Category Archives: Music

Sunlight and Ground

by in Boundary Behavior, Culture, Death, Existentialism, Feminism, History, Hmmm..., Humanity, Identity, Japan, Loneliness, Music | 23 Comments

Some time on February 5th of 1999, Mutsumi Fukuhara stepped from the balcony of her Osaka apartment. Sunlight and ground became one.

“Someday I’ll melt into the ground,
And be fertilizer for the earth,
So better than too fast the stream of time,
Is too slow the universe turning.
Still I battle with questions of love.

This is my life.
Only one life in this Role Playing Game.”
S.J.M. – R.P.G.
–

Getting myself grounded in an only marginally familiar culture after moving to Japan in mid 2002 was a difficult process. Viewed from the outside, Japan is a peaceful country… clean, safe, orderly…
Too orderly.

The peace of Japanese culture conveys the spirit of “wa” (和), a concept usually interpreted in English as “harmony”. But wa isn’t really something that can be properly translated in a single word.

Wa describes a kind of communal harmony based in valuing social conformity over individual concerns; and it’s a central concept in Japanese society. Many both formal and informal Japanese social structures exist primarily as means through which to ensure this harmony. To disregard their expectations is to be as the proverbial “nail that sticks out”, and the recipient of a sort of passive-aggressive hammering down.

Individually, this results in what are known as “honne” and “tatemae”. Honne (本音, “true sound”) refers to one’s inner feelings, desires, or opinions. Tatamae (建前, “facade”), however, refers to one’s expected pattern of public expression through which wa is maintained.

Understanding this is important to understanding social interaction in a culture where people rarely say what they mean. Personal expression and negative reactions aren’t prevented; but they don’t encourage future connection. The Western saying goes that, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” But in Japan, even silence leaves a chill.
–

Like the passions of honne hidden beneath a veneer of tatemae, the Japan I experienced in the early 2000s concealed a surprisingly expressive wilderness beneath that external facade of conformity, neatness and order. At the time, cities like Tokyo and Osaka hosted entire networks of discrete, underground music establishments known as “live houses”.

Often little more than transitory basement dives, they’d be ignored by police so long as the local yakuza assured that nothing unseemly made it onto the streets. But especially in places where art-communities or vice tended to congregate, some were more established.

“You can dance your dance. you can talk hard loud.
you can live your own life with your POPO…
you can walk your way. you can scream in this way.
I can live my own life!”
S.J.M. – POPO Bar
–

East Asian kids learn early on to be self-reliant. This is rooted in a Confucian ethic that one shouldn’t be a “problem” for parents, family or others. The Japanese term, “meiwaku” (迷惑) means to be troublesome, or a nuisance or annoyance. And it’s a kind of criticism most Japanese children learn to avoid. Meiwaku is more than just an expression of annoyance at another’s behavior; it’s a disruption to the communal harmony of wa.

Adults unfamiliar with meiwaku often perceive East Asian children brought up with this internalized principle as easy. But a lot of these kids are simply struggling with not getting the care or attention they need. And for those who are called out as troublesome, it can become a sort of hammering down that deeply affects self-worth.

“Just like weapons (Yes) WORDS kill me
Just like weapons (Yes) WORDS kill people I love…

At some point … we must forget the WORDS
To the broken body, gentle lights
To the open pupil, Sweet liquid
To the blocked up ears, bird-like sounds
To the closed mouth, Song from stones.”
S.J.M. – The WORDS
–

Stumbling into this music scene, I never really thought much about it having emerged from something cultural that had preceded my own time in the country. Japan was the “Asian Tiger” of the 1980s. In a mere two generations, the country had accomplished an economic “miracle”, taking itself from the ashes of WWII to a nation seemingly poised to simply purchase the world. But near the end of 1989, that all changed.

The fevered inertia of economic enthusiasm collapsed as “zombie companies” kept alive by endless injections of investment capital from over-leveraged banks eventually resulted in a stock-market crash. Then, equity and property values collapsed. Early 90s Japan marked the start of more than two decades of near total economic stagnation. But more importantly, it also represented a broken promise in the Japanese social contract.

Many lifetime jobs, once the hallmark of Japanese corporate employment, were replaced by temporary workers. Wages stagnated. And real household earnings fell as the purchasing power of a weakened Yen resulted in inflation. A generation of youth approaching adulthood were greeted by uncertain futures as families struggled. And Japan’s young population became caught up in an atmosphere of anxiety and frustration.

“The era bathed in light disappears,
And new seeds are born,
Spreading branches envelop my body,
Colors flow and fill the gaps,
The empty time becomes a crimson sea,
The empty time becomes a crimson forest,
The empty time becomes a crimson sky,
The empty time becomes crimson waves,
The forging of memories… of sharp memories.“
S.J.M. – Forged Memories (from Japanese)
–

Against this backdrop, the almost mythically notorious all-female Japanese band, Super Junky Monkey, would emerge in 1991. Known for raucous performances that frequently hosted masses of stage-diving youth, their music defied any particular niche… aside from that of being “anti-mainstream”. Too experimental and unrestrained for popular domestic consumption, they remained mostly live-house performers in Japan.

Overseas, however, a 1993 live album the band had produced was getting noticed. And in 1994, they were picked up by Sony Records. Taking cues from genres like funk, metal, hardcore punk, grunge, stoner rock, and avante-garde, the band continued to skillfully navigate a wide range of sounds that utterly defied categorization.

A big part of Super Junky Monkey’s success was that all four members of the band, percussionist “Matsudaaaahh!!“, bassist Shinobu Kawai, guitarist Keiko, and vocalist Mutsumi Fukuhara, were all talented musicians. But it was frontwoman Mutsumi’s brashly charismatic performances and vocals that really gave the band its unique character, especially in  live performances.

“If we were deaf and blind, could we still kill each other?
If we were able to fly, then would borders still fence us in?
If the human beings could love, would we live as equals?
If we were happy innocent and… dumb as dorks,
Would there still be wars?
Would we still want more?
Would there be users controllers and hierarchy?
Can you give me the answers?“
S.J.M. – IF
–

By all accounts, Super Junky Monkey was a successful band, producing four LPs, two EPs, and a number of videos, while developing significant followings both in Japan and abroad. They traveled extensively, performing in some larger venues in the UK, the US, and Canada, while receiving both foreign and domestic awards for their work. And in Japan, they blazed the trail for other all-female bands that also broke the usual Japanese “cuteness” mold for women as performers.

After a brief hiatus, Super Junky Monkey began performing live sets in the latter part of 1998 that pointed toward a new direction. The music was just as difficult to pigeonhole, but more contemplative and mature.

Moving away from the gritty sounds and Hip-Hop narratives that once invited stage-diving youth, Mutsumi’s voice instead began to echo into a distance that slowly disappeared into a kind of musical chaos. Her feverish leaps and long flailing ponytail were replaced by hands that slowly reached toward a calling sky. There was clearly some new inspiration to the compositions, perhaps reflecting her having had a child. 

I never saw Super Junky Monkey perform; I was hunkered down in the conformity required of my own life in the US during the band’s peak. And by the time I found myself in Japan, Mutsumi was gone, and the rest of the band had moved on. But I wish I had seen them. It would have added a great deal of context to what I witnessed in the Japanese music scene of the early 2000s.

Sometimes, success isn’t really what it’s all about. A lot of these musicians were simply pouring out their souls…
Sometimes, until there was nothing left.

“Storm is gone
Earthquake is gone
Time is gone
Sunlight dazzled my eyes
Sunlight surround me
Sunlight and ground became
Congenial to each other“
S.J.M. – Towering Man

The Night Before Kurisumasu (in Tokyo)

by in Boundary Behavior, Culture, Flash's Stories, Hmmm..., Japan, Music, Verse | 13 Comments

‘Twas the night before Kurisumasu, and out with the boss,
The salarymen were tottering, all totally sauced;
They would soon be hungover, but nobody cared,
Tomorrow they’d sleep for the first time they’d dared;
With no children to wake them as they lay in their beds,
While karaoke songs replayed in their heads;
And mama-san in her apron, and I in my suit,
She cut off the drinks since I’d run out of loot,
When out on the street there arose such a blare,
I thought a black van with loudspeakers was there.

As away to the till went the last of my cash,
Some roguish figure tore in with a crash;
The moon cast a shadow onto the floor,
As a silhouette appeared in the light through the door,
When what to my half-open eyes hoofed near,
But a scooter pulled by twelve rowdy deer;
With a mischievous driver in such a great dash,
I knew in a moment it was Santa’s rogue elf, Flash!
More horsepower than Harleys, their thundering rang,
And she sang out by shouting their traveling stage names:

“Hey! Havoc! Hey Shred! Hey Pogo, Hey Led!
Now, Thrasher! Now, Crasher! Now Reckless and Vexen!
Play, Misfit! Play, Scarlet! Play, Rebel and Raven!
From the top of the tables! From the top of the bar!
Now play away! Play away! Play like a rock star!”
As the windows that shattered when the Concorde would fly,
An ominous sound rose that vibrated my eyes;
And then like an earthquake shaking the room,
It rattled from the walls of the little saloon;
And over the housetops the thunderous noise grew,
‘Till it could be heard through all Shinjuku—

Drums boomed, bass rumbled, guitars at high gain,
A wassailing siren and her ruminant gang;
She was dressed all in leather, from her jacket to her boots,
A collar with spikes, a deerwhip and catsuit;
A guitar amp behind her was blasting feedback,
From a Matamp GT through a double-high stack.
Dark eyes gave a wink, to my skipping heartbeat,
Her hair like black fire, as she blocked my retreat!
Her sobering mouth was drawn up in a challenge,
Dueling lead solos if I felt thus unhinged;

A golden guitar jack she held in her teeth,
I took it not wanting to cause myself grief,
Plugged it into the Gibson by Vexen’s gig-set,
And shook when I found it down-tuned five steps!
It was heavy and metal from the pick in my hand,
So I thundered a solo in front of the band;
Another wink of her eye and a twist of her wrist,
As she joined in some heavy Yuletide pitch,
Shouted the last words of an epic finale,
Then dashed off with the band into the back alley…

Just as the police arrived to restore order and peace,
And giving a salute, through the streets as they screeched;
She sang from her scooter, as her twelve conspirators led,
Away from from the bedlam and mess they all fled;
But I heard her exclaim, o’er the din of loud cheer—
“Christmas is more merry, if you leave cookies and beer!”

Apophenia

by in Existentialism, Hmmm..., Identity, Mom, Music, Mystery, Philosophy, Science | 19 Comments

Alice Sara Ott, Gnossiennes No.1, Gymnopédies No.1, & Gnossiennes No.3, by Erik Satie.

“Je suis fatigué de toujours mourir avec le cœur brisé.”
[“I am tired of always dying with a broken heart.“]
– Erik Satie

“Apophenia” is the human perception of patterns in otherwise unrelated or meaningless information. It’s the experience of seeing faces in clouds, or of sensing order in random events.

The experience is an ordinary and usually benign product of brain function. But in extreme cases, it can result in behaviors such as unreasonable gambling, superstitious actions, or irrational beliefs. In statistics, it can result in what is termed “Type-I error”, or a false positive.

The brain is an instrument of pattern-recognition, constantly searching for relationships between the sensory inputs it receives. And it changes throughout a life as it attempts to make sense of an external world by matching the patterns of its experiences to other established patterns. We discover clues to our existence by connecting perceptions, defining our bodies and the spaces around them, learning when to feel fearful or safe, and the communicative meanings of words and of sounds.

The very reality we experience in our minds is the result of how we construct these relationships. But always, the brain looks for patterns, even in the random occurrences that fill the world, even if they don’t exist.

When I was much younger, I thought of music as a sort of universal language, that people all sensed pretty much the same thing in its patterns of rhythms, melodies, harmonies. But over time, I’ve come to realize that’s not entirely the case. We may all hear the same things, and even connect certain instinctive responses. Regardless, interpretation is emergent; music is a product of mind.

The power of music is in its evoked emotional response, but without the need for any apparent linguistic or semantic context. It can express emotion while itself remaining abstract. But the experience of music is still an interpretation. So not everyone necessarily feels the same things from the same combinations of sounds.

This isn’t about those who seem to have super-abilities to hear things most of us cannot. Simply getting older reduces the physical ability of our ears to register higher frequencies. But “music” as an experience is something different. It’s more than just combinations of sounds; it’s what emerges from the mind.

About one in ten-thousand people have “perfect pitch”, or an ability to exactly identify notes without hearing a reference. This isn’t a “good ear”, or an ability to accurately perceive the relative notes of an instrument. Tuning a piano requires good relative pitch; but a piano-tuner will still use something like a tuning fork as a reference.

Perfect pitch is an ability to bypass that interpretation of sound, and to instead have direct access to the neurological connections within the ear itself. Likewise, it tends to become less acute with age, mirroring the physical decline of hearing’s mechanics. So it’s an ability that, while developed with exposure to music, also seems to bypass the relational character of music itself.

Conversely, “congenital amusia” refers to cognitive music deafness, which apparently affects about 4-percent of the general population. Amusics can usually tell whether one note is higher or lower than another, but they can’t consciously distinguish differences in pitch. Most people can reflexively experience the difference between an “octave” and a “major 7th”, the first sounding harmonious and latter discordant. Those with amusia cannot, nor can they distinguish major and minor chords.

Somewhere between these extremes is where the patterns that give rise to mind create the experience of “music”, with perhaps a sliding scale. And “audio pareidolia” might be the extreme, a form of apophenia where people may experience music in even the random noise of anything from wind to the sound of a motor.

As with perfect pitch, exposure to music, especially when young, probably has an influence in how sounds are interpreted in our awareness. And for that, I thank my mom especially for the music she taught my young mind to perceive.

“Frisson” (French for “shivers”), sometimes called, “goosebumps”, is a response to certain emotionally stimulating experiences. The sensation includes a feeling of tingling skin, and may occur as a pleasurable emotional response to music. Many, myself included, strongly experience this effect when listening to emotionally evocative pieces of music. And yet, about one-in-three people have never had such an experience.

Frisson is a psycho-physiological phenomenon. It’s a physical response of the human body to a stimulus that, in the case of music, is merely created by the brain. It’s a reflexive manifestation of mind, of something entirely imagined.

When I was very young, my mom would encourage me to lay on the floor, eyes closed, and to imagine something while listening to a piece of music. And later, after we moved to the US, she would encourage the same while she played the piano. Several of my favorite pieces were by the French composer and pianist, Erik Satie.

Satie expressed an absurdist sense of a world that shouldn’t be taken too seriously. And many of his compositions were written in such a way as to encourage those who performed them to make their own interpretations. So my mom would sometimes play these pieces slightly differently, and then challenge me to see how how the story had changed.

What my mom was trying to teach me was how to experience those faces in the clouds that hide in the patterns that give rise to music… that it becomes what we experience and what we feel. Life is indeed an absurd performance, filled with joy and with sadness, with passion, and with irony. But when we take the stage, we at least get to choose what to evoke in our own renderings of its script.

Music is to me as standing in the clouds, surrounded by the wind, an arrangement of incantations read from some ancient, esoteric text. Voices sometimes whispered, sometimes singing in a bell, summon something magical, a radiant tingling glow.

 

Ada Zhao, playing the Italian composer, Benvenuto Terzi’s, “Carillon” (Bell Carol).
Yes, this is two overlapping parts being played on a single guitar. The melody is tapped out with the left hand, while the harmony is played in bell-like single-hand harmonics with the right hand.
Talent, skill, and a lot of passionate practice!

References and stuff:

Bowling, D. L. (2023). Biological principles for music and mental health. Translational Psychiatry, 13(1). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41398-023-02671-4

Jain, A., Schoeller, F., Horowitz, A., Hu, X., Yan, G., Salomon, R., & Maes, P. (2023). Aesthetic chills cause an emotional drift in valence and arousal. Frontiers in Neuroscience, 16. https://doi.org/10.3389/fnins.2022.1013117

Satie, Erik: Why and where Satie composed | Gnossiennes – Mara Marietta. (2024, June 8). Mara Marietta. https://www.maramarietta.com/the-arts/music/classical/satie/

Schoeller, F., Jain, A., Pizzagalli, D. A., & Reggente, N. (2024). The neurobiology of aesthetic chills: How bodily sensations shape emotional experiences. Cognitive Affective & Behavioral Neuroscience, 24(4), 617–630. https://doi.org/10.3758/s13415-024-01168-x

The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. (2025, March 21). Erik Satie | Biography, Music, gnossiennes, & Facts. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Erik-Satie

 

Same Same, but Different

by in Boundary Behavior, Death, Existentialism, Fear, Humanity, Identity, Loneliness, Love, Luminous Aether, Music, Philosophy | 11 Comments

“I look up at the sky, wondering if I’ll catch a glimpse of kindness there, but I don’t. All I see are indifferent summer clouds drifting over the Pacific. And they have nothing to say to me. …all I see is my own nature… I’ve carried this character around like an old suitcase, down a long, dusty path. I’m not carrying it because I like it. The contents are too heavy, and it looks crummy, fraying in spots. I’ve carried it with me because there was nothing else I was supposed to carry.”
– Haruki Murakami (translated by: Philip Gabriel), What I Talk About When I Talk About Running (2007).

The Akira Kurosawa film, Rashomon, is a Japanese period-drama set in late Heian-era (1185) Kyoto. The story follows the accounts of four witnesses to the mysterious death of a traveling samurai. As each witness tells seemingly contradictory versions of events, questions arise about the meaning of evidence, subjective versus objective experience, and biases in perceptions.

As in the parable of the blind men and the elephant, each of the story’s characters is confined to discerning an overall meaning from his or her own limited perspective. But conceptualizing the whole by interacting with only a part ends up leaving no one with an entirely accurate representation. Though each knows an objective truth with the certainty of personal experience, none can agree to an overall interpretation.

Rashomon is about how personal circumstance affects an individual’s experiences, value judgments, and understandings. Even the most sincere attempts at discerning an objective reality become a subjective process whenever humans are involved. “Rashomon effect”, is commonly used in reference to the unreliability of eyewitnesses in courtrooms.

The takeaway is that a belief in absolute truth based in the limits of human experience leaves an individual ignorant of others’ experiences, which may be equally true. But the limitations of personal perspective also speaks to the cognitive tools we use to interact with the world. “When your only tool is a hammer, every problem becomes a nail.”
–

For several years during my undergraduate college days, I played mostly percussion in a down-tuned, Japanese-American “power-trio”. We called ourselves “Byōki”, meaning “Sickness”… three Asian-American women responding to the nauseous corporate saccharin of 80’s Americana.

Our sound was hosted in garages or at the college bar, and at a couple of Japanese-American cultural events where I’m not so sure how welcome we were after sponsors actually heard our music. We were slow, loud, dark, and scrappy.

Listening to an old recording, I could barely hold a note; but it didn’t really matter. Hammering out lyrics like nails, the words to a piece inspired by the experience of a friend betrayed in a moment of weakness started, “I know God is dead. I will bury him.”

Still, I have long-time friends who talk to Angels, to the Universe, and even to God personally. I’m not sure whether I should envy, or pity them. Most seem pretty happy; and I don’t have any better ideas for making life work. Regardless, God has never taken much interest in speaking with me.

If I’m honest with myself, and I try to be, my perspective would probably keep me from hearing anything anyway. Pathologically unable to take Kierkegaard’s “leap” into faith, it is simply my own voice in the silence, saying what I want to hear. And if those who try to communicate the depths of their faiths to such as myself could understand, I don’t know whether they would feel pity or despair.
–

Living in northern Thailand for a couple of years at least put a lot of my first-world problems into a better perspective. And there was a kindness, an understanding allowing the forgiveness that I’m not omniscient. We can’t know the depths of others’ experiences; and we can’t look back. And especially when the people we love die suddenly and unexpectedly.

It’s a circumstance of enduring. And it becomes numbing after awhile, brushed off like snow at the door, left outside. A photo from decades ago, young friends, healthy, ambitious… It reminds me of a scene at the end of some old war film where the recollected dead outnumber the living, each representing some different lost promise.

Friends, family, mentors and heroes leave in ways that hit closer to home. Unexpected, discouraging… not lost to adventure, life’s risks, or simply poor judgment… but at home. For some, it was time. But for others, there was no goodbye, no word. Just a phone call… they’re gone.

A mentor and a friend, cursed with integrity and a kind heart, a beautiful mind and generous soul. Giving, simply that he could. But never taking enough. One of those rare people found on the path taken because of wanting to be more like them. To dare to be invested in life. Not a God-like man to proclaim how he lived. Just a humble man who claimed no special status with God at all. In the words of Krishnamurti,
“Love is not aware of itself as love, for the word is not the thing.”

Seeing the self-serving limits to each witness’s story, the Buddhist priest in Rashomon finds that he has lost his faith in humanity. There is no honor among any… thieves, opportunists, the unfaithful, the samurai’s self-inflicted death. But in a humble woodcutter’s appeal to spare the life of a child, the priest finds at least some promise.

 

A Summer Rain

by in Hmmm..., Identity, Luminous Aether, Music, Verse | 35 Comments

“Upon us all, upon us all a little rain must fall.“
-Robert Plant & “Jimmy” Page, The Rain Song (1973).

A few days ago, WordPress notified me that it had been ten years since my first post. It would have been nice to have had something worthwhile to write about to have marked the date. But I’m not usually inspired to sit in front of a computer during the summer. This afternoon, however, the local temperatures were just reaching into the 90s (32C), making even the jays nesting in the Japanese maple outside my back door uncomfortable.

So after hosing down the garden and filling a tray with some water as a peace offering to my avian neighbors, I ended up sitting in the shade of an old Wisteria with an iced coffee. It was a good opportunity to think about the last couple of decades.

I’ve been living here, at least part-time, for the last twenty years, ever since re-entering the US in 2004. My first place was actually a 400 square-foot rental in a complex notorious for being the center of much local… business. I had some interesting neighbors.  But the arrangement was only temporary, while the paperwork on my new house was being processed.

The town had a distinctly different vibe at that time. The year-round population was only about 2,000 people, swelling to at most 5,000 in the summers, including seasonal residents and tourists. And there still wasn’t any local mail delivery. My house was big… too big. And I owned 19-feet of coveted lakefront. Yes… really. 19-feet. And to pay the taxes for the privilege, I flew out to work in Vancouver in Canada for several days every couple of weeks. (Long story.)

Back then, my husband and I both traveled a great deal. And having accumulated a vast collection of photos from some rarely visited locations, he began posting some of them online. In 2005, a couple of Spanish entrepreneurs had developed an overlay to Google Earth called “Panoramio”, where geo-located photos could be uploaded to show a view from a particular place on the Earth.

Over time, the Pano community grew, and we actually met several fellow photo-posters during some of our travels. I even gave a camera to a young man from northern India. But Google eventually bought out Pano from its creators, and pretty much trashed it before giving up on it altogether about a decade back.

Around 2009, my husband also started communicating with people through “Gather”, which was a sort of public/private domain site where people could post articles, or just have discussions. I think it was a couple of years later when I first posted something on Gather myself, under the nom de guerre of, “Ruta Skadi”, a character from a 1997 novel by Phillip Pullman.

Gather was designed to promote discussion and interaction, encouraging writing about social, political and cultural topics. As a technical writer, I ended up posting numerous science-related articles. Often, I’d intentionally write about controversial topics. The conversation was usually intelligent and interesting, and I also found myself fascinated by the site’s passionate commenters and various “trolls”.

In 2014, however, Gather was sold to a media company that, strangely, didn’t seem to have any plans to maintain the site. Many writers had already moved on to other sites.  And in July of 2014, I made my first post here on WordPress. Over time, I’ve encountered several writers from Gather, accounting for a few among my tiny following here.

Around that same time, I also retired from my work in Vancouver.  Then I sold my old house, and downsized to the “love shack”, a little carpenter-ant infested hovel in one the oldest neighborhoods in town. And to the sounds of some squawking hatchling jays and approaching thunder, I think about all of this while sitting in the shade of the sprawling old Wisteria, the Japanese symbol of longevity, and of a connection to the past.

Eventually, this afternoon’s heat-driven thunderstorms moved clouds over the sun. The air cooled, and the heavens reached down to touch the Earth. And as the mother jay watched from one of the plum trees in the summer garden, I stood in the rain, wrapping myself in the gently crouching sky.

A Summer Rain
(inspired by Robert Plant & “Jimmy” Page)

It’s the rain of a late summer love
A season’s second chance to grow
Sheltered beneath a crouching sky
In this warmth I’ve felt before
A lingering fire beneath the snow
It isn’t hard to feel the sun, I know.

It’s the summer of my remembrances
Fleeing from a season of shadows
Of a waterfall tumbling in fear
To you I return these moments
Contentment, not so hard to recognize
Things are clear from time to time, so…

Listen,
Listen to the cool wind blow!
Sheltered from a sweltering pall
Always known the fire is not forever
Cherished the sun that set upon us
When I knew that I loved you
And I know that I love you, now.

This is a season of remembrance
A summer rain, distant thunder calls
To the wonder of old devotions
Muted fires from whetted emotions
Sheltering moments under a crouching sky
It’s just a little rain, yeah
Upon us all, a little rain should fall.

 

Standing Up Work

by in Boundary Behavior, Culture, Feminism, Hmmm..., Humanity, Identity, Japan, Loneliness, Love, Music | 13 Comments

“Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty.“
– Mother Theresa

While living in Tokyo in the early 2000s, I discovered the social escape offered by its extensive “live-house” music culture, hosted in places where lesser-known bands can perform.  These are usually small, sometimes marginal establishments, often located in seedier areas like Tokyo’s Kabukichō. But this isn’t the kind of popular music followed by most Japanese.

Visit Japan, and you’ll likely see many advertisements promoting various “idol groups’”, as well as their latest recordings, performances, or products. Especially in the cities, it’s nearly impossible to escape idol culture.

The Japanese expression “aidoru” is written in phonetic-Japanese katakana, identifying it as a foreign loan word. Originally borrowed from the English “idol”, it has become a common reference to certain well-known and popular music performers.

Japanese idol culture first expanded as a mainstream phenomenon during the 1970s, sparked by television variety shows that hosted singing competitions.  Many of their most popular vocalists were recruited by large music production firms with the financial leverage to heavily promote new artists.  During this time, “aidoru” almost exclusively referred to female performers.  But since the 1980s, it has expanded to also include males.

There isn’t really any Western comparison to Japanese idol culture. Some American musicians, like “En Vogue” or “The Backstreet Boys”, parallel the formulaic, mass-market approach to music and image. But the Japanese version takes it to an extreme through the carefully crafted and promoted public personas of individual group members.

According to Miki Gonohe, who provides professional “talk lessons” to idols, there are at present more than 3,000 female idol groups in Japan, with about 30,000 performers. In 2017, the BBC reported that more than 10,000 of these girls were in their teens.

“AKB48”, a Japanese female idol group named after their theater in the Akihabara area of Tokyo, perform daily as “idols you can meet“. Considered among the top performing idol groups in Japan, they have sold more than one-million copies of new releases in a single day, making them the most popular female music performers in Japanese history.

Female idol fans range from pre-pubescent girls to single men in their forties, often referred to as “otaku”.  The expression describes a person with an obsession regarding some aspect of popular culture. In extreme cases, idol obsessions have resulted in abandoned careers or spending the last of one’s money supporting an idolized performer.

In a country where loneliness is literally a social epidemic, Japanese idol culture provides a fantasy version of a life still naive to the realities of adulthood. Where an American male escapist experience might equate to venting at heavy metal concerts where bands shout lyrics about about death and Satan, the Japanese equivalent is choreographed dance to songs about chocolate and pure-hearted maidens. And like a crowd of screaming girls at a Justin Bieber concert, the Japanese experience isn’t confined solely to men.

–

While the Kabukichō area of Tokyo is one of the places where I was first introduced to Japanese live-house music, the area is also known as Tokyo’s red-light district. Traditionally, the prostitution was conducted in a fairly nonpublic manner. Touts at the entrances to presumably yakuza-run men’s clubs might make veiled suggestions that there were extra “services” available; and you wouldn’t have seen the usually foreign or older women in public.

After 2011, however, the Japanese government enforced new laws that made it difficult for yakuza to operate in Kabukichō. And since then, the area has cleaned up greatly. So it was surprising to come across a long line of “standing up girls” in the area near Ōkubo Park.

About thirty, typically dressed, mainly younger girls were standing separately along the edges of the sidewalks near the park, mostly staring into their phones. Apparently, it’s common knowledge that the girls, many of whom appeared to be quite young or even underage (under 18-years in Tokyo), are engaged in prostitution. And the local police haven’t quite figured out how to deal with it.

One of Japanese culture’s lesser discussed secrets is the commonality of abusive home lives. Many who eventually flee such homes end up in the seedier parts of Tokyo, where they quickly find that things aren’t all that much better.

For the younger, more attractive women who are at least 20-years old, work at bars and nightclubs might be the best jobs available. But for those too young or too old, finding a boyfriend might seem like the only option. And it’s surprisingly easy in Kabukichō.

It seems there’s a ready supply of good-looking, respectful gentlemen willing to meet up with these younger girls and older women, take them out for nice meals, listen to their stories, and treat them as though they are valued. And for many of these women, it’s the first time in their lives they’ve felt like they were important to someone else. But Kabukichō is also home to more than one-hundred women’s “host clubs”, staffed by male escorts.

The men will eventually let on that they work at one of these clubs, where they have to compete for popularity with the clientele. And the women will be encouraged to help them out by visiting the clubs and leaving some small amount of cash to help boost their popularity. But gradually, the amounts increase, eventually to the point where many of those engaged in “standing up work” in Kabukichō are trying to earn money to pay-off loans used to support their male-escort idols.

On September 5 of this year, Kabukichō police arrested thirty-five women in front of Ōkubo Park on suspicion of prostitution. Most of those arrested explained that they were trying to obtain money for boosting the reputations of their favorite male hosts. To the credit of authorities, these women were referred to support groups, and at least one host-club escort was arrested for soliciting prostitution.

Paraphrasing Goethe, we see in the world what we carry in our hearts.  So if a fantasy is all that stands between feeling loved versus withering in loneliness, then it shouldn’t be much of a surprise when we see what we need to see in order to feel what we need to feel.  But fantasy is also at the heart of most business.

Revisiting the Lower North Swamp

by in Culture, Humanity, Identity, Japan, Loneliness, Love, Luminous Aether, Music, Risk | 14 Comments

By the grey woods, by the swamp,
Where the toad and newt encamp,
By the dismal tarns and pools,
—Where dwell the Gouls.
By each spot the most unholy,
By each nook most melancholy,
There the traveller meets, aghast,
Sheeted memories of the Past.
Shrouded forms that start and sigh,
As they pass the wanderer by.
White-robed forms of friends long given;
In agony, to the Earth – and Heaven.

– Edgar Allan Poe, Dream-Land.

 

Maybe I’m just suffering from cabin fever, but I’ve been doing a lot of binge-watching lately… or at least listening. Sound is one of those things that connects us to our environment. But it’s entirely imaginary. We create it in our heads to represent what are really nothing more than vibrations in the air. So if those vibrations tell us stories, we make them up ourselves.

A lot of what I’ve been watching are old YouTube uploads, including some at “LowerNorthSwamp”. The channel’s name is a literal translation of the kanji for Tokyo’s “Shimokitazawa” (下北沢). Usually referred to by locals by dropping the “swamp” part as, “Shimokita”, it’s known as Tokyo’s Bohemian district.  James, a self-described “you-know-you’ve-been-in-Japan-too-long-when…” American expat used the channel to post videos of various Japanese “live house” performances in the area.

Most of this recent watching/listening was initiated by reading something at “Japan Powered”, a site hosted by Chris Kincaid. Chris is an excellent writer, an author, librarian and researcher, trained graphic artist, and general expert on Japan and Japanese history. I had initially come across his site when researching information for something I was writing about a female poet from Japan’s “Nara” period. But many of Chris’s articles revolve around his interest in Japanese “anime”.

Anime is an animated version of Japanese manga. These are graphic novels descended from a visual story-telling style developed in Japan in the late 19th century, which themselves emerged from a long history of Japanese graphic art dating back centuries. In Japan, works of graphic art have long been used for a wide range of purposes, from the most banal of entertainment to complex technical instruction. And likewise, anime encompasses a wide range of subjects and genres in ways intended for audiences ranging from young children to mature adults.

One of Chris’s recent articles at Japan Powered mentioned a new anime series created by the CloverWorks animation studio called, “Bocchi the Rock!”  The series is about a desperately lonely teenage girl with a severe social anxiety. After seeing a television interview where the guitarist for a popular band mentions his own social anxiety, she decides to teach herself to play the guitar in the hope that it will help her to fit in somewhere.

The anime has become enormously popular with audiences in Japan, as well as among anime enthusiasts the US.  And it’s set largely in the Shimokita area music environment, a setting with which I’m familiar.  So while I’m generally not much of a fan of anime, I decide to see what it was all about.

The series is animated in some ways typical of that intended for Japanese teens to young-adults. Characters are visually somewhat “kawaii”, or cute in a Japanese sense. And depictions include some of the exaggerated expressive forms typical of the type of manga and anime. But that also means that the presentation doesn’t always have to take itself so seriously. It’s visually fun; and the writers and animators applied that to presenting some surprisingly deep characters.

The stories actually address some serious issues, including social isolation, fear of failure and rejection, impostor syndrome, alcoholism, gender identity, and the fears associated with expressing love. And yet, there’s always a safe space for viewers as characters’ emotional turmoils are depicted through interjections of wacky animations or imagined scenes that get the point across with tongue held firmly in cheek. The characters and their flaws are utterly relatable, but without being threatening.

The backdrop to all of this is an impressively accurate parallel universe to Tokyo’s actual underground music scene. “Starry”, the main live-house music venue depicted in the anime is easily recognizable to those familiar with the Shimokita music scene as the real-life, “Shelter”. In fact, the entire setting is such an accurate representation of the area that people have photographically reproduced various scenes. So this isn’t merely a formula production created by a group of isolated script-writers, animators and producers holed up in some distant corporate office.
The music is also surprisingly good. While it doesn’t perhaps reflect some of the edginess of what might actually be encountered in places like Shelter, it somehow manages to stay well clear of corporate J-pop territory. And the lyrics to the songs hold insights into the characters, who are complex in ways that keep them both realistic and interesting.

After watching a few episodes, I could easily understand why the anime has pulled in such a large and engaged audience. Even if it’s not something I’d be likely to follow, it’s fun, it’s relevant to its audience, and it reflects a hopeful and encouraging tone. While acknowledging the frustrations and seemingly insurmountable hardships of youth, it never gives up. It’s a story where the main characters find meaning by investing both in themselves and in their relationships with others, developing the trust that brings friendships.

And so, I’ve been going back to the videos left on YouTube by James and a few others all those years ago. It was a time when the Tokyo live-house scene was a welcome and friendly social escape for myself. The music was usually loud, and sometimes even good.  But it was always fun.  The very first video on my own, “東京ライブハウス” (“Tokyo Live House”), YouTube play list was shot at Shelter.

The girls in the band, TsuShiMaMiRe, were playing a song about the strange colors and smells of a popular, fluorescent orange soft drink and a bright blue laundry detergent.  Just vibrations in the air.  But it was a good feeling not to have to take life so seriously for awhile.

The Road that Opens

by in Boundary Behavior, Culture, Identity, Japan, Music, Risk, The Road | 5 Comments

“カイモクジショウ” @ the SUNRIZE live-house in the Ryōgoku district of Tokyo.

I must have seen one of the last performances of “Kaimokujishou” at a Tokyo live-house in March of 2016. It was while in Japan, during a transition time for me. I had been struggling with getting myself re-grounded after resigning from my job and selling my old home, and had decided to leave the US for awhile.

The name, “カイモクジショウ”, was apparently written in Japanese phonetic, katakana on purpose. The band’s vocalist, Natsumi Nishida‘, whose performances mixed both Japanese and English, explained its origins in a 2014 interview with “OTOTOY” (my translation), “[It’s] written in katakana instead of English so that it would stand out at first glance.  …[it’s] from a Buddhist expression to ‘open eyes’. It seemed to say that, ‘if you believe, the road will open‘, and we thought it was good. (laughs) But it won’t come up when you search [the Internet] for it.”

Kaimokujishou was a trio, just a drummer, guitarist, and a vocalist. They had no bass, nor a rhythm guitar or keyboard with which to ground or fill-in their sound. Regardless, their music was complex, powerful and moving.

Deeply expressive melodies, as well as stories, were held together through the tension conveyed in Nishida‘s, compelling vocals. This combined with the limited instrumentation to create a sound that seemingly teetered on some ragged edge between an anxiously lyrical order and the chaos of an imminent display of unrestrained breakdown.

Their music intrigued me. It wasn’t a rocker’s head-banging or a punk slam, or some garage-band expression of teen angst. Rather, there was something that pulled the audience into the sound and made them want to know where it would all lead. These were serious, professional musicians… spilling out their guts in a process Nishida described in a 2013 “Gekirock” interview as something like, “live painting“.

—
I saw Kaimokujishou perform in a small, basement live-house under a nondescript building on a backstreet in the Ryōgoku district of Tokyo, an area known more for sumo wrestling and classical music than for its live-houses. These kinds of live music venues are a Japanese phenomenon.  Usually compact and minimalist, and occasionally hidden, they originally emerged from the early 70s Japanese psychedelic music scene.

By the mid 80s, however, they had become both a stepping-stone into the larger industry as well as venues for amateur musicians, rebels and nonconformists. Today, they remain as an underground alternative to mainstream, mass-market Japanese pop-music.

A few established live-houses have been around for a long time, some relocating over the years to larger accommodations. But many still have the “underground” feel of those earlier, gritty venues where people came primarily to escape the conformity of everyday life in Japan through the music. Cramped, and often hot and stuffy, they can become very personal spaces for both performers and their audiences.

It was into such an environment that Nishida presented an extraordinarily visceral outpouring.  Moving in some fitful dance across the entire domain of the stage, lyrics emerged shouted from dark recesses, from the floor, from behind other band members, and finally directly into an audience that had been lured close by her performance.

In the band’s OTOTOY interview, she said of such live presentations (my translation), “I wonder what will happen if I keep looking into a person’s eyes. And it excites me. If a person thinks you’ve become a pack of meat wrapped in plastic, the other is in a position to poke a hole in it, and the role-playing changes throughout the song…. Even if I line up my songs, they are inconsistent, all disjointed, because they are based on the delusions, inspirations, desires, and frustrations of the moment.”

—
Kaimokujishou was one of those bands wanting to be noticed. They were full-time musicians, committing themselves to constant production and performance, trying their very best to stay visible. During their seven-year run, they had produced two studio albums and a series of high-quality videos. They were all over the social media of the time, and took every opportunity to play the live-house circuit. They even managed to make themselves a part of a tour of Japanese musicians into Australia.

“ ‘if you believe, the road will open’ ”

It’s a paradox of “art”, that it’s about self-expression in an effort to convey a felt message to the recipient. But that also means that it’s a subjective commodity, especially when recipients already know what they want to feel.  And when an audience begins to demand art that no longer reflects the feelings of its creator, producing that commodity becomes inspired delusion… an exercise in frustration. The road that opens no longer connects to one’s self.

—
The words of the last song that night conveyed a frustrated confusion. They told a story of being uplifted by circumstance, eyes raised to the sky. But then, “What, what?!” Pretending not to be lost while literally crawling around the stage? She cried out, “The end of the sea!” 

Not long after having seen Kaimokujishou perform, Natsumi Nishida wrote on the band’s Facebook page (my translation), “Making things with half-hearted feelings and mutual distrust, it’s a discourtesy to two people who are many times more stoic than myself.  It’s 100% if you want to make a living.  Zero otherwise.  I needed to choose.  As Kaimokujishou, I put out 100% more than I can in the current situation, and I can’t keep it up.  It has taken a long time to recognize…
I need to go back to the songs and the music that saved me.”

I understood.  The name, “Natsumi”, is written,
“夏海“… Summer Sea.

Voci Celesti

by in Luminous Aether, Music | 29 Comments

朧夜や天の音楽聞し人
oboro yo ya ten no ongaku kikishi hito

“Hazy night–
People listening
To heavenly music.“
– Kobayashi Issa (小林一茶), born Kobayashi Nobuyuki (1763-1828)

—
My husband’s family lives in the Salt Lake City area. The city and the general region have a great deal to offer. But if you’re familiar with the area’s history and traditions, you might understand why it’s not necessarily among my favorite places to stay, and especially at certain times of the year.

The last time I was there was over a Christmas. And for reasons I won’t go into, I rented a room at a nearly empty hotel adjacent to “Temple Square”, the central location for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, sometimes called the “Mormon Church”.

Temple Square is a beautiful and historical site, and I highly recommend visiting the location if you’re ever in the Salt Lake area. The grounds are also home to the Salt Lake City Tabernacle, the central venue for the “Mormon Tabernacle Choir”.  If you’re looking for something to put onto a bucket list, I’d highly recommend attending a performance by the choir. However, it’s worth mentioning that they take a break from performing during much of the Christmas season.

In fact, Salt Lake City pretty much closes down over the Christmas holiday. During perhaps a half-hour spent looking out at the main street from my hotel room window while drinking a (decidedly non-Mormon) morning coffee, I observed but a single jogger, a police car, and a lone stray dog. On a main road in a city of around 200,000 people, I could safely have taken a nap in the middle of the highway. Finding a place to get dinner that afternoon was… interesting.

Christmas Eve, however, was far more rewarding. The Tabernacle Choir may not have been performing. But there was another choir that night, just up the street at the Catholic, Cathedral of the Madeleine. The cathedral itself is another place worth a visit if you’re ever in SLC… a Romanesque cathedral constructed in 1909, with magnificent stained-glass windows and a colorful interior of painted columns and brightly colored frescoes. The cathedral choir, however, is simply astonishing.

I’m not a religious person. However, I’ll admit that the concept of “qualia”, the unfiltered experience of things does cause me to consider whether there might be some intangible reality to consciousness. Qualia are those indescribable and intangible characteristics of sensations, such as the experiences of a sunset red, lemon sour, ocean scent, warmth,…
or of the sound of human voices singing.

—
People who don’t know me all that well can be surprised to find that I sometimes listen to Western opera.  I was raised on classical musical traditions, and my mom started me listening to opera when I was still very young.  I remember her explaining how the music could bring tears to adults, something that I understand far better all these years later.

Opera can be criticized for its stylized approach; but one could also make the same claim about today’s autotuned “vocals”.  And to say that all opera is performed in the same manner is almost as to compare Barbara Streisand to Madonna.  Still, I understand the cultural inaccessibility.

Classical “opera” has a long and varied history, originating at the end of the the sixteenth-century with Jacopo Peri’s, “Dafne”, in 1597. A member of the “Florentine Camerata”, a group of professional composers and musicians, Peri’s objective was the musical retelling of Greek drama.  This new form of storytelling caught on with the public almost immediately, resulting in a sort of schism.

On one hand were the wealthy patrons and royalty who sponsored the creation of new operas, while on the other were a broader public willing to pay for this new form of entertainment. Hence emerged opera’s two main divisions: the stately, formal and rarefied, “opera seria”, with stories about gods and aristocrats, versus the more comedic and broadly accessible, “opera buffa”, with stories centered on servants, peasants and commoners.

By the mid seventeenth-century, Baroque opera had exploded in popularity to become central to European cultural arts.  Performances became increasingly elaborate to the point where venues included grand sets and even moveable stages.  Troupes of professional opera performers toured these venues throughout Europe.  And some of their vocalists became the superstars of the era with singing styles that were over-the-top, highly ornamented and loud enough to be heard by large audiences.  However, this would change suddenly around 1750.

“Enlightenment” thinking, at the start of the Classical period, encouraged plots with fewer gods and more human interactions, and with less extravagant music and vocal display. This would produce works such as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s , Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro).  And then, the Romantic period of 1830 through 1900 would see a sort of stylistic split.

On one hand, opera again evolved into something increasingly loud and spectacular. “Grand opera” would result in the likes of the German, Richard Wagner’s, massive orchestral and operatic, 15-hour, “Ring cycle”, including, Die Walküre.   But in response, there also emerged the Italian, “bel canto”, or “beautiful singing” movement, which emphasized simple harmonics and ornamentation.  This would produce the realistic, (and usually tragic), Italian “verismo”, including, Madama Butterfly, by my personal favorite operatic composer, Giacomo Puccini.

Operas are still composed today, addressing more contemporary stories from politics to science-fiction.  And a few are even notable.    But there are some classics that stand as noteworthy examples from which to experience what opera is really all about… at least to me.  And to that end, I’ll conclude by throwing out a few links to some voci celesti, or heavenly voices…

Izumi Masuda – Nessun dorma (“Let no one sleep”)
This is an aria from the final act of Puccini’s opera, Turandot, completed posthumously by Franco Alfano in 1926.  It’s one of the best-known tenor arias in all opera, popularized by Luciano Pavarotti in the 1990s.  The part is sung by the character of, Calaf, il principe ignoto (the unknown prince), who falls instantly in love with the beautiful yet cold-hearted Princess Turandot.  But any man who wishes to wed her must first answer her three riddles… and those who fail are beheaded!

Izumi Masuda is a Japanese soprano born in 1978.  I chose this particular performance as she’s beautifully performing a traditionally male-tenor part in a style that’s rather her own.

Lei Xu & Guang Yang – Sous le dôme épais – (“Beneath the thick dome”, aka: “The Flower Duet”)
The Flower Duet is from the first act of, Lakmé, composed by Léo Delibes in 1882.  It was written for both soprano and mezzo-soprano parts.  It is sung by the characters Lakmé, the daughter of a Brahmin priest, and her servant Mallika, as they gather flowers by a river.  If you’re old enough, you may know the part starting at about 1:30 from its use in a 1980s British Airways advertisement, or from some works by Yanni and Malcolm McLaren.

Lei Xu (right) is a soprano, originally from Nantong, China.  Guang Yang (left) is a mezzo-soprano from Beijing. I especially like this performance, not only because both are extraordinary vocalists, but because of the cross-cultural nature of the whole thing… a Chinese performance vocalizing two Indian characters… in French!

Sumi Jo – Ave Maria (This is a complicated attribution… The music is indeed Schubert, but I think the vocals may be Vladimir Vavilov’s 1970 version, sometimes ascribed to Giulio Caccini.

Sumi Jo is a well-known, Korean, “coloratura” soprano.  “Coloratura” refers to a vocalist who adds “color” to a part, singing it with trills, runs, or leaps; and Sumi Jo is renowned for her extraordinary vocal control.  I’ll post an English translation of her French preface to this performance in Paris below the video.  It adds something beautifully human to her presentation.

“My father left me forever a few days ago, and his funeral was held this morning in Korea. But I am here in Paris to sing before you. I am not sure if this is appropriate. But as a singer I thought I should be here. Also I strongly believe my father is happy to be watching me and you the audience at this moment from up above. Thank you for being with me today. I won’t forget this. I dedicate this recital to my father. Now, I will sing Schubert’s Ave Maria for my father. Thank you.“

Just for fun… Jane Zhang from Hong Kong, (“The Dolphin Princess”).  She’s a coloratura something-or-other (C3 – G5 – G#6)… tenor to… “whistle register”, and performs far more than opera.  Something more challenging than most classical opera and with a more contemporary flourish, this is the Aria and Il Dolce Suono (“The Sweet Sound”, aka: “The Mad Scene“) from the 1835 opera, Lucia di Lammermoor, by Gaetano Donizetti, followed by Éric Serra’s supposedly “unsingable”, Diva Plavalaguna’s Dance, from The Fifth Element.  She practiced the latter piece while performing planks.  She removes her ear monitor as the orchestral part of the Aria ends and she begins to demonstrate her extraordinary range.

 

The Ninth Wave

by in Boundary Behavior, Death, Existentialism, Fear, Hmmm..., Humanity, Luminous Aether, Music, Mystery, Philosophy, Risk, Verse | 19 Comments

“The sea has neither meaning, nor pity.“
-Anton Chekhov, Gusev (1890).

The Ninth Wave (Russian: Девятый вал, Dyevyatiy val), Ivan Aivazovsky, 1850.

Wave after wave, each mightier than the last,
Till last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep
And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged
Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame:
– Idylls of the King: The coming of Arthur, by Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)

–
During the years of my youth in coastal California, I found some comfort in the ocean.  The waves that rumbled ashore lured me into the water, and I learned to dance with them… if in a perhaps heavy-footed way.  Being young and immortal, however, there was an infinite potential for becoming a more understanding partner.  So to the chagrin of the local lifeguards, the risks were to me merely opportunities.  But that was a long time ago.

Years later, during the decade that I worked in Vancouver, I also began to experiment with a sea kayak.  In my imagination, I saw myself some day paddling with dolphins or exploring a remote coastline.  But the reality that we humans are mere intruders into the sea hit me one day, almost literally.  Surprised from behind by the wake of a passing ship in the Upper Burrard Inlet, I found myself unexpectedly cast into a freezing sea.  I wasn’t really in any serious danger; but the experience was nevertheless sobering.

 

“The Great Wave Off Kanagawa” (神奈川沖浪裏), by the Japanese Ukiyo-e woodblock artist, Katsushika Hokusai, was created some time between 1830 and 1832.  Among a series of thirty-six views of Mount Fuji, it depicts a great wave descending upon three oshiokuri-bune (押送船), fast fishing-trade boats of Japan’s Edo period.  In the background, the mountain sits motionless, a distant god as the wave’s claw-like tendrils descend upon the hapless mariners.

At times, I’ve studied Hokusai’s frozen moment in wondering.  What compelled such a journey?  What are they carrying, perhaps tuna or squid, for trade, or merely enough to feed their families?   Who are they… fathers, sons, husbands?  Where are they from, and what are their stories?  And how many of the scene’s crew and twenty-four bracing oarsmen, some already swallowed by the sea, will return to their homes to tell the story?  I wonder if even Hokusai knew.

“The Great Wave…” is a typically Japanese portrayal of human fragility.  The huddled forms of humanity who man the boats are anonymous, mere smoldering specks of life at the mercy of an otherwise uncaring universe.  Even the gods stand by, indifferent to the stories forever erased in an event frozen onto an inked page.  And a moment by itself has no past… no future.

“The Ninth Wave” is different.

Aivazovsky’s work reflects an aftermath; the ship has already wrecked.  So there is a story to these lives, framed within an irresistible sea of time.  And yet, there is humanity in his work.  While it at once depicts the inevitable pain of living, it appeals also to something greater than simply one’s destiny.

In the tradition of sailors encountering storms at sea, it is the “ninth wave” that is the great one, the most powerful, the most destructive, the final arbiter.  As Aivazovsky’s “Great Wave” approaches, we see the survivors of those preceding, lesser forces, ones that have already cast them into the sea.  The few remaining souls not yet lost grasp desperately to the last pieces of some shattered sanctuary.

One man clings to the memory of another.  Another man reaches toward a past, submerged forever into the darkened waters.  Two more simply turn their backs, looking instead upon the last as though he is mad.  Only a single man has the courage to watch as the great wave rises.

Lashed to the ship’s mast, its very heart, this lone soul holds some proclaiming form to the sky.  He lives in the moment, experiences it, confirms his destiny as if in the acknowledging hands of some higher power, so that even the storm and the sea itself can’t quite blot out the morning sun’s call to hope.

  • Side two of the 1985 album, “Hounds Of Love”, consists of a seven-track series called, “The Ninth Wave”.  The tracks follow the theme of a person whose thoughts and dreams emerge from being utterly alone in the sea through the night. “And Dream of Sheep” is the first track.  In a 1987 interview (apparently with herself), Kate Bush said of music:

    “Some of the most beautiful music ever was written for God, for a loved one, in a state of grief, sorrow, suppression–it seems to be an expression from a person on a higher level…? I’m not sure I understand it at all, but music seems to come out of people when very little else can.“

    And Dream of Sheep
    by Kate Bush

    Little light shining
    Little light will guide them to me
    My face is all lit up
    My face is all lit up
    If they find me racing white horses
    They’ll not take me for a buoy
    Let me be weak, let me sleep and dream of sheep

    Oh I’ll wake up to any sound of engines
    Every gull a seeking craft
    I can’t keep my eyes open
    Wish I had my radio
    I’d tune into some friendly voices
    Talking ’bout stupid things
    I can’t be left to my imagination
    Let me be weak, let me sleep and dream of sheep

    Ooh, their breath is warm
    And they smell like sleep
    And they say they take me home
    Like poppies, heavy with seed
    They take me deeper and deeper