Reincarnating Barrels: The Modern Art of Making Taiko in Colorado

By: A Drum Maker Who Smells Faintly of Oak and Whisky

You can’t find one-piece logs anymore — not the kind that Taiko builders in Japan used to hollow out by hand with the patience of monks and the stamina of lumberjacks.So, here in Colorado, I improvise.

I work with what’s available: old wine barrels, retired whisky casks, and raw wood staves that have lived a full life before becoming something new.In a way, each Taiko starts with a story — one that might include years of aging merlot, or a few decades of single malt glory — before getting reborn as a drum that shakes the air and the soul.

A Second Life for Wood With Character

When you cut into a used barrel, you don’t just get wood.You get aroma, color, and history.Sometimes, the faint scent of bourbon lingers — a ghostly reminder that this wood once made someone very happy in a very different way.

Each stave carries its own quirks: slight curves, wine stains, char marks from toasting. You learn to work with those imperfections, not against them.A Taiko made from reclaimed wood isn’t flawless — it’s alive.

The Process: Sawdust, Sweat, and a Bit of Magic

1. Selecting the Barrel:

   It’s like adopting a dog. You don’t pick it — it picks you. You walk into the yard, look at a pile of barrels, and one of them just feels right.

2. Deconstruction:

   Taking a barrel apart sounds easy until you’ve tried it. The hoops fight back, the staves creak like haunted bones, and the smell of wine makes you question your life choices at 9 a.m.

3. Reshaping & Joining:

   Each stave gets planed, trued, and coaxed into forming a perfect circle — a test of geometry, patience, and your relationship with your belt sander.

4. Drying & Sanding:

   Hours of sanding later, you’ll find yourself covered in a fine dust that smells faintly like cabernet and oak — which, frankly, is not a bad cologne.

5. Skinning & Stretching:

   This is the make-or-break moment. The rawhide goes on tight, the straps sing under tension, and you hope you’ve aligned everything perfectly. Because once the hide dries, that’s it — no take-backs. (That’s not really true, you can re-soak the thing and start all over!)

6. First Strike:

   You hit it once. The sound echoes through the shop, and you grin like a mad scientist who just made thunder.

Why Colorado Drums Sound Different

The dry mountain air changes everything — how the wood dries, how the hides tighten, how the sound resonates.Each drum that leaves my Colorado shop has a crisp, open voice — shaped by altitude, pine-scented air, and a little bit of mountain stubbornness.

And when you play it outdoors, surrounded by peaks and sky, the sound doesn’t just travel — it belongs.

Lessons From the Barrel

• Reclamation is Creation:

  Every old cask deserves a second act — preferably one that can rattle walls and stir souls.

• Imperfection is Beauty:

  The best drums aren’t perfect. They’re honest.

• Patience Is Mandatory:

  You can’t rush drying time, glue curing, or hide stretching — unless you want to learn the meaning of “explosive results.”

• Whisky Makes Excellent Motivation.

Why I Keep Doing It

Because every Taiko I build carries more than just sound. It carries history, spirit, and second chances.

These drums remind us that even something old and used-up — a barrel that’s done its job — can become something powerful again.Something that brings people together, shakes the earth, and fills a room with life.

That’s why I build Taiko in Colorado.Because the world doesn’t need more noise — it needs rhythm with a past.