Ume Viewing

 

 Dear reader, Arigatosan must apologize for the paucity of posts this month. She has had many, many adventures, and will eventually file a thorough report. However, her stolid journalistic drive has been temporarily undermined by boy drama. Which happens. But liberal amounts of chocolate have been applied to the issue, and so it should clear up sooner rather than later. With these difficulties in mind, please forgive me for taking an essay I had to write for my Music of Japan class and masquerading it as a proper blog entry. As it is such, and some of the words I use take a little time to explain, I have glossed several of them at the bottom of the page.

On Saturday I attended my first Japanese festival: the ume matsuri, which celebrates the burgeoning blossoms of the Japanese apricot tree. The event took place at the Yushima Tenjin shrine, just south of the great Shinobazu pond that sprawls across a third of Ueno Park. I had hurried all the way from the station, dragging my sleepy roommate behind me, because I wanted to catch Sakuraisan’s 11:00 biwa* performance. Flapping banners and the murmur of a crowd drew us to the shrine. As we entered, we found ourselves in a gauntlet of steaming food-stalls, surrounded by a chaos of sounds and smells.  Over the sizzling of octopus and the shouts of the people cooking them, I heard the strains of the prologue to the Heike Monogatari.* I squeezed my way toward the stage as politely as possible, but the crowd only thickened. Fortunately most of the other spectators were rather elderly, and therefore somewhat short. I finally found a suitable vantage point, and was surprised to see Sakuraisan in full costume and makeup on a stage in a little passage of garden. Flower-laden branches hung over a windy little brook behind her. A bright red parasol shaded her from the wan winter light of mid-morning. Her voice was clear and low, projected by speakers over the din of the vendors. I know very little of traditional Japanese dress, but I believe she was wearing a pink iromuji kimono covered by a draping, translucent white garment tied decoratively down the front. 

            As I stood and watched the performance, I noticed an elderly lady eyeing me with curiosity. She sidled up to me and generously explained that it was a biwa performance, and I thoroughly surprised her when I responded, “Satsuma biwa desune?”* I learned that she was actually Sakuraisan’s mother, and I explained that Sakuraisan had come to my hogaku (traditional Japanese music) class and given us a very moving rendition of the Dan-no-ura* narrative. The mother modestly apologized that Sakuraisan’s voice was not very good because she had caught a cold, but I assured her that the performance was wonderful.

            In some ways, Sakuraisan’s performance was enhanced by the setting, but in many ways it was robbed of its power. I felt some camaraderie with the crowd of coughing septuagenarians that surrounded me, but with all the jostling and craning, I could not immerse myself in the music. When Sakuraisan performed in class, I sat only a few feet away from her. I could observe every delicate nuance as she wielded the plectrum, and really lose myself in the mournful vicissitudes of her song. I felt like she was summoning up something old and eerie, connecting me with something distant. But at the matsuri (festival), any sort of connection was crowded out by the other spectators. 

Flower-peepers.

            I would imagine biwa narration was traditionally closer to my experience at the matsuri. If passersby paid them to play on the street, the din must have been similar. However, my preconception of the historic biwa hoshi* was always a romantic image of Miminashi Hoichi,* sitting on a porch in the cold quiet of the night, with only ancient specters for company. Perhaps the matsuri was a more authentic context for this type of storytelling, but I definitely prefer the intensity of a more intimate setting.

Perhaps this impression highlights a key difference between the ‘Occidental’ approach to melodrama and that of the Japanese. Just as I would not place a keening tragedian among the shouts of the takoyaki (octopus ball) vendors, I also would not reenact a tale of vengeance and suicide with puppets (which I will describe at length in my Bunraku entry, if I get to it... yikes).  Sakuraisan’s tragic tone is sung in earnest, but there is nothing sacrosanct or separate about its context. Perhaps this is because the audience’s response is treated like a commodity, like laughter or fear. For example, when people watch horror films, they may shudder or flinch, but they can laugh at themselves as they do so. Similarly, Japanese performances seem to treat sympathy with the same sort of self-awareness.

The closest American equivalent is probably the soap opera, but that is still a different phenomenon. People rarely watch soap operas in large groups, and they are specifically designed to be cheesy and overwrought. When I listen to Sakuraisan and her biwa, I see genuine talent and elegance. Seeing her at the matsuri was like seeing someone perform King Lear at a carnival booth.

Yyeeeeaaah those are tentacles. On a stick.

Though distracting, the noise and energy of the matsuri was a wonderful new experience. There were so many strange sights and smells. I tried several new foods. I started with some rather rubbery geso (octopus), which I chased with some warm amazake (sweet rice drink) and a miso bun (veggies with soybean paste). By far my favorite was a warm little pumpkin cake, which I believe was called omenyaki. But the fried mochi (indescribable bliss) were a close second .

I also made an offering at the shrine. Our friend Yuko had joined us, and he showed us how to pay our dues to the popular kami* of learning. Five midterm exams lay ahead of me in the coming week, so I was grateful for the opportunity. We joined a swarm of people filing toward the main hall, and followed Yuko’s lead. He tossed a five-yen coin into a broad trough with a slatted lid that stood in front of the hall’s entrance. He clapped twice to get Tenjin’s attention, then bowed his head and appealed to the kami. When my turn came, I did the same. I think five yen was a small price to pay for the marks I got on my oral exam yesterday, but only time will tell if it will cover my two exams tomorrow. 

Me with Kappore dancers. Via roommate cam.

As we waited for Sakuraisan’s second performance, the tale of Nasu no Yoichi, my friends and I noticed a troupe of musicians heading past the main hall to a different part of the shrine. A few of them carried shamisen (Edo pd. guitar), so we decided to follow them. We came upon the second stage at the back of the shrine, which hosted bawdier folk dances that seemed a better match for the general atmosphere of the matsuri. Their quick, high-pitched percussion and the casual strumming of the shamisen suited celebration. I was unable to stay for the taiko (drums), but I would imagine it had a similar energy. I did see the kappore* dancers, and though I could not understand the story they narrated, I thought their dance was humorous and fun. They wore heavy makeup, and their faces were very expressive. But my favorite was the hayashyo makashyo dance. It had so much warmth and camaraderie to it. It simply looked like a group of humble, salt-of-the-earth people dancing together. I would imagine that the steady, repetitive rhythm of it would also lend itself to inebriation. Watching that dance made me want to party like a peasant. The best part was that at least half the audience clapped with the rhythm, and several elderly festival-goers rocked back and forth, murmuring the lyrics to themselves. 

Hayashyo Makashyo!

The general demographic at the matsuri reminded me of our experiences at the National Theater last week. Once again I was sad to see very few people my age. Even more so, I was surprised to find that Yuko knew almost nothing about what was happening around us. I suppose I know very little about the pastimes of my ancestors, but then a dearth of cultural heritage is one of America’s notorious flaws. Malm proposed that dying art forms are often maintained or revived by foreign cultures, perhaps because exoticism or novelty gives them value. Perhaps seeing a biwa performance in a small concert hall would be just as special in Los Angeles, but an entire matsuri is a difficult export, indispensable as it is. I only hope younger generations reach out and claim the heritage that is their birthright.

*Glossary:

Biwa - Traditional Japanese lute, first mentioned in Japanese writings of the 8th century, adapted from the chinese pipa, which is derived from the same persian prototypes as the Indian sitar and the European guitar. See my Feb. 1st entry.

Heike Monogatari - one of the world's great epics, arguably the most influential piece of literature in Japanese history. Wikipedia can do it better justice than I. However, I described it briefly in my Feb. 1st entry. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heike_monogatari

"It's a Satsuma biwa, isn't it?" - There are four prominent varieties of biwa; the satsuma biwa was developed during the Edo period (17th-19th cent.) and is known for its sweet and nuanced timbre; the name is derived from its provenance.

Dan no Ura - the decisive battle that ended the Gempei war; the climax of the tragic Heike Monogatari, described in my Feb. 1st entry.

Biwa Hoshi - Blind itinerant monks who sung narratives to the accompaniment of the biwa; most popular between the 13th and 16th centuries. Japan traditionally reserved certain professions for the blind as a kind of built-in welfare system; e.g. masseurs (zato) and musicians. The biwa hoshi formed powerful guilds and were actually utilized as a network of spies for one clan during the 15th century. Basically, they were badasses.

Miminashi Hoichi - "Hoichi the Earless," a famous biwa hoshi who found himself a little too popular with the undead. There were consequences. His story is also colorfully illustrated in the film Kwaidan. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C5%8Dichi_the_Earless

Kami - Shinto deity. There are over 8 million in Japan; they really aren't the same as 'gods' in the Occidental sense of the term, but maybe the word 'spirit' applies? In any case, understanding the nature of the 'kami' is an important insight into even the modern history of Japan; I think Americans may grossly misunderstand the traditional "divinity" of emperors, and how that pertained to the ideology of Emperor Showa (NB: we know him as "Hirohito," but the use of that name is considered very disrespectful here--once an emperor dies his name changes). In any case, take a look if you're curious: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kami

Kappore / Hayashyo Makashyo - Your guess is as good as mine! ^_^ I believe the former is a comedic dance traditionally performed by pros while the latter is a folk dance that peasants did together at festivals? But the oft-repeated chorus was "Hayashyo Makashyo!" so it will forever be that in my mind.