Silver

Flute case in hand, I took another look at the scribbled directions and made my way from Kannai Station, down an alleyway that, in the U.S., most would consider uncomfortably dark. The only source of light was from a “Calpis” beverage vending machine. A Japanese mecca for instant liquid fulfillment, inside the machine were cold cans of soda, warm plastic bottles of tea, and piping hot cans of sweet coffee. At night, similar machines announced themselves in the same way on nearly every street corner, urban and suburban. I looked at my watch. Ten minutes to seven. Better not to blow any of that sugary crap into my flute. I put a 100 yen coin in and got a cold bottle of water.

At the front door of the prefectural government practice hall, a security guard stood and stared at me from inside his booth, blinking a few times as I smiled at him.

“Pa-to-ri-ku-ri-do-n”. I hadn’t been practicing my Japanese lately, so my name in Japanese syllables was all I could come up with.

The guard looked at his clipboard and scratched his head for a moment before his nearly-closed eyes popped to life. The short, cute, elderly man hurried out from behind his glass barrier and bowed, quickly, slightly, pointing down a set of stairs.

“Yoko-kyo? o-lukey-stula?” He nodded at me.

A few seconds of gears turning and I responded “hai,” bowed awkwardly, and hurried down the stairs, taking a seat in the very back of the rehearsal room, past the last row of violins and french horns.

I observed.

From the back of the room, Maestro Kazuhiro stood waist-deep in a sea of black hair; his own short, lanky body and strong cut, yet drooping facial features were topped with a magnificent unwieldy mess of silver hair. I think, If you were to see him outside of this room — perhaps in a subway train filled with other black-suited, briefcase-toting salary men — he might look somehow out of place. Admittedly, his attire would be the same as any other man; it was his face that was perhaps overly bitter in its relaxed state. I pictured Kazuhiro san walking along the streets of Yokohama, vulnerable to those who did not understand his artform. During most waking hours, the inhabitants of the city moved like the wind and I could see them striking him, hard, crisp, and sufficiently chilled, wrapping around his body, through his black wool overcoat, penetrating him to the bone.

In the rehearsal room however, downstairs in the basement of a Kanagawa governmental building, he was Kazuhiro san the Maestro and his face and body came alive: grimacing, winking, flailing, eyes sparkling as he waved his baton fiercely and rapidly.

Up! Down! Out! The motion would go, each time with more and more urgency as the orchestra surged, layered, grew out in every way. His motions seemed to pull sound outward, and then he would reach, delicately stretch, and flick it back. It’s as if the sounds were a pulsing bubble, growing, ever more magnificent, his job to expand it yet make sure it didn’t… POP! went a sound and the whole ensemble stopped abruptly. The black sea of heads tilted up to meet his critical, if now slightly sleepy gaze.

Something had gone wrong in the piece, the bubble had burst. It was apparent that Kazuhiro-san held himself partially responsible. In fact, it may be said that all of the orchestra members, mistake or not, held themselves responsible too. There was immediate tension and subsequent attention.

“DeeeDaaDeeeDaa” he mimicked the phrase the orchestra has just played, cocking his head to one side, he added a slew of Japanese, none of which I understood.

Straightening his head and raising his chin, Kazuhiro fixed his gaze on the imaginary point where the bubble had been. He repeated his musical mimicry, although slightly different this time “DeeeDADeeeDA” he said.

The sea of black heads nodded in agreement.

His baton came up.

The sea of black heads tilted down.

They began the section over.

DeeeDADeeeDA, it went.

 

A Slice of Poverty in Japan

Japan is a country which is seen by much of the world as clean, prosperous, and largely without homeless. And from most points of view, it really does fit most of that description. But it is also true that some of the problems which do exist here are far less visible than they are in the United States, Europe, or other developed areas of the world.

To be very clear, there are homeless in Tokyo, and many of them: in run-down parks, subway tunnels, and under bridges.

Then there are those living near the poverty line so to speak, who live in buildings akin to the ‘projects’ as they would be called in the U.S. These buildings exist in Japan in various forms, and here they are a unique and often complicated representation of poverty in one of the word’s most wealthy nations.

warnings, curiously stating something to the effect of : building condemned, keep out… unless you live here

Two of my good friends, Yuu and Takeo, took me on a walk through one of Yokohama’s largely abandoned apartment complexes. The structure was completely worn down, and looked as if it were abandoned decades ago.

The entrance was blocked off with warnings, curiously stating something to the effect of “building condemned, keep out… unless you live here”. Inside, several of the dwellings were indeed still receiving electricity and mail service.

The front door to an abandoned apartment unit in Yokohama, Japan. Many of the doors had towels stuffed in the small window openings and mail slots. (P. Lydon, 2010)

Bottom floor of the largely abandoned apartment complex in Yokohama, Japan (P. Lydon, 2010)

One hallway view, a few of the floors had working lighting. (P. Lydon, 2010)

A few of the floors were completely dark... as was this 4th floor hallway. (P. Lydon, 2010)

Empty street outside the apartment complex. The large red and white sign reads 'Yamaha Piano', where a store used to occupy the ground level. (P. Lydon, 2010)

A few of the apartments had notes from friends, for the mailman, or warnings from the electric company. (P. Lydon, 2010)

A man stands at the bottom of a dark stairwell near the top floor of the old complex. (P. Lydon, 2010)

More than a few times I heard from Japanese locals how ‘it is so easy to become homeless’ when living in the Tokyo Metropolitan area. To clarify, they meant that it is easy to go from having a job to ending up on the street with no income and no home. The view of the economy here mirrors that of many wealthy nations: a vehicle which can take many people to where they want, but which swerves along a winding road, has no seat belts, and hosts riders piled atop, holding on to what they can and hoping not to fall off.

Perhaps a slightly dire view, but in Japan, many of the people who fall off are already living in places such as this before it happens. After this it’s the park, or the stairwell if you are lucky.

I asked if the building was officially abandoned, and if it were, why there were people still receiving electricity and mail.

The answer was that it’s a slightly complicated process to label and deal with an ‘abandoned’ building in Japan. Older apartment complexes such as this one may have one or two people still paying rent, and are technically ‘inhabited’, yet housing laws in Japan make it difficult for landlords to evict those tenants who are technically paying some type of rent. As a result, buildings such as this can stay in a dilapidated state of limbo for decades as host to one or two stubborn tenants, and any number of squatters.

Musing #5: Sakura Season

A crisp, yet gentle breeze sneaks up from the sea surface and a handfull of sakura explode overhead.

They float gently to the grass below, accompanied by a hush of voices, then laughter, and chatting.

The uniform dance repeats all afternoon, robotic like a stream of Japanese schoolkids, walking in step with crisp sailor uniforms and dwarfing black leather backpacks, yet still organic, as individual as the wide-eyed grins on each of their faces .

Every time this explosion repeats feels like a warm blanket, wrapping everything around you with pink specs of cherry blossom.

The small, silky soft petals carry infinitely more energy when they are afloat. It’s as if that is their one moment, a year’s worth of  developing, of waiting. It suddenly all pays dues in a brilliant display of natural energy.

A cherry tree in blossom against Landmark Tower in Yokohama, Japan. (P. Lydon, 2010)

Minatomirai / Bashamichi by Night

A new photograph from my continuing NightLight series, first shown at the awesome Koji Sake Lounge in San Jose, California. Taken in the hours before dawn when few people walk about the streets, NightLight portrays an eerily serene side of the urban cityscape. Images in this series are stitched from multiple exposures, creating very large digital negatives, often in excess of 100 megapixels.

This photograph was taken in Yokohama, Japan’s Bashamichi / Minatomirai 21 district.

Yokohama's Lanmark Tower watches over a desolate Bashamichi street at night (P.Lydon, 2010)

St. Patrick’s Day: Yokohama Style

It’s St. Patrick’s Day weekend on a small shopping street called Motomachi in Yokohama, Japan, and I’m experiencing one of the strangest — yet wondrous — sites I have yet to see.

Thousands upon thousands of Japanese men and women, along with a good contingent of foreigners, took to the streets on this day for a short but potent parade –so short they came down the street twice, once in each direction — followed by hours of Irish music and dancing in the streets.

Parade-goers walk through the Motomachi shopping district in Yokohama, Japan just before the St. Patrick's parade (2010, P. Lydon)

St. Patrick's festivities in full swing in Yokohama, Japan (2010, P. Lydon)

Irish dancers from the dance group Clare perform during a parade in Yokohama, Japan (2010, P. Lydon)

A baton twirler performs in the street at the Yokohama St. Patrick's Parade (2010, P. Lydon)

Japanese flute and drum players march behind a dance troupe in the Yokohama St. Patrick's day parade (2010, P. Lydon)

One of the many masked figures in the St. Patrick's Parade in Yokohama (2010, P. Lydon)

A child sits in an inquisitive -- if slightly fearful -- state, after being approached by a masked figure during the parade (2010, P. Lydon)

Children smile as they march down Motomachi Street during Yokohama's St. Patrick's Day Parade (2010, P. Lydon)

The Irish dance group Clare performs during the Yokohama St. Patrick's Parade (2010, P. Lydon)

A flute and fiddle player perform in Yokohama, Japan, decked out in St. Patrick's gear (2010, P. Lydon)

An Irish music and dance session in the streets of Yokohama, Japan (2010, P. Lydon)