Essay
Introduction
These essays are extracts from the series I wrote for Tokyo Shimbun between 2005 and 2008. It has been almost 10 years since I wrote the last one in the series, but my thoughts on each subject have remained unchanged after all these years, and are unlikely to change in the future. I hope you enjoy them.
When I was a girl…
Recently, I’ve been asked by Tokyo Shimbun to write a monthly essay for a year.
These essays, to be called “Music on My Mind”, will be about me, my music, and how music has had a bearing on the different stages of my life.
It’s been 33 years since I made my debut with the album entitled “Shoujo (Girl)”, released on 21st October 1972. I’m often asked how I feel about the fact that it has been 33 years since my debut. Well, I dare say I felt like a heavy weight had been placed on my body, and it has become heavier with the passage of time: as a singer, a woman, a wife, and a mother. These various parts of my life have shaped my music. Anyhow, I hope you will enjoy my essays.
Firstly, I’ll give you a brief introduction to my background, starting with my childhood.
I was born in Nakanoshimbashi, Nakano, Tokyo. Yes, I know Nakanoshimbashi is synonymous with the famous sumo stable, but it is just one of many indistinguishable towns in Tokyo, and it is where I grew up. I have many good memories of this part of Tokyo. I was a shy, quiet girl, as well as being fearless and as curious as a cat. For example, I would sometimes investigate something on my way home and completely lose my way. Places such as a bomb shelter or a cave would completely capture my endless curiosity, although they were pitch dark and appeared frightening. One day, when I was a primary school student, I entered a locked basement room by squeezing through a small broken window. Guess what: I couldn’t get out and had to call for help. That was the end of my adventurous ways.
The curiosity and imagination of my childhood blossomed into song writing in my later years. Many stories and poems in my songs were based on my own experiences and inspirations. Even my sorrow can transform into a beautiful song, and performing it becomes cathartic for me. I’m proud to be a musician, and music is my joy.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 14 November 2005)
A Great Musician
It is the 250th anniversary of Mozart’s birth this year. No wonder so much of his music is being played on the radio, TV, etc., almost every day. His birthday was 27th January, and I was born on 24th January in 1951, 195 years after the great composer gave his first cry; we are both Aquarians, therefore.
Mozart’s music is immortal. He wrote many pieces while travelling with his father, also a musician. His works are timeless, and they shimmer in our senses like rare diamonds. However, even Mozart experienced sadness and pain, like us mere mortals. He sometimes did incredibly silly things too. Some say that Mozart didn’t act like a great artist. I don’t agree. I believe that he experienced the feelings that all humans do. That’s why his music is universal, and one can feel these emotions deeply when listening to his works.
I was also brought up by a father who loved music. Unfortunately, my father wasn’t like Mozart’s, who was also a fine musician. I grew up with the noise of hammers and saws: my father was a DIY enthusiast.
If I say I was brought up by a musician father, people may get the impression that he had been a great music teacher, and therefore was hard to get close to. In fact, he was a DIY enthusiast, and the background sounds to my growing up were the bang of hammers and the rasp of saws, rather than fine music. Well, now you can see that I am just ‘an ordinary person’.
When I create a successful piece, I feel great happiness. The work is no longer mine. It takes wings, soars through the air to reach its audience. Music changes colour depending on how it is perceived. It no longer matters who created it. Music has its own voice. Nobody has to make a salesman’s pitch for it.
Music is living thing. When one is hurt, or in distress, it can enter one’s heart and put together the broken pieces. My music never dies, no matter how many years pass….That is my aim and my hope.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 20 February 2006)
Wonderful Nature
It is May now. The sky is blue, and the sun bright. New leaves rustle in the breeze, sounding like waves on the ocean. It sometimes gives me the illusion of living near the sea.
The temperature soared to more than 30 degrees a few days ago. The TV showed naked children playing on the beach. Sea bathing in May? I could not believe my eyes. OK, let’s put on our “Climate change eyeglasses”. That is what I have to do nowadays, when I hear of really unseasonal events.
We used to have four distinct seasons. The older I get, the more I feel the impact of the changing climate on my body. In some ways it is similar to coping with jet-lag. I have to take care of myself better than I did 50 years ago, when the weather experienced in each season was so much more predictable.
As my body has long been accustomed to distinct seasons, I must say I need patience and effort to cope with the rapid temperature changes we experience now. In some ways it is similar to coping with jet-lag.
I went into my garden to find signs to reassure myself that it really was May. Clematis I had planted the year before last bore flowers. My hydrangeas had some new buds. There were beautiful flowers on the lower branches of my magnolias. “Magnolia” is called “tree lotus” in Japanese. Lotus flowers on a tree…I could understand why this tree was so named. I went upstairs and glanced down at the garden. The magnolias looked like lotus flowers floating in the air. Many plants appear to like this warm weather. They are growing quite quickly. Yes, they are living things. This notion gives us a feeling of gratitude at being in good health. Nature is absolutely wonderful.
The sky, the sea, wind, birds, flowers and stars…they are the essences of my song writing. People and places you relate to change as time goes by, but nature is immutable. In nature what changes in each season is only the colours. The different shades come and go, and come back again. The cycle of nature resembles your “home”; it will never disappear, and you will never forget it. Whenever I come across songs about yearning for “home”, the image of changing colours in nature’s cycle comes to my mind, and I realise: I am also a living thing.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 15 May 2006)
Dry Rain
Many songs have a common theme: “Rain”. I came across the song “Rhythm of the Rain” by the Cascades a long time ago; I had never listened to a Western song with this popular theme before.
‘Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain’…
Although this is a song about lost love, it has a strong rhythm and is not written in a minor key. Even sadness can be well expressed with a rhythmic beat… It seems Americans are very good at composing such songs. There might be a hidden message in the music: “Hey! Cheer up! Let’s not be sad”. I guess Americans, in general, do not cry easily. Perhaps this has an effect on the songs they write.
How about Japan? I think Japanese musicians tend to make the theme “Rain” a very sad one, and songs on this subject are usually set in a minor key, expressing a mood that would take one to such an emotional low that one would weep like raindrops. Such songs could never be in a major key.
My first song about rain bore the title of that single word: “Rain”, written in 1972. It starts as ‘Rain is falling, drumming on the tin roof’ and ends ‘I came here for you, because you are always alone. Look around you. All the roofs are tiled. I can’t drum on tiled roofs’. The character of the rain in this song is quite dry.
I used to live in a double storied house when I was a child, which was quite unusual in those days. I could see the Odakyu department store in Shinjuku, several kilometers away, from an east facing window, and the sun shone in brightly through a southern one. I often saw lightning through a northern window. It was a small house, but it had an open feel to it.
The number of double storied houses has increased rapidly since then, and the environment of the area has changed greatly. The view which used be so familiar to me has disappeared. However, the sound of gentle rain on tin roofs, the rustle of leaves, and the rain beating noisily on top of the house remain the same.
I cannot remember how I felt when I wrote the song, ‘Rain’, but I’m certain of one thing: the sound of rain remains a part of my childhood memories, and the thought of it always cheers me up.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 12 June 2006)
Climbing up a mountain with my husband
This is all about my husband.
“It’s ready now”, my husband said, glancing at a piece of paper on the table. It was a program for each of my concerts that were to be held during 2006. My husband, Koji (?) Suzuki had chosen the numbers, and decided on play order. He had performed the duty of stage director at my concerts in the 1990s, and the way he had managed them had always been impressive. Whenever I have questions regarding music, he can always be relied upon to supply an answer, and his responses are always pertinent. My husband is absolutely indispensable to me.
I had already noticed, when we first met in 1983, that he was one-of-a-kind, not only when we talked about music, but also on a wide range of other subjects. He often led our conversations in unexpected directions. I found myself having to use parts of my brain that had previously been all but dormant in order to face up to his challenges. My intellect was stimulated by our exchanges, and I had a feeling of satisfaction, as if having played an interesting TV game.
We have been together ever since. My husband was originally a pianist, but he concentrates on his role as my manager, stage director and record producer rather than on his own performances. He has a deep insight into my music as well as me as a singer. He is the only one whom I can trust completely. My way of living has changed since we got together; I have realised that I must not rush into things, but take one step at a time. I have also learned about keeping my work and domestic life in balance. I believe that this kind of life is ideal for me.
Do you not think that a marriage is like climbing a mountain? My own marriage is half way up the mountain at the moment, I guess. I heave a deep sigh, and look down. The view of my town below seems far away, and looks like being buried in mist like my old memories. Marriages are great events in our lives: a man and a woman grow together with love, while living under a same roof for many years. A husband and a wife climb up a mountain, and one day they reach the top and see the sun rising.
I believe that a marriage is there for us to learn love for humankind, step by step, in order, one day, to be blessed by sunshine on the top of a mountain.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 10 July 2006.)
Awakening of anti-war sentiments
Every year, with the arrival of August, I contemplate the horror of war. This is the summer month when we commemorate the dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as well as celebrating the anniversary of the end of World War ll.
I stay at home on the day of this anniversary; the heat outdoors is too gruelling to bear. When the moment for the minute’s silence approaches, the surrounding area grows strangely quiet, as if time has come to a standstill. An announcement from the city hall echoes around us, and it is time to offer a silent prayer for the dead.
As I was born after the end of the conflict, I did not have a full realization of the barbarity of war until I visited the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park in 1985. What I learned there was so shocking that a deep anti-war sentiment awoke within me. At the Peace Memorial Museum, my first reaction was that victims of the bomb would not be able to recover emotionally, as long as the horrific remnants of the disaster were left in place. However, I have changed my mind since then. Those harrowing remains should be kept permanently, so that those who have not experienced a major conflict can see and understand the consequences, and learn to live in peace, determined that war should never be repeated…until the word ‘War’ disappears forever.
When I first visited the Peace Memorial Park, before a rehearsal for a concert, I intended to go merely as a tourist. Many paper (origami) cranes adorned the memorials. Some of the statues were in memory of students who had lost their lives. I stopped and placed a coin into a box in front of them, and heard a recorded voice telling me about an unspeakable event which happened on that tragic day. This voice pierced my heart. Tears flooded my eyes. I felt as if the utter sorrow made a big hole in my heart. I actually cannot remember where I walked afterwards, and how I could manage to get back to the concert hall.
The following day, I went by train to the next town for the next concert. My heart was still heavy from what I had experienced the day before. I held a pen, as I always do whilst on the move, and then I heard part of the lyrics of my new song in my mind. The English title is “Wind and Roses”. It goes; “A breeze whistles, it awakens the buds of roses, Roses open their petals and blossom”. I had an image of a warm and sunny day, like a day in the height of spring. This image reflected what I cherished in my mind as memories of happy days gone by. I completed the song when I got back to Tokyo. This song is rather fantastical compared to my other works, and it is very special to me.
My Travels
We have four months left until the end of 2006. I did not go abroad this summer, but stayed at home. This has become my pattern in the last few years.
Nowadays I would rather stay in Japan, as I have many things to do here. My life is quieter than before. I travelled abroad to produce records for eleven successive years after I made my debut. While working overseas I often travelled to neighbouring countries during breaks.
Regarding my travels in America, I started off in Los Angeles, and then went to San Francisco, Las Vegas, as well as New York. While making an album in France, I extended my trip to Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, England, Egypt, Morocco, Kenya and the Seychelles. Countries where I gave concerts were Hong Kong, China, Malaysia and Indonesia. I have always enjoyed the characteristics of of different countries.
In the last month, my mother in law sent me a photo of her and husband with the Niagara Falls in the background. It was their first trip to Canada. Her face, in the photo, looked as young as a girl’s; it appeared that the presence of great Nature had the power to rejuvenate her.
Magnificent landscapes abound on earth. Many people are moved by the presence of Nature, and feel humbled before its grandeur. My heart wells up with thanks at the thought of Mother Nature. This planet bore me, raised me, and gave me space to live in. When one visits the sea or mountains, he (she) becomes filled with the Earth’s power. I believe that what we human beings can share is gratitude for the blessings we receive from Nature.
Although I do not travel at the moment, I still enjoy observing the world through the clear window called ‘High Vision’; (called “High Definition” in the West. Note for consideration) for instance, going through Doraemon’s ‘Doors Everywhere’. I feel nostalgic when I watch a TV program about a country I once visited; I remember the smells and the feel of the place. What is strange is that it makes me feel like I am actually walking there. My desire to travel abroad is not nearly as strong as it used to be. However, I am certain that if I got to visit new countries, I would experience the same novelty and excitement that I did in the past.
Sing for Christmas
When I was a girl, Christmas Eve, the 24th December, was always an exciting day.
There was a big round cake with strawberries and cream on top, as well as a bottle of red wine on the table. It was a feast for us; what a happy time.
It appears that Christmas in Christian countries is considered to be a solemn day, and that people celebrate it quietly. We (Japanese), have an impression that in Western countries, people have parties on that day, with big Christmas trees placed in the living room, and many presents underneath. This sort of party seems to us so luxurious that ordinary people could not afford to hold one.
In fact, Christmas is a religious occasion, and it is one of the holy days commemorated by Christians each year. Most Japanese are not interested in the fact that Christmas is a religious holiday. Nevertheless, one can consider the image of this holy day as a magical time. I have never forgotten the delight of Christmas with my family, feeling peaceful, wrapped with warmth. At least I fulfil Christ’s message of love for and between mankind, by remembering the love I received from my family.
I listen to classic Christmas carols such as ‘Silent Night..Holy Night…’ which was apparently composed in the early 19th century, and ‘Joy to the World! The Lord is come..’ and so on, as well as festive songs such as ‘Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer…’, always with a feeling of nostalgia. As for contemporary Western Christmas songs, ‘White Christmas’, written in the 1940s, is particularly close to my heart right now. This song is about a Christmas long ago, looked back upon as you are writing your Christmas cards, wishing your family and friends happiness.
As for the contemporary popular seasonal songs, I especially like John Lennon’s ‘Happy Christmas’. This is quite different from his other compositions: love songs that reflect his own personal experiences. The melody resembles Gospel music, and it has lyrics wishing peace to all. The song builds to a large choral ending. This final part invites the listener to join the chorus and sing along with the singers. The message of ‘Happy Christmas’ is that people should be more open, no matter that this world urges them to close their hearts. I think this is a song very much for our times.
What a Wonderful World
The other day, I sang Louis Armstrong’s ‘What a Wonderful World’ for the first time. I cannot remember how long it’s been since I last sang an English song in public.
Before I made my debut, I actually only used to sing English songs. I wonder how it sounds to foreign native speakers when a Japanese singer sings a song in their language. Would the feeling put into the performance come through? That was one of my big concerns when I made a record in French in 1977, after having had French lessons. Later, a French friend of mine said, “I like it when you sing in Japanese”. Italians admired my French singing with comments like: “You sound like a French vocalist!”. Chinese fans said “Your song in French sounds lovely” and wanted more. These experiences, and my apprehension about singing in French, led me to question my own identity. As a result, I went back to basics; Japanese is my language, and how better to express myself in song, than to use my mother tongue.
We tend to hear foreign words as just a series of sounds. To really grasp the meaning of the lyrics of a song, one needs to have a deep understanding of the language being used. For a singer to succeed in performing a song in a foreign language, he/she must feel in sympathy with the message of the words. Then they can make the song totally their own. The singer should not worry too much about pronunciation; this could badly effect the mood of the song.
Early in my career, one of the songs I used to sing in English was ‘Medgar Evers Lullaby’, which conveys deep sorrow beautifully, using a simple melody. I first came across it in a Judy Collins’s song book. I was greatly moved by it, and started to sing it, accompanying myself on guitar. Strangely enough, I managed to make this song my own, even though it was written in English. In fact, people used to say that this title was synonymous with my own name, at a time before I started writing my own songs. Ahem! Enough about me.
Back to ‘What a Wonderful World’. I am not sure how much I will make this song my own, but I would really like to sing it at my concerts from now on. I particularly like the line: “They’ll (babies) learn much more than I’ll never know”.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 5th March 2007)
Jumping toward the new me
This March has passed very quickly, as there have been many events such as my daughter’s graduation and entrance into high school. When I put my name to papers regarding my children’s schools, I often get the feeling that I must get my act together and become a stricter parent.
I tend to become tense whenever I deal with school matters; maybe this is because I was not a very keen pupil myself. I did not feel at ease in the classroom, and was always checking whether it was time to go home. However, one incident during my junior high school days changed my life dramatically.
This happened on a day when I had to make a presentation to the whole class. On the way to school, I saw a bundle of leaflets placed outside the subway station, so I picked one up. It was a funny short story. I decided that this story would be my presentation. I vaguely remember that this story was about toddlers, and why they fall so easily. To my great surprise, my classmates roared with laughter, as soon as I started to read the story. They did not stop, and the laughter was renewed with each line I read. I did not understand what was so funny, but I just read on with a straight face.
I became a ‘funny girl’ overnight, and this helped me to overcome the barrier that had long stood between me and the my fellow pupils. Gradually, I started to enjoy going to school. Perhaps this was my nature after all. You may also find your own personality when you least expect it. You do not need to search for your true character; you can discover it by accident, any time. It is inborn, so it can surface with a little encouragement. That’s what happened to me.
When at high school, I had an opportunity to sing in front of my friends. I am not sure whether it was the time I had started to feel bored with school again, but this occasion helped me to discover my ‘singing voice’. What I found then has become my own ‘path’. Looking back, I often worried over many matters. However, I tried to make these concerns a starting point for finding my own way, and, once successful, it always helped me to jump towards the next stage of my life.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 2nd April 2007)
What We Learn When Time Goes By
The Beatles’ last album ‘LET IT BE’ was released in England on 8th May 1970. One of the songs on the album was ‘The Long and Winding Road’. This piece was written when the group was about to break up and the members were not getting along with each other. When I listened to this piece for the first time in my teens, I was more impressed by the beautiful melody and orchestral setting, with strings and horns, than by its lyrics. At the time I was not so effected by the sad thread that ran through the song. I read the words rather literally and thought this song was about the Beatles going their separate ways.
The other day, I happened to listen to this song again on the radio. The lyrics resonated vividly with me this time, and the melody struck me as profoundly sad. I felt sympathy for the protagonist of the song, who seemed to be in a painful situation. It goes; Any way you’ll never know, the many ways I’ve tried/ And still they lead me back, to the long winding road/ You left me standing here a long long time ago. It sounds like a lament for a ‘communications breakdown’, so prevalent in the world of today.
Songs reflect society, and their messages appeal strongly to its members. We appreciate the lyrics of old songs much more deeply now than when we were young, the passing years seeming to bring us understanding. What we do not understand when we are young becomes much clearer in with age.
In fact, I find that this is happening to me almost every day. I find that I really enjoy these new discoveries. I nod to myself and say “Well, I’ve been around quite a while, haven’t I?” I thought that the comment the DJ made, when he played the song on the radio, sounded rather amusing: “Sometimes people pronounce ‘Beatles’ incorrectly. Make sure not to call them ‘Biatorusu’”.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 7th May 2007)
I hear Debussy breathing
I am sitting, thinking of the many composers who were also pianists, and who are no longer with us. How wonderful it would be if I could listen to them playing their own works.
Many of us are quite familiar with classical music. Music has been passed down over generations in the form of written (and later printed) scores, eventually to be performed by living artists to reach our ears. I am one of those who learned music by reading scores and listening to performers play the pieces. In my opinion this is a great way to appreciate music, even if we can never have the opportunity of listening to the great composers play their own works. Paper and ink keep music alive, enriching our lives. Thanks to modern technology, sound can be faithfully recorded, and any music can be stored permanently (as long as nobody deletes the master). I wish that this technology had existed hundreds of years ago. I would then have been able to listen to Mozart or Beethoven playing the piano whenever I liked.
A classical music channel on the cable TV sometimes broadcasts fascinating programs. For example, one such episode featured a recording of Debussy playing his own music on the piano. No kidding! I rushed close to the TV, and turned up the volume. There was a little surface noise on the recording, but even then I could hear a church bell ringing and birds chirruping in the background. It was incredibly moving, as if I could hear Debussy breathing. His presence between each note was so real for me that my heart beat quickened.
Actually, great people in the past would have led lives like you or me, but we tend to idolize them, as we only know their stories through their biographies. When one looks at a faded, monochrome photo of a great personality, his or her eyes seem to talk to one in silence. As one does not know what message those eyes convey, their gaze has the power to stir one’s imagination almost without limit.
I sometimes see unfathomable pain on the faces in the photos. However, these expressions may only be the result of stomach aches; they are all human beings, like us, after all. The greatest music could be compiled from the various aspects of the lives of mortal beings. Once again, I would like to pay homage to the great composers, and congratulate them on their magnificent works.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 2nd July 2007)
Producing a CD, an involving process
I have been recording a new album recently. The process of making an album is always interesting to me. We musicians compose several layers of different sounds in order to create our individual musical world. It has been 11 years since I last made an album; the one we are working on at the moment consists of various types of music.
It was my new director’s idea that we should have two arrangers, each having unique skills that complement each other. In fact, although I write the music, many other people are involved in completing each song.
I have worked with many arrangers in my career so far. Takasuke Kida arranged my concerts before I made my recording debut, and he accompanied me to America to make my first album. David Campbell joined me on a number of recordings in L.A., and it was Michel Bernholc with whom I worked while based in Paris. Motoki Funayama arranged my songs such as ‘Sayonara dakewa iwanaide (Just Don’t Say Good Bye)’ and ‘Koibito Yo (To My Beloved)’, with elements of Japanese popular music. Every one of these arrangers contributed to the quality of my recorded works. We do discuss ideas for the interpretation of the song before recording, but I leave the final arrangement up to them. I do not know how my music will sound until I listen to it in the studio. When I do, I am always delighted, feeling like a child just having received an unexpected present. A completed piece is like a beautiful tapestry, woven carefully from many threads. Each song is one of a kind.
During my career I have met many musicians. I went to America in the early 1970s, when singers such as Carole King and James Taylor were in their prime. Their powerful and tasteful arrangements were hugely impressive. With rich strings, their songs were grand and evocative. The sounds of their work greatly aroused my interest in arranging my own songs. I had been quite satisfied with singing, accompanied only by guitar, until then, never thinking that my voice or melodic lines could harmonize with strings. However, those instruments became essential to my music. Now, producing a CD is the realization of my dreams.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 6th August 2007)
I wish we had forests in the cities
August is over, having tormented us with scorching heat. The weather forecast says that temperatures above 30 degrees will run on into September. Going back to my car, which I had left in the blazing sun, the temperature inside indicated 43 degrees. “Oh My God!” I muttered. I tend to get incredibly thirsty when it is this hot. The other day, while driving in Aoyama-Dori, I desperately searched for a café which served ice cream. Until a few years ago, it was quite unusual for me to eat ice cream, as I often suffer from stomach problems, and was usually very careful not to eat or drink anything cold, even in summer.
As I drove, I saw many people had started to gather in Jingu-Gaien, from the late afternoon, to see a firework display. I parked in a car park, where people were queuing up impatiently in front of a cold drink vending machine. I said to myself, “We are all the same, aren’t we?” I walked northward along the street, where I found a café. The menu outside showed that they served a parfait. I went in, having raised my expectations for ice cream, but unfortunately they did not have what I wanted.
There was a pleasant surprise for me, however, as the flexible staff members at the café did not get baffled by my request, and immediately produced the kind of ice cream I liked. Phew… It cooled me down enough to feel normal again. I was going to take a walk along a nearby avenue, only to realize that I did not have enough time. I just took some photographs of ginkgo trees on the avenue, and then went back to work.
While I was taking photographs, though, I did not see that the trees, standing against the grey sky, looked exhausted by the heat, as I noticed later in the photos. You see, it is not only us human beings who become breathless in this blistering weather. Much of the ground in our big cities is covered with asphalt which retains heat, and is one of major causes of the so-called ‘urban heat island’ phenomenon.
In fact, when one stands in even a small wooded area, the breeze feels cool and pleasant. Raw earth is good at keeping the temperature down. I wish there was an enormous forest in the very middle of Tokyo…. a place where human beings could live comfortably, even in this vast city; an oasis in this desert. This sort of place is probably what all creatures need now.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 3rd September 2007)
Learning not to forget my own pace
I have just ripped off last month’s leaf of my calendar and seen the photo for December. The picture was quite a surprise.
For me, images associated with December would reflect the hustle and bustle, as well as the restlessness of the holiday season. Therefore, I had expected the picture would express this type of seasonal event in vivid colours. However, it was a simple photograph, showing a snowscape in a pale shade of blue, a bare tree standing on its own in a field, and sunset lit clouds floating in the sky.
All the idle thoughts flitting through my mind vanished, and I felt that I was surrounded by walls of silence. If only I could stay in this sort of place at the end of each year, I would be able to welcome the new year feeling purified. I mean in a place where there are no conflicts or worries…
I was rather an innocent girl when I lived with my parents, excited by simple things. When the second school term finished and the winter holiday started, Christmas was not far away. My heart was thrilled at the thought of shopping for presents for my close friends, and pretty paper and fancy ribbons to wrap them in. Being young, in my teens, I did not mind the shops being flooded with customers, and the cold wind that blew in each time the shop doors were opened.
Not any more: I would rather avoid places that are packed with people. I take care of my health when it gets cold and I stay home. Ah well, now I am in my 50s! It was about 5 years ago when I started feeling that I wanted to spend December quietly. One of the reasons for this was that I often became unwell at the end of the year, being overwhelmed by seasonal matters, and always rushing around to sort things out.
Though I said I wanted to spend December quietly, I still find it gratifying to perform in concert halls at this time of year, where many people come to enjoy my music. I will keep on giving concerts, as long as there are audiences who appreciate them. I think it is quite important that I always remember not to forget my own pace, and avoid being swamped by the world rushing around me. Nowadays, I often think that I would be better off doing things according to my own rituals.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 17th December 2007)
Bringing Back Memories in the Place of My Ancestors
My family name is ‘Itsuwa’. I am now completely at home with it, but as a child this odd name often brought me great pain.
On my first day at primary school, the class teacher called me by name, perplexed: “I wonder how to say this one…Hello, Gowa San!” My face burned like fire with embarrassment when I heard her. After this incident, I began to hate my name which was so different from those of the other children. However, I never thought of finding the root of this unusual surname.
When I got married in 1984 and changed my surname, my husband advised me; “As you will continue using your maiden name professionally, you mustn’t forget your ancestors who gave you the name that has been with your family for generations”. His words led me to Goto Island in Nagasaki, where my father was born.
I flew from Nagasaki Airport to Fukue, and from there travelled by water taxi. After 20 minutes of being sprayed by the waves on the taxi, I arrived in Gorin Mura (Gorin Village) in Hisaka Jima (Hisaka Island), which was my journey’s end, and also the source of my family name. The local people were very welcoming and treated me as though they had known me all my life. They guided me up to a cemetery on a small hill, where I found many gravestones that bore my surname: ‘Itsuwa’. I was really surprised by this, but it seemed that my maiden name was not so unusual there at all.
My forebears were Catholic, and their graves looked like those of other Christians, with pretty flowers placed beside them. I stood among them for a while, feeling a fresh breeze on my cheeks. Standing there, my thoughts went back to my ancestors; so many years had passed, and there had been so many generations of their descendants. Suddenly, I felt a lump in my throat. I had never felt like that before. My ancestors in this small village, whose lives had revolved around the church, unexpectedly felt very close to my heart. I suppose that this was because I was one of their descendants…
My body is made up of the genes of my father’s and mother’s ancestors; therefore, I feel like it is no longer mine alone. Thank you, my antecedents of so many generations! Thank you again, for giving me my voice as a singer!
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 10th March 2008)
A season to Reflect on Life
Cherry blossoms lead into the gentle and calm world of spring, offering a time of beauty for the people admiring them. When the cherry blossoms fall, like a curtain before a stage, they vanish out of sight, going back to nature silently.
‘Meguriyuku Kisetsu (The Cycle of Seasons)’, in my album called ‘Personal’, was a song I wrote shortly after the death of my grandfather-in-law, who passed away in cherry blossom season. The theme of this song is that it is cherry blossoms that symbolize the coming of spring. Now, as I walk in the street of the song, near my home, feeling the joyous shadows of the blossoms above me, I think about ‘death’; we mourn for the dead, but one has to accept one’s fate. When I think about it, a feeling close to resignation comes back to me.
I did not feel like reading a newspaper on the day of my grandfather-in-law’s funeral. What was happening in the world, was reported on TV, and so on, seemed too far away and unrealistic for me to worry about. I had a strange sensation while on a bus on that day. I usually do not like to touch people, but somehow, on that occasion, the presence of other people close by made me feel the warmth of these living beings deeply. I was thinking sincerely, while looking at the view from the bus window: only the living can give kindness and warmth to others.
I attended the ceremony with my 8 year old son. He looked bewildered as it was his first funeral. He must have thought he had to do something for the mourners, who were downcast and silent. All of a sudden, he shouted; “Hey, everyone! Cheer up!” I was horrified, but surprised to see the smiles on the attendees faces, and my son’s words seemed to soften the atmosphere of this sad event. This episode somehow gave me a lot of pleasure. Maybe this innocent boy understood the ceremony as ‘the last act of life in the natural world’.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 7th April 2008)
Analogue Recordings – True to Life
Recently, I have started to listen to vinyl LPs again. These records have been packed away in the far corner of my cupboard since CDs took over the music scene, but LPs are now back on the front row of my collection.
It reminded me of the good old days when I took out a big 30cm vinyl LP from its sleeve, holding it up on my index finger. My record player had also been in the cupboard, deteriorating over time, and it stopped working after playing a few discs.
Feeling rather anxious, I checked on the internet to find out if record players were still available. Yes, there was the latest model turntable, which had only just come onto the market. I bought it, as well as a tube amplifier, straight away. It was such a relief to know that this old fashioned machine was still available, even though not on the shelves of retail stores. It was also a pleasant surprise to me that many people still love vinyl records and have kept the industry alive.
There are those who appreciate good sound quality. What I mean by ‘good’ is music that sounds live. Even if the music is processed through an effects unit, I still like the recorded sound to have a natural ambience. There were times, during recording sessions, when live music gave me goose-bumps, but then the recorded sound was disappointing. I must say, there is a lot of hard work for the engineers to capture the ambience of the live sound in a recording.
I do not mind the sound of digitally processed music, but still prefer analogue, as it retains the quality and feeling of the sound, which helps to create the mood of the music. Again, analogue sound draws the listener into what makes the performance unique: the performer’s feeling for the music, as well as space around the artists. For instance, ‘Mrs. Robinson’ and ‘Scarborough Fair’ by Simon & Garfunkel are very good examples of what skilled recording engineers can do with sound.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 9th June 2008)
Warning signs in everyday life
It has been 17 years since I started to drive a car and first went to a petrol station. While checking the amount I spent on fuel recently, I realized that, because of the steep rise in the price of petrol, keeping a car was effecting our household budget. Coincidentally, this was just after I started to walk, instead of driving, in order to build up my strength.
I am rather proud of myself for playing a part in reducing exhaust fumes, one of the causes of global warming. What is annoying, though, is that driving my car makes me feel guilty now, even when its use is necessary. One part of me says, “Don’t drive then”, and the other insists, “But you can’t walk with those heavy bags”. Actually, it is a huge a relief to find my car, which has been waiting patiently for me in a car park, after a long day at work. Also, being alone in the car on the way home gives me time and space to recover. I guess many people feel the same. If the global warming situation is really so critical, why haven’t the ‘Powers That Be’ taken some action and warned us about it?
We often discover something new when changing our routine. This happened to me while I was walking the distance from home to the station after the one I usually drive to. Looking at the flowers along the way, I felt as though I had just quenched a deep thirst. The sky, the smell of the trees, and the humming of insects all made me think of a single word: ‘coexistence’. While climbing up a steep hill, I realized that it was important not to rush, but to be calm, and breathe at my natural rate; I imagined that I was walking towards the earth’s axis. When descending, I walked with a light step, flexing my knees, visualizing myself sucked to the ground. The Earth is breathing; that feeling became clearer to me than ever before.
As long as we listen to them carefully, we know our own bodies better than anybody else does. If we take notice of the warning signs in our everyday lives, and stop at the red lights they trigger, we can improve our condition, and can start afresh at the next green light, moving towards better lives.
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 11th August 2008)
Leading a full life everyday
“Cells in our body are renewed everyday”; so said Mr K whom I met recently.
It seems to me that Mr K is a sort of ‘Body Maintenance Engineer’. My friend’s positive, but easy to understand, words suddenly made me feel as though a heavy weight, that long kept me stuck to the earth, had been lifted. According to him, one can improve the function of his or her body tissues by stimulating these newly replaced cells. This seems even to apply to our brains: if you keep on challenging your brain with stimulating activities, your brain cells will keep on developing. If you accept that you are an ‘old person’, it is easy to become stuck and not interested in doing or learning new things.
I have actually begun exercising much more than before. Mr K says, “The most important thing is breathing. We can work most efficiently when breathing deeply and feeling relaxed”. Indeed, my breathing becomes shallow when I am tense; then, even if I labour at my work, the result is not always satisfactory. Looking back, my best work has always been done when I was relaxed. Oh well, we all know that, but we human beings tend to get wound up anyway...
From now on, my challenge will be I to remain more laid-back, and to enjoy my work. I would like to be in top condition at all times, whether performing on stage, or even relaxing at home.
Well, as I wrote earlier, this is my last essay. I have written them at my leisure for the last three years. I hope that they have given you a glimpse at the background of my music. See you again, somewhere, sometime. Thank you so much!
(Tokyo Shimbun Evening Edition 20th October 2008)
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