In Chiburijima Island, there are no places to eat or drink at night. Thus, we found ourselves to be regular customers of Nishitani Shōten, whose owner is an expert on folk songs.

One night, we sat down with Mr. Nishitani in a special room he keeps for his acoustic equipment and asked him to share what he knows about local shops and folk songs, which never seem to make most tour guides about Chiburijima.

──Does Nishitani Shōten have a long history?

I’m the third generation of family that originally came here from Sakaiminato City, so nothing important. I mean, it’s been about 120 years since my ancestors first moved here. Still, the so-called history of this shop is still quite short and isn’t an authentic representation of Chiburijima.

──Really? I’d say 120 years is pretty long.

Chiburijima Island is, in a nutshell, the closest island to the mainland—a commercial center during the age of cargo ships in the Edo (1603-1868) and Meiji (1868-1912) Periods. Until then were sailboats and rowboats that had to stop at Chiburijima to enter the Oki Kingdom. With enough food and water, Chiburijima was the place to escape to if there was trouble at sea. In fact, since the age of bartering, mainland culture had to first travel to Chiburijima before reaching Ama or the islands of Nishinoshima and Dōgo. It truly prospered. Riding the current of the times, the generations before me, though they liked Sakaiminato, came to Chiburijima Island for its top-class commerce. Not the best judgement, I’d say. *laughs* In the Shōwa Period (1926-1989), ships with large engines moved commerce over to Dōgo and Nishinoshima Islands.

──Nonsense, we haven’t spent one day in Chiburijima without visiting Nishitani Shōten. This is a very important shop to me.

Though it may be not vital per se, this shop is a jack of all trades selling a variety of goods to more-or-less satisfy whatever needs islanders might have. Ironware, kitchenware, vegetables, rice, alcohol—you name it and it’s probably here in this big array of goods that are a must in island life. Chiburijima is not an island for lavish lifestyles. When I came back here, things were a bit lively with a population of 1300 people, but that has since dropped to about 600 people. Of this number, there are only 100 vigorous people willing to work. The rest are living on retirement pensions, though they don’t amount to much. Since transportation is more convenient nowadays, people go on day trips and shop. Things like alcohol can also be bought on the internet for cheap, and so when youngsters buy a whole box of alcohol, we shopkeepers get only a small share of that purchase. Even then, if I have to compete against three or four other shops, stock goods cheaply and hold down prices in an effort to be the only one to survive—why, these kinds of practices would surely get me bankrupt. This is why customers around here usually decide to buy something from me, rice from across the road, and alcohol from some other store—they buy according to their relationships with the sellers. The customers here are truly considerate with their purchases.

──Compared to Dōgo Island with its large shops, the conditions in Chiburijima seem to be unique.

Yeah, but it's an island with a dream. There might be only 600 people, but if they've set their minds on something, they're unstoppable. A population of 3000 or 5000 people makes it difficult to unite an island. Even if only 50 or even 30 people out of 600 are serious about cooperating, they can achieve great things. Just imagine the power of such a group of youngsters. There is hope in Chiburijima. Come on, you youngsters! Wake up and revive this island already!

──Have you always been raised in Chiburijima?

I'm 70 years old, and I was outside the island for only about 6 of the last 70 years.

──What were doing during those 6 years?
Studying, I guess? But, I'm pretty sure I was just having fun everyday. Heck, I even went and begged to my professors because I didn't have enough credits.

──So, did you come back as soon as you graduated?

I guess I was about 20 years old when I came back.

──I was wondering, why is it that you have CDs of folk songs in your store?

In the past, there were many festivals and celebrations in Chiburijima. We would not only celebrate “Matsuna oshi” on New Year’s day to pray for the safety of fishermen and for good catches, but we also celebrated birthdays, graduations, and marriages. People made houses and bought boats, and we’d celebrate too. We also had many other celebrations for when someone became 50, 60, or even 88 years old.

──Does that mean there were many opportunities to perform folk songs too?

On those days, we’d gather with our relatives and have a ball. I naturally learned the rhythm to folk songs when I was a child. But children nowadays have no way of learning folk songs. After all, there aren’t that many celebrations.

──Are they really that few?

Oh, it’s not even worth mentioning. Marriages for example only happen once or twice a decade. Now everyone goes off to Matsue, Osaka, or some random hotel to get married, but back in my day, the whole ceremony would take place in the living room of one’s house. The relatives would all prepare and clean together, with celebrations going on in that house for two or three days. Children would love it. After all, adults would have a blast, becoming extra generous after a few drinks and promise their kids whatever they want. The children can also eat whatever they want, get allowances, and stay up late. This would allow them to learn how things are like among adults too. One could say there was not a single soul back then who couldn’t sing or dance.

──Reading the “Chiburi-Mura Magazine,” it seems like there was a blind woman in the past with amazing talent for folk music.

That would be my Ms. Yoki, my teacher.

──What? Really? THE Yoki Maeyoko (See section 34｜The Yoki Maeyoko Monument)? According to the magazine, she was invited to play for any event on the island.

There were performers from Nishinoshima Island and Ama too, you know, and during celebrations they would always play the shamisen and taiko and sing a whole bunch of songs. Well, those performers would come here, from all over Oki Archipelago, just to learn shamisen and singing from Ms. Yoki.

──What Ms. Yoki really so talented?

Oh, she was. But that’s not all, you see. She was also balding, and for baldness, we had a beach called Miyogawa where turban shells would come up in the rocks at night. People didn’t have flashlights in those days, so most would make torches using bamboo, some cloth, and oil and go out to collect turban shells. Of course, Ms. Yoki was blind, so she didn’t need a torch or anything. She’d just look for them like this, using her hands and feet, and find loads of them. She was amazing and had the intuition to understand everything.

──And that intuition translated into music too, huh?
Nowadays, folk music is performed according to the notes, so everyone sings and plays shamisen the same. It’s utterly boring. Shamisen, taiko, songs, melodies must represent the flavor and aroma of the island and its people. That’s the whole point of folk songs. People in the past were able to listen to a tone or melody and say things like, “Ah, so that’s the kind of melody and lyrics she had all along…” or “I can’t say anything about his shamisen there.”

──Would you say there’s a “Chiburi-ness” to that?

Dialects and accents differ among islands. Heck, these are completely different among the areas of Usuge, Tataku, and Niburi. Even if the expressions and words are the same, the melody, tone, and dance will be different. But there’s something nice about that. It’d be lonely if it were otherwise and things were all the same. There’s same is true for faces. You see someone balding and you could guess they’re from Kokai. You could tell just by listening to words spoken about whether someone is from, say, Nishinoshima Island or Kokai.

──Folk songs represent this point the best, don’t you think? Do you take up students?

I used to have a student before, but they learn on their own now. They’d work in the village office and skip lunch to come here. After a 15 or 20-minute lesson, they’d rush home, eat, and go back to work for the rest of the day. They would call and tell me they were coming over. They would push me to teach him. That’s how one has to be if they like folk music. I can’t invite people and ask them to sing and dance. They must be self-motivated and have their own desire to learn folk songs and shamisen.


──About how long does it take to master?

There’s no need to rush into it. Folk songs are something that require many years, and even the shamisen alone is definitely not something you can master in 6 months or a year. Regardless of what it is, you need at least five, maybe ten, years. If you practice for that long and get the hang of it, you should get pretty good.


──Pretty good, you say?

Flavor. You start getting your own flavor. I mean, no matter how nice a voice you have, a young voice just doesn’t make for a moving song. Song requires heart, as does shamisen.

──With Ms. Yoki, when there was something you had trouble learning, would you also push her too?

That’s right. “Granny, how’s tomorrow sound?” I’d ask, and she’d never refuse. That motivated me to go. I’d bring over sweets or something in return.

──What exactly did you find enchanting about her song or shamisen playing? Do you remember moments when you were moved?

There were those moments, you know, when I’d feel like, “Wow, that’s way beyond me.” She produced songs from the daily struggles she faced and a tone from her shamisen that resonated from the bottom of her heart. It’s the same as “kagura” or sacred music. In Chiburijima, we have “Ishidzuka Kagura” performed by a single, family in Kokai. It’s phenomenal. Sure, there are people good at song and dancing, but this family can’t be rivaled. It’s the blood that courses in their veins. That’s enough to change how the strike of a bell sounds, how every finger, fingertip, and toe—each and every last one—moves. I think “Ishidzuka Kagura” is a living national treasure. To move such tough-looking bodies so elegantly—the epitome of brilliance.

──How was it learning under Ms. Yoki?

We’d surround a “kotatsu” or heated table during our lessons. Granny would sit across from us and play. We’d try to learn by watching her. We’d sing the songs together as well. We didn’t have recording equipment back then, so we’d remember the melody we heard and drill it into our heads at home. When Granny had time, we’d go over to learn, and that’s how we remembered the folk songs.

──Were you able to find your own flavor? I’m sure you searched for it, even if you couldn’t play like Ms. Yoki.

Well, there were other elderly folk on the island too. When I performed for them folk songs I had learned from Ms. Yoki, they often didn’t agree with some parts. When I followed their advice, they’d exclaim, “That’s it! That’s the dossari melody!” So, even if I memorized what Ms. Yoki taught me, I’d have to sing according to another person’s advice. Then, if I sang for another granny, she would tell me to sing it a different way. I had to sing a variety of melodies, and from that I was able to make my own songs. That’s why whenever someone says, “Sing it like this,” or “Enter the melody this way,” it’s important to able to say “I can do that.” In other words, there’s no one way to perform folk songs. The more you work on it, the more you get into it.



──You’re right, that’s definitely not something one could do in a year.

When I perform in a sitting room or banquet, I’m not sure whether I’ll get an applause. Those who perform on stage have to tune their instruments and make sure their tempo and key are on point for the real deal. But folk music doesn’t always come out so pretty. Sometimes you reach dead ends and start wondering, “If I raise the key three notes higher, will the next lady to sing raise the key six or seven notes higher?” You have to make it easy for the singer to harmonize with you—this is obvious. That’s the technique for shamisen playing. That’s why whenever singers change at a banquet, you have to go with an easy key for them to sing right from the start. If some incompetent lady starts off singing off-tune, an old man might come along and insist on singing instead. At such moments, I have to be able to say, “Let’s go.” Even if one of my strings break, I have to keep playing with the other two. That’s the fun of folk songs.

──I see. So that’s what folk songs are like.

Well, that’s how I was taught and that’s how I’d like to leave it through what I still teach and record on CDs. The Chiburijima dialect is going to disappear one day, but if I say something in it, I’m sure to jot it down. That’s how I like to keep folk songs.

──So you keep notes?

Well, do you know what, say, a “totokama” is?

──No, not really…

See, if you go down to the beach, you’ll find flat rocks and if you’re with a friend or two you might say, “Hey, let’s totokama!” So, you go off to pick up whatever decent rocks you find, countdown “1, 2, 3!” and chuck them towards the water. Whoever throws the rock with the most number of bounces wins.



──I see. So “totokama” is something like stone skipping, right?

Right, and when I’m speaking often words in Chiburijima dialect come flying out, like in stone skipping. While they’re still bouncing upon the water’s surface, I write them down.


With that, Mr. Nishitani showed me his collection of notes and CDs. For folk songs to go on, it is not merely about writing songs to leave behind. This is what I feel I learned.

As folk songs are increasingly forgotten, there is no doubt that it’s important to leave behind CDs.

Yet, there are somethings that therecording of a single CD fails to capture. The tone of a shamisen and the variations on a melody, which capture the various personalities of the people in Chiburijima Island, are examples of this. Embodying the culture of an island is the very point of a folk song. This something no sheet music or lyrics could ever preserve.

Mr. Nishitani bought the various acoustic equipment in his room in a time when recording had just started. Valued at today’s currency, he spent the equivalent of some thousands of dollars to obtain his equipment. As a successor to the tradition of folk songs, Mr. Nishitani as well as the countless pieces of sound equipment in his shop are certainly treasures that can only be found on this island.