Japanese Fusion Ensemble and Shamisen

A few Fridays ago I went to a music performance in old town Oakland billed as "An Evening of Japanese Fusion featuring Reigen Fujii." Fujii-san is a distinguished young shamisen player from Japan, and the ensemble was fronted by Kyle Abbott, an American shamisen player and multi-instrumentalist, and founder of Bachido, a website that provides instruction and materials for learning to play the shamisen. The shamisen is a traditional stringed instrument that puts me in mind of a three-stringed Japanese banjo.The strings are played with a plectrum (pick) called a bachi, thus, the website Bachido ("way of the bachi").

I really didn't have any expectations for the performance- my main priority for the evening was to meet and get to know the program coordinator for my upcoming employment opportunity, who had invited me to the performance. I had heard shamisen music before (Yoshida Brothers, anyone?) but had not seen it performed live. We were a little late and the performance had already started when we sat down- the first piece we heard was a solo on the koto, another traditional stringed instrument that seems to me like a harp on its side. The soloist, Brian Wong, introduced the piece by saying the composer was influenced by rock music, and I thought I could almost hear an echo of electric guitar riffs in there somewhere.

After that piece, Kyle and Fujii-san sat down and played two American Old-time standards on the shamisen, and I realized that of course I was far from the first person to think the shamisen was like a banjo. Then the rest of the ensemble came together- shamisen, mandolin, shakuhachi (Japanese bamboo flute), drums, and a stand-up bass, and they launched into a toe-tapping Mongolian song featuring a fair amount of tuvan throat-singing. Japanese Fusion indeed! My eyebrows went up about two inches. This was followed by a few outstanding shamisen solos by Fujii-san, and the ensemble regrouped for some jazz standards - Autumn Leaves, Summertime, and Spain. Somewhere in there five of the performers sat down in a shakuhachi circle and played a very atonal piece - I don't think shakuhachi is going to be my thing, but I won't rule it out yet. I did notice the guy sitting in front of me literally nodding off several times during the shakuhachi jamboree.

When Fujii-san played his solo pieces, which featured a fair amount of high-speed fretwork and fast bachi action, I noticed that the shamisen makes (at least) two different sounds that are in addition to the actual playing of the strings. First, the bachi makes a sharp percussive clapping sound either against the strings or the taut surface of the shamisen body, I'm not sure which. The faster the playing, the faster the clapping of the bachi- clack-clack-clack. Second, high-speed playing seems to set up a constant drone note, that I'm only guessing might be the other strings' sympathetic vibration. Nestled between those sounds there is, of course, the actual sound of the strings being plucked to make the melody of the song.


I didn't take any pictures or video during the show, but here are some links where you can watch and hear examples of some of the music I described above.

Reigen Fujii's official website
Fujii-san playing shamisen with a jazz ensemble
Brian Wong's biography and Koto performance
Shakuhachi performance
Kyle Abbott demonstrating Tuvan throat singing

(Up)State of Mind

Growing up in a small town, I felt like there was so much time. So much time between interesting things to do; so many quiet, boring afternoons and evenings to endure until the next much-anticipated event: the next time to go see a movie, the next party, the next time I would see the boy I had a crush on, the next open mic. In that setting, endless free time was suffocating; it was the filler, the tasteless cereal you eat only to get to the prize at the bottom of the box. Stepping out of the house into a cool, dark, star-lit night or a hot summer afternoon with a cloudless blue sky, my only thought would be… “When will it be interesting? Will it always be empty like this?”

The Hudson River in December. (This picture reminds me of Magritte's L'Empire des Lumieres)

The answer is: No. I have to dig pretty far back to remember that feeling of the endlessness of free time, the hours to be filled, the space and the quiet and anticipation. When I go home to visit family these days, the constraints of time are completely opposite. Everything has to be crammed into six or seven extremely short days, all the meals, meet-ups, get-togethers, catching up, extended family visits and activities. I have to make a schedule as detailed and crammed as any deadline-week work schedule, just to make sure things can happen at the right time. When I step out into a cool, dark star-lit night now, I want to stand out there and see the stars, the moon; taste the moisture in the air, smell the rain, wander in the darkness. But often there isn't even time enough to let my eyes adapt to the darkness before I have to go do whatever is next on the schedule.

The woods behind my childhood home

Sometimes I get just a little taste of it though- a little reminder of the expanding nature of empty time. Last winter I went for a walk in the back woods, the woods that were even at that time being cut down for a new McMansion development. At that time it was silent, eight inches of ice-crusted snow on the ground, solid enough to walk tenderly on top without punching through. I stepped through the back gate and closed it behind me with a clink.The future cul-de-sac was invisible except for the utility rough-ins poking up here and there with little orange flags. Nobody out there, not even a squirrel or a bird making a sound. I walked through the woods until my toes were numb, listening for tiny winter noises and just observing what was new and what hadn't changed. With no pressing plans to keep, time expands. Other times I might get the same feeling on a summer evening, driving out into the farm fields to meet a high school friend, winding down two-lane roads with no other headlights in sight.

Future Cul-de-sac panorama behind my parents' house

Now I wonder- is it the nature of time in a small town, or is it the nature of time in pre-adulthood, or is it both? Maybe every time I revisit that area, I slip back into my pre-adult mindset and recapture the feeling of expanding free time, except it no longer seems like boredom to me. It tastes like freedom.

Charleston and the South Carolina Lowcountry

At the end of February I traveled to the South Carolina coast to visit family. This pretty much catches up the recent travel backlog.

I knew when I booked the flights that my inbound travel to Charleston was going to be challenging, but the flights turned out to be the easy part. After brief de-icing delays in Chicago, we landed in the rainy part of one of those winter storms with names. Torrential rain combined with after-dark driving, exhaustion and really bad GPS instructions for a very long night driving up the coast. Pro tip: SC Route 41 may call itself "Route 17 Alternate," but that only makes sense if you define "alternate" as "the road you take when you want to make a bad drive in a downpour twice as long and twice as scary and include 200% more hydroplaning." 

I learned many important driving lessons on that trip, but enough about that. I slept until noon the next day and then with my Aunt and Uncle as guides, we set about exploring some coastal treasures.

Boardwalk. Huntington Beach State Park

Saltwater Marshes. Huntington Beach State Park

Escape to Stinson Beach

I know this post is four months late, but I want to get through the backlog before getting ahead of myself... and the pictures were nice. Please enjoy this window into the recent past : )

On Black Friday, we escaped.

Sunset over Bolinas Lagoon.

While others were lining up outside Best Buy at 4am, or preparing for another night of roaming protests in the East Bay, or possibly experiencing a combination of shopping and protesting hordes in Union Square, we drove out to Stinson Beach for some peace and quiet.

Bench at Divide Meadow, Point Reyes National Seashore

Which we found in abundance. On Friday we drove up the divide to Point Reyes Station for lunch, and on the return trip down to Stinson Beach we stopped off at the Bear Valley visitors center for a short hike in the Point Reyes National Seashore, although we didn't see any seashore on our hike, just lovely trees and meadows.

Divide Meadow, Point Reyes National Seashore

The sun sets early in late November, and by the time we returned to Stinson Beach it was completely dark. Apparently the Stinsonites don't care much for streetlights or sidewalks, making the foray out for dinner somewhat fraught but memorable.  After a good night's sleep and satisfying breakfast, we headed out for Muir Woods, thinking the chill might just maybe keep some of the tour buses away (don't bet on it). On the way we had to stop for this view...