Japan: Japanese HUG Lullaby

Visitors to Japan encounter one of humanity’s most complex and fully articulated cultures. Japanese traditions in language and literature, arts and crafts, cuisine and architecture, social mores and performance have been defined and shaped through centuries of continuous practice, and all continue to have growing edges as long and keen as a Samurai sword’s. Japanese social and cultural sophistication may put off some visitors, but for most of us, that is precisely why we’re here!

It should come as no surprise, then, that lullabies—komoriuta—form a longstanding musical genre in Japan. The brilliant (and physically challenged) New Orleans journalist-turned-Japanase-folklorist, Lafcadio Hearn, collected a lullaby (from Izumo province, in the early twentieth century, about a baby sleeping) that parallels the lyrics to the song we wrote below.

The lullaby that Jan and I wrote to commemorate our stay in Japan is a living part of the komoriuta tradition. Here’s the very moving back story:

At Bokko Birth Center in Takamatsu, I witnessed a very tender moment that Jan had with a grandmother and her baby. The grandmother, Taeko Watanabe (an English teacher), was learning from Jan some games to play with her daughter’s month-old baby. In the course of their conversation it was revealed that Ms. Watanabe’s husband had died a month before the baby was born.

Naturally, she was still grieving this loss, even as she was overjoyed about the birth of her new granddaughter. Jan helped Ms. Watanabe learn about a baby’s increased crying at two weeks of age—a normal development that the grandmother had interpreted as the baby’s crying for her lost grandfather. 

Jan suggested to Ms. Watanabe, a Christian, that in America some people think that when babies look away from their caregivers (another normal newborn behavior) they are "watching angels."

This observation deeply touched the Japanese grandmother, and she had a little cry and hug with Jan. Right after that moment, Ms. Watanabe spontaneously launched into singing a lullaby—not having heard, yet, that lullabies are a special interest of mine. Her voice caught with emotion as the camera rolled.

I could not NOT base my Japanese lullaby on this touching experience. The melody Ms. Watanabe sang sounded familiar, and with a little Internet research I discovered that it was written by Franz Schubert. Our nursing professor friend, Kimie Tanimoto, confirmed that this song is, indeed, one of the most common Japanese lullabies. Ms. Watanabe later sent me the Japanese lyrics (in romaji characters), and she gave permission to use her recording.

My arrangement of this song (see it below) starts with Ms. Watanabe’s version of the Schubert lullaby (in Japanese, of course). She took some liberties with the melody, and chose her own key; both changes I preserved. Then, after a father-friendly key change, three verses in English follow, which Jan and I wrote.

The Japanese babies we met, and whom Jan got to work with, possessed remarkable powers to calm themselves and to focus on objects or faces. Dr. Brazelton had observed the same phenomenon when he worked in Japan in the 1980s. The lullaby lyrics we wrote reflect the capabilities of a baby—so reassuring to a loving parent, or a grieving grandmother—and also tell the story of birth in a Japanese setting (based on the birth that Jan attended).

I hope you enjoy this attempt to distill part of our experience of Japan into a simple song. 

Japan: Calm, Cool and Collected in Kagawa and Tokyo

I love being in Japan again. It’s our third visit. I can order in a restaurant now (by pointing), produce the right money, and bow and say “thank you” in more ways than one. I know to accept unbounded hospitality from acquaintances, and so I rein in requests because they will be taken as an obligation, and acted on directly. Japanese people typically work VERY long days. (7-11 stores are so ubiquitous in Japan, I think, because those numbers define the typical work day here!) Japanese social hierarchy remains stubbornly rigid. A Japanese person’s life is bounded by countless expectations (most of which pass blissfully over the head of most foreign visitors). The bottom line: It’s a lot of work to be Japanese!

Perhaps that is why (and also because the Japanese summer can be as hot as North Carolina’s!) that the aspect of local culture which attracts me most this trip is the “calm, cool, and collected” ambience that is cultivated, sometimes in the most surprising places, all over Japan. Japanese people can certainly be exuberant and lively—indeed, many of the people we like best in Japan have those traits—but I also appreciate the moments of contrived tranquility I encounter in East Asia.

Japanese gardens are, of course, prototypical centers of relaxation, but even at the longest shopping arcade in Japan (think Southpoint Mall but eight times the number of shops and much quieter), the piped-in music is relaxing bossa nova recordings. I’m delighted that this is often the go-to sound in East Asia: calm and cool, redolent of love and nature, and light as air.

I hear this sound at night, too. As those who are closest to me know, I have the peculiar habit of listening to the radio through the night. If I wake up, I tune in until I drop off. In both Korea and Japan I woke in the middle of the night to hear that bossa nova sound—in Portuguese, English and French, as well as Japanese and Korean. The Brazilians have successfully sold the world a musical outlook on life. I’m glad that the sound pleases me so!

Also on Japanese and Korean FM I've heard a mixture of western classical, jazz, and standards. A radio station I chose in Takamatsu would focus a two-hour, late-night show on a particular artist. One night it was Harry Belafonte, the next Richard Strauss, and then Connie Francis. All great choices, I thought! Our first night in Tokyo we even went to a 24-hour Denny’s (trying—successfully—to find vegetables, which are served mainly just as a garnish in Japan, unless fried as tempura), and what did we hear but a cool and light piano trio playing a very hip, slightly up-tempo version of “Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head”!

Today we walked over to St. Luke’s Hospital and School of Nursing, where Jan will make a presentation in a day or two. It was noon on a bank holiday, and the beautiful, art-deco bell tower burst into the Westminster Chimes. I noticed that the whole thing was taken at a slower tempo than you hear in the States or the UK, and there was an especially long pause between each phrase. Time for a breath! After their twelve deep bongs, the real bells then played “Amazing Grace,” including a key change. A fancy carillon! We were sitting in the children’s vegetable garden below, taking in the vibrations with our whole bodies. It couldn’t have been more peaceful!

Another small example of Japanese peace and calm is the way pets behave. Tiny, apartment-sized dogs are widespread. But do they ever strain at their leashes or yap or snap? I have yet to see one do that, even when Jan rides by on her scooter. The dogs are completely relaxed and attuned to their owners. In the Takamatsu arcade Jan turned around from peering into a store window to find herself eye-to-eye with a small white dog and a large white cat, sitting like twins in a two-seater baby stroller. I wish I had pulled out my camera in time! The dog and cat literally seemed like happy siblings, and they were both completely calm in the presence of a gaijin with her odd appliance. The owner smiled calmly.

Perhaps the most striking example of Japanese calm I have noticed—and the one that might be the key to the rest—is the way babies are born in Japan. Jan was privileged to visit a birth center and actually attend a birth there. Everything was peaceful and calm at this birth. Indeed, the laboring mother wass encouraged to “Breathe . . . breathe . . . breathe!”  There was NO PUSHING. Several Japanese doctors, nurses, and midwives explained that there’s no need to push; the uterus will do the work. Epidurals are practically unknown, and the c-section and episiotomy rates are far below ours. (Circumcision, of course, is virtually unknown in Japan.) Babies come into the world in a relaxed way, and they remain that way.

When Jan’s mentor, Dr. Brazelton, researched Japanese babies in the 1980s he observed that they had remarkable powers to regulate their states and to pay close attention. The several babies Jan has worked with in Japan have all had the same ability to remain in the “Ready Zone” for much longer stretches than American babies of the same age usually can manage.

We stayed in a traditional tatami room for our last night in Takamatsu. (I believe we got an upgrade because they’d misplaced our reservation.) Traditional tatami mats are made of tightly-woven grass, rectangular and about two inches thick. They are typically about 6’ X 3’ long—perfect for a reclining person. Our room had a large sleeping/sitting room (about six mats across), a reading or conversation room, separated by sliding doors, plus a bathroom suite with a large sink in one room and separate, smaller rooms for shower and soaking tub, and toilet (with the ubiquitous, but totally unfathomable, multi-function toilet seat). The tatami room smelled like a hay-loft (but not enough to set off any allergic reactions!). The shoji screens filtered soft, natural light. The cedar plank ceiling appeared to be supported by cedar posts (but the posts could have been just cosmetic). Across the ceiling, concealing indirect lighting, a woven mat about two feet wide was stretched; it terminated in small, split cherry tree logs (bark on), scored with grooves running lengthwise to anchor the mat. In the midst of a busy port city, it was like we were staying in a mountain hut. Very cool, calm and collected.

Just so the public bath—although here the water was plenty hot! People of all ages, segregated by sex, first wash off (VERY thoroughly) sitting on little plastic stools in front of flexible shower hoses, with all the body care products in front of you, and no walls or stalls between the patrons. The human body, in all its forms and functions, is accepted as is. No Western baggage about sinfulness, or ideals not attained, is carried into the ofuro. Everybody is relaxed about being there. Indeed, relaxing is the very reason to go! After you wash off, you walk (calmly on the slippery slate floor) to the soaking pool. Everybody is even more relaxed in there. Audible sighing is permitted! Then you walk back to your tatami room, padding nonchalantly across the hotel lobby in your slippers and yukata, feeling renewed and natural and harmoniously whole.

No doubt the calmness I observe and appreciate has much to do with Japan’s Buddhist past, but among the people we have met Buddhism seems largely to be a thing of the past, like Anglicanism or Quakerism often seems to be in England. Mostly it is the elderly who practice the ancient traditions regularly (maybe only the retired have time for true religion!), although many Japanese people do turn to Shinto and Budhhist traditions for life passages or holidays. Nevertheless, the peacefulness and mindfulness taught by the Budhha, and by his Japanese followers for centuries, still underpins (somewhat like the extra earthquake outriggers we see on Tokyo’s bridges and overpasses) a culture whose aesthetic of cleanliness, simplicity, naturalness, and calmness remains enduringly appealing.

Korea: Korean HUG Lullaby

After the first two stops on our itinerary, I'm remaining faithful to my intention to write a lullaby for each country we visit. The latest lullaby is based on a well-known melody that every Korean parent knows. Like many lullabies and fairy tales around the world (think “Rockabye Baby, in the Treetop”) this one’s lyrics explore an unsettling dimension of parenthood and childhood: a mother, living near the sea, must leave her baby alone while she goes to gather oysters to eat.

Jan had the idea of changing this theme to one that specifies and celebrates the steps that a father might take to settle a fussy baby. She and I worked to make the lyrics fit the tune. A draft of the result appears below. Since HUG Your Baby concepts seemed to translate well in a Korean setting, hopefully our new lyrics will compliment the traditional melody.

I have been impressed by the radio music I've heard in Korea. I knew a little about Psy and the K-Pop movement, but I was not expecting the quality and variety, as well as the consistently high production values, that I've found on Korean FM radio. Koreans appear to love classical, jazz, and Latin (especially Brazilian) music, along with the pop stuff. Late at night (when I do most of my listening), I was surprised to hear many beautifully arranged, slow tempo songs with great singers and sophisticated harmonies—just my thing!

Perhaps trying to envision a lullaby in such a setting is reaching too far, but the lead sheet below gently points a performance or production in that direction! Let me know what you think of this draft. Maybe rhyming "me" with "kimchi" is a bridge too far!

Korea: "Korea House" Cultural Show

One of the highlights of our stay in Seoul was attending a performance of traditional music and dance at Korea House. This facility is a traditionally-built structure with an intimate theater. Twenty very talented performers present a program of music and dance here, of the sort that might have been seen at the marvelous Changdokgung Palace  during the nineteenth or twentieth century.

  

The hour-long performance at Korea House included eight, exceptionally well-rehearsed and beautifully staged pieces, drawn from both courtly and peasant traditions. 

Outstanding instrumentalists (including percussionists, string, and woodwind players), a truly great female vocalist, and 6-12 dancers, all fabulously costumed, filled the main stage and two platforms flanking and extending it.

The Fan Dance, a tribute to the peony flower,  was perhaps our favorite piece, although we also especially liked the male dancers/percussionists who wrapped up the show. It was surprising to see an energy and rhythmic complexity that was African in its power and subtlety. These dancers worked over, under, and around long streamers that they spun from anchors fixed to the tops of their heads. One of those ribbons shot thirty feet into the audience when it was introduced!