Extracurricular Cool at Hitorizawa

By Michael Pronko

(originally published The Japan Times, April 13, 2003)

Hitorizawa High School in Kanagawa appears to be a normal Japanese high school. Plentiful shoe-boxes jam the entryway, a sign-in sheet for visitors dangles alongside the nub of an old pencil and lists of rules hang accusingly in the wide and somewhat dusty halls. After classes, administrative staff work late while classrooms rest empty with the day's chalkboard lessons erased to dust.

Unlike other high schools, though, the late afternoon at Hitorizawa is not entirely quiet. Walking down the maze of corridors toward the outlying rooms, an unexpected beat grows louder and louder, finally cohering into the distinctive rhythm of "It Don't Mean a Thing." Turning another corner reveals huge, hand-cut letters, "J-A-Z-Z," covering the windows of the room farthest from the principal's office. Sliding open the door to this room, the sound of 50 16- and 17-year-olds playing big band jazz explodes into the hall.

They call themselves the Jazzy Kids, and instead of squatting in front of convenience stores or memorizing long lists of facts every afternoon, these high-school students are learning instrumental technique, the mysteries of rhythm and the pleasure of soloing. Every day at 4, they are in their seats ready to swing.

I first heard them at last year's Yokohama Jazz Promenade. I invited myself to hear them practice after meeting their advisor, Kenro Taiichi. A teacher of jazz for more than 30 years, and a musician for even longer, Taiichi has taken time from his private teaching to come to Hitorizawa to help lead the band there several afternoons a week for the past 15 years.

I wanted to find out how these students got to be so inspired, so early. Though in many ways they are exactly like other high-school students all over Japan (they fiddle with their uniforms and check their cell phones surreptitiously between songs), their diligence and interest in jazz sets them apart: Full band practice is twice a week; individuals and sections practice daily.

Taiichi rushed from a private class to pick me up at the station. We arrived a little late and found that they had started without us. We sat in the only empty chairs at the very front of the room. After introductions, the band flipped through their neat book of music charts and, with only a brief count-in, leaped into Dave Brubeck's "Take Five" with impressive precision. Taiichi and I sat back to listen. They followed with a Glenn Miller medley, and then the jazziest version of the theme from the long-running, animated TV show "Sazae-san" that you're likely to hear. They're high-school students after all, I thought.

However, as the rehearsal progressed, it became clear they needed little direction from the adults at hand. I kept waiting for Taiichi to give them a critique, or at least advice, but he mostly lets the students figure it out for themselves. When bandleader Chisato Kawamura finally called for a break, I asked her how the students organize themselves. She placed her clarinet carefully on her chair and, with a thoughtful expression, said, "It's really difficult because we decide everything together. Everyone says their idea, so I have to wait and see what people say. Then we can see which side has more."

Wynton Marsalis has said that jazz is the most democratic music, and here was that principle in action among Kanagawa teenagers.

So, Taiichi doesn't decide anything? Kawamura smiled and said, "He almost never says any thing. That's better!" Taiichi takes this as a point of pride. "I never say too much. I just tell them that the most important thing is to start from where your feeling is," he said. Except for the charts that Taiichi arranges for the band, his 30 years of teaching and playing have led him to the conclusion that a light approach leads to greater depth. "There's no manual for teaching jazz after all," he said.

The band already had the set list for an upcoming public performance. The titles of several jazz classics, written in katakana, filled the front chalkboard: "Speak Low," "Take the A Train," "All of Me," "Mack the Knife," "Samba de Orfeu" and others. The board also listed songs practiced but not chosen for this show, next to a curious schedule with columns marked, "p," "g," "b" and "dr" and obscure half characters.

I asked the rhythm section about it during the break, and they jumped up to explain how they rotate duties for piano, guitar, bass and drums, since those can be tiring for one person during an entire set.

Switching parts also lets them learn different instruments. They asked me what I thought about the piano solo on "Take the A Train." When I said, "Great," the other girls jumped over and hugged the pianist.

They are right to be pleased. Improvisation is the most difficult aspect of jazz, and their solos were surprisingly good. "Improvisation is difficult to learn, but that's jazz," Taiichi explained. "To start, I tell them to just pick a note and listen to the rhythm. Then, for longer solos, they can listen to recordings." Bassist Ken Shimamura took the lead-in solo on "Cherokee," and though he shook his head as if he flubbed it, it had an inner order and impressive originality. After he finished, the trumpet section and rhythm players whooped in support.

During the next break, they get up the nerve to pepper me with questions. They want to know if I play an instrument, which Japanese groups I like, who is my favorite musician and do I like going to clubs. After politely listening to my replies, they gave their own answers to all these questions, displaying their knowledge of Charlie Parker, Duke Ellington, Terumasa Hino and even the alternative jazz group Shibusa Shirazu. As we talked more and more, I had the feeling of being with like-minded jazz fans, rather than high-school kids, and the distance of culture and age melted away.

As this feeling took hold, and they clustered around, I asked why they liked jazz. Did they listen with their parents? Yes. Did they take classical music lessons and dislike it? Yes. Don't they listen to pop? Sometimes. Were they trying to avoid sports practice or cram school? Yes, yes, they answered.

"But really, why do you like jazz?" I asked. One quiet girl, an alto sax player, cleared her throat and spoke up softly from the edge of the group, "Kakko ii kara (Because it's cool)." The other students nodded.

At the end of two hours, the students bustled off. Several students hastily returned their chart books and hurried off to cram school. The majority of students took their time. The hallway was completely jammed with cases laid out end to end as students cleaned the insides of their instruments and polished the outside to a gleam before stowing them in their velvet-lined cases. They seemed relaxed, as if the pressures of adolescence had evaporated during the practice. Taiichi patiently stood in the hallway, answering their last, few questions and watching the flow with pride and amusement.

Before we left, I noticed one student wander off by himself to the end of the hall with his tenor sax, working on his solo. I watched him, and one of the others whispered to me, "He's really good." I nodded, wondering how long it would be before I heard him, or one of the others, jamming in a Tokyo jazz club.