Freedom and Improvisation Between Jazz and Film “Eigakan”

The funkiest jazz kissa I’ve been to so far, Eigakan, translates to ‘cinema’. Opened in 1978, Eigakan is in the quiet residential neighbourhood of Hakusan, Tokyo. Master Yoshida-san and his wife are both film and jazz maniacs.  On the wall are posters of François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows and Alain Resnais’s Hiroshima Amour, films that “manifest the freedom of expression and are not bound by time and order”, said Yoshida-san. As soon as the music stops, Eigakan is suddenly full of mechanical sounds, emerging from mysterious machines and clocks, then further surprised by the black vintage rotary telephone.

Back in 1978, Yoshida-san rented 16mm print versions of Japanese new wave films for 30,000 yen. The first film screened at Eigakan was Imamura Shohei’s Pigs and Battleships (1961), a black-and-white film portraying the postwar Japanese yakuza. Presently, Yoshida-san continues to screen films relevant to what is happening today. After the Fukushima disaster, Eigakan screened an American post-apocalyptic science fiction film, On the Beach (1959), by Stanley Kramer, which depicted both the fear of radioactive contamination and romance. Another film, the Swedish documentary HOTET UHKKADUS (1987), drew a vivid reality of how the Chernobyl disaster affected the life of the ethnic minority Sámi, based in the Northern Scandinavian Peninsula. It was a film made during the Cold War, Yoshida-san spoke heatedly, “It was a period with a heightened sense of danger, whether the nuclear war was really going to happen!” and “Human beings cannot control nuclear disasters.” When Yoshida-san talked about films and cultural issues, his eyes lit up, and became enthusiastic.

On every visit to Eigakan, there is always a new discovery to make. I learned about sound absorption materials when I visited Royce Cafe in Iwate Prefecture. On the next visit to Eigakan, I noticed the meaning behind the randomly placed cushions and cloth on the ceilings and their connection to sound. The wooden sticks behind the speakers make sound travel in all directions to bring forth the sensation as if we were in the woods. As I became more observant of the interiors of Eigakan, I noticed that I had seen Seijun Suzuki’s Zigeunerweisen film displayed on the wall — a large hand sprinkling salt on a pink gluey leeches.

Continuously creating and experimenting have played an essential role in Yoshida-san’s life. In the 60s, audio equipment was too expensive, so he began by making radios. Moving on to making speakers at university, embarking on a journey to create better sound quality. Yoshida-san stated, “It’s more fun to make than buying.” The horns made from Hokkaido Tamo wood were designed and assembled by him. Above lies the super high pitch tweeter in an incomprehensible, enigmatic system. Yoshida-san explains, “Although we cannot hear the sound from the high pitch tweeter — human ears can only listen up to 20,000 Hertz. The atmosphere changes, and human beings can feel the sound from their skin.”

“Audio manias are dissatisfied with ‘sound’, if there is any new movement in the world, they would like to incorporate it to their device.”

(Translated from Japanese) - from Eigakan blog. 

Yoshida-san asked if I was interested in studying audio and further recommended a ‘beginners book’ that he said is easier than music. As I opened it, the pages were full of uninterpretable circuits and symbols.

Later, Yoshida-san shared his filmmaking experience, a documentary he shot in the summer and winter of 1995 at Sendai Christian Child Home in Miyagi Prefecture. The establishment was built by an American missionary in Meiji 39 (1906) after the Russo-Japanese War. One summer, the crops did not grow well, which led families to give their children away. He emphasised skinship's importance – “when skin touches each other, love will go through.” During the bath, the caregiver would shower with the children naked,  as it is essential for a child’s health development to gain a deeper bond of affection and a feeling of safety and trust. The most heartwarming moment for Yoshida-san as a documentary maker was “to see the children are mature and hardworking.”

Yoshida-san's award-winning documentary Japanese Silk Road.
He was fascinated by “the desire for knowledge” in the Edo period.  

Yoshida-san’s wife came into the cafe, wearing a yellow beret hat. She asked me what I thought about this place. I said this is the most DIY place I’ve been to, especially the toilet. His wife burst out laughing and was somewhat satisfied with my answer. When entering the toilet in Eigakan, the toilet brightens up as you lock the door — the lock switch is connected to the light and fan. She told me the little red light outside was also part of the system, which I didn’t realise. Then, she kindly went into the bathroom to show me so I could see it outside.

The couple always floods me with information on film, photography and stereo. Their favourite Taiwanese historical film, A City of Sadness, directed by Hou Hsiao-hsien, was recommended to me five times.

When I was walking out, the couple were staring at the old-school computer monitor with the same energy, the wife sitting on the high stool, the master standing behind her closely. Eigakan is a place that explores the intimate connection between ‘jazz’ and ‘cinema’. The masters are fascinated by its freedom and improvisation. Until today, film pamphlets and posters are posted to Eigakan from all sorts of cultural platforms, independent filmmakers, and friends. For years, Yoshida-san has been pursuing a real, warm, and rich sound to recreate the live music experience. For the last 30 years, it has held record listening sessions on Saturday nights where jazz enthusiasts gather around the piano-shaped table to be a part of this ritual.

Another day, I returned and asked Yoshida-san to ‘draw sound’ on a piece of paper. He seemed extremely puzzled. 

An hour later, Yoshida-san put the square paper on my table, “This is just by pencil though”, and then he walked away.

I wasn’t expecting to receive it today. I looked at the paper and tried to sink in with the words that he had written. 

When Yoshida-san returned to his usual spot behind the bar, “You can use that stamp one more time.” 
When I saw his smile, it warmed my heart. 

Thirty minutes later, he walked to me again. “Should I add some drawings for you?”