Ta-mu-pa Antithesis | Hiroyuki Ishida, Dean, Graduate School of Health Management
2023.01.31
The year 2023 has begun, and my turn to write this column has already come around. It is at this moment that I most keenly feel the swift passage of time. As this is supposed to be a diary, I tried to recall recent events, but the only thing that comes to mind is watching the NHK Kōhaku Uta Gassen. I might make the excuse that I've been (mentally) neutered by a life of self-restraint due to COVID-19. Unfortunately, watching Kōhaku unwittingly became an occasion to confirm my own aging (or deterioration). While Kōhaku is required to create a stage that appeals to a wide range of generations, regardless of the popularity or fan base of the artists in a given year, I felt that the 2022 show was particularly notable for its attempts to capture viewership from the younger generation. The complaint that "it's difficult to identify current popular singers and groups" is a common issue for middle-aged men, and this was even more pronounced this time. To begin with, the Candies were a trio. For someone like me, who grew up with this as the default, it's impossible to remember groups with more than three members. When it comes to groups like Hinatazaka or Nogizaka, they just look like a jumble of multiple sets of identical twins. Thus, I confirmed that my cognitive abilities are also in their final stages.
Having reached my 60th birthday, I feel a decline not only in my cognitive abilities but also in my sensory organs, especially my eyesight. My presbyopia has progressed rapidly. In the future, irreversible changes such as macular degeneration will likely compound the issue. If that happens, I might not be able to tell the difference between 4K, 8K, or even a cathode-ray tube. It's a shame. Keeping in mind that I have limited time left, I've recently been making an effort to diligently watch the recordings saved on my HD recorder. I enjoy NHK documentaries. "A Century on Film" is particularly outstanding. Although I attended affiliated schools, back then in history class, we would return to the Jomon period every time the curriculum changed, so modern history was a distant prospect. I experienced graduating each time before we ever reached it. Yes, for some reason, it wasn't very "integrated." For my self-study to supplement my knowledge of modern history, I am greatly indebted to "A Century on Film."
What I watched recently was the NHK Special "Tokyo Black Hole III." The premise is that the protagonist time-slips back to the bubble era of 1989–1990. As someone who experienced the bubble and post-bubble periods in the real world, I watched the program with mixed feelings of nostalgia and bitterness. As a catchphrase symbolizing the bubble era, the commercial for the energy drink "Regain" (from the former Sankyo Co., Ltd.) was featured, with its jingle: "Can you fight for 24 hours? Japanese businessman!" Today, we live in an era of work-style reform. If you were to work 24 hours, you would have to undergo an interview with an occupational physician for overwork, and intervention by the Labor Standards Inspection Office would be unavoidable. Whether the energy drinks actually worked or not, back then, people worked at full throttle during the day and ate, drank, and danced with total concentration at night. That's why I think many people accepted the "Can you fight for 24 hours?" catchphrase without any sense of incongruity. Against a backdrop of soaring land and stock prices disconnected from reality, we were governed by the delusion that a richer and more enjoyable future was guaranteed—that tomorrow would be better than today, and the day after better than tomorrow.
In contrast, today is the era of *ta-mu-pa* (time performance: time-effectiveness). "Can you fight for 24 hours?" is likely a thing of the past. This isn't limited to work. In both movies and music, *ta-mu-pa* has become mainstream, leading to the emergence of "fast movies" and boosting sales of remix CDs that feature nonstop edits of the "highlights" of past hit songs. Apparently, the *ta-mu-pa* generation can't stand long intros, and there are even requests to arrangers to keep intros "within XX bars." I've heard that Kyohei Tsutsumi (the late), a composer and arranger of unparalleled genius, considered the intro to be part of the work and made many demands of his arrangers. One of the songs born from this approach is "Momen no Handkerchief" (by Hiromi Ota, 1975). Lyrics by Takashi Matsumoto, arrangement by Mitsuo Hagita. It is a work known to everyone from the Showa era, with unusually long lyrics for a *kayōkyoku* (Japanese popular song)—running to three verses—that unfold as a dialogue between a man and a woman. Tsutsumi's country-pop melody is further elevated by Hagita's arrangement. Coincidentally, both Matsumoto and Hagita are Keio University alumni. As someone whose hobby is listening to Showa-era *kayōkyoku* on a large audio system, I feel a strong affinity knowing that two Keio University alumni were involved in this song, a landmark in the history of Showa pop music. Incidentally, Hagita has worked on over 4,000 songs as an arranger. For example, the exotic and memorable intro to "Ihojin" (by Saki Kubota, 1979) is also his work.
Let's return to the topic of *ta-mu-pa*. With music becoming digital and distributed online, the way people listen to music in the *ta-mu-pa* era has shifted to listening only to the songs they want to hear, and only the parts they want to hear. In Showa-era *kayōkyoku*, narrative and emotional melodies were valued, so meaningful lyrics and intros were actually preferred, but for the *ta-mu-pa* generation, they are probably just unnecessary baggage. If you think of music as a disposable commodity, this change is perhaps inevitable. However, I would really like Gen Z to try savoring works, whether music or movies, by experiencing them repeatedly and deliberately. This is because the flavor of a work changes in relation to your own accumulated life experiences, and after a certain number of years, you may discover new emotions in the same work that you never felt before. The same can be said for human connections. Matching based on "specs" via dating apps may have its efficient aspects, but the "humanity" that doesn't show up in specs is difficult to understand without taking time. As mentioned earlier, its flavor changes in relation to one's life experiences. Fortunately, Keio University offers many opportunities for regular reunions after graduation, such as the Rengo Mita-kai (Alumni Association Federation) and the 25th Anniversary Grand Reunion. You might discover a charm or flavor in him or her that you never noticed as a student. I hear that the 25th Anniversary Grand Reunion will be held in person this coming March for the first time in a while. I highly recommend it, especially for those who are exhausted by COVID and dating apps.
Photo: Cassette tape
This rotating, string-like medium, which could now be called an antique, does not allow for random access. That's why I often just let it play through. Strangely, after listening many times, the songs I like tend to change. This is a sensation that cannot be experienced with *ta-mu-pa*.