Contemporary Japanese Piano Music

The idea of recording an album consisting exclusively of works by Japanese composers is not new, but it remains rare: over the years, only a few dozen albums have been recorded, all by Japanese pianists, and to this day only one by a Western pianist.

My interest in Japanese piano music began in 2017, when I first heard several works by Karen Tanaka that immediately captured my attention. Their sonic universe —particularly Crystalline II and Children of Light—was utterly unique: music that explored the piano’s sonorities to their fullest while remaining completely accessible. Listening to those pieces, together with a trip to Japan in 2018, made me fall deeply in love with this extraordinary and largely unexplored musical universe. I decided then to devote myself to studying, collecting, and performing this repertoire around the world, especially in Europe. The idea of recording an album was present from the beginning, but I wanted to ensure that the chosen program would be balanced, diverse, engaging, and—above all—capable of awakening the same curiosity in listeners that I felt when I first discovered Japanese piano music.

For this album I selected four composers: two men from the twentieth century and two women from the twenty-first. My intention was to show that, regardless of historical context, artistic currents, stylistic differences, or even gender, there exists a clear cultural and sonic identity—distinctly Japanese—that has remained present throughout generations.

The history of Japanese piano music is fascinating precisely because it is so short, yet so rich. Since the introduction of Western music into Japan in 1868, at the beginning of the Meiji era, Japanese musicians rapidly assimilated European musical culture—its traditions, language, styles, and structures—and just as quickly sought to transform and adapt it to their own identity. This is particularly evident in Hisatada Otaka’s Sonatine. Written while he was studying in Vienna in the 1930s, the work successfully blends elements of traditional Japanese music (such as the use of the miyakobushi and ritsu scales) with Western formal and harmonic structures, resulting in a piece that feels both refreshing and familiar. Otaka may well have been one of the composers who most successfully fused Japanese musical traditions with Western tonal harmony. Despite his Germanic training, it is impossible not to hear the similarities between this Sonatine and Ravel’s, both in harmonic language (Ravel’s own harmonic world being deeply influenced by Eastern music) and in the character of each movement.

One of Otaka’s most celebrated works is the Suite Japan. Composed in 1936 and premiered in Budapest in 1938, it is divided into four movements, each depicting scenes from everyday Japanese life. Considering that Otaka had been living abroad for several years when he wrote the piece, it is reasonable to assume a nostalgic impulse behind it, transforming childhood memories into music. In the first movement, In the Morning, one can imagine temple bells ringing at dawn, shops opening, and streets gradually becoming crowded with merchants, rickshaws, children and old people . The second movement, Children at Play, portrays two children playing tag, and its mischief theme translates into a dazzling and challenging piece; it is followed by a tender lullaby, and finally a rhythmic and explosive movement depicting a village festival. Although the suite is exquisitely written for piano, Otaka later orchestrated it to take advantage of a wider palette of timbres and colors, even incorporating traditional Japanese percussion instruments into the orchestra.

Saburo Takata lived almost the entirety of the twentieth century, witnessing Japan’s rapid transformation—from the remnants of the old Taishō-era world to the threshold of modernity. His set of preludes was composed in 1947, shortly after World War II, and describes idyllic scenes from the mountainous Kantō region north of Tokyo. In the score, Takata writes: “After my house in Tokyo was destroyed during World War II, I moved far out into the countryside of northwestern Japan… The rapids rushing through the mountains, the wind rustling through the rice fields, abundant sunbeams, the cooing of wild pigeons, the beautifully colored mountains at sunset… within this atmosphere I was able to accumulate sketches for these preludes.” The influence of Debussy’s Préludes is undeniable, both in conception and in harmonic language. Yet, while Debussy’s preludes often convey subjectivity and naïveté, Takata’s seem unable to escape the darkness of war. Regardless of character—whether slow and somber or bright and agile — each prelude appears tinged with a certain cynicism, trauma, and uncertainty. The result is a deeply compelling work that transports the listener to a magical landscape without ever fully removing the lingering bitterness of reality.

Musica Nara was composed in 2006 by Minako Tokuyama as the compulsory Japanese piece for the Hamamatsu International Piano Competition. Its contagious energy, moments of contemplation, and stylistic diversity—ranging from traditional Japanese idioms to jazz and rock (all within less than seven minutes) makes this an astonishing piece to play . Tokuyama describes it as follows: “Musica Nara—the music of Nara, or the music of one’s home… Guided by the fluttering flight of a butterfly from the past, ancient Nara is revived once again… Within the notes begin to dance the Guardian Deities of the Children, the Running Priest, the Laughing Buddha, the comical demon Obstinacy, and the brave Deva King… With the definitive strike of a great bell, the tempo suddenly returns to its original speed, and with one stroke time has returned to the past.”

Composed in 2018, Jo No Mai serves as a counterbalance to the previous piece. It is slow, contemplative, and emotionally charged. According to Tokuyama, “JO NO MAI” means the graceful dance steps of Nohgaku, the traditional Japanese theater. Since Nohgaku is performed mainly in the ‘Ōshiki-chō’ mode, the piece centers around a pitch corresponding to A in Western music.” In Jo No Mai, Tokuyama evokes the ritualistic atmosphere of Noh theater through a language of suspended time, delicate ornamentation, and a hypnotic sense of stillness. The music unfolds like a ceremonial dance: restrained yet expressive, intimate yet monumental. Its melodic gestures recall the inflections of ancient Japanese chant, while its harmonic world remains intentionally sparse, allowing silence and resonance to shape the emotional landscape. This results in a profoundly introspective work—one that invites the listener into a space of memory, ritual, and quiet transcendence.

Karen Tanaka’s music was the catalyst for my journey into Japanese piano repertoire, and I felt it essential to include one of her works in this album. I admire her versatility: her writing can be honest, gentle, sweet, and transparent, but also rhythmic, tense, and full of energy. Rose Crystal, part of her Crystalline series, belongs to the former category. It is a nostalgic work inspired by Max Steiner’s famous musical motifs for the film A Summer Place. Tanaka writes: “These motifs are reflected in the composition in a subtle and ethereal manner, creating a sense of phantom and illusion. Rose Crystal evokes themes of youth, the passage of time, and cherished memories, inviting listeners to journey through these emotional landscapes.”

The digital edition of the album also includes Sensation, inspired by Arthur Rimbaud’s poem of the same name. Tanaka describes it as follows: “It evokes sensuous and fresh images of summer evenings, his dream of escaping into nature, a sense of freedom and infinite love, and his ardent desire to journey as a bohemian to places he has never seen.”