In our series of interviews with artists who have ties to Mie Prefecture, we return to Sumio Kobayashi. As it is the Obon holiday, we asked him about his childhood in his home prefecture of Mie.
—What was your early childhood like?
From the time I was born until I went to France, I lived somewhere that was like a lone house in the mountains—or perhaps a house in territory belonging to animals. There was no sense of anything man-made, and at night it was pitch-black. If a car happened to pass, which almost never happened, the sense of another human presence was reassuring. It was rather like the witch's dwelling in Jules Michelet's La Sorcière. He depicts how humans feared and destroyed nature, and how men feared and destroyed women; I constantly felt that sort of fear rooted deep in the human psyche. My father specialized in French literature and seems to have been influenced by Rousseau's view of nature and by Tolstoy. Apparently, it was on the basis of those ideas that he deliberately chose that way of life.
Living in a place like that, I had no contact with other people, and perhaps that was part of why I found the whole business of “going” to kindergarten or school so difficult. I must have been an awkward, strange pupil for my teachers, but I would wonder: was it really necessary to “go” somewhere every day? Wasn't “going” actually rather unnatural? Even getting to the home of the classmate who lived closest to me was an ordeal; I couldn't go and play unless my father drove me. Naturally, I ended up spending a lot of time alone. But once I got used to riding a bicycle and built up my stamina, I did have friends and play with them.
From around the age of three, I learned piano, Electone electronic organ, solfège and so on in Yamaha's course for young children in my local town of Komono. At six, I entered Yamaha's specialist course in Yokkaichi, where I studied piano, Electone, solfège, ensemble playing and composition. Needless to say, the experience of composing there is still useful to me today.
—What was life like in junior high school?
I still found “going” to school difficult. It was nothing very significant, but for some reason I vividly remember how embarrassed I was when a girl in my class asked, “Sumi-chan, is it true you still watch anime even though you're in junior high?” She said it with the implication that anime was for children. Yet here I am at 38, still watching anime as a matter of course. How embarrassing.
Apart from that, I did little but play video games. I especially liked fighting games: I would wake up in the morning and put in a solid practice session before the day really began.
My gaming friends and I spurred one another on, practiced and entered tournaments. In a way, that was the time when I enjoyed my youth the most. I think games were what first got me hooked on the sense of achievement that comes from hard work. I had to cycle a long way to get somewhere I could really play, and I didn't have any money, so I would ride 22 kilometers each way to go gaming.
—And what about high school?
When I entered high school, my gaming friends went to other schools, and I started thinking seriously about my life. I wanted to begin something, so that was when I took up composition in earnest and stopped gaming. Like many people, I imagine, at that stage I had no thought at all of writing what we call contemporary music. I wanted to write pieces like Rachmaninoff, Kabalevsky or Scriabin. When I first started composing, my teacher told me to write something in the manner of Bach, so that was what I began doing. It was an excellent experience. I already loved Bach and spent my days playing almost nothing but The Well-Tempered Clavier. It was difficult, but by reading various books as well, I eventually managed to write something that more or less sounded the part.
During that time, various people recommended that I study in France. I was fortunate because my father taught French at university and was a specialist, so he could teach me the language. After several months of intensive study with him, I could speak at a basic level. I left high school and headed for France.
—Was it difficult to decide to leave high school and go to France?
Since I had always questioned the need to “go” to school, I left high school without much hesitation. Then, in Paris, France, I studied the language at a language school while beginning composition lessons, mainly with Bernard de Crépy and Michel Merlet of the Paris Conservatoire. In Paris I studied orchestration and composition. I also experienced some serious setbacks there.
—Setbacks?
Yes. As is often the case with composition lessons in France, you frequently have lessons alongside other students. So I felt that the other students were seeing all the things I couldn't do. Of course, I learned from that, and it was good to encounter a variety of styles, but psychologically it was very tough.
After all, my French was so basic that even having a conversation was a real struggle, and I couldn't do much in composition either. I couldn't do anything, whether in French or in composition. I had no idea whether I was making any progress.
Relatives and other adults began asking, “Are you really going to be all right?” Looking back, perhaps I could have ignored them, but I probably also wanted to get away from France, and I returned to Japan.
—What happened after you returned?
I feel as though my life began after I came back. Sometimes, all things considered, I wonder whether it might have been fine to stay in France, but in the end I'm glad I returned to Japan.
Apparently, before the baseball player Shohei Ohtani went to America, he was persuaded to turn professional in Japan first, on the grounds that experience in Japanese professional baseball would improve his chances of succeeding in America. It was the same sort of thing. Going straight abroad can work, of course, but I now think that preparing thoroughly in Japan before competing on the world stage was better for me. So after returning, I devoted myself to studying French, French literature and composition in parallel, like a monk in training.
I was already used to practicing piano or video games from morning to night, so I actually like doing the same thing for long stretches. I set myself a rule: every day, without fail, I had to spend at least 17 hours studying or composing, and I could take only three days off a month.
At first, I actually intended to do at least 20 hours or more. I even read papers and books about short sleep and cut down my sleeping hours, but I was simply too sleepy to absorb what I was studying. I concluded that 17 hours was best for me. I ended up continuing that 17-hour study routine for just under 20 years.
—But aren't even 17 hours incredibly tough?
Well, I wasn't being all that earnest about it, either. I would do it while watching anime or films. Ever since childhood, I had done simple piano exercises—Hanon, for instance—while watching television. I do have that lazy streak. Perhaps that's why I never became a pianist. I also placed a lot of importance on efficiency, especially in games, so I kept doing things like watching composition lectures in English while studying French. It might sound impressive at first, but honestly, I don't know whether it did any good. Around then I also wondered whether I could learn English while gaming, so I tried playing online games in English. But basically I never used any words apart from “Fuck” and “Shit,” so that was a complete failure. And so my life of studying and composing for 17 hours a day went on relentlessly for nearly 20 years, while doing something else at the same time and concentrating at about 80 percent rather than 100 percent.
—You then went on to graduate school. What was life there like?
From around then, I was living almost entirely shut away at home. I had already been studying 17 hours a day as an undergraduate, but some of that was on the train while traveling, so it didn't feel like 17 solid hours of study. I couldn't concentrate on the train and didn't feel that anything was sinking in. From graduate school onward, I only went to university about once a week. For my health, I made sure to run for 30 minutes every day, whether it was hot or cold, as long as it wasn't raining, but otherwise I really didn't go out. That, too, was to make room for the 17 hours of study. I really never set foot outside and did all my shopping by mail order or online. In principle, I allowed myself three days a month without studying, but unless I had something to do, such as going to the hospital, I studied or composed every single day of the month.
When I first entered graduate school, I was still studying French as my primary foreign language and attending seminars in French literature. But I was torn between specializing in linguistics and French literature. Both my uncle and my father eventually came to specialize in linguistics, so I naturally became aware of that field. It's a curious thing: my father, Professor Kikuo Maekawa, who helped me at Hitotsubashi, and Professor Amalia Arvaniti, my supervisor in Britain, had all originally specialized in French literature before moving into linguistics. Strangely enough, my own interests somehow shifted in that direction too, and I decided to specialize in English linguistics and linguistics.
I had been studying composition with Joji Yuasa since my undergraduate years, and he often said that studying things other than composition was a prerequisite for becoming a good composer. I learned so many things from him—or rather, much of what I learned was outside composition itself. I think I also owe to him the idea of applying linguistics to composition, and the fact that having two specialties came naturally to me.
—And then you went to study in Britain?
I switched to linguistics and English linguistics while I was still a master's student, and continued composing, but mainly I was preparing for the TOEFL English test and studying for the GRE. This almost became my second major setback, and it was extremely tough. The TOEFL iBT includes listening and speaking, and, embarrassingly, the first time I took it I scored almost zero in both. I needed 100 points to get into a well-known graduate school in Britain or America, but at first I think I only managed about 40. It was a very difficult exam and a real struggle, but I gradually got to the point where I could consistently score 100, and around 115 on the current iBT. I then submitted doctoral applications online to universities in America and Britain and was admitted to doctoral programs in both countries. I agonized over the choice, but in America I wasn't admitted as a top candidate; my score was barely above the rejection threshold. I couldn't receive any scholarship or similar funding and would have had to pay the very high tuition fees entirely myself, so I gave that up. Britain also offered me the chance to work in contemporary music, my specialty, in Europe again, so I chose Britain. Being close enough to make music in France again was important too.
Receiving a scholarship from Mie Prefecture was also an enormous help. It feels a little embarrassing to say I'm grateful because they gave me money, but the various things I do to contribute to Mie are my way of repaying that scholarship. It meant that while studying abroad I didn't have to work part-time and could focus entirely on linguistics and composition. Without it, I absolutely would not be where I am today.
—What was life in Britain like?
I enjoyed it a great deal. Having experienced setbacks in France, I was prepared for considerable hardship, but thanks to my TOEFL preparation I could communicate normally in English, and I didn't experience discrimination. In Canterbury, with its abundant natural surroundings, I had a good time, keeping up my 17 hours of study and my jogging. It was a comfortable life of staying at home. I only had to go out for thesis supervision once a month, and there was almost nothing else. I had originally allowed myself three days off a month, but during my time in Britain and before that, the only days when I didn't study or compose for 17 hours were those spent traveling long distances to other countries. While I was in Britain, I studied without doing any sightseeing in Britain even once. It suited me extremely well that the only scheduled obligation for a doctoral student was a supervision meeting once a month. It was as though all my time belonged to me.
The European mainland was also within easy reach of Britain, so I could take part in various European competitions and music festivals. That was a refreshing change of pace, almost like sightseeing. I'm skeptical about competitions, but through them I met wonderful musicians from different countries. The connections we still maintain are something I treasure.
Another major thing was the chance to study with my supervisor at the time, Professor Amalia Arvaniti. She is at the forefront of phonetics and one of its most important researchers; being able to study with someone like her was an enormous asset. She is a leading authority on the musical aspects of language—rhythm and pitch—and I think it's fair to say that everything I learned could be applied to composition. I also learned a great deal from her beyond the academic work, such as managing a schedule and using my time.
Even with the scholarship, my food budget was at most about 100 yen a day, so I lived in considerable poverty. Often I couldn't even afford 100 yen, so I would gather edible wild plants in Britain while jogging and eat them. I became quite knowledgeable about wild plants. Nobody in Britain ate bracken shoots, so I could feast on them; in fact, it was fun. My favorite was wild burdock. Its leaves are so big that picking just two gives you enough to eat. I ate thistles too, and young thistles were delicious, like vegetables. That way of life taught me just how delicious vegetables really are. They don't smell grassy or feel tough, and they have sweetness and umami.
—Please tell us what you've been doing recently.
After completing my doctorate in Britain and returning to Japan, I stopped the 17-hour study routine. There were various reasons. One was that I had finally become tired, I suppose. The ordinary joys of being human and living a human life had been entirely absent from the first half of my life, and I began to feel it was about time to enjoy life as other people do. Another reason was that I started teaching at university and no longer had room to study. Perhaps that, too, depends on how hard I try, but I have no time to take in new knowledge, and I feel as if I'm relying entirely on what I've learned up to now. That's a major challenge for the future.
—That concludes our interview with Sumio Kobayashi. Thank you for taking part.
August 12, 2021