The beat generation (From Western Telegraph)

The beat generation

I, and nine other raw recruits, signed up for one of James Barrows Taiko workshops as part of the recent Japanese Evening at Pembrokeshire College. After two hours practice, we would take to the stage as part of that evenings performance.

James starts off the session by telling us Taiko drumming could be compared to Morris dancing in terms of popularity. My enthusiasm ebbs as images of white handkerchiefs, green, knee-length socks and jangling bells begin to frolic through my head.

Only two of us have had any drumming experience; both students at the college. Of the remainder, most have an interest in either Japanese culture in general or Taiko in particular.

Some have even been on one of James courses before. Encouraged by our apparent competence at the early stages, James decides we are up to the challenge of the slightly more tricky piece. At this point, having mastered the concept of whacking the drum with the stick, I am full of confidence and ready for the challenge.

The piece we are to learn is based around call and answer. We, as a group, call; he answers and then we swap over. There are four sections, the first two of which we race through (while secretly thinking this Taiko lark is not as hard as it looks). We skip to the fourth section (which we also master fairly quickly) before going back to focus on the third, which James warns us we might find a little tricky.

Tricky didnt even begin to cover it. As a group, we were totally, utterly and irredeemably stumped by the third section. It involved a change in the pattern we had come to love and cherish throughout the afternoon. Like confused birds battering themselves senseless against a patio door, we plugged away, trying to follow the old pattern and getting hopelessly confused.

By the time the workshop came to an end, ten shiny, confident faces had been replaced by a host of haggard and terrified souls, each nursing its own private and unshakeable feeling of foreboding.

A few hours later and the dress rehearsal comes around. Four other groups (one from Penally School, two from the college and one from St Davids care in the community group) are also performing and I arrive early enough to catch their rehearsal. They sound great. I console myself with the thought they must have been practising all week.

Just before the performance gets under way, I hear the other groups learned their pieces in two hours as well. I start to sulk. James and fellow Taiko expert, Kiro Shirube take to the stage and give a demonstration of drumming bristling with skill, timing, strength and stamina. By this stage, however, I have entrenched myself in the belief that if I cant do it, it is silly and not worth doing anyway. The other groups do their stuff, finishing off with the care in the community team who bring the house down.

Before I can consider making a bolt for the door and leaving my group in the lurch, I find myself on stage, under the lights, sticks in hand. Amazingly enough, we pull it off. At least one of us managed to mess up the dreaded third section every time round but the audience didnt know what it was supposed to sound like anyway. We acted confident, flung the sticks around like we meant it and ended up having a really good time. We left the stage to loud applause, relieved it was over but, most of all, glad wed given it our best shot.