Japan update

The First Annual Shin Jin Okete

December 1999
Hello in the winter season!

The air has turned biting cold. The wind an icy dragon flying through forests blows muraiki-like through the trees. Muraiki is a shakuhachi blowing technique in which blast of air is blown across the sharp shakuhachi blowing edge while hitting the resonant frequency of the note, thus creating a violently intense yet evocative sonic color. In a recent lesson, the sensei explained to me the virtues of not using muraiki too liberally. He said that in the days of the komuso (shakuhachi playing wandering monks) the komuso very seldomly used muraiki. They only used it while begging for money and food; and if they were caught using it freely, they were looked at as crude and unsophisticated in their playing. Another teacher told me that very few players could execute a proper muraiki, that's why it was shunned upon. Muraiki makes the entire flute resonate. If you only make the airy sound with the top of the flute then it sounds weak and withered. Which brings me to a quandry that I've been pondering about for a long time.

The tradition of honkyoku solo peices was founded upon the Buddhist philosophy of the practice of zen meditation with the goal of enlightenment. Within this practice, one strives to transcend the opposites of good and bad, subject and object, that and the other. Therefore, when playing honkyoku, all judgements are set aside and meditation sets in for the player essentially. All transformation is internal therefore esoteric in nature. In the past, the monks paid no attention to perfect pitch or length of flute, etc. All they were interested was the inner experience. All over Japan, anonymous monks composed hauntingly beautiful solo works to aid in their meditation. With the advent of the industrial revolution and the opening up of Japan to the West, this drastically changed the perception of the practice. The impact of Western classical music profoundly impacted the development of the shakuhachi. Now, the focus shifted outside and the inner experience became began to loose meaning. So, the meditative practice was changed into a performing art. The shakuhachi began to be used as a musical instrument rather than a religious tool. Concern for perfect pitch, tone quality, range, and high quality instruments were now big issues. The shakuhachi almost became extinct during the Meiji Restoration when Japan was being bombarded by all things Western, but was saved by a few die-hard traditional musicians and instrument makers who made the necessary changes and new music to take shakuhachi into the 20th century and beyond.

Incredibly, the venerable honkyoku pieces still survive and are flourishing to this day, ableit, perhaps in a new form. Struggling to learn shakuhachi is reaching to the heart of the practice of shakuhachi zen. I'll go as far to say that real honkyoku is when the beginner player starts playing and deals with the accompanying frustrations. When I hear someone making her or his first efforts at shakuhachi, I hear beauty and greatness in it. As one gains more skill in playing, much of the important lessons are lost and forgotten and there is a danger of the ego taking over, which is a trap all of us fall into sooner or later. We start to discriminate what is a good sound and bad sound, who is a good performer and who is a poor one. All this is really illusory. But we continue to be fooled by the ego's relentless trickery. I admit I constantly strive to be a better player. In fact, I just finished participating in a shakuhachi competition which I'll tell you about later in this email. I think it's important to learn good technique (from a good teacher), the physics and history of the flute in order to speak to people who have never heard shakuhachi before. But there must be a way to find a balance in the world of form. Perhaps the key is to remember that it's alright to make mistakes and to enjoy every step of the process, and not to get too attached to the results of your training. It's alright to enjoy the beauty of the form and sound of bamboo. And to remember once upon a time it all didn't matter. Just blowing a piece of raw bamboo was enough.

There is an undeniable urge within me to learn these honkyoku in Japan from the master teachers. The tones and phrasing speak to my soul more than any other sound or music, and playing this simple piece of bamboo, a quintessential Asian symbol of strength, flexibilty, and beauty inspires me to deepen my relationship with it and adds life to my identity as one with Asian blood running through my veins and being born in Japan. These are signs that this is my true path in life; my dharma, my purpose, my bliss. Where it leads is up to mystery.

I just got back from an amazingly intoxicating and ecstatic yet absurd experience. It was the Shin-jin Shakuhachi Okete, or competition for new, up and coming shakuhachi players from all over Japan. I believe it is the first of its kind in history. Shakuhachi playing men and women, and girls as young as 14 gathered from as far as Kyushu and Hokkaido came to Tokyo to compete for the grand prize of 300,000 YEN. I've been preparing for this for about 2 months, practicing religiously every day. But, I didn't do it for the money, but to make stronger connections with the shakuhachi community in Japan. Anyways, everyone is alotted five minutes to play any piece of their choice while 5 judges from different styles critique you. There is also an audience watching on as well. I was the first one in the auditorium; it was so interesting to see all the shakuhachi playing people come in one by one. I really felt this was a very special, and rare time. It's very seldom that several shakuhachi players gather in one place at one time. When all the contestants arrived (30 in all), we all picked numbers from a bag to determine which order we would play. I was number 6. Ideal, since I could finish early and watch and enjoy most of the other players. The piece I picked was a honkyoku called "Yamagoe", or Going Over the Mountain, a piece with a lot of explosive power. I was expecting many people to wear traditional clothes like kimono or something. But I was the only one to wear kimono. Most wore their street clothes or some other modern clothing. I really stood out which was good for the performance. I really like wearing WA-fuku. I feel really focused wearing it. I was really savoring the feeling of excitement and nervousness before my turn on stage. Heart beating like a race horse at the gate of the track, blood surging fire through every nerve. I walked on stage and bowed. Stood still and quiet for several seconds to calm; raised the bamboo to my lips and.... POW!!! hit the first note dead on running up the first line catching the rhythm of the piece making sure I pace myself well. BOOM!!! next phrase smoothe and powerful getting all the low tones perfectly. SHOOOM!!!!going through the rest of the piece with focused energy and sustained pulse rhythm of the moutain climb...Nervous, I jumped over a few small holes in a phrase; until the last SLASH of the wind on the blowing edge cutting air, resonating bamboo, in killer muraiki. I bowed and walked off stage.

Before and especially after the competition I met many nice shakuhachi people. I felt very close to them, like they were my family. But we all waited anxiously for the results of the contest. I really thought I would win or get into the top three. But alas, I didn't. I was #4! I was only a few points away from the top. First place went to a wonderful player, Toru Okuda from Yamanashi-ken, who played a modern piece. Second and third place went to Keiko Okawara and Iiyoshi-san, who also played modern pieces. Ironically, Furuya Sensei one of my teachers, who was one of the judges was the hardest on me since he knew Yamagoe very well. He's the only one who heard me stumble at those little spots in the piece. But I felt great that I was in the top 10 and #4 out of 30 and the only non-Japanese in the whole thing, and top of those who played honkyoku. I'm also kind of glad I didn't win any money either, since it keeps me hungry for learning more and my ego doesn't get too out of proportion. My friend felt really disappointed since he didin't score so high, and this is what is so absurd about music competitions, especially shakuhachi. Music is meant to be enjoyed and meditations have no room for narrow judgements. Like I said earlier, this is all an illusion of the ego's making. But there is so precious little happening with shakuhachi anywhere that events like this should be supported. In any case, it's a great incentive to practice like crazy!

Afterwards we all gathered for a party and got to know everyone. The shakuhachi joyful spirit of bamboo people enjoying each other's company is intoxicatingly beautiful. This is the REAL stuff. Competition and money is nothing compared to the relationships formed here. I made many new friends in the shakuhachi world. It was heart warming to see the future of shakuhachi in Japan and know it is in the hands of wonderful people. Riding home on the train, exhausted and in a blissful daze, I felt the opening of a new door...

To be continued....