Perhaps the paramount thing in my mind when I began this haphazard discussion (this column) of what it means to understand and be exposed to a culture, was my experience with 1970s pop music in Japan. I have no hesitation in saying that the strongest link that I constructed with Japanese culture in my childhood, was through this genre of music.

When I was little, my mom would play a dark grey cassette that contained hit songs from the 70s, to which I can remember dancing and singing to (remember, I was a kid) in our living room. We would also watch recordings of music shows and recaps of retro hits that my aunt would send us via VCR, and these were the songs that latched themselves onto my soul for the rest of my life.

These are not only some of my first memories, but also one of the first things I could touch and feel as I groped in the dark to try to understand (as one can when they’re a kid) this culture that I knew was different from the one I lived in, but of which I was somehow a part.

Many of the songs from the 70s, much like our own hits from the 70s in America, still hold a prominent place in music culture even now. You will still see shows that reminisce about the cultural importance of these hit songs, what they meant then, and what they mean  now.

The 70s have been hailed as the Golden Age of popular music in Japan. It witnessed the rise of the pop star, the conflagration of a specific form of pop called kayokyoku, and the emergence of Nyu Myujikku (literally “New Music”) which featured singer-songwriters, one of which was Southern All Stars.

These songs marked a decade of hope and aspirations, a call to be strong and look to the future, a reassertion of confidence, and the passing of a former generation.  And now let me list a few of my favorites, and a few objective hits.

1) Kamome ga Tonda Hi by Watanabe Machiko

This was one of those songs on that cassette tape I mentioned earlier. The title means “the day the gull flew away,” and tells of how a woman’s lover decided to leave her. Back in the day I just liked the melody (which I still think is awesome) but the lyrics are also neat, blending the protagonist’s sorrow with the marine scenery before her, and a noncommittal man between.

2) Mata Au Hi Made by Ozaki Kiyohiko

This. Is. A classic. It was Ozaki’s shooting star moment—he ruptured the sky one second, but it was the only time he shone. This remains one of the greatest classics in Japanese music history. Titled “Until We Meet Again,” it centers around a couple agreeing to separate until they, well, meet again. This song was also Aku Yu (the lyricist)’s subtle way of shifting the tide in lyric-writing. Until the 70s, women in song lyrics were almost always passive beings—they were abandoned, left, pining for the man that they lost, with an implication that life “ended,” in a way, after the tearing up of a relationship. Aku diverged from this trend. In this song, the sentiment to break up was mutual—what is crucial in the lyrics is futari (both of us) and (o)tagai (each other), which places both parties of the relationship on the same ground. No one is left, and both have a say.

3) UFO by Pink Lady (but basically all of their songs)

Mii and Kei, a dynamic duo, took Japan by storm and even encroached into America with their catchy songs and flashy costumes. Call it corny, call it what you will, but their songs took over the radio and, oddly enough, captured children’s imaginations. You could see little kids reproducing Pink Lady’s iconic dances on the sidewalk back in the day. I came along twenty years too late, but it still managed to become a part of my childhood.

4)  “Kita no Yado kara” by Miyako Harumi

Miyako Harumi is one of the most iconic enka artists, enka being a more hybrid version of traditional music and the blues. This epic song blasted off in 1976, fueled by a great melody, melancholy but subtly gutsy lyrics, and Miyako Harumi’s unequaled vocals. Lit. “From the Inn in the North” is a perfect song for a winter afternoon.

4b) If I’m going to talk about winter enka songs, I cannot leave out “Tsugaru kaikyo fuyugeshiki” (Winter scenery; the Tsugaru Strait), by Ishikawa Sayuri. She first performed this at 19 years of age, a beautiful song written again by Aku Yu about a woman leaving a lover and hopping on a ship back to the north. It gives me goosebumps every time.

5) “Minato no Yoko Yokohama Yokosuka” by the Downtown Boogie Woogie Band

The 70s was also a friendly battle site between lyricists. Aku Yu, a giant of this musical era, wrote that he was pretty much blasted off his chair by this song, produced by Aki Yoko and Uzaki Ryudo (also the lead singer), a husband-wife duo. Yoko would herself become a very influential lyricist from hereon. Aku admitted that he was almost envious because he hadn’t thought of writing a song like this, in all its gutsy glory and bravado, first.

6) “Champion” by Alice

A rock band trio produced this classic in 1978, an anthem that would leave its deep, visceral mark on the music scene. It’s fiery, following a boxing fighter into the ring and out of it, a champion–a champion that didn’t win the match, but a champion nonetheless, who whispers to himself that now he can go back to being “an ordinary man.”

The post Matcha, Manga, and Mayonnaise: Throwback 2 appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Well, yes. …Partly. Conveniently enough, mayonnaise actually happens to occupy a position of royalty in Japan’s culinary culture.

First, a bit of history: Japan’s mayomaniacs are forever indebted to Nakashima Toichiro, who introduced the

condiment in 1925 after encountering it during his student days in America. Supposedly with nutrition in mind, Toichiro gave mayonnaise his own twist, altering some of the ingredients—instead of whole eggs, he used the yolks; instead of distilled vinegar, he

substituted apple cider vinegar; he excluded water and added some trusty MSG. What Japanese consumers then received was a richer, creamier version of mayo, delivered in a very cute little jar. The logo that Toichiro chose was Kewpie, a Cupid-baby character originally created as a cartoon by Rose O’Neill. In 1958, Kewpie mayonnaise began to be delivered in very squeezable bottles with red

caps, sold inside crisp, plastic bags decorated with the Kewpie logo underneath an America kitchen-esque red lattice pattern. The American equivalent would be Miracle Whip bottles, just more squeezable and better tasting.

Gastronomes went crazy. If you assimilated all the various uses the entire population of Japan has with mayonnaise, you would reach the conclusion that mayonnaise finds its way onto and into everything. EVERYTHING.

Salad, all vegetables, curry, omelets, cabbage patties, takoyaki, eggs, toast, casserole, seafood (all the seafood), sushi, dessert, ramen, stir-fry noodles, tofu, rice, onigiri, seaweed salad, natto (fermented beans), pizza, sausage, fried chicken… you get the idea. If you’re planning to add greens powder to your diet, read this review first: Athletic Greens Review – Is It Worth the Price? – BarBend

Some of these foods have mayonnaise drizzled over them as a sort of custom—takoyaki and okonomiyaki, for example, are usually served with a multi-colored topping of ketchup, a variant of Worcestershire sauce, seaweed, fish flakes, and mayo.

You will also find mayo inside these “traditional” foods. Takoyaki, for instance, is sold in some shops with mayo as the actual filling, cream-puff style.

But perhaps one of the more jarring examples of mayo infiltration (to me at least) is that of sushi. Sushi rolls with corn-mayonnaise filling; salmon nigiri blanketed under onions, hot sauce, and mayo; or hamburger patty sushi dressed, of course, with mayonnaise, are not unusual encounters you have at kaitenzushi, which are sushi restaurants in which the sushi travels around the counter on a conveyor belt.

There is also an entire potato chip cult surrounding mayonnaise. Though I have heard of people dipping their chips in mayonnaise, they can be spared the extra labor by the variety of mayo flavored potato chips on the market. Egg and mayo, soy sauce and mayo, scallop and mayo, tuna and mayo, fish egg and mayo, plum and mayo, avocado and mayo, shrimp and mayo, mustard and mayo, and even shrimp, mustard, and mayo, all awaiting their mayo-loving consumers in delightfully colorful packages.

For those of us who feel like we have a bottomless hole in our lives, Japan just may have the answer.

The post Matcha, Manga, and Mayonnaise appeared first on KRUI Radio.

You have just had the pleasure of watching Japan’s national exercise routine, rajio taiso.

Also known as radio calisthenics, rajio taiso literally translates to “radio exercise.” Especially among the generations of the latter half of the twentieth century, it has become as synonymous with the summer vacations of your childhood as shaved ice and fireworks. It was a common thing for kids to venture out to the nearest park early in the morning, turn on the radio, and go through the three-minute routine with an instructor to the familiar tune. At the end of each session they would get a stamp on a special card, which they would submit at the end of the month of August to win prizes.

In today’s fast-paced world, the tradition of radio calisthenics may have faded in some regions, but the benefits of regular exercise remain as relevant as ever. Embracing physical activity not only improves overall health but also enhances mood, cognitive function, and quality of life. Whether through traditional practices like rajio taiso or modern fitness routines, prioritizing exercise is essential for maintaining well-being.

For those seeking to incorporate rajio taiso into their daily routine or explore other forms of therapeutic exercise, resources like https://physicaltherapyequip.com/ offer a wealth of equipment and guidance. Their range of products caters to various needs, ensuring that individuals can stay active and healthy at any age or fitness level.

Jumping jacks, a classic exercise move, provide an effective way to elevate heart rate and burn calories while engaging multiple muscle groups. Incorporating jumping jacks into your fitness regimen can offer a dynamic cardiovascular workout, contributing to overall physical health and well-being. Studies have shown that the calories burned doing jumping jacks can vary depending on factors such as intensity, duration, and individual body composition. Nevertheless, regular practice of this simple yet impactful exercise can aid in weight management and improve cardiovascular endurance.

Radio calisthenics in action
Via Townnews

If you’ve ever dabbled in Japanese pop culture, you may have caught a glimpse of this exercise yourself, in a hazy morning scene in the Ghibli movie “Only Yesterday.”

So how did this exercise root itself to Japanese daily life? Its origins lie in America. Back in the twenties, the Metropolitan Life Insurance Company tried broadcasting a calisthenics routine in an effort to make Americans a bit healthier. A couple of Japanese insurance agents saw this, thought it was brilliant, and brought the idea back to Japan. The first version debuted in 1928, also serving as a commemoration of Emperor Hirohito’s coronation. The rest is history.

Kind of. After World War 2, the US banned the exercise routine, with the reasoning that it seemed too militaristic. But in the 1950s, a new version of the exercise hit the screens, and has never left since.

There are currently two “versions” of the exercise—the first version is intended for all ages and abilities, while the second, a little more advanced, is designed for working adults. The television

broadcast normally features two or more exhibitors, in addition to one sitting on a chair, who performs the modified version. The goal is for all to be able to participate.

Some companies have made this a routine for their employers as well, hoping not only to have healthier and well-circulated employees, but also to create a sense of teamwork and group effort. It’s not that unusual of a concept, either—Japanese companies are known for implementing unconventional measures to bolster a productive work environment. Some companies have instituted afternoon napping time for their employees, or giving non-smoking employees extra days off during the year to make up for time other employees have for smoke breaks.

However, rajio taiso is not enjoying the best health itself. Recent studies reveal a decline across the country in the number of children participating in their neighborhood summer rajio taiso sessions. This has been attributed to the shrinking child population, changes in social culture, and the large responsibility placed on parents. Many are concerned about this trend, with concern not only for general health, but also for the cultural role that these three minutes have borne for the past sixty years.

The post Matcha, Manga, Mayonnaise: Exercise appeared first on KRUI Radio.

In this strange mall/visitor’s center that we stopped by, I found a bespectacled man in his fifties, his hair in grey spikes, sitting on a folding chair in front of a row of red, glowing goldfish lanterns, with a shamisen on his lap. Within a minute he shut his eyes and tucked in his lips, and began to play.

I joined the small crowd sitting in front of him, soon to become transfixed. I completely forgot about my grandparents, whom I had abandoned at that point, and gaped at the storm of sounds that he plucked, snapped, and strummed out of this one instrument. My amazement may be comparable to what people felt when Technicolor first came out. And so this random old man made me fall in love with the Tsugaru shamisen.

Generically speaking, the shamisen is one of the better known Japanese traditional instruments, aside from the koto or the shakuhachi. People often see it played in some sort of ensemble with the koto, shakuhachi, and maybe a taiko drum or two. You

sometimes have a group of shamisen players with drummers and flutists, who perform nagauta, a style of music, often accompanying narration, that originated with kabuki theater.

But it is more often than not played solo–even here you find a lot of variation.

A little about the shamisen family in Japan—the mainland shamisen has an uncle in Okinawa, called a sanshin (三線). It has a smaller, rounded body and slender neck, characterized by it’s warm, twangy sound. Think “tropical banjo.”

The sanshin has a number of nephews on the mainland. One oddball, which originates in Kyushu in southern Japan, is called the gottan—it’s basically a naked shamisen, consisting only of wood and the usual three strings.

The rest of the mainland shamisen are pretty similar, all having a square face and longer neck, played with a fan-shaped pick, or bachi. The relative thickness of the neck varies between thick, narrow, and in-between, depending on which type of music you are playing.

The Tsugaru shamisen, named after its home of Tsugaru (present-day Aomori), is one of these thicker versions. The sound is earthy and sinewy, unlike the more liquid, ethereal tones of its shamisen siblings.

It sounds as if someone decided to twist air molecules into strings and pound on them with a paddle. It’s reminiscent of moist dirt, dusty sunshine, grassy fields, and the midday ocean all at once, to the point that I can feel the scene like a film on my skin.

This earthiness/physicality also bleeds into the style. In a word, it’s violent—not what you generally expect with Japanese traditional music. When I watched this guy in Aomori play, I couldn’t close my eyes and relax for fear that at some point he would break all three strings or punch a hole in the shamisen (and I didn’t want to miss that moment).

While the left hand skates, leaps, and tap dances along the bridge, the right hand dexterously plucks and slaps both the strings and the surface of the shamisen with the bachi. Yet some of them do it with such force that you wonder if they have a score to settle with the shamisen. It’s as much a performative art as it is a listening art.

I may also like the Tsugaru style, because it’s a lot like jazz. It sounds nothing like jazz—but it’s also a product of improvisation within a set of conventions. The players have no sheet music, but riff off these conventions to make the piece their own. Thus the same “song” will follow the same procedures, the same start and finish, but allows a very flexible middle section, where the players have free rein to do whatever they want as long as they want. It thus changes from person to person, like oral tradition, in the process accruing a human quality itself.

Here’s a video of a Tsugaru shamisen artist completely owning it.

The post Matcha, Manga, and Mayonnaise: Shamisen’s Alter Ego appeared first on KRUI Radio.

These are all perfectly legitimate snapshots of Japan (except for California Rolls—those things were invented in America for Americans). Yet these discrepancies dig up a big question that has bugged me for most of my twenty-year-long life:

When can you claim to “know” a different culture, and how on earth does this happen?

Growing up half-Japanese, I inevitably had to ponder this question, not that I particularly wanted to. Though I had your typical Iowan farm kid’s childhood, there were a few things about it that made it a bit… abnormal.

My first memory was learning the Japanese alphabet. I was named after the wife of a Japanese warlord from the 16^th century. My favorite childhood cartoons were Japanese kid’s anime. And holidays were quite interesting, to say the least. We’d enjoy an old-fashioned American family Christmas with turkey, eggnog, and Bing Crosby albums, but within a week the red and green Christmas festoonery was replaced by Japanese New Year decorations. While people were toasting each other to Auld Lang Syne at New Year’s Eve, we were slurping toshi-koshi noodles.

My rather awkward position between two cultures carried over into family interactions. Because of my parents’ interracial marriage, it was natural for both sides of my family to be asking about the culture and customs of the other. So this would involve explaining things like why Japanese people take their shoes off in the house, or why American people are so blunt.

I often felt like an unqualified ambassador hired on the spot, compelled to give the most positive image of the culture and people under question. But in the middle of my sentences I would often wonder, “Do I even know what I’m talking about?”

When asked questions like “What Asian things do you like?” or “You seem very Japanese” (which has been quite recently), I’ve been viewing culture more and more as a fluid, blob-like thing that you can’t merely “explain.”

For instance, I were asked something specific, like the differences between a Japanese hamburger and an American hamburger, I would gladly launch into a lecture about every minute difference in burger anatomies. But if you suddenly asked me to compare Japanese and American culture, I would plot my immediate escape. It’s too big of a question to be answered in one conversation. And yet, as I learned throughout my childhood, it has become an increasingly necessary question as we endeavor towards a more international society. This is an awesome thing…but it’s still not easy.

I think it’s easy to view “culture” as an objective construct that you can understand if given a few key terms and definitions. I could easily say that you can sum up Japan with the words “matcha, manga, and mayonnaise”—the Japanese like their green tea moments, they treasure their rich history of comics, and they have a strange urge to put mayonnaise on everything. Or to be a bit more philosophical, these three things show how the Japanese maintain a neat cohabitation between their strong sense of tradition and their readiness to embrace the modern and foreign.

That was easy. But it’s also like describing chocolate cake as a complex combination of flour, sugar, and eggs.

I think that culture is a uniquely personal thing, shifting slightly depending on each person’s interaction with the culture, and which part of the culture they came into contact with. The Japan that I got to know growing up will be very different from what someone else became acquainted with, and even more different from the Japan that the general public has heard about. But these are simply different puzzle pieces that, if assembled, form the larger thing that we call culture.

And so, my goal in this column is to share my own puzzle piece–the Japan I know and how it has shaped who I am today. This will include all the random things about my random encounters with Japanese culture, like films, music, literature, and personal anecdotes. I don’t want this column to just inform people about Japan (then I would just refer you all to IPTV or something). Instead, I hope these articles will make us rethink everything that we have assumed about and gained from other cultures, including our own.

The post Matcha, Manga, and Mayonnaise appeared first on KRUI Radio.