Essay No. 14 by Kanno Yoko original text - http://webclub.kcom.ne.jp/mb/n-jcaa/konsakka14.html Poor translation by Shih Tzu (interbot@hotmail.com), with thanks to his host family NO. 14 2002/5/24 This Week's Author Kanno Yoko When I take a taxi, more often than not I'm asked what my job is. Sometimes they throw in "You a student?", happily embarrassing and flattering me. But when I run into a driver who, peeping intermittently at me in the mirror, takes an obvious interest in unusual types, things can get hard. Riding from my house to the Ginza district at one in the morning, hair wet from the bath, smell of soap scattered about me, and having them say, "Work's tough, isn't it. I take it the year- end's busy? Well?".... [1] At dawn in the Gaien area, in a state of shock from the ineptitude of the day's recordings, having the driver stop the cab and speak frankly, saying, "I have a daughter, too, one who turned bad and got mixed up with a strange man....." My work at the studio is twenty-four hours nonstop, and I may look all worn out, but it's not that my heart is wounded, but rather that my talent is exhausted and I've nothing left but screams, so to speak. Still, what I find interesting is that just by my personal appearance and destination, they think to derive everything about me from their rather narrow viewpoints. When I tell them, "Such- and-such studio, please," they guess wrongly that I do some kind of voice work: a singer perhaps, or a voice actress, or a radio DJ. It seems my voice is pretty unique. Even if I say "Actually, no," they press on with "Well then, whaddaya do?" until my words falter and I'm reduced to "No, wait--I, er...." Now, I don't know what a lot of people in my neighborhood do, either. Especially the one who stays all day at home on weekdays, even when they're not sick. The one who always gets home in the middle of the night. The one who, for whatever reason, has friends come over who only drive foreign cars. With these kinds of people around, I too would like to inquire about their histories until I fully comprehend, so I can't really complain. Why is it I can't just honestly say, "I work as a composer."? I don't think it just my imagination that, even now, a female composer will be viewed just by that as having a questionable existence. I'm sure there are similar feelings among women writers. Saying one's a pianist or a singer is far more -understandable-. If I do that, they quickly show their comprehension with an "Oh, is that so." And should I say I'm a musician, they might even go as far as to say, with yearning eyes, "Keep it up and get famous, 'cause I'm rooting for you!" And yet, why is it when I say I'm a composer, an uncomfortable air immediately descends upon the cab? I've had people say "Com-pos-er...so what is it you do?" I've had one suddenly, and totally from left field, dive in with "Do you write, say, songs for Ootsuki Miyako?" [2] (I suppose the driver was a fan of Ms. Ootsuki, or maybe just before then one of her songs had come on the radio.) A great dilemma for me is that, to the most average person in society, to produce one song no one knows for Ootsuki Miyako, who everyone knows, has so much more meaning than to write the most beautiful theme for a little movie. This in spite of the fact that they're exactly the same act of writing music! I do owe Ms. Ootsuki Miyako an apology for using her as an example, but... For movies no one knows, for anime and games that get oppressed by people in our society, for commercials that are merely consumed and disposed of, every day I work out beautiful melodies that leave impressions, sacrificing my social life...what on earth am I doing? The time is yet far when I can proclaim myself to the world a composer. Everyone envies me, thinking I live the life of a bard, doing nothing but the music I love. "Forgive me my comfortable trade [3]," I say, my posture low, but in my heart I'm thinking: We live every day knowing that failure on the job means no tomorrow, and while the joys when things go well are surely great, we also have to bear the responsibility all ourselves when things don't. No one watches over us, and the months to come are pitch dark. I know the reality, I know I can't embrace the over- idealistic idea that a pro should surely be able to do what she wants as she pleases. Still, since there's no other blessed thing I can do, I just do music. Kanno Yoko Translator's Notes: [1] Ginza is a bar district in Tokyo. The cab driver assumes Kanno's a bar hostess. [2] Ootsuki Miyako is a famous singer of enka (Japanese folk ballads). [3] Yeah, sorry, this doesn't really translate. But you get the idea, I hope.