kottke.org posts about Japan
This workshop founded in 1882 still makes dried bonito like they did back in the Edo period.
How katsuobushi — Japanese dried bonito, said to be the world’s hardest food — is made in Nishi-Izu, Japan. Inside Kanesa Katsuobushi Shoten, a workshop founded in 1882, 5th-generation craftsman Yasuhisa Serizawa still uses the 200-year-old “tebiyama” hand-fired smoke-drying method that only a few workshops in Japan preserve. Watch fresh bonito being filleted and boiled for 90 minutes, smoke-dried more than 10 times over a hand-tended wood fire, repaired with bonito paste, fermented with koji mold and sun-dried for months — over half a year until the fish becomes as hard as wood and shines like a jewel. From fresh catch to katsuobushi.
Check out Kanesa Katsuobushi Shoten’s website for more info; here’s what they say about the tebiyama drying/smoking method (Google translation):
This method of making dried bonito flakes has been used in the Tago district of West Izu for a long time, and its history is said to date back about 300 years (to the Edo period). It involves digging a vertical hole about 2 meters deep, burning firewood (raw wood from Izu: oak, sawtooth oak, cherry, etc.) from the bottom of the hole, and smoking and drying the dried bonito flakes with the high temperature of an open flame. This method is called the Tebiyama-shiki smoking method. It is the oldest existing smoking method, and only a few bonito flake manufacturers in the country continue to use this method to make dried bonito flakes, so it is said to be a legendary method. The Tebiyama-shiki smoking method is said to produce dried bonito flakes with a rich flavor because the surface of the bonito is smoked all at once with the high temperature of an open flame, locking in the umami.
(thx, caroline)
Here are some photos I’ve taken during my time in Tokyo so far. I’ve been posting new stuff more or less daily to Instagram. Somehow I’m already about halfway through my stay.
Somehow these images both capture and don’t even come close to capturing my experience here. That kinda place, I guess.
A lovely contemplative short video featuring Toshiyuki Ueno of the Japanese fashion brand Visvim talking about craftsmanship.
We want to make things that people will get attached to and will use for a long time. And that’s at the core of our creating process. It’s simple and not that complicated.
He continues:
I think about how people grow attached to things over time as they use them, and how those things add to its allure over time.
“Those things” is a little ambiguous without the context of the video…he means the wear that develops from use and how people grow attached to those “imperfections”. See also wabi-sabi.
I visited Jimbōchō today, a neighborhood that’s home to more than 100 used bookstores. Many sell only Japanese books, but some of them have books in English or sell magazines, posters, or visual books that are interesting to browse no matter what language you speak. I visited maybe 20-30 of the stores; here are four of my favorites.
Sawaguchi Book Store features larger format books on art, design, photography, fashion, and architecture. The walls of the staircase are covered in wonderful posters; it took me awhile to climb those stairs. On the second floor, I found a Princess Mononoke movie poster for ¥50,000; tempting. Also on that floor, there’s a small seating area where you can enjoy a beverage out of their two vending machines and quietly read a book or look out the window.
Kitazawa Bookstore. A beautiful old bookstore selling mostly English titles. I spent a lot of time in here browsing. I found a nice leather-bound Pride and Prejudice and a copy of Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls from the 40s. They had these little notes scattered amongst the shelves gently reminding patrons of the store’s guidelines: “Here, silence helps words to grow. Hold each book with both hands, as if to embrace it.” Another one: “Don’t rush or force the pages wide. Stories, too, are most beautiful when they open slowly.”
Komiyama Shoten is another bookstore specializing in books about art, arcitecture, design, photography, and fashion. I found a cache of old Raygun magazines from the 90s along with a ton of other design books & magazines — on the third floor, I think. On that same floor, they have a collection of erotica and LGBTQ+ books, including a couple of amazing books by Tom of Finland. Lots of great posters throughout the store as well, including a poster for Kids (1995) signed by Larry Clark.
Ohya Shobu features books, woodblock prints, and maps from the Edo and Meiji periods. Super old stuff. The huge map of Edo (Tokyo) in the window is worth the trip by itself. Because everything was so ancient and presumably delicate, I was a bit timid about picking stuff up to look through it, but I’m gonna go back when I’m feeling bolder.
Oof, what a beauty. In the 1960s, four Porsche 912s were customized for use as police cars in Japan. This one, which was used in Kanagawa until 1973, is the only one left standing (and even it needed restoration).
This Japanese police 912 served in Kanagawa Prefecture from 1968 to 1973, operating on the Daisan Keihin and Tomei Expressways. Over five years of service, it covered more than 155,000km and even played a role in stopping a speeder traveling at 178 km/h.
Police vehicles are usually scrapped after their service life, but this one was an exception. After being retired due to engine failure, it was kept and displayed at a police academy for 26 years. Over time, exposure to the elements caused significant deterioration, and in 1999 it was sold to a scrapyard. After six months of negotiations, it was eventually recovered.
Here are a couple of photos of 912s while in service back in the day.
I know I probably say this every time I post videos like this, but I wish I’d gotten into art & art history earlier than I did. Channels like Behind the Masterpiece are so good at making this stuff come alive and their Brief History of Japanese Art scratches my recent interest in Japan itch quite nicely. I was lucky to see some of the pieces from the video on my Japan trip last fall, including the Big Buddha in Kamakura, hand scrolls, sumi-e, and so many woodblock prints. (via open culture)
During an exhibition, Japanese volleyball player Yuji Nishida hit a courtside judge in the back with an errant serve. He immediately sprinted across the court and dove prostrate in apology. The gesture was a sort of sliding dogeza:
Even in a country where a sincere apology can go a long way, Nishida’s mea culpa was an extreme example. The most extravagant form in Japanese culture is the dogeza, which can also be used to express deep respect.
When used as an apology, the person in the wrong prostrates themselves and bows so that their forehead touches the floor between their hands. While the dogeza is rarely seen in public, scandal-hit politicians have used equally theatrical gestures to communicate their remorse.
Nishida followed up his slide with several more bows.
The gang at Present & Correct found a cache of pre-war tourist maps of Japan while rummaging around in Tokyo’s Jinbōchō used book district. They photographed them for a new self-published book called Paper Trails.
Until the late 19th century, Japan’s relations with Europe were relatively limited. So when a pair of letters written by a Japanese man in the early 1600s were discovered in Venice, a mystery was born. Who was this man, why was he in Italy, and why was there little previous evidence that he’d been there? In part one of a new series, Evan Puschak sets the geopolitical stage and introduces us to the samurai who travelled to Rome to treat with the Pope.
From artist Miya Ando, Water of the Sky, A Dictionary of 2,000 Japanese Rain Words.
Through a collection of 2,000 Japanese words, their English interpretations, and 100 drawings, Ando describes the breadth and diversity of rain’s many expressions: when it falls, how it falls, and how its observer might be transformed physically or emotionally by its presence.
I paged through this at a bookstore recently; it is delightful. From an excerpt of the book, here are a few of Ando’s rain words & phrases:
Tokidoki Niwaka Ame: Sometimes light snow and rain showers
Ama ga Nukeru: The skies open up, it rains like cats and dogs
Shinotsukuame: Intense rain that falls heavily, is very fine and strong like the Bamboo Grove at Shinotake
Giu: False rain
Amadoi: Sliding red beans to resemble the sound of rain
Kōu: Rain that comes exactly when you were waiting for it
Water of the Sky is available at Bookshop, Amazon, and wherever books are sold.
Konnichiwa! I’m back from Japan and finally getting over my jetlag, which took much longer than I expected. Here’s a list of all the things I’ve been reading, watching, listening to, and experiencing over the past few months.1 Let us know what movies, books, art, TV, music, etc. you’ve been enjoying in the comments below!
Deacon King Kong by James McBride. This was my first time reading anything by McBride and maybe I have a new favorite author? I love everything about this story and the way he tells it. (A+)
The Da Vinci Code. One of my go-to comfort movies. “Scientific” art history detective story? Yes, please. (A)
One Battle After Another. Great. Especially Sean Penn. And it reminded me of a Wes Anderson movie for some reason? Like one that he would have made had he followed the Bottle Rocket path instead of the Rushmore Path. (A+)
Meredith Dairy Marinated Sheep & Goat Cheese. All cheese is delicious, but this one particularly so. (A)
Fantastic Four. It was ok? Aside from a few things, I’m having trouble getting excited about post-Infinity Saga Marvel. There was just a special alchemy about that whole arc that is proving impossible to reproduce. (B)
The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton. Fantastic right from the first page. Sharp writing about social mores, reminded me of Middlemarch & Price and Prejudice in that respect. One of my all-time favorites, I think. (A+)
The Gilded Age (season three). Still enjoying the hell out of this show. Total suspension of disbelief is a must. (A-)
Mission: Impossible. I haven’t seen this in maybe 20 years and I guess it holds up? Not my favorite of the series though. (B+)
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. Great spy thriller. Gary Oldman is fantastic in this. Cold War? Spies? Britain? I will pretty much watch as many of this type of movie as you can make. (A)
Leaving America. This is a 12-part podcast on the logistics, benefits, and challenges of leaving the United States. Oh, no reason. (B+)
The Fellowship of the Ring (and TT & ROTK) by J.R.R. Tolkien. It’s been a while since I’ve read The Lord of the Rings books and wow, are they long. There’s entirely too much “and they travelled from here to there” logistics that drag on over several pages and descriptions of hilltops & ancient landmarks that you only hear about once. But Andy Serkis narrating the audiobook? So good. (A-)
The Lord of the Rings trilogy. After each audiobook, I watched the extended version of the corresponding film. My general feeling after 65+ hours of audiobook and 12+ hours of movie is that the books are too long and the movies too short. An 18-hour mini-series — perhaps three seasons of six episodes each? — seems like the sweet spot. (A)
Star Trek: Strange New Worlds (season three). Maybe didn’t enjoy this quite as much as the previous two season, but I love spending time with these people and look forward to doing more of that when season four drops. (B+)
Jaws. Got to see this in the theater when they released it for the 50th anniversary. Spielberg had such a strong style right from the jump. (A-)
Paradise. Just fine. But I feel like there are better apocalyptic shows out there. (B)
Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale. It was so nice to head to the theater to nestle myself into the low-stakes world of Downton Abbey for 2 hours. (B+)
Daft Punk Fortnite. Love anything with Daft Punk. (A)
The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store by James McBride. Right after finishing Deacon King Kong, I did something I almost never do: started in on a different book from the same author. Loved this one too. (A+)
Tron: Ares. It was a loud NIN music video on a huge screen, what’s not to like? Jared Leto was fine, but there were probably better casting options here that the audience would have been more excited about. And the direction could have been stronger…Gillian Anderson and Greta Lee were both surprisingly meh. (B+)
Tron: Ares soundtrack. Better than the movie. (A-)
Total Recall. First time! Maybe a little too Verhoeven/B-movie for me. (C+)
Cars. I’ve seen this movie several times and what I noticed this time around is how incredibly expressive the cars are. You can just tell they worked very hard on that aspect of the animation. (A-)
Shopkeeping by Peter Miller. This was recommended from a couple of different vectors — pretty sure one was Robin Sloan. Lots of resonance to my work here and how I think about it (and want to think about it). (A-)
Japan. Absolutely loved it. (A+)
Iyoshi Cola. Craft colas are often disappointing, but this one was absolutely delicious. Wish I could get it in the States for less than $14 a can. (A)
teamLab Borderless. Some of this was too “built for Instagram” but a couple of the rooms (the one where it felt like the whole room was moving & the cathedralish one with the light strings) were great. (A-)
The Sumida Hokusai Museum. Had to make the pilgrimage here. (A-)
In Praise of Shadows by Jun’ichirō Tanizaki. Read this book about Japanese aesthetics while visiting Japan — it provided an interesting context. (B+)
Hokusai at Creative Museum Tokyo. Fantastic show…there were hundreds and hundreds of prints and drawings that showed his evolution and influence. (A+)
Okunoin Cemetery. Had one of the strongest senses of place I have ever experienced. (A)
Konbini. The Japanese convenience stores really are as appealing as you’ve heard. (A-)
Awakening Your Ikigai by Ken Mogi. Perhaps a little over-simplifying when it comes to Japanese culture, but I appreciated the message of having a purpose. (B)
Sho-Chan Okonomiyaki. When I got to Hiroshima, I knew I had to try their version of okonomiyaki, so I went to Okonomimura, a multi-story building crammed with okonomiyaki restaurants. I picked one and had one of the most surprising meals of my trip. So good. (A)
Blue Planet Sky. I spent a lot of time sitting in this room by James Turrell. (A)
Kanazawa Phonograph Museum. Lovely little museum, and a good opportunity to observe how successful inventions move from technology to culture/fashion/commerce. (A)
Princess Mononoke. I saw this in the theater on my last full day in Tokyo; they recently released a 4K remaster. Absolutely breathtaking. (A+)
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Redford and Newman are both total smokeshows in this. And I’d forgotten how goofy this movie is. (B+)
A House of Dynamite. A very tough watch, but I thought this was fantastic as a tour of some of the different kinds of people who hold the fate of every single person on the planet in their hands every damn day. They’re tired, stressed, distracted, at cross-purposes with themselves, set in their ways, more celebs than leaders, and mediocre. And none of them have ever seen Dr. Strangelove? (A)
Past installments of my media diet are available here. What good things have you watched, read, or listened to lately?
Chindōgu is the Japanese practice of inventing things that are not exactly useful but neither are they useless; they’re more unuseless, a term coined by chindōgu’s originator Kenji Kawakami. Some examples are tiny umbrellas for shoes, chopsticks with a tiny fan on them to cool your noodles before you slurp them, a flu headset (basically a roll of toilet paper you wear as a hat), and onion chopping glasses that have little fans that blow the onion fumes away from your eyes so you don’t start crying. This video explains chindōgu and provides some examples:
This is a great explainer as well, with lots of images and videos of examples, like this one:
Chindōgu have to be made. If you design the invention on paper and don’t make it, it doesn’t qualify. It’s a piece of paper with a bad invention on it. Bring the invention into the physical world so humankind can experience how truly almost useless it is.
Related: How the selfie stick was invented twice.
I began at the end. The Chōishi-michi pilgrimage route is an amazing 12-mile trail that winds its way up through the forest from the Jison-in temple in the town of Kudoyama in the valley to the Danjo Garan temple in the town of Kōyasan in the mountains. The origins of the trail date back to the founding of Kōyasan as a center for the esoteric Shingon school of Buddhism by Kūkai (aka Kōbō Daishi) in 819 CE. Legend has it that Kūkai used the trail to visit his mother; ever since, for some 1200 years, Buddhist faithful have been using the Chōishi-michi to worship in sacred Kōyasan. I was going to follow in their footsteps, for my own ends.
To climb up a mountain like a proper pilgrim, you need to start at the base. Seeing as my lodgings were already in Kōyasan, my journey began by a) catching the bus down a winding forest road; b) where I boarded a cable car for the ludicrously steep journey down to Gokurakubashi; c) where I got on an extremely local train; and d) finally disembarked at the Kudoyama train station and walked to the starting point. One hour and 30 minutes after I’d left my guesthouse, I stepped through the gate of the Jison-in temple. Now all I had to do was climb the entire 4100 feet of elevation back to where I’d started.
When establishing the Chōishi-michi some 1200 years ago, Kūkai marked the route with wooden guideposts, one every 109 meters. You don’t want your pilgrims getting lost — how are you going to find eternal salvation if you can’t even make it to the temple? The markers were replaced with more sturdy stone gorintō in the late 13th century. 180 of these stone markers are situated along the route from to Jison-in to Danjo Garan, along with another 36 markers from Danjo Garan to the Mausoleum of Kōbō Daishi in the Okunoin Cemetery. In the spirit of wayfinding, perhaps a map of my there-and-back-again route would be useful:
———
I was thankful for the frequent stone markers as I’d gotten a little lost on my hike the previous day. I was traveling on — or I was supposed to be traveling on — the Nyonin-michi pilgrimage route (Women’s pilgrimage route) and doing pretty well when I took a wrong turn right near the end.
This particular trail, though popular, wasn’t on All Trails and markers were sparse, so I was doing a lot of pinching & zooming of Google Maps and a PDF I downloaded from the internet. The trail curved right and I stayed straight, wondering why this bit of the trail was a little less blazed than the rest of it had been, and I popped out into the backyard of a temple. Oh no, I thought, I’m not supposed to be back here; only monks are supposed to be back here. I’m offending so many ancestors right now.
More pinching and zooming — ok, there’s a road off to the northwest. I set off and walked by what looked like some recent graves? The ancestors: so mad right now! What a disgrace of a pilgrim I am. I found myself crouching as I walked almost on tiptoe, trying to evade detection — even though the Buddha surely knew where I was and what I’d done. The road was just where the map said it would be; I slipped through a gap in the fence and followed it downhill for a quarter mile, not entirely sure I wasn’t still in a restricted area.
I came up on the other side of the temple and realized I’d stumbled into the backyard of Kōbō Daishi’s Mausoleum, where Shingon founder Kūkai entered into eternal meditation in 835 CE,1 aka one of the absolute holiest places in all of Japan, aka I am in deep, deep shit with the ancestors. Abandoning my plans for lunch, I entered Okunoin Cemetery through a proper entrance and made my way to the mausoleum. Wishing to make amends, I bowed at every bridge and threshold where everyone else was bowing and threw some coins into the saisen box.2 Many of the people around me were quite emotional about being there. The whole atmosphere just felt good, peaceful, numinous.
———
Ok, back to the Chōishi-michi, the big 12-miler. The first few miles felt almost straight up and then the trail leveled off for a while. The weather was cool but humid, so I hiked in shorts sleeves, sweating. It rained intermittently. Fog crept up the mountainside. I hiked though persimmon orchards; they’re in season right now. Small stands sold oranges & persimmons on the honor system. The path was well marked, not only with the stone gorintō but with well-placed signs in Japanese and English pointing the way to Kōyasan.
Walking the narrow path between the forest’s tall evergreen trees felt like entering a European cathedral with a towering vaulted ceiling. A bamboo forest earlier on the hike had a similar feeling; spaces such as these make you look up and feel whatever power or force or presence you believe in. You feel small and big all at once. The forest: unbelievably beautiful.
I heard voices through the trees and then the crack of something — was that a golf ball? Am I hiking through a golf course? The trail came to a clearing and lo, the tee for the 13th hole. The path also passed by vending machines,3 crossed roads, and zagged through tiny towns. The modern world, built up around this ancient trail.
I stopped for lunch around the halfway point: a sandwich, apple & custard pastry, and a small can of consommé flavored Pringles procured the night before at FamilyMart. FamilyMart is one of the big three convenience stores (konbini) in Japan — the other two are Lawson and 7-Eleven. Before you come to Japan for the first time, everyone tells you how amazing the konbini are: “You’re not going to believe this, but…” And then you get here and damn, they were right. The consommé Pringles were delicious.
After lunch: one foot in front of the other. Pilgrim mode locked in. Maybe I should become a monk, I think. I’m pretty good at being a pilgrim, the hiking part of it, I mean. I’m fine being alone with my thoughts. The clothes look comfy. I could be a monk with the internet at the center of my practice. Hours spent doomscrolling is kind of like meditation, right? It’s certainly a flow state of sorts, like the blood gushing from the elevators in The Shining. I’m into aesthetics. And I— oh, it’s ascetic? Ah. Maybe I’ll just stick to my secular life then.
Another stone marker. Another 109 meters. Keep going. I pass one every 90-100 seconds or so. Early on, the markers flew by; I didn’t even notice some of them. Now I’m searching them out ahead, peering up the slope I know (via All Trails) steepens sharply right at the end. Is this is the last one? No. But keep going. It’s damp, the rocks are wet. An inch of moss covers everything save for the well-worn pilgrimage path. It feels like a rain forest. Another stone marker. Another 109 meters. Keep. Going.
I sense the top of the hill — something about the light changes. I see a guardrail ahead. Emerging on the side of the road, I cross it and make for the Daimon gate, the traditional entrance into town. On the threshold, I bow deeply. Stepping over, I pump my fist in the air — I’ve made it back to Kōyasan.
———
A weary pilgrim deserves a hot bath. My guesthouse is a further few hundred feet. The woman who runs it is very nice and a little kooky; I like her. After the sacred backyard debacle the other day, I told her about all the ancestors I’d offended. She chuckled and told me, the ancestors, they don’t mind so much. She cooked me breakfast (delicious, nutritious) every morning — you don’t look like a tofu person, she said, eyeing me. Correct.
On my last morning, I asked her about a bunch of boxes stacked on a table. I have an interest in incense, she said. Apparently it’s quite involved and the most skilled practitioners are equal in expertise to those who do the chadō tea ceremony. She opened one of the boxes and showed me a very expensive twig of charcoal, which is so special that they sell it by the stick. When the charcoal burns, it does so purely, without giving off any gases or sparking or spitting. Afraid she’s trapped me into politely listening to her going on about her hobby, she checks in: are you actually interested in this? My turn to chuckle; personally & professionally, I’m interested in all sorts of things, even fancy charcoal.
The guesthouse has a kick-ass bathtub, deep and quick-to-fill. My host keeps a selection of bath salts and I select a yuzu one. Tired but happy and fulfilled, I soak a long while, easing the pain in my aching feet & back, the yuzu scent filling my pores.
———
After bathing, I set out to finish my journey. I’d previously walked the length of town to the Okunoin Cemetery and back a couple of times, but I wanted to do the whole thing in one day: from Jison-in temple to Kōbō Daishi’s Mausoleum at the far end of the cemetery, a proper pilgrimage. Well, not quite proper…because I was tired from my hike, I caught the bus instead of walking. The quest is the quest, whatever it takes.
Okunoin Cemetery is one of the most breathtaking and magical places I’ve ever been. Imagine a redwood forest like Muir Woods with Buddhist temples and a 1200-year-old cemetery with tens of thousands of faithful buried in it. The soaring trees create that cathedral effect and even an atheist like me can’t help but feel holy in the presence of so many souls, including Kūkai/Kōbō Daishi himself.
I hopped off the bus and started into the cemetery. Night had fallen and it was quite dark; should I have brought my headlamp? Ah, no need…the way is lit by hundreds of lanterns lining the path at about shoulder height. There are also some brighter, taller lights, a concession to safety I suspect. They’re the wrong temperature though, a rare misstep in a country with an unrivaled collective attention to detail. Whereas the lanterns glow with a pleasant amber light, these safety lights are a cold, garish blue, a color as harsh to the eye as the word “garish” (or “harsh” for that matter).
Aside from a few other people, I’m the only one here at this hour. Why are my shoes. So! LOUD!!? Each footfall echoes about the whole place and the crunch of the sand on the wet pavement under my soles is deafening. Once again, I am disturbing the ancestors. I try to walk quieter but somehow that’s even louder? How is anyone supposed to be eternally meditating with all this racket going on? Definitely not monk material, neither me nor my cacophonous shoes.
What’s that noise?! Some kind of animal? Ok, I can still hear the faint sound of traffic on the nearby road and anywhere with automobile noise isn’t scary — dangerous perhaps, but not scary. I hear another noise, one that I can only describe as “probably bird but what if monkey?” Or maybe Ghibli monster? I gotta say, in case you didn’t know, Hayao Miyazaki sure nailed Japan. Hit it out of the park. Everywhere I go, I am reminded of his work: small food stalls, beautiful parks, tiny trucks, cute little train stations, forest paths — the just-so touches of Japan reflected and amplified by the meticulous and rich detail of Studio Ghibli’s work.
The cemetery oozes Ghibli energy; it is not difficult to imagine thousands of Miyazaki’s weird little guys hanging from every tree and lurking behind every gravestone. Buoyed by their benevolent presence, I make a full loop of the cemetery in the dark, all the way to Kōbō Daishi’s Mausoleum and back to the entrance again.
And then, not wanting to wait 25 minutes for the bus, I walked all the way back to my guesthouse again, stopping at a sushi place for dinner. When I poked my head through the door, there was one other customer, an old guy smoking a cigarette who gestured for me to join him at the communal table. A menu was produced; I ordered so much sushi. Baseball was on the TV in the corner — game 1 of the Japanese equivalent of the World Series. The old couple running the place brought me sake, six massive fatty tuna rolls, six even larger salmon nigiri, and a much larger bowl of miso soup than I was expecting. As the three of them chatted, we all watched the baseball and I finished everything they brought me. I’d walked a total of 17.5 miles and needed to replenish.
I rolled out of there around the 4th inning of the game, arigato gozaimasus all around, and limped the rest of the way back to the guesthouse with a full belly, full heart, and teeming mind — back to where I began, at the end, completely satisfied by one of the best, most fulfilling days I’ve had in a long time.
Courtesy of login.jp (“archiving the Japanese experience through music”), a jazz jungle mix by Takuya Nakamura, played in a Japanese rice field to celebrate the importance of rice in Japanese culture. A trumpet makes a few appearances.
Nakamura recently played a set in an elevator as well. (A trumpet makes a few appearances.)
It’s worth exploring login.jp’s back catalog, including party mix with green onions, techno & house mix in a Japanese fish shop, and chill mix with Japanese grandpa at a stationery shop.
(via mike bates)
I just reread this 2023 post about a neighborhood Tokyo izakaya (and my related thoughts), spurred by a conversation w/ my friend Andrew about what makes for good work, a good life, and a good society. It dovetails with this podcast conversation between Rich Roll and Craig Mod, which I listened to on the plane to Japan and which tore me into about 1000 pieces. Craig talks about what it means to have “enough” and the Japanese term yoyū:
Pondering the shrinking communities and advanced decay he saw during the trip (documented in photos of shuttered main streets and nature vigorously reclaiming the landscape), Mod thought back to his childhood home: a blue-collar American town where the factories had closed, replaced by poverty, drugs and violence.
“The inspiration I’ve always drawn from Japan is that the lowest you can fall is not that low,” he says. “Whereas I grew up watching people fall really, really low — frequently, and kind of hopelessly.”
His explanation for why similar levels of economic decline produce such different outcomes hinges on the Japanese term yoyū, which conveys a sense of sufficiency: enough time, enough money, enough energy. As Mod puts it, yoyū is “the space in your heart to accept another person… another situation, another context.”
“As the economy changes in those rural areas, I think you see a kind of grace because the foundations of support are still there, right?” he continues. “They’re not losing health care. They’re not losing social infrastructure… And that gives them the yoyū to be able to accept the fact that their towns are disappearing, without degrading into substance abuse or violence or whatever. The contrast being in America, there’s none of that sort of protection enabled, so you have none of that excess space.”
As an American, it’s tough sometimes even to conceive of having that excess space (except what you’ve been able to cobble together on your own, a jury-rigged safety net one medical crisis away from collapse). I always notice its presence when I’m traveling — like, oh, this society takes care of its people. Huh.
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