"Direct Talk"

Our guest today is koto player Okawa Yoshiaki.

The koto has roots stretching back more than 1,300 years.

Okawa learned to play the instrument as a teenager.

At the age of 24, he won first prize in a national koto contest.

He signed with a record company, and has built a body of work

playing both standards and his own compositions.

There's something about his sound that moves and enchants the listener.

He spoke to us about what goes into his music.

Soothing Sounds for the Soul

The healing power of the koto is truly incredible.

The reverberation of the strings, the way each note wavers...

there are so many things about it that resonate strongly with me.

This is Saijoji, a 600-year-old Zen Buddhist temple.

Okawa is here to perform a concert.

For the past two years,

I've mostly been playing my own compositions.

But I do also sprinkle in traditional koto pieces to tighten up my set,

bring it together.

So the set list I put together

includes both traditional koto pieces and my original work.

A mixture.

With my own compositions,

I always try to capture the spirit of marching forward.

It's important to me that my music is happy and uplifting.

The koto originated in China over 2,000 years ago,

and was first introduced to Japan around the 8th century.

The standard koto is roughly 180 centimeters long

and 30 centimeters wide, with 13 strings.

It's mostly made of wood, paulownia wood, to be exact.

There's a hole, and the inside is hollow. The strings are on top.

They're strung over these triangle-shaped bridges called "koto-ji."

These parts are actually movable.

You move them to tune each string of the instrument to the right sound.

On your thumb, index finger and middle finger,

you wear these fingerpicks called "tsume."

You use these to pluck the strings.

You apply pressure to the string to make it sound like this.

The beauty of koto music is different for each performer.

But for me, it's that each and every note resonates with my heart.

That's the charm.

Okawa was born and raised in Fukushima Prefecture.

His first instrument was the piano,

which he learned to play at age five.

I would say I was quiet, shy, and very bad at talking to people.

Instead I'd channel my unspoken feelings or my sadness into the piano,

into my piano playing.

In junior high, I joined the school band.

I played percussion instruments.

Drums, marimba, the xylophone.

I really developed a feel for those percussive rhythms.

But then something happened that changed his life forever.

The 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami.

We lived in a town called Futaba,

where the nuclear power plant was located.

When the quake hit, I got under my desk.

But then, the desk itself went flying.

It flew up over my head.

Our furniture had all fallen over.

Basically, I was in a state of shock.

Fortunately, my family and relatives survived.

But...

in band in junior high, there was this girl a year older than me

that really showed me how fun music could be.

A couple weeks after starting high school,

I found out she'd been swept away by the tsunami.

For a while, I couldn't bear to listen to music.

I didn't want to sing, and I avoided any music playing on TV.

After the disaster, Okawa's family moved away from Fukushima.

At his new high school, he took up the koto.

At this high school,

you were required to participate in an extracurricular activity.

But I had no friends. I was the new kid in town.

So I was trying to figure out what to do.

In my heart, I didn't want to be asked about the earthquake.

I knew being asked would make me anxious.

So I was looking for a club with zero members.

That's when I came across the koto club.

That was really my introduction to the instrument.

When I heard the teacher play, I got goosebumps.

That was my first lesson in how deeply moving koto music could be,

how wonderful it is.

How it has the power to soothe feelings of sadness and pain.

I could feel the sounds of the koto healing my soul,

healing my emotional wounds.

So I kept at it, hoping that through the koto,

I could somehow change.

Okawa quickly fell under the koto's spell,

and began practicing with a passion.

On the weekends, I'd borrow a koto to practice at home.

I'd practice for eight or nine hours a day.

At first, I could only play a few pieces.

I'd play the koto standard "Haru no Umi."

Other than that, mostly traditional pieces.

During that freshman year, I started thinking about

what I could do with the koto.

I'd been doing volunteer work since I was a kid.

I'd visit, say, the community daycare center and play music.

So I began calling up care facilities and offering to play the koto.

And I started out by giving these free performances.

I received many kind words, like how they liked my sound,

or how it made them feel nostalgic.

After high school, Okawa studied design at a Tokyo university.

He also began putting more energy into his koto performances.

In my sophomore year,

I was able to get a permit to perform on the street.

I figured, if I could play out in public,

everyone would definitely stop to watch.

So I'd go out in my kimono and perform.

But people weren't interested.

They'd stop and watch for maybe a moment or two,

but then they'd quickly move on.

That was really frustrating for me.

What could I do to get them to watch?

I had to do something about my look.

So I decided to make my own costume.

Maybe something sparkly.

I'd actually been wanting to dress up like a prince.

So I sewed my own costume.

And then more passersby started to stop and listen to me play.

I think performing on the street helped me break out of my shell

and make an impression.

Okawa's skills as a koto player steadily increased.

When he was 21, he entered a national contest

for performers of traditional instruments.

Street performing taught me it's important to make an impression.

So I put together a costume in white and gold.

It had fringe on the shoulders and sequins.

The kind of outfit that would make an audience go "wow."

So I went out on stage wearing that.

But this is a contest for traditional instruments, after all.

Some people didn't react well.

They thought I was making a mockery of the koto.

They didn't think I should wear a costume like that.

The moment I stepped out on stage,

I could hear people in the audience whispering.

But if anything, that fired me up.

I channeled that into my performance.

I ended up winning first prize.

That really gave me a big confidence boost.

In the world of traditional Japanese music,

you're just supposed to quietly carry on the classical repertoire.

But I personally wanted to breathe new life into the art form.

And the judges noticed that.

They said it felt like a breath of fresh air.

I think they evaluated me highly based on my sound and expression,

as well as the depth of my interpretation of the music.

Three years later,

Okawa won the top prize in a national koto competition.

He's continued to grow as a player and a performer.

Then, on March 11th, 2022, the 11th anniversary of the earthquake,

he held a homecoming concert in Fukushima.

Eleven years on from the disaster,

the evacuation order remains in place for most of my hometown of Futaba.

But preparations are being made

so we can return permanently in June 2022.

Within the past few years, a memorial museum has opened up,

and the train station has been reopened

as we work toward reviving the town.

We're looking toward the future.

I played koto as part of the memorial services.

Painful memories tend to stick with people

and I'm not just talking about the quake.

That's why it's important to be there for each other,

to create opportunities for people to open up and share,

to console one another.

I want to help build and strengthen communal bonds

through my performances.

(Do you have any words to live by?)

"Gratitude."

I believe human beings can't live alone.

When you feel gratitude toward someone,

you're motivated to do something for others.

So practicing gratitude is important for me.

Not just in my music or career, but in my day-to-day life.