true community. While Zoom was an indispensable tool that allowed classes to continue through

COVID-19, it was like communicating through a filter that only leaves half the task accomplished.

Adopting new pedagogies for a performing ensemble while following safety precautions was not an undertaking that all instructors found feasible. Hayes addresses the pedagogical challenges that kept performers in his own music department from returning. Performing arts such as singing and acting were determined to have too great of a risk of contamination, while measures that may solve such concerns were a hindrance to both performing and instruction

(Hayes 2020, 1). SBBI has itself not yet returned to the studio, and all the upcoming class series on their own website are virtual (South Bay Beat Institute). For SBBI, returning is contingent upon the end of the pandemic rather than safety precautions. This means that our geographically dispersed community was able to receive the instructors’ full attention. However, SBBI was a local institution before COVID-19, and the sensei will eventually want to return to in person instruction. The situation was the same for Odaiko Sonora at the beginning of the pandemic as well, until an approach that satisfied the community’s need for safe instruction became feasible.

Public Performance

The concert experience was nearly completely halted during the pandemic and my fieldwork. Concerts required separate modifications to respond to COVID-19 precautions. The loss of public performance represented a significant financial loss for both Odaiko Sonora and

SBBI. Additionally, newcomers such as myself lost the opportunity to perform in concert, and veterans as well lost one of the most rewarding aspects of their own practice. Odaiko Sonora was able to organize a modified performance through the virtual Tucson Meet Yourself festival in

September of 2020. Arranging a concert was difficult during the pandemic, but in September we were finally able to perform. We attempted twice to finalize details for a second, spring concert, but these were unsuccessful. The logistics of finding a venue conducive to social distancing was not always feasible, nor was creating a safe environment for both performers and audience. SBBI has not engaged in concerts since before the start of the pandemic.

Odaiko Sonora’s concert experience was on the evening of September 18 by the Joel

Valdez library where we recorded our material for the Tucson Meet Yourself festival. As with studio classes, this performance was significantly modified for the sake of safety. We had no invited audience or ticket sales that evening as such a crowd would be impractical for safety reasons. The festival from the audience perspective would occur asynchronously a month later, both online and on various screens throughout the city. Our own evening of performance was simply the recording of video material for the virtual festival. The performers did not experience a traditional concert audience watching a live performance on stage. Our experience that evening resembled a large, outdoor recording studio more than it did a concert performance. Safety precautions for the recording session itself were very similar to that of our modified studio sessions. We made sure to always maintain a safe distance from one another, organizing our

stage setup with this in mind. We wore masks throughout the evening and took care not to handle

one another’s equipment.

The evening’s equivalent of a traditional concert audience can be categorized into three

groups. First were the visitors to the Tucson Meet Yourself website. The website began to

display our video in mid-October, about a month after the performance was recorded. Once

released, our video was available for viewing at any time alongside the festival’s other

performing ensembles. This audience might range from families gathered around a big screen to

a single person watching it alone on a smartphone. A website such as this is also a performance

context not necessarily rooted to the city being celebrated by the festival. It is likely that the

majority of viewers interested in the festival would have hailed from Tucson but it is entirely

possible that we had several spectators with no connection to the city at all. We will never know

exactly how many people watched our concert or from where.

A second category of audience saw the Tucson Meet Yourself performances displayed on

large screens throughout the city alongside food trucks. Food was the one aspect of the festival

that the institution implemented in a physical space, as it did not translate well to the virtual

space. As this festival always represented both aspects of local community, these organizations needed to be incorporated somehow. Cooking lesson videos had been considered in the planning stages, but ultimately food trucks were decided upon. This allowed the festival an additional platform to showcase the local performing groups. Visitors were able to view the performances on a jumbotron before and after ordering their food. They did not, however, eat while watching the performances, as masks were required at all times near the food trucks. We were able to view our own performance together when our sensei invited all of us to one of the food truck locations on October 24.

Our third category of audience were the spectators who gathered around the library space

to watch the recording session. Although this was not a traditional concert, this was a musical

event which occurred in a public space. We made somewhat of a commotion next to a major

downtown landmark with several giant cameras, speakers, and floodlights. Naturally, this

attracted onlookers. The applause of these onlookers brought some normalcy into an otherwise

unusual experience. However, the dynamic between performers and this audience was different

than it would have been in the past. We were not playing primarily for this crowd, as

appreciative as we were of its presence. The performance was primarily for the cameras, and

staging had to be organized with this in mind.

The evening of our performance was one of the first times many of us had seen one

another in person since the start of the pandemic. I myself had been attending the reintroduced

studio sessions for a few weeks at this point, and had already been seeing the few people in my

small group. However, there were a number of people who had elected not to take advantage of

the studio classes at all. These students had either remained entirely on Zoom or had taken a

break from classes during COVID-19 altogether. This was the first time I had seen these

particular people in several months, and the first time they had seen anyone at all. Therefore this

evening was an important social moment in Odaiko Sonora’s pandemic experience. It brought

together a community that had been fragmented into smaller groups for several months. The evening also brought together, for the first time, all of the AART students and those in the

Community Group. The establishment of community between different class series has always played a role in Odaiko Sonora’s concerts even prior to the pandemic. This unifying moment reinforced the dojo sense of community at a time when its unity was under pressure.

In addition to the Tucson Meet Yourself Concert, we also attempted to organize a concert

for April or May. Unfortunately we were unsuccessful in finding a feasible location and date. We

attempted two locations, the Franklin Street Docks and the Gaslight Theatre. This concert would

have been a live, in-person performance, unlike the Tucson Meet Yourself concert. We would

however still have included various safety measures depending on the venue. The Franklin Street

Docks concert would have been a drive-in concert. The audience could carpool with close family and friends to watch but not interact with other carpools. As performers, our own experience would be relatively similar to that of Tucson Meet Yourself: we would need to maintain a safe distance, arrange the staging to allow for our distancing, and be masked at all times while avoiding cross-contamination. The same would be true at the Gaslight Theatre. This audience would have also been attending via carpools that did not interact with one another. The only real difference is that the staging would be arranged differently in the Gaslight parking lot than on the docks. The audience would also have had the ability at the Gaslight to order food and drinks to their car. However, our sensei have explained during classes that the logistics of scheduling, permissions, and safety precautions prevented both options. We now have opted to wait until the

Fall before attempting another concert.

Using technology to replicate a concert experience existed before the COVID-19

pandemic. Although varied, most approaches generally focused on a particular facet of the

performance experience to simulate. Prior to COVID-19, Evan Tobias (2018, 219, 224-226)

addressed the use of virtual media to replicate the performer’s perspective of a concert.

Commercial video games such as Guitar Hero and Rock Band, while not designed with

educational purposes in mind, were excellent at simulating the experience of what it feels like to

perform. Music educators took this approach further and employed such exercises to provide that

experience for students without the audience. These include games that assess such skills as

rhythm or pitch, or games that mimic performance on specific instruments. These could be

beneficial for developing both correct technique and memorization ability. This technology was

also useful as an individual practice tool. The option offered by this technology to play one’s part

in real time alongside other stimuli developed listening and quick-thinking skills required for live

performance.

Tobias’ discussion took place before COVID-19, and considerations other than performer

competence were not considered as they did not yet need to be. During the pandemic, however,

all aspect of performance had to be recreated virtually due to the impossibility of the traditional context. Julia Shaw suggests that choral directors take advantage of such programs as

GarageBand and Audacity to assemble a performance out of individual tracks (Shaw 2020, 1-2).

Senior recitals have the functions of both a milestone and an assessment that need to be fulfilled.

Gringrasso discusses the use of an assembled video collage of a dance student’s repertoire that

may be assessed by the professor and viewed by friends and family (Gringrasso 2020, 4).

Melancon reports remote but live senior recitals as a solution at the University of North Florida

(Melancon 2020, 1). Some music educators have elected to forgo performances entirely due to

the feasibility issues presented by COVID-19. The Radcliffe Society of Harvard chose to focus

on their own internal musical and social needs at the expense of performing. The use of

programs such as Soundtrap allowed them to experience singing alongside tracks of their fellow

students’ voices, but this was something shared among members rather than with an audience

(McCormick 2020, 1). This was also our experience in both my dojos for months. We focused on internal practice and learning in light of the unpredictability and risk of the situation. One advantage we had as a percussive art is that, with the exception of kiai, our emotive shouts, the

nature of our sound production presented less of a risk than it would for a choir such as the

Radcliffe Society. Odaiko Sonora eventually found solutions to most safety challenges through modifying a traditional performance.

Financial Impact

Financial strain often complicated our efforts to navigate the learning process during the pandemic. This strain is rooted in two sources. First is the loss of concerts and the sales they provide, and second are student financial hardships which impact course fees. My sensei Karen mentioned in interview (April 23, 2020) that an important source of income of Odaiko Sonora for years were CD and merchandise sales at concerts. As COVID-19 made a gathering of a concert’s scope impossible, this source of income was entirely lost. As the dates of expected concerts passed without performance these losses were felt in the budget. When we finally felt comfortable enough to organize a concert, the format did not allow for ticket or merchandise sales.

Student fees ceased to be as effective a source of income during the pandemic as before.

Before the pandemic, the fee at Odaiko Sonora was $120 per six week session, or $20 per class.

Class series such as the Fue Circle were suspended during the pandemic, reducing the total number of classes and therefore fees. The dojo also voluntarily took a financial cut as they recognized the economic hardships of their students. In addition to practical budget concerns, our sensei was also concerned for student well-being. She did not wish to suspend anybody of the taiko experience during COVID-19 on account of financial stress. The physical and mental benefits of the art and the dojo community made the pandemic navigable. Our sensei was unwilling to withhold this touchstone from anyone during a time of such stress. There is also a

practical side to this: to charge a student too high and cause them to leave would run the risk of a greater financial loss than keeping them with a lower fee.

SBBI also faced financial difficulties as a result of the same philosophy of not wishing to withhold taiko from struggling students, as my sensei Rome explained in interview (April 24,

2020). SBBI employed a policy of NOTAFLOF, or No One Turned Away for Lack of Funds.

Class fees during the pandemic were on a sliding scale of $0-50 or $0-75, depending on the series. While this policy may have produced less money than is ideal, it did help retain students who struggle financially. More importantly, it kept the art and its community alive during the pandemic. This approach reflects the principles of respect and ki. The dojo social structure has a strength based on the unity and social cohesion that ki cultivates, and the respect that allows members to prioritize one another during times of crisis.

As UNESCO highlights in their report, adequate money is often unavailable to educators, and the events of COVID-19 exposed this even more than before. Their proposed solution is policy addressing inequalities within education (UNESCO 2020). These inequalities present a barrier to potential adaptations to pandemic needs. For example, Keast and Sanchez’s (2020, 3-4) proposed software and equipment would be excellent ways to enhance virtual learning if only they were attainable. While these solutions may be ideal in the long term, during the pandemic educators needed to find more available means of keeping afloat. In both my dojos this meant turning inward for support by drawing upon the dojo as a community.

Value of Hybrid Pedagogy

There have been many successes in adapting to the virtual medium, and these adaptations will continue to be of value after the pandemic. However, the return to the physical medium was

an improvement. I maintain that the way forward for education after COVID-19 is a hybrid of old pedagogies and those discovered during the past year. Ruthman and Herbet (2018) proposed such a pedagogical approach even before the pandemic. They stress that the advantages of computer-based educational exercises and videoconferencing with faraway experts enhance the physical classroom experience. They cite a U.S Department of Education study which found that these blended pedagogies produced better results than a purely in-person pedagogy. COVID-19 did not allow a hybrid approach, because in-person meetings were unsafe. The absence of the physical medium is particularly significant to taiko. In the words of Shawn Bender’s Kodo instructor, “your god is in the sky, right? Our spirits are in the ground” (Bender 2012, 119). That is, the grounded, physical nature of the art is crucial to proper taiko practice, and we must include this half of the hybrid to achieve the best results. Our return to the studio could not entirely reflect Bender’s ideal picture of Kodo village as it has occurred during a pandemic. All our activities in the studio had to keep safety in mind. However, the ability to connect with each other and with the drums represented a return to the unity and social structure of a dojo. In this way, the return to the studio was a return to the oneness and social cohesion of ki.

Chapter 5: Home

Sonic Intrusions

The “location” of the Zoom classroom was simultaneously the location of each student’s home space. Adjusting the practice of taiko to the needs of the virtual space necessitated adjusting to the needs of the home space. A challenge of this adjustment, both during and between classes, was the volume produced by taiko drumming. When a performer plays softly they intentionally use incorrect technique and thus cease to pursue the mastery of the art. They may even internalize bad habits. At the same time, correct technique may create a sonic disturbance for those in the player’s vicinity. Gallagher, Lamb, and Bayne (2017, 89-90) discuss the issue of “sonic intrusion” from both the outside and “across the permeable boundaries of the personal sound space” in discussing sound and space in online learning spaces. A similar phenomenon could be observed in the various living situations where practice occurred during the pandemic. Both house and apartment dwellers had different types of sonic intrusions to consider. I myself live in an apartment, as do other members of my dojos. In this situation there was a need to consider the neighbors during both practice and class. Most living in houses faced different sonic needs, with family to consider rather than neighbors.

The taiko drum when played properly is extremely loud and presents a challenge in any of the above circumstances. The drums are meant to project across an audience in concert, and their roots are partly as communication instruments across towns and within armies. When using standard equipment, a performer ends up sacrificing their technique in order to play quietly. To avoid this loss both of my dojos implemented various techniques that allow us to practice quietly while still playing properly.

Both of my sensei warned us not to try air playing with either traditional bachi or any

alternative sticks. The problem was the danger of injuring the joints. When an object as heavy as a bachi is started on a trajectory, it must be met with resistance at the conclusion. Otherwise the arm will absorb the impact of halting that motion instead, risking tissue damage. As an alternative, it was suggested we practice without sticks, with the arms and fingers kept straight, as in a karate chop. This removed the danger of weight damage while still encouraging proper technique. The strokes of taiko are rooted in the motions of Japanese swordsmanship, so such

chopping motions are consistent with the art’s choreography. Another option for at least

internalizing a piece without a surface was simply to recite the kuchishowa drum language to

oneself. This way the performer can at least develop familiarity with a piece. The lack of

equipment at home among many students was also solved by these strategies. Taiko drums are

expensive, and bachi can be as well. Many of us did not have either at home. Eventually, I was

able to borrow some from my sensei. Solutions such as recitation and arm playing were

indispensable in allowing those of us without equipment at home to continue our practice.

These alternatives are useful when a performer is without the necessary resources, but

using bachi in some way is preferable as this more closely resembles the use of a real drum.

There are various surfaces that could be struck in practice that do not present a volume problem.

As a percussionist, I already had a Western drum pad in my possession, which was easily

adaptable to taiko practice. In late March 2020, our sensei provided multiple resources for us to

sign out from her front porch. Among these were pairs of bachi and a number of cylindrical drum

“rolls” she had created out of phone books and duct tape. To me these seemed more suited to

taiko than my Western drum pad as they were thicker and more easily absorbed the bachi’s

impact.

In October 2020 our sensei shared another set of resources that provided additional options for practicing quietly. She lent us real taiko drums rather than pads, and stands on which to mount them. Pairs of practice bachi made from foam noodles allowed us to strike at low volume. Both this strategy and that of the drum rolls involved a combination of a traditional

element and a modified one. Either option was essentially as good as the other, and it was ultimately a matter of personal preference. The end result was the same: the ability to practice taiko without being inconsiderate to housemates or neighbors. I personally took quickly to the foam bachi option, as I felt the most comfortable with the feel of a real drum. Others preferred the drum rolls.

These solutions to sonic intrusions are necessary to navigate the learning process in the home space. UNESCO’s pandemic education report stresses that the pandemic exposed the need to evolve beyond considering the classroom as the sole domain of learning. They recommend giving greater attention to the needs presented by alternative spaces (UNESCO 2020). During

COVID-19 many music educators and students have developed alternative activities as solutions.

In choirs this may involve evaluation and analysis of recordings or the use of computer programs designed to hone improvisation skills. Choral instructors also assigned autobiographical projects

that may sharpen a student’s own sense of musical direction (Shaw 2020, 1-3). Johnson (2020a,

15) suggests tools such as iMovie and Audacity to produce recordings to be assessed later by the

instructor. Some of these activities must produce noise at some point. However, one can plan the

noisiest activities around daytime hours and engage in the rest via headphones at night. Shaw

stresses that these alternatives are currently most relevant to the needs of home practice, yet they

should not be discarded after the pandemic (Shaw 2020, 3). Such solutions are a significant

departure from practice activities that have been taken for granted prior to COVID-19,

particularly for taiko. Ultimately the priority is to continue developing (or at least preserving) one’s skills and maintain the taiko principles, regardless of their manifestations.

Diminishing Performance Skills

The computer screen represented more than a new context to which pedagogical methods must be adjusted. It also was also a barrier between the teacher and the student. This prevented a great deal of the observation, communication, and constructive criticism that would come more naturally in the physical space. When a student was reduced from a three-dimensional human body to a two-dimensional square, the ability of the teacher to assess technique was greatly diminished. A student’s technique and internalization of the content were both likely to suffer because of this barrier.

I experienced this loss myself throughout the early months of the pandemic before we returned to the studio. During the spring and summer of 2020 my only experience of instruction was over the screen. During Zoom meetings I played facing my computer in order to watch my sensei’s movements. The instructors could easily see whether I played the correct rhythms this way, as neither arm was blocking the other from this angle. What they could not see from this angle were the position of my legs, back, shoulders, or elbows. They could not see my bachi grip and strike either. As these elements were only visible to myself, they were left uncritiqued for several months. Without the proper guidance I developed multiple bad habits that were not caught until they had become partially entrenched. I was aware of this process even as it was happening. However, without specific feedback from my more knowledgeable sensei I had no way of knowing specifically what to fix and how.

These habits became a serious issue upon returning. In my case these included a slightly

hunched back, shoulders that were too far forward, and a drum strike that was too Western in its

technique. These were not necessarily the same mistakes as my fellow students. Everybody had

different sets of bad habits which they developed at home, but everyone strayed in some way

from proper technique. This immediate problem became the first priority for our sensei during

studio classes. This was the one space in which our full bodies were now easily observable for

critique. Because of this the studio soon became dedicated specifically to technique, with its

Zoom counterpart dedicated specifically to repertoire.

Incessantly repeated drills under the supervision of the sensei were a fundamental part of

Bender’s experience with Kodo. As with most art forms, the fundamentals of the technique must

be mastered before more advanced proficiency is a possibility. Once mastered they must always

be maintained. The correct arm movements and back and leg posture must be correct for the

proper sound to be easily produced. This is especially true when playing at a loud volume

(Bender 2012, 136-140). This disciplined adherence to correct motion and stance is what is

meant by kata. The principle is crucial to an art form as rooted in physicality as taiko, and its

importance puts it on equal footing with loftier philosophical principles such as ki.

The traditional context for mastering these fundamentals has been lost in multiple

performance traditions during the pandemic. Keast and Sanchez (2020, 1-2) acknowledge that a significant obstacle to the pandemic learning process is the reduced ability of instructors to see and hear their students within the virtual medium. The report on the Radcliffe Society adds the element of the students’ reduced ability to observe both the instructor and each other. Partly responsible is the reduction of three-dimensional students to the two-dimensional screen.

Another factor is the need for all but one participant to mute (McCormick 2020, 1). These have

both also been true in my dojos. Keast and Sanchez (2020, 3) also insist on the increased importance of self-evaluation in light of these shortcomings. Due to the potential for choppiness and lag over Zoom, video recordings may be a superior medium for performance itself.

Evaluation and discussion may be a better use of the Zoom format. Melancon (2020, 1) suggests this strategy as well, reporting that the submission of either audio or video for evaluation has become a standard requirement at UNF during the pandemic. This strategy was occasionally employed during Odaiko Sonora Zoom meetings, though our experience of diminishing technique still continued. In was only in person that this obstacle was overcome. Even without lag a video cannot replicate the three-dimensional evaluation of a student. This suggests that not every pedagogical need can be satisfied without some degree of in-person contact.

The Challenges of Technology at Home

I discussed the challenges of technology as they have impacted the group experience in the virtual space of the Zoom classroom in Chapter 3. I additionally addressed the barriers they represented to both the instruction of the music and its reception. The virtual space, however, exists within many different physical spaces. The inevitable, periodic failure of technology to perform as required ultimately impacts the experience in these spaces. When such challenges occur, an individual’s actions are redirected from the pursuit of learning to troubleshooting This aspect of the COVID-19 taiko experience is highly individualized. My own issues were specific to my own situation, as other students’ issues were to themselves. I therefore do not present this as a set of universals that define the pandemic experience. This was however a category of obstacles generally experienced by most taiko students in the past year.

My own experience with these challenges periodically prevented me from fully

participating in classes. On occasion they prevented me from being able to participate at all.

There are three main categories of challenges that impacted my experience in my home space.

These include challenges with the program of Zoom, challenges with my internet connection, and challenges with my computer itself. Of the three, my internet connection was the most

frequent hindrance to my learning experience. Intermittent Wi-Fi was a symptom of apartment living that affected my own reflexive experience of taiko practice this year. Whenever the Wi-Fi

temporarily cut out, the Zoom meeting would close from my end. I would then be diverted from

my meeting as I attempted to fix the issue. My typical solution to this problem was to switch my

network to my cell phone’s hotspot. At other times I was forced to wait for the signal to

reconnect. Both situations were only mildly inconvenient, but they did remove me from the

classroom and represented an interruption to my ability to practice the art.

Zoom has been the link keeping both the Odaiko Sonora and SBBI communities together

during a crisis which has kept us physically apart. Its positive contributions to the experience of

this crisis should not be dismissed, but like any program it is not perfect. The bugs in the system

occasionally led to technical difficulties on my end. I have mentioned above that my meetings

closed from my end if my Wi-Fi cut out, but Zoom itself occasionally crashed on its own, leading to the same interruption and diversion from class as the previous problem. This was more difficult for me to troubleshoot. Usually, I would need to restart the program or the whole computer. When Zoom itself crashed I generally had little control over the solution.

The malfunctioning of a computer was the most serious of these problems and it was the

most difficult to solve. The learning experience is only able to occur through usable devices. One

good thing about being stuck at home is that I did not have to worry about my device running out

of power, as I was always within reach of an outlet. I did have serious problems with the

operations of my devices, however. In May of 2020, my computer’s screen went black and had

to be kept in the shop for an extended time. I was forced to purchase a much lower quality but

affordable alternative. While depending on the lower quality computer, every aspect of my Zoom

experience was compromised in some way. My microphone was a much lower quality and the

bandwidth was unstable. This prevented me from speaking my closing words at the end of each

class. For months I instead typed my closing words in both dojos. As with the rest of my

troubleshooting, there was ultimately a simple solution to the problem. Still, each of these

troubleshoots represented an additional complication to the learning process.

Many challenges of virtual learning at home, especially in relation to technology, are connected to a lack of effective resources. My own temporary computer troubles were the cause of inadequate technology, as were our sensei’s microphone troubles. Spotty internet on both my end and that of my instructors in both dojos were due to network issues beyond our control.

UNESCO’s ICFE (2020) touches on how COVID-19 has exposed inadequate and unequal access to the internet and other technological resources. Their solution is geared more towards policy recommendations than individual solutions. Nonetheless, the problems they report reflect my field experience very closely. They reflect what many music educators have been facing during

COVID-19 as well. Keast and Sanchez’s (2020, 1-2) report on the pandemic technological needs in his own department addresses the frustrations of his department with inadequate devices and internet connection. It is important for an effective lesson that all participants have quality visual and sound. This way everyone can benefit from the class experience. When struggles with technology at home prevent this from happening, it is a significant obstacle to effective virtual learning.

Value of the Home Space

As the studio has not often been an option during the pandemic, we all needed to navigate

the challenges that accompany the new setting of home. UNESCO makes note of this issue in the

second point of their report on COVID-19 era learning. The traditional classroom is noted as an

“indispensable” learning environment. This was made clear in my experience with both Odaiko

Sonora and SBBI. Such setbacks as diminishing performance began to improve upon returning to

the studio. However, with the traditional environment unavailable, educators “must give way to a

variety of ways of ‘doing school’” (UNESCO 2020).

We did eventually settle into an approach that reflected the realities of the home location.

This was accomplished through solutions to sonic intrusions and technical challenges, as well as self-evaluation of technique. I would add here that the home space had its benefits as well as its

drawbacks. The home space provided safety from infection during the pandemic. It was the

physical host of the virtual Zoom location allowing learning to continue through the past year.

Additionally, it inspired several adaptations that may continue to have application after the

pandemic. All of the above are additional examples of adaptations to the temporary problem of

COVID-19 that should not be abandoned once the pandemic comes to a close.

CONCLUSION

The response of the taiko community as observed in my fieldwork with both Odaiko

Sonora and SBBI is informed by the history and philosophy of the art. Throughout history in

both Japan and the United States the communities surrounding kumidaiko and prior Japanese

drumming traditions have faced crises of disenfranchisement, war, and struggles for civil rights,

in which drumming was able to function as a social and unifying activity which developed

communities with the strength to face such crises. The joy in the art also functioned as a refuge

from the stressors and traumas of such crises. Through this precedent the tradition also

developed the tools to navigate the crisis of this past year. Kumidaiko dojos have also been

equipped by the philosophy of the art during this crisis and were able to draw upon the principles of taiko in the act of developing responses to the challenges of COVID-19. Respect and the similar concept of ki have in particular allowed the community to turn to one another for support, design responses with respect for one another’s needs in mind, and prioritize the unity and solidarity of a community in the face of upheaval and instability.

Music educators engaging in virtual learning prior to the onset of the pandemic had begun to develop strategies for instruction in this medium, but due to the newness of the medium an overall pedagogical model for virtual music education was not yet established when the pandemic forced teachers and students online. Carol Johnson (2017) had proposed theoretical possibilities, but these ideas had not yet been thoroughly vetted by others. As such, responses to the transition from classroom to online learning, which was new and unfamiliar to many

instructors, was highly individualized. Numerous technological tools have been proposed to

allow an environment for the instructor that more closely resembles the classroom setting, but

financial considerations were often a barrier to such solutions, and ultimately creativity and the

embrace of the uniqueness of online learning has been the best approach to the pandemic’s changes.

In my own experiences with both Odaiko Sonora and SBBI our lessons have drawn upon both this creativity and upon the principles of our art to keep our dojos operational and allow us to continue accessing the common interest that unites us when our familiar way of operating is unsafe. In the process many new pedagogical strategies in both the Zoom classroom and the studio space have been discovered which have made excellent use of the nontraditional contexts in which we have been learning. Such experimentation and discovery have been common themes among music instructors across the range of performance ensemble traditions. The solutions arrived upon during this process of discovery will ideally continue to be useful after the COVID-

19 context which produced them ends. The virtual medium presents many opportunities that should be pursued for their own merits in the future and not simply because social distancing has necessitated them. Additionally, the remote communication offered by education through video chat allows disabled or geographically dispersed students to access lessons just as those able to attend the studio would. Moving forward, educators would benefit from drawing upon the experience of the past year allowing them to strengthen the principles of the art to form a stronger community in the future.

TAIKO GLOSSARY

Aisatsu: greetings used at the start and end of a class; these are fundamental to correct etiquette.

Bachi: the thick, heavy drumsticks used to strike the drums. Thickness and weight depends on the type of drum struck.

Buraku: historically, and in many cases presently, oppressed community of laborers in taboo occupations, including leather production; long history of involvement in drumming and drum- making in Japan.

Chu-daiko: medium-sized drum which is the most commonly used instrument in a contemporary taiko ensemble.

Dojo: the space and community in which a martial art such as taiko or karate is practiced.

Fue/Shinobue/Yokobue: interchangeable names for a traditional Japanese transverse flute that is often performed alongside taiko drums.

Gagaku: historical court music of Japan whose instrumentation is a contributor to the contemporary kumidaiko ensemble.

Issei/Nisei/Sansei: the first three generations, in order, of Japanese immigrants to the United States. Nisei most Nisei were young during the Japanese-American internment, and most Sansei were young during the emergence of the Asian-American movement in the mid-twentieth century.

Kabuki: theatrical tradition, more melodramatic and historically catered to the general public than Noh theatre, which has contributed instrumentation to kumidaiko.

Kagura: historical sacred, Shinto music that has contributed some instrumentation to the contemporary kumidaiko ensemble.

Kata: correct stance and technique; together with ki this forms the fundamentals of correct practice.

Ki: energy; related to the Chinese term “chi.” A nebulous term that refers to the energy from within the body/spirit with which one plays. Ki is fundamental to proper playing.

Kiai: visceral shouts uttered during taiko pieces.

Kuchishowa/Kuchishoka/Kuchishoga: the drum language used as verbal notation for a taiko piece.

Matoi: a type of banner historically used as identifiers for Japanese firefighting companies, often used for choreography in kumidaiko.

Matsuri: a Japanese festival; the music of matsuri has contributed both instrumentation and stylistic features to kumidaiko, and today there is much overlap between contemporary matsuri and taiko ensembles.

Noh: theatrical tradition, more restrained and historically catered to the upper classes than Kabuki theatre, which has contributed instrumentation to kumidaiko.

O-daiko: largest of the three primary taiko drums; often plays slower, supporting material.

Senpai-Kohai System: seniority-based system in which one defers to and may be mentored by their senior members, or senpai. Members junior to oneself are one’s kohai, who defer to and may be advised by oneself.

Sensei: individual at the very top of the senpai-kohai chain who is the leader and teacher of the dojo.

Shime-daiko: a small and high drum usually played by one leader to keep time for the ensemble.

Taiko/Kumidaiko: taiko by itself means “drum” in Japanese. Kumidaiko is the contemporary, performed tradition of taiko drumming, adapted in the mid twentieth century from traditional Japanese drumming styles. The term taiko is often used in place of kumidaiko when not contrasting the art with traditional drumming styles.

Taiso: the warm-ups and stretches used at the beginning of a class.

Tatami: straw mats in the traditional “tatami room” of many Japanese homes in which one changes from their uwabaki into bare feet.

Uwabaki/Genkan: uwabaki are traditional Japanese indoor slippers intended to prevent the tracking of outside mud and germs into the home. The genkan is a “mud room” space at the entrance of buildings in which a person changes from outdoor shoes into their uwabaki.

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