Hello. I’ve just heard the t’rung for the first time, but it produces a very lovely sound, doesn’t it? Could you give a brief explanation of what kind of musical instrument it is?

Oguri: The t’rung is a musical instrument originally from one of the minority tribes in Vietnam’s Tay Nguyen region. Simply put, it’s a sort of xylophone made of bamboo instead of wood.

I find it very interesting to see a young Japanese woman heading a band where an unusual instrument from another country is being played at such an advanced level. How did you wind up getting involved with the t’rung?

Oguri：Most of the Vietnamese musical instruments that people hear about are ones from the culture of the Kinh people, who make up 90% of Vietnam’s population. But the t’rung is a musical instrument that comes from one of the minority people who live in the Tay Nguyen region. One day I learned about this and it just stuck with me. There are over fifty different minority peoples in Vietnam, and there are so many different musical instruments in each region of the country, so why did the t’rung become as well-known nationally as the dominant Kinh culture? In order to find the answer, I began to look into the history of research on the development of the t’rung.

You’ve got a wonderful thirst for knowledge. But I find it really unusual that your original academic curiosity has evolved into your becoming a passionate performer of that music yourself.

Oguri:Actually there’s a reason for that. When I was a child, I learned to play the marimbas. Marimbas are a kind of xylophone, so for me it was very natural to shift my interests to the t’rung, which is another type of xylophone. I first encountered the t’rung when I was in university, majoring in Vietnamese. In my professor’s research lab was a miniature souvenir t’rung, and I was drawn to it from the first time I saw it. When I saw my first real one in Vietnam, I was strongly impressed by the shape and sound, and it completely charmed me off my feet.

It sounds like fate had a hand in things. Now, you’ve taught yourself the t’rung based on your knowledge of marimba techniques, then?

Oguri: No. Actually I went to Vietnam to study for a year, and I learned from a teacher at the Hanoi Conservatory of Music (now named the Vietnam National Academy of Music) and from the original person who began research into the development of the t’rung, who lives in Ho Chi Minh City.

Hanoi Conservatory of Music’s Professor Mai Lai.

You had the guts to go and study in Vietnam just to learn the t’rung. I’m blown away. Vietnam doesn’t have the greatest sanitation, and in a sense it requires a certain degree of fortitude to get by, but you managed to get over that and devote your life to Vietnam. That’s quite unique.

Oguri:Thank you very much. I love the country of Vietnam. If I were to describe Vietnam in one word, it would be that it’s a very human country. I feel that people are very close to one another there. Compared to Japan, where people have a tendency to percieve others as “strangers,” in Vietnam if someone is next to you then you strike up a conversation, and people naturally help one another. I feel that people don’t worry much about “people I don’t know” and I think it’s very good and natural.

But, no matter how much you like it, to devote your passion to a certain musical instrument from that country is not something a lot of people do. Now, your current endeavor, the T’rung Trio, could you tell me how and why you started this group?

Oguri:he trio was formed for a concert at the Vietnam Festival in September of 2008. It’s important to do traditional Vietnamese music, but I also want to use the t’rung to express my own sense of rhythm and sound, my own sensibility. I wonder what kind of new worlds could open up to Vietnamese people watching me, a foreigner, playing the t’rung from my unique position, in a new style? If my new style of t’rung playing can be heard by the people of the world and give just a little strength to people, I’d be very happy.

I hope that your pursuit of that unique musical world can reach the ears of more and more people. Finally, if you have some sort of vision, please tell me about that.

Oguri:I think that the t’rung has a lot of possibilities as a “bamboo xylophone” once the view of it is widened. That’s why I want to use the trio to break new ground with it as a traditional instrument. Also, I respect my mother, who was a musician, very much. People always gathered around her and got energy from listening to her songs. She got sick and passed away, and so I think I’d like to try and continue what she started with her musical activities.

Kikuda:My personal belief about performing is to keep a theme of “living” whether it comes out as cool or not. I think the sounds that a musician produces affects that person’s way of life. So I want the sounds I produce, the melodies I weave, to be honest to myself. As a result, I think I can make sincere music. I think that the music I’m doing with T’rung Trio is close to my personal goals. I want to do things that will make more and more music fans go “Oh!”

Okayama:At any rate, we’ve got no choice but to play in a way that is sincere to ourselves. If you think something’s “good,” you’ve got to have confidence and take responsibility and actively pursue it. That attitude, and the ability to be flexible about opinions other than your own, if you can take those two things in a good balance and connect them to your music, you can naturally produce your own sound. That’s what I believe. I want to both do that and have the strength to keep it up.

Oguri: We’re putting on a big concert in October, so I hope we can make our own unique atmosphere and bring everyone into our new world of music.

Thank you very much! It gives me strength just watching you young people pursuing a new world. I’m looking forward to experiencing your new world of music.

Information!!

T’rung and Marimba Trio Concert

@ Yokohama Red Brick Warehouse #1 3F Hall
October 4, (Sun) 2009
Doors at 17:30
Show at 18:00
Performers: Kumiko Oguri (T’rung, Marimba), Shigenobu Kikuda (Double Bass), Akihisa Okayama (Percussion)
All seats \3000 (p code: 324-126)
Ticket Dealer: Electronic Ticket Pia: 0570-02-9999

Sponsor: Oguri Kumiko Trio
Co-Sponsor: Japan T’rung Association
Backing: Vietnam Air, the Vietnamese Embassy, Asahi Shimbun Yokohama Bureau, Marimba North Star Association, Neoria Korogi, Asia Wave

There’s a factory-direct soap company

Called Miyoshi Factory Soap.

The humble packaging

Is like design that hasn’t been designed,

It just feels good. On their website, it says

“The soap is the star” which is why the packaging is simple,

and it also says “buy a bottle on your own.”

They really seem to have a strong sense of their own style.

The manufacturer of this soap is Miyoshi Soap Co., Ltd.

The person who came up with this soap is the marketing director, Itsuro Miki.

He’s the third generation at the company.

“Soap is not something you sell, it’s something you tell.”

He speaks words that he’s inherited from those before him.

His voice gets particularly loud when he says the words

“Heart and soul.”

It may seem like a cliché these days,

But he is talking about real “heart and soul.”

You could call it “heart and soul, with heart and soul.”

That’s how strongly, and how positively,

Mr. Miki expressed that phrase, “heart and soul.”

You really can make a business succeed with heart and soul.

“At our company, we place great importance on

heart and soul, by which we mean the heart and soul of the craftsman.

Is that any way to make a business suceed?

Sometimes people ask us this.

As a matter of fact, it can succeed. (laughs)” (Marketing Director Miki)

Mr. Miki makes this assertion.

In these times, you don’t hear such a thing too often.

In other words, “Good wins out in the end!” is what he’s saying

That’s the kind of thing a lot of people need to hear.

Especially during this recession…

Why, it seems to be the accepted popular opinion that

“In order to succeed in business, you’ve got to be cruel!”

Well, you must admit, there is a certain

“Aesthetics of Evil” that people weave into their personalities,

a bad side that pops in and out of hiding…

But you bet if you’re surrounded by people like that,

It’s pretty boring, or maybe just a turn-off.

I don’t think I’m the only one who feels this way.

Miyoshi Soap has been selling soap for nearly a century. 90 years to be exact.

Currently, the company is on the same premises as Tamanohada Soap Co., Ltd.

They are affiliate companies, so

I imagine they help each other out.

A mutual agreement to help business along.

Grit and Style

A short trek from Ryokoku station,

The company exudes an air of “working class Tokyo.”

The old-ish yet sturdy building

Has a nearly antique feel to it.

All these elements reach the senses as images, scents, and sounds,

Creating a wonderful harmony.

But the amazing thing about this company,

Isn’t just its old classic element.
I once visited a Tohoku area soap factory, and it also had this delightful handmade air,

But in comparison, the difference is the size of the enterprise and the level of style.

Even so, that Tohoku soap factory

Has another, down-home kind of goodness to it.

But if you want to understand the stylish aspect of

Miyoshi Factory, I’m sure you’ll understand immediately if you

Take a look at the company’s website.

Miyoshi Factory

See?

The atmosphere inside the factory is bubbling with the energy of the working man,

But the website is stylish and cool, giving the viewer a certain sense of longing to bring just a little of that cool into his own life.

A brilliant combination of style and workmanship!

(Though I’m afraid that phrase itself is not so stylish.)

I have personally interviewed a huge variety of craftsmen,

But there are very few companies out there who are able to

Both “tell something” and “make something”

In a way that makes a lot of people happy.

Yes, speaking of style, the Miyoshi Factory Soap’s

Triangular tetra-pak design was in fact

Designed by a name well-known in the industrial design world,

None other than Fumie Shibata.

And Masaaki Hiromura worked on the graphics.

For those in the know, this is a truly gorgeous combination.

However, the person who had the idea to ask these two people,

Itsuro Miki, might just be the most gorgeously inspired of all.

There’s nothing special here?

A series of connections had brought me to this company.

I had to take this rare opportunity

And ask a few questions.

So I started in,

“Exactly what led you to arrive at the designers you chose like that?”

“You had been living in New York, and as a designer yourself! Well, that career must have had an influence on you somehow I imagine?”

“What’s it like being born into a soap maker’s family?”

“Were you influenced by your father at all?”

Shamelessly serving up volley after volley of questions, sadly, is an affliction that comes with my profession.

And the response,

“There’s really nothing special here.

I was just doing things the normal way.

I’m no different than anyone else.

There’s nothing special here.” (Marketing Director Miki)

Oh, now I’ve gone and put my foot in my mouth.

This is the workingman’s town, and the sheer character of the place

Is to take great care to maintaining an aura of style and cool.

Aaaah, I’m such a suburban loser.
I’m always putting my foot in my mouth.

But an oaf like myself managed to get

A lovely souvenir set of Miyoshi Factory Soap

From Marketing Director Miki.

I already had some, but I was happy to get it,

And when I used it again, it smelled good, and felt good on my skin.

Mmmm, those good hearted craftsmen,

Putting their heart and soul into this soap.

The price feels good, too.

It’s only about 400 yen for a pack.

If you’re interested, take a look at the website.

I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to see inside the factory,

So it’s the least I can do to show the photos I took.

It’s not images of the Factory Soap being made,

But you can get a sense of the atmosphere inside a soap factory.

Miyoshi Factory

Hello. First of all, could you tell me about the concept behind this place, and give a simple explanation of what you do with the space?

Toshio:We sell Jomon-style clay flutes, hold festivals, events, and workshops, and operate the space as a place for people to get together.

Shizuko:We call the kind of festivals we hold, “punk kagura” where we make strange noises and bang on drums. It’s the kind of place where the neighbors look at us funny and tell us, “please stop your religious activities” and stuff. We even had the police called on us once. (laughs) Really it’s not all that, though.

I see. What do the two of you consider yourselves to be doing?

Shizuko:We’re just having fun. Some people think we’re improvisational musicians, some people think we’re festival-holders, and some think we’re colossal morons. (laughs)
Toshio:We hold fun festivals, blessing the earth, enlivening the land and the town. We’re just holding events to go with each encounter that comes along. That’s all.

So put in simple terms, you’re improvisational musicians who put on festivals, I guess? What have you been doing, and where have you been doing it?

Toshio:We’ve been to most places in the Kanto region. Sano, Kogawa, Ashikaga, Maebashi, Takasaki, Shimonita, Tochigi, Mashiko, Kasama, and Izu. Places that you can get to easily from Tokyo but aren’t really visible. We called it the Autonomous Republic of Kanto and took our Kagura Entertainer’s Troupe and did a performance tour.

Shizuko:We go around to each place and put on a festival, and we’re really good at taking the energy level through the roof. (laughs) At first, we didn’t know how to bring that high energy level back down and it was really tough. Everyone would get into a festival mood and we’d wind up in a psychological state that made it hard to return to everyday life. (laughs)

No matter what scale you are working in, going to a place where you don’t know anyone and organizing a festival, going in as a non-local and getting the locals involved must be a huge task. There are issues of leadership, money problems, and I imagine a lot more as well. How do you pull off such a monumental feat? How have you managed to make this your livelihood?

Shizuko:I think in some ways it’s easier to be accepted by people because we’re not locals. Also, if we enjoy each moment, like, “As long as we’re having fun now, what’s the problem?” then I think things just come together naturally. With money too, someone always comes along in the nick of time to help us scrape through. Someone will bring vegetables, or rice, or dishes, and thanks to these miracles we’ve managed to keep on living, enjoying our lifestyle of peace and freedom.

Toshio:If we get everyone together and put on a meal, we use rice and vegetables that the local farmers have grown, we use locally crafted dishes to serve the food, local writers and artists come, people who are really good at cooking, people who roast coffee, we get everyone to participate and that’s how we hold our events. There are so many amazing intellectuals and craftspeople in the countryside, but despite living in the same area, they aren’t connected to each other. We go to places with people like that, and we go slowly at first, listening politely to what people say. Then, when it’s time to do it, we suddenly pull everyone into our world and get them all to play the parts we’ve assigned. (laughs) Then, just as everything is starting to get exciting, the festival ends. We’ve been doing that over and over.

Shizuko:Toshi-chan has given lectures in front of those intellectuals, and I’ve performed music in front of those hidden genius musicians. From their perspective, we’re huge idiots. (laughs) But that’s alright. I think they must feel as though we outsiders have come in and done what they can’t do themselves. But, by putting them up on center stage, everyone’s blood starts flowing and they get a lot of their energy back. We want to help this happen and take great care in each event we put on.

Toshio:The two of us want to help people become aware of the un-heard, the un-seen, the air and the atmosphere. We want to try to be a catalyst for that.

I see. Now that I’ve heard your story, I see how deep your work is. Now, what kind of dream or vision do you have for the future?

Shizuko:My job is to connect the past to the future by enjoying the now and living in the now through festivals and music.

Toshio:I want to do things that we can do as Japanese people. We could bring our style of festivals from Japan over to Asia, and on to the land of Africa.

Hello. I’ve always enjoyed your work. I’ve already read all about your group on webDICE so I know all about you. Mr. Inui, you were originally at the Bungaku Company and you formed this group with the people you met there, isn’t that right?

Inui ： Oh, is that how it happened? You know actually, it started when Misao Ushijima and I were students at Tamagawa Gakuen. You know those guys in university who are always talking big with nothing to show for it? That was us. (laughs) And one day I was saying, “I’m going to write a screenplay and get famous someday.” And Misao said, “Well then let’s do it. Let’s do it together.” And we tried it once while we were still in university. But it was just the one time.

Misao: And I kept doing it after that.

Inui: After I graduated I joined the Bungaku Company. I had wanted to learn how to direct, but I wasn’t able to do what I wanted and quit the company. Then I asked Misao if he wanted to do something together. That’s how we started Tetsuwari. We started absorbing more and more people and swelled up to our current size.

Murakami: I was in a band called the Backdrops, and I wound up doing some stuff with Tetsuwari. At first I thought, “These guys are kind of freaky. How unsettling.” I approached them with real caution at first, but now we’re working together.

Misao: Now Murakami is of one of our freakier members. (laughs)

I just can’t wrap my head around how a performance group like Tetsuwari forms its works. How do you do it? Is there some kind of blueprint?

Inui: We’ve all come from a theater background, so we came from a desire to tear down the theater form. But we hadn’t actually watched all that many plays, so I don’t think we truly understood. What else? Oh yeah, we wanted to be like Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention.

It’s really hard to explain what kind of group Tetsuwari is, isn’t it?

Inui: Once, in English conversation class, I had to do a presentation about what I was doing. When I explained it all to the teacher, he said it was called “Marginal Performance.” What we’re doing is influenced by folklore, by the old legends and entertainment that used to be done in rural areas. For example, African tribal music, American blues, Japanese dragon dance, sumo, kabuki, bunraku, and so on. I feel like what we do is an imitation of that kind of popular travelling entertainment.

Masao: The name Tetsuwari also comes from that history. Long ago there was a man named Kumazo Tetsuwari who led a group of performers who did tricks with their feet, called the Tetsuwari Family. They’d spin tubs on their feet and stuff.

Inui: I think it was something like an Edo-era circus. They went over to America and made a living by performing their foot tricks. I read about them in a book by Shoichi Ozawa (Chairman of the Shabondama Theater Company, essayist, and entertainment scholar) and I liked the sound of it, so I named us Tetsuwari. Albatross is a kind of bird, but it’s also the name of songs I like, both one by Fleetwood Mac and one by PiL, so we added it to our name.

Oh, I see. So that was the reason.

Inui: Actually, you’ll never believe it, but our website is tetsuwari.com, and we were contacted by a Japanese guy living in America, saying, “Why are you using the name Tetsuwari?” And so we explained, “This is this and that is that, and that’s why we’re Tetsuwari.” And the reply came, “Kumazo Tetsuwari was my great-grandfather.” Apparently he’d even appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show once.

What a remarkable story. Now, I’d like to know what your wacky group of misfits is planning to do next.

Inui: We’ve just been continuing on like this without any particular goals, so I don’t know what we’ll do. Don’t you think it’s amazing that we’ve come this far despite all that?

Misao: I don’t really feel like continuing, and I never made any passionate promises or anything. (laughs) Inui, your goal is to be popular with the ladies, isn’t it?

Inui: Yeah. I mean, I’d like to meet one. (laughs) Ah well, simply put, we’re like a bunch of middle school kids who put a band together. I mean, we’re all friends. So I don’t know what to say when someone comes up to me all serious about acting and asks to join the group.

Murakami: We climb the mountain because it’s there type of thing, you know?

Inui: I think the existence of Tetsuwari has been very vital for me. It’s like my hobby is Tetsuwari. Take away Tetsuwari and what have I got? Nothing but boring hobbies like reading and watching movies. I’m the leader and I write the scripts and stuff, but it’s like I’m the one who replaces the battery in the clock, and after I change the battery, it’s “Everyone gather together under the clock!” and then all my friends comes and pass time under the clock. It’s like that.

Misao: What the hell kind of literary expression is that? (laughs) It sounds like we’re prisoners of time or something. Are you okay with that?

Inui: Okay then, everyone gather together under the mad clock!?

Speaking of friends or group members, everyone in Tetsuwari seems to be quite individualistic. It’s remarkable that everyone’s managed to stick together so well.

Misao: We didn’t go out of our way to find people like that, they just came together somehow. But I think we do get along because we all bring something different to the group. It’s like, we’re not friends because we’ve all watched the same movies, we’re friends because we’ve all watched different ones.

Murakami: I entered the group after it had already been going for a while, and one thing that really strikes me is how at first I thought, “These people are freaky.” but over time, we became friends and I realised, “Oh, they’re just normal.” When I first started, people told me things like, “one of them is a pyromaniac” and “one of them is a murderer” so I thought they were really dangerous people, people I wouldn’t even be able to have a normal conversation with. But once we started rehearsing together everyone was really normal, and I was so relieved.

Inui: What! When I first saw you, I was scared! I was like, who is this guy!? (laughs)

But, I can see where you’re coming from, feeling that the Tetsuwari people are “normal.” I’m getting that feeling myself. In that sense, the popular image that Tetsuwari is a motley crew of cranks and oddballs is slightly off the mark.

Murakami: Also, people think we don’t try very hard, but that’s not true. We can’t say we’re able to entertain everyone, and we can’t say that “people who don’t understand us are stupid.” I mean, we don’t have a core, so it’s very scary to do what we do. That’s why I think we’re putting in a lot of effort.

Inui: It’s true. We are trying hard. When I’m directing, I just say stuff like, “Murakami, do some pee pee paa paa there,” but when I work at writing the script, I’m very serious about what I do. There’s no sense of being laid back or easygoing.

Misao: Personally, I don’t feel like I’m trying that hard. But I do want to see things other than what I already know to be entertaining, so I do try hard to produce that. I guess you could call it spite. (laughs) I think about stuff like, “what can Murakami do to bring out his charm?” It’s fun to try and produce something where it’s hard to tell whether it’s acting or not. I do make an effort to do that.

Inui: Aaah, I hate doing stuff where the actors can confidently say, “It’s pretty neat, isn’t it!” It’s like, I’m the one writing the script, but I can never tell whether it’s funny or not, so how can they be so confident! (laughs)

I see. But Tetsuwari is pretty neat. I wonder why that is?

Murakami: I’ve thought seriously about how people enter the sleep state when they go to bed, and I think it’s something like that. When you’re falling asleep, words that aren’t words, “te-ni-o-ha” with no grammar or logic get connected together and we fall asleep. I think that state when the mind is just floating is similar to what Tetsuwari does on stage. While watching the short programmes, your mind gets more and more floaty. In other words, I think Tetsuwari is a theater group that does performances that are like daydreams.

Tetsuwari Schedule 2009

11th September-13th September
Azumabashi Dance Crossing

26th September
Event at Nasu

12th November – 17th November
Performance at the Suzunari theatre

Hello. Even though you’re not located in a commercial district, the customers just keep coming in, don’t they?

For some reason, everyone makes the effort to come out here, and for that I’m very grateful. The customers especially seem to come when the other staff member has a day off and I’m here by myself! (laughs)

What was the basis for your idea to set up shop here?

When you think about it, dishes are something people deal with every day until they die. I’m talking about dishes in the sense of “tools for eating.” But when people hear about “dishes” and “pottery” they often shrink away and say, “I’m not too good with that kind of thing.” That’s why I wanted to make a space like this where I could introduce some really good ceramics artists to people and let them experience the works in a relaxed atmosphere.

The customers who were just in bought quite a few pieces. Do you ever have a chance to hear feedback from people after they’ve bought things from you?

Actually, I often do. I’ll get a call at nine in the morning, saying, “I just used my dishes for the first time, and I cried.” Dishes are just inanimate objects, but I think they transmit something through touch and can affect change on people.

That’s remarkable. I’ve never been so happy about a purchase that I phoned up the store at nine in the morning. Not once.

But they’re made from earth, and if someone puts their soul into their ceramic works, I think it’s possible to make something that will move a person to tears. It may be naïve, but as I’ve been working telling people about pottery, I’ve begun to believe that dishes are something that come back to human hands.

Could you explain a bit more what you mean by “come back to human hands?”

They say our bodies are made from some kind of primodial material, and food vessels are made by human hands by using a mixture of the basic elements of earth, water, and fire. I think if we can feel the soil through the dishes we use everyday, that could be a good thing. The dishes we use everyday are something to be held in the hand. If that experience of daily contact can be used to convey something important, then you’ve got something good. It’s not just dishes, but everything comes back to human hands. For example, here are some works by ceramics artist Teppei Ono. By touching his earthy works, your skin can get in touch with not theory, but something like the basis for life itself.

Do you mean that by touching the pieces people can feel a connection to planet earth?

Well, that’s taking it a bit far, but in actuality I think there’s something there that can only be explained in such a way.

OK, now I see what you mean. The pieces in the shop seem to have been quite painstakingly hand-selected. What kind of criteria do you use for choosing the works you carry?

Basically, I choose pieces that are: nothing special, real, not exaggerated, and which incorporate seamlessly with everyday life. Said more simply, I choose pieces which are not trying to make a big statement. Pieces which your own grandparents could feel comfortable using.

Dishes truly are an important component of daily life. But, it must be a lot of work to choose from the multitude of works of the many artists you represent, choosing which ones to carry in the shop.

I put a lot of value into the time I spend with the people who make the works I carry. I always visit them at their studios and eat together with them, talking not just about pottery but also talking with the other members of their families about all kinds of things. By learning about what kind of place they live in and what kind of food they eat, I’m able to understand the message they put into their works, and I’m able to tell others about their pieces in my own way.

The world needs both “people making things” and “people telling others,” so I think the role of someone like you is very important. I’m in awe of the passion you have for pottery. Where does that passionate energy come from?

In my case, for some reason I have loved pottery ever since I was a child. And I was never asked to do it by anyone, but something inside me told me to do it, and I started going around taking pictures and writing articles. I must have looked like a real idiot. Even I don’t think what I was doing was quite normal. So I think I must have been born to tell people about pottery dishes.

You must have been born to do it. Oh, I wish I could say that about myself someday. Now tell me, what kind of work did you do before you founded this shop and made it what it is today?

Actually, in addition to running this shop, I also write and publish books, and produce musical events and CDs. But previously, I was a writer who mainly did interviews. But then I got married and had a child. And I found myself thinking, once my child gets bigger, will I go back to the same writing job? And I began to think, “If I go on this way, what will I regret when I die?” That was when I decided I wanted to do work with the pottery that I had always loved. That’s when I started this gallery. But at first, I was so scattered. I had my writing work, and I loved pottery and had this shop , and I also had a book that I’d put together myself.

And now six years have passed since you started your shop, Utsuwa Shoken. How are your feelings about things now?

I’ve noticed that there is a connecting thread between all the things I work on; pottery, books, and music. It might be cheeky of me to say, but I feel I’m doing work that helps to encourage people. I’m not trying to put on airs, it’s what I’ve really noticed.

It must be your clear vision and the support of your family that has allowed you to come this far.

It’s true. I’m so grateful to my family for putting up with my self-centered ways. But I always make sure we eat together as a family. That’s very important to me. Even if I’m very busy with my work, I always make sure we all eat together. The people making these wonderful ceramic works are the same way. They don’t put everything into just making the dishes, they also value the act of eating very highly. It’s those elements of the everyday parts of life that come together to make good pots. But I think eating really is one of the most important things for us living now, and it’s not “going back to the hand” but I think that everything comes back to eating, and that’s why I want to keep on telling people about dishes.

News!

Starting May 1, 2009, “utsuwa-shoken onari NEAR” has opened. It’s four minutes walk from Kamakura Station in an old-fashioned shopping arcade on Onari street. It’s a very convenient location. Please stop by if you have a chance.

utsuwa-shoken　onari NEAR
Onari-cho 5-28, Kamakura City, Kanagawa

Closed: Thursdays

Open: 12:00 – 19:00

Hello. There are a few places around here called Chotaro-yaki Kiln, aren’t there? Even with my car’s navigation system, I still got lost.

Akihiro: Oh yes, there are three kilns all together. They’re run by my brothers. My elder brother is fourth in the line, I’m the fifth, and my younger brother is the sixth. We’re all going about it in our own way, but the basics are the same.

What are the basics of Chotaro-yaki?

Akihiro: The most distinctive feature of Chotaro-yaki is the glaze. We use natural glaze, which results in a pottery with depth and charm. The founder’s name was Chotaro Ariyama. When he was walking in the mountains, he found some good clay and natural glaze. The pottery he made with it was discovered by a famous artist named Kiyoshi Kuroda, and that was who decided he should call his work Chotaro-yaki.

The works made of natural glaze and clay are called Chotaro-yaki, then.

Akihiro: Yes. Even now, I walk in the woods looking for glaze and clay. But, sometimes I find it on other people’s land. (laughs) Of course, I get permission afterwards, but I borrow a little there on the spot for a test firing. (laughs)

I see. By the way, the vessel used for pouring shochu called a kurojoka is quite famous, isn’t it?

Akihiro: The first generation at our kiln was inspired by the sight of Sakurajima reflected in the water of Kinko Bay and based his design on what he saw. It’s a little known fact, but the kurojoka originated at the Chotaro-yaki Kiln.

Now, this is another topic, but Akihiro, you’re the fifth in the family to take on a kiln. Was it your father who taught you the trade?

Akihiro: It’s actually rather complicated. I was adopted by my father’s older brother. So to be precise, my uncle, the second in the line, was the one who taught me.

When were you adopted?

Akihiro: I have no idea. I’ve been living with my uncle for as long as I can remember. Well, I have heard the details from someone so I do know, but I never heard it from my uncle. I don’t know exactly when I was adopted, but in my eyes, my uncle is my father.

Wow, is that right? So that’s how you wound up at this kiln.

Akihiro: Yes. He was a very strict man, but he was also a very witty, funny man. Actually, I went to him for advice when I decided to marry my wife here.

Akihiro’s Wife: That’s right. I was working at the Nissan Prince, and he came in to buy a Skyline GTR, and I was part of the deal. (laughs) But, all joking aside, his father did come to check me out at the showroom.

That’s quite a unique start to a romance.

Akihiro: Ours wasn’t an arranged marriage or a romantic love marriage. It was more of a negotiated marriage. (laughs) I asked my father for advice. I said, “I’m thinking of marrying the girl at the showroom.”

Akihiro’s Wife: That’s right. His father had a sort of aura, a look about him. He was a wonderful man. But when I first saw him in the showroom, he had a walking stick, his beard was grown out, he was wearing a Ho Chi Minh hat, and he was smoking a rare brand of cigarette called “Ikoi.” I just thought, “Who is this guy?” And then it turned out he’d come to scout out whether I’d make a good wife or not. (laughs)

I see. He was a very unique man.

Akihiro: But with me he was very strict.

Akihiro’s Wife: He had both a strict side and a mischevious side, and that was what made him such an interesting man. He loved inviting people over and entertaining, but he never drank a drop of alcohol himself.

Akihiro: Yes. And then, when we had a guest scheduled to come, he’d start tidying up three or four days in advance. We’d thoroughly clean the place. And then, the other craftsmen and I would start to get really nervous. Then, once the visitor left, he’d say, “Well, you all must be tired. Let’s have some tea.” So everyone would relax and feel calm again. He had a silly side to him. He wasn’t strict all the time, and I think that’s why he was such a charmer.

You must have learned a lot with a teacher like that.

Yes, I did. He taught me a lot, but most of all, he taught me, “Make good use of your head and your arms!” I think one’s head and arms are the basis for any kind of work. It’s the same for pottery.

Akihiro’s Wife: And he also was a big believer in “beauty and function.” He couldn’t accept objects which had no function.

He sounds like a classic gentleman from a bygone era.

Akihiro’s Wife: You could be right. He hated how I wore men’s hand-me-down clothes. The next day, he bought me a red blouse and said, “Women should wear this kind of thing.” (laughs) He was such a delightful man, really.

Akihiro: I think the reason why I’m still making everything by hand, without a mould, is because that’s how the founder, and my father the second owner both did it. I’d like to preserve their style of doing things. That’s why I stick to handmade. I hope I can pass it all on to my son. Now, my son prefers spinning records over spinning the potters wheel though. (laughs)

Thank you very much. I feel like I got a very good picture of how you’re carrying on the wishes of your forefathers.

Akihiro’s Wife: I’m grateful to have met this guy, but I’m also very grateful to have been able to meet and live together with my mother and father in law.

Akihiro: (smile)

Tsuge kushi have become more of a traditional product these days, but in the past they were known in Japan as combs of the highest quality. There was even a song about the tsuge kushi combs of Satsuma that people used to sing in the Edo period.

Why are the tsuge kushi combs of Satsuma so famous?

There’s a species of boxwood (tsuge) called Satsuma tsuge that grows in the Ibusuki area. The best kind of boxwood is the Satsuma tsuge. As a material, it’s very dense, and the oil in the wood is retained well. It’s also very resillient. It combs through the hair very smoothly. That’s why the women of the Edo period loved them so much.

So the climate around Ibusuki helped to make it that way.

Among the boxwood that grows in Satsuma, the grain is very fine, and it’s very flexible. Around Ibusuki, the boxwood growing areas have a relatively low mean temperature. That’s why the growth is slower, and the growth rings are very narrow. This helps to produce a condensed, very dense wood. Quality-wise, imported wood can’t measure up in the least. You can tell at a glance, just by looking at the surface. It’s completely different.

They’re very expensive even now, so in the past they surely weren’t something the average person could get their hands on?

I’m sure that’s how it was. The fact that they’re a luxury product hasn’t changed even today. But really, women these days, they’ll easily spend 10,000 or even 20,000 yen in one visit to the hair salon. If you think of it that way, our combs last a lifetime. They’re really not all that expensive. (laughs)

Even so, Mr. Kita, you’ve got beautiful hair. I know that must sound strange, but…

Thank you very much. (laughs) But, I just comb it you know. I don’t do anything else.

I heard that your Kita Factory has invented a boxwood brush, and has even registered a patent. Is that right?

Yes, it’s true. One day, I started thinking about how young people use combs. Young women grip the comb in their fist. They don’t hold them like Japanese women used to. Also, our sales had started to slip, and I figured I had to try something new, and I came up with a brush made of boxwood. We brought it to market, and it sold pretty well.

So I suppose that makes the Kita Factory the birthplace of the boxwood brush.

Well, we do hold a patent, but apparently all you have to do is make a brush with a different number of bristles and there’s nothing we can do. There’s really no benefit to having a patent. (laughs) But I truly believe I was the first to come up with this idea. Thanks to the brush, our factory has made a comeback.

Were you facing a crisis at one point?

Yes, we were. I’ve experienced three boxwood comb booms since I started here, but after that, it got so bad that I couldn’t pay people’s salaries and had to let some staff go. After all, this place really is a small-town microenterprise. It was very amicable. I just said, “We’ve got no more work here, but I heard that company has something you can do.” It was very simple. (laughs)

Now, Mr. Kita, how did you wind up taking over this business?

I wasn’t the oldest son or anything, and I had no obligation to take over the business. But when I was young, I was just drifting around and my older brother called me home and made me help out with the business. At first I never intended to become a comb-maker. But while I was here, we had a boom period, and I started to enjoy the work. The next thing I knew, 42 years had passed. (laughs)

So you’re an old hand at this by now. Weren’t you ever drawn to any other trades?

Oh no, I never was. Despite my appearance, I’m pretty good with my hands, and I can do pretty much anything I set my mind to. But as things turned out, I was given this boxwood comb shop to take care of, and made it my business. I feel that’s my life, those are the cards that were dealt to me. I’m not that smart, and I didn’t go to a good school. I just did the best with what I got. I think it’s important to do that. I’m never going to win any Order of Cultural Merit with my work, and I’m never going to build any legacy either.

I see. You haven’t any legacy?

I consider the Satsuma tsuge boxwood to be my best legacy. “That comb maker, I heard he’s got lots of boxwood.” That has been the long-standing industry rumor about my place. (laughs) In other words, the wood is my legacy. If my son ever wants to take over the factory, I at least will be able to leave him a lot of boxwood.

If your son did decide to take over the business, what kind of advice would you give him?

I would never force him to take it over. But making something yourself and selling it yourself is the most honest, straightforward way of doing business, and I think it’s the best way. Just explaining things alone, it doesn’t cover it all. There’s no manual that sets it all up. You’ve got to move your own hands and explain what your body knows, and sell it. I think that’s the best way to do it.

Now finally, this is a difficult thing to ask, but do you think these combs would be alright for men to use as well? I mean, they say you’ve got to take good care of your scalp and all, right?

There’s nothing wrong with that. Other than this comb, I don’t do anything to my hair.

Firstly, could you tell me what is special about Sakurajima-yaki pottery?

It depends on the item, but there is a silver sheen in it called “ginsai” which is unique. The clay has a lot of iron and minerals in it, and when it’s fired at 1300 degrees, it develops a silver luster.

It gives a certain sense of the magic of nature, doesn’t it?

We believe that there is a certain natural energy dwelling in the material that produces the uniquely rugged yet refined look in the works.

What kind of history does Sakurajima-yaki have?

Actually, Sakurajima-yaki isn’t a style of pottery with a long history or tradition. Sakurajima itself has been around for many tens of thousands of years, so the clay itself surely has a very long history, but Sakurajima-yaki pottery was started by my father.

So, your father was a potter then, I suppose?

No. Originally, he was a local civil servant who worked in the Sakurajima town office in the tourism department. A bureaucrat. I don’t know what he was thinking, but suddenly he established a kiln. I imagine he’d gone to someplace like Ijuin, which is a place famous for Satsuma-yaki ceramics, and had some kind of revelation.

In rural areas, working as a civil servant is one of the best, most stable jobs you can get! Why did he quit?

That’s true. He never talked about it with his family, he just said, “I’ve submitted my resignation papers,” and started doing pottery. I was still just a high schooler then and I didn’t really understand. I just thought, “What on earth has he done?” He was in his late-forties and he made a big life decision. The family was too busy to object; he had us all helping out at the kiln! (laughs) Kagoshima men are all stubborn, so once he made up his mind he wouldn’t have listened to what we said anyway.

That’s an amazing story. If he was willing to make such a decision, he must have been very attracted to pottery, or a very good sense about it.

Of course my father had a certain amount of interest in Satsuma-yaki. But he was so badly coordinated, and he’d never done pottery before. He started the workshop in 1972, and it was just a constant run of errors. He’d study a bit then make something, study and make again. Over and over.

If he started the kiln up without any preparation in advance, then you must have had no income at all for quite a while.

Yes, that’s right. He just spent every day working at it, and he kept at that for two years. In other words, we went two years without an income. He had no sense of how to run a business. He did set up a store at the workshop, but he had never done that kind of business before, and the shop looked just like a house, with a gate and everything.

You operated the business as a family, isn’t that right?

Yes. My father did the firing, my sister turned the wheel, and I did the glazing. There were two other staff as well. My mother was running a fruit shop. I think that’s how we were able to stay alive . Even so, we were up to our ears in debt. The fear of the bills at the end of every month is something I can’t forget even now. But other than that, we were quite laid back. We had the attitude, “As long as we make it, it’ll sell someday.” We’d talk about how, “Pottery doesn’t have an expiry date.” So we just kept building up our stock. (laughs)

When did things finally start selling?

That was when the tourist boom happened. It was around 1976. Back then it wasn’t easy to take trips overseas. Everyone took their holidays within Japan. Miyazaki and Kagoshima were particularly popular. For honeymoons, people didn’t go to places like Hawaii, Guam, and Saipan like they do now. A lot of people came to Kyushu. So people would come to Kagoshima and visit Sakurajima, come to our shop and buy some things to take home. We started getting more and more customers like that.

In one sense, it’s quite amazing that the kiln got on track in just one generation.

We had our low points – we were taken by a wholesaler for a few million yen once, but during the bubble years in the 1980s, our stuff just flew off the shelves. Our huge parking lot was packed with cars. We sometimes ran out of things to sell. Even then, the customers wanted to buy something to take home, so they waited outside for the pieces to be fired.

They were buying fresh-baked dishes straight out of the oven!

Yes they were. They’d look inside the kiln at the pots and say, “I’ll take one of these and one of those.” When I think about it now I can hardly believe it myself.

What are your thoughts on how to proceed now?

Actually, the founder, my father, passed away last year. The economy isn’t very good now, so I can’t say we’re doing well, but the Kyushu Shinkansen bullet train service is starting in 2011. I’m hoping that will bring some more visitors to Kagoshima’s Sakurajima. Well, we already know what it’s like to hit rock bottom, so in that sense we have nothing to fear. (laughs) I hope we can continue to manage the business debt-free, and keep providing good products for our customers.

I’m sure your father would be very happy to know that the family is still carrying on his life’s work.

I think so too. But I wish I had asked him, “Why did you become a potter?” That’s one thing I still don’t know, even now. (laughs)

Hello, thank you for making time for us at such a short notice. I heard that you run a sake brewery and wondered if you would tell us a little bit about sake making.

No, no, I’m now a president and not the managing director so I don’t really ‘run’ the brewery. I only experiment and prepare for the next fight. You might be able to call it research and development, to put it simply.

I see, so you are developing new sake products! I was always curious about how sake was being produced.

Well, in my case, I come up with the name first. The name comes first, then I start thinking about the taste. It might be more accurate to say that I weave a story from the name and then start experimenting with the taste. After that, when I think I’ve done enough research and development, I pass it onto the brewery and the actual production gets going from there.

So you’re adopting this somewhat obscure way of sake making.

I think it’s now an interesting era for people who brew sake seriously, because these days, women have started drinking sake too. The fact that ladies – who are great story lovers – indulge in sake is intriguing. They have an acute sense of taste but taste in the end is just a perceptual illusion, you see. (laughs)

What? Taste is just an illusion? I can kind of understand that women love stories but what do you mean by taste is just an illusion?

For instance, there is this concept that “flowers are beautiful.” But that’s because there is an assumption in human minds that “flowers should be beautiful.” The beauty lies not in the flowers but in human brains. Don’t you think?

Well, that’s confusing….

Flowers are nothing more than flowers. It’s neither beautiful nor ugly if there is no one to appreciate it and it’s people who add the perception of beauty to it. And the same goes for the taste of sake. So making stories that human brains perceive as ‘tasty’ is one of the aspects of what I’m doing.

Okay, I’m starting to get it a little bit now. Can you give us an actual example?

It’s really simple. For example, there is a non-fiction author called Mayumi Mori and she once published a critical biography of Ogai Mori called “Ogai no Saka.” We were asked to brew new sake to commemorate the book’s publication and the idea I got at the time was to use 100 year-old yeast – because the book was about Ogai Mori. He was an author from Meiji Period, and that’s about 100 years ago, you see?

Oh, indeed. It’s certainly romantic to read the book while drinking sake made with yeast from 100 years ago. But you still need proper skills, right?

Of course we do. If the story isn’t based on skills that produce a high quality, it all becomes fictional. I suppose it’s important to have something to back it up.

I see. But you are a hard worker and perhaps you were born with that kind of frame of mind.

(Laughs) I’m not a hard worker, I’m just having fun. I call it research and development, but all I’m doing is moving my hands. I’m not using my brain all that much either. Everyone tries to think with their head but if you keep your hands moving, then they’ll discover and think it all for you. It’s so easy. What’s more, sake koji mold is really hardworking and once I put them in the tank, they do the job for you. There is nothing more beautiful than that. (laughs)

Um, there is an indescribable depth to your words…. I’m starting to see why people in Ikazaki were saying that they feel manipulated by you.

I’m not manipulating anyone or anything. But then most Japanese people don’t follow things up as much as they should so words are lost on each other even though we are speaking the same language. For instance, if someone gets angry and tries to leave the room, I say “Hey, wait, we have some sake here, why don’t you have a glass? Here’s a set of Hanafuda (Japanese playing cards) too.” That’s the kind of follow up you need. Communications are prone to get vague but maybe it’s all about confirming and not leaving things vague as they are.

By the way, we heard that you are also a facilitator in town-building amongst other things.

I have participated in activities to preserve the scenery of the Oda River. That was fun. The prefecture is efficiency-oriented so they destroy the nature and try to do major bank protection works using concrete. I thought that wasn’t good so I went along to the prefectural government but they flatly refused to listen and wouldn’t even give me the time of the day. So I made the next move and started paying visits to ministry offices in Kasumigaseki. I travelled back and forth on Shinkansen week after week. Then I was able to meet a bureaucrat from the River Bureau of the Construction Ministry and as I kept bringing him things like my sake and daikon radish from my field, we eventually became friends. He said “Mr. Kame, I want to see the Oda River in Ikazaki with my own eyes” and came all the way down here. The officials from the prefecture were in such a panic. They quickly changed their attitude and gave us an almost red-carpet welcome. (laughs)

I suppose bank protection works are strange things, meaning, they destroy the scenery for disasters that rarely happen. And what happened after that?

Eventually, it was decided that the “Neo-Natural River Reconstruction Method” (a method that takes the natural scenery of the river into account) developed in Switzerland should be introduced for the first time in Japan. And a couple of years after that, the Construction Ministry has issued instructions for the prefectural governments across Japan to introduce the method too. Well, for someone like me, who adores Che Guevara and empathises with him, it feels great to be able to do something like that. Empathising might be a talent of a sort, actually.

That’s really amazing. You effectively changed the entire river projects in Japan! What’s the secret of your so-called black magic?

One, people should not be trusted, but loved. Two, there is no such thing as a majority decision – always forward with your own strength. Three, do not have such delusion that people can be persuaded by words. Four, life, money, status and honour are all mere stage props; there is no need for them if there is no drama to be performed on stage.

This neighborhood still has a lot of character. It’s nice. Were you born here?

Yes, I was. I was born in Arakawa-ku (in 1947) and raised here too. It used to be all craftsmen living around here. My father was a craftsman. He used to make the necks for shamisen.

So with shamisen craftspeople the work is divided up then, is it? Do you have a specialty, Mr. Katoh?

I’m a hide stretcher. My father told me, “The people stretching the hides make good money, so you should become a hide stretcher.” So when I graduated from junior high school, I began my apprenticeship under a hide stretcher. (laughs)

You started working as a craftsman straight out of junior high school. I can’t even imagine that.

I was fifteen, so I didn’t even really think about it. I just became a craftsman. Every day, learning new techniques, that was my job.

It must have been really tough.

Oh, but I was really lucky because the place I was apprenticing at had a lot of books. The first book I read there was Hesse’s Beneath the Wheel. My world opened up and I began to think about a lot of things. “Well, am I going to continue like this, as a mere shamisen hide stretcher, for the rest of my life?” and other things like that. And that was when I decided to work as a craftsman while going to night school.

Is that right? Speaking of which, how many years did you spend apprenticing to be a craftsman?

Seven years. After I finished, I was twenty-two years old and I set out on a trip. For two years, I hitch-hiked and slept outside, walking all over Japan. I didn’t have any money, so sometimes I took on temporary jobs that included room and board, and just travelled around at my own whim. If I saw a beautiful sunset somewhere, I’d say to myself, “Alright, I’ll camp here for the night.” It was that kind of trip. You could say I was a certain type of idiot. (laughs) But at that time, there were lots of people in Japan that we called the “kani-zoku.”

Kani-zoku? What’s that?

In the 1960s and 70s, people would carry 30 kilo packs on their backs and take off on long journeys without any money. Those two years I spent travelling, that was wasted time. But it was my “precious wasted time,” I suppose you could say. (laughs) I don’t know how it’s helping me, but those two years of experiences are stored away, and they’ve had a big influence on my life since then.

I see. You’re a shamisen maker, but there’s a certain rock’n’roll sense of freedom in your workshop. That could be where it comes from. I wonder if that helped give you the inspiration to make an electric shamisen?

In all actuality, I really don’t know. The electric shamisen itself
was originally made after I saw a musician playing a shamisen in a live concert. He was performing with a stand mic, but the shamisen was drowned out by the sounds of the other instruments. I started thinking about how to fix that problem, and began doing research and
development on an electric shamisen. That was back when I’d just started this shop, in 1989.

Did you want to take that beautiful natural shamisen sound and change it to an electric sound?

That’s not quite it. Actually, the truth is I wanted to take the natural sound and make it beautiful by using electricity. I mean, the guitar, the bass, the drums, if you want to go on stage with modern instruments like that you’ve normally got to play into a stand mic, and it’s very hard to hear the shamisen.

What do you mean exactly?

All the stand mic picks up are the attack notes and all of the lingering tones are lost. The other instruments use a line to pick up the sound, and drums are loud to begin with. He wanted to play on stage with those instruments, and in order to be heard, he had to use an electric line. That’s why the original point of making an electric shamisen wasn’t to create an unusual sound, but to accurately reproduce the beautiful and subtle tones of the shamisen. We went through a lot of trial and error to make it, but thanks to our hard work, our shamisen have shared a stage with the famous taiko drummer Eitetsu Hayashi.

Wow, is that right! That’s kind of revolutionary, isn’t it?

In one way, we just connected tradition with the future. Even so, “Shamisen, for the next millenium!” was the last thing on our minds. (laughs) Even so, I like to do futuristic stuff for my own enjoyment.

I see. “Futuristic stuff.” I think I get what you’re talking about.

For example, the shamisen concert advertised on this poster. This is the kind of futuristic stuff I’m trying out. The performers are really famous. Hiromitsu Agatsuma, he’s famous, right? And how about Shinichi Kinoshita and Hidetaro Honjo? I’m talking about the A-list of the shamisen world here.

Mr. Katoh, are you the promoter behind this star-studded event? I don’t mean to be rude, but craftspeople don’t usually go arranging concerts…

Yes. There’s no direct connection between the events and my business, and my wife is always saying, “Maybe it’s time you stopped?” (laughs) But really, I belonged to a theater company when I was younger, and I’m used to stage work. I used to act when I wasn’t working. That experience is serving me well now. Also, the participants are all customers of mine.

I see… It really is worthwhile to pursue things outside your regular career, isn’t it? You really are a rock’n’roll kind of guy. And on top of that, you make musical instruments that can make a sound that satisfies the top musicians. I just thought you had an interesting product and came to see you, but I clearly underestimated you! I’m very sorry.

Well, I’m good at just going with the flow. I don’t think, I just do what’s necessary in each situation, trying things out in the field, and using the results of that in my work. Years of repeating that work style has taken me to where I am now. In that sense, I think my young years travelling as a kani-zoku have served me well. (laughs)

I think that’s a really wonderful, happy thing!

Oh, I think you’re right. People who have everything but don’t know what they want to do in life must lead a pretty boring existence. Even in a tough, poor environment, if you know what you should do, if you manage to find a dream, you’re going to be a happy man. Making things I can get excited about and putting on stages is what does it for me. But, I pay for it. After an event is over is the toughest… Last year, the day after the concert I couldn’t even climb the stairs in the subway station I was so burned out. (laughs)