The Shakuhachi

by John Small

"Mounting the bull, slowly I return homeward.

The voice of my flute intones through the evening...

Whoever hears this melody will join me..."

-12th century Chinese master Kakuan, based on a traditional Buddhist tale 

Whether the culture be Native American, Indian, or Japanese, the flute carries associations with spirituality. At the flute's bidding, the cobra writhes out of the basket; the aesthetic wanders, flute in hands otherwise empty; the melodies are both mysterious and natural. The sound of the flute, reminiscent of antiquity, seems an ode to the pathos of life, as unmistakably human as the coyote's howl in the night. The shakuhachi, or Japanese flute, carries such spiritual and plaintive associations. 

Some historians trace the shakuhachi back to ancient Egypt, while others have it originating in China. Whatever the case, the shakuhachi eventually arrived in Japan, like so many instruments, via China in the 6th century. Its popularity quickly ebbed until the 13th century when Zen Buddhists sought to replace sutra chanting with shakuhachi music. Since that time it has been utilized in theater and folk tunes, as well as traditional Buddhist music. Wandering mendicants played the gentle, ethereal sounds as a call for alms. The very playing may serve as a beautifully expressed meditation.

"A (traditional Japanese) teacher communicates a way of life. A teacher feels that responsibility," notes Harold Abilok of Burlington. Abilock studied shakuhachi music during his 12 years in Japan, noting that playing the shakuhachi was one of the cornerstones of his experiences in Japan. Besides gaining enough skill to play at festivals and concerts in Japan, Abilock learned about proper breathing, attention, awareness, and how to function in Japanese society.

"Understanding Japan would be difficult to attain unless you engage in some Japanese activity at that level," Abilock explains. "I learned about the Japanese way of thinking. It's a part of the mind that lies behind the eyes that look out. It's how you see. The way we see human relationships... how we see ourselves and the world around us."

For the practitioner, Abilock notes, listening to his or her own sound while playing is as much a meditation as listening to another play. Aveloc goes on to note that "the sound of the shakuhachi is said to embody the Japanese spirit."

The devout shakuhachi-playing wanderers and preachers were known as Komuso: Priests of Emptiness and Nothingness. During the Edo period (1603-1867) the intentions of another mendicant class-ronin- may not have been so pure. These basket-hatted men had lost their status as samurai due to the violent clan struggles of the late 16th century. Besides being a means for earning money, the shakuhachi- a hard, hefty woodwind instrument - also could double as a weapon when needed. The shakuhachi was actually lengthened a tad to make it a more formidable Club. Defrocked samurai were not allowed to carry swords or regular weapons of any sort. Later, a group of komusu were recognized - and hence allowed to live in Tokyo- in exchange for becoming spies. Eavesdropping while playing, as opposed to spiritual attainment, became the favored activity of the komusu wandering the city.

Abilock's journey towards shakuhachi expertise began in 1973 during his first day in Japan. "I had missed the bus and had to walk about 3 miles," he recalls. "On that walk I heard the sound of the shakuhachi and followed it for quite a ways. I could see across the rice patties that there was a man sitting there playing. I just sat down, completely captivated."

Knowing his time in Japan was very limited, he postponed finding a teacher. Upon his return to the country 5 years later with his wife Jill, Abilock found a teacher, Tanizaki Reido Sensei. The serious Japanese student is often depicted waiting outside the master's gate for five years, then sweeping the floors for another five years to prove his or her seriousness. Being a foreigner with limited time, Abilock made clear his hope to bypass these formalities and plunge into studies. At times he felt stuck for a year or two, unable to hit that sweet note. But he kept at it, proving a seriousness with years of diligent practice that eventually brought him the distinction of beginning teacher status in Japan.

Today, three schools of shakuhachi training exist in Japan: the Kinko, the Meian, and the Tozan schools. Tanizaki sensei studied under the Kinko school. The Tozan school places the shakuhachi in a modern arrangement, perhaps going so far as to have a jamming in a jazz session. Meian is the traditional Buddhist school which more or less limits itself to the playing of 36 traditional Buddhist compositions. Musically, these are analogous to Gregorian chants. The Kinko school, which Abilock preferred, plays traditional compositions as well as more recent Arrangements. The important quality of the Kinko school for Abilock was the fact that the teaching maintained traditional practices in crucial areas, like proper breathing. With the need to breathe from the hara (the energy center just below the naval) and the posture of the erect spine, playing has more than indirect associations with meditation.

The name 'shakuhachi' literally means '1.8 feet,' which is the length of the classical flute. In Japan, shakuhachi making is no simple task. After years of treating the finest bamboo root ends, the maker puts in five holes- four on top and one in the back. Bending the bamboo to the ideal curvature is a lengthy and laborious process. Shakuhachi-making exemplifies the unique ability of the Japanese to modify nature without producing something artificial.

The sound of the shakuhachi is anything but artificial. The famous 'Shika no Tone' (the distant sound of deer), for example, emulates the mating calls between a buck and a doe. Shakuhachi sounds may seem to whisper, then might reach a stirring metallic pitch, then conclude with a graceful, gentle fadeaway.

Abilock dedicated himself to not only practicing this instrument, but to learning the settler, deeper related messages. Tanizaki Sensei cautioned him against playing in places with good Acoustics - it's too easy to become enamored with your own sounds instead of blowing with your whole heart. "Blow off the side of the mountain until it reverberates back," his sensei advised. Abilock heated this advice during various backpacking trips throughout Asia; some evenings his wife Jill could hear the music from a quarter mile away or more, echoing off the mountain.

A simple wood shakuhachi for beginners sells for about $200; the traditionally made shakuhachi costs about $2,000- or even as high as $5,000. For the student following traditional Japanese methods, the investment of time is even greater. Abilock is pleased to know that the shakuhachi is undergoing something of a resurgence in Japan. He cautions, though, that the sounds of Western pop music dominate the scene: prospective musicians are far more likely to learn to play the electric guitar. Ironically, he sees more interest in the instrument here in America than in Japan. Perhaps the sound of the shakuhachi carries a meaning and a message that a small but growing number of American students are seeking to understand.

John Small is a Japanophile who lives in Lincoln, Vermont. He wrote about the Burlington Taiko drummers in Good Citizen #3.