Dancing with the Dead

From time to time the question comes up if we ever compose our own pieces or if we ever improvise. And it is a legit question as all honkyoku must have be written down or “composed” if you like at some point or other in history. For the oldest pieces like Kokū or Mukaiji the Legend of the Kyotaku explains that they have been “received” in visions or dreams. But for many others we don’t know their exact origin and only in a few cases the “composers” are known by name (e.g. Ōshū-Sashi).

The Myōan tradition of shakuhachi is based on the idea that what we do is not some kind of musical performance, and therefore concepts of “expressing oneself”, “musical virtuosity” or “creativity” do not apply. It seems to be the fundamental mystery about the tradition that what seen from the outside is clearly a musical tradition is denying its musicality from the inside. 

For me personally it has always been a strong source of inspiration that by playing those melodies that have come down to us through the tradition I encounter the people who originally played them. By playing those melodies again and again I feel connected to those “old masters” and in a strange sense even close to them. “Close as if our eyebrows were touching” as the Zen saying goes. Those players lived in a different age and their day to day experience must have been different from my own in so many respects. But in a curious way we are connected by those melodies and phrases that have been handed down through the ages. These old friends have long been gone but their tunes are an ongoing inspiration for me living in the 21st century. It really feels like “Dancing with the Dead”, to borrow a phrase from the famous translator Red Pine. 

I therefore never felt the need to compose my own honkyoku and will content myself with being one link in the chain of tradition - allowing the perpetual dance to continue.