60 Years Beyond the Mountain Echo, Akio Suzuki
Chapter 2
This autumn, I visited Tango. The region where Akio Suzuki resided after the “Space in the Sun” (1988) – an act of listening to nature for a day. The Tango Peninsula faces the Sea of Japan, where the Fukuta river flows through the landscape. Swayed by a 15-hour long bus ride, I arrived at Amino Station. Suzuki-san and his wife, Hiromi Miyakita, kindly came to pick me up by car.
where “Space in the Sun” took place.
*Space in the Sun — to listen to nature for an entire day on Autumnal Equinox Day, Suzuki-san built two gigantic walls with 10,000 ‘sun-dried blocks’ from the soil on site, which took 18 months.
More details in “Chapter One: Tracing the Enchanting Sound”
A wedding furniture store haikyo (abandoned house) was turned into their atelier and home. While Suzuki-san was grinding the coffee beans, his fluffy long haired cat, Koto-chan, said hello. After osanji (three o'clock) with delicious coffee, we headed downstairs to his atelier, and he began his story.
*Osanji – another word for dessert time, an expression more familiar to older adults, or elegant wives.
Father was a musician, raised in a house filled with organ, mandolin, violin, xylophone, koto, shakuhachi (end-blown bamboo flute), tsuzumi (hand drum), and more. The frightening childhood memory of his father scolding when he messed with the precious instruments alone at home had made Suzuki-san detest music. It was not until ten years later, in 1962, while employed at an architectural firm, the idea of “a staircase with rhythms” dawned on him. The urge to throw a bucket of junk down the staircase has led him to carry it out on the Chuo Platform of Nagoya Station. The beautiful melody envisaged in his mind ended with a clattering reality. Then he realised, training is crucial to bridge that gap.
After his awakening to sound, nature became his master. For ten years, from 1963, he travelled Honshu and Shikoku solely to listen to the sounds of nature, titled “Self-Study Event”. At a map shop in Jimbocho, Tokyo, he obtained a white contour map and embarked on journeys to the peculiar landscapes that he was drawn to. Sand and stone quarries, caves, ravines, tunnels, narrow valleys, and city streets, where he verified the sounds of the places by hitting stones and vocalising. The experiments of resonance were documented in his sketchbook that he always carried.
Suzuki-san showed me a music magazine, “TranSonic” 1976 October Issue. A report of Hundred Caves of Yoshimi with cluster holes and ancient graves. Back in the day, it was overgrown with weeds where no one dared to go. Suzuki-san entered the cave and swung a narrow cylinder with holes, the reflected wind noise mirrored from unexpected places. The cave gave him answers. Unfortunately, in 1981, he put ten years worth of sketches on his balcony, covered with a black plastic bag, and six months later, the humidity turned the papers into clay.
“Painters draw with strokes. This is the stroke of the sound”.
In winter, when people were skating on the lake, Suzuki-san threw ice on the shore and listened. He cracked the expanded ice that rose up and let it slide away. As the ice travelled far and shattered into tiny pieces, the “kyoyoyon♪” sound could be heard. Suzuki-san reminisced about the times he lived on the shoreline of the largest freshwater lake in Kyoto Prefecture, Lake Hanare, for ten years, in a hand-built house made from natural materials. Astounded by the wonders of the lake, he observed nature every single day.
“Ear, live, listen”.
I have been training my ears with headphones, I was struck by the fact that Suzuki-san’s ears are trained by mother nature.
When he lived by the lake, Suzuki-san frequented Cafe Kanabun and always had a cup of coffee next to the window. In the 80s, the owner, during his adolescence, saw Suzuki-san perform music from junk. The memory was etched in his mind, when other classmates had forgotten. The two of them reunited after 20 years, when the cafe was being built.
I heard there is a wooden house at the foothill of “Space in the Sun”. It was the kusakizome (plant-dying) place that Suzuki-san mentioned during our three o’clock coffee break. With directions from the owner, I arrived at the wooden house, Sanzosya. Somehow, I couldn’t utter a word, so I walked away.
Upon my return to the cafe, I heard the wooden house owner has a friendly and kind personality, who doesn’t mind sudden visits. It turned out “Mokuzo-san” was the wall comrade of Suzuki-san, who had continued to live there after “Space in the Sun”. I should have said hi…
“The echo of the mountain was so mysterious”. The most memorable sound from Suzuki-san’s ten-year journey was the yamabiko (mountain echo) in a village in Shikoku. Advancing southwards from the ancient gorges of Oboke & Koboke in Tokushima, he reached Osugi in Kochi with an empty stomach. He made a stop at a farmhouse and an old lady offered him homemade tea. As he said “thank you”, the echo came back as it was. A village where neighbours cannot gossip. Since then, he has been possessed by the yamabiko phenomenon, which further led to the invention of his handmade echo instrument, Analopos, the marking of “o to da te” echo points in more than 50 countries, and his sound quest for nearly 60 years, to this day.
*Oboke & Koboke means “big dangerous steps” and “small dangerous steps”. The deep and narrow valleys were formed by the rapid currents of the Yoshino River crossing the Shikoku Mountains over a period of 200 million years.
Sound installations without speakers.
Sound, not an expression, but to listen.
The recorded sounds, “nature becomes unnatural”.
The sound experiments, such as Yamanaka Lake in winter and Amagi Tunnel in Izu were recreated for a 30-minute NHK documentary, a long time ago. Perhaps stored inside any of these boxes, I wondered.
Thereafter, he shared six episodes of the “o to da te” echo point markings.
“The Excitement of The Sonambiente Festival”
“The Hussle in Louvre Palace”
“The Sweat in Athens”
“The Awakening in Melbourne”
“The Observation since Bonn”
“The Recommendation of Detour in the Museum of Contemporary Art, Tokyo”
The Sonambiente Festival (1996) in Berlin was the beginning of “o to da te”. During the capital transition from Bonn to Berlin, the sound of a construction rush filled the city. The concept drew from his earlier experience “Finding Echo Points”, and extended the idea to public spaces. He chose 25 listening spots from the birthplace of Berlin, inside Pergamon, the Museum Island in the north and Fischerinsel in the south. The marks were designed in the shape of footprints and ears, and sprayed with stencils. “o to da te” reflects the spirit of “no da te” in Japanese tea ceremony. The root of the design is based on previous sketches of John Cage’s ears. It is like stepping on Cage’s ears, so he kept it a secret.
Booklet published by Art Obulist Exhibition Committee
Spraying without permission was exciting indeed. In Paris, with a permit, he was reported by a visitor at Louvre Museum, and later rescued by security. A few years ago, in Athens, the attending lawyer had to finish at exactly five o’clock, which turned the usual slow pace into sweat and rush.
Next stop, Melbourne. As the flight was descending, Suzuki-san took a peek through the window. The town was designed in a grid-like pattern, proportionally straightened. An idea occurred to him, and he then drew three circles on the map that were 5, 10 and 20 minutes away. The intersection where the circles meet the compass lines became the “o to da te” mark. The spots were left to chance, and upon visiting, he was stunned that he could write a flawless description for every single spot.
The manholes on the sidewalk as an example. One of the charms is the direction of the “o to da te” mark may change. As you stand there, the cars in front of you slow down – a form of quiet noise follows, caused by a bump on the road. On the opposite side, the railroad is situated behind the trees where the music of chance can be heard. An awakening moment. It was not necessary to walk through every single path exhausting himself, he realised. The mark acts as a pause in our daily life, opening our senses and perception of the surroundings. After all, a spot for listening is everywhere in the world.
Photo: “Akio Suzuki: Stadtklangkünstler Bonn : city sound artist Bonn
Volume 14 of Urban sound art (2018)” Booklet
Since Bonn, his ideas transitioned from listening on the streets to turning attention to the sky. The observer blows sound into the bottom end of the cylinder, and the echo returns from the sealed lid. Our voice is inherited from our ancestors, listening to our origins. Beyond the cylinder, the concept is to respect the presence of spirits as it faces the polestar that humankind relied on during ancient times.
Seeking answers immediately leads to missing out on the essentials, which led to the last episode, “no zo mi” and “Michikusa”, at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Tokyo.
Rockets, airplanes, shinkansen, cars, and bicycles, missing out on abundance. Afraid of the rapidly evolving future, Suzuki-san’s footsteps contemplate slowing down, becoming aware and regaining our senses. Through walking, you can admire the blossoming flowers in the wild and feel the four seasons passing. Returning to the origins as a “human of the ear”.
“To walk attentively, to see quietly, detour is my life”.
My trip to Tango ended with a performance at Ippuku-tei in Amino. I was mesmerised by a bright, drifting sound. The sound source came from Suzuki-san, hitting his knee with a teppanyaki spatula. Never had I known, the knee resonates so well. My gaze was fixed on his wrist. The wrist was dancing to a particular rhythm. He must be entertaining with the reflected sound that bounced off from his knee.
(In reality, it was a paint scraper, pointed out by Suzuki-san. To me, it looked like the cousin of a spatula.)
The performance ended at 7pm, my train was at 7:37pm, and it takes 22 minutes to walk to the station. At the party, “you will be hungry if you don’t eat the pizza from Urashima”, Suzuki-san said to me three times.
Thankfully, the organiser gave me a ride, I caught the train, safe and sound. With three train transfers and two delays, I arrived at the Kyoto Station.
On the night bus
The mysterious house
Echoed in my mind
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