Monday, February 29, 2016

Fermata

Miles Davis was a unique trumpet player. In a time when Charlie Parker and John Coltrane were playing the hard driving multiple note passages of Be-Bop, Miles Davis played quiet notes here and there; weaving his way through a melody, just touching on the most pertinent notes.

It is an understatement to say he was restrained. I think of this while playing Kurokami on the shakuhachi. It is the first of the distinct shakuhachi repertory (sankyoku) to be studied. I have read to take each section, demarcated by breath lines, as its own entity. The pace is slow, probably 38 beats per minute on the metronome.

Kurokami starts with a HA-RO. The HA (C) is a grace note and RO (D) is the long note. Five notes follow this and I find myself rushing to get to the end to take the next breath, fearful all the time of running out of air before finishing the passage. The next passage is three notes with two repeats. I am already getting behind. Then the pace quickens with a series of closely packed notes. Now I am in trouble.

Though I manage to play the entire piece, I am usually light headed by the end and have not interpreted it with subtlety. I need to slow and take each note for the blessing it is. This is matter over mind when it needs to be mind over matter.

Chanoyu is similar to the above. There is a pace to the dance. Slow and steady then quick and decisive with slight variations within. It keeps it interesting. At the beginning of tea, once all the utensils are in place, there is a moment of rest or contemplation, a fermata, a moment for the training of a lifetime to click in and allow tea to be made without the “monkey” mind.

A fermata when placed over a note puts the regular counting of beats on hold. The time lingered on the note is a musician’s decision. Chanoyu has a similar moment. Its fermata is called izumai o tadasu.

It meant little at first. I would stop, try to get comfortable, take a deep breath, and move on. But it has become a moment where time takes on a new metric. Like in the fermata, it can be long or short. It is dependent on the practical need to adjust the kimono and posture, and then on the more ephemeral need to concentrate on the present.

I am afraid I have the same tendency to haste in chanoyu as I have in playing the shakuhachi. I try to think of Miles now when performing both the above. How he hit just the right note highlighting the song without obviously playing the rhythm. How he stops playing and listens before committing to the next note. How even in the midst of his sidemen’s passionate playing, he calmly stands and anticipates the truthful time to play. And how he is unhurried in a hurried world.

I found the fermata while studying how to read a score. It has opened up a new realm even if it is too late in my life to be instinctual about it. My neurons toil as they try to make the necessary connections needed to sight read. I am not sure if this will stave off or foster dementia but it has given me permission to put the regular counting of the beat of my life on hold and explore…lingering.

February 2016