Tokyo to New York @ Spectrum, June 2, 2013

On this hot and muggy first Sunday of the summer I took myself across the Williamsburg Bridge to Lower East Side to cool down with contemporary music. As I was early, I took a walk around the block. On the next block on Orchard Street there was a street fair with many stalls selling food and other stuff. All of the many bars had their fronts open and thirsty customers were sitting with their beer mugs observing the procession of scantily clad denizens on the street.

At Spectrum on Ludlow Street the atmosphere was much more subdued. A couple of dozen people had gathered in the long and dark living room where a stage was established at the far end. The side walls were lined with bookshelves. On the right side, they were filled with books; the left side was covered by thousands of CDs. I sat down on a comfortable black sofa next to the CDs and took a long sip of the aloe mango juice I had bought on the street. The occasion was a concert—Tokyo to New York—displaying new music by Japanese and American composers. The performance featured music by more than 20 contemporary composers ranging in age from early-20s to mid-80s. There were three musicians—Thomas Piercy, Mika Tanaka and Elizabeth Brown—performing on Western and Japanese instruments. The secret behind the darkness in the room turned out to be that the music was combined with a show of photographs arranged by Christina Boers projected on the back wall.

The first segment of the concert started with a solo piece ‘Mienai Sakebigoe’ on hichiriki written and performed by Piercy. This moved on to a piece by Masatora Goya, ‘Toro Nagashi’, which had Tanaka join the hichriki, playing delicate ornaments on the piano. Hichiriki, a Japanese double reed instrument used traditionally in ancient gagaku court music, has a flexible pitch and a nasal sound vaguely reminiscent of oboe. With Piercy switching to clarinet, the duo performed a U.S. premier of a piece by Akira Uchida, the soothing and hauntingly beautiful ‘New Moon’. This part of the concert ended with a hectic piece by Katsuhiro Oguri called ‘Movement 2012’ (also a U.S. premier, like several of the tunes following), depicting the chaos of New York City traffic. The photographs that accompanied it were on the same topic. The first theme of the piece culminated in a climax with a long high tone from the clarinet matching a photograph of a black man showing an equally piercing middle finger. This launched Tanaka into an atonal boogie on the piano, which appealed to my jazz sensibilities.

After the duo finished their frantic performance, Elizabeth Brown followed with a shakuhachi solo from her own Isle Royale suite. This one was ‘Loons’, a serene piece of beautiful work for the vertical bamboo flute.

The second segment of the concert featured eleven short pieces by as many composers drawn from a series of more than 50 commissioned one-minute works under the title ‘Nihon no Shiten’. The composers were Armando Ayala, Greg Bartholomew, John Bilotta, Andy Cohen, Douglas DaSilva, Andrew Davis, Jim Fox, Michael Frazier, Nina Sinakova, Daniel J. Thompson and David Wolfson. They varied between lyrical and quirky.

Another interlude followed with Brown playing another part of her bird-themed suite, ‘Black-throated blue warbler’. I have heard her play parts of the suite before in an earlier concert and can appreciate the beauty of the nature-inspired music that utilizes the unique timbre of the bamboo. The shakuhachi is a difficult instrument (Elizabeth and I talked about it briefly before the concert agreeing that it made the Western flute feel simple and straightforward) but she has established a beautiful sound and command of the instrument.

The final part of the concert started with Mika Tanaka playing her own solo composition, ‘In the Garden’, a lovely but not a radical tune. Then followed five duo pieces:  ‘YUU’ by Yohei Kurihara, ‘Sketch from Japan’ by Kazushi Iwaoka, ‘You’ by Mieko Ishii, ‘Old Men Waltz’ by Yoshihiko Banno, and ‘Space’ by Kyoko Yamaguchi. I particularly enjoyed Iwaoka’s ‘Sketch’, which utilized alternately Japanese and Western scales seamlessly contrasting the two modes. ‘Old Men Waltz’, a melancholy atmospheric piece was to me one of the high points of the afternoon. Its theme referred to the inevitability of old men waltzing away from the scene, making way to younger men; an inevitability understood by both the young and the old.

The final piece of the concert, ‘Amalgam – A’ by Hifumi Shimoyama was very interesting because it brought together shakuhachi, clarinet and piano producing very unique, surprising tonalities. Piercy explained how he had visited Shimoyama at his home in Tokyo. The composer lives in a modern high rise. When you enter his apartment, to the left is a highly modern, stylish living space, while on the right you enter into a traditional Japanese abode. This dichotomy is also evident in his music.

Meanwhile, on the sweltering street the Lower East Side was alive. Although the sun was not yet setting, there were lines to venues with live music of a different variety as I headed towards the subway on Delancey. I was glad that I had cooled off the afternoon at the Spectrum where I had been both stimulated and calmed down.

Lotus Position @ Somethin’ Jazz, 11 August 2012

Obama is a crowd magnet, for sure, but I was surprised to see a line on the sidewalk as Yoko and I arrived in front of Somethin’ Jazz on 52^nd Street on this late Saturday afternoon. After all, this was Akihito Obama, a Japanese shakuhachi player. Almost everyone in the queue was Japanese and I saw Satoru Steve Kobayashi, the owner of the club, checking names in a list in his hand. Luckily, I had made a reservation online earlier in the day. Clearly, this was going to be a cultural event. When we entered the pleasant club space it was crowded and we could see familiar faces belonging to well-known musicologists, academics and people into Japanese culture as well as some from the Japanese consulate in New York.

The musicians entered the stage and Obama, a thin unassuming young man, explained how this was a very important event for him: his first concert in New York! He further explained how in Japan he usually talks a lot during concerts, but he has seen that musicians in New York don’t do so, so he will follow their example.

He started the concert with an atmospheric shakuhachi improvisation which the drummer, Akira Horikoshi, soon joined. The sound of the bamboo flute was thick and breathy setting the stage for an almost mystical atmosphere. Switching to a shorter version of the flute, Obama played a minyo (Japanese folk tune) –like piece that led to an imaginative improvisation backed by Horikoshi’s drumming. Obama bent the tones of the flute so that the impression was almost like of a rubber band stretching, still playing perfectly in tune. The shakuhachi has only five finger holes forcing the player to find the right pitch by a variety of techniques that include covering the holes partly and in different combinations and changing the way you blow. Unlike with the Western flute, playing the shakuhachi involves changing your embouchure, changing the position of the flute, and even twisting your neck in a specific way called kubifuri. All these techniques contribute to the almost magical sound of the ancient instrument.

Akihito Obama started like virtually all shakuhachi players have, studying the traditional shakuhachi music created in the Buddhist temples and by the mendicant Zen Buddhist monks, komuso, hundreds of years ago and reaching its current shape during the Edo period (1600-1868). Obama is, however, more known for his own style of music that incorporates influences from jazz and electronic music. This was the first time we heard his music.

The Japanese masters were joined by a local addition, Brooklynite Joe Harrison on guitar. The next piece was a slow and beautiful tune, which Horikoshi accompanied on brushes. Harrison played a crisp solo, which Yoko classified as fusion-like, somewhat disapprovingly. This was followed by a very thoughtful piece in which Obama’s thick shakuhachi intertwined with a countermelody played by the guitar, leading to an effect-filled guitar solo that intensifying with Horikoshi beating his drums with mallets. After a mallet solo, the music calmed with Obama switching back to his longer flute. The last number of the first set contained an angular, somewhat atonal melody and some nice electronics work by Harrison.

I got the impression that Joe Harrison was a new addition to the group, which would explain that he was at times slightly stiff in his playing. And I could see him reading the music in a concentrated manner during several of the pieces. My impression is backed by the fact that the Somethin’ Jazz website announcing the concert listed Obama and Horikoshi, but continued “Someone – piano or guitar or bass.”

At the beginning of the second set Obama resumed talking. He said that Joe had told him to speak, but that he was nervous because his English teacher was in the audience. Needless to say, this brought out laughter from the crowd. Obviously, an American with similar command of Japanese – or any other foreign language for that matter – would not shy away from showing his proficiency. But the Japanese are modest and decent people and humility is a virtue, unlike in this country of brash and shameless self-promotion.

The second set introduced a special guest, Japanese singer Emme. The first piece Tsuki was about the moon. Obama introduced the sweet melody with the shakuhachi. It was then taken over by a solo voice and finally completed as a lovely shakuhachi-voice duet. Next came a lullaby for adults, Oyasumi, which Emme sang exquisitely accompanied by the guitar and bells. Obama’s playing was wonderful as he produced beautiful bird twitter like effects on the bamboo flute, reminiscent of the shakuhachi classic Tsuru no sugomori or ‘Nesting cranes.’ As the song evolved it developed rhythmic complexity but remained soft and soothing. Continuing on the lullaby theme, Obama pleaded with the audience, “please don’t sleep.” There was no risk of that during the beautiful, rather intense waltz that Horikoshi and Obama, wielding again the smaller flute, introduced and that made Emme dance before her singing part started. Joe Harrison had switched to an acoustic guitar and the song had almost Irish atmosphere, while Emme’s singing was tinted with shimauta-colourings from the southern Japanese islands.

The two final numbers of the concert returned to the trio format and demonstrated some of the most powerful shakuhachi of the evening. Obama masters the difficult instrument in such a way that his playing is never showy. Although he possesses a tremendous technique, he doesn’t draw attention to it: the focus is always on the music and the musicality (this is a sign of mature artistry, as was the case with Miles Davis or John Coltrane, post-Giant Steps). Harrison had also settled in and played a very good and inventive slide solo. The last piece was the most commanding of the evening, and the only one on which Horikoshi resorted to more conventional jazz drumming with sticks on cymbals. It involved some strong shakuhachi and electric guitar as the tempo was ramped up before the ending.

As the applause died, Obama highlighted another difference between Tokyo and New York. Here, there would be two other acts following tonight and so there was no time for playing any further. Indeed, the next band and some of its most eager followers were already waiting in the back of the room as we streamed out. It would be a challenge for them to create equally original and inspiring music and to fill the house with an equally dedicated audience.

Musical Benefits for the Great Eastern Japan Earthquake Victims

On that fatal Friday, March 11, 2011, when the massive earthquake and tsunami struck Japan, the Tenri Gagaku orchestra was scheduled to play a concert at the Tenri Cultural Institute (TCI) near Union Square in Manhattan. Our phones were ringing as the TV poured live coverage of the wreckage in the distant island nation. My wife Yoko’s home prefecture, Iwate, was at the heart of the disaster and she was not able to get in touch with family. She also plays ryuteki, a vertical bamboo flute in Tenri Gagaku. At last, it was decided that the concert would go on but that all proceeds from the ticket sales would be sent to Japan. Most certainly, this became the first in a long series of benefit concerts to aid the earthquake and tsunami victims. In the days and weeks to come when the extent of the disaster became clearer—and a nuclear hazard was added to the original woes—and that likely between 20,000 and 30,000 people had perished and many more left homeless and without livelihood, many musicians in New York, Japanese and foreign alike, joined forces to create some of the most innovative musical events to support the recovery in Japan. I had the honor of witnessing several of them and, thus in a small way, chipping in.






Tenri Gagaku @ Tenri Cultural Institute, 11 March 2011

Gagaku—literally translated as ‘elegant music’—is the oldest form of orchestral music that has survived continuously in the world and Tenri Gagaku Music Society is arguably (but then again, I might be biased) the best gagaku group outside of Japan. The music has its roots in the Silk Road period during which gagaku-like music was widely played in various parts of Asia, ranging from China to Southeast Asia. From the Tang Dynasty (AD 618-907) court in China it traveled east and landed in the Japanese islands via the Korean peninsula. In its new home, Gagaku was refined over centuries and passed down through generations of court musicians who belonged to hereditary guilds. While Gagaku has disappeared from countries in continental Asia, in Japan it was played in the homes of the military aristocracy and later preserved as living tradition in the ceremonies of the Imperial family.

The instrumentation used in gagaku today consists of a number of wind, string and percussion instruments, such as the ryuteki, hichiriki (a kind of double-reed oboe with a nasal tone), sho (a mouth organ), the biwa lute, the koto zither, and various drums, the kakko (small drum), shoko (metallic percussion) and taiko (large drum). Gagaku has a quality to it that sounds odd to the unaccustomed ear, but it definitely grows on you when you listen to it more.

On this evening Tenri Gagaku played a set of slow court pieces, starting with ‘Etenraku.’ This is probably the most well-known piece in the gagaku repertoire. It has a simple but catchy melody played alternately by hichiriki and ryuteki. Gagaku as music is monophonic, meaning that the melodies are played in unison by all instruments. The only real harmonies are provided by the sho, which provides a kind of solid mat of sound to the music (think harmonium in Indian traditional music).

The last piece of the concert was a dance number, bugaku, performed by Tazuko Ikedo dressed in a heavy and colorfully decorated costume. This was Tazuko’s last performance before returning to Japan after several years in New York, so it was not to be missed. Her slow and deliberate movements to the plodding music produced a somewhat hypnotic mood that definitely captivated the audience of some 100 people who had crowded into the TCI hall. Gagaku and bugaku are a total experience that provide a feast for both the visual and auditory senses.









Concert for Japan @ Tenri Cultural Institute, 27 March 2011

Some two weeks later another Concert for Japan took place at TCI, this time featuring some of the foremost artists specializing in traditional Japanese music in New York. This concert was particularly precious for me, as it featured three shakuhachi masters: James Nyoraku Schlefer, Ronnie Nyogetsu Reishin Seldin and Ralph Samuelson. The concert started with ‘Banshiki,’ a tune belonging to the Meian Honkyoku tradition. The three masters were joined on stage with five shakuhachi students from the Tenri Cultural Institute. Clearly, ‘Banshiki’ was a tune that the students had to study and the group produced a decent version of the piece played on eight flutes that were only slightly out of tune. Some of the three men and two women were following closer in the footsteps of their teachers than others.

The concert also highlighted the versatility of the instrument to reflect the character of not only the music but equally the musicians. The temperaments of the three artists could not be more different and it was very interesting—and pleasurable—to observe how three players who are each trained in Japanese musical tradition and have reached the top levels in their chosen instrument could produce such differing artistic impressions. After the initial tune, the first concert performance was ‘Haru no Umi’ (or ‘The Sea in Spring’) featuring Nyoraku together with Masayo Ishigure, a masterful player of koto. ‘Haru no Umi’ is not a traditional Honkyaku piece, but rather a modern number composed by Michio Miyagi. It features lively dialogue between the two traditional instruments played in a not so traditional manner. The main theme of the composition is lovely and the variations indeed bring to mind the fickleness of the sea in springtime. It requires considerable skill from both instrumentalists and James played his part so smooth and clean that one could imagine listening to a Western flute instead of its bamboo ancestor.

‘Jinbo Sanya’ in the hands of Nyogetsu was an entirely different affair. The big man approaches shakuhachi from its original Buddhist perspective and had chosen this other Meian Honkyoku piece as his first solo number of the evening. The tune is haunting and Nyogetsu’s interpretation used the full range of possibilities that the simple five-holed tube offers. The way he bent the tones using different techniques involving breathing, fingering, movement of lips, blowing angle and neck twists (known as kubi-furi, this is an essential, but hard to master technique for shakuhachi) produced remarkable sounds and effects that transported the listener to a medieval monastery in the misty mountains of Japan where the spirits of generations of Buddhist monks still linger.

Samuelson’s first solo number was also a Honkyoku piece, but from a somewhat different tradition. The song entitled ‘Choshi’ was accompanied by the dancer Sachiyo Ito whose slow and sparse movements mirrored the music. Wearing a white kimono covered with a thin red coat, she moved deliberately with two fans in her hands to emphasize her choreography.

The first part of the concert ended with a koto solo by Masayo. It was ‘Asa no Uta’ or ‘Morning Song’ composed by her own teacher, Tadao Sawai. True to Sawai’s style, this piece emphasized rapid movements and complex arpeggios. It was a koto player’s delight, demonstrating virtuosity.

After the intermission, the three shakuhachi players returned each playing a solo piece. Nyoraku again started the set with a non-traditional tune, ‘Ichijo’ by Seiho Kinea. He explained to the audience in his jovial manner how the composer—a shamisen player who composed plenty of music for all Japanese instruments—had composed this tune in shock after a dear friend had “just dropped dead” after a pleasant evening they had spent together. The piece, in English ‘Immutability,’ conveyed the unpredictability of life and was therefore suitable for the occasion. I was not familiar with the composer, let alone the piece itself, but this would change after I heard the wonderful music. James was again smooth and perfect in his playing, but this time the song itself contained elements that were specifically shakuhachi-style, rather than any other flute. It was to me the highlight of the evening.

Ralph followed with a Honkyoku from the Kinko Ryu school, entitled ‘Kyo Reibo.’ Standing against the white wall and pieces of contemporary art Ralph, as usual dressed all in black, provided a stark contrast that suited the austerity of the song. His performance was less flashy or decorated than those of his peers, but it was deep, sincere and moving.

Nyogetsu returned with a jinashi shakuhachi that was longer than a regular shakuhachi and had a lower range. His final piece was another Meian Honkyoku with the title ‘Futaiken Reibo.’ The deep tonality of the slow moving tune resonated in the room, which has acoustics as if made for the sound of the flute.

The evening ended with a ritual: ‘Chanting from the Heart’ created by Sachiyo Ito. It involved Buddhist chants, dance movement and ringing of a traditional bell. Ito was this time dressed in an all white and light grey outfit. She was assisted by three younger ladies—Keiko Ehara, Hazuki Honma and Yukiko Yamamoto—all dressed in black trousers and shirts. One had the role of sitting on her knees throughout the performance, still and with a blank face, except when it was her turn to sound the large brass bell in front of her. As a final, all audience was invited to join in a walking meditation following the lead dancer.







Plastic Ono Band and Others @ Le Poisson Rouge, 29 March 2011

On the following Tuesday, an historical event took place at Le Poisson Rouge. Sean Ono Lennon had put together an amazing program for a Japan benefit concert. We arrived at the venue around 9:30 pm and the queue was literally around the corner from Bleecker Street down Thompson Street. Luckily the night was not particularly cold, as we waited in line until the doors opened at 10:30 pm. The crowd was very mixed, but many were middle aged and looked like they had a history of listening to rock. All the tables and chairs had been removed and we crowded around the slightly elevated stage. The floor was already flowing with beer, as someone had dropped a pint. We took our place close to a rowdy group of rather rough looking lesbians.

The music started when Miho Hattori and Yuka Honda climbed on the stage. The two Japanese woman form the band Cibo Matto, which clearly has a large following of its own. I understand very well, as their music is charming and intelligent despite being essentially produced by electronic keyboards by Yuka over which Miho sings. After two songs played by the duo the stage was suddenly crowded by musicians, including Yuko Araki who sat behind the drum kit, two horn players, a guitarist and Sean Lennon on bass. Understandably the sound expanded and the rhythms became funkier. A somewhat silly looking male singer whose name eluded me joined Miho in a flowing version of the Bossa Nova classic 'Águas de Março.' After a few intensive pieces in which the horns provided funky riffs and the interplay between bass and drums worked, Cibo Matto and their entourage left the stage.

After a short break, the house erupted, as Patti Smith entered the stage. Her set was entirely acoustic, except for the electric bass played by Tony Shanahan (during the concert, the bass was passed around and the two guitarists also took turns playing it, while Shanahan grabbed a guitar or sat behind the piano), and she took the audience by her sheer charisma and the amazing musical quality of the performance. The lanky Lenny Kaye, with his long hair flowing to his shoulders, played some exquisite solos on the acoustic guitar which were some of the most beautiful moments of the evening. Patti chatted with the audience and appeared to be in a good mood, although she did attempt to block the lenses of some of the more intrusive photographers next to the stage. The whole performance was thrilling and I had tears streaming down my cheeks when Patti and her crew performed a magical version of ‘Ghost Dance’ dedicated to the people of Japan: “We shall live again.”

Shortly after midnight, Sean Lennon announced that his mother, Yoko Ono, had entered the premises and right at that moment the diminutive lady dressed in black and donning a hat and large sunglasses perched on her nose climbed on the stage. That is when the real party began, with a new version of Plastic Ono Band led by Sean setting the tempo. The band was extended, with three guitars (including Sean and Shimmy Hirotaka Shimizu), keyboards, drums and trumpet. Time has not mellowed Yoko who started—and ended—the show with her trademark wails and screams. Throughout the night she jumped around the stage energetically, betraying her age: in February, Yoko Ono had just turned 78! Apart from directing the music, Sean played some of the most inspired guitar solos of the evening. Given that women so often in rock music have been relegated to the role of singers and dancers, it was very satisfying to see three highly professional female musicians solidifying the backbone of the band: tiny Yuko Araki whose tight beats kept the music rolling; the tall supermodel looking bassist who excelled in particular in some of the slower numbers where her musicality came through best; and Yuka Honda handling the keyboards.

As the night progressed, more guests climbed on the stage. The most prominent of them was Lou Reed. At mere 69, he should have been a real spring chicken compared with the evening’s leading lady, but Reed appeared stiff and unsteady in his walking. He performed one long number with the band, a heavy rolling rock song, egging the little drummer girl to beat the cans ever harder. A man in the audience next to me said, incredulously, “I can’t believe that these two are both together on stage!” I don’t know whether this had ever happened before, but it was indeed historical to have Yoko Ono, Lou Reed and Patti Smith all in one concert! Another guest star was Antony who sang a number of duets with Yoko Ono. The large man with long hair and a baby face sang with a sweet voice and the entire impression was quite a contrast to the older star of the night.

The evening culminated in an extended version of ‘Give Peace a Chance’ during which most of the musicians who had performed during the evening returned on the stage. Sean Lennon standing next to his mother led them into the iconic song made famous by his father. Miho Hattori took the lead during the second verse until the others—and the audience—joined in. At 01:30 am as the concert wound to a close, we all felt the warmth and love channeled by the music to the people in Japan.





Taka Kigawa @ Le Poisson Rouge, 2 April 2011

When we returned to Le Poisson Rouge later in the same week, the place had been restored to its normal setting with tightly packed tables. The waitresses were cruising between them while we settled at a table in the second row in front of the stage. We were early and had time for a light meal before the show.

I used the word “show” intentionally, as that is what was in store for us. Taka Kigawa is a classical musician who plays the music as the composers meant it to be played without any tricks or gimmicks. But his interpretations are strong and engaging—and he communicates with the audience. He talked about the concert and commented on the pieces in between. Dressed in an open red shirt and black jeans, his long dark hair covering part of his face, Taka looked more like a rock musician than a classical pianist. All of this is why he has created a following that tonight sold out the large space. For tonight, Taka had put together an extraordinary program that would captivate everyone in the room. And as he would explain, there was a logic behind every piece that he had placed on the program. Obviously, much of the music would be Japanese, but those pieces that were not all had a reason to be included.

The concert started with two contemporary pieces by Japanese composer: ‘atardecer/a...retraced’ by Hiroya Miura and ‘Crystalline’ by Karen Tanaka. Taka is a specialist in contemporary music and plays it forcefully and with amazing concentration. However, on this emotional evening it was important to connect with everyone in the audience. This happened next when Taka played ‘Images, Book I’ by Debussy, with its three parts: ‘Reflets dans l’eau,’ ‘Hommage à Rameau,’ and ‘Mouvement.’ These lovely pieces demonstrated Taka’s fluency in Debussy’s language and the fluidity of especially his left hand. This was followed by two works by Chopin, ‘Prelude in C-sharp minor, Op. 45’ and the wonderful ‘Ballade No. 4 in F minor, Op. 52,’ Chopin’s last, which Taka interpreted with incredible dynamism and emotion, earning him a huge ovation from the audience. Speaking about these choices, Taka explained how Chopin, while living in Paris, never forgot about and was always concerned about his home country of Poland, implying a similar feeling inside of him regarding Japan.

Next Kigawa inserted three more pieces by Japanese contemporary composers: ‘Rain Tree Sketch II (In Memoriam Olivier Messiaen)’ by Toru Takemitsu; a short piece, like the title implies, by Toshio Hosokawa, ‘Haiku for Pierre Boulez,’ and ‘Joule’ by Dai Fujikura, which Taka had premiered in the USA in January 2010.

The rest of the concert consisted of guaranteed crowd pleasers that Taka Kigawa played with unusual flair. Stravinsky’s ‘Trois Mouvements de Petrouchka,’ derived from the ballet and transcribed for solo piano by the composer himself, in Taka’s performance was simply incredible. The rhythm, the power, the energy just overwhelmed the audience who exploded in applause and cheers. The pianist came to the edge of the stage to take a bow after the piece, which could have been the grand finale for the concert. But he remembered having scheduled one more number in the program, Ravel’s lovely ‘Pavane pour une infante défunte.’ The exquisite and pensive piece brought the thoughts back to the sadness of the situation in Japan.

Inspired by the cause and the enthusiasm of the audience, Taka took not one, but four encores, the highlight of which was Debussy’s ‘L'isle joyeuse,’ an obvious reference to what the pianist—and we all—hope that Japan will once again be in the not too distant future.




Concert for Japan @ The Japan Society, 9 April 2011

The Japan Society had put up a nonstop musical program that lasted for 12 straight hours on this Saturday. Finally, after a long and cold winter there was spring in the air and the sun was shining from a blue sky as Yoko and I approached the Society’s headquarters in front of Dag Hammarsköljd Park in Midtown. There was a large crowd gathered on the street and in the park to listen to a Taiko drum performance outside of the entrance to the premises. There were also vendors selling Japanese food from several stalls, proceeds from which would be donated to the earthquake relief fund. The day’s program alternated between free concerts of both Japanese traditional music and Western classical music, with two sold-out ‘Gala Blocks’ with reserved seating and big ticket items. We heard performances by Sadahiro Kakitani on solo ryuteki; Masayo Ishigure with a large group of koto, shamisen and shakuhachi players; James Nyoraku Schlefer playing his shakuhachi both solo and in group; and Yumi Kurosawa, whose piece on a 20-string koto impressed us.

For us the main attraction of the day was the first of the Gala Blocks, which featured Philip Glass. While we have often heard his music played in concerts in several cities, it was the first time ever to witness the composer himself behind the piano playing his own music. There was excitement in the air as we took our seats in the middle of the second row. The concert started with a performance in which Hal Willner read poetry by Allen Ginsberg accompanied by Philip Glass. Both of the performers had personally known Ginsberg and the jolly Willner explained the context of the poems that had been written over a lengthy period of time from the 1950s to the 1970s. There were some powerful images (and some very amusing ones, too) conjured up by the poems (note to self: reacquaint yourself with Ginsberg’s works) and the pianist followed and strengthened the moods expertly.

Musically, however, what followed was more interesting. Philip Glass played against a film by Harry Smith, ‘Early Abstractions’ from 1946. I was not familiar with Smith, but according to Hal Wilner he was one of the greatest creative geniuses of the 20th Century, creating films and other works, including an anthology of American music, while never gaining wide recognition. As the abstract pictures moved on the large screen behind the piano, Philip Glass created an equally hectic music through his trademark fast and repetitive motifs that flowed into the hall seamlessly mixing with the visual media.

The final part of the concert was a 20-minute collective creation by three unorthodox features of New York’s art scene: John Zorn, Laurie Anderson and Lou Reed. Zorn with his alto saxophone was flanked on both sides by arrays of electronics associated with Anderson and Reed. The latter took a very different role today from his recent rocker performance with the Plastic Ono Band. This was experimental music in which his contributions were through innovative effects on guitar and other electronics. The piece was loosely structured around segments and motifs but most of the playing appeared improvised. Laurie Anderson alternated between solos and accompanying effects on her electric violin. John Zorn blew into his alto at times lyrically just to be followed by aggressive bursts of raw energy as the piece grew in intensity. The culmination was when the trio was joined on stage by a Japanese Taiko player who beat thunderously into the large drum towards the final shock and awe of the music.


The above constitutes just a sample of all great (and some less so) music played to benefit the victims of the earthquake and tsunami that struck Northeastern Japan in March. It is wonderful to see all the empathy and support for the people on the other side of the world facing an unimaginable challenge to recover from the loss of families and loved ones and to start rebuilding the nation from the rubble. But this will not be the first time Japan raises from destruction. I do believe in the resilience of the nation.

Breathing Zen

A week ago I participated in a workshop with the shakuhachi master Akikazu Nakamura. The event was organized at the Japan Society in New York on October 24, 2010. Nakamura is one of the greatest contemporary shakuhachi players. He studied the traditional Japanese bamboo flute with master Katsuya Yokoyama and also graduated from the NHK (Japanese broadcasting company) school of traditional music. On top of that, he is an accomplished jazz musician, with degrees from the famous Berklee College of Music in Boston and the New England Conservatory.

The first part of the Sunday afternoon consisted of a workshop on a breathing style called missoku. This workshop had attracted a fairly large crowd of quite a mixed group of people. Most were white, although there were some Asians and African Americans amongst us. The age range was from people in their 20s to those in their 70s. The artistic director of the Japan Society, Yoko Shioya, was curious as she asked for a show of hands why people had joined the workshop. A significant segment raised their hands to affirm that their interest was through shakuhachi, but still a larger group was there because they were interested in Zen. A regular collection of New Age freaks and Buddhist romantics, I thought.

There are basically four types of breathing, Nakamura explained. The most common that we all practise daily are chest breathing and the deeper abdominal breathing. There is also contra-abdominal breathing, practised in particular in yoga, whereby the abdominal movements are opposite to what usually takes place: the abdominal muscles contract when one breaths in, and expand when one breaths out. In missoku, abdominal muscles remain immobile, as the air is pushed out by the diaphragm moving up. Nakamura believes this type of breathing was common in Japan during the Edo Period, but later disappeared. He contended that missoku was actually the feature that made Japanese culture unique from those close to it, like Chinese and Korean cultures. We all practised missoku by sitting still on the edges of our seats. As missoku breathing allows one’s body to remain immobile, it is good for work that requires precision. It is also perfect for playing Japanese traditional music on the shakuhachi, as it reduces movement as well as the sound of breathing.

The second part of the evening focused explicitly on the shakuhachi, which meant that more than half of the people in the previous workshop left. The two-hour session was listed as a ‘master class’, which had slightly intimidated me. Although I have studied the instrument for several years now under the tutelage of a professional recording and performing artist, Marco Lienhard, I had my doubts about whether I’d qualify for a master class or embarrass myself. I shouldn’t have worried. This being America, most people possess such self-confidence that they would never have doubts about their own abilities. It turned out that amongst the twenty plus participants, I was clearly amongst the top tier. Perhaps only one, Perry Yung, who is also one of the few established shakuhachi makers in America, actually belonged to a true master class, but a few of us had clearly studied the instrument with some seriousness. To my astonishment, a number of people who had decided to take the master class were actually complete beginners, some barely that. This clearly surprised the sensei as well, who gently suggested that if he comes back it might be better to divide the class into beginners and more advanced players, so that he might be able to better teach both groups.

Nonetheless, we proceeded with the class and Nakamura turned out to be an excellent teacher. Our object of study was ‘Hon Shirabe’, a classic shakuhachi honkyoku meditation. We spent more than an hour just honing the phrases of the first half – just five lines – of the piece. I had tried to play the piece also earlier and was quite familiar with it. Yet, Nakamura’s explanations and demonstrations allowed me to understand the tune better than ever before. Just for this, it was worth participating in the class.

As a bonus – or a present to us, as the master himself said – Nakamura proceeded to play two classic numbers for us. The first, ‘Tsuru no sugomori’ (or ‘Cranes nesting’), is a standard in the shakuhachi repertoire. Like so often, there are many slightly different versions of the piece being played and this night Nakamura played the most complete and complex version of the song, depicting two wounded cranes returning to their nest. When their chicks hatch, it is time for the parents to die. This sad piece of farewell demonstrates the Japanese sense of beauty found in the impermanence of life. From the point of view of the player, it requires admirable technique to reproduce the cries of the cranes and the twittering of the chicks. Akikazu Nakamura produced the whole landscape of sounds from his flute taking us to the foggy marshes of Western Japan where the red-crowned cranes nest.

The second piece was even more amazing. It was called ‘Saji’, which refers to the compassion of Bodhisattva. This piece was originally played by a monk called Shinshichi who introduced it to the Ichoken komuso temple in Hakata on the Japanese island of Kyushu. From there it found its way to Kyoto and became known in the shakuhachi catalogue. However, it is very rarely played because it is so difficult. Nakamura said that he only was able to start playing the song after he mastered missoku breathing. He also used circular breathing in order to be able to play the long fluid and dramatic segments of the tune with interruption. Akikazu Nakamura was the first shakuhachi player to develop a circular breathing technique. This technique is common with, especially oboists, but is also used by a number of jazz saxophonists and trumpeters (the most famous of whom must have been Rahsaan Roland Kirk). The idea is to push the air from your mouth into the horn using your muscles while breathing in through the nose, so as to produce an uninterrupted flow of air into the instrument. With a shakuhachi, this is particularly difficult, because any movement in the cheeks or upper lip inevitably changes the tone and the pitch. Faced with this dilemma, Nakamura developed a technique whereby he stores the air into the lower part of his mouth. ‘Saji’ left all of us spectators more breathless than the missoku-breathing master.

When the class was over and we spread out into the dark and cool autumn air in Dag Hammarskjöld Park, I was awed by the experience and inspired to redouble my own study of the wonderfully expressive instrument. A few blocks away on Second Avenue I was caught up by one of the participants, a friendly lady of a certain age. She explained to me that she loved flutes and was a collector of all kinds of wooden and clay flutes and ocarinas. She had heard the shakuhachi and thought it sounded free-flowing. Tonight she had learned that there are subtle and definite rules that guide shakuhachi music. While, she confessed, she had not understood much of the explanations by the teacher, she had realized that the shakuhachi indeed required serious study. Her enthusiasm and newly found humbleness convinced me that it was after all not so bad to have the novices in the class. Still, I hope that next time the class will be split into two.

Contemporary Tradition: Asian Music in New York

There’s no place like New York to hear music from all walks of life. A period of few weeks earlier this year demonstrates it perfectly. I’ve seen and heard amazing acts of Asian music, drawing upon ancient traditions, rendered in new forms.

Hogaku: New Sounds of Japan 2008 @ Asia Society, January 12, 2008

As a general term Hogaku refers to traditional Japanese music, as opposed to Western music. In this series of performances on one Saturday night in January, the music was distinctly Japanese, although the tradition was perfectly merged with contemporary sounds. Still the evening’s performances were all on acoustic Japanese instruments.

First on stage were Goto & Obama, a duo that has performed together since 2002. In his introductory remarks, the Director General of the Japan Foundation in New York, Isao Tsujimoto, joked that we should not expect to be entertained by any presidential candidate tonight. Instead, one half of the duo was Akihito Obama who plays shakuhachi, the bamboo flute. Playing the Japanese biwa-lute was Yukihiro Goto. Both of these instruments belong to the pantheon of Japanese music. However, neither is a mainstay in Japanese classical music, but rather have more folksy roots and were originally brought to Japan when Buddhism spread there from China. The Shakuhachi was played in mountain temples some thousand years ago and was later disseminated further by wandering monks called ‘Komuso.’ Both instruments became popular beyond their Buddhist connotations and much popular music has been performed on them over the past couple of centuries. Seldom, however, have they been played together in Hogaku.

Goto & Obama’s music was firmly based on traditional Japanese melodies and sounds. Indeed, their performance consisted of a number of traditional tunes - such as the solo shakuhachi piece Tamuke and Itsuki-no-Komoriuta - as well as pieces penned by the two musicians themselves. While the atmosphere was true to the musical origins, the two instrumentalists stretched the limits of the form by borrowing from jazz and rock expression and improvising skilfully around the themes. As a student of shakuhachi, I was particularly taken by the fluidity with which Obama moved between these worlds.

After the intermission, the voltage was turned up a notch by Wariki, a quartet that combines music and dance to create the carnival-like atmosphere of Japanese street performances and festivals. Formed in 2001, the band draws from a variety of performance traditions around the country – including the shishimai lion dance and Shintoist kagura folk music and dance – rendering them into joyous celebrations completely in tune with current sensibilities. In fact, Wariki’s performance this night was so cheerful that it completely engaged the audience.

The quartet was fronted by Akira Katogi, whose main role is dance and street performance, but who also plays percussion on the taiko drums. Shunsuke Kimura played the yokobue, a horizontal bamboo flute. Both he and percussionist Etsuro Ono doubled on tsugaru shamisen, the Japanese banjo. Shingo Ikegami joined as a guest on koto, the complex zither.

Akira Katogi’s antics as he performed in flashy festival outfits cheered up the somewhat stuffy audience. As the show progressed, people were increasingly animated and laughing at the humorous twists on the stage. At the reception following, I briefly talked with Katogi who turned out to be as sympathetic and good-humoured off-stage as on it.

The stage was thus set for the final jam session in which all of the six musicians for Wariki and Goto & Obama joined in a jazzy romp. Goto and Ono showed off their jazz chops trading fluent improvisational lines between the biwa and the shamisen. For me, however, the highlight of the evening were the solos on shakuhachi and yokobue, respectively, by Obama and Kimura. The entire evening left me exhilarated as I exited the Asia Society premises to the chilly and dark Park Avenue.

Kaoru Watanabe and Tatsuya Nakatani @ Tenri Institute, February 6, 2008

A few weeks later on a Wednesday night I headed to Union Square south on Manhattan to catch what seemed like an interesting performance involving flutes and percussion by Kaoru Watanabe and Tatsuya Nakatani. Unlike the more formal concert hall setting of the above hogaku event, this performance took place in the exhibition hall of the Tenri Institute where folding chairs had been placed in a semicircle in front of a wall that donned contemporary Korean calligraphy.

The two performers both are bona fide jazz musicians of the free improvisational persuasion, albeit with a keen awareness of their native roots. Kaoru Watanabe was actually born in St. Louis and studied at the Manhattan School of Music, although he moved to Japan in the late-1990s living and performing there as a flautist for nine years. His background includes collaborations with well-known jazz and world music performers, as well as in traditional Japanese settings. He occasionally sits in with the Tenri Gagaku Society orchestra, of which my wife Yoko is also a member.

The drummer and percussionist, Tatsuya Nakatani hails from Osaka but has performed all over the world and has released many recordings of improvisational music. The performance started with him alone on stage, using a bass violin bow on a large gong building up a huge thunderstorm into which walked Watanabe from behind the audience with his side-blown ryuteki-flute.

Nakatani continued to create imaginative sounds from his stripped down Western drum set and various percussion instruments. He had a series of brass bowls out of which he would tease a wide range of tones. On occasion, he would grab a small cymbal and blow through its center hole while placing it on the snare drum. This would create whispering sounds that would rise and produce overtones that would mix with those of the flute.

Watanabe had placed a range of flutes, including a Western silver flute which he used only briefly, on a chair beside him. The unplanned improvisational character of the music became obvious from how he hesitated to choose a particular flute before first listening carefully to which direction his partner was moving. As a result, the music was both varied and sensitive. Watanabe played some beautiful mellow shinobue on a piece that swayed in a smooth bossa nova rhythm. He demonstrated his impressive technique in a jazzy solo on the ryuteki, a historical flute not known for its versatility.

After a brief intermission, the duo returned for a brief reunion. This time Nakatani entered from behind the audience blowing on the head of the tom-tom producing sounds imitating elephant bellows. The second set consisted of a range of styles that merged into a cohesive whole in the hands of these two musicians. They played a very pretty traditional Japanese folk song, even a tune from the very old gagaku court music repertoire, as well as free music on a high pitch nohkan, a flute used in the traditional noh theater, and percussion verging on SciFi tonalities.

The two musicians have known each other for two years but this was only their second performance together. It was an inspiring event in the clean and simple, yet intimate space of the Tenri Institute. In his own words, Kaoru Watanabe enjoys the Japanese sensibilities of space and a variety of tonal qualities. These were ample in the music we heard that night.

Akiko Yano @ Japan Society, February 8, 2008

On the Friday night of the same week, the legendary Japanese musician Akiko Yano performed at the Japan Society. She is undoubtedly a genius whose music resembles that of no other artist (the only fleeting connotations in my mind were some of her piano solos that reminded me of the sensibilities of Chick Corea). She has recorded 26 albums under her own name. This was the third time I had the great pleasure of hearing her live. In Japan, Akiko Yano is a mega-star who fills up the Budokan and other arenas, so it was a particular treat to sea her about five meters in front of me in the smallish hall in Manhattan where she’s lived since 1990.

Akiko Yano showed up on the stage looking great in a flowing black, white and grey dress that left her shoulders bare. Her hair was brown, long and flowing in large curls. When she sat behind the grand piano her touch managed to combine the powerful with the frail in her unique way. The first tunes were played in a trio setting with Chris Minh Doky and Cliff Almond backing up Ms. Yano on bass and drums. On the first tune, Hou-hi, a Japanese folk song, Akiko displayed her amazing ability to play funky while singing in the inimitable way that only she knows. The backing musicians easily settled into a free floawing groove that perfectly accompanied the music.

The second song, Chinsagume Hana from Okinawa, started with an ostinato played by Doky into which Akiko and Almond joined. The song drifted into a dreamlike state followed by a complex vamp during which the band intensified the approach. After the intensive period, Akiko got back into the melody and the song ended with Doky playing the same ostinato he had started off with.

The middle part of the concert consisted of a series of songs played solo by Akiko Yano. A few of the songs were her renditions of Japanese children’s songs and nursery rhymes, such as Imomushi goro-goro. She would chatter with the audience in a seamless mix of Japanese and English, then start on a song only to soon venture far from the theme on both vocals and the piano. At one point she’d play a tune composed for her by Pat Metheny, which – like Ms. Yano herself explained – didn’t take account of the singer’s range: Metheny, a fabulous musician and composer but not a singer, had written a melody line that challenged even Akiko Yano’s soprano. Another new song was by T-Bone Burnett, who has produced Akiko Yano’s forthcoming 27th CD. The slow funky allowed her to display her blues abilities.

The back-up musicians returned and the band went back into a jazz mood for the rest of the concert. Akiko Yano’s childlike singing is unique. She is an amazing pianist and her interpretation of music is like no-one else’s. There are few musicians anywhere in the world as brilliant and original as Akiko Yano.

Electric Kulintang: Susie Ibarra & Roberto Rodriquez @ Noguchi Museum, February 10, 2008

Just two days later, I went to the Noguchi Museum in Queens to catch a Sunday matinee with Susie Ibarra and Roberto Rodriguez amongst the imaginative stone sculptures of Isamu Noguchi. It was starting to snow outside and the austere setting in the museum was perfect. I grabbed a straw mat to sit with Yoko on the concrete floor against a white wall just in front of where Susie had placed her kulintang and other percussions. Kulintang is a traditional Filippino instrument, a kind of a xylophone with eight brass gongs played with mallets. The word ‘kulintang’ also refers to the kind of music and dance from the Philippines. Electric Kulintang was formed after Susie Ibarra and Roberto Rodriguez travelled to the archipelago in 2005 to research the musical tradition of her home country.

In the matinee the duo played music they had composed to the poem ‘War Horses’ by Yusef Komunyakaa. The poem narrated from a tape was accompanied by Susie on the kulintang and Roberto on various kinds of percussions and electronics. The short pensive concert played to an appreciative and artsy audience produced some interesting ideas that suited the atmosphere of the winter afternoon superbly. Yet, it was not something that would impress me excessively. I much prefer the duo's debut album, Dialects, in which the Electric Kulintang gets deeper into creating its innovative brand of “Filippino trip-hop.”

Pan Asian Chamber Jazz Ensemble @ Kumble Theatre, February 15, 2008

On yet another Friday night in February I took the subway underneath the East River to attend an Asian New Year Celebration at Long Island University's Brooklyn Campus. The attraction for me was the Pan Asian Chamber Jazz Ensemble, established and led by violinist Meg Ogura since 2005. I had purchased their first album already a couple of years ago and was intrigued by the music, so I looked forward to catching them live in the university’s Kumble Theatre.

The setting was not terribly promising. There was confusion at the entrance, which was clearly staffed with volunteers. A sponsor, Chatham Imports, Inc., that represents Chinese Baojing White Spirits, had failed to show up and the pre-show tasting was thus cancelled (a disappointment). The auditorium was only half-full and many in the audience appeared to be students and parents of the performers who would be on stage after Meg Ogura’s group. I settled in the middle of the hall close to the stage.

The Pan Asian Chamber Jazz Ensemble has five members, four of whom are female and three of Japanese origin. Tokyo-native Meg Ogura herself plays the violin and the Chinese violin, erhu. She is an established musician with a superb classical background, having graduated from Julliard. She has performed with the New York String Orchestra and as concert master with stars, such as Herbie Hancock, Quincy Jones and Diane Krall. In addition, she’s a professional jazz violinist who has recorded as a sideman for some of the biggest names in jazz. The other members are Jun Kubo on the Western flute and shinobue, Mamiko Kitaura on piano, Jennifer Vincent on cello, and Rich Stein on percussion. The ensemble entered the stage dressed elegantly in all black and sat down in a semicircle like a chamber orchestra should.

The first piece, Dance at the Palace, set the scene with a light swing. However, the main event was the world premiere of Meg Ogura’s composition Lu Chai or ‘Deer Park’ based on a poem by the Chinese poet Wang Wei (699-761). Although Meg Ogura herself is from Japan, her musical sensibilities are, indeed, pan-Asian. Lu Chai drew more on Chinese tonalities than Japanese. Although these two traditions are related, there are significant differences. In this piece, the composer used two different pentatonic scales, one from China, the other from Japan (the so called ‘Miyako-bushi’ scale).

Ogura’s four-part composition was intricate and sensitive, yet it was constantly moving and at times swinging, with the cello providing a base that was closer to a walking jazz bass than the classical basso continuo. Not unexpectedly, Meg herself proved to be the most powerful soloist on both of her instruments. Jun Kubo’s flute had a perfect but somewhat thin tone approaching a sini curve, but on the shinobue she demonstrated a remarkably beautiful sound (already a third shinobue player this year that has surprised me!). The pianist, Mamiko Kitaura, was another remarkable player who switched effortlessly from restrained classical style piano playing to fiery solos a la McCoy Tyner.

In the next phase of the evening the Pan Asian Chamber Jazz Ensemble accompanied the C. Eule Dance troupe in a ballet called Tsuru-no Ongaeshi (‘The Crane Wife’) based on an ancient Japanese fable. Meg Ogura had composed the music and the artistic director and choreographer was Caron Eule. As I don’t feel qualified as a ballet critic, I refrain from commenting further.

As the night wore on, the performances became increasingly amateurish but some were charming. After the ballet, they were performed by the Asian Student Association of Long Island University. I did stay until the evening ended with the famous Lion Dance.

Music for Shakuhachi and Koto, Noguchi Museum, Queens, NY, 15 May 2005

It was the perfect setting: the peaceful museum dedicated to the works of the Japanese sculptor Isamu Noguchi. The only problem was that there was thunder in the air on this pressingly warm spring Sunday afternoon. There was a drizzle, which forced the organizers to move the concert inside. We were sitting on the concrete floor between Noguchi’s symbolic sculptures. Behind the performers two large windows gave to the garden where the leaves in the trees were still the light green colour of spring. We were set for a performance by two premier talents of Japanese music.

Ralph Samuelson came on stage with his shakuhachi. Samuelson who has studied the ancient bamboo flute both in Japan and in the United States under such masters as Goro Yamaguchi, Kodo Araki V and Shudo Yamato, adheres to the classical tradition of the Kinko school. His playing is exquisite in its sensitivity, the voice of his flute clear and lovely. He started the concert with a traditional piece, Kumoi Jishi, which has a charming folk music like melody.

Next Masayo Ishigure appeared and sat down behind the koto, the 13-string Japanese zither of which she is a master. Ishigure-san hails from Gifu in Japan and has won numerous accolades for her skill as a koto player. Since she moved to New York in 1992, she has performed in prestigious venues, like Lincoln Center and the Carnegie Hall. She teaches Japanese music at Wesleyan University. She had chosen to start her part of the concert with a contemporary composition, Tokimeki, by Hideaki Kuribayashi. Seldom have I heard such a variety of tonalities and rhythms played on a koto. Masayo Ishigure is a very versatile musician.

Having observed the weather during his colleague’s performance, Ralph Samuelson declared that the clouds had cleared and the sun was fast drying up the garden. It was thus time to move outside where the performance area in front of the old factory gate was quickly set up. The Noguchi Museum (www.noguchi.org) is an amazing haven in the middle of a working class industrial neighbourhood in Long Island City in the Borough of Queens. The museum itself has been established in an old factory building. From the street in front of it, Manhattan skyline is clearly visible across East River.

Ralph announced that here was a perfect natural acoustic, with trucks, airplanes, children – and the distant cry of the deer. For that was what the next tune was about. Shika no Tone, a piece belonging to Honkyoku or solo shakuhachi repertoire developed by Fuke sect Zen monks in the 18th century, represents the sound of two deer calling each other in the distant mountains. This quiet, meditative piece indeed drowned the urban sounds from the surrounding barrio as we sat on the ground basking in the afternoon sun.

Masayo Ishigure returned, her spring kimono with its depictions of white and pink cherry blossoms against black silk immaculate. Her second piece also was contemporary koto music, a famous 1985 piece of Tadao Sawai’s called Tori no Yo Ni. Sawai had once been her teacher in Japan and she played the beautiful and rather complex piece with extraordinary verve, evoking images of birds flying freely in the big, open sky. This, as the previous piece she had played inside, took the traditional stringed instrument to exceptional distances, blending varied influences into the Japanese sensibility.

Finally, the two masters joined together in the last piece, Yoshizawa Kengryo II’s 19th century Chidori no Kyoko or Song of Plovers. This piece, like so much of Japan’s music and art, too, was nature inspired. The piece featured two waka poems sung by Masayo Ishigure in a sorrowful ceremonial style. Her hypnotic voice and use of micro-tones was like that of monks chanting. The poems – the first from the 10th century Kokin waka shu anthology of court poetry; the second from a 12th century anthology Kin ‘yo shu – both were about the song of the plovers. The two songs were separated by a serene instrumental interlude, or tegoto, which Ishigure and Samuelson played with exquisite grace.

The music had calmed the afternoon and, I am sure, added years to our lives. All stress and bad thoughts were gone, as we sat in the sculpture garden under the white birches with their leaves fluttering in the wind.

© Juha I. Uitto 2005