This post continues from Beyond a Song - My first experience of Recitation on Biwa.
In July 1995, at the end of our second meeting, Fumon suggested that I might start to take Satsumabiwa lessons more regularly. I was interested but did not have an instrument. Nor had I any idea how to go about getting one. I thought Fumon was trying to tell me he would get one for me, but my Japanese being too poor, nothing was confirmed when we parted.
In early December 1995, we next met, once more at Takasaki Fine Arts College, again for the open weekend.
I was pleased to see he was well, and he warmly greeted me. We continued with the same piece, Kuzure.
Fumon’s student, Kobayashi, was also present this time. Her English ability was good which made communication much easier.
I learned Fumon had an instrument ready for me to buy if I wished. We decided to commence lessons on the Satsumabiwa and my first lesson took place on the 8th of December, 1995, a Thursday.
The first lesson - a new instrument
Apprehensive and excited, I met Fumon in the Fine Arts College. I had adopted the habit of recording all lessons on the shakuhachi by this time. I brought my recorder with me and . Here is a short sample from the lesson.
I also saw the instrument for the first time.
The face board was made of mulberry wood. The grain of the wood caught my attention because it had black lines through it. It turned out that it came from Miyake island in the Pacific Ocean which has an active volcano. Because of volcanic activity on the island, the original tree had been scorched and burnt during eruptions.
The back piece was made of magnolia. The neck of the instrument as well as the circumference were laquered black.
A picture formed a horizontal band across the widest part of the face board. This decorative feature is found on many biwa. This band is called the bachimen and is usually the most likely part to have a painting, lacquer or other decorative feature.
Each of the Satsumabiwa Fumon owned had this decorative feature, if I remember correctly. I think he felt the Satsumabiwa should appeal to the eye as well as the ear. His eldest brother Fumon Gyo was an established artist and had painted the bachimen of some of his brother's instruments. Fumon Gyo's paintings are on display in the Nara Prefectural Art Gallery. Fumon was the youngest of a large family.
I thought that the decorative bachimen would be damaged by the plectrum, however, the plectrum strikes against the faceboard just above it. It is only with the fast tremolo sections that the plectrum might strike the bachimen.
More than a message
I was very surprised to see writing on the back of the instrument. Fumon had written four characters, 琵琶三昧 Biwa zammai, with his signature and the date as well, September 1st, 1995.
三昧 Sammai are the Chinese Characters for the Buddhist word samadhi. (This is also used in Hindu, Jain and other religions but I limit myself to Buddhism as the faith Fumon practiced.)
There is more than one meaning to the word. However, from memory, I recall Fumon explaining it meant to focus and concentrate completely on an object without wavering; then through removing all distractions, one can begin to see the true form of the object.
One of the most difficult things with playing Satsumabiwa is the lack of any visual aids. Unlike the organ or instrument with keys, the Satsumabiwa has no visual reference for pitch. One must find the pitch by pressing down onto the strings and entrust this experience to a memory beyond sensory memory. I think it is rather a perceptive memory that touches the perception of ones own being in the act of playing. It is an introspective movement actualized in sound, exploring the infinity within.
In this way, seeing the true form of the biwa is in fact touching the true form of the self.
Fumon began learning the Satsumabiwa in his early teens. After some 70 years of focused attention on this instrument and its art, I could appreciate the depth of meaning these words had for him.
Having the instrument signed by Fumon along with a message telling what I was to seek after still moves me today, some twenty years after Fumon's death.
It also established a relationship between player and instrument I had not thought about before - the sense that the instrument was an object to be understood, but also an aid to understanding oneself. I had come to understand instruments as a means to produce sound. That there could be more to this experience of making music was something I came to understand after much trial.
This was to be an encounter with an instrument, and with these words I was given an admonition to seek the truth of the experience of playing. Tradition was not the sound produced or the words sung but also the introspective perceptual memory of playing extending across generations of teacher-student relationships into the past and now received by myself.
Cry of the Phoenix
I noticed that the instrument was given a name, unique to it! With a name, it seemed to acquire a presence, a soul, inanimate though it was. Fumon called the instrument, Homei 鳳鳴 - Cry of the Phoenix. I feel sure he had a desire that the Satsumabiwa would rise again from the ashes of the post war era when tradition was abandoned in favour of novelty and convenience, in an era of timid men chasing fleeting trends.
What I received that day was an object that brought together so many aspects of our human expressive nature - music and sound, artful construction and the written word.
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