Kazuki Tomokawa

Kazuki Tomokawa, c.a. 1975

The appeal of folk music isn't difficult to understand. Music, starting in the 1950s, has been dominated by popular forms of music, such as rock and roll. At first, these new popular styles were influenced by traditional sounds and styles, but as time went on it pop has grown into what we know today. For this reason, people have sought out more substantial forms of music, and folk music is one such avenue. In light of the westernization of Japanese culture in post-war Japan, it's no wonder that there was also a resurgence of Japanese folk music. The height of folk music in Japan was in the 1970s, and in the midst of it was Kazuki Tomokawa (友川 かずき).

(Presumably) a work of Tomokawa's art

I specifically waited until today to write this particular piece, because it 64 years ago today that Tomokawa was born under the name of Tenji Nozoki (及位典司), later adopting Kazuki Tomokawa as his gou or art name. The use of such pseudonyms is is a common practice among artists from East Asia. While his music is the most accessible form of media to western audiences, Tomokawa has been active as a poet, painter, essayist, and bicycle race commentator—this fact reminds me a bit of how author Haruki Murakami is an avid runner.

His distinctive vocal style has earned him the moniker of "the screaming philosopher." During his high school days, he discovered poetry—particularly the poetry of Chuuya Nakahara (中原 中也)—becoming an avid reader. It wasn't until the 1970s that he began to set his poetry to music. That being said, he continues to produce music, even today.

Hanabana no kashitsu, cover

As has been the case with a lot of these pieces, there is a dearth of information available in English about Tomokawa. However, a documentary called La Faute des Fluers—named for his 1993 album Hanabana no kashitsu—was produced in 2010, and can be found in three installments on youtube.



Many of Tomokawa's albums can be purchased from the Amazon—albeit, in Japanese. For those curious about his art work, he produced a book of his visual art in the 1990s called Aozora (青空) available for 3,049 ¥—about 30 USD.


読んで、ありがとう。

Yume wa Yoru Hiraku

Just listen.

Yume wa Yoru Hiraku (夢は夜ひらく, Dreams Bloom at Night) is an example of enka, a style that combines traditional Japanese music with influences from jazz and rock and roll. Keiko Fuji's version of the song (the third from the video), was released in the 1970s, helping to maintain the popularity of the genre during the 1970s.

Running in Tokyo

When I began this project, I thought that an update schedule of once a week was appropriate. That would give me enough time, from week to week, to get ideas about what to write about, and then to research them enough so that I can at least appear a little knowledgeable about the subject. But, I've always had it in mind to write more frequently, but not on such long topics as I do on the weekends. Now that I've been doing this for about a month, I've started to find little bits of information that, while interesting, don't necessarily lend themselves to long stories, so I've decided to start posting smaller pieces, during the week, while I work on the longer ones.

Map of common running routes in Tokyo.

Last Saturday, I found myself walking in Federal Hill—on the way to what has become my favorite sushi bar—and decided to stop into a small bookstore that I've walked by a few times. I really just wanted to look, but when I go into bookstore, an impulse buy is never far behind, and this time I found they had a copy of Haruki Murakami's What I Talk about When I Talk about Running. Clearly, I had to buy it. Later that evening, I al --so came across this study, which takes composites of data about where people run in different cities in the world.

"As long as I can run a certain distance, that's all I care about... This is the same sort of tack I find necessary when writing a novel. I stop every day right at the point where I feel I can write more. Do that, and the next day's work goes surprisingly smoothly... To keep on going, you have to keep up a rhythm. This is the important thing for long-term projects." — Haruki Murakami

Takashi Murakami and superflat

First Day of Summer, June 21, 2011

First, I have to apologize for not writing for a while-- I've been in the process of moving to a new city, and I've just about finished setting up things in my new apartment (including an internet connection), and have been quite busy. At any rate, I wanted to jump back in with yet another form of media altogether. After some thinking, I thought maybe it's about time to do something that is related to anime and manga, so I did a little reading, and came across Takashi Murakami (村上 隆).

Sunrise at Futamigaura, Kunisada

When I started out my research on this topic, I had one question really in mind: where did the visual style of anime and manga come from? Part of the answer came in the form of the term superflat. This term was coined by Murakami to describe the general aesthetics of Japanese art. Whereas as western art had developed a tradition of trying to convey depth and a sense of three dimensions, Japanese art has been characterized by compositions of 2-dimensional shapes and large fields of color. This can be seen, for example, woodblock prints called ukiyo-e (浮世絵).


Murakami took this analysis a step further, applying the term superflat to Japanese society after the end of the second World War, when social stratification became less pronounced, and there has been a perceived lessening/shallowing of emotion, and an increase in consumerism.

Self-Portrait of the Manifold Worries
of a Manifoldly Distressed Artist

Murakami has taken the aesthetic principle and social ethos of superflat, and used this as an opportunity to create art. The imagery Murakami employs is as visually striking as it is labor intensive, relying on the creation of many layers of simple, 2-dimensional figures, such as the field of flowers seen to the left. Murakami also relies on a blurring of lines between high art and low art, as he incorporates stylings from anime and manga and borrows from otaku subculture to provide a wider social commentary.

Murakami has written extensively about Japanese art including Superflat, where he discusses the history behind contemporary Japanese visual art, and Little Boy: The Arts of Japan's Exploding Subculture, which explores the artistic and social history of anime an manga.

読んで、ありがとう。

Yasujirou Ozu, Tokyo Story

Theatrical Poster for Tokyo Story

The phrase, "art imitates life," at first struck me as just another cliché. However, after I found myself in my new apartment, without an internet connection (or furniture, or lights), and a copy of Yasujirou Ozu's Tokyo Monogatari (東京物語, Tokyo Story), I decided that perhaps I should go ahead and write about this film. Ozu often appears on lists of the greatest film makers, and has a strong following among cinephiles—those familiar with me know that I'm not a cinephile—however, outside of such circles, it seems that his reputation is Overshadowed by Akira Kurosawa.

For many—I assume—Akira Kurosawa stands out as the creator of some of the most memorable Japanese films to western audiences. However, according to film critic Donald Richie, Ozu is the most Japanese director. Kurosawa is known for making jidaigeki (時代劇) or period dramas. Even though they aren't action oriented in the sense of some western movies, they are driven by greater conflicts, mostly wars. Ozu's films are mostly concerned with the lives of ordinary Japanese families, and his films are almost always set within the homes of these families.

An example of a scene from the film.

Tokyo Story is considered to be Ozu's masterpiece, and in all the details of the storytelling, this shows. Perhaps, he is best known for his use of low, wide-angle shots to depict the subjects of the story in their home. Most scenes feature sitting subjects, so this positioning of the camera gives the sense that the viewer is seated in the same room as the characters-- indeed, it is also a practical constraint from filming inside the confines of a typical Japanese home, which provided relatively little space.

The genre of the film is best described as social realism—Ozu, throughout his career was keenly interested in portraying the dissolution of the Japanese family. In this story, an elderly couple travels to Tokyo to visit their children, only to find them busy with their own lives. The story moves along at it's own pace, but the plot isn't driven so much by action or dramatic tension as much as it is by the attitudes of the characters involved. That isn't to say, however, that the story isn't well written. Quite the contrary, the plot is engrossing—I felt myself absorbed almost immediately—and elegant.

Robert McKee wrote that "the archetypal story unearths a universally human experience, then wraps itself inside a unique, culture-specific expression." Tokyo Story takes something archetypal, as the family, but places them into the cultural atmosphere of post-war Japan. This is a theme that he would revisit throughout his career, often incorporating experiences from his own life into his films.

To anyone new to this film— or viewing it again— I suggest tracking down a copy of the Criterion collection's DVD, as it is accompanied by two documentaries on Ozu's films. Admittedly, a great deal of the information here comes from these sources, but it is important to see and hear this from the actors who worked closely with him.

読んで、ありがとう。

Hyakken Uchida, Realm of the Dead

Photograph of Hyakken Uchida.

Hyakken Uchida (内田 百閒) was a prolific Japanese author of both fiction and non-fiction, who is considered by many to be a literary genius. However, this reputation has not extended far outside of Japan, where he remains relatively obscure—as a matter of fact, I had difficulty gathering any information at all. He was born in 1889, and would later study Germanics (language, literature, history, etc.) at the Univeristy of Tokyo, graduating in 1914. Here he met with the pre-eminent Japanese author Natsume Souseki (夏目 漱石). After his studies, he worked as a professor of German, first at the Imperial Japanese Army Academy and then at Hosei University, until the age of 54. He then retired, so that he could focus on his writing.

Only two of his works have been translated into English: Meido (冥途, The Realm of the Dead) and Ryojun Nyujōshiki (旅順入城式, Triumphant March into Port Arthur). Both are found in a single volume, translated by Rachel DiNitto. Realm of the Dead is his first work, and is really a collection of sketch stories, that are heavily influenced by Japanese folklore, and the stories tend to be characterized by a dark and supernatural atmosphere, and how individuals respond to strange happenings. The story "Kudan" is considered one of the most famous from the collection, dealing with a man who suddenly finds himself transformed into the titular legendary creature, with the body of a cow and the face of a man. Other such stories typically feature such supernatural occurrences, which has lead some to criticize the collection as repetitive; however, the stories vary greatly in tone as far as being suspenseful, humorous, and sometimes just strange, which in the end negates any repetitiousness.

Classical Painting of a Kudan.

Triumphant March into Port Arthur is also a collection of short stories and sketches, but is more variable in the length of stories, and in many of the stories takes on an autobiographical tone, giving more insight into the "earlier" life of the author as a professor of German, where little biographical information (at least in English) exists. In the preface, Uchida addresses the difficulties he faced in getting the book published:

After ten long years, I finally finished Realm of the Dead. The book was ready to be published, but in that year Tokyo was struck by terrible misfortune. The great earthquake and accompanying fires completely destroyed the foundry plates, causing the book to suffer the unfortunate fate of going out of print. For the next ten years, I gnawed at my pen and ripped through paper, and somehow after piecing together this mere collection, I was lucky enough to receive the favor of a publisher. When the book was finally about to be printed, I reflected back on the path of writing and found it to be far to long and precipitous.

Poster for Madadayo.

I can't resist the urge to interject yet another history lesson, as Realm of the Dead was published in 1922 and Triumphant March into Port Arthur in 1934, which was a time of increasing Japanese nationalism and militarism, leading up to the Second Sino-Japanese war. Also, the earthquake alludes (most likely) to the Great Kantou earthquake of 1923, which remains the deadliest earthquake in Japan's history, with nearly 150,000 deaths, and resulting in a fair amount of political turmoil.

Most of Uchida's works were written during the years preceding World War II—a time of increasing nationalism and imperialism in Japan—and following Japan's defeat. Unfortunately, these works are still only accessible to those who can read Japanese. However, many of Uchida's essays and journals were adapted into the film Madadayo, Akira Kurosawa's final film, in 1993.

Concept art of Uchida viewing the moon and ruins
 with his students.

Madadayo is quite unlike many of the films that Kurosawa is better known for, such as Seven Samurai or Ran. It does not, for example, feature a cohesive plot, but rather focuses on several episodic periods of Uchida's life, such as the time spent in a small hut after the destruction of Tokyo in the war, or the search for his lost cat Nora. For those interested in the life of Hyakken Uchida, this film offers a lot of insight. For those interested in reading his non-fiction works, it still serves as a great substitute, being crafted by Akira Kurosawa, one of the greatest film makers of the 20th century.

 

Uchida distributes flyers to children describing his lost cat.

Hopefully, within the following years translations of more works will appear. Until then, what we have will have to do—though, I might mention that one more work may be available in the west. Uchida's Sarasāte no ban (サラサーテの盤) was made into a film entitled Zigeunerweisen. The film, an independent film, is also somewhat obscure, but again, there is very little available to the western audience.

読んで、ありがとう。

Sendai Mediatheque, designed by Toyo Ito

Exterior of the Sendai Mediatheque

Architecture, I have the feeling, is largely a mystery to a lot of people—at the very least, it is to me. People mostly connect to architecture through the physical buildings, once they are completed, but don't have as much familiarity with the history of or the conceptual/design aspect of architecture. Japanese architecture is no exception, as the term is likely to be most associated with the traditional design of Japanese buildings, before the Meiji restoration. However, in the late 19th century, Japan experienced its first period of westernization, and along with this came the western tradition of architecture. At first, many western architects designed building in Japan. But in 1877 the University of Tokyo was established with its own school of engineering and architectural program, and by the early 20th century Japan was producing architects who would design a modernized Japan. Indeed, there is a large body of history here, but it will have to wait. Instead, we'll skip ahead to the year 2000, marking the completion of the Sendai Mediatheque, designed by Toyo Ito (伊東 豊雄).

A schematic diagram of the structure.

Ito graduated from the University of Tokyo in 1965, and after his graduation worked with metabolist architect Kiyonori Kikutake—metabolism was itself an influential movement in Japanese architecture associated with Kenzo Tange and Fumihiko Maki. Ito is, however, not associated with metabolism, but rather with conceptual architecture, in which he attempts to unify concepts from the real, material world and the virtual world. Ito did not come into prominence until the mid 1980s, during the height of Japan's economic boom, when he designed such buildings as Silver Hut in 1984 and Yokohama's Tower of Winds in 1986. During these years, he would work with both  Kazuyo Seijima and Ryue Nishizawa, both influential architects in their own right, which places him very much in the center of post-occupation Japanese architecture. Ito continues to design buildings, and was recently named the 2013 winner of the Pritzker Prize, considered by some as the "Nobel Prize of Architecture" for his lifetime of contributions to the field.

The stairs of the building ascend through the tube.

A central theme in the design of the building are its 13 supporting tubes. Ito describes himself as a "neo-tubist," a term playing off the cubist movement, as it places emphasis on cylindrical structures as natural and allowing for the flow of people, water, light, etc. The building truly takes this to heart in every aspect of its design. First, the tubes provide the primary mechanical support for each level, rather than relying on a post-and-beam system as seen in other buildings. However, the (larger) tubes also provide transportation inside the building, housing stair cases and elevators. The tubes are integrated into the buildings air-conditioning system, allowing airflow between levels, and are even designed to allow light to filter down through the building.

Interior shot of the building.

As structurally innovating as the building is, the function of the Sendai Mediatheque is also meant to innovate on the traditional concept of a library, which have the sole function of housing a collection of books. Each floor of the mediatheque is dedicated to a different purpose, which includes a library for new forms of media (at least new in 2000), as well as providing spaces for citizens to hold public exhibitions, as well as a second gallery space for exhibitions sponsored by the library. Bringing all of these forms of media together is an aspect of Ito's conceptual architecture. In an interview, he said:

Architecture in [the] electronic age is [a] figuration of [the] vortex of information from the primitive age. The human body has been linked with nature as a member in which water and air circulate. People today are equipped with an electronic body in which information circulates, and are thus linked to the world through network of information by means of this other body. This virtual body of electron flow is drastically changing the mode of communication in family and community, while the primitive body in which water and air flow still craves for beautiful light and wind. The biggest challenge for us is how we can integrate these two types of body.

A short documentary was made about the building, including more information on it's construction and function, along with commentary by Ito himself.

A book on the Sendai Mediatheque was published in 2002, and Ito released a book on his broader works in 2009, for those interested.

読んで、ありがとう 。