漣々 “Ren-ren”
click the image above to watch on YouTube
I’ve been talking a bit off and on here about composing, especially as it pertains to traditional music. It’s not something I’ve given a lot of time or energy to, as far as my own music is concerned. As I’ve said before, this is due to a fear of writing music that sounds derivative, overwrought, or banal.
I’m also not bored with traditional music, nor have I been preoccupied with the idea that I needed to contribute original music to the shakuhachi landscape. That’s not to say I haven’t passed the time playing notes as they spontaneously occurred to me in my head; I had just never arranged them with intent and committed them to paper before now.
The title, “Ren-ren” is a word describing the ripples on the water’s surface; it can also mean an endless flow of tears. There are inarguably elements of traditional music in this piece—those sounds have often conjured the image of concentric circles radiating outward from a drop into still water. But the emotional inspiration was something a bit more melancholy.
My father and I have more than a few things in common, to be sure. There’s obviously a predilection for shakuhachi music, but we also share a very sad truth: Neither of us knew our grandfathers. My father’s grandfather, Shinnosuke died in 1935, three years before he was born. My grandfather, Atsumu died in 1941, 29 years before I was born. To me, this is deeply, deeply sad.
There’s no sense in wondering what may have been different had they lived, as it likely would mean never being born. But thinking of the hardships my father faced, and how much easier his life could have been with his father and grandfather to guide him is tremendously sorrowful indeed.
The answer to the old question if you could meet anyone from any time in history, who would it be? for me has always been any one of my grandfathers.
I believe both my father and grandfather have written incredibly beautiful and compelling music. I can’t say that this piece is in their league, but it is at least an honest impression, and a culmination of my lived experience—my love of traditional music, and the sadness of what could have been.
More anon,
Hanz
My unending gratitude to my dearest friend Peter West for lending me his talent, time, and patience in making this video, and to the The Celtic Arts Foundation for the use of the space.