The ballad that brings tears to eyes is one where a mother, enduring the winter cold in her rural village, tenderly knits gloves and sends them to her child living far away in the city, her heart full of longing. The rustic dialect in the song creates a sense of distance between mother and child.

But, KUBOTA Satoshi, the lyricist and composer behind this poignant piece, was born and raised in Tokyo. Despite entering university, driven by a passion for literature, he’s rumored to have fled home, carrying the funds given by his parents for tuition. Alongside his work, he engaged in the vibrant “Utagoe undou” (Singing Voice Movement) of that era. Shortly after the war, many students leaned towards leftist activism, yearning for revolution. KUBOTA joined the Communist Party, only to be expelled after a few years, yet the melody he crafted seems touched by the essence of Russian folk tunes, perhaps from that time.

Eventually, KUBOTA’s whereabouts were discovered by his elder brother, leading to parcels arriving from his mother, now concerned for his well-being. It’s said that these experiences, intertwined with memories of Shinshu where he had sought refuge during wartime, contributed to the birth of this song.

As time advanced and the distance between rural and urban life lessened, this song still resonates deeply, perhaps because it strikes a chord within the depths of the Japanese soul, where those sensitive strings are eternally plucked.

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.

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 “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

Baby with koinobori

In Japan, on Children’s Day, May 5, it is customary to decorate the eaves of houses with boys with carp streamers.

Although the name is “Children’s Day,” March 3, when peach blossoms bloom, celebrates “Momo-no Sekku” for girls, so it is said that May of the lunar calendar, which is the noon month of the twelve Chinese zodiac signs, became “Tango-no Sekku,” an event to celebrate boys’ growth.

Originally, “banners,” a type of flag, were erected, but in the Edo period (1603-1867), merchants began to display carp-shaped banners based on a Chinese legend that “a carp that climbs a waterfall becomes a dragon,” and this event is said to have become popular.

By from Portland, Oregon, EE UU – Boy’s Festival – Fish Kites, CC BY 2.0, Link

Initially, only black carp were used, but red scarlet carp were added to represent children. Later, the red carp came to represent the mother carp, the blue carp was added to represent the children’s carp, and for the first Tokyo Olympic Game in 1964, the green and yellow and other sibling carp were also created.

Today, however, with the increase in the number of high-rise houses, the sight of carp dancing in the blue sky has become less common in large cities such as Tokyo, but in the countryside, the custom of decorating carp streamers of various kinds remains, delighting the eyes of tourists.

koinobori at Tsuruudagawa (Gunma Pref.)

100 Best Japanese Songs

▼Another ‘Koinobori’ song.

Koinobori / irakanonamito (1913) - 鯉のぼり

"Iraka no nami to kumo no nami" Discover good old-fashioned Japan through lyrics and images: Roman readings, English translations, and reflections. Take a cultural journey through the melodies of "Doyo Shoka" (Children's Songs).

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2025.05.02

Tanabata sama — When Summer Stars Come Alive in Song

“Tanabata-sama” is more than just a children’s song – it’s a musical gateway to one of Japan’s most enchanting summer traditions. This beloved melody celebrates Tanabata, a festival that transforms the ordinary evening of July 7th into something truly magical. The name itself tells a story: written in kanji as “七夕” (literally “seven evenings”), Tanabata is also known as the Star Festival, and for good reason. As twilight descends on this special night, families across Japan gather to look up at the summer sky, searching for the celestial drama that has captivated hearts for over a millennium.

The festival represents a beautiful blend of ancient Chinese legend and distinctly Japanese customs, creating a celebration that feels both timeless and intimate. What makes Tanabata particularly special is how it connects the vastness of the universe with the simple hopes and dreams of everyday people. When children sing “Tanabata-sama,” they’re not just performing a cute song – they’re participating in a tradition that links them to countless generations who have gazed at the same stars and wished upon the same cosmic love story.

A Love Story Written in the Stars

At the heart of Tanabata lies one of the most romantic tales ever told, a story so beautiful it has inspired countless songs, poems, and festivals. Picture Orihime, the weaving goddess whose star we know as Vega in the constellation Lyra. She was so dedicated to her craft – creating the most exquisite fabrics in all of heaven – that she never took time to care for her own appearance or seek companionship. On the other side of the celestial realm lived Hikoboshi (known to us as Altair in the constellation Aquila), a diligent cowherd who spent his days tending cattle and working the heavenly fields with unwavering dedication.

The gods, moved by the loneliness of these two hardworking souls, arranged for them to meet through the mediation of Deneb in the constellation Cygnus. Together, these three stars form what astronomers call the “Great Summer Triangle,” a brilliant celestial landmark that dominates the summer sky. When Orihime and Hikoboshi met, it was love at first sight – a romance so powerful it literally changed the heavens. Their wedding was celebrated throughout the cosmos, and for a brief, shining moment, perfect happiness reigned in the celestial realm.

But love, as beautiful as it can be, sometimes comes with consequences that even the gods didn’t foresee.

When Love Disrupts the Universe

The newlyweds were so intoxicated with their happiness that they completely abandoned their duties. Orihime’s loom fell silent, and no more beautiful fabrics graced the heavens. Hikoboshi’s cattle wandered aimlessly while he spent his days gazing lovingly at his bride. The cosmic order itself began to unravel as these essential workers forgot everything except each other. The supreme deity, witnessing this celestial dereliction of duty, made a decision that would break hearts across the universe.

In divine anger, he separated the lovers, placing them on opposite sides of the vast Milky Way – Orihime in the west and Hikoboshi in the east. The silver river of stars that had once seemed so beautiful now became an insurmountable barrier, keeping the lovers apart for eternity. Or almost eternity. Moved by their tears and genuine remorse, the gods granted them one precious gift: once each year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, magpies would form a bridge across the Milky Way, allowing the lovers to reunite for a single, precious night.

This is why Tanabata carries such a bittersweet beauty – it celebrates not just love, but love that endures separation, distance, and the inexorable passage of time. Every July 7th, as people across Japan look up at the summer sky, they’re witnessing this eternal love story play out among the stars.

From Ancient Legend to Modern Celebration

Today’s Tanabata has evolved into something wonderfully accessible and family-friendly, though it retains all the magic of its ancient origins. What makes this festival particularly special is how it brings joy to children across Japan. In kindergartens and preschools throughout the country, little hands eagerly grasp crayons and markers to write their innocent wishes on colorful strips of paper called “tanzaku” – perhaps hoping for a new bicycle, asking for their pet hamster to stay healthy, or wishing to become a superhero when they grow up. These precious handwritten dreams are then carefully tied to bamboo branches, creating wish trees that flutter like prayer flags in the summer breeze.

The festival has also become a cornerstone of Japan’s early summer atmosphere, transforming ordinary spaces into magical wonderlands. Shopping malls compete to create the most enchanting Tanabata displays, with elaborate decorations cascading from ceilings and bamboo groves appearing in unexpected corners. These commercial celebrations serve a beautiful purpose – they bring the ancient tradition into modern daily life, allowing busy families to pause and participate in this timeless ritual of hope. You’ll find these charming displays everywhere during Tanabata season, from grand installations at department stores to simple bamboo branches in local supermarkets, each one representing someone’s heartfelt hopes for the future.

Interestingly, weather forecasters have become unofficial participants in the Tanabata tradition. Every year on July 7th, they invariably comment on the evening’s weather conditions, and there does seem to be an unusually high probability of rain on this night. With a twinkle in their eyes, meteorologists often explain this as “the tears of Orihime and Hikoboshi” – either tears of joy at their reunion or tears of sorrow at their brief time together. While we might laugh at the idea that earthbound weather has anything to do with cosmic romance, there’s something delightfully poetic about the notion that even the skies participate in this ancient love story.

The most spectacular modern Tanabata celebrations take place in Sendai City, Miyagi Prefecture, where the entire downtown area transforms into a wonderland of colorful streamers and elaborate decorations. But perhaps the true magic of Tanabata lies not in the grand festivals, but in those quiet moments when families gather to sing “Tanabata-sama” and look up at the summer stars, connecting their own hopes and dreams to a love story that has been unfolding in the heavens for over a thousand years.

Hotaru koi — The Enchanting World of Firefly Hunting

Picture this: as the sun begins to set on a warm early summer evening in Japan, children gather near streams and rice paddies, their voices rising in a gentle, melodic chant: “Ho, Ho, Hotaru koi…” This beloved children’s song isn’t just a tune—it’s an invitation to one of Japan’s most enchanting seasonal traditions called “hotaru-gari” or firefly hunting. Unlike what the name might suggest, this isn’t about capturing these delicate creatures, but rather about witnessing nature’s own light show as fireflies dance through the twilight air like tiny floating lanterns.

The song “Hotaru Koi” captures the wonder and anticipation that both children and adults feel during this magical time of year. It’s a moment when the boundary between the human world and nature becomes beautifully blurred, and families come together to experience something that has captivated Japanese hearts for centuries. The simple melody and repetitive lyrics make it easy for even the youngest children to join in, creating a chorus that seems to beckon the fireflies from their hiding places.

A World of Glowing Wonders

Did you know that scientists have discovered approximately 2,000 species of fireflies around the globe? These fascinating insects come in two main varieties: terrestrial fireflies that spend their larval stage on land, and aquatic fireflies that develop in water. What makes this truly remarkable is that of these 2,000 species worldwide, only about 10 are aquatic fireflies—and Japan is home to 3 of these rare species: Genji fireflies (Luciola cruciata), Heike fireflies, and Kumejima fireflies. This extraordinary concentration of aquatic firefly species in Japan—representing 30% of the world’s total—demonstrates the exceptional quality of Japan’s freshwater environments.

What makes this particularly interesting for our song is that adult aquatic fireflies consume only water—no solid food at all! This might explain why the traditional lyrics reference the sweet taste of water, connecting the fireflies’ simple diet to the pure, clean streams where they’re most commonly found.

In Japan, fireflies have become living indicators of environmental health. These delicate creatures can only survive in areas with pristine water quality, making their presence a sign that the local ecosystem is thriving. When you see fireflies dancing above a stream, you’re not just witnessing a beautiful natural phenomenon—you’re looking at nature’s own quality control system in action. This connection between fireflies and clean water has made them symbols of environmental consciousness in Japanese culture.

The Perfect Firefly Habitat: Where Wasabi Grows

Some of the most spectacular firefly displays in Japan occur near mountain streams where wasabi is cultivated. These wasabi fields require the same crystal-clear, cool flowing water that fireflies need to survive, creating the perfect partnership between agriculture and nature. The terraced wasabi beds, with their constant flow of pure mountain water, provide ideal breeding grounds for fireflies while producing one of Japan’s most treasured culinary ingredients.

Wasabi, often called “Japanese horseradish,” is far more than just a condiment—it’s a cultural treasure that perfectly embodies the Japanese appreciation for subtle, natural flavors. True wasabi (hon-wasabi) is quite different from the green paste many people know from sushi restaurants abroad, which is often a mixture of horseradish, mustard, and food coloring. Authentic wasabi has a clean, sharp heat that doesn’t linger, and its flavor is best experienced when freshly grated on a traditional sharkskin grater called an “oroshi.” The grating process creates a smooth, creamy texture that releases the plant’s natural oils and delivers that distinctive, fleeting burn followed by a surprising sweetness. Nowadays, adventurous food lovers can even find wasabi-flavored ice cream—a uniquely Japanese treat that somehow works beautifully!

Modern Firefly Magic: Keeping Tradition Alive

In today’s rapidly modernizing Japan, the tradition of firefly watching has evolved to meet contemporary lifestyles while preserving its essential magic. Many hotels and resorts now organize special “Firefly Evenings” complete with traditional kaiseki dinners, guided nature walks, and storytelling sessions about firefly folklore. These events often include performances of “Hotaru Koi” and other traditional songs, allowing visitors to experience the full cultural context of firefly season.

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Some locations have created dedicated firefly parks and conservation areas where families can safely observe these creatures while learning about their life cycles and environmental importance. These modern interpretations of an ancient tradition show how Japan continues to honor its natural heritage while adapting to changing times. Photography workshops have also become popular, teaching visitors how to capture the ethereal beauty of fireflies without disturbing their natural behavior.

The enduring popularity of “Hotaru Koi” and firefly hunting demonstrates something beautiful about Japanese culture: the ability to find profound meaning in simple, seasonal moments. Whether you’re a child singing the song for the first time or an adult revisiting childhood memories, the sight of fireflies dancing in the summer twilight remains one of those experiences that connects us to something larger than ourselves—to the rhythms of nature, to generations past and future, and to the simple joy of being present in a moment of natural wonder.

The song conveys the exuberance of children riding the train. It is very popular because of its very cheerful and joyful tune.

Originally, however, it was the soldiers who rode the train. The original version of this song, “Soldier’s Train,” was written in 1937 to see off soldiers heading off to war.

By Unknown author – http://www.pref.okayama.jp/hoken/hohuku/engo/photo/seikatu6-20.htm (adjusted by uploader), Public Domain, Link

In 1945, the year the war ended, the song was chosen to be sung in NHK radio’s New Year’s Eve special program “Kouhaku Ongaku Shiai (Kouhaku Music Contest),” and some of the lyrics were changed and reworked as a song for traveling children appropriate for the era of peace.

The lyricist, FUHARA Kaoru, was born in Gotemba City, Shizuoka Prefecture, at the foot of Mt. Gotemba was the site of an army training ground at the time, and it is said that he and his students often saw off soldiers who were going off to war.

The melody is said to have been inspired by Schubert’s “Military March.

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.

A Hidden Story Behind Beautiful Autumn Scenery

“Sato no aki” is cherished as a beautiful song that evokes the warm and gentle atmosphere of autumn in Japan’s satoyama (mountainous rural areas). This lyrical piece, set to a tender melody, expresses the tranquil mood of waiting for winter’s arrival after the harvest season, and has been deeply etched in the hearts of many Japanese people. However, did you know that this seemingly peaceful song about rural autumn scenery actually contains profound sadness and prayers?

Behind the lyrics we know today lies a poignant story of a mother and child living quietly while praying for the safety of a father who went off to war as a soldier. While on the surface it celebrates autumn’s beauty, the song’s deeper layers portray the emotions of a wartime family. This dual structure is what gives “Sato no aki” its special and enduring appeal.

Irori bata (fireplace in living room)

The Original “Starry Night” by SAITOU Nobuo

The origins of this song trace back to a poem titled “Starry Night” written by SAITOU Nobuo in 1941 (Shouwa/Showa 16). This poem, created in the same year that the Pacific War began, contained significantly different content from the lyrics we know today. Particularly striking was the phantom third verse:

“Kireina, kireina yashi no shima,

( On the beautiful, beautiful coconut island,)

Shikkari mamotte kudasai to,

( Please protect it well,)

Ah, tousan no gobuun wo,

( Ah, Good luck in the military fortune, Dad,)

Konya mo hitori de inorimasu”

( Tonight, I pray alone once more.)

The reference to “coconut island” reveals much about the song’s context. Given that it was written at the beginning of the Pacific War, the “father” in the song likely refers to a soldier who departed with the Japanese Army to the southern regions of French Indochina. Understanding this historical backdrop of Japan’s southern expansion adds deeper meaning to these lyrics.

A Child’s Pure Sentiments in the Fourth Verse

The original poem also included a fourth verse:

“Ookiku, ookiku natta nara,

(When I grow up, really big,)

heitaisan dayo ureshii na,

(I’ll be a soldier and be happy,)

nee, kaasan yo boku datte,

(hey Mom, even I will definitely)

kanarazu okuniwo mamorimasu”

(protect our country)

These lyrics reflect the wartime values where young children dreamed of following in their fathers’ footsteps as soldiers. While these words may evoke complex feelings for modern readers, they genuinely express the pure patriotism and family devotion of children during that era. Saito Nobuo’s skill as a poet is evident in how he captured the weight of war through a child’s innocent words.

A beach with palm trees.

A Song Reborn with Japan’s Defeat

Ironically, this song became widely known at the end of 1945, the year Japan was defeated in war. It was featured on an NHK Radio program called “Afternoon Encouragement for Repatriates from Overseas Territories.” However, the original wartime lyrics were deemed inappropriate for the post-defeat era. The militaristic expressions and references to the southern front were incompatible with the new spirit of the times.

Consequently, the lyrics were revised to their current form, and the title was changed to “Sato no aki” (Autumn in the Village). Through this transformation, the song was reborn as a beautiful piece celebrating peaceful rural landscapes while secretly harboring memories of war. The public response was extraordinary, marking one of the most significant reactions since NHK Radio’s establishment.

Old radio

A Song of Hope for Repatriates

The following year, it was featured in a program called “Returnee News,” where it deeply resonated with those returning from overseas. For soldiers returning from battlefields and civilians repatriating from Japanese settlements abroad, this song became a symbol expressing both longing for home and prayers for peace. “Sato no aki,” while containing memories of war, transcended them to sing of hope for a new era, perfectly embodying the sentiments of Japanese people during the post-war reconstruction period.

Perhaps the true value of this song lies in the profound human emotions hidden beneath its surface beauty and the timeless love for family that transcends generations.

It has also been selected as one of “Japan’s Top 100 Songs.”