A Song of the Moon
Last night, I was honored to be a part of the Seattle Japanese Garden’s annual Moon Viewing Festival. The occasion made for an easy music selection: It had to be Tsuki no Kyoku (月の曲), or Song of the Moon, a composition of Kodo II, my great-great-grandfather.
Kodo II
The composers of the shakuhachi honkyoku (本曲, or Original Music of shakuhachi) are rarely known. This is because older pieces were considered more valuable, so composers were omitted as it would possibly date the piece. A much greater importance was placed on the transmission of the piece; who you learned it from was far more significant than who wrote it.
Tsuki no Kyoku is a rare exception. Originally conceived as part of a suite along with Yuki no Kyoku (雪の曲 or Song of Snow) and Hana no Kyoku, (花の曲, Song of Flowers) Tsuki no Kyoku was the only one completed. I believe there were outlines for the other two, and I’m hoping against hope to uncover them someday.
Given the somewhat obfuscated nature of shakuhachi history, it is remarkable that Tsuki no Kyoku has been accepted as part of the honkyoku canon; less so when you consider the contributions of Kodo II.
Araki Hanzaburo—obviously where my name comes from—was born in 1823 in Minakuchi, a city which was then in Omi Province, modern day Shiga-ken (Shiga Prefecture) into a samurai-class family in service of Lord Kato Akitomo. He studied Buddhism and shakuhachi at Reiho-ji in Ome in Edo (now Tokyo) first under Yokota Goyru.
He greatly admired the playing of a man called Toyoda Kodo and asked if he could become his student. Toyoda agreed to teach him, but when Hanzaburo arrived at the appointed time, Toyoda said he had a pressing matter and could they meet next week instead. The following week, Toyoda said he was still drunk from the night before and could they meet next week. This went on for months, always with some new excuse. But Hanzaburo dutifully returned, undeterred, week after week.
Finally, when Hanzaburo started his lessons, Toyoda informed him this had all simply been a test of his resolve.
My great-great grandfather would make many contributions to shakuhachi culture, including improvements to the notation, which allowed for arrangements of popular chamber music to incorporate shakuhachi. He worked tirelessly together with noted sangen—also called shamisen, a three-stringed fretless banjo-like instrument—player Nagase Masaichi to develop sankyoku—that is chamber music featuring koto, shamisen, and shakuhachi. This essentially saved the instrument from extinction as the government was looking to abolish many traditional arts, especially those associated with Japan’s samurai history.
But possibly his greatest contribution to shakuhachi history were the improvements he made to the instrument itself. While not fundamentally changing the structure of the instrument, he slightly changed the diameter of certain finger holes and moved the thumb hole substantially toward the mouthpiece, improving intonation throughout the scale, and bringing balance to the first and second octaves. This was partly done out of necessity as his passion for developing sankyoku required an instrument that was better in tune and could be played ensemble.
His instrument-making techniques and measurements have been in use ever since, and all modern day shakuhachi are made to these same specifications. It has allowed for collaborations across genres and ensured the survival of the instrument.
Hanzaburo is interred at Reibai-ji temple in Asakusa, Tokyo. In 2013, Colleen and I started making a point to visit the graves and tidy up as we could. I’m anxious to get back—it’ll be four years since we were there last.
More anon,
Hanz