“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.

“Bonfires” are now rarely seen from the perspective of disaster prevention,
In the 1940s, it was sometimes held in the streets of Tokyo and in general parks.

The place where TATSUMI Seika, the lyricist, lived and wrote the lyrics,
It is a residential area about 5 minutes from “Arai Yakushi” station on the Seibu Shinjuku Line.

This song, contrary to its cheerful melody, walks through a history of adversity. It first appeared in 1941, scheduled for a three-day consecutive radio broadcast, but at the same time, Japan entered the Pacific War. The broadcast was forced to stop on the second day. There seemed to be a directive from military sources stating, “Even fallen leaves are valuable fuel sources. Burning anything that can be used to heat baths or cook in a bonfire is unacceptable.” As the war intensified, bonfires were said to become targets, leading to their complete suppression.

Even after the war, the broadcasting permission was withheld due to concerns about provoking riots from the perspective of maintaining public order, but it is said that by gradually accumulating small established facts, approval was finally granted retroactively.

Bonfires gather people in the cold season. Conversations are born when people gather.

If this kind of scenery is born again, I think that the enjoyment of the area will increase.

Interestingly, while older generations tend to associate campfires with roasting sweet potatoes, younger people nowadays are more likely to think of toasting marshmallows.

100 Best Japanese Songs

“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

Hana: The Melody of Japanese Spring

Many people may remember this song when they think of spring scenery in Japan.

The melody, filled with the joy of the arrival of spring after winter, shines like the surface of the river in the sunlight, and the lyrics, which describe the unique beauty of the cherry blossom scenery, match perfectly, making this song the standard for spring in Japan.

The Historic Sumida River and Its Cherry Blossoms

The Sumida River flows through the east of Tokyo, passing the Tokyo Sky Tree and Asakusa before emptying into Tokyo Bay.
The cherry trees sung as flowers in this song are planted mainly along the riverbanks (botei) of the Sumida River from Azuma Bridge to Sakura Bridge, and are called “Senbonzakura (a thousand cherry trees) on the Sumida River.

sumidatei no hanami / KOBAYASHI,Kiyochika

From Edo-Period Flood Control to Modern Hanami Celebrations

It is said that the cherry trees were originally planted by the 8th Tokugawa shogun, Yoshimune, for flood control, and the purpose was for people to gather and trample on the embankment.

Even today, the area is crowded with people during the cherry blossom season, and instead of boats sung with “oar drops,” pleasure boats designed by Matsumoto Leiji, a manga artist known for “Galaxy Express 999” and “Space Pirate Captain Harlock,” come and go, and people enjoy cherry blossom viewing drinks from morning until late at night.

ヒミコ | 【公式】東京都観光汽船（TOKYO CRUISE）

漫画・アニメ界の巨匠・松本零士氏がデザイン。宇宙船のような「ヒミコ」は、「ティアドロップ（涙滴）」をイメージ・コンセプトに、「子供たちが乗ってみたいと思ってくれる船」として、デザインを手がけられました。船内では「銀河鉄道999」のキャラクタ...

www.suijobus.co.jp

Cultural Legacy: From Edo to Present Day

It is a spring event that brings the atmosphere of the Edo period to life.

In summer, the Sumida River Fireworks Festival attracts many people. The “Tamaya” and “Kagiya” are the trade name of a popular fireworks masters in Edo (present-day Tokyo). Kagiya still exists today.

Sumida River Fireworks Festival

The composer of this piece, TAKI Rentarou, went to Germany to study as a music student, but returned to Japan with tuberculosis and died at the young age of 25. His aspiration “for the development of high quality Japanese songs” continues to shine through the ages.

The Hidden Evolution of “Spring Brook”

This beloved song with its gentle spring melody beautifully portrays flowers blooming on riverbanks and creatures swimming happily in warm sunlight. However, when it was born in 1912 (Taisho 1), the lyrics weren’t written in today’s simple language but in the elegant literary style of the Meiji era. Phrases like “sarasara yuku yo” (flowing gently) were originally “sarasara nagaru,” and “sugata yasashiku” (gentle appearance) was “nioi medetaku” (fragrant and splendid)—expressions that were more formal and richly evocative. In 1941, during wartime, when elementary schools were renamed “National Schools,” the lyrics were transformed into colloquial language that younger children could more easily understand. This song represents a testimony to Japan’s modernization and the evolution of its educational approach.

The Brook That Vanished Underground, A Cityscape Transformed

The brook from the song once flowed through what is now Udagawa-cho in Shibuya, a district that has become one of Tokyo’s busiest entertainment centers. As the name “Shibuya” (meaning “valley”) suggests, this area was naturally situated in a valley where streams flowed freely. However, the relentless tide of urbanization has forced the once-clear stream underground, now flowing as a culvert beneath the streets. Though the name Udagawa-cho still carries the legacy of the river in its name, the vibrant storefronts and crowds have completely obscured any visible trace of the brook that once defined this landscape.

By Unknown author – Japanese book “Visual History of Nostalgic Station” published by Kokusho-kankoukai., Public Domain, Link

Listening for the Whispers of a Century-Old Spring in the Busy Streets

When humming “Spring Brook” in modern Shibuya, amid the crowds and neon lights, one might experience a curious overlapping of time periods. Perhaps beneath our feet, invisible to the eye, that brook still flows with its gentle “sarasara” sound. Though eras have changed from Meiji to Taisho, Showa, Heisei, and now Reiwa, the tender feelings of spring conveyed by this song continue to resonate in our hearts. In the midst of our busy daily lives, remembering this song and contemplating the hidden brook below might bring a moment of poetic reflection—a subtle touch of color enriching our modern urban existence.

昔の渋谷川・古川の写真|昔の渋谷川・古川|東京都建設局

東京都建設局の昔の渋谷川・古川の写真(昔の渋谷川・古川)のページです。

www.kensetsu.metro.tokyo.lg.jp

Modern Japanese History Inscribed in a Children’s Song

The evolution of “Spring Brook” mirrors Japan’s modern history. From Meiji-era literary language to wartime educational reforms and the environmental changes brought by urbanization, this song harbors the breath of various eras. While children’s songs often evoke nostalgia, behind them lie significant shifts in educational philosophies, national identity, and environmental transformation. Each song we casually hum carries rich historical layers. Though many old school songs have disappeared from today’s textbooks, they remain valuable cultural heritage that transmits the sensibilities and values of Japanese people from times past.

100 Best Japanese Songs

Sakura is symbol of Spring in Japan

“Sakura Sakura” symbolizes spring in Japan. It is said that this song became popular when it was used in the first act of the opera “Madame Butterfly” by Italian composer Puccini in 1904. Since then, it is often performed by foreign musicians, especially rock musicians, when they visit Japan to communicate with the audience.

Historical Background and Evolution of Lyrics

The history of this song dates back to the late Edo period, and it seems to have been popular as a koto practice piece. The title is simply “Sakura,” but in the 1888 “Nihon Sokyokushu,” the lyrics begin with “Sakura Sakura,” and this name is often used. At the time, the lyrics were the second stanza above, but in the 1941 song collection “Uta no Hon,” it was changed to the first stanza. It is speculated that this was because the literary nature of the words may be difficult for children to understand. This may be because literary words may be difficult for children to understand, but in modern times, the words are mixed depending on the generation that learned it.

Although often labeled as a traditional Japanese folk song, “Sakura Sakura” was actually composed in the late Edo period in Edo (modern-day Tokyo) as a practice piece for children learning to play the koto. It was later included in the “Soukyokushuu” (Koto Music Collection) of the “Ongaku Torirabegakari,” a music education institution under the Ministry of Education that existed from 1879 to 1887, and was officially published in 1888.

Cultural Significance and Spirituality of Cherry Blossoms

The reason this song has taken root in the hearts of Japanese people is probably because the graceful melody matches the image of cherry blossoms. Cherry blossoms and autumn leaves are representative of Japanese nature, but the latter can be enjoyed for more than a month, while cherry blossoms can only be enjoyed for two weeks at most. This is probably because cherry blossoms resonate with the spirituality and sense of impermanence of the Japanese people. Many people gather at cherry blossom viewing spots during this season, laying out picnic sheets. However, for drunk cherry blossom viewers (including me), being able to drink alcohol from noon on a calm day is probably more important than that feeling.

At Chidorigafuchi, adjacent to the Nippon Budokan, you can enjoy cherry blossom viewing from a boat.

Theory of Hebrew Origin and Its Context

By the way, there is a theory that this song was originally Hebrew. Some enthusiasts and researchers claim that the word “sakura” resembles a Hebrew word. During the Edo period, Japan had a policy of national isolation, and exchange with the outside world was extremely limited, there was almost no contact with Hebrew-speaking communities (such as Jews), and there is no record of a Jewish community being formed in Japan until the 20th century. But there is also a tomb of Christ in Aomori Prefecture, Japan. Believe it or not?

100 Best Japanese Songs

The song titled “The Village Blacksmith” was sung until the late Showa era, long after the profession of blacksmithing had ceased to be a part of everyday life.

663highland – 投稿者自身による著作物, CC 表示 2.5, リンクによる

The reason for this persistence isn’t entirely clear, but perhaps the song’s lively rhythm was deemed fitting for children’s musical education.

Though the lyrics depict the blacksmith as someone who forges plows and hoes as agricultural tools, originally, the roots of blacksmithing were likely tied to swordsmithing. Japan has traditionally had a culture centered around blades, evident even in the popular anime “Demon Slayer,(Kimetsu no yaiba)” showcasing the pride associated with crafting the katana and wakizashi, swords worn at the waist of the samurai, the highest social class during the Sengoku period.

With the end of the samurai era and further declines due to mechanization, the demand for plows and hoes as agricultural tools drastically decreased. However, a few blacksmiths still remain scattered throughout Japan, supporting local farmers to this day. Moreover, the “art of blade-making” has also been an integral part of supporting Japanese culinary culture.

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.

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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amzn.to

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.