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.

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.

“Please Recall”

Please recall. A spring day when gentle sunlight spills into a kindergarten classroom, illuminating walls adorned with colorful drawings scratched out by tiny hands holding crayons. The nursery song Omoide no Album (“The Album of Memories”) is a cherished staple of Japanese graduation ceremonies, evoking such warm memories. First introduced in 1961 as a rhythmic play resource for early childhood education, its leisurely waltz tempo perfectly suits little ones singing and dancing in carefree motion. Yet, as its title suggests, it’s imbued with a tender gaze upon children’s growth, and today it’s adored more by adults. For many, merely recalling the melody brings tears to the eyes—I’m one of them. This timeless theme of growth and parting resonates across borders, touching hearts everywhere.

The Teacher’s Gentle Perspective

Please recall. The morning of the graduation ceremony, when children in crisp uniforms, faces flickering with nerves and pride, clasp their teacher’s hand as if to hold the moment tight. Sung from a kindergarten teacher’s viewpoint, this song fondly revisits the events shared with children through the seasons. Lyrics like “We played together so nicely in the warm garden,” “Everyone in straw hats, running around bare,” “Hiking up the acorn hill, la la la,” and “Decorating the fir tree for Merry Christmas” weave seasonal memories with gentle care. To the teacher, these children are not just pupils but companions who laughed and played side by side. That warmth spills from the words, stirring empathy in listeners. The song unfolds with Verse 1 as an introduction, followed by spring in Verse 2, summer in 3, autumn in 4, winter in 5, winter again in 6, and a yearly summary in 7. This structure reflects the Christian faith of lyricist MASHIKO Toshi and the Buddhist beliefs of composer HONDA Tetsumaro, symbolizing the bond through seasons. Feel the teacher’s warm gaze and the deep love beneath it.

A Treasure for Parents and Adults

Please recall. The day your child first stepped through the kindergarten gate, waving tearfully as they looked back. Though it begins with the teacher’s voice, this song nestles deeply into parents’ hearts. At graduation, it prompts a flood of memories—growth, joy, and a pang of sadness—shared by so many. Originally crafted as a playful tune for children, it now echoes through spring graduation seasons, drawing tears from grown-ups. The lyric “Soon you’ll all be first-graders” is the teacher’s words to the child, yet it mirrors a parent’s hope and sentiment, too. The pride of raising a child and the fleeting nature of time are feelings known the world over. Typically, it’s sung up to Verse 5, though Verse 6 or 7 may be chosen to avoid religious tones, hinting at cultural nuance. The Album of Memories holds a mysterious power to comfort adults’ hearts.

Japan’s Heart and Legacy

Please recall. Children holding hands, singing as they step toward tomorrow. Rooted in Japan’s kindergarten traditions, this song carries the universal theme of growth and farewell to the world. Composer HONDA Tetsumaro spent his later years as the head priest of Jyourakuin, a Tendaishuu temple in Chofu, Tokyo, where a monument to this song stands on the grounds. The Buddhist HONDA and Christian MASHIKO Toshi crafted lyrics and music that transcend faith, with Verse 6’s “A cold snowy day, warm in our room” and Verse 7’s “Peach blossoms bloomed so beautifully, soon you’ll all be first-graders” perhaps symbolizing that harmony. Verse 5 often seals the graduation’s emotion, while 6 and 7 leave a quiet resonance. Listen to this song. The simple piano notes blending with children’s voices are like opening an album, reviving memories and love. A hallmark of Japan’s spring, it whispers to hearts everywhere, recalling the beauty of days spent with children.

100 Best Japanese Songs

The Medaka: A Tiny Fish with a Gentle Soul

The medaka, known by its scientific name Oryzias, is a tiny fish less than 5 centimeters long, inhabiting mainly freshwater and slightly brackish waters across East and South Asia. It prefers calm, slow-moving streams, ponds, and rice paddies—settings that evoke peaceful rural landscapes. Because of its habitat, it has been dubbed a type of “killifish,” a term derived from the Dutch word kilde, meaning “brook” or “small stream.” Yet, to Japanese ears, the presence of the word “kill” in “killifish” feels oddly jarring when associated with such gentle, charming creatures.

An alternative and more culturally resonant name is “Japanese Rice Fish,” which paints a fitting image of the medaka gracefully darting between stalks of rice in flooded paddies. This term aligns beautifully with the sensibility of Japanese aesthetics, which often celebrate the quiet beauty of nature and small lifeforms that thrive within it.

A Wartime Memory Behind the Lyrics

There’s a touching anecdote tied to the lyrics of the medaka-themed children’s song. During the Second World War, lyricist CHAKI Shigeru evacuated from Tokyo to Odawara, a coastal town in Kanagawa Prefecture, bringing along his young son. One day, while relaxing by the riverbank, CHAKI casually looked into the water and saw a school of medaka swimming peacefully.

Suddenly, a noise startled the fish, and they vanished in an instant. CHAKI voiced his disappointment, only for his son to comfort him by saying, “Don’t worry, they’ll come back soon. This river is like a school for medaka.” This innocent remark, though seemingly offhand, left a strong impression on CHAKI. While later accounts confirmed that this charming episode was a fictional backstory, it still offers a heartwarming glimpse into how the imagination can shape creative work.

The Power of Repetition: A Composer’s Touch

Interestingly, the well-known second line of the song—“Sotto nozoite mite goran” (“Take a peek quietly and see”)—was not originally repeated. It was NAKADA Yoshinao’s fiancée who suggested that the line be sung twice, adding a lyrical softness and childlike echo to the melody. This gentle repetition became a defining feature of the song, typically sung in a subdued, hushed voice that mirrors the quiet act of peeking into a stream without disturbing its delicate life.

A Childhood Mishearing That Lingers

As a child growing up in the Showa era, I distinctly remember mishearing the third verse of the song. The line “Mizu ni nagarete tsuui tsui” (“Drifting in the water, slipping along”) was something I confidently believed to be “suui sui”—a phrase that sounded more fluid and natural to my ears at the time. Even after consulting various lyrics archives, it turns out “tsuui tsui” is indeed the correct version. It’s a small yet delightful reminder of how children’s ears often interpret lyrics through their own imaginative filters.

A Medaka Renaissance in Modern Japan

In recent years, Japan has witnessed an unexpected “medaka boom.” Enthusiasts have selectively bred medaka to create stunning varieties with shimmering colors, unusual fins, and unique patterns. These designer medaka, some of which command high prices, are now beloved among collectors and hobbyists alike.

It’s quite possible that this quiet renaissance in medaka appreciation will extend overseas—much like how BONSAI, once a humble Japanese art form, now enjoys global admiration. The medaka, with its gentle charm and poetic presence in Japanese culture, might one day swim into the hearts of people around the world.

100 Best Japanese Songs

Thefts of high-end medaka killifish on the rise – Japan News Yomiuri 

Summer Memories — The Birth of a Musical Treasure in Post-War Japan

Picture Japan in 1949, just four years after World War II had ended. The country was rebuilding, and people were searching for ways to bring families together again. It was during this time that NHK, Japan’s national broadcasting corporation, launched an innovative program called “Radio Kayou” (Radio Songs). This wasn’t just another music program – it was born from a deep desire to heal and unite. Perhaps reflecting on how wartime propaganda songs like “Kokumin Kayou” had once stirred nationalistic fervor, NHK now wanted to create something entirely different: gentle melodies that families could gather around their radios to sing together in the comfort of their homes.

From this thoughtful initiative emerged “Natsu no Omoide” (Summer Memories), a song that would capture the hearts of generations of Japanese people. Today, this beautiful piece remains one of the most cherished examples of Douyo-Shouka – traditional Japanese songs that blend folk melodies with poetic lyrics. What makes this song so enduringly popular isn’t just its haunting melody, but its ability to paint vivid pictures of Japan’s pristine natural beauty through music and words.

A Lyrical Journey Through Japan’s Hidden Paradise

The song takes us on a poetic journey to Oze, a breathtaking highland marshland that feels like stepping into a fairy tale. This remarkable wetland ecosystem stretches majestically across three prefectures – Fukushima, Niigata, and Gunma – and holds the prestigious designation of being both a national park and one of Japan’s 100 most scenic spots. When you imagine Japan’s natural wonders, you might think of Mount Fuji or cherry blossoms, but Oze represents something equally magical yet more intimate.

The area is renowned for its incredibly strict environmental conservation policies, which have kept this wilderness virtually untouched for decades. Visitors must follow wooden boardwalks that wind through the marshland, ensuring that every footstep respects the delicate ecosystem. This careful preservation means that when you visit Oze today, you’re experiencing the same pristine beauty that inspired the song’s creation over 70 years ago. The commitment to protecting this natural sanctuary reflects the Japanese philosophy of living in harmony with nature – a theme that resonates deeply throughout the song.

Hatomachi Touge (Pass)　By Σ64 – Own work, CC BY 3.0, Link

The Story Behind the Words: A Wartime Memory Transformed

The woman who penned these evocative lyrics, EMA Shouko, has a fascinating story that adds layers of meaning to the song. In 1944, as World War II was reaching its devastating climax, she was evacuated to the Oze region for safety. Instead of dwelling on the hardships of wartime displacement, EMA found herself captivated by the area’s otherworldly beauty. Her lyrics were born not from a casual tourist visit, but from the deep, contemplative experience of someone who had time to truly observe and absorb the subtle rhythms of this highland paradise.

This personal connection explains why the song feels so authentic and emotionally resonant. EMA wasn’t just describing a pretty landscape – she was sharing a profound experience that had sustained her spirit during one of the darkest periods in modern Japanese history. The song became her love letter to a place that had offered solace and wonder when the world seemed broken. This backstory transforms “Natsu no Omoide” from a simple nature song into something much more profound: a testament to the healing power of natural beauty and the human capacity to find hope in the midst of despair.

Mt.Shibutsu and Ozegahara, Katashina Vill.,By Σ64 – Own work, CC BY 3.0, Link

The Beautiful Mystery of Seasonal Poetry

Here’s where the song becomes wonderfully intriguing: the star of “Natsu no Omoide” is the Mizubasho (Asian skunk cabbage), a plant whose large white petals create stunning displays across Oze’s wetlands. However, these magnificent flowers actually bloom from late May through June, right after the snow melts – not during the height of summer that the song’s title suggests. When curious fans pointed out this apparent contradiction to EMA Shouko, her response was both poetic and revealing: “I call the wonderful season of Mizubasho in Oze ‘summer’.”

This beautiful explanation opens up a window into the Japanese appreciation for seasonal subtlety. In traditional Japanese culture, seasons aren’t rigid calendar categories but fluid, emotional experiences. According to the classical seasonal calendar used in poetry and literature, Mizubasho is indeed considered a summer season word, reflecting an ancient understanding that nature’s rhythms don’t always match our modern calendar divisions. Even beyond the famous Mizubasho season, Oze continues to enchant visitors throughout the year with its ever-changing tapestry of colors: the fluffy white Watasuge (cotton grass) dancing in summer breezes, the bright yellow Nikkoukisuge lilies, and the spectacular Kusamomiji – the autumn transformation when grasses turn brilliant shades of red and gold, creating their own version of fall foliage.

100 Best Japanese Songs.

Amefuri kumanoko — Why This Simple Melody Still Captures Hearts

Shochiku Central Theater 1960.By Project Kei – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, Link

This beloved song first captured hearts when it was introduced on NHK’s “Uta no Ehon” in 1962, the predecessor to the popular children’s program “Okaasan to Issho.( With Mom. )” The song tells the story of a playful young bear, radiating an irresistible cuteness that has enchanted generations. Despite being over 60 years old, it remarkably feels as fresh today as it did decades ago. The secret lies in its deceptively simple yet captivating melody—one that can be played with just a single finger on a piano or organ. This accessibility has allowed families to enjoy the song together, ensuring its timeless appeal across generations.

What Makes This Song So Touching?

The lyrics create a consistent, tender world that perfectly matches the image of an adorable young bear. Like a child completely absorbed in watching rain fall, oblivious to everything else around them, the song embodies pure innocence and wonder. It glows like a small, warm light in one’s heart, filled with gentle kindness. Many Japanese listeners describe experiencing an unexpectedly emotional response: “It’s not a sad song, but for some reason, it brings tears to my eyes.” This mysterious quality speaks to the song’s ability to touch something deep within us.

How a Father’s Memory Became a Beloved Song

The lyricist, TSURUMI Masao, reportedly drew inspiration from a deeply personal memory. He recalled watching his young child from a second-floor window, mesmerized by water flowing through their family garden during a rainstorm. This nostalgic scene offers a glimpse into Japan’s post-war landscape, during a time of rapid economic growth and anticipation for the 1964 Tokyo Olympics—Asia’s first Olympic Games. The intimate domestic moment captured in the lyrics reflects a Japan in transition, balancing traditional family life with modernization.

Can We Still Find That Magic Today?

Though information about TSURUMI himself remains limited—we know only that he was born in Niigata Prefecture and graduated from Waseda University—we can imagine that his “family garden” was likely somewhere in Tokyo. In those days, even areas just outside the city center featured unpaved roads and natural puddles, as Tokyo rapidly transformed in preparation for the Olympics. Today, those rural mountains that once lay just beyond the city are carefully preserved and cherished by many. Perhaps it’s time to visit the enchanting “Totoro Fund,” where magical adventures still await those who seek them.

Why Does This Song Warm Our Hearts So Gently?

There’s something almost magical about “Mikan no Hana Saku Oka” (The Hill Where Orange Blossoms Bloom). The song is woven with a nostalgic melody and lyrics that trace memories of childhood days, but it’s not melancholic at all. Rather, it’s a melody that gently embraces the heart, offering warm comfort to all who listen.

Even if you’ve never witnessed such a scene, the image of fragrant orange blossoms blooming on hillsides comes alive in your heart. This goes beyond mere description of nature—it awakens feelings for the “homeland” that everyone carries deep within their soul. The true charm of this song lies in how it evokes nostalgia while gently encouraging and comforting its listeners.

Mikan no hana (Orange flower)

What Is the “Mother’s Love” Hidden in This Song?

The greatest theme of this song is undoubtedly the loving “mother’s presence” from childhood days. What’s embedded in the lyrics is a deep longing for the beautiful scenery once viewed together with mother. Orange blossoms gazed upon while holding mother’s hand as a child, hill paths walked together, peaceful afternoon moments shared—such loving memories breathe within this song.

The reality of “now viewing alone” means more than just the passage of time. It tells a story of growth and separation, representing life’s journey while carrying precious memories of a beloved mother in one’s heart. Looking back at the scenery from memories with mother, now as an adult viewing it alone—this sentiment is precisely why this song resonates so deeply in many people’s hearts.

A Miracle Born in Just 30 Minutes

This heartwarming masterpiece was born in 1946, just one year after the war’s end. During an era when Japan was seeking new hope, this song was created alongside innovative technology—for a groundbreaking live radio broadcast connecting Tokyo and Ito City in Shizuoka Prefecture.

What’s remarkable is that this eternal masterpiece was completed in an unbelievably short time. Lyricist KATO Shogo, born in a fishing port town in Shizuoka Prefecture, deeply understood coastal landscapes and maternal love. Within just 30 minutes on the day before the broadcast, he completed lyrics filled with gratitude to mothers and love for hometown. Each carefully chosen word, despite being written so quickly, possessed the power to touch listeners’ heartstrings.

Why It’s Still Loved After 80 Years

Composer KAINUMA Minoru was moved by KATO’s lyrics while traveling to Ito by train, inspired by the actual orange groves visible from his window to complete the melody. The lyrics singing of memories with mother harmonized beautifully with the gentle melody that embraces the heart, creating a masterpiece that continues to be loved by many people nearly 80 years later.

The reason this song is loved across generations is because it awakens the gratitude everyone holds for their mother and the longing for pure childhood love. In today’s busy life, when people hear this song, they remember their own memories with mother and the preciousness of ordinary days spent together. This isn’t sadness, but warm gratitude for loving memories.

Sunrise from Ito, Shizuoka Prefecture　By Shift, CC BY-SA 3.0, Link

Maternal Love That Will Be Sung Forever

“Mikan no Hana Saku Oka” received the honor of being selected as one of Japan’s “100 Best Japanese Songs,” but its true value doesn’t lie in awards. The real meaning of this song is that it continues to sing about how maternal love supports the human heart and enriches life.

Even as times change and lifestyles evolve, maternal love and the pure heart of childhood remain unchanged. This song has been carefully passed down to this day, entrusting such universal forms of love to its beautiful melody. The hill where orange blossoms bloom will continue to gently illuminate many people’s hearts as a spiritual hometown where memories with mother bloom eternally.

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！

kichijoji.me

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.”

The song “Omatsuri Mambo” opens briskly with a rhythmic, upbeat mambo beat. The protagonist is a stylish uncle born and raised in Kanda—a true Edokko, a native of Edo (old Toukyou(Tokyo)), and a genuine Kanda native.

Kanda is located in the heart of Toukyou(Tokyo), in Chiyoda Ward. Today, it’s known as an area that includes Akihabara, the world-famous electronics district and subculture mecca. However, historically, it developed as a prestigious merchant and artisan district centered around Kanda Myoujin Shrine, which guards the northeastern direction (the “demon’s gate”) of Edo Castle. This vibrant neighborhood buzzed with merchants and craftsmen exchanging spirited calls. For those born and raised here, festivals run through their very blood.

Kanda myoujin, formally known as Kanda Shrine, has been beloved by common people since the Edo period as the general guardian shrine of Edo. The deities enshrined there are Oonamuchi-no-mikoto (Ookuninushi-no-mikoto, Daikoku-sama), Sukunahikona-no-mikoto (Ebisu-sama), and Taira no Masakado. The shrine is particularly known for enshrining Taira no Masakado and has been revered as Edo’s guardian deity. Every May, the Kanda Festival is held with great pageantry, and as one of Edo’s three great festivals, it continues to captivate many people to this day.

Base map: GSI Tiles (Standard Map), Geospatial Information Authority of Japan (GSI), modified.

Fans of period dramas will immediately think of “Zenigata Heiji” when they hear Kanda myoujin. The detective Zenigata Heiji lived precisely at the foot of Kanda myoujin. The Kanda tenement houses where his assistant Hachigoro would come running, crying “Boss!”—and from which Heiji would throw his trademark copper coins—Kanda is truly a place that symbolizes Edo’s common people’s culture.

Heiji Zenigata DVD

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The uncle, who grew up in this Kanda, has been wearing festival jackets and carrying portable shrines (mikoshi) since he was old enough to understand. Carrying a mikoshi is not merely a ritual—it’s an identity and a source of pride for a Kanda native. The moment when hundreds of carriers unite with the chant “Wasshoi, Wasshoi” to hoist up the heavy mikoshi, the uncle’s face flushes and his eyes shine like a boy’s.

To carry a mikoshi means to bear the portable shrine containing the divine spirit of Kanda myoujin and transport the deity throughout the town. The deity makes a circuit of the parish where the worshippers live, bestowing blessings upon the people. The carriers protect and worship the deity, deepening bonds with their neighborhood comrades and passing down the soul of Kanda to the next generation. This is not merely a traditional event but a living faith and a sacred ceremony that confirms community solidarity.

There’s something called the “shitamachi spirit”—the spirit of downtown Toukyou(Tokyo). It embodies the Edokko aesthetic of “not keeping money overnight” and values “iki” (sophisticated style) above all else. Don’t sweat the small stuff; live the present moment to the fullest. Lend a hand to those in trouble, and loosen the purse strings when festival time comes. This generous spirit is the essence of a Kanda native.

Directed by Keigo Kimura, produced by en:Daiei Film – Screenshot of the movie, public domain, by link

The phrase “Shio maite okure” (sprinkle the salt) that appears in the lyrics is also intriguing. Rather than being for fire prevention, it can be interpreted as purifying salt for the sacred festival. In Shinto tradition, salt has been believed to have the power to dispel impurity and create sacred space. Before or during a festival, which is a sacred event, salt is scattered to purify the area. This is a reverent preparation for welcoming the deity. The uncle, too, was one of those devout Edokko who valued such purification rituals.

That’s why, once the festival begins, the uncle forgets all mundane concerns. Work, household matters, even tomorrow—all are set aside as he immerses himself completely in the festival. A neighbor seems to be shouting, “Uncle, it’s terrible! There’s a fire!” but amid the weight of the mikoshi and the cheers, such voices fade into the distant beyond.

Background: “Meguro Gyounin-zaka Fire Scroll”,
National Diet Library Digital Collections (public domain, Japan)

Here, the term “suriban” deserves attention. This is an abbreviation of “suri-hanshou” (rubbing half-bell), meaning to ring the half-bell (hanshou) repeatedly to warn of a nearby fire, or the sound itself. Normally, the half-bell would be struck slowly—”kaan, kaan”—but when fire was approaching, it would be rung continuously, almost frantically, as if rubbing it. That urgent sound was an emergency alert to which everyone should have paid attention. But for the uncle, lost in the festival, even that couldn’t reach his ears.

Edo and fire have an inseparable relationship. As the saying goes, “Fires and fights are the flowers of Edo”—the city was frequently struck by conflagrations. The reason was that most of Edo’s buildings were wooden structures. Densely packed tenement houses, wooden shops, temples and shrines—once a fire started, it would spread in an instant, becoming a major disaster. The Great Meireki Fire of 1657 consumed most of Edo and is said to have claimed over 100,000 lives.

Hanshou

Due to this constant danger of fire, Edo residents developed a unique attitude toward conflagration. Since everything could be lost to fire at any moment, perhaps this gave birth to the aesthetic of “not keeping money overnight.” Even if you accumulated wealth, it could turn to ash in a single night. In that case, why not enjoy life in the present? Such was their philosophical resignation.

The mikoshi parading through Kanda’s streets, the cheers from the roadside, the sounds of festival music—everything blends together, drawing the uncle into the vortex at the festival’s heart. The weight of the mikoshi digging into his shoulders, the sweat streaming down like a waterfall—all of it feels pleasant. Having entered the ecstatic state of a mikoshi bearer, the uncle can no longer hear anything. Tomorrow? Who cares! This moment, carrying the mikoshi—that alone is the uncle’s entire world.

The rhythmic mambo beat perfectly expresses the uncle’s elated spirit. The light tempo, the cheerful melody—listeners can’t help but sway along. This is the very embodiment of festival euphoria.