July 2025 — Across Islands: From Tokyo to Seoul

The last of the plum rains, I was told.

July 14th in Tokyo was a humid day broken by thunder and lightning. The new Ireland House glowed softly, its glass façade admitting guests gathered to celebrate the award of the Seamus Heaney Prize to poet Siobhán Morrissey. I was honoured to be invited to perform on this occasion, marking my first visit to the new building.

Just a few days prior I had played an organ concert in the Tullamore International Summer Organ Series with violinist Bogdan Şofei. Now I journeyed into the heart of Tokyo with the Satsumabiwa.

The atmosphere in the Embassy building, though formal, was relaxed and welcoming, something the Embassy Staff always achieve so well, a wonderful mingling of speeches, conversation, and laughter.

Earlier in the day, Ambassador Damien Cole graciously hosted a dinner, welcoming Siobhán Morrissey, Chris Heaney (Seamus Heaney’s son, who presented the award later that day), Andrew Fitzsimmons, and myself. I enjoyed the every conversation very much, particularly with Siobhán Morrissey.

That evening, at the formal presentation of the award, I was asked to provide a musical touch that would add to the moment. The whole evening was inspiring, particularly listening to Siobhán Morrissey read from her own poetry and from Seamus Heaney's, The occasion was one where all delineations between art, poetry, and friendship blur in a most rewarding way.

Because of the nature of these gatherings — with speeches, drinks, and moments for chat — my performance time was brief. I chose a single piece that I felt could best capture the mood: Horaisan.

Not only is it the final story in Lafcadio Hearn’s Kwaidan, but it echoes the Irish tale of Tír na nÓg in its vision of an otherworldly land of peace, untouched by decay. The opening line — “Medetaya na” (“How auspicious!”) — sets a tone of quiet celebration, which felt fitting for the occasion.

Crossing to Korea

The following morning, I travelled to South Korea, where I was to present at an academic conference — SEAA-SNU Anthropology 2025 Conference in Seoul. This was a joint paper with Dr. Lijing Peng of Trinity College Dublin’s Centre for Asian Studies.

Having spent so much time in Japan, I found this journey surprisingly refreshing. There is a particular feeling one gets when stepping off an island onto the vast continental landmass — a kind of geographical and psychological shift. As an Irishman, it was something I recognised instantly.

Our presentation focused on the evolution of Satsumabiwa song texts — from their earliest published forms in the late 19th century to those of the 1960s. These collections, often published by performers themselves, trace the subtle transformations of Japan’s cultural identity during a time of great change.

We highlighted two aspects that reveal much about that transformation:

1. The introduction of Chinese poetry — texts by both Chinese and Japanese authors — into Satsumabiwa songs. This opens many questions about literary taste and the intellectual movements of the Meiji and Taishō eras.

2. The addition of vocal markings, first appearing around 1903, which offer glimpses into how early performers shaped melody and phrasing — the “musical mind” behind the written word.

Shifting Focus: From Music to Text

For many years, my research and performance practice have centred on the musical side of the Satsumabiwa — its modal structures, interludes, and vocal techniques. This aligned closely with the work of my teacher, Fumon Yoshinori.

Lately, however, I find my attention turning increasingly to the texts themselves. Music, after all, serves the text — it gives the words shape, breath, and rhythm.

A typical biwa recitation can last more than half an hour. Simply “telling a story” isn’t enough; the performer must modulate time, focus energy in waves, and decide where the heart of the narrative lies. Studying which lines of text were emphasised in different eras allows us to glimpse how people of the time understood the narrative, what was found noble or heroic within it, and as ever, the subtle all pervasive sense of the impermanence of life.

This interplay of music and text — of sound and meaning — is becoming the heart of my current research.

Looking Ahead

July was a month of crossings: from the organ to biwa, the poetic worlds of Heaney and Hearn to the scholarly exchanges of Seoul; performance to research, and musical sound to sung word. Each transition, in its own way, reminded me that music reaches places in unexpected ways, a journey that leads one across borders, languages, and genres.