The song’s lyrics, with the tempo of a round, lovely apple murmuring, are perfectly matched with a melody tinged with shame and melancholy.

The lyricist, TAKEUCHI_Toshiko, is said to have written the lyrics while gazing at the apple on his bed, which he received as a visit during her hospitalization. This was in the early Showa period. Farmers, especially those in the Tohoku region where apples were grown, were in a difficult situation, and many families sold their daughters. This song may have depicted such a situation. When the lyrics are read with the historical background in mind, they can be taken as the words of a daughter who was sold to a brothel in the city to make ends meet, murmuring about her hometown. The background of the song is painful, but the melody has a lightness to it that makes it all the more sad.

At the lined-up shops from various places…Meiji Era

Yoshiwara Yuukaku in 1930s

Daughter Peddling Counseling Center Posting

Considering such a historical background, one cannot help but be struck by the sadness of the daughters who look up at the sky and think of their hometowns without complaining.

The song “Mushi no koe,” published as a Ministry of Education song in 1910, celebrates the rich and varied sounds of insects chirping in the autumn grass. This song embodies the unique Japanese aesthetic sense of “furyu,” which appreciates the elegance of nature. While in the West, insect sounds are often considered noise, in Japan, they have long been cherished as a refined way to enjoy the arrival of autumn.

For Japanese people, the sounds of insects are not just noises but essential elements that signify the change of seasons. This sensitivity is frequently depicted in ukiyo-e (Japanese woodblock prints), which often feature insects and their habitats. In Kanazawa’s Higashi Chaya District, traditional teahouse buildings with beautiful lattice windows called “kimusuko” remain. The term “kimusuko” itself, meaning “wooden insect cage,” symbolizes elegance and reflects the Japanese aesthetic that values the sounds of insects. Such architectural designs also illustrate the Japanese appreciation for the beauty of insect sounds.

歌川広重 – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 41.469_IMLS_PS3.jpg, パブリック・ドメイン, リンクによる

A machiya with a “kimusukago” design, characterized by fine, regular slits that look like insect cages. At Higashi chayamachi , Kanazawa.

The song’s lyrics use onomatopoeia to vividly express the sounds of insects, creating a unique rhythm and resonance that deeply touches the listener’s heart. For instance, the phrases “chinchiro chinchiro chinchororin. Rinrin rinrin riinrin.” and “kirikiri kirikiri kirigirisu. Gachaya gachaya gachaya gachaya kutsuwamushi. Chon chon chon chon suitchon.” are used. However, there is an anecdote about how the scientific observation that “kirigirisu (katydid) does not chirp ‘kiri kiri,’ but it is the cricket that does” led to a correction in the lyrics, demonstrating an intriguing conflict between scientific accuracy and literary expression.

However, the advancement of modernization and urbanization has led to a decline in the appreciation of such elegant sensibilities. The increase in residential areas and environmental changes have reduced the habitats of insects, making it harder to hear their sounds. Despite this, there has been a recent resurgence of interest in this refined pastime, driven by a return to traditional Japanese values.

松岡明芳 – 投稿者自身による著作物, CC 表示-継承 3.0, リンクによる

“Mushi no koe” is a song that reminds us of the Japanese spirit of elegance. Through this song, we hope to help people rediscover the beauty of nature and the changing seasons, and revive the fading appreciation for these subtle natural sounds.

Obon is a custom to express gratitude to deceased ancestors, or in other words, to the bloodline that has connected one’s life to one’s own.

Originally, it was held around July 15 on the lunar calendar, but when the new calendar was introduced in the Meiji era (1868-1912), July 15 fell during the busy farming season, so it was moved one month later to around August 15 in many areas. Many companies and stores set their “Obon vacations” to coincide with this date, and since it also coincided with the end of the war, it seems to have taken root as a time to mourn those who had passed away. Therefore, the custom has taken root as a time to return to one’s parents’ home, similar to the winter New Year’s holiday. In recent years, however, many people consider it a time to enjoy leisure activities rather than to return home.

The custom of visiting graves and making offerings at home to welcome ancestors during Obon remains even in the 21st century. In such cases, cucumbers are sometimes used as horses and eggplants as cows, and decorations are sometimes made with the idea of having ancestors come early with the cucumber horses and return home slowly with the eggplant cows.

This “Itsuki no komoriuta” is not a lullaby to soothe a baby, but a “Moriko Uta,” a song about one’s circumstances, having been sent away from home because of poor birth and given the job of babysitting in a wealthy family. In Japan, 75% of the land is covered by forests, and the amount of land available for cultivation is much smaller than one might imagine. Therefore, men who could do the heavy lifting from the small harvest were given priority, and girls and elderly people were often sent to serve as “Kuchiberashi” or killed.

This song was sung in Itsukimura, Kuma-gun, Kumamoto Prefecture, and became known throughout Japan after World War II when it was recorded. However, it is not widely known that there is a continuation of the lyrics listed here.

Odon ga ucchinda chuute
dare ga naite kuryoka
ura no Matsuyama, semi ga naku

Even if I die,
Who will cry for me?
Perhaps only the cicadas on the pine-covered hill behind the house.

Semi ja gojansen
imouto de gozarū
imouto nakunayo ki ni kakaru

It’s not the cicadas,
It’s my younger sister.
Don’t cry, sister, it worries me.

Odon ga ucchindara
michibata cha ikero
tooru hito gochi hana agyuu

When I die,
Bury me by the roadside,
So I can give flowers to passersby.

Hana wa nan no hana
tsun tsun tsubaki
mizu wa ten kara moraimizu

What kind of flowers would they be?
The sharp, pointed camellia.
And the water will come from heaven.

There is a saying in Japan, “Autumn days are like the falling of a tsurube”. The autumn sun sets and sets as early as the falling of a well bucket. It is a metaphor for the early dusk of autumn.

tsurube ido

Children are chasing dragonflies in the clear blue autumn sky and shining sunlight, losing track of time. Then, in no time at all, it is sunset time. Such was the scene that poet and physician NUKAGA Seishi saw on his way home from a house call four years after World War II. The passage of time, which had finally come and gone in a leisurely and tranquil way, is expressed by comparing it to the sun reflected in the large eyes of a dragonfly.

Otento sama in the story is an ancient Japanese term for the sun, another meaning of which is “god,” who watches over humans to prevent them from doing bad things. A typical example is the phrase “Otento sama ni kaomuke ga dekinai,” which is used when one has done something bad or embarrassing.

It has been selected as one of “100 Best Japanese Songs”.

“Makka na Aki” (which translates to “Bright Red Autumn”) is a beloved Japanese children’s song that reflects the emotions of children who want to continue playing outside, even as the autumn days grow shorter and the evening approaches earlier. The song captures a moment of childhood innocence and joy, where the change of seasons from summer to autumn brings new experiences and colors, yet also signals the end of long, sun-filled days.

When this song was first introduced in the 1960s, Japan was undergoing a significant period of transformation. The nation was rapidly modernizing, and the rural, natural landscapes known as satoyama (a term used for traditional rural areas where people live in harmony with nature) were starting to decline. This shift was partly driven by the economic growth that followed Japan’s post-war recovery, and the successful hosting of the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, the first ever held in Asia. These events symbolized a turning point for Japan, moving toward urbanization and industrialization, and consequently, the natural environment that children once played in was gradually disappearing.

Despite this trend, the song’s lyrics celebrate the beauty of a fully developed autumn landscape, rich in vibrant colors. The imagery of bright red leaves and crisp autumn air reminds listeners of the nature that still surrounded them in those times, offering children spaces to run and explore. The song can be seen as a tribute to the fleeting moments of nature that were still accessible in a rapidly changing world.

The song was written by lyricist SATSUMA Tadashi and composer KOBAYASHI Hideo, both born in 1931 in Tokyo. When “Makka na Aki” was first broadcast in 1965, both were 34 years old. Their childhood had been marked by the hardships of World War II and the destruction that came with it. Tokyo, the city where they grew up, had been devastated by air raids, and in the years following the war, it underwent a process of reconstruction and modernization. Given this context, it is possible that both creators felt a deep sense of nostalgia for the pre-war natural landscapes of their youth. They may have longed for a time when children could run freely in the countryside, before the pressures of modernization began to alter the city and its surroundings.

Water tank truck in Tokyo under the serious water crisis in 1964

This sense of nostalgia, combined with a recognition of the inevitable changes Japan was undergoing, may have influenced the creation of “Makka na Aki.” The song, therefore, does more than just celebrate autumn—it reflects a longing for the innocence of childhood, the beauty of nature, and the sense of freedom that was slowly being lost as the country modernized.

“Nanatsu no ko” is one of Japan’s most familiar children’s songs.

It is also well known as music played by local authorities to encourage children playing outside to return home in the evening.

The song depicts the universal love between parents and their children through the image of parent crows that descend to the village in search of food for their chicks waiting in the nest in the mountains. Notably, the song portrays crows, often seen as pests, as affectionate parent birds. This perspective, which sympathetically captures the fact that crows have parenting feelings no different from humans, is a significant reason for the work’s great popularity.

The original Japanese title is “Nanatsu no ko,” and there has been controversy over whether this is “seven children” or “seven-year-old children.

The prevailing theory was that a seven-year-old should already be an adult bird as a raven, so why not seven children? The prevailing theory was that “seven-year-olds” should have already reached maturity as crows, so why not use the title “seven children”? Wouldn’t that be more natural? There was an objection that “seven children” would be more natural. It is also said that crows do not raise as many as seven chicks at a time. This led to the theory that “raven” was a metaphor. The lyricist, Noguchi, was the first to suggest that the word “crow” was a metaphor. The lyricist, NOGUCHI Ujyou, was separated from his mother when he was 7 years old. Another theory is that Ujyou was born and raised in Kitaibaraki City, which used to be a prosperous coal-mining town, and the miners who worked in the dust were called “crows,” so he sang about them working for their families.

On the other hand, Ujyou, who could not adapt to his political marriage, took custody of his two children after the divorce. However, as the children cried every night longing for their mother, he decided to return them to her. It is said that he expressed his torn feelings as a father in a song during that time.

Incidentally, crows in Japan were often regarded as sacred birds. Yatagarasu, the symbol of the Japan Football Association, is a three-legged raven that is said to have guided Emperor Jinmu, the founder of Japan. In the Shugendo sect, which originated from mountain worship, the crow has also been regarded as a messenger of the gods.Crows also play an important role in the anime “Kimetsu no yaiba.

WolfgangMichel – 投稿者自身による著作物, CC 表示 3.0, リンクによる

Karasu-no-nureba-iro,” used to describe a woman’s beautiful black hair, refers to the deep, glossy, dark purple color of a crow’s wet feathers.

Where is “Desert of the Moon” set? When is the season?
Actually, there is no clear answer to either of those questions.

As for the setting, it is often said to be Onjyuku Beach in Chiba Prefecture, where the songwriter, Kato, who was frail, often visited to recuperate and later moved to make his final home. Kato himself is said to have publicly stated that this place was the model for the song after the town of Onjyuku_cho built a statue in commemoration of the Desert of the Moon.

As for the season, the word “oboro” appears in the story, so it must be spring, right? However, the tune of the song suggests a somber autumn.

onjyuku station

In fact, however, Kato is said to have said that it was totally imaginary. At the time, it was not easy to know what was going on in other countries, and the writer’s imagination resulted in these beautiful lyrics, which inspired the composer Sasaki to create this lyrical piece of music. Since Kato’s lyrics were published in the year of the Great Kanto Earthquake, the piece remains popular.

The song Ryoshuu, beginning with “Fukeyuku aki no yo, tabi no sora no” (“Autumn night deepens over the journeying sky”), was adapted into Japanese by lyricist INDOU Kyuukei in 1929 and remains a beloved classic in Japan.

John P. Ordway

The original song, Dreaming of Home and Mother, was composed in the 19th century by John P. Ordway, and its melancholic melody and lyrical lyrics evoke a unique sense of nostalgia and travel-worn longing that resonates deeply in the Japanese spirit.

INDOU is said to have first encountered the song while working as a music teacher at a girls’ school in Niigata. Far from his own hometown in Kumamoto Prefecture, he adapted the lyrics with his own feelings of homesickness in mind. This sense of longing for home weaves through the song’s melancholy melody, bringing to life universal themes that reflect the journey of life itself.

The opening line, “Fukeyuku aki no yo, tabi no sora no,” beautifully captures the heart of a traveler, reflecting on home as they journey through a quiet autumn night. Autumn, poised between summer’s vibrancy and winter’s calm, symbolizes a season of maturity and solitude. This seasonal mood, coupled with the loneliness of travel, enriches the song’s poignant, universal emotions of yearning and nostalgia.

Ryoshuu has long transcended its role as a simple “travel song.” It is beloved not only in Japan but also in China and Taiwan, where it is sung with unique local lyrics. Its themes—travel, homeland, and the passage of life—resonate across cultures, making the song widely cherished throughout East Asia.

Its popularity endures to this day, and it was selected as one of the “100 Best Japanese Songs.” Indō’s hometown in Kumamoto Prefecture has even built a memorial museum in his honor, celebrating his legacy and contribution to Japanese music.

The song “Momiji” is a traditional piece that symbolizes the beauty of autumn in Japan. The word “Momiji” (紅葉), written in Kanji, also has another reading, “Kouyou,” which refers to the changing colors of autumn leaves, a phenomenon highly appreciated in Japanese culture. This word reflects the broader cultural significance of the season and the aesthetics of nature in Japan. The appreciation of “Kouyou” is not only a modern pastime but is deeply rooted in Japanese literature and art.

One of the most popular activities during the autumn season is known as “Momiji-gari” (紅葉狩り), which literally means “hunting for autumn leaves.” However, the term does not imply actual hunting, but rather refers to the practice of traveling to scenic spots to view and admire the changing colors of the foliage. Similar to how people gather to enjoy cherry blossoms in the spring (a practice known as “hanami”), “Momiji-gari” is a cultural activity where people go out to appreciate the beauty of nature in its autumnal form. This tradition is deeply embedded in Japanese culture, reflecting a unique way of connecting with the seasonal rhythms of the natural world.

In Japanese poetry, especially in the form of waka and haiku, the transition from summer to autumn is a recurring theme, often symbolizing the impermanence of life, a concept central to Japanese aesthetics. The falling leaves of deciduous trees serve as a poignant metaphor for the fleeting nature of existence, known as mono no aware. This philosophical reflection is central to classical Japanese literature and contributes to the deeper emotional resonance of autumn imagery in the arts.

autumn leaves and Nishikigoi carp

Despite the profound themes underlying the song “Momiji,” the lyrics themselves are remarkably straightforward and accessible, which is why it has been cherished by people of all ages for generations. Even children can grasp its meaning, which adds to its widespread popularity and enduring appeal. This balance between simplicity and depth is a hallmark of much Japanese cultural expression.

The lyricist, TAKANO Yasuyuki, drew inspiration from the spectacular autumn foliage he witnessed near Kumanotaira Station, a location that had already been abandoned at the time. The contrast between the station’s deserted state and the vivid beauty of the surrounding leaves reflects a sense of nostalgia and the passage of time, further enriching the song’s emotional depth.

Kouyou in Arashiyama, Kyoto, like a pastel painting

In Japan, the progression of autumn colors follows what is known as the “autumn foliage front,” which moves gradually from the northern to the southern regions of the archipelago. This is a reverse of the “cherry-blossom front” observed in spring, where the blooming of cherry blossoms travels northward. The arrival of autumn foliage, therefore, serves as a natural prelude to the coming of winter, marking the cyclical rhythm of the seasons that plays a significant role in the Japanese connection to nature.

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“Momiji” has rightfully earned its place as one of the “100 Best Japanese Songs,” a distinction that highlights its importance in the cultural and musical heritage of Japan. The song not only encapsulates the beauty of autumn but also serves as a reminder of the intricate relationship between nature, time, and human emotion that is deeply ingrained in Japanese culture.

Kamakura, near Kyoto and Tokyo, is also famous for its autumn leaves.

“Koujyou no tsuki”: TAKI Rentarou’s Minor-Key Masterpiece

It is too famous. The composer, TAKI Rentarou, also composed a masterpiece “Hana” in a major key with an uplifting spring theme, but I would like you to compare the difference in tone. The setting of this beautiful piece with its minor-key melody is a castle in the Warring States period. In spring, a banquet is held, likening the blooming of cherry blossoms to the prosperity of their country that will last for a thousand years, and the samurai pass around sake cups to boost their morale.

Haru kourou no hana no ei

From Spring’s Promise to Autumn’s Desolation: A Tale of Impermanence

But as autumn came, the enthusiasm in their camp vanished like dew. The soldiers left one after another like geese crossing the sea. All that remained was the moon, unchanged from those days, and the deserted castle. This contrast is called “rise and fall” in Japan. The original of this story is probably derived from the Chinese classic “Chunwang.

Spring View

Mountains and rivers remain though the nation is broken,
In the city, spring has deepened the grass and trees.
Moved by the times, tears fall like blossoms,
Regretting separation, birds startle the heart.

For three months, beacons have flared,
A letter from home is worth ten thousand in gold.
My white hair grows shorter as I scratch my head,
Seemingly endless, the desire to not wear this hairpin.

Mono no Aware: The Japanese Aesthetic of Transience in Melody

Although “Koujyou no tsuki” depicts scenes in spring and autumn, most people probably have an image of spring. It seems to express the national character that feels “mono no aware” with the dancing cherry blossoms.

This concept of “mono no aware” – the pathos of things – runs deep in Japanese aesthetics, representing an awareness of impermanence and a gentle sadness at the transience of beauty. The minor key of this composition captures this sentiment perfectly, evoking not just the visual beauty of cherry blossoms, but the melancholy understanding that their magnificence is fleeting. The melody seems to dance between hope and resignation, much like cherry petals floating momentarily before descending to the ground.

Falling cherry blossoms

Unlike Western romantic traditions that might rebel against the inevitability of decay, the Japanese aesthetic tradition embraces this impermanence as part of life’s beauty. The piece invites listeners to appreciate both the vibrant banquet scene and the subsequent desolation as equally meaningful parts of existence, each enhancing the significance of the other.

A Cultural Bridge: Traditional Japanese Melody in Global Rock Music

Intriguingly, this melodic track has also been covered by numerous overseas rock bands. Scorpions, in particular, have performed it live for many years, and other notable renditions include those by Yngwie Malmsteen during his Alcatrazz era and Steve Vai. These interpretations demonstrate how the emotional resonance of “Moon over the Desolate Castle” transcends cultural boundaries, speaking to universal human experiences of beauty, loss, and the passage of time through its hauntingly evocative melody.

100 Best Japanese Songs

The “traditional watchman” standing in the rice fields

The Kakashi, Japanese scarecrows, which can be called an essential “character” in the landscape of Japanese rice fields, is not only important for its practical use in rural areas but also holds deep symbolic meaning rooted in spiritual and cultural traditions. Practically speaking, Kakashi have been placed in rice paddies mainly to protect crops from crows and sparrows. However, in Japanese folk beliefs, they are said to serve as the yorishiro (temporary vessel) of the ta no kami (rice field gods). In rural communities, pest damage from birds and animals was not seen as a mere natural issue but was believed to be caused by malevolent spirits. The Kakashi were thought to possess the power to ward off such spirits. Additionally, the practice of dressing the Kakashi in straw coats and hats symbolized their role as visitors from the gods or the other world, indicating that they were revered as sacred beings rather than mere scarecrows. In this way, the Kakashi were regarded as the incarnations of the ta no kami(rice fields gods) or yama no kami (mountain gods), serving as sacred protectors of the fields.

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You’ll Even Find Them in Folktales

The fact that the Kakashi simply stands there, doing nothing, sometimes leads to it being dismissed as “useless,” as even children tease it in songs. Yet, in the context of agricultural society, it played a crucial role. People felt a sense of security and familiarity in the very presence of the Kakashi, which can be seen as a guardian silently watching over the community. This mindset is also reflected in characters like Yotaro from rakugo, who, despite his incompetence, is loved by those around him. In Japanese culture, there is a deeply ingrained attitude of accepting and respecting things, even if they appear useless.

So Familiar, Yet a Bit Uncanny

Scarecrows can be found in other countries as well, but in the West, their function is more practical. Many scarecrows are equipped with moving mechanisms or devices that make sounds to scare off birds and animals, and they are often designed to increase visual deterrence using reflective materials or materials that sway in the wind. In the West, the scarecrow is less a sacred figure and more a tool designed for the efficient protection of crops. Moreover, in Western stories such as The Wizard of Oz, scarecrows are often depicted as characters with personalities, symbolizing the search for wisdom and emotions.

Still Standing as a Symbol of Rural Japan

In contrast, Japanese Kakashi are characterized by their stillness and silence, carrying the sacred role of protecting the fields. The spiritual power imbued in the seemingly powerless Kakashi, and its symbolism as a protector of the community, reflects Japan’s unique perspective on agriculture, nature, and spirituality.

Let’s look for the red dragonfly in the evening sky

“Akatombo” is a beautiful song that sings of the heart filled with nostalgia as one watches the red dragonflies that fly from early to mid-autumn, as if stained by the setting sun.

The image of the dragonflies glowing in the evening light has long been a symbol of Japan’s autumn, giving listeners a bittersweet reminder of childhood days and hometown landscapes.

A melody born from a poet’s window

The lyricist, MIKI Rofuu, is said to have been inspired by seeing a red dragonfly flying outside his window while teaching literature at the Hakodate Trappist Monastery.

Surrounded by the quiet of nature and the solemn atmosphere of the monastery, the sudden appearance of the delicate insect must have left a vivid impression, one that later took shape in his poignant lyrics.

Memories of a poor mountain village

The kanji for “akatombo” is written as follows.

About 100 years ago, in the early Showa period (early 20th century), mountain villages in Japan were very poor.

MIKI Rofuu’s mother ran away from home when he was five years old, and he was raised by a nanny girl. However, that “neeya” also married off at the age of 15.

In a time when food was scarce, this may have been part of the so-called “kuchiberashi,” a way of trying not to feed anyone other than the work force of the farm.

Loneliness entrusted to the song

Later, when the author left for the city, he no longer received letters from his hometown. How must Rofuu have felt when he lost his family?

Such loneliness was entrusted to “Akatombo,” a song widely loved as a representative Japanese song. However, although sentimental, this loneliness does not mean unhappiness. That is why it is widely sympathized with and has remained in the present age.

Still loved all over Japan

“Akatombo” won first place in the “Songs of Japan and Hometowns You Choose” conducted by the NHK National Executive Committee in a nationwide survey.

Monuments to “Akatombo” can be found all over Japan, which shows the popularity of the song.
The monument shown in the map below is one of them.

100 Best Japanese Songs

▼Jean=pierre rampal “Aka Tombo” flute

Woven like a Poem of Small Scenes

The lively summer breeze begins to carry just a faint scent of autumn. In the Kokin Wakashū, compiled in 905 AD, we find the poem:
Aki kinu to / me ni wa sayaka ni / mienedomo / kaze no oto nizo / odorokarenuru —
“Though the coming of autumn is not yet clear to the eye, one is startled by the sound of the wind.”
This sensitivity to the subtle change of seasons is something deeply Japanese.

The lyrics of Chiisai Aki Mitsuketa (“I Found a Little Autumn”) are written like an epic poem, stacking symbolic fragments of scenery one upon another. The turning of red leaves, the rustle of falling foliage, the voices of children at play—each is cut out like a small vignette, and together they weave a poetic, beautiful world. Listeners can feel the arrival of autumn not in a grand display, but as something that quietly seeps into the heart.

The days when milk meant powdered skim milk. It was dissolved in hot water.

The Childhood Memories of Lyricist SATOU Hachirou

The lyricist, SATOU Hachirou, suffered severe burns as a child and spent a long period hospitalized. In a north-facing hospital room, dim light filtered through frosted glass. From his bed, he could hear the voices of children playing tag outside. A single maple leaf clinging to an old weather vane in the autumn wind—this image etched itself deeply into his heart, reminiscent of O. Henry’s “The Last Leaf.”

O. Henry House in Austin, Texas

Composer Nakata Yoshinao and the Melancholy of Autumn

The words were set to music by composer Nakata Yoshinao. He transformed the loneliness of autumn’s arrival into a transparent, delicate melody. The song’s quiet images, when paired with this tender yet wistful tune, became unforgettable for the Japanese heart. Passed down through generations, it now conveys not only autumn’s solitude but also its gentleness.

A Miracle Born from a Single Radio Program

This song was originally written for a one-time radio program. However, record director OSADA Gyouji was so moved by its beauty that he spent seven years overcoming contractual problems before finally recording it. Without his persistence, this masterpiece might have been lost in the flow of time. The story itself illustrates the importance of preserving art for future generations.

A Monument Standing in Inokashira Park

In Inokashira Park in Kichijoji, a popular town among young people in Tokyo, stands a monument to this famous song. Though the park is lively, in autumn the swaying trees and quiet air bring forth the scenes of “finding a little autumn.” Visitors who stand before the monument may find themselves softly humming the tune.

井の頭池のほとりを歩いて「ちいさい秋」を見つけよう♪ | 吉祥寺.me

「ちいさい秋みつけた」のメロディーは井の頭公園の散歩で生まれた！

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100 Best Japanese Songs.

A Song that Continues to Signal Evening

While many old dōyō (children’s songs) and shōka (school songs) have disappeared from music textbooks and are gradually being forgotten, Yuuyake Koyake remains widely beloved. One reason is that many municipalities use it as a time signal melody to remind children playing outside that it is time to go home. In residential neighborhoods, when this melody flows from the speakers at dusk, people instinctively feel, “It’s time to return home.” This custom has been naturally handed down across generations, to both children and parents.

The Lyricist NAKAMURA Ukou and the Sunset Scene

The lyricist, Nakamura Ukou, originally aspired to be a children’s story writer. However, the principal of the elementary school where he worked opposed this, believing it would interfere with his duties as an educator, and thus he turned to songwriting.
During his commute from his home in Ongata Village to Hachiōji Station—a journey of about 16 kilometers on foot—Ukō would often be moved by the evening sky. It is said that the sunset he saw on his way home inspired the lyrics, blending with memories of his childhood and the scenery of his native village. Along the way stood many temples, and the sound of their bells must have echoed with the twilight.

The Song’s Struggle to Reach the Public

It took four years for this piece to finally reach composer KUSAKAWA Shin after Ukou wrote the lyrics in 1919. The reasons for this delay remain unclear. The song was eventually published in 1923, but the Great Kantou Earthquake that struck the same year destroyed nearly all printed copies. Fortunately, thirteen copies that had been distributed to those involved survived, and the song was republished in 1929, barely managing to pass down to the present day.

The Nostalgic Sound of the Yonanuki Scale

Another reason Yuuyake Koyake has endured for so long lies in its distinctive musical scale. The song uses Japan’s traditional yonanuki scale (a pentatonic scale omitting the 4th and 7th notes—F and B in C major). This scale creates a nostalgic, bittersweet sound that resonates deeply with listeners. Its tones, perfectly matched with the twilight scenery, have made the melody one that transcends generations.

The word “yonanuki” means the old Japanese way of reading numbers: Hi, Fu, Mi, Yo, Itsutsu, Mutsu, Nanatsu… without the 4 and 7 sounds.

A Song Etched in People’s Evening Memories

Thus, “Yuuyake Koyake” has become more than just a school song—it is a “song of dusk” that has woven itself into the fabric of Japanese daily life. Even today, when the melody plays in residential neighborhoods as a time signal, many people are reminded of their childhood walk home, or the evenings they spent playing with friends under the glowing sky. The song continues to live on in everyday life, making it one of the most widely cherished douyo in Japan.

It was also selected as one of the “100 Best Japanese Songs.