Deguchi Form of Temporal Experience in The Music of Toru Takemitsu

FORMS OF TEMPORAL EXPERIENCE IN THE MUSIC OF TORU TAKEMITSU
by
Tomoko Deguchi
September 22, 2005
A dissertation submitted to the

Faculty of the Graduate School of
the State University of New York at Buffalo
in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the
degree of
Doctor of Philosophy
Department of Music
Copyright by
Tomoko Deguchi
2005
ii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to the following people whose
assistance and support was critical for the successful completion of my dissertation.
Special thanks first and foremost to Dr. Martha Hyde for carefully reading the entire draft
of my dissertation and providing numerous invaluable suggestions, comments and
editorial guidance. Thanks also to Dr. Charles Smith for his extremely useful advice and
comments, Dr. Michael Long for his advice and guidance, especially in the Ran
chapter, Dr. Jeffrey Stadelman for agreeing to serve on my committee after the untimely
and all too soon departure of Professor John Clough, and John Clough for his assistance
in the early versions of my Piano Distance chapter. I also greatly appreciate Dale Scott
and Bud Newcomb for their editorial assistance.
Schott Japan is greatly acknowledged for permission to reproduce excerpts of
Rain Tree. Also special thanks to my husband Ronald Keith Parks for his many hours of
proof reading, help with music examples, and his unwavering support, love, and
encouragement. And finally, I extend my thanks, love, and gratitude to my daughter
Kotone for her patience, encouragement, and for maintaining a sense of humor
throughout my studies.
iii
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
iii
ABSTRACT
vi
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER I: CONCEPTS OF TEMPORALITY, LINEARITY, AND FORM IN

THE ANALYSIS OF TAKEMITSUS MUSIC
CHAPTER II: REQUIEM FOR STRINGS (1957): CYCLIC-TIME FORM
11
41
2.1 Harmonic and Metric Ambiguities
44
2.2 Repetitions of Materials in the Melodic Line and Cyclic-Time Form
55
2.3 Conclusion
82
CHAPTER III: PIANO DISTANCE (1961): FORCE THAT BECOMES ONE

AFTER ANOTHER
86
3.1 Pitch Materials and How They are Constructed
88
3.2 Analysis of Musical Motion, Continuity, and Form
97
3.3 Conclusion
128
CHAPTER IV: RAIN TREE (1981): INTER-SUBJECTIVITY AND FORM

4.1 Actions and Inter-subjectivity in the Narrative of Music
iv
134
139
4.2 Analysis
145
4.3 Conclusion
180
CHAPTER V: GAZING AT TIME: NOHKAN MUSIC FOR KUROSAWAS

RAN
184
CONCLUSION
214
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES
222
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
223
ABSTRACT
This dissertation integrates the studies of my three primary interests: the concept
of time in music, how this concept of time influences the perception of form, and the
music of Japanese composer Toru Takemitsu (1930-1996). The analyses are based on the
standpoint that the temporal mode in Takemitsus music is primarily Western; Western in
the sense that his music is linear, has a definite beginning (but not necessarily a definite
ending), and the musical events have continuous relationships with each other. Also
given that music can only be experienced in time, the subject of time engages the issue of
musical form. Listeners can experience structure and form in Takemitsus music through
a dynamic process of form-building. The resultant form of the three compositions
examined reveals strong commonalities with Japanese sensitivities and aesthetics.
The process of form-building is utilized in the analyses of the three compositions
that are the focus of this dissertation. In Chapter II, I discuss the recurring three-note
figures in the melodic line of the Requiem that are embedded in the small and large scale
repetitions. This simulates a palindromic formation which gives rise to what I call the
cyclic-time form. I use the concept of cyclic time as a representative of Eastern
aesthetics that parallels the Requiems perception of form. Piano Distance best represents
the concept of form-building. The perception of phrase formation solely comes from the
relationships between the expectation and the retention of musical events. I make use of
the concept of Japanese consciousness, force that becomes one after another to
illustrate the phrase formation of Piano Distance. In Rain Tree, certain parts of the music
vi
come to obtain two formal functions, in which the interpretation is based on the events
happening before and after those parts. The concepts of inter-subjectivity and nonsubjectivity can be associated with the Japanese mode of narrative found in Rain Tree. In
the final chapter, I return to the topic of how time, viewed as an unending cyclic entity,
affects musical form. I analyze and explore the significance of the music of the Japanese
Noh flute (nohkan) in Akira Kurosawas film Ran, and show how Takemitsu uses flute
music and an Eastern conception of time to accommodate Shakespeares King Lear (as
retold by Kurosawa through Ran) a work that relies on Western notions of linearity and
development. I conclude that my analyses reveal that Japanese aesthetics intersect with
the perception of form in Takemitsus music.
vii
INTRODUCTION
This dissertation integrates the studies of my three primary interests: the concept
of time in music, how this concept of time influences the perception of form, and the
music of Japanese composer Toru Takemitsu (1930-1996). Takemitsu considered himself
a composer who wrote music in the style of the Western musical tradition. Although he
did not have formal training in composition, he believed he was most profoundly
influenced by Western composers such as Debussy, Messiaen, and Schoenberg.1
Takemitsu became familiar with these composers as a founding member of Jikken Kobo
(Studio of Experiments), a group of musicians, artists, and novelists, who promoted new
and experimental directions in the arts. They learned the music of recognized Western
composers, still unknown to the Japanese public, by programming their works for the
groups recitals.
In spite of these expressed intentions, Takemitsu admits that artists cannot easily
escape the cultural heritage into which they are born and raised:
I am not a composer who represents Japan, nor even a Japanese composer
[composers who are intentionally conscious of having Japanese nationality and
incorporate Japanese elements into their music]. Born and raised in Japan, aware
that I am influenced by its culture, even as I try to free myself from that influence,
at the same time I am fully aware that is impossible.2
From a lecture by Toru Takemitsu delivered at Columbia University, 14 November 1989; quoted in
Timothy Koozin, Octatonicism in Recent Solo Piano Works of Toru Takemitsu, Perspectives of New
Music 29, no. 1 (1991): 124, n. 1.
2
Toru Takemitsu, Confronting Silence: Selected Writings, trans. and ed. Yoshiko Kakudo and Glenn
Glasow (Berkeley, California: Fallen Leaf Press, 1995), 142.
1
Here Takemitsu professes his belief that a persons sensibility is inherent in his nature
through specific cultural values in which he was raised. Takemitsu apparently became
increasingly conscious of this sensibility as a Japanese composer later in his life, but I
will show that Japanese aesthetic values influenced his work throughout his career. He
writes for example:
There is an advantage for a Japanese composer who has studied modern Western
music music from a completely different culture. That is, he can view his own
Japanese tradition from within but with anothers [outsiders] eyes.3
While the compositional materials that Takemitsu uses in his music draw upon those used
by Western composers (for instance, materials derived from the octatonic collection,
whole-tone scale, and pentatonic scale4), many listeners nonetheless identify a Japanese
quality, even in pieces that do not use traditional Japanese instruments. As a Japanese
musician and scholar who has been trained in the West, I believe that the primary quality
that marks Takemitsus music as Japanese is how he controls and structures smaller
musical units or events and temporality, and how the resultant musical form reflects and
engages Japanese aesthetics. I argue that the temporal mode of Takemitsus music is
primarily Western; Western in the sense that his music is linear, has a definite beginning,
and has continuous relationships between musical events. However, unlike much Western
music his forms are not hierarchical in structure. It is this non-hierarchical nature of
Takemitsus musical forms that reflects the influence of Eastern aesthetic values. I
Ibid., 143.
It is interesting that Takemitsu incorporates exotic scales adapted by Western composers that originated
from Western composers interest in Orientalism.
4
explore the differences between Eastern and Western concepts of time in the first chapter,
as well as define my terminology, such as linear, continuation, and directedness.
Issues of time in music continue to be debated among music theorists.5 While
music is a temporal art that can exist only through time, how we perceive time is an
elusive concept that is difficult to formalize. Thus St. Augustines famous question
remains relevant: What, then, is time? I know well enough what it is, provided that
nobody asks me, but if I am asked what it is and try to explain, I am baffled.6 Those who
discuss the general nature of time often draw examples and images from music, since
music is perceivable only through time. For example, Susanne Langer writes that music
makes time audible, and its form and continuity sensible.7
Leonard Meyer points out the danger of placing too much emphasis on the
structure of the musical work as a single event interpreted as an integrated and
unchanging whole. He writes:
Recent discussion concerning musical time includes: Karlheintz Stockhausen, Momentform, Texte zur
elektronischen und instrumentalen Musik (1963), Gyrgy Ligeti, Metamorphoses of Musical Form, Die
Reihe 7, Form-Space, trans. Cornelius Cardew (1965), Barney Childs, Time and Music: A Composers
View, Perspectives of New Music (1977), Robert Morgan, Musical Time/ Musical Space, Critical
Inquiry (1979-80); Thomas Clifton, Music as Heard: A Study in Applied Phenomenology (1983); Martha
Hyde, A Theory of Twelve-Tone Meter, Music Theory Spectrum (1984); George Rochberg, The
Concepts of Musical Time and Space, The Aesthetics of Survival (1984); Joel Lester, Notated and Heard
Meter, Perspectives of New Music, (19856); David Lewin, Music Theory, Phenomenology, and Modes
of Perception, Music Perception (19856); Christopher Hasty, On the Problem of Succession and
Continuity in Twentieth-Century Music, Music Theory Spectrum (1986); Jonathan Kramer, The Time of
Music (1988); Judy Lochhead, The Metaphor of Musical Motion: is There an Alternative? Theory and
Practice (198990); Barbara Barry, Musical Time: The Sense of Order (1990); Jonathan Kramer, ed.,
Time in Contemporary Musical Thought, Contemporary Music Review (1993); Christopher Hasty, Meter
as Rhythm (1997); and Justin London, Rhythm in Twentieth-Century Theory, The Cambridge History of
Western Music Theory (2002).
6
St. Augustine, Confessions, Book XI, trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin (New York, 1977): 264, quoted in Judy
Lochhead, The Metaphor of Musical Motion: Is There an Alternative? Theory and Practice 14/15
(1989/90): 102.
7
Susanne Langer, Feeling and Form (New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1953), 110.
4
Too much emphasis upon the highest architectonic level not only tends to
minimize the importance of meanings as they arise and evolve on other
architectonic levels but it also leads to a static interpretation of the musical
process.8
He directs his criticism against aspects of music theory that are concerned more with the
grammar and syntax of music which treats musical compositions as things, rather than as
meanings or as the dynamic experience to which it gives rise.9 Meyers main criticism
addresses the analysis of common-practice tonal music; however, the same criticism aptly
applies to analyses of post-tonal music. Similarly, Takemitsu criticizes formal
structuralism from the composers viewpoint that composers too have been steeped in
techniques, trying to grasp sounds only through their function within the system. He
believes that the task of the composer should begin with the recognition and experience
of the more basic sounds themselves rather than with concern about their function.10
Although Takemitsu exploits his own system of pitch derivation in composing, how his
music is realized in sound is more important for him.11
Exploring further Meyers perspective, I maintain that musical structure and form
in Takemitsus music result from a dynamic process that can be experienced through
time. In this dissertation, I draw upon my experience both as a performer and as a
listener. My study of Takemitsus scores, then, is not isolated from the music as it is
performed or heard. At the same time, my analysis of the music seeks associations of
musical objects or events that arise in relation to the temporal process of past, present,
Leonard B. Meyer, Emotion and Meaning in Music (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1956), 52.
Ibid, 54.
10
11
Ibid, 114.
8
9
and future. My goal is to better understand how Takemitsu structures time in his music
and how listeners can experience these structures.
Takemitsus music is not goal-oriented a concept often used to describe Western
tonal music in which motion is felt in one direction moving away from and resolving
into, for example, the tonic harmony. Even though Takemitsu focuses on certain pitchclasses or sonorities in his music, he seldom establishes any central harmony or collection
comparable to that of a tonic or a tonal key. Moreover, in Takemitsus music, the sense of
climax and ending is less evident than in most Western music. Also in relation to Western
traditions, his music is less teleological in the way that it defines form. I raise many of the
same questions regarding Takemitsus music that Jonathan Kramer has raised in The
Time of Music.12 Among these questions are: How does music structure time, or how
does time structure music? How and why do compositions begin and end? How do the
concepts of past, present, and future apply to music? What is continuity, and is it optional
or necessary in music? And in comparison to Western art music, does music influenced
by Eastern thought differ in any way in structure, form, and perception? To explore these
questions, I use Takemitsus compositions, which on one level are written in the style of
the Western musical tradition that uses conventional notation of pitch and duration, and
are scored for Western instruments, but which nonetheless reflect Japanese aesthetic
values.
Jonathan D. Kramer, The Time of Music: New Meanings, New Temporalities, New Listening Strategies
(New York: Schirmer Books, 1988), 14.
12
Previous studies have explored temporality in Takemitsus music, and many of

them employ traditional Japanese concepts of time and incorporate examples from the
Japanese tradition, such as the Shinto culture and the Japanese Zen master Dogen, whose
ideas attracted Takemitsus attention. Most of these previous discussions are highly
metaphorical, such as portraying the Oriental view of time in Takemitsus music as an
unchanging temporal stasis. But these earlier discussions largely neglect the issue of how
the listener experiences temporality in Takemitsus music. Despite claims of addressing
temporality, most analyses of Takemitsus music are narrowly focused on pitch
relationships. Koozin, for example, derives Takemitsus pitch materials from symmetrical
scales or collections (such as the octatonic, whole-tone, and Messiaens modes of limited
transposition) and argues that by virtue of their symmetry, the pitch structure in
Takemitsus music dissolves into a static and undifferentiated temporal field.13 Although
I do not oppose the metaphor of a static temporal background for Takemitsus music, I
support more strongly a view that posits a dynamic experience that unfolds in the
continuum of time. Here I find most useful Christopher Hastys model of phrase
formation and his concepts of duration and motion. My critique of Koozins approach
and adaptation of Hastys concepts appear in Chapter One.
My approach to Takemitsus music as a dynamic experience is influenced by the
phenomenological attitude as characterized by Thomas Clifton, who writes:
Timothy Koozin, Spiritual-Temporal Imagery in Music of Olivier Messiaen and Toru Takemitsu,
Contemporary Music Review 7 (1993): 186.
13
7
the most telling contribution of a phenomenological attitude is the means it offers
for uncovering and describing phenomena which are immanent in the composition
and presented by it. This is different from the more traditional purpose of analysis,
which describes how certain events or compositional procedures are constitutive
of the composition.14
An in-depth discussion of the philosophy of phenomenology is outside the scope of this
dissertation. I adopt this phenomenological attitude, however, as a means of articulating
observations, which are in one sense objective in describing musical events adequately,
but subjective in another sense in addressing the temporal meanings that emanate from
the same musical events. This is the reason why it is critical to embody my subjective
viewpoints as a performer and a listener.
Given that music by necessity can only be experienced in time, temporality
naturally engages the issue of musical form. Temporality and form are closely related,
since form can only unfold in time; form here means the constructive or organizing
element in music.15 The conscious concept of musical form was developed in the
nineteenth century not to understand music of the past, but rather to teach musicians how
to compose. Consequently, discussions of form were largely prescriptive, and the abstract
forms they described served more as molds that guaranteed the degree of uniformity
needed for syntactical coherence. Given its pedagogical goals, it is hardly surprising that
nineteenth century concepts of form relied on abstraction and generalization.16
Thomas Clifton, Music as Heard: A Study in Applied Phenomenology (New Haven and London: Yale
University Press, 1983), ix.
15
Arnold Whittall, Form, Grove Music Online, ed. L. Macy (Accessed 18 October 2005),
<http://www.grovemusic.com>
16
Ibid.
14
However, the interpretation of the term form changed direction when twentiethcentury music was emancipated from the stability and singularity of formal
categorization. Arnold Whittall writes, The fact that there is more to composition than
form, and that discussing form separately from content in all but the most directly
technical sense is purely pedagogical, has encouraged musicological interpretation of the
musical work as a multivalent entity.17 Because music in the twentieth century became
considerably divergent, we could no longer classify a piece into one single category.
Now, when we interpret the form of a piece, we must study the individual events or
content in each musical work. The handed-down genres and forms from the previous
century tended towards fragmentation and disintegration.18 Musical form became an
entity, which can be discussed from diverse perspectives.19
In my discussion, I analyze form in Takemitsus music from the perspective of
form as a processive entity, and not merely identifying formal components, such as
phrases and sections. Judy Lochhead adopts a similar approach in order to formalize pitch
structure, employing time-like or processive models of form for the analysis of Roger
Sessions Third Piano Sonata.20 Inspired by her analysis, I consider form the result of the
Ibid.
Ibid.
19
Recent research concerning musical form includes: Edward Cone, Musical Form and Musical
Performance (1968); Nicholas Cook, Musical Form and the Listener, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art
Criticism (1987); Janet Schmalfeldt, Form as the Process of Becoming: The Beethoven-Hegelian
Tradition and the Tempest Sonata, Beethoven Forum IV (1995); Charles Rosen, The Classical Style:
Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven (1997); William Drabkin, Chopin, Schenker, and Musical Form, Ostinato
Rigore (2000); Scott Burnham, The Second Nature of Sonata Form, Music Theory and Natural Order
form the Renaissance to the Early Twentieth Century (2001); James Hepokoski, Beyond the Sonata
Principle, Journal of the Amaerican Musicological Society (2002);
20
Judy Lochhead, Temporal Process of Form: Sessions Third Piano Sonata, Contemporary Music
Review 7 (1993): 163-83.
17
18
relationships among segments that emerge through associations to past musical events. If
Takemitsus music is influenced by his Japanese heritage, then Japanese aesthetic values
must influence how his music structures time. Examining Takemitsus music from an
Asian perspective, I will argue that Takemitsus compositions are coherent and
continuous entities, which sustain an equilibrium between the confluence of Eastern
aesthetics and Western musical styles.
I use three of Takemitsus compositions for analyses: Requiem for Strings (1957)
in Chapter II; Piano Distance for solo piano (1961) in Chapter III; and Rain Tree for
three percussionists (1981) in Chapter IV. Each piece employs different instrumentations
and they represent Takemitsus output from the earlier to the middle periods in his life.
Because I focus on Takemitsu as a composer who wrote music in the Western musical
tradition, all of the analysed compositions are written for Western instruments.
Takemitsus ideal of ensemble performance is to enhance each performers personality,21
which differs from the Western ideal of ensemble performance that strives for individual
sounds to blend into one cohesive sound as if played by one person. In order to interpret
the interactions between performers in the ensemble, I analyzed Takemitsus music in
smaller settings. In the chapter that I analyze the Requiem, I discuss how the recurring
small melodic fragments are embedded in larger repetitions, thus contributing to the
palindromic structure of the piece. The resultant affect for the listener is that the music
seems to be constantly returning to a point in the past. This perception of form relates to
Takemitsu described many features of the traditional Japanese music in Oto, Chinmoku to
Hakariaeruhodoni (Sound, confronting silence) (Tokyo: Shinchosha, 1971).
21
10
the Eastern concept of cyclic time. In Chapter III, I discuss the temporal continuity which
has a definite beginning and a cohesive totality that arises from related parts in Piano
Distance. I then explore the non-hierarchical nature of musical structure in this piece,
which relates to a principle that is prominent in Japanese traditional art. In Chapter IV, I
make use of the concept of inter-subjectivity in Japanese literature to discuss the formal
structure and expressive meaning of Rain Tree.
In the final chapter, in order to provide an opposing perspective of time, culture,
and music, I return to the topic of how time, viewed as an unending cyclic entity, affects
musical form. The final chapter shows how Takemitsu used the nohkan flute in the
soundtrack for Akira Kurosawas film Ran to accommodate Shakespeares King Lear, a
work that relies on Western notions of linearity and development. Kurosawa made many
changes when adapting the plot of King Lear for Ran. These changes reflect the
differences between Japanese concepts of time and change and that of the West. I
conclude that the nohkan music in Ran embodies and signifies the Japanese concepts of
time and change in Kurosawas adaptation of King Lear.
There are no pre-existing standard formal types in Takemitsus music (i.e., sonata
form, rondo form). Structure and form in his music results from a dynamic process that
must be experienced through time. By examining Takemitsus works individually, I
argue that the process of form-building is unique for each piece, and that the resultant
musical form overlaps with the various aspects of Japanese aesthetic values.
CHAPTER I
CONCEPTS OF TEMPORALITY, LINEARITY, AND FORM
IN THE ANALYSIS OF TAKEMITSUS MUSIC
My approach to analyzing Takemitsus music is based on the concepts of process

oriented formation of structure and recognition of relationships among musical events
that occur in a continuous temporal succession. In this chapter, I discuss relative theories
that have been developed by other scholars, as well as theories having to do with the
Eastern concept of time, the concept of temporality developed by Western scholars,
concepts of linearity and nonlinearity, and the concept of form-building. Before I discuss
these issues, it will be helpful first to review relevant biographical information about
Takemitsu and key insights gleaned from his own writings.
Takemitsu explains that he started seeking his unique sound in the ruins after the
fire of World War II. Perhaps somewhat fancifully, he recounts that as the war was
approaching its end, he heard Lucienne Boyer singing the French chanson Parlez-moi
damour from an old phonograph, and that it was the first time he became aware of the
beauty of music from Western culture. And it was this realization that brought about
his desire to make a career of composing music in Western-style.1 As it turned out, the
West was about to invade Japan both physically and culturally. His was the first
generation, in fact, caught in the confrontation between Japanese values and radical
westernization. Defeat forced the young Japanese to be exposed and to absorb the culture
Takemitsu writes about his early musical experiences in Toru Takemitsu, Toi Yobigoeno Kanatani
(Beyond the far calls) (Tokyo: Shinchousha, 1992), 27-28.
1
11
12
of the West, primarily that of America. In 1948, Takemitsu became a private pupil of
composer Yasuji Kiyose with whom he studied for several years. However, by his own
account, he largely taught himself through listening to American radio broadcasts and by
frequently visiting the American library where he studied the scores of numerous
American composers, including Roy Harris, Aaron Copland, Walter Piston, and Roger
Sessions.2
Initially, Takemitsus compositions were not immediately well received in Japan.
Not until Igor Stravinsky visited Japan, heard Takemitsus Requiem for Strings
(composed in 1950), and praised its artistry, originality, and intensity did he gain wider
recognition. In the years following, Takemitsu was inspired to write in more varied
genres, such as musique concrte, tape music, aleatoric music, music using graphic
notation, as well as music written with more conventional techniques. While his attitude
toward music and composition was profoundly influenced by John Cage, he nonetheless
identifies Messiaen as his spiritual mentor, from whom he learned the concept and
experience of color in music and form.3 Takemitsu also became recognized for his
artful composition of soundtracks for a large number of films.4
In the second half of the twentieth century, Takemitsu became recognized as
Japans most distinguished composer.5 Since 1960, his awards in international
Ibid., 28.
Glasow (Berkeley, California: Fallen Leaf Press, 1995), 141. Takemitsu does not give a precise description
of what he means by these concepts.
4
See footnote 1 in Chapter 7 regarding Takemitsus work as film composer.
5
Biographical information is taken from Toru Takemitsu, Confronting Silence: Selected Writings, trans.
and ed. Yoshiko Kakudo and Glenn Glasow (Berkeley, California: Fallen Leaf Press, 1995), xiii.
2
3
13
competitions include two UNESCO Rostrum of Composers Prizes, the Inter Design
Grand Prize, the prix International Maurice Ravel, the Kyoto Music Grand Prize (a
distinction shared with John Cage and Olivier Messiaen), and the Grawemeyer Award.
He was twice commissioned for the 125th and the 150th anniversaries of the New York
Philharmonic Orchestra, for which he composed November Steps (for shakuhachi, biwa,
and orchestra) and Family Tree: Musical Verses for Young People (for narrator and
orchestra, poems by Shutaro Tanikawa). He had numerous commissions, served as music
director in various expositions and projects, was a jury member in national and
international composition competitions, and gave lectures at Yale, Harvard, and Boston
University, as well as other universities and music festivals. In 1990, he was awarded two
honorary Doctorates of Music (from the City of Leeds College of Music, and Durham
University) and was made an honorary member of the American Academy, the Institute
of Arts and Letters, and the French Ordre des Arts et des Lettres.
Takemitsu was always concerned about the situation of traditional and
contemporary Japanese music and its reception in international music venues. For the
twenty years following 1973, he organized and served as the music director of Music
Today, a series of annual concerts of international contemporary music. His
accomplishments were also reflected in many national awards.
Takemitsu as an author is now becoming known outside of Japan. However, there
is still a large portion of his writings that remain untranslated. He has written essays and
14
commentaries, and some of his lectures have been transcribed for publication.6 His ideas
on such topics as music, sound and silence, nature, the universe, and the West and East
are frequently expressed in these writings. For example, Takemitsu writes:
To give clear shape to amorphous and irregular musical ideas and images, one
cannot avoid depending on words. These are not technical words of music theory
but are instinctive, dramatic, communicative flashes. For that reason, at times
words are for me a kind of filter of my thoughts, not the means of communicating
events or emotions. In order to be totally immersed in music I cannot neglect
verification of my relationship to the world through the use of words.7
Takemitsu did not write program music, nor did he believe that words explain the essence
of music. For him, words were more like stimulants for his imagination that activated his
sensibilities in his search for sounds.
In the beginning of his career, Takemitsu states that he avoided Japanese music,
since he believed that old-fashioned Japanese music would call back the detestable
memories of old Japan.8 However, he describes one influential experience involving the
Japanese traditional art form of Bunraku, which led him to be aware of the richness of
Japanese culture and to have a greater appreciation for it. Takemitsus interest in
Japanese traditional instruments started in 1961, when he used the biwa, a traditional
Japanese lute-like instrument, for the first time in the music for the documentary film
Nippon no Monyo (Japanese patterns). He used the same instrument again in the
soundtrack for the movie Seppuku, which received the Mainichi Music Festival prize for
For the list of writings by Takemitsu (both in Japanese and in translation), see Peter Burt, The Music of
Toru Takemitsu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), selected bibliography, 283-84.
7
Glasow (Berkeley, California: Fallen Leaf Press, 1995), ix.
8
Toru Takemitsu, Toi Yobigoeno Kanatani (Beyond the far calls) (Tokyo: Shinchousha, 1992), 28.
6
15
best film score. Thereafter Takemitsu employed Japanese instruments frequently in music
for film, radio, and television. His first concert work that used traditional Japanese
instruments was Eclipse (1966) for biwa and shakuhachi (upright flute made of bamboo).
In 1967, he again turned to biwa and shakuhachi for November Steps. This double
concerto brought Takemitsu recognition throughout the world. In this work, Takemitsu
sought to create a new sound through combining instruments from the West and the East.
During the last two decades of his career, Takemitsu less frequently incorporated
Japanese instruments in his music, perhaps because he no longer needed the help of
Japanese instruments to incorporate Eastern aesthetic values into his music.
Even though Takemitsu received wide recognition as a composer internationally,
there are few analytical studies of Takemitsus music. One reason maybe that his music
does not conform to a particular compositional style in twentieth century music, nor does
it utilize any one compositional method. The general understanding among scholars of
Takemitsus music is that his pitch materials often derive from Messiaens modes of
limited transpositions, especially the octatonic and whole tone scales. However, his
procedures are not systematic enough to generalize or codify. Peter Burts recent
publication is the most complete outline of Takemitsus style throughout the composers
career.9 It illustrates many theoretical features of Takemitsus music and offers some
analyses; however, they are neither in detail nor in depth. Other recent studies of
Takemitsus music include a semiotic analysis, which contrasts the meaning of sound in
Peter Burt, The Music of Toru Takemitsu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001).
16
his music with the dichotomy of Eastern and Western culture,10 and a study of pitch
structure in one of Takemitsus compositions, which compares it to the pitch structure
characteristic of music for the traditional Japanese instrument sho.11 Most studies,
including the above, show to some extent how Eastern culture has influenced his music.
Many scholars have turned to the Eastern concept of time seen in Takemitsus music as a
feature that differentiates his music from that of other Western composers. This seems
plausible since Takemitsu himself was interested in the topic of how music unfolds in
time. However, in this study I argue against the premise that Takemitsus music embraces
the Eastern concept of time that is characterized as nonlinear and discontinuous.
Although I do not necessarily disagree with the Eastern concept of time in music from a
metaphorical perspective, nevertheless as a listener and performer, I support more
strongly a view that asserts a dynamic experience of music that unfolds through the
continuum of time. As a result of my analyses, I conclude that temporality in Takemitsus
music is primarily Western in that it is structured by a definite beginning, by continuity,
and by linearity. In my view, it is not time but the perception of form that more strongly
reflects the influence of Eastern aesthetics. Before presenting my own ideas, I first need
to summarize the findings of previous studies that compare Eastern and Western concepts
of temporality.
Yayoi Uno Everett, Reflecting on Two Cultural Mirrors: Mode and Signification of Musical Synthesis
in Tru Takemitsus November Steps and Autumn, in A Way a Lone: Writings on Tru Takemitsu, ed.
Hugh de Ferranti and Yko Narazaki (Tokyo: Academia Music Ltd., 2002).
11
Steven Nuss, Takemitsu and the Cry of the Phoenix, in A Way a Lone: Writings on Tru Takemitsu, ed.
Hugh de Ferranti and Yko Narazaki (Tokyo: Academia Music Ltd., 2002).
10
17
Most scholars agree that many features of Japanese traditional music are prominent
characteristics of Takemitsus music. These include simply using Japanese instruments,
using sounds on Western instruments that imitate the timber and texture of Japanese
instruments,12 and the spatial positioning of instruments that emphasize the individuality
of sound production.13 In addition to these Japanese features, Timothy Koozin argues that
Takemitsus music can be viewed as a modern reflection of the traditional Japanese
concept of time.14 In Oriental philosophy, being over doing has been fundamental in
shaping the traditional Eastern concept of time. While being suggests connection with
the infinite, doing (action) is temporal and temporary. F. S. C. Northrop contrasts the
Oriental portrayal of time as a placid, silent pool within which ripples come and go, while
the Western view represents time either with an arrow or as a moving river.15 The
metaphor illustrates the contrast between the directionality of the Western concept of time
and non- directionality of the Eastern concept of time. Koozin argues that in many
Japanese arts, finite action and timeless eternity coexist, which Kitaro Nishida has called
the unity of opposites.16 Here, time is represented as foreground (finite action) and
background (timeless eternity), for which Koozin gives as an example the Japanese poet
See Dana Wilson, The Role of Texture in Selected Works of Toru Takemitsu (Ph. D. diss., University
of Rochester, 1982).
13
I discuss this feature in Chapter IV (i.e., how the instruments are positioned on stage in the performance
of Rain Tree).
14
Timothy Koozin explores the Eastern influence of the concept of time in Takemitsus music in The Solo
Piano Works of Toru Takemitsu: A Linear/Set-Theoretical Analysis (Ph. D. diss., University of
Cincinnati, 1988) and in several articles, such as Toru Takemitsu and the Unity of Opposites, College
Music Symposium 30, no. 1 (1990): 34-44, and Spiritual-Temporal Imagery in Music of Olivier Messiaen
and Toru Takemitsu, Contemporary Music Review 7 (1993): 185-202.
15
F. S. C. Northrop, The Meeting of East and West (New York: Macmillan Company, 1946), 376-83.
16
Timothy Koozin, Toru Takemitsu and the Unity of Opposites, College Music Symposium 30, no. 1
(1990): 40.
12
18
Bashos haiku. The idea of time represented as a unity of opposites can be traced to the
thirteenth century writings of the Japanese Zen master Dogen, who teaches that time is
being.17 This concept values the beauty of isolated, independent objects or events in a
work of art. It is reflected in the appreciation of spatial and temporal discontinuities
prevalent in Japanese traditional music, poetry, and drama. In music it is represented by
the awareness of motion within a single tone itself rather than among separate tones.18 In
Takemitsus music, individual tones are the finite temporal markers, which in opposition
suggest an awareness of eternal time. Especially when there is no audible metrical
background, the durations of pitches are projected against a background of silence itself. A
metrical background suggests finitude, and nothing extends beyond the beginning and end
of the musical work. Koozin then explains that a stream of local musical events may be
superimposed against a static background of sustained octatonic sonorities,19 which
Takemitsu utilized as a global force for pitch organization. A sustained field of octatonic
sounds used to form a static background is a sonorous continuum, which merges with the
all-embracing background of silence to convey an image of eternity.20 Thus, musical and
extra-musical metaphors suggest an awareness of the infinite in Takemitsus music.
Eihei Dogen, Shobogenzo (The eye and treasury of the true law), trans. Kosen Nishiyama and John
Stevens, Shobogenzo, vol. 1 (Tokyo: Daihokkaikaku, 1977), 68; quoted in Timothy Koozin, SpiritualTemporal Imagery in Music of Olivier Messiaen and Toru Takemitsu, Contemporary Music Review 7
(1993): 187.
18
19
Timothy Koozin, Toru Takemitsu and the Unity of Opposites, College Music Symposium 30, no. 1
(1990): 41.
20
17
19
Koozin argues that the metaphor of the opposition between infinite and finite time
is characteristic of Takemitsus music, and that he also places weight on isolated,
independent objects or events focusing more on individual moments and less on the
continuity of moments. Other scholars focus on the similarities between the temporal and
spatial discontinuities prevalent in Japanese traditional art and the concept of Eastern
time. Fumio Hayasaka states that the form of Japanese traditional music is an eternal
form with sections without head or tail compared to a more dialectical development,
such as that found among the themes of a Western sonata form.21 In the literature of
haiku (short poem) or music of joururi (a narrative style of singing), each part lacks a
clear frame; instead, parts that unfold continuously can be replaced in any order, and they
also can start and end at any place. Jonathan Kramer takes notice of this aspect of
Japanese art, which places emphasis on every object and every moment of time rather
than on a long-range structure. Japanese art is non-dramatic, and, similarly, the
elimination of the dramatic curve is a primary prerequisite for what he calls moment
time, a term that he adopted from Stockhausens idea of moment form.22 In moment
form, Stockhausen articulates the aesthetic of moment time:
Musical forms have been composed in recent years, which are remote from the
scheme of the finalistic [goal-directed] dramatic forms. These forms do not aim
toward a climax, do not prepare the listener to expect a climax, and their
structures do not contain the usual stages found in the development curve of the
Shinjo Saito and Maki Takemitsu, eds., Takemitsu Toru no Sekai (The world of Toru Takemitsu) (Tokyo:
Shueisha, 1997), 84.
22
(New York: Schirmer Books, 1988), 201-2.
21
20
whole duration of a normal composition: the introductory rising, transitional, and
fading stages.23
Kramer argues that Stockhausens idea of moment time in music reflects a non-Western
value in its avoidance of functional implications among moments as well as in its
avoidance of climaxes. A composition in moment time has neither a functional beginning
nor an ending. Although the piece must start for simple practical reasons, it does not
begin; likewise it must stop, but it does not end.24
As I discussed above, Takemitsu was keenly aware of his Japanese heritage and
its cultural influence upon his work. We might assume that his music reflects
Stockhausens moment form, since this idea well describes forms in other Japanese arts,
including traditional Japanese music. Wilkins dissertation, An Analysis of Musical
Temporality in Toru Takemitsus Rain Tree (1981), is based on a similar assumption.25
He summarizes the concept of time in Japanese culture and then bases his analysis of
Rain Tree on Kramers moment form. Avoiding the issue of temporality, he focuses
primarily on the determination of the derivation of pitch materials in each moment or
section of the piece. However, he does not provide a convincing reason as to why he
judges Rain Tree to represent a moment form. We clearly need to ask the question as to
whether we should perceive Takemitsus non-tonal pieces in moment time only
because he has a Japanese cultural background. Is it indeed legitimate to assert that his
music reflects the Eastern concept of time and its consequent lack of beginning, ending,
Karlheinz Stockhausen, Momentform, trans. Brad Absetz, Texte zur elektronischen und instrumentalen
Musik 1 (Cologne: DuMont, 1963), 199; quoted from Kramer, 201.
24
Ibid.
25
Blake Matthew Wilkins, An Analysis of Musical Temporality in Toru Takemitsus Rain Tree (1981)
(DMA diss., University of Oklahoma, 1999).
23
21
transition, and climax? As stated above, I argue against the assertion that Takemitsus
music is based on the Eastern concept of time. Instead, I argue that his music is based on
the Western concept of temporality. In the remainder of this chapter, I discuss key issues
related to the Western concept of temporality, such as experienced time, continuity,
linearity, and motion.
Music theorists and composers have extensively discussed the topic of temporality
in music during the past half century,26 although the subject still does not receive enough
attention especially in the analyses of individual compositions. Music theorists have
primarily concerned themselves with the dimension of pitch organization. One reason for
this is that the commonly used terminology of music has direct semantic ties to musical
space. This terminology has more specific meaning than that used for musical time. We
can precisely describe and notate such phenomena as pitch, chord, triad, harmony, and
register; for instance we can describe a pitch as A4 or a harmony as roman numeral IV in
the key of G-major. In contrast, we have greater difficulty describing phenomena such as
arsis, thesis, upbeat, downbeat, tempo, meter, rhythm, rubato, measure, phrase, and period,
phenomena directly related to the issue of musical time. The phenomena of musical time
are less precisely represented by music notation than are phenomena occurring in musical
space. For example, different analysts may have varying interpretations of phrase
structure. Furthermore, a listeners perception of upbeat and downbeat may not coincide
with notational elements such as barlines. Often these terms have little meaning without
26
Various writings that examine the topic of musical time are referenced in footnote 4 in the Introduction.
22
discussing individual pieces, and for this reason, the generalization and categorization of
phenomena in musical time is resistant to further development. As music unfolds in time,
the listeners experience becomes crucial in recognizing the phenomena in musical time
for each piece. Naturally, the listening experience differs from person to person, and
similarly, how the music unfolds in time differs from piece to piece. In the following
discussion, I review the concepts and terminology developed by recent writers, and then
define these concepts in relation to my analysis of Takemitsus music.
Music is unique in our experience of time, for music is a temporal art in which the
motion of tones and continuity are essential. In this sense, time in music is not a
quantitative factor that can be expressed in a formula, such as distance = velocity time.
In other words, time in music is distinguished from clock-time. Susan Langer draws the
necessary distinction between clock time and what she calls duration, which is the
relation of time to music. Musical duration is an image of what might be termed lived
or experienced time.27 Langer describes musical time as dynamic and experiential time,
calling its symbolic presentation in music the primary illusion of music. The elements of
music are moving forms of sound, but in their perceptual motion, nothing is physically
moving. She writes:
All music creates an order of virtual time, in which its sonorous forms move in
relation to each other always and only to each other, for nothing else exists
there. Virtual time is as separate from the sequence of actual happenings as virtual
space from actual space. In the first place, it is entirely perceptible, through the
agency of a single sense hearing. There is no supplementing of one sort of
experience by another. . . . music spreads out time for our direct and complete
apprehension, by letting our hearing monopolize it organize, fill and shape it, all
27
Susanne Langer, Feeling and Form (New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1953), 109.
23
alone. It creates an image of time measured by the motion of forms that seem to
give it substance, yet a substance that consists entirely of sound, so it is
transitoriness itself. Music makes time audible, and its form and continuity
sensible.28
George Rochberg basically agrees with Langers definition of the term
duration, which he defines as time as experienced in music.29 Rochberg considers
duration as the primary condition of music, which engages the listeners sense of duration
in relation to his/her own experience.30 Thus, even though musical events are notated by
the measured value of notes occurring externally, duration as time as experienced in
music is an internalized process, which in itself is an unmeasurable flow that is
unsusceptible to limits or demarcation.31 David Epstein contrasts the experienced time
against measured time in music with less sense of subjectivity. He calls the essentially
mechanistic, evenly spaced measurement of time chronometric time, which is in large
part evenly articulated time set up within a musical measure. Its measurements and
demarcations provide pragmatic and convenient periodization.32 At the same time,
Epstein terms the unique organization of time intrinsic to an individual piece integral
time, which is enriched and qualified by the particular experience within which it is
framed. He clearly articulates the duality of time in music: the imaginary pulse which is
the marker of time, and the rhythm that reinforces or obscures the underlying metrical
time in individual pieces.33
Ibid., 109-10.
George Rochberg, The Aesthetics of Survival (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1984), 77.
30
Ibid., 72-75.
31
Ibid., 76-77.
32
David Epstein, On Musical Continuity, in The Study of Time IV: Papers from the Fourth Conference of
the International Society for the Study of Time, Alpbach-Austria, ed. J. T. Fraser, N. Lawrence, and D. Park
(New York: Springer-Verlag New York, Inc., 1981), 183.
33
Ibid.
28
29
24
Lewis Rowell argues that the beginning of a composition functions as a transition

from external time or clock-time to the internal time or duration of the composition,
initiating the listeners engagement of expectation. He discusses six functions of the
beginning of a composition: 1) the translation from external time to the internal time of
the composition; 2) the overcoming of the inertia of the surrounding silence, the zone of
atemporality that serves as a frame for the music music takes energy to set it in motion,
and this energy must be felt (and sometimes seen) by the auditors; 3) the demarcation of
the tonal field: laying out the boundaries within which the game is to be played, setting
temporary high and low edges for the pitch spectrum, and establishing a tonal focus or
perspective therein; 4) the promise or forecast of the scope of the whole composition, its
accentual weight, tonal quality, and energy level; 5) the onset of the listeners train of
expectations, predictions, and retrodictions, moving from ambiguity to certainty; and 6)
the establishment of the feeling of motion.34 Among these functions, I consider the fifth
and the sixth of greater significance for the understanding of Takemitsus music. The
fifth function describes well the process of the forming of structural units in
Takemitsus pieces, and the sixth the function of continuity.
The analyst can articulate the emergence or building of form by addressing the
sequence of expectations, predictions, and retrodictions, which is a temporal succession
of units and events. This way of conceptualizing the creation of form-building represents
34
Lewis Rowell, The Creation of Audible Time, in The Study of Time IV: Papers from the Fourth
Conference of the International Society for the Study of Time, Alpbach-Austria, ed. J. T. Fraser, N.
Lawrence, and D. Park (New York: Springer-Verlag New York, Inc., 1981), 199-200.
25
enunciation of time as process. The Oxford English Dictionary defines process as the
fact of going on or being carried on, as an action, or a series of actions or events,35 and
the Random House Dictionary of the English Language defines process as a series of
progressive and interdependent steps by which an end is attained.36 Judy Lochhead
suggests that much contemporary discussion about form fails to address its forming
aspect, that is, discussions of form in general and analyses of specific forms often do not
account for the building-up of a whole by the accumulation of parts. She believes there
is a discomfort among scholars who approach the topic, and that it is this failure to
capture the forming of a temporal shape that is the source of unease about form, an
unease born from the change from thing-oriented thought to process-oriented thought.37
Lochhead bases her discussion on Roger Sessionss argument that the conceptualization
of thing-oriented form has a rigidifying or spatializing effect; the things that
comprise it are, for example, motives, themes, phrases, and sections. Thing-oriented form
is something to be filled like a bottle in three-dimensional space. Emphasizing
process instead of thing, Sessions prefers to think of form in terms of relationships
and functions as they occur during the temporal presentation of musical events.38 This
kind of process-oriented analysis addresses the arising of formal meanings during the
temporal succession of units and events that eventually will constitute a musical whole;
Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd ed., s.v. process.

Random House Dictionary of the English Language, 2nd ed., s.v. process.
37
Judy Lochhead, Joan Towers Wings and Breakfast Rhythms I and II: Some Thoughts on Form and
Repetition, Perspectives of New Music 30, no.1 (1992): 134-35.
38
Judy Lochhead, Temporal Process of Form: Sessionss Third Piano Sonata, Contemporary Music
Review 7 (1993): 165-66.
35
36
26
that is, it is concerned with the strategy of form-building, not solely with the built
form.39
Among the principles that underlie musical form, the principle of association is
emphasized by Sessions in his second book Questions about Music.40 He writes in his
first book The Musical Experience of Composer, Performer, and Listener that the
function of association is to give significance to a musical idea and unity to musical
forms, and he adds in his second book that association is a back-reference to an
important element that has been already stated. Temporally, Sessionss association is a
past-oriented principle involving references by later events to earlier ones.41
The process-oriented concept of form does not imply the musical action of a
future-directed movement through an a priori structure (such as the dominant chord
progressing to a tonic). Forms are defined by the constant updating of formal meaning
as events occur during the time of a piece. In this conception, form is best described not
by its constitutive elements or as something to be filled in by substantive things (such as
motives and themes), but rather by temporally-directed relations that shape the passing,
the retaining, and the expecting of musical events.42 While events unfold through time in
Repetition, Perspectives of New Music 30, no.1 (1992): 135.
40
Roger Sessions discusses three fundamental principles underlying musical form in his two books, The
Musical Experience of Composer, Performer, and Listener (1950) and Questions about Music (1970).
These are: 1) progression or cumulation, which refers to the nature of successive events in a musical
presentation; 2) association, in which repetition in the broadest sense of its meaning, associates occurrences
through musical similarities; and 3) contrast. In the latter book, he adds the principle of balance (or
proportion). See Judy Lochhead Temporal Process of Form: Sessionss Third Piano Sonata,
Contemporary Music Review 7 (1993): 163-83.
41
Ibid., 164-65.
42
Ibid., 178.
39
27
the piece, Sessions conceives continuity as the variable nature of relationships among
earlier and later events that give rise to the formal design.43 In the following analyses of
Takemitsus music, I make use of the Lochhead/Sessions concept of process-oriented
formation of structure, and I also use the term continuity as defined by Sessions.
Jonathan Kramer, although not consistently, uses the terms continuity and
discontinuity in conjunction with the terms linearity and nonlinearity in his
discussion of temporality in music.44 He uses the word continuity, for example, when
the music has consistent temporality throughout the piece, that is, the piece has
continuity when it does not disrupt the goal-directed linearity or nonlinear
consistency.
Linearity and nonlinearity are the key words Kramer uses to categorize
temporality in music. He categorizes five kinds of temporality in music according to the
degree of linearity or nonlinearity, in conjunction with the degree of continuity or
discontinuity between musical events, and the directedness of events. He defines
linearity as: the determination of some characteristic(s) of music in accordance with
implications that arise from earlier events of the piece.45 Thus linearity is processive. He
also defines linear time as the temporal continuum created by successive events in which
earlier events imply later ones, and later ones are consequences of earlier ones.
Nonlinearity is nonprocessive. Kramer defines nonlinearity as: the determination of
Ibid., 165.
(New York: Schirmer Books, 1988).
45
Ibid., 20. Italics by Kramer.
43
44
28
some characteristic(s) of music in accordance with implications that arise from

principles or tendencies governing an entire piece or section.46 Nonlinear time is the
temporal continuum that results from principles permanently governing a section or a
piece. According to Kramer, the five categories of time in music (directed linear time,
nondirected linear time, multiply-directed linear time, moment time, and vertical time)
arise from different degrees and kinds of interaction between linearity and nonlinearity.
He contrasts linear with nonlinear time: linear principles are constantly in flux, nonlinear
principles do not grow or change. In linear time, phrases group into periods, subsections,
sections, movements, and so forth, in a usually well ordered hierarchy. Some cadences
are stronger than others, and the stronger ones close off larger portions of the piece.47
Nonlinear principles may be revealed gradually, but they do not develop from earlier
events or tendencies.
Before summarizing Kramers five categories of temporality in music, I need to
discuss the two concepts of directedness (or directionality) and goal-oriented (terms
interchangeable with goal-directed or goal-defining) that Kramer and other writers
describe. The degree of discontinuity and/or the lack of directedness of events determine
Kramers three types of linear time, which he calls directed linear time, nondirected
linear time, and multiply-directed linear time.
George Rochberg writes; Direction in music derives from a clear perception of,
and therefore corresponds to, the clear presentation of temporal and spatial points of
46
47
Ibid. Italics by Kramer.

Ibid., 55.
29
departure and movement or passage en route to points of arrival or destination.48 There

are two essential conditions on which direction in music depends: periodicity of rhythmic
activity and tonality.49 However, as seen in certain atonal music, rhythmic periodicity can
itself manifest the sense of directedness, without the support of a tonic harmony as a
point of arrival. In this case, if the pitches in an atonal context form a horizontal line that
has shape, it is possible to perceive a sense of phrase similar to that in tonal music,
although the sense of directedness is weak.50 Directedness is one of the two conditions
necessary for music to have a goal-oriented nature.51 However, during the twentieth
century, through a disintegration of these traditional features, composers have found new
types of structural order, which are essentially nondirectional.52 The best example is
total serialism, a pre-determined serialization of pitch (space) and rhythm (time), which
can negate traditional features such as shape and periodicity. Serial music can arrive at
non-directionality in terms of both an integrated structural order and audibility, meaning
that the musics form, as a whole, no longer relies merely upon relationships among
musical events.53
Kramer uses the term directedness in a more specific sense, as in directedness
towards a certain goal that is known in advance. He also uses the term goal-oriented
Ibid.
50
Ibid., 107.
51
Ibid., 142. The other condition is causality, which can be seen in pitch relation through the response of
melodic antecedents and consequences, harmonic progressions toward the point of cadence, and in the
tendency of metric/rhythmic forces to accumulate and drive to climactic points in phrases, sections, and
movements.
52
Ibid., 104.
53
Ibid., 113.
48
49
30
with a more specific meaning, always associating it with tonality. Since the tonic is
endowed with ultimate stability, tonal relationships conspire toward one goal: the return
of tonic, finally victorious and no longer challenged by other keys. Thus, tonal motion is
always goal-directed,54 which Kramer calls directed linear time. For Leonard B. Meyer,
tonal music is teleological. Despite the obvious differences in structure and pattern that
exist in music of the common practice era, tonal music in general is perceived as having a
purposeful direction and goal.55 Teleology directs musical continuity to the purpose or
goal (tonic harmony), creating tension and repose, with the cause and effect relationship
in a one-dimensional flow of musical events.
In the absence of a tonic as the systems a priori goal, post-tonal compositions
often create the sense of cadence contextually by using contrasting texture, timbre,
figuration, or register to define phrases. These cadences do not become cadences by
themselves, but rather they are entirely contextual. They are defined by factors such as
non-pitch parameters of rhythmic activities, texture, timbre, figuration, or register, which
are made to act more structurally, more independently, more prominently since they
happen in the context of previous reiteration and emphasis.56 In the example Kramer
provides, the non-pitch parameters promote stepwise pitch motion to the status of goaldefining motion. These include an incremental slowing of the tempo, a lengthening note
55
Leonard B. Meyer, Music, the Arts, and Ideas: Patterns and Predictions in Twentieth-Century Culture
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967), 72.
56
54
31
durations, a thinning texture, decreasing dynamics, a downward motion after an

overabundance of rising figures, less frequent change of instrumental colors, and a
freshness of the subsequent music. The cadence thus grows from the preceding music in
both its pitch and non-pitch features. It is the conspiring toward a common goal in all
these parameters that creates the linear motion toward the cadence.57 Kramer argues that
this type of a high degree of linearity is exhibited in much post-tonal music of the
twentieth century.58 He calls it nondirected linearity, which is nondirected to an a
priori goal at a background level and is different from the directed linearity in tonal
music.59
Kramer calls musical time multiply-directed when the implication in every
section of the music is continually frustrated by the subsequent section, but nonetheless is
often realized later on. Multiply-directed time is discontinuous time; its discontinuities
segment and reorder linear time. A piece that has multiply-directed linear time has a clear
beginning (or several unmistakable beginnings), which may or may not occur at the start
of the piece. Similarly, it can have one or several final cadences, not necessarily at the
end of the piece. The multiplicity resides in the conflict between implied linearity in the
foreground and realized nonlinearity in the middleground.60
Ibid., 38.
Only some of the post-tonal linearity is goal-directed. Kramer provides examples from Schoenbergs
Quartet no.4 and Violin Concerto, and from Weberns Cantata no. 1 where a four-note chord becomes a
stable sonority. Schoenberg tries to make certain transpositional levels of the combinatorial row structure
more stable than others, thus creating transposition levels as goals.
59
Ibid., 39.
60
Ibid., 50.
57
58
32
Kramer calls the extreme case of nonlinear time moment time. According to
Kramer, a nonlinear composition in moment time does not really begin, but rather it
simply starts, as if it had already been going on, and we merely happened to tune in on it.
Similarly, the ending of music in moment time ceases rather than gives closure.61
Moments can be self-contained sections of a composition set off by discontinuities,
which may be related, but not connected by transitions, and are heard more for
themselves, rather than as participants in a larger plan of a composition. For instance,
each moment could be characterized by an underlying static harmony, by a constant
tempo, or by consistency of melodic cells, which generally unfold by means of
permutation rather than goal-directed development. These are the characteristics of
nonlinearity.62 Furthermore, when the moment becomes the piece, Kramer calls the
time sense invoked vertical time.63 As I have discussed above, the aesthetics of
Kramers moment time are very much in accord with the aesthetics of traditional
Japanese art.
Lewis Rowell and George Rochberg also recognize music in a similar way to
Kramers concept of vertical time. Rowell describes the stabilized processes in music that
suggest the illusion of stasis and suggest being more than becoming.64 He suggests the
types of music, somewhat roughly, that imply stasis: music with extensive repetition,
Ibid.
Ibid., 282.
63
Ibid., 55.
64
Lewis Rowell, The Creation of Audible Time, in The Study of Time IV: Papers from the Fourth
Conference of the International Society for the Study of Time, Alpbach-Austria, ed. J. T. Fraser, N.
Lawrence, and D. Park (New York: Springer-Verlag New York, Inc., 1981), 201.
61
62
33
trance music and pieces that employ continuous sound loops, sound mass pieces, music
that is nonhierarchical, music that is randomly ordered, minimalist pieces, extremely
ambiguous music, extended climax, and stream-of-consciousness music with extensive
use of citation and allusion to other pieces.65
Rochberg identifies music influenced by Eastern Zen Buddhism, which regards
the present moment (being) as supreme reality. He argues that composers of chance
music in particular are drawn to Zen, and that they imply in their attitude toward music
an existential tendency; that is, they see music as the occurrence of unpredictable events,
each moment of sound or silence freed of formal connection with the moment before or
after, audible only as a present sensation, an ensemble of musical happening of
undetermined form or length.66 This type of music is non-teleological, exercising the role
of aborting, frustrating, or circumventing direction and continuity; here, the lack of
purpose and internal causal relationships represent the avowed premise on which
aleatoric music rests.67 Rochberg also considers highly serialized music as planned
indeterminacy, and regards it as non-teleological or discontinuous as well. He categorizes
aleatoric music and total serialism as space-form, in which all events occur as
completed present actions; and while occurring in succession, they require no
continuation between events. In contrast to the linear or teleological music that he calls
speech-form, which is always becoming and never completes action in the present
Lewis Rowell, Thinking About Music: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Music (Amherst: University
of Massachusetts Press, 1983), 172.
66
67
Ibid., 143.
65
34
moment, Rochberg presents space-form as a new mode of consciousness in musical

experience. He writes;
By subordinating duration to space, music no longer exists in its former state of
anticipation of the future. It projects itself as a series of present moments, holding
up to aural perception each spatial image as the self-sufficient object of perception
as it occurs, not as it will realize itself in some future event.68
For Rochberg, this new musical perception of space-form seeks to attain the pure
presence, the present event freed from its connection with past and future events; and
within this succession of the consciousness of the present, without any perception of past
and future, the listener experiences timelessness.
Christopher Hasty objects to the notion that extreme contrast or the absence of
predictability can negate temporal succession and thereby becomes timelessness. Hasty
argues that we cannot negate the continuous temporal succession of musical events from
before and after, and they will not have any meaning by isolating one from another. He
suggests that we may understand music without tendency or direction as openness to the
possibility of relating events. Once heard, musical events allow the listener to reinterpret
what was previously given and at the same time to provide reference to interpret future
events. Hasty writes, In this way the temporal phases of present, past, and future are
necessarily implicated in one another in a progressive development toward completion
and wholeness.69
Ibid., 132. Other writers who discuss spatialization of time are Gyrgy Ligeti, Metamorphoses of
Musical Form, Die Reihe 7, Form-Space, trans. Cornelius Cardew (Bryn Mawr: Theodore Presser, 1965),
and Barney Childs, Time and Music: A Composers View, Perspective of New Music 15, no. 2 (1977).
69
Christopher Hasty, On the Problem of Succession and Continuity in Twentieth-Century Music, Music
Theory Spectrum 8 (1986): 62. The argument of the spatialization of time is further discussed in Chapter
Sixteen in his book Meter as Rhythm (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 296-303.
68
35
I adopt Hastys perspective of the continuous temporal succession of musical

events that necessarily provide meaning to one another. I argue that Takemitsus music is
not goal-directed, but is linear in the way that musical events have causal relationships.
My study of Takemitsus music seeks to better understand how the composer structures
time when musical events arise in relation to the temporal past, present, and future. I find
most useful Hastys concept of the motion of tones and their continuation, as well as his
discussion of how we perceive phrase formation in post-tonal composition. These
concepts are summarized below.
For many writers, motion describes a relationship between musical entities in a
temporal succession.70 The perception of the continuation of a line or a phrase is actually
a process of mind, which could be highly subjective. Hasty discusses this difficult
concept of musical motion and its relation to the concept of meter in further detail in his
article Rhythm in Post-Tonal Music: Preliminary Questions of Duration and Motion.
He points out that the term motion is difficult to detach from the metaphor of spatial
phenomena. He quotes Errol Harriss study of temporal relationships in dealing with the
problem of musical motion. First, he shows that the form or structure of temporal
relations is necessarily that of continuous succession. For Harris, succession implies
70
Rochberg writes, Since pitch is that aspect of music whose source is the physical universe and cannot
move by itself, but depends entirely on being moved by the action of the intuitive time sense, i.e., on being
rhythmatized, pitch assumes new properties and, presumably, a new independence. (Rochberg 1984, 144).
Rowell writes, Motion includes the ideas of continuity, the rate of regular recurrence, the identity of a
theme, the apparent rate of passage through time, direction toward a future goal, our own temporal aging
during a piece of music, and the difference in rate between our own changes of state and those perceived in
the music. He suggests that musical motion is a kind of vehicular motion, as the listener perceives a
continuous musical identity moving past our field of hearing (Rowell 1983, 170-71). Epstein says
rhythmic-metric structure is the mechanism of motion, which engenders motion that creates continuity.
(Epstein 1981, 194).
36
continuity, and both succession and continuity require change or a difference of some
sort.71 Hasty points out that since it is our mode of cognition that creates temporal
relations, we need to locate continuous change in the activity of our attention. The more
important issue, however, is how do we cognize the organization or structuring of this
change. He writes;
If there are two tones in succession, and if these two tones are unified as a whole,
rather than to conceive as two separate events, the relationship between the two
tones (in this case, an interval) gives to each other a particular quality which
neither member exhibits as an individual. Since it is only in the union of the two
tones that these qualities arise, the durations of both tones cannot be excluded
from participating in those qualities. In another words, if we are able to perceive
the two tones as a unit (that is, as a duration) the immediate qualitative change
introduced by the second tone must be thought of as permeating the two events as
a mutual conditioning or relationship, imparting to both tones an order. The
continuous change of the first tone becomes a particular qualitative change as it
approaches the second tone. The duration of the second tone likewise receives an
order to its continuity as it recedes from the first (and progresses to the third). It is
in this sense I believe that we can legitimately speak of musical motion. What is
required for motion to take place is the formation of a structure or whole between
or among events.72
It is important to note that in post-tonal music, the motion between two pitches is not
isolated from the same two pitches if they become a structure as part of the unifying
whole. In contrast to tonal music, where there is a presupposed implication of some tone
motions (the strongest case is the tendency tone), in post-tonal music, the tone motion is
constantly updating the interpretation of the present moment, reflecting the structure of
the past events, and anticipating the future events.
Christopher Hasty, Rhythm in Post-Tonal Music: Preliminary Questions of Duration and Motion,
Journal of Music Theory 25 (1981): 189.
72
Ibid., 191.
71
37
A musical work is a whole, composed of interrelated parts presented successively

in time. Hasty asks how we can perceive a temporal whole as a unity of parts in a
musical work.73 As each sound is given in time, the past event is no longer sounding,
which means the whole does not exist at any given moment of time.74 Since our
perception exists in the present moment, he continues that the unitary awareness might be
brought by the past event, which provides context for or conditions the present event.75
When a tone does not have an association with a particular tone (as opposed to the
relationships between tones within tonal function, or the succession of tones within a predetermined row form), then we associate certain sound events with other events that we
have retained in our memory. F. Bartlett observes the role of memory in perceiving the
sense of phrase formation as follows:
A new phrase may be constructed on the basis of a prior act of construction. The
prior phrase will not then be recalled but may be used in the creation of the new
structure. What is retained is not the content of the perceived present but the
constructive act which led to its formation.76
He shows that memory can be understood better as an act of construction rather than of
reproduction. Another fact we should keep in mind is how researchers have shown that
aural memories are more secure in the beginning and in the end of a certain event, and
that it is the memory of middle elements that exhibit the most inaccuracy.77
See Christopher Hasty, Phrase Formation in Post-Tonal Music, Journal of Music Theory 28 (1984):
167-190.
74
Ibid., 169.
75
Ibid.
76
Quoted from Ibid., 187.
77
For experimental accounts, Hasty cites Carl Iver Hovland, Experimental Studies in Rote-Learning
Theory. VII. Distributions of Practice with Varying Lengths of List, Journal of Experimental Psychology
27 (1940): 271-84 and Nancy C. Waugh, Serial Position and the Memory-Span, American Journal of
Psychology 73 (1960): 68-79.
73
38
To form a phrase, associations must be structured between one sound event to

another sound event, and they also must project an aural sense of closure. This feeling of
closure can be attained by certain gestures or rests, or by a long silence. Previous
experiments show that silence or a long pause is one of the strongest characteristics
contributing to the perception of boundaries that divide music into sections.78 This
characteristic corresponds to Lerdahl and Jackendoffs grouping preference rule 2
(temporal gaps in the music induce boundaries).79
As a phrase is being formed, musical events are open to future interpretation and
may hold considerable ambiguities, particularly in its initial stages. In order to perceive
musical events as structural units, questions arise regarding segmentation. Generally,
segmentation is the division of a musical work into structural components.80 In tonal
music, segmentation correlates with harmony through the understanding of consonances
and dissonances. Thus we understand an arpeggiated chord as a single unit of harmony.
For non-tonal music, there is nothing that is comparable to the tertian relationship of
tones and its progression in tonal music. Thus, for non-tonal music, we cannot segment
and associate certain tones based on any pre-existing premise. According to Hasty, a
structure has two aspects. First, it must have a unitary value in domain that would not
break it up into subcomponents.81 By domain, he means discrete musical properties that
Eric F. Clarke and Carol L. Krumhansl, Perceiving Musical Time, Music Perception 7, no.3 (1990),
213-252.
79
Fred Lerdahl and Ray Jackendoff, A Generative Theory of Tonal Music (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1983).
80
Christopher Hasty, Segmentation and Process in Post-Tonal Music, Music Theory Spectrum 3 (1981),
54.
81
Ibid., 58.
78
39
include such features as timbre, dynamics, intervallic associations, register, and

contour.82 The second aspect of a structure is that it must be distinguished as an object of
our attention by possessing a difference of value in the same domain compared with
another object.83 One simple example would be a group of notes played arco compared to
a group of notes played pizzicato. These two groups of tones are differentiated as
distinctive objects in the domain of timbre. On the basis of this concept of structure,
Hasty defines segmentation as the process of structural formation, the action of
structures producing formal articulations.84 He also states that segmentation may be
regarded as the formation of boundaries of continuity and discontinuity which result from
the structures of various domains.85
In the analyses of Takemitsus music, I follow the concepts of phrase formation
and segmentation discussed by Hasty to determine the associations of structurally
significant sound events. I adopt Hastys perspective of the continuous temporal
succession of musical events that provide meaning to one another. Lochhead and
Sessionss process-oriented formation of structure deals with larger formal units, but the
underlying point of view is largely the same. I consider that Takemitsus music is not
goal-directed, but that it is linear in the way that the structure of musical events has
causal relationships. In this way of thinking, I argue against the viewpoint that
Takemitsus music reflects the Eastern concept of time in its nonlinear and discontinuous
82
Ibid., 57.
Ibid., 58.
84
Ibid., 59.
85
Ibid.
83
40
structure. As a result of my analyses, I conclude that temporality in Takemitsus music is

primarily Western in that it embraces a definite beginning, continuity, and linearity, even
though it may not necessarily progress towards a climax. My study of Takemitsus music
seeks to better understand how the composer structures time when musical events arise in
relation to the temporal past, present, and future. Once heard, musical events allow the
listener to reinterpret what was previously heard, and at the same time, to create reference
points for interpreting future events.
CHAPTER II
REQUIEM FOR STRINGS (1957): CYCLIC-TIME FORM
Requiem for Strings, commissioned by Tokyo Symphony Orchestra, is an early

piece that brought Takemitsu widespread recognition. The premiere, however, was not
received well by the critics, until Stravinsky, visiting Japan for the first time in 1959,
having heard the Requiem gave it highest praise. The Japanese conductor Hiroyuki Iwaki
writes that without Stravinskys praise, Takemitsus compositional path might have been
quite different.1 Takemitsu was critically ill while composing the Requiem for Strings,
and Fumio Hayasaka, who was both Takemitsus mentor and a friend, had just passed
away.2 Both events deeply affected Takemitsu, prompting him to compose a work titled
Requiem.
When describing the Requiem, Takemitsu asserts that the work has no clearly
differentiated beginning or end, thereby lacking the kind of articulations necessary to our
usual definition of musical form. Using a favorite metaphor, he states that he simply
sliced off a piece of stream of sound that flows eternally and pierces through the world
that surrounds human beings.3 In spite of Takemitsus claims, I argue that we hear a
precise beginning in the Requiem, one that influences and provides relationships and
Hiroyuki Iwaki, Sakkyokuka Takemitsu Toru to Ningen Mayuzumi Toshiro (The composer Toru
Takemitsu and the human being Toshiro Mayuzumi) (Okayama: Sakuyo Gakuen, 1999), 27.
2
Toru Takemitsu, Toi Yobigoeno Kanatani (Beyond the Far Calls) (Tokyo: Shinchousha, 1992), 45. My
translation.
3
Ibid, 46.
1
41
42
references to later events in the music. However, on first hearing the formal structure of
the Requiem is not immediately apparent.
In this chapter, I propose that there are three attributes that contribute to the sense
of indistinctness in the structure of the Requiem: harmonic ambiguity, metric ambiguity
and above all, formal ambiguity that results from cyclic repetition of patterns. The
elusiveness of the perception of pulse and meter at many moments of the piece, as well as
the obscurity of the origin of pitch materials, contribute to the listeners impression of
circularity. But the most important feature that creates what I call cyclic time form is
the cyclic repetition of distinctive musical figures. Copious repetitions of figures, both
large scale and small scale, often overlap or are embedded with one another, and it is this
specific feature that creates a complexity that challenges the listeners perception of form.
It is the formal and structural ambiguities that create for listeners the impression of
circularity.
In traditional Japanese culture, the world is seen as a series of repeating cycles
with no beginning or end, a view also common to the cultures of China, the American
Southwest, and the Inuit in the Arctic. In many traditions outside that of the WesternEuropean, time is a circle that turns on a daily, yearly, and even cosmic scale.4 The cyclic
concept of time can be perceived as one type of linearity, however this linearity does not
form a one-directional line but rather appears as a spiral movement. The unique role of
repetitions seen in the melody line of the Requiem contributes to the perception of form
Michael D. Lemonick, The Riddle of Time, TIME, 27 December 1999, 142.
43
as cyclic, reflecting the influence of Eastern aesthetics. Requiem is written in a half note
pulse with a strict time signature of 5/2; however, the melodic lines and the timing of the
entries of the chordal accompaniment obscure the downbeat and groupings of beats. At
the middle of the composition (m. 22), clearly syncopated rhythms in the accompaniment
figure differentiate this section from surrounding sections, and they suggest at first
hearing the beginning of a contrasting B section of an ABA form. However, analysis of
the repeated figures reveals that the middle section begins later, not until m. 37. Copious
repetitions and repetitions within repetitions grant more complexity and intricacy to the
perception of form and the relationships between musical events. Although not
consistently, the pitch materials are mostly derived from the octatonic collection and one
of Messiaens modes of limited transposition. Harmonic ambiguity arises since both the
melody and accompanying harmony are oriented to the octatonic collection, Messiaens
Mode III [01245689T], which I call the nonatonic collection, and also to tonality. Along
with metric ambiguity, all of these factors tend to obscure any sense of directed motion in
the music, as well as its formal organization. In the following, I discuss first the harmonic
and metric ambiguities, and second, the repetitions in Requiem that contribute to what I
call a cyclic-time form.
44
[Title]
2.1 Harmonic and Metric Ambiguities
[Composer]
Example 1. Final chord, first chord and first melody
w
& # bwwww
? b www
w
w
final chord
#wnw
b ww
w b w # n 3 #w
bw
w
first chord
first melody
&
As Peter Burt observes, the final chord of the Requiem (pc-set {2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10,
11}) contains eight of the nine pitches of the fourth transposition of Messiaens Mode III
([01245689T]).5 One of the modes of limited transposition, Mode III is a member of

set-class 9-12, which is the complementary set of the augmented triad 3-12 [048]. Burt
also explains that both the first chord (pc-set {2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 10}) and the opening melodic
&
line (pc-set {3, 5, 6, 11}) of the Requiem are literal subsets of the final chord, thus
providing a connection between the opening and the closing of the piece (see Example 1).
In order to understand how harmonic and metric ambiguities mark its opening, it
is useful to study in detail the Requiems first nine measures. The pitch material derives
from either the octatonic or the nonatonic collections or both, although the listener might
&
occasionally perceive a sense that there is a tonal center in the context of the usual major
and/or minor scale in the melodic lines. The uncertainty of pitch derivation and the
Peter Burt, The Music of Toru Takemitsu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 55. Burt
mistakenly states that the harmony projects the second transposition.
5
[Copyright]
45
ambiguity regarding the sense of pulse, as well as the grouping of pulses, generate the
structural elusiveness felt in this piece.
2.1.1 Measures 1-3

In the Requiem, the listener does recognize a salient distinction between melodic
lines and accompanying harmony, and the ending of the melodic line usually is well
articulated by a long sustained pitch. Example 2 shows the first three measures rewritten
with enharmonic pitches that conform to the key of Eb-major/minor. The triplet figures in
m. 2 in staves 2 and 3 are not relevant to the discussion and have been simplified to show
only the highest and the lowest pitch of the chords. As mentioned above, the first chord
consists of a six-note subset of the fourth transposition of the nonatonic collection
(Messiaens Mode III). The chord labeled d (chord-d), shown in Example 2, is literally
included in, and almost identical to the first chord (chord-a), thus providing a closing
effect synchronized with the beginning of the final pitch in the melody. However, the
accompanying chords are not unified as nonatonic derived chords, since chord-c and
chord-e are octatonic. Both chord-c and chord-e are subsets of octatonic collection III:6
chord-c {0, 3, 6, 9, T} is a member of set-class 5-31 [01369], and chord-e {0, 1, 3, 7, 9,
T} is a member of set-class 6-23 [023568].
For the numbering of the octatonic collections, I use Pieter van den Toorns ordering instead of
Messiaens as discussed in his Stravinsky and the Rite of Spring: The Beginnings of a Musical Language
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 143.
6
46
Example 2. mm. 1-3
q
. b .
&
b 3b bw
b ww
w
? bw
w
3q
B.
3q
C. 2 q
3q
4q
bb 3 3 bb ww .
.
J
8 9 10
4q ?
4q
4q
4q
e.
6 7 3 3 3. w .
J
time points: 1
A.
d.
bw
w
2 3 . 4 5 .
w.
ww ..
bw.
b J b ww ..
c.
b.
w
bbwww
& b b wn ww bbb www

bw
a.
melody 1
3q ?
4q
4q
Also as discussed above, the pitches in the melodic line (melody 1) project a subset of the
fourth transposition of the nonatonic scale; at the same time, however, this pc-set {3, 5, 6,
11} is also a subset of the octatonic scale II. Thus, both in the melody and in the
accompaniment, there is a mixture of subsets drawn from both the octatonic and
nonatonic collections.
[Copyright]
47
Melody 1, nonetheless, projects a strong impression of eb-minor with the tonic
pitch (Eb) sustained at the end. Even though Melody 1 projects a tonal impression in the
minor mode, the chord that accompanies the final tonic pitch is a major triad with added
pitches. The term major/minor chord specifies a chord that includes simultaneously both
intervals of major 3rd and minor 3rd (and their octave equivalents) above the root. This
quality can be seen in the first chord. The bottom three pitches in chord-a form a first
inversion Eb-major chord; however the minor third of this chord, Gb, is heard as the
highest pitch of chord-a. Pitch Eb as a root is present in all five chords. Both the intervals
of a major third and a minor third above Eb (pitches G and Gb) are present in chords-a, -b,
and -d; only a minor third above Eb (Gb) is present in chord-c and a major third above Eb
(G) is present in chord-e. Thus, both the melodic line and its accompanying harmony
strongly project Eb as a tonal center. At the same time, however, the bass pitches in
chords-b and -c and the triplet figures in staves 2 and 3 obscure the sense of Eb as a tonal
center because they project raised scale degrees 1, 4, and 5 (En, An, Bn) in relation to Ebmajor.
In order to discuss the metrical ambiguities at the beginning of the piece, I have
shown the possible groupings of beats below the music in Example 2. Although the
Requiem is notated in the time signature of 5/2, the tempo of a half-note duration as a
metric pulse would be too slow (h = 33) to perceive. As indicated in the score, it is more
likely to perceive the quarter-note duration as the metric pulse in the tempo of q = 66. In
Example 2, I have numbered the time points and the durations between adjacent time
48
points directly below the music. Time-points 1 and 3 are the strongest, since time-point 1
is the beginning of the piece and registral accent occurs at time-point 3, which marks the
beginning of the melody. Interpretation A in Example 2 shows the three quarter-note
grouping that reflects the registral accent at time-point 3. However, the next downbeat
falls on chord-b with a grouping of four quarter-notes. This interpretation, however, does
not reflect the sequential pattern of the melody and the accompaniment (i.e., two whole
notes at the beginning of the melody with each whole-note followed by a chord change).
It is possible to perceive F5 and Eb5 in the melody as downbeats, as shown in
interpretation B. In this way of hearing, after two successive groupings in 4/4 meter, the
projection of time-point 10 would be perceived as a weak beat (the fourth beat of a 4/4
meter). This contradicts time-point 10 as a downbeat to the next 4/4 meter. At time-point
10, the change of pitch in the melodic line and the change of harmony are synchronized
for the first time, which allows the listener to perceive this moment as a downbeat. Timepoint 8 also projects as a weak beat (the second beat of a 4/4 meter) contrary to an agogic
accent. Perhaps the most plausible reading is interpretation C with its half-note duration
of pitch F#4 (Gb4 in Example 2) as an anacrusis to the four successive 4/4 meters. In this
interpretation, the downbeats fall at the change of chords. Since in this interpretation F5
(m. 1) is no longer the downbeat, even if it exhibits the registral accent, we must
reinterpret the sense of meter at time-point 4 retrospectively. However, in m. 3, the sense
of ongoing pulse is lost because of the sustained sonority that has a dotted whole note
duration. This is indicated by the ? mark in Example 2.
49
As discussed above, the first three measures exhibit both harmonic and metric
ambiguities. The melody line and the accompanying harmony suggest the tonal center of
Eb major/minor, however the pitches are derived from the octatonic and the nonatonic
collections. The vagueness of the perception of downbeats forces the listener to
reinterpret retrospectively the metrical structure of the music.
2.1.2 Measures 4-6

Example 3. mm. 4-6
&
3 b j w
& b J ww
? b www
J
2
3
q?
.
b
g.
.
J J
1
b ..
.
#.
f.
time points:
# b n
b.
b.
melody 2
h.
3q
8
3
10
#
b
3
11
4q
12
3
i.
13
50
Example 3 shows m. 4 to the first half of m. 6, rewritten with enharmonic pitches

to conform the key of G-major/minor. The pitch material of both the melody and the
chordal accompaniment derives from the octatonic collection, since all chords and the
melodic line are subsets of either the octatonic collection I or III, as follows: melody 2
{3, 4, 6, 7, 9}, chord-g {1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 10} (pc set 6-27 [013469]), and chord-i {0, 4, 6, 7,
9, 10} (pc set 6-23 [023568]) are all subsets of the octatonic collection III. On the other
hand, chord-f {1, 2, 4, 7, 8, 10} (pc set 6-30 [013679]), and chord-h {5, 7, 8, 10, 11} (pc
set 5-10 [01346]) are both subsets of octatonic collection I. However, as in the case of
melody 1 in Example 2, melody 2 in Example 3 could be interpreted as the key of either
G-major or g-minor, with the tonic pitch beginning and ending the melodic line. Thus, it
exhibits the same tonal ambiguity as seen in melody 1. Nevertheless, the chordal
accompaniment for the final tonic does not support a G-major/minor tonality as it did in
melody 1. Only two factors vaguely hint at the presence of g-minor: the bottom three
pitches in chord-f form a second inversion g-minor triad; and all chords in Example 3
contain pitches G and Bb (tonic and its minor third). This explains in part why Takemitsu
alternated the pitch derivation for the four accompanying chords between octatonic
collections I and III; he intended to preserve the pitches G and Bb in all chords, while
simultaneously striving for a diversity of sonority. In other words, by alternating the pitch
derivation of the accompanying chords from two octatonic collections, he could include
both G and Bb in all chords and at the same time acquire a variety of sonorities not
restricted to a single octatonic collection.
51
The perception of a clear pulse and meter at the beginning of this melody is also
ambiguous. In m. 3, the final chord (chord-e) that accompanies melody 1 is sustained for
a duration of six quarter-notes (see Example 2). When the pitch G5 in melody 2 sounds in
m. 4, the perception of pulse that was felt in m. 3 is no longer perceived. The following
pitch, Ab4 in m. 4, is heard on the off beat of the triplet figure that spans the third and
fourth quarter notes of the measure. However, due to the lack of an established pulse as a
reference, the listener will likely be unable to determine the exact duration or number of
pulses that have lapsed between pitches G5 and Ab4. (This feature is indicated by ?
under the score in Example 3.) Instead, the listener will likely perceive the duration
between Ab4 and chord-f that immediately follows as a pulse, since it is the shortest
duration between two sounds that occurs after a long duration of sustained notes.
Nevertheless, the momentary sense of pulse is immediately broken when pitch F#5
sounds in melody 2, which seems to occur too early after chord-f. Then F#5 is sustained
for three quarter-notes, during which time the perception of pulse is lost yet again.
Finally, in melody 2 the motion of A5 to F#5 to Eb5 establishes the quarter note pulse. A5
is felt as an anacrusis, since F#5 in m. 5 occurs with the change of chord and is sensed as
the downbeat; thus the listener perceives one measure of 3/4 meter from F#5 in m. 5 to
the pitch G5 in m. 6. However, the next measure is perceived in 4/4, since there is no
strong beat at the fourth pulse after the downbeat on G5 in m. 6. The fifth pulse, which is
shown in Example 4, becomes the next downbeat.
52
2.1.3 Measures 6-9

Example 4. mm. 6-9
melody 3
bn b b .
6
b

3
&
?
b
j.
pulse:
k.
melody 5
b j 3
3
b
U
b b b . .
b
b ww
3
3
b
b . j
b .
& b b bb wwww . ..
b n b w .
melody 4
b .
J
m.
l.
b w.
w.
U
b . b . b w
b .. ..
b ...
b .
n.
b.
n.
o.
Uw
ww
p.
U
w
rit.
4q
4q
2q
4q
4q
4q ?
Example 4 shows the second half of m. 6 to m. 9 with some enharmonic respelling. In this section, the listener no longer is able to identify any allusion to a specific
tonal center. Hence, from the beginning of the piece to m. 9, the impression of tonal
center gradually dissipates. The only remnants of tonality from the previous music are
that melodies 3 and 4 in Example 4 have pitch Eb5 as a starting pitch (which is the tonic
pitch in mm. 1-3), and melody 5 in m. 9 strongly projects a descending melodic line of
53
scale degrees b3, 2, and 1 in Eb-minor. Oddly, melodies 3 and 4 in Example 4 are not
derived from either the octatonic collection or the nonatonic collection. However, the
accompanying chords have an affiliation to either the octatonic collection or the
nonatonic collection, or to both. Table 1 shows the formation of each chord in Example 4
and whether it is a subset of the octatonic or nonatonic collections.
Table 1. Formation of chords and melody 5 in Ex. 4

chord name
pitch-class content
j
k
l
m
n
o
{0, 4, 6, 7, 9, T}
{1, 2, 5, 9, E}
{1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9, T}
{1, 4, 5, 7, 8, E}
{0, 2, 3, 6, 7, T}
{3, 5, 8, 9, E}
set-class name
and prime form
6-23 [023568]
5-26 [02458]
7-31 [0134679]
6-49 [013479]
6-31 [014579]
5-28 [02368]
{0, 3, 4, 7, 9}
5-32 [01469]
melody 5
{3, 5, 6}
3-2 [013]
subset of
oct. III
nona. IV
oct. III
oct. I
nona. I
oct. II
nona. II
oct. III
nona. II
oct. III
nona. II
Notice that the last two chords that accompany melody 5 are subsets of both the
octatonic and nonatonic scales, as is melody 5 itself. By using 5-28 and 5-32, which are
two of the three pentachords that are subsets to both octatonic and nonatonic scales,7
Takemitsu recalls the mixed usage of octatonic and nonatonic derived materials heard at
the beginning of the Requiem (mm. 1-3). Here, Takemitsu deliberately indicates the sense
of ritardando and elongates the duration of the pulse. In m. 9, the synchronized melody
and harmony, the feeling of ritardando, and the use of pitch materials that are subsets of
7
The other pentachord that is a subset to both octatonic and nonatonic scales is set-class 5-16 [01347].
54
both the octatonic and nonatonic collections (not just one or the other) provide a sense of
closure. Here, the perception of meter is relatively unambiguous since the pulse is already
established in m. 6 from the previous section. Only the strong downbeat synchronized
with the beginning of a new melody at m. 8 inserts retrospectively a sense of 2/4 meter in
m. 7.
Among the set-class types in Table 1, only set-class 6-23 has occurred earlier in
the music (see Example 2, chord-e). It is interesting to observe that both chords-e and j,
which are both members of set-class 6-23 support the same pitch, Eb. Chord-j supports
the pitch Eb at the beginning of melody 3 (shown in Example 4); similarly, chord-e
supports the pitch Eb as tonic of melody 1 in m. 3 (shown in Example 2). Both chords are
subsets of the octatonic collection III. Thus, the pitch Eb gains additional importance by
being supported by two different chords that belong to the same set-class (set-class 6-23),
both derived from octatonic collection III.
The first nine measures set forth harmonic and metric ambiguities exploited
throughout the Requiem. The melodic lines occasionally have a strong affinity to a tonal
center. In the case of the first nine measures, the tonal center is Eb, which is defined at the
outset of the piece and reaches closure on Eb at measure 9. The harmonic material is
strongly associated with either the octatonic collection or the nonatonic collection;
however, this association is not consistent. In the first three measures, both the melody
and the accompaniment include a mixture of subsets drawn from both the octatonic and
nonatonic collections: the melodic line is a subset of both octatonic and nonatonic
55
collections, and two of five accompanying chords are nonatonic subsets and two are
octatonic. In the next three measures, both the melody and the accompanying chords are
exclusively derived from octatonic collections. In mm. 6-9, the accompanying chords
alternate between octatonic derived and nonatonic derived. The first two melodic lines in
mm. 6-9 are neither octatonic nor nonatonic derived. However, the melodic line in m. 9
(melody 5) and the last two chords that support melody 5 are subsets of both octatonic
and nonatonic collections. This feature provides a sense of return, since the pitch
derivation is similar to melody 1. It also provides listeners with a sense of harmonic
ambiguity, since the ending in m. 9 also implies the tonal center of Eb. These will prove
to be distinct features that characterize the entire Requiem.
2.2 Repetitions of Materials in the Melodic Line and Cyclic-Time Form

Example 5 shows the Requiems entire melodic line. When listening to the
Requiem, the listener can easily distinguish the melodic lines from the accompanying
harmony, since the melodic line is supported by a slower moving chordal
accompaniment, or is in the highest voice and supported by an accompaniment that is
rhythmically synchronized with the melody. Occasionally in the course of the piece, there
is another melodic line, which I call the secondary melodic line that typically serves as a
counterpoint against the primary melodic line.
56
Example 5. Requiems melodic line
. b . # n 3 #w 3 w. 4 w
& 25
2
2
3
&2
10
& 74
15
&
22 b 32
3
b b b n b
b # 3
# # b w
3
n 3
3
# n
3
b b
& 74 b
18
j
3
U
.
32
42 b
3
.
#
.bw
#
b . #
.
j
j
b
b. #
J b J b
J b w
b
# n 3
. b b
3

22
b #
.
& 42 J #
6
b 3
# 3 # # 3
4
3
# n . n b
&
#
n w
# 3 3 b #
22
3
b
#
& 22
3
3
#
[Copyright]
57
Ex. 5 cont.
# 3 3 b b
3
b
#
J
&
30
# n 3 b
# 3
3
3
b
# b
5
b . . .
& 4 b . b
. .
37
41
&
bw
. # # J
..
b . # U
j
b
b. #
J 46 b j
b . . .
b
32 .
? b 3 32 # n #
u
3
# 3b
46
#
3
3
& b . . b . J 74
45 b . b b . . b . #
..
b. # U
51
.
#b .
j
b
32
b.
J
&
b #
3
#
& . . . # J
3
3
3
#
#
2
u
3
#
56
3
b
j
#n 3 3
6
7
2
& 4 b .
2
# 2 b w
.. . J 4
..
58
Ex. 5 cont.
. b . # n 3 #w 3 w. 4 w
5
&2
2
2
61
# 3 # # 3
4
3
3
# n 3
3n b
#
3
. b b
. #
# n 7 #
4
3
22
&2 J
2
4b
66
74 b 3 b b 22
b # 3n . U
3
#
w
b 2 b # b # b U
2
3
3
3
b n3
3 b
3
b b n
& 2
While listening to the Requiem, we realize that there are numerous repetitions of
musical figures. George Rochberg and Judy Lochhead agree that what a composer
repeats or recalls must necessarily have meaning. Thus, the perception of the return of an
idea should affect the listeners perception of musical form as music unfolds. Rochberg
writes that return in music has something of the force of the past suddenly illuminating
the felt present as a real element in the present.8
Judy Lochhead discusses the fundamental procedures and relations that shape the
form of music in a variety of ways. When discussing twentieth-century music in which
59
form does not correspond to any particular formal archetype, many scholars have directed
their attention to what they call the basic principle of form. Lochhead cites three
scholars who discuss this principle: Ian Bent who describes three basic form-building
processes: recurrence, contrast, and variation (Bent 1987); Wallace Berry who identifies
five fundamental classifications of formal process: introduction, statement, restatement,
transition, development, and cadence (Berry 1976); and Roger Sessions who identifies
the three principles of progression or culmination, association or in a narrow sense
repetition, and contrast (Sessions 1974). Lochhead points out that the repetition or, the
term implying repetition, is the one principle common to all three writers.9 By the term
repetition, which suggests a past-directed point of reference, one might consider the
functions of repetition as a balancing of proportion of the length of musical sections,
stabilizing the tension created by the development section and providing unity to the
overall structure of the music. As Lochhead states, repetition not only acts as a temporal
marker through its reference to a prior unit or event but also retrospectively shapes the
earlier occurrence as well as itself.10 I argue that the role of repetition in the Requiem
does not conform to any of the above functions. I maintain rather that both small- and
large-scale recurrences of events contribute to the evocation of what I have describe as
cyclic time.
Repetition, Perspectives of New Music 30, no. 1 (Winter 1992): 134.
10
Ibid., 136.
9
60
Many cultures conceive of time as cyclic from the observation of recurring

patterns in nature. Cosmic cycles can be seen in sunrise and sunset and in the passage of
solar and lunar sequences. The daily and yearly routines of domestic and agricultural life,
such as a fixed time for meals and a routine of feeding animals, watering the crops and
harvesting, also have supported the view of time as cyclic. Moreover, cycles of
generations in human lives link children to their ancestors, both past and future. The
Hindu belief of reincarnation perhaps is the most prominent case. The observation of
recurrences in the environment is most conspicuously seen in the field of religion. The
observation of the generational cycle has been reflected in cult and religious services. In
addition, the observation of the annual cycle of seasons and its crucial effect on
agriculture is reflected in various cultures through a variety of ceremonies held
throughout the year.
In this conceptualization of time, as yvind Dahl argues, future is not seen as a
variety of alternatives, but as a repetition of the past.11 People raised in this type of
culture become relatively past oriented. However, cycles do not necessarily imply that the
future and the past are identical. Cycles can be thought of as a spiral, where each cycle
has been slightly altered compared with a previous one. However, a cyclical metaphor of
time does not necessarily contradict one that is linear, since any part of a cycle
corresponds to a linear movement.12 P. J. Zwart agrees with this view of cyclic time when
yvind Dahl, When the Future Comes form Behind: Malagasy and Other Time Concepts and Some
Consequences for Communication, International Journal of Intercultural Relations 19, no. 2 (Spring
1995): 202.
12
Ibid.
11
61
he accepts the concept of cyclic time only if time is also seen as linear.13 He rejects the
view of cyclic time as circular, since this would mean that time would be finite: every
moment would precede other moments and at the same time follow the same moment. In
other words, the same series of moments would replicate itself repeatedly again. Zwart
accepts cyclic time only by distinguishing between different cycles. Thus, cyclic time is
linear at any one moment, but simultaneously it appears to move in the shape of a spiral.
I argue that music that embodies cyclic time relies heavily on large- and smallscale repetitions. However, cyclic time in music is not literally circular, since musical
events in cyclic time do not literally repeat themselves. Rather it is an evoked time that
relies on the recurrence of events. Here, we must differentiate music that evokes cyclic
time and music that is in cyclic form. In its usual meaning, cyclic form indicates
music in which a later movement reintroduces thematic material of an earlier movement.
Such music returns at its end to the point where it set out at the beginning, as for example
in Haydns Symphony no. 31 in D (Hornsignal), Brahmss Third Symphony, and Elgars
Second Symphony. Here, their finales all end with material that appears at the beginning
of the work. More generally, the term cyclic often describes works where thematic links
bind together more than one movement. Romantic composers in particular often
exploited thematic transformation and the desire for greater continuity between separate
movements, establishing a tighter cohesion in multi-movement forms. In contrast to
cyclic form where recurrences appear between different movements and not within a
P. J. Zwart, About Time: A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin and Nature of Time (New York:
American Elsevier Publishing Company, Inc., 1976), 245-6.
13
62
single movement, recurrences in the Requiem appear within a single movement and even
within a single section. Here the purpose of repetition is not to create greater continuity or
tighter cohesion, but rather to obscure an unambiguous perception of form. In other
words, by evoking past events repeatedly within a continuum, form signifies cyclic time.
I call this type of form, cyclic-time form. In the following section, I analyze, in detail,
the melodic lines that recur with some alterations, and also the recurrences of melodic
three-note figures. In the final section, I analyze how the small-scale recurrences of the
melodic three-note figures and the large-scale duplications of materials that encompass
several measures at a time contribute to the perception of cyclic-time form.
[Title]
2.2.1 Recurrences in the Melodic Line
Example 6. Melody [a]1
[a]1
w bw # n 3 # w w w
&
a (1, 6)
3 .
n # the sustained
b
chordal
The first melody in m. 1, which emerges through
b w .
T7[a]18 &
accompaniment, provides insight into the general characteristics of melodic lines in
3
Requiem. Melody [a]1 is shown in Example 6. (The

after the bracket indicates
a (1,subscript
6)
. b . # n 3 . #
and barlines, showing only the absolute durational
lines I have omitted
[a]22 time
& signatures
the measure number in which the melody begins.) In the musical examples of the melodic
3
a (1, 6)
3
[Compo
63
value of each note. As I discussed above, the perception of meter in this music is highly
ambiguous, and thus a listener will not likely perceive a consistent or predominant meter
for the piece.
[Title]
Example 7. Requiem m. 1
.
b .
& 52
vla.
cello
vn.
5
& 2 # # w n ww b # ww
bw n w
vn.
? 5 bw
2
w
cello
c.b.
# ww
w
&
&
When the first

Fl. pitch (F5) of the melody first sounds, it is not immediately
apparent that it is initiating a melodic line. Since the pitches that constitute the first
harmony appear separately in time, pitch F5 at first could still become a part of the
Ob.
harmony. However, when the harmony changes while pitch F5 is sustained and then
continues to Eb5, it becomes clear that F5 is indeed the beginning of a melodic line (see
Example 7). Eb5 Bsn.

is sustained for a whole-note, which makes more prominent the
subsequent fast moving pitches of F#5, F5, and B4 that are slurred together. In Example
Fl.
&
Ob.
&
6, I marked this three-note figure with lower case letter a, with the directed motion
[Title]
64
[Composer]
between pitches indicated in parentheses (that is, the second note moves down one
w bw # n 3 #w w w
&
semitone, then the third note moves down 6 semitones).
[a]1
Example 8. Melody
[a] in various forms
a (1, 6)
T7[a]18
&
b # 3n .
#
b w
3
a (1, 6)
. b . # n 3 . #
&
3
[a]22
a (1, 6)
. b . # n 3
b w
&
3
[a]32
a (1, 6)
&
In every distinct melodic line in the Requiem, the listener can identify one or more
prominent and memorable three-note figures that serve to characterize the melody. There
are two criteria for isolating the three notes. 1) The distinctive three-note figures
generally move faster in contrast to the surrounding pitches, which are more often
sustained for longer durations. 2) Three-note figures with longer durations have appeared
65
earlier in the piece as shorter duration figures on multiple occasions. Many of the figures
are triplets, and if not, in many instances two of the three notes are part of a triplet. Only
on four occasions do the two three-note figures overlap in a way that require explanation
(the third pitch of the first three-note figure becomes the first pitch of the second threenote figure). In Melody [b-c]4 (see Example 9), figure b is prominent because it is the
first three pitches that occur immediately after two whole-notes, and figure c stands out
because it is a triplet. In Melody T6[b-c]15 (Example 9), figures b and c overlap a
second time. In Melody [Ib-a]39 (Example 9), figure Ib is prominent in that it is the first
three pitches that are shorter in duration, and a is a prominent figure because of its
numerous reoccurrences throughout the piece. In Melody [Ig-k-l]26 (Example 12), figure
g has appeared earlier and figure k is prominent because it is a triplet figure and it will
be repeated two measures later. The three-note figures recur throughout the piece,
occasionally in the form of an inversion, a retrograde, or a retrograde-inversion. When
this happens, it is always indicated with the capital letters I, R, or RI. In order to label the
melodic lines that appear in the Requiem, I have assigned each figure a lower-case letter
name with the directed motion indicated in parentheses (up or down arrows with the
interval in semitones). The names of the melodic lines, which simply list the name of the
figures as they appear in order, are in brackets followed by the measure numbers. Melody
[a] recurs throughout the piece, once in a T7 form and with variations in rhythm and in
endings. Example 8 shows all the other forms of Melody [a].
66
Example 9. Melodies [b-c]4 ,T6[b-c]15 , [Ic]9, and [Ib-a]39
[b-c]4
T6[b-c]15
&
# # 3 # .
J
#w
b (3, 3)
3b
b
b
&
c (1, 2)
b w
b (3, 3)
[Ic]9
& b . . b w
c (1, 2)
b

Ic (1, 2)
[Ib-a]39
&
Ib (3, 3)
a (1, 6)
&
As I discuss below, both of the recurring melodic lines and their 3-note figures
establish the form of the Requiem as cyclic. In order to determine the role of repetitions
in the Requiem, first I categorize all the melodies that appear with their 3-note figures
indicated in the following. Example 9 shows the melodic lines that use the combined
figures of a, b, and c: Melody [b-c]4, Melody T6[b-c]15, Melody [Ic]9, and Melody
[Ib-a]39. Melody [b-c]4 appears in m. 4 with two overlapping figures b and c. Figure
b (A5, F#5, D#5) within one slur mark is highlighted by occurring after two successive
[Copyright]
67
pitches in whole-notes. By the time D#5 sounds, the quarter note beat is well established,
a feature that makes the triplet figure c prominent as well. Melody [b-c] recurs once
more in m. 15, transposed six semitones lower as a counterpoint against a Melody [Re-ah] 15 (see Example 11) in a higher register. Melody [Ic] in m. 9 uses the inversion of
figure c. Melody [Ib-a] in m. 39 incorporates figure b in Melody [b-c] as an inversion
and also figure a, thus comprising a combination of Melodies [a] and [b-c].
Example 10 shows Melodies [d-e]6 and [Re-e-f]8 that appear in succession
following mm. 1-6, and their related melodic lines. Although these letter names do not
convey their close relationship, these two melodies are related in that the second through
fourth notes in each represent ordered transpositions and by sharing the same figure e.
(The capital R preceding the name of the figure indicates a retrograde form of that
particular figure.) Notice that Melody [Re-e-f]8 starts with the retrograde of figure e in
Melody [d-e]6, thus articulating another close relationship between these two melody
lines. Also in Example 10, I show Melody [d-e-f]66 that begins in m. 66, which combines
the beginning of Melody [d-e]6 and figure f that is identical (but transposed an octave)
to the one in Melody [Re-e-f]8. Melodies [d-e]6 and [Re-e-f]8 appear immediately after
mm. 1-6. Similarly, Melody [d-e-f]66 is heard subsequent to the exact repetition of mm. 16. Melody [d-If] appears in m. 20, which exhibits the combined features of Melodies [de] and [Re-e-f]. Figure If is an inverted form of figure f with octave displacement (the
second pitch moves down eight semitones, instead of moving up four semitones). Except
for the last pitch, the melodic line in m. 41 is T4 of Melody [d-e]6.
68
Example 10. Melodies [d-e]6, [Re-e-f]8, [d-e-f]66, [d-If]20, and T4[d-e]41
3
3
n
#
# .
#
&
3
[d-e]6
d (8, 2)
T10
& # b
3
[Re-e-f]8
Re (6, 2)
e (2, 6)
3
b 3
# n n
f (4, 3)
e (2, 6)
3
3
n
#
# n
#
&
3
[d-e-f]66
d (8, 2)
e (2, 6)
.
& # # n b
w
f (4, 3)
[d-If]20
d (8, 2)
T4[d-e]41
3
b # n
d (8, 2)
If (8, 3)
3
#
e (2, 6)
&
The remaining melodic lines in the Requiem include one or more figures from the
melodies I have discussed thus far. In the following melodies, I give the new figures the
&
new letter name in lower case, and label the melodies by hyphenating the names of the
[Copyright]
&
69
figures in the same way. Example 11 shows four new melodic lines that combine the new
figures g and h, and figures a and e. Melodies [g-a]10 , T10[g-a-h]11, and [g-a-h]13
appear in succession. Figure h in Melody [g-a-h]13 is repeated immediately in the
subsequent Melody [Re-a-h]15. Also Melody [Re-a-h]15 is related to Melody [Re-e-f]8,
since the first four notes of Melody [Re-a-h]15 are a transposition up by seven semitones
of the first four notes of Melody [Re-e-f]8 (see Example 10).
[Title]
[Composer]
Example 11. Melodies [g-a]10, T10[g-a]11, [g-a-h]13, and [Re-a-h]15
[g-a]10
& b b .
g (1, 8)
T10[g-a]11
[Re-a-h]15
a (1, 6)
b
J
& b
g (1, 8)
[g-a-h]13
j
#
&
a (1, 6)
b . #
g (1, 8)
Re (6, 2)
b J b
a (1, 6)
3

#
& b
&
j w
# n 3
h (5, 3)
. b b
a (1, 6)
h (5, 3)
70
Example 12. Melodies [i-j-RIf-c]17, [Ig-k-l]26, [k]28, [a-l]29, and T5[a-l]46
[i-j-RIf-c]17
[Ig-k-l]26
&
&
3
b
b b b
n
i (1, 2) j (1, 3) RIf (3, 8)

c (1, 2)
3
# 3
Ig (1, 4)
k (6, 3)
[k]28
#
b 3
&
#
k (6, 3)
[a-l]29
&
b #
T5[a-l]46
l (2, 4)
k (6, 3)
3
# 3
b
#
J
a (1, 6)
#

&
a (1, 6)
l (2, 4)
b
3
l (2, 4)
&
Example 12 shows Melodies [i-j-RIf-c]17, [Ig-k-l]26, [k]28, [a-l]29, and T5 [a-l]46.

Melody [i-j-RIf-c] in m. 17 incorporates new figures i and j with figures RIf with
&
octave displacement, and c. Melody [Ig-k-l]26 incorporates new figures k and l with
figure g. Figure l is used immediately in the following
Melody [a-l]29. Figure k is
[Copyright]
71
immediately repeated twice in the secondary melodic line, first in a T2 form and then in a
T5 form. Melody [a-l]29 recurs in m. 46 in a T5 form.
[Title]
Example 13. Melodies [l-Rg]37, T5[l-Rg]38, and [l]40 with accompaniment figure
& b . b
. .
& . . .
[l-Rg]37
l (2, 4)
Rg (4, 1)
T5[l-Rg]38
l (2, 4)
[l]40
#
&
&
& . . . #
&
&
[Title]
w. .
l (2, 4)
Instr. 1
Rg (4, 1)
#
J
Figure l is incorporated in several melodic lines after its first appearance. In m.
&
&
37, in contrast to the rest of the melodic lines, the melody is in the highest voice and is
Instr. 2
[Composer]
rhythmically identical to accompanying chords. Melody [l-Rg] is highly articulated with

staccato markings on the first three8 pitches, and it also is the only melodic line that uses
Instr. 1
Instr. 2
&
&
72
immediately rearticulated pitches. Melody [l-Rg]37 incorporates figures l and Rg with

octave displacement. This melodic line is immediately repeated in a T5 form in the next
measure (Example 13). The repetition of Melodies [l-Rg]37 and T5[l-Rg]38 itself is
repeated again in mm. 45 and 46. Melody [l] using only figure l is also shown in
Example 13, which appears with an secondary melodic line that resembles Melody [lRg]. In m. 59, the final figure m appears in Melody [m-j-If]59. Example 14 shows
Melody [m-j-If]59 and the final Melody [d-j-c]73.
[Title]
Example 14. Melodies [m-j-If]59 and [d-j-c]73
# n
&
#
3
[m-j-If]59
m (3, 1)
j (1, 3)
b w
If (4, 3)
b # b # b Uw
&
3
[d-j-c]73
d (8, 2)
j (1, 3)
c (1, 2)
&
I have shown that all melodic lines that appear in the Requiem incorporate one or
more three-note figures that recur in combination with other three-note figures. The
three-note figures that share the same label exhibit slight variations in rhythm and may
&
reoccur transposed, inverted, or in retrograde inversion. These three-note figures do not
[Compose
73
develop, but contract or expand in time and reappear in a variety of combinations with
other three-note figures. As a result, all melodic lines are similar in character. These
melodic lines continue one after another without clear sectional boundaries. In the next
section of this chapter, I discuss the palindromic order of appearance of the three-note
figures. This palindromic order interacts with the large scale duplications of materials
that span several measures at a time, thus contributing to the perception of cyclic-time
form.
2.2.2 Form of Requiem for Strings
Example 15. Form of Requiem from Burt
74
In The Music of Toru Takemitsu, Peter Burt describes the overall structure of the
Requiem, assigning letter names to the melodic materials.14 He shows in a diagram
(Example 15) the exact repetition of the recycling of whole blocks of material.
However, he uses the same letter name for melodic lines that I consider dissimilar. These
include the first and the second melodies (my Melodies [a] and [b-c]), to which Burt
assigns A to both. And to the melodies in mm. 6, 26, and 29 (my [d-e], [g-k-l], and [al]), Burt assigns B to all melodies, and so forth. Additionally, Burts diagram does not
show what I call figures, which can show similarities among different melodic lines.
Taking these smaller figures into account allows us to discover how form emerges from
more complex and intricate patterns of repetitions.
Burt shows three exact duplications of materials in his diagram. These occur in
the following: mm. 1-7 is exactly repeated at mm. 61-67; mm. 15-19 is exactly repeated
at mm. 68-72; and mm. 37-47 is exactly repeated at mm. 48-58. He also mentions the
transposed repetitions of mm. 10 and 37 as mm. 11 and 38, respectively, which he
compares to patterns that have the character of a sequence in tonal music.15 As I showed
in the previous section, melodic materials recur sometimes as transpositions, with
addition or removal of pitches, as well as with rhythmic variations. Burt does not show,
however, the immediate recurrence of the three-note figures in two adjacent melodies.
This kind of repetition occurs three times, all of which occur in the first section of the
Requiem. The first repetition occurs when figure e in Melody [d-e] appears in an
14
15
Peter Burt, The Music of Toru Takemitsu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 56.
Ibid.
75
identical form in Melody [Re-e-f]. The second time it occurs, adjacent figures a and h
in Melody [g-a-h] appear in the subsequent Melody [e-a-h]; however, here figure a is
transposed up by 11 semitones while figure h is transposed up by 5 semitones. The third
repetition occurs when figure l in Melody [g-k-l] appears in the subsequent Melody [al], transposed down by 1 semitone. When the materials in the first section are repeated
literally in the third section of the Requiem, the materials that include these immediate
repetitions of the three-note figures are excluded.
Burts diagram in Example 15 indicates that the Requiem is in ternary form.
Takemitsu also has stated that roughly speaking, the work . . . is in a free three-section
form, . . . the tempo sequence of which is Lent Modr Lent.16 However, the ternary
form for the listener is not immediately evident. For instance, in mm. 22-36 (unlike the
other parts of the Requiem) the more active rhythmic pattern of the syncopation and the
perceived quadruple meter give the false impression that the second section has started
with the return of the opening material (Melody [a]). However, in my view, a more
plausible interpretation delays the onset of the second section until m. 37. In this way, the
music obscures where sections start and end. The copious recurrences of musical
materials give the impression that although the flow of music is always moving forward,
repetitions suggest that the music suddenly has gone back and repeated itself all over
again. The music is linear but also cyclical in the sense that repetition causes the effect
Composers program note in Sinfoni 2/28 (June 1957), 13; quoted in Ibid., 57, n. 14. The omission within
the sentence is by Burt.
16
76
that the music has returned to a specific past moment and thereby starts over again
although not in an identical form. I will discuss this effect in more detail below.
The return of figure a appears for the first time in m. 10. I will point out an
interesting feature by examining the appearance of the figures up to that point. Example
16 shows the diagram of figures in the order of their appearance between mm. 1-10. The
numbers above the name of the figures are the measure numbers in which the figures
appear. As the diagram illustrates by the contiguous figures e, Re, and e at its center,
the sequence of figures approximates a palindromic form. Figure c and its inversion
appear one figure apart from the outer figures of a, and although figures c and Ic are
different (c is part of a melodic line that moves faster, while Ic itself is the whole
melody that moves much more slowly), it still closely follows the overall form of a
palindrome.
Example 16. Figures in mm. 1-10
77
Example 17. mm. 10-16
Following mm. 1-10, Melody [g-a]10 is repeated twice, first in a T10 form and then
transposed up one octave with the addition of figure h (Melody [g-a-h]13). The
repetition is followed by Melody [e-a-h]15. This succession starting with Melody [g-a]10
is shown in the diagram in Example 17. The diagram shows three occurrences of figure
g separated by figure a and a repetition of the successive figures a and h separated
by figure e in between. It shows two small scale palindrome structures in succession.
Example 18. mm. 1-36 (first section)

1
15
18
a b c d e Re e f Ic g a g a g a h e a h
b c
22
a d If a Ig k l a l a
i j RIf c
predominance of figure 'a'
prepares Melody [a]
used in middle section
32
78
22
26
Ig
29
32
When Melody [Re-a-h]15 is sounding, Melody [b-c]15 is heard in the lower

register simultaneously. The nearly simultaneous appearance of figure a and Melody [bc]15 recalls the beginning of the Requiem where figure a and Melody [b-c]4 appear
successively. Melody [I-j-RIf-c]17 in m. 17 precedes the return of Melody [a]. It appears
that the succession of figure j and some form of figure f as seen in Melody [I-j-RIfc]17 signals the return of Melody [a]. Melody [I-j-RIf-c]17 precedes Melody T7[a]18, and it
also occurs at m. 59 where Melody [m-j-If]59 precedes Melody [a]61. This marks the
beginning of the exact repetition of mm. 1-7. Naturally, the succession of Melody [I-jRIf-c] preceding Melody T7[a] recurs when mm. 68-72 replicate mm. 15-19. The overall
succession of figures in mm. 1-36 is shown in the diagram of Example 18.
Example 18 shows that mm. 18-27 represent a truncated version of mm. 1-16.
Compare the succession of figures between these two segments of music:
mm. 1-16: a b c d e Re e f Ic g a g a g a h e a h
mm. 18-27: a
If
a Ig
79
The ordering of the materials in mm. 18-27 approximates that found in mm. 1-16 with
two instances of the inversion of the figure (If and Ig) and many omissions of some
figures heard in mm. 1-16. As shown in the above diagram in Example 18, mm. 22-36
exhibit another small scale quasi-palindromic form, which is re-illustrated in Example 19.
Among the figures in mm. 1-36, figures g, l, and the succession of figures a, and l
play prominent roles in the middle section of the Requiem. As a whole, figure a
dominates mm. 18-36, which includes the truncated version of the Requiems opening.
Measures 18-36 become a transition to the middle section or acquire a coda-like function
to the first section. Also shown in Example 18, Melodies [d-e] and [g-a] from the middle
part of the first section are reused in the middle part of the middle section as well. Thus I
consider mm. 1-36 as the first section of the Requiem, a section that exhibits various
small and large scale palindromic structures that overlap one another.
The structure of the middle section is relatively simple. Similarly, it is structured
by a palindrome, which is repeated literally in mm. 48-58 followed by a transition
comprised of a single melody. I have shown the form of the middle section in the
diagram of Ex. 20.
80
Example 20. mm. 37-60 (middle section)
37
39
l Rg l Rg Ib a l
41
43
d e g a g a
45
46
l Rg l Rg a l
reminiscent of first section
mm. 48-58 = exact repetition of mm. 37-47
59
j If
prepares Melody [a]
The final section of the Requiem consists of two replications from the first
section. Of particular interest is that in the final section Melodies [d-e] and [g-a] from the
first section, which were recycled in the middle section, are absent. As a result, the
palindromic structure in the first section disappears in the final section. This section
retains only the simultaneous figure a and Melody [b-c] which corresponds to the
opening succession of Melodies [a] and [b-c]. Similarly, only Melody T7[a] in m. 18 of
the transition in the first section is retained in the final section. Instead, the final Melody
[d-j-c]73 becomes the coda of the Requiem and replaces the transition of the first section.
Example 21 shows the form of the final section.
81
Example 21. mm. 61-75 (final section)
61
68
exact repetition of mm. 1-7
73
exact repetition of mm. 15-19

coda
a b c d e f
e a h
bc
a d j c
i j RIf c
prepares Melody [a]
The diagrams above illustrate the small-scale repetitions that are embedded within
larger scale repetitions. The diagrams also show the embedded palindromic structures of
the three-note figures in the first and middle sections. The listener will only perceive
retrospectively where the middle section starts and ends, since it is not clearly
differentiated from the first section. The fairly straightforward structure of the middle
section differentiates it from the first section. The structure of the middle section is
ternary (which is repeated exactly): the recycled material from the first section is
preceded and followed by similar melodic lines, which are constructed of a comparable
succession of three-note figures. The copious recurrences of musical materials give the
impression that although the music flows continuously, it goes back and repeats itself
over and over again. The nature and treatment of the musical material serve to obscure
where sections begin and end. This gives the listener the impression of cyclic time, since
82
the numerous repetitions create the perception that the music has returned to a specific
past moment and repeats itself, although it is not an identical repetition.
2. 3 Conclusion
In order to illustrate the formal structure of Takemitsus Requiem, or rather the
listeners perception of its form, I have developed a formal concept which I have
8designated as cyclic-time form. Much of Takemitsus music does not conform to a
typical formal model. Each piece requires the analyst to newly interpret the specific
succession of events as they unfold to grasp the overall form of the music. For the
Requiem, it is possible to simply say that it is in a ternary ABA form, with the third
section representing a truncated version of the first section; however, this kind of labeling
does little to reveal the true elegance of the pieces formal structure. The formal and
structural ambiguities in the Requiem create for the listener the impression of
circularity. Cyclic-time form denotes a formal structure in which the beginnings and
endings of the sections are ambiguous, and boundaries between sections are unclear. All
music has a succession of events that unfold in time that influences the listeners
perception of form, however; in the Requiem copious large- and small-scale repetitions
function to obscure the listeners perception of form.
Cyclic-time form is one realization of linear time, since any specific point in a
cycle represents a component of linear movement. The Requiem has a definite beginning,
and as the music unfolds through time, earlier events influence and provide relationships
83
and references to latter events. The visual imagery of recurring cycles can best be
conceived as a spiral, where each successive cycle is slightly altered from that which
preceded it. Music that intimates cyclic time relies heavily on large and small scale
repetitions. The function of repetition in the Requiem differs from Lochhead and others
view of the function of repetition in the traditional sense. The traditional function of
repetition is to balance the proportion of the length of musical sections, or to stabilize the
tension created by development and provide unity to the overall structure of the music.
The function of repetition in the Requiem, both small- and large-scale, is to evoke cyclic
time. However, cyclic time in music is not literally circular, since musical events in
cyclic time do not literally repeat themselves. However, cyclic time in music is more of
an evocation of, or a signification of cycles that rely on the recurrence of events.
Another feature that contributes to the circular sense of form is that the recurring
three-note figures do not develop, but contract or expand in time by slightly altering their
rhythmic patterns. Also as a result of changing the combination of different three-note
figures, all melodic lines sound somewhat similar, yet not identical, to one another. These
melodic lines continue one after another without a clear sectional boundary. This feature
is similar to that of the melody line that is played by traditional Japanese instruments.
Hidekazu Yoshida describes the music of the shamisen (three-string instrument) as
follows: the music seems to be made up of the repetition of the same thing.17
Additionally, the palindromic order of appearance of the three-note figures that interact
Shinji Saito and Maki Takemitsu, eds., Takemitsu Toru no Sekai (The world of Toru Takemitsu) (Tokyo:
Shueisha, 1997), 129. Also see Chapter V for discussion of characteristics of Japanese traditional music.
17
84
with the large scale duplications of materials that encompass several measures at a time,
contributes to the perception of cyclic-time form. Development, in the traditional sense,
is largely absent in the Requiem. All of the musical materials are presented and represented with variation, but not developed. The variations or alterations of the materials
largely derive from combining, transposing, inverting, retrograding, or varying the
rhythm of earlier musical events. From this perspective, the overall form of the Requiem
can be conceived as unchanging, a feature that accords with a cyclic view of nature.
I also have discussed two other attributes that contribute to the sense of
indistinctness or ambiguity in the structure of the Requiem: harmonic ambiguity and
metric ambiguity. The elusiveness of the perception of pulse and meter at many moments
throughout the piece, as well as the obscurity of the origin of pitch materials, reinforces
the intricate complexity of formal structure that challenges the listeners perception. The
melodic lines have a strong affinity to tonal centers at certain moments, however, at the
same time the harmonic material is strongly associated with either the octatonic or
nonatonic collections, or both. Metric ambiguity derives from the numerous changes in
time signature, multiple occurrences of sustained notes, triplets, and tied notes that
obscure the sense of pulse. In the section where there is a steady sense of pulse, the
grouping of the pulses tends to be inconsistent. As a whole, the embedded and
overlapping palindromic structures articulated by numerous recurrences of three-note
figures, accentuated by harmonic and metric ambiguities, are all features of the
85
perception of what I call the cyclic-time form, which is most in harmony with
Takemitsus Eastern aesthetic heritage.
CHAPTER III
PIANO DISTANCE (1961): FORCE THAT BECOMES ONE AFTER ANOTHER
When a musical composition does not rely on familiar formal features, such as
melody, functional tonal harmony, traditional counterpoint, thematic or motivic elements,
cadence, or metrical or rhythmic units, then what features define formal structure for the
listener? Takemitsus Piano Distance for solo piano, written in 1961, well represents
such a piece for it abandons form-defining features most common to the Western musical
tradition. For example, the piece lacks a time signature as well as notated durational
values, thereby blocking the perception of metrical units or any periodicity generated by a
recurring pulse.1 The only features of Piano Distance that derive from the Western
musical tradition are the use of grand staff notation with noteheads, stems, flags, and
beams. Lack of metrical units raises a more difficult issue about how one perceives the
piece as a whole from a temporal perspective. Although the piece does lack the formal
resources previously mentioned, nonetheless I do perceive this music in what I refer to as
linear time a linearity determined by the implications that arise from earlier events in
the piece. When listening to Piano Distance, I interpret the present event on the basis of
past events, and simultaneously anticipate future events on the basis of the present event.
It is a listening process that incrementally reveals musical motion, which at first may
seem ambiguous to the listener. However, the linearity is not goal-oriented; it does not
1
Only in two brief passages is the performer instructed to play a succession of block chords in even eighthnotes.
86
87
prepare the listener to expect a climax or a point of arrival. The music negates the
perception of traditional sections, such as an introduction, transition, or cadence.
Nonetheless, I argue that Piano Distance can be perceived as a temporal continuity,
which has a definite beginning and a cohesive totality that arises from related parts. How
one perceives the resultant form directly reflects what the Japanese scholar Masao
Maruyama calls the Japanese consciousness. Maruyama maintains that the three basic
concepts that lay the foundation of the Japanese style of thought are naru (become),
tsugitsugi (in succession), and ikioi (force).2 The notions of naru, tsugitsugi, and ikioi
combined force that becomes one after another with the emphasis on force as the
idea of process, describes the principle that governs the continuity of Piano Distance.
Prior to my discussion of continuity in Piano Distance, I first examine its pitch
materials. It is necessary to first recognize the construction of musical events in order to
understand the musical motion that arises between them. Initially, it might seem that
Takemitsu chose the pitches arbitrarily and placed them randomly; however, this is not
the case, as I will illustrate in the first section of this chapter. My first analysis reveals
how Takemitsu incorporates octatonic subsets as pitch materials in order to achieve inner
unification.
Masao Maruyama, ed. Nihon non Shisou (Japanese thought) (Tokyo: Chikumashobo, 1972); quoted in
Aki Mitsuo, Takemitsu Toru to Nihontekinamono ni tsuite (About Toru Takemitsu and something
Japanese-nesque), in Takemitsu Toru no Sekai (The world of Toru Takemitsu), ed. Saito, Shinjo and Maki
Takemitsu (Tokyo: Shueisha, 1997), 128. My translation.
88
In order to interpret Piano Distance as a continuous entity, I present a detailed

discussion in my second analysis that focuses on the associations of musical events and
the formation of phrases that arise as the piece unfolds in time.
3.1 Pitch Materials and How They are Constructed

In Piano Distance, Takemitsu incorporates proportional notation. Example 1
shows the first page of Piano Distance where he specifies the duration for one measure as
a metronome marking of 20 or three seconds. Takemitsu then places the notes
proportionally within the measure. Because bar lines delineate metrical units in Western
notation, it is misleading to refer to specific measures in Piano Distance, since it largely
lacks downbeats or regular pulses. While I will use this term for convenience, it is
nonetheless at the discretion of the performer to decide the exact moment to produce
sound within the given measure in which the notes are placed. Although not stated
explicitly, Takemitsu indicates the relative duration of the notes and the strength of
attacks by the size of noteheads, by the number of flags, and by dynamics and accent
markings. While Takemitsus notation is unconventional, I nonetheless believe that it
cannot fully escape the conventions of traditional musical notation. For instance, the
smaller noteheads beamed together with a diagonal slash suggest lighter and faster
sounding tones, similar to conventional grace notes. At the same time, it is hard not to
assume that notes with larger noteheads have more structural significance, or at least that
Takemitsu considered these notes more significant. Stems with flags indicate relative
89
duration; the more flags the note has, the shorter the implied duration. Stemless
noteheads are somewhat longer in duration and each note should be played at the same
dynamic level.
Example 1. Piano Distance mm. 1 16
90
Table 1. Subsets of octatonic collection (set-class 8-28)

septachord
7-31 [0134679]
hexachords
6-13 [013467], 6-23 [023568], 6-27 [013469], 6-30 [013679],

6-49 [013479], 6-50 [014679]
pentachords
5-10 [01346], 5-16 [01347], 5-19 [01367], 5-25 [02358],

5-28 [02368], 5-31 [01369], 5-32 [01469]
tetrachords
4-3 [0134], 4-9 [0167], 4-10 [0235], 4-12 [0236], 4-13 [0136],
4-15 [0146], 4-17 [0347], 4-18 [0147], 4-25 [0268], 4-26 [0358],
4-27 [0258], 4-28 [0369], 4-29 [0137]
trichords
3-2 [013], 3-3 [014], 3-5 [016], 3-7 [025], 3-8 [026], 3-10 [036],
3-11 [037]
Example 2a and b. Octatonic septachordal subset 7-31 [0134679]
b.
a.
&
?
m. 13
b
#
b
4-18
7-31
m. 51
b #
4-18
7-31
3-3
3-3
The following discussion addresses the structure of the pitch materials used in
Piano Distance in order to illuminate how musical events are constructed. In
Octatonicism in Recent Solo Piano Works of Toru Takemitsu, Timothy Koozin shows
91
that For Away for solo piano (1973) marks the beginning of a new development in the
composers piano music. Koozin observes that in For Away, the pitch relations at all
levels of structure emerge from an octatonic-referential base.3 However, we can already
identify subsets of the octatonic collection used as compositional materials in Piano
Distance, even though it was composed more than ten years prior to For Away. The most
audible subsets of the octatonic collection appear as vertical sonorities. These chords
have extended durations and are comprised of either subsets of the octatonic collection,
or the union of two subsets of the octatonic collection whose union does not form an
octatonic subset. Table 1 lists all the subsets of the octatonic collection, set-class 8-28.
The single octatonic septachordal subset 7-31 [0134679] appears in m. 13 and m.
51 as the union of the trichordal set-class 3-3 [014] in the left hand and the tetrachordal
set-class 4-18 [0147] in the right hand, both subsets of the octatonic collection (Examples
2a and 2b). Other septachords in the piece are not septachordal subsets of the octatonic
collection, rather they represent unions of trichords and tetrachords that are themselves
subsets of the octatonic collection. Table 2 lists all such septachords. (Also refer to
Example 3.) Among the three septachords listed in Table 2, only the septachord in m. 36
(Example 3b) is notated in a single staff in Takemitsus score. However, the four other
septachords (Examples 2a, 2b, 3a, and 3c) are segmented as trichords in the lower staff
and tetrachords in the upper staff. I segmented the septachord in Example 3b as set-class
3-3 in the lower staff and set-class 4-29 in the upper staff in order to remain consistent
3
Timothy Koozin, Octatonicism in Recent Solo Piano Works of Toru Takemitsu, Perspectives of New
Music 29, no. 1 (1991): 125.
92
with Takemitsus notation of these materials in the score and to highlight the importance
of set-class 3-3 (I will discuss the role of 3-3 later in this chapter).
Table 2. Septachords (not subsets of 8-28) constructed by union of trichordal

and tetrachordal subsets of 8-28
measure number
septachordal
set-class
union of trichordal and tetrachordal

subsets of 8-28
m. 7 (Ex. 3a)
7-21 [0124589]
3-3 [014] + 4-12 [0236]
m. 36 (Ex. 3b)
7-3 [0123458]
3-3 [014] + 4-29 [0137]
m. 38 (Ex. 3c)
7-30 [0124689]
3-8 [026] + 4-17 [0347]
Example 3a, b, and c. Other septachords in Piano Distance
a.
&
Pno.
m. 7
# b
4-12
m. 36
7-21
&
&
b.
3-3
n b
#
b
c.
4-29
m. 38
7-3
3-3
n
# # b
4-17
7-30
3-8
Hexachordal vertical sonorities are constructed similarly. For example, the
[013469], and it is also a union of two

hexachord in m. 34 is a member of set-class 6-27
forms of set-class 3-8 [026] (Example 4a); both 6-27 and 3-8 are subsets of the octatonic
Pno.
&
93
collection. The hexachord in m. 57 is not a subset of the octatonic collection (a form of

set-class 6-16 [014568]), but is formed by the union of 3-5 [016] (bottom three pitches)
and 3-11 [037] (top three pitches), which again are both subsets of the octatonic
collection but not the same collection (Example 4b).4 The distinctive pentachords in m. 4
and m. 74 represent different forms of set-class 5-10 [01346] (Examples 5a and 5b).
Also, the identical pentachord that appears in m. 20 and m. 76 is a form of set-class 5-16
[01347] (Example 5c). Both pentachords 5-10 and 5-16 are subsets of the octatonic
collection. Therefore, there is a meaningful relationship between these seemingly
randomly selected groups of pitches in that they all represent unions of subsets of the
octatonic collection.
Example 4a and b. Hexachords in Piano Distance

a.
&
&
m. 34
#
b
b.
3-8
m. 57
b #b
6-27
3-8
3-11
6-16
3-5
The structure of the distinctive sonority of the hexachord in m. 61 can be considered as formed by a
member of set-class 5-16 [01347] (pc-set {2, 7, 8, 10, 11}), which is a subset of the octatonic collection,
simultaneously sounding with a single pitch C. Refer to my analysis in the following section.
94
Example 5a, b, and c. Pentachords in Piano Distance

a.
&
b.
m. 4
5-10
?
4
&
m. 74
c.
# b
n
m. 20, m. 76
5-10
b n
n b
#
n
5-16
In Piano Distance, various forms of the trichords that belong to set-class 3-3
Pno.
[014]
?appear throughout the piece as vertical chords sounding simultaneously or as linear
melodic fragments separated from other sound events. Edward Smaldone argues that in
7
Takemitsus
best-known composition, November Steps for orchestra, shakuhachi, and
&
biwa, trichord 3-3 has a prominent function that operates in the manner of a motivic cell
Pno.
which
? functions to unify the pitch organization on the surface, as well as on deeper
levels.5 He calls these focal pitches that make up different forms of trichord 3-3 nuclear
10
tones,
around which the tone clusters circulate. The nuclear tones articulate both long-
&
range form and provide the basic structural component for generating pitch material. In
Pno.
Piano
? Distance, the sonority of 3-3 is remarkable only on the surface of the music and
does not seem to penetrate to deeper levels. In contrast, the function of this trichord, and
[Copyright]
Edward Smaldone, Japanese and Western Confluences in Large-Scale Pitch Organization of Toru
Takemitsus November Steps and Autumn, Perspectives of New Music 27, no. 2 (1989): 219.
95
other memorable sonorities, is to provide sound experiences that may be related to future
sound events, as I will discuss further in the second analysis of this chapter.
In m. 21 an independent sonority, set-class 3-8 [026], appears and is held for
approximately 6 seconds, thereby announcing its importance for what follows. As
mentioned above, a significant occurrence of set-class 3-8 appears in m. 34, when two
simultaneous trichords, both members of set-class 3-8, combine to form the hexachordal
set-class 6-27 [013469]. Set-class 6-27 is a subset of the octatonic collection, and this is
the only occurrence of the simultaneous sonority of a hexachord that is given a
substantial duration. Also, as I mentioned above, 3-8 is the only other trichord other than
3-3 that is coupled with a tetrachord to create a structural septachord. Sonorities of setclasses 3-3 and 3-8 become the unifying force later in the piece. I will address this in the
next analysis, as well as the importance of set-class 3-10 as it contributes to the
progression of the piece.6
I assume Takemitsu was experimenting with the three prominent trichordal set-class types. The pitch
structure of the septachord in m.13, which represents a member of set-class 7-31 [0134679], the only
septachordal subset of the octatonic collection, is of special interest here. In the piano score, it is notated so
that the lower three pitches are played with the left hand and the higher four pitches with the right hand.
The three pitches played with the left hand form set-class 3-3 and the four pitches played with the right
hand form set-class 4-18 (see example 2a). At the same time, this septachord can be partitioned as a stack
of set-class 3-3 + Ab4 (i.e. {B2, G3, Bb3}+ {C#4, D4, F4} + highest pitch), and also as B2 + a stack of 310 (i.e. lowest pitch + {G3, Bb3, C#4} + {D4, F4, Ab4}). It looks as if Takemitsu was playing with two of
the three trichordal set-class types.
96

5-19
#
#
3-11
m. 39
&
&
3-5
{B, F} dyad
# #
4-12
# n
b
&
Pno.
&
b
n # n
n #
4-18
4-18
3-8
#
3-10
b b
5-31
n
#
4-12
b # n
# b
3-7
4-12
b ##
4-12
As discussed above, most chords that appear in Piano Distance are subsets of the
octatonic collection, thus providing some degree of unification in pitch structure. Chords
of larger cardinality, which may not represent octatonic subsets, usually appear as unions
&
of trichords
and tetrachords, both of which are octatonic subsets. This is also true for mm.
Pno.
39 to 41 where the succession of vertical sonorities creates a sense of periodicity
&
(Example 6). After the single pitch, F4 (m.39), the following succession of sonorities
occurs: 3-11, 3-5, 4-18 with the pitch B3,7 4-12, 4-18, 5-19, the union of 3-8 and 3-10, 531, &
4-12, 4-12, the union of 4-12 and 3-7. The frequent appearance of set-class 4-12
Pno.
[0236] is noteworthy in that among all tetrachordal octatonic subsets, only 4-12 abstractly
&
includes all three trichordal set-classes mentioned above (set-classes 3-3, 3-8, and 3-10).
Therefore, it seems likely that the prominence
of set-class 4-12 serves in part to
[Copyright]
contribute to the unity of the piece.
7
Pitch B3 forms a {B, F} dyad with F4 in m.39. The importance of this dyad will be discussed in the
analysis in the following section.
97
In Piano Distance, we can see remnants of Takemitsus early experimentation

with the dodecaphonic method.8 The pitch Bb6, as the highest pitch of the septachord in
m. 7, is unique in that it is the twelfth pitch of the chromatic universe; measure 6 consists
of 11 pitches without any duplication, and pitch Bb6 of the septachord completes the
chromatic saturation. In mm. 7 and 8, two grace-note figures complete an octatonic
collection III. The literal complement of octatonic collection III is pitch-class set {D, F,
G#, B}; here the diminished triad {B, D, F} adopts a role in the phrase continuation
immediately after the second grace-note figure. The remaining pitch G# plays a role as an
interval-class 1 association to the arriving central pitch A3. The details of these
relationships are discussed in the second section of this chapter. Another remnant of the
dodecaphonic method can be found in mm. 17 to 20. With duplications, 11 pitch-classes
appear in mm. 17 and 18. The pitch Ab4 in m. 20, as the highest pitch of the chord,
completes the chromatic saturation in a similar way to mm. 6 and 7. From this
perspective, Piano Distance can be viewed as a transitional composition; a forerunner of
Takemitsus octatonic compositions that retains some features of his serial procedures.
3.2 Analysis of Musical Motion, Continuity, and Form

In my first analysis, I establish that octatonic subsets of cardinality three to seven
are employed as compositional materials in Piano Distance. However, merely labeling
the compositional materials presents only a static view of a composition that fails to
8
Takemitsu employed a free serial method in works such as Uninterrupted Rest II (1959), Kino Kyoku
(1960), Ring (1960), and Hika (1966).
98
reveal any sense of continuity or change. In order to be aware of a sense of change and
continuity, we need to discuss the motion and succession of musical events. My second
analysis is process-oriented, similar to that proposed by Judy Lochhead (discussed in
Chapter I) who addresses the form-building of a piece, in which the temporal succession
of units and events constitutes a musical whole. In Piano Distance, there are no
traditional formal units, such as motives, themes, and phrases; therefore, it is necessary to
establish the musical events that can be comprehended as smaller formal units. After
analyzing these smaller units, I discuss chronologically how they relate to one another to
embody larger formal units; this will lead to an appreciation of how the piece establishes
itself as a continuous whole.
The form-building process of Piano Distance reflects a Japanese mode of
consciousness. As mentioned above, Masao Maruyama closely examines three basics
concepts, naru (become), tsugitsugi (in succession), and ikioi (force), all of which
lay the foundation for a unique style of Japanese thought.9 These three concepts
originated in the series of legends of gods from the beginning of the world to the birth of
three princes in Kikishinwa (two most ancient books of legends). In contrast to the idea of
genesis in the Judo-Christian religion that God creates the world, in the Japanese
legend, the world becomes without any specific creator. The Japanese word naru can
be written by several different Chinese characters, such as (to be born), (become),
Masao Maruyama, Ancient stratum of Historical Consciousness in Nihon no Shisou (Japanese thought)
(Tokyo: Chikumashobo, 1972); quoted in Aki Mitsuo, Takemitsu Toru to Nihontekinamono ni tsuite
(About Toru Takemitsu and something Japanese-nesque), in Takemitsu Toru no Sekai (The world of Toru
Takemitsu), ed. Saito, Shinjo and Maki Takemitsu (Tokyo: Shueisha, 1997), 128. My translation.
99
(change), (transform), (produce), and (produce to be fruitful). More

generally, this word suggests the Japanese inclination to the autonomous alteration of
matter as time passes. The legend describes how the gods became (or happened) as the
reed plant suddenly grew. In the ancient stratum of the universe, the world is depicted as
the spontaneous sprout, growth, and proliferation of organic matter, and this perspective
prescribes the Japanese concept of history, as well. Later the concept of growth and
proliferation adds a sense of vicissitude.
The outbreak of universe and the gods is described as the enumeration of
becoming; similarly, the concepts of world and history are viewed as continuous
streams of becoming. The concept of continuous becoming is reflected in many
systems in Japanese society, from traditional entertainment and business to the idea of ie
(household) in the class of samurai. It provides an important sense of value, as many
continuous genealogies extend side by side.
The idea of continuous becoming of events, however, does not necessarily imply
that every moment of history is homogeneous. Ikioi (force) is the idea of the process by
which land, dirt, sand, and even the body parts of male and female come into existence
one after another from the energy of life. The world comes into existence from the origin
of generative energy itself, not from any absolute origin, and the force of energy
infinitely advances. When this force becomes the intrinsic idea of the transition of time,
then sayings, such as the force of time is appropriate or compelled by the force of
time, form the basis of value judgements. In other words, with no other logic apparent,
100
we can say that an action must be taken because the force of time is appropriate, or we
are compelled by the force of time.
When the three words are put together, force that becomes one after another
describes the character or principle that is common to traditional Japanese arts. In the
traditional art of haikai (creation of short poems with overlapping verses), the
association of phrases continues endlessly. Each part does not have a clear frame, but
happens continuously and can be replaced in any order. Moreover, the parts of haikai can
start and end in any place. Similarly in traditional Japanese music, each section seems to
be a ceaseless repetition of a similar pattern; however, as time passes, the pattern
sometimes expands or contracts according to how the energy flows. In marked contrast to
a different concept of form that has a beginning, development, and ending, Japanese
artistic style unfolds a perpetual transition of parallel events without a defined
teleological framework.
My analysis of the phrase formation in Piano Distance embraces the principles
discussed above. When viewed in this manner, the metaphor of musical structure
becomes fluid and ever changing rather than solid, fixed, or architectural in nature. In
contrast, Western musical structure is often described in terms such as background
foundation, structural pillars, and surface features, terms that imply solidity and fixed
architectural shape rather than fluidity. The notion of a fluid musical structure seems
101
affirmed in Takemitsus writing; for example, thinking of musical form, I think of liquid
form. I wish for musical changes to be gradual as the tides.10
In order to identify the relevant pitch events in my analysis of Piano Distance, it
is necessary to devise criteria for relating pitches to one another. When pitches occur
simultaneously, we perceive them as a single sonority because there is no temporal
discontinuity. Nonetheless, as I will discuss later in the analysis, even within vertical
sonorities, certain tones can emerge as more important structurally and thus should be
emphasized in performance. When pitches occur successively, criteria are required to
justify grouping them as a single structural unit. In the score, it appears that notes beamed
together belong to the same structural unit. However, when we listen to a performance
without the score, we are not likely to distinguish between those tones that are
connected by beams and those that are not. The beaming might be the result of the
composers compositional process, or it might simply be for the convenience of the
performer. Likewise, it is unlikely that the listener will aurally differentiate larger and
smaller noteheads. My analysis will reveal that as the music unfolds through time, the
structural harmonic units that occur successively can be identified both by the intervallic
associations11 that arise among certain central pitches and their surrounding pitches, and
by sonorities of certain set-class types.
10
11
Christopher Hasty defines intervallic association as the intervals which a single pitch forms with other
pitches in a given context in Segmentation and Process in Post-Tonal Music, Music Theory Spectrum 3
(1981): 55. I use this term to designate a structural relationship between two pitch-classes.
102
My analysis leads me to differ with Timothy Koozins idea of how direction of

motion can be perceived in Piano Distance. Koozin emphasizes the importance of the
listeners power of recall. He recognizes the cycles of pitch-class recurrence throughout
Piano Distance, which are discontinuous and isolated events. Koozin writes that as the
cycles of recurrence are completed, the present moment is heard as a consequence of the
past, holding little anticipation for the future. In this way, Takemitsu reverses the
customary direction of motion in music, making it from rather than toward.12 He
states that when a musical event is first heard, it may not draw the listeners attention, but
when the figure is repeated, it acquires new referential meaning, reshaping our perception
of the first hearing long after it has passed. In this way, memories of past events are
continually juxtaposed with our perception of the present moment.13 On the contrary, I
posit that the present perception is structured according to the past experience. The
present moment not only is heard as a consequence of the past, but also as conveying
anticipation for the future. Each newly created intervallic association provides references
for future events, and the emerging music is structured in reference to the past musical
events. The structural units are linked to each other by means of intervallic content and
pitch content, which inevitably are transformed in altered appearances in future sound
events, which in turn again provides new materials for continuing reference.
12
Timothy Koozin, The Solo Piano Works of Toru Takemitsu: a Linear/Set-theoretical Analysis (Ph.D.
diss., University of Cincinnati, 1988), 65.
13
Ibid., 66.
103
In order to discuss how phrases are formed, detailed analysis is unavoidable.

According to Hasty, within a musical phrase the grouping of elements cohere to create a
sense of wholeness or completeness, as well as an aural feeling of closure.14 In the
following analysis, I discuss how groupings of elements or structural units cohere and
relate to one another, allowing us to hear discrete phrases. The features that normally
define closure of a phrase are: (1) termination of a certain pitch; (2) recurrence of the
referential pitch-class or pitch-class set; and (3) silence after a sustained sonority. In
Piano Distance, however, the perception of phrase boundaries is subjective, creating a
fluidity of structure. It is subjective since this is how I perceive the boundaries as a
performer, and others may relate pitches and events differently. In comparison to triads
and seventh chords in tonal music, where there is a presupposed sonority to which every
listener can relate, there are no pre-established sonorities in post-tonal music. The phrase
formation suggests fluidity because listeners may give multiple interpretations of phrase
boundaries. Table 3 summarizes my view of the unifying elements in each phrase,
followed by detailed analysis for each phrase. On many occasions, elements that appear
initially in one phrase give reference points for how to perceive events in the following
phrase. For instance, the ordered pitch-set (B3, D4, F4} that appears in Phrase II allows
us to hear the retrograde pitch motion in Phrase III. The prominent sonority of set-class 38 that occurs in Phrase IV allows us to hear that sonority in Phrase V. In other occasions,
14
Christopher Hasty, Phrase Formation in Post-Tonal Music, Journal of Music Theory 28 (1984): 171.
He discusses from the temporal and psychological viewpoint in detail how smaller elements in post-tonal
music are joined to form larger units to achieve internal coherence.
104
the elements do not reoccur immediately after the first occurrence, but serve as an
anticipation for future musical events.
Table 3. Unifying elements in phrase continuation in Piano Distance

measures
phrase no.
1-5
6-7
7-19
20-24
24-30
31-39
39-43
43-50
51-63
64-66
67-79
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
A
A
A
C
C
B
B
D
D
F
F
F
F
B
B
E
E
E
E
C
A
B
B
A
B
C
D
E
F
G
H
I
J
K
G
G
H
H
I
I
H
H
H
H
symbols
ic 1 association
set-class 3-3
ordered pitch-class set {Db, C, D}
ic 3 association
{B, F} dyad
set-class 3-10
ordered pitch-set {B3, D4, F4}
set-class 3-8
ordered pitch-set {A3, C4, Eb5}
ic 2 association
ic 5 association
105
3.2.1 Phrase I, mm. 1 5

Example 7. mm. 1-5
& b
1
& bw
analysis
&
n
r n n # n
b
1b
1a
excerpt
bw
ic1
bw
bw
ic1
3-3
1c
#w
5-10
ic1
bw
Measures 1 to 5 form the first phrase of Piano Distance. Example 7 shows mm. 1-
5 with an analytical reduction below. The termination of the continuous sound of Db4 at
the
&end of m. 5 provides a strong sense of change and simultaneously gives the sense of
closure. I have labeled the grouping of pitches in the examples as constituents on the
&
basis of immediate temporal and registral discontinuities, which may or may not create a
structural unit. At the beginning, Db5 is the only sound, and it lasts approximately 5
& Then Db5 and C4 occur at the end of m. 2 (constituent 1a), forming a dyad
seconds.
associated by ic 1.15 It is immediately followed by Db4, which is produced by resonance

alone (the key of the piano is previously pressed silently in the beginning of m. 2). Db4
emerges as soon as the sounds of the dyad {C4, Db5} fade. Bb3 and A4, which also form
15
Koozin recognizes dyads [01], [03], and [06], as well as trichords [013], [014], and [036] as generative
[Copyright]
materials for larger chords or pitch-class sets. However,
in my discussion of continuity in Piano Distance, I
argue that these dyads and trichords function more as intervallic associations of tone motion rather than as
discrete constructive materials. See Timothy Koozin, The Solo Piano Works of Toru Takemitsu: A
Linear/Set-theoretical Analysis (Ph.D. diss., University of Cincinnati, 1988), 100-137.
106
an ic 1 dyad (constituent 1b), occur at the end of m. 3, while Db4 is still sounding. These
three pitches {Bb3, A4, Db4} form a trichord, which represents set-class 3-3 [014].
Immediately following in m. 4 is a 5-pitch sonority that is a member of set-class 5-10

[01346] (constituent 1c). In this sonority, C#6 (enharmonic to Db6) is heard in
conjunction with the highest sounding pitch D6, which also forms ic 1. As the sonority of
constituent 1c (set-class 5-10) fades away, the only sound heard is the resonance of the
Db4, its key still depressed.
I perceive the first five measures as a phrase, with the pc 1 (Db) as a point of
departure and also as a point of arrival. It is reinforced by octave transfer, beginning with
Db5 transferring down to Db4, then up to Db6 (enharmonic C#6). Taken together, the
sound of pc Db is sustained for 15 seconds. Both pcs C and D become important, due to
the ic 1 association with the pc 1. In performance, the dyad {C#6, D6} in constituent 1c
should be emphasized corresponding to this ic 1 association. Constituent 1c (set-class 510) has a close relationship with the trichord {Bb3, A4, Db4} that appeared in m.3 (setclass 3-3), in that set-class 5-10 includes two forms of set-class 3-3. In this case, two
forms of set-class 3-3 are formed by the pitches {F5, C#6, D6}, and {E5, F5, C#6}.16
Hence, the ic 1 association and the sonority of set-class 3-3 unify this phrase, and at the
same time provide materials for future reference.
16
The remaining pc B in constituent 1c becomes significant later as one pitch of the {B, F} dyad.
107
3.2.2 Phrase II, mm. 6 7

The continuity of the next phrase in mm. 6 and 7 can be examined in light of
previous sound events. Example 8 shows mm. 6-7 with an analytical reduction below. In
m. 7, the release of the right pedal and the fermata over the break sign () with the
instruction ad lib. indicate a long silence that signals closure. The squared notes in the
analytical reduction in Example 8 indicate pitch motion according to the ic 1 association,
an association that was firmly established in the first phrase. The linear motions in
constituent 2a (C6 to C#5 and D4 to C#5) imitate the relationships in the first phrase
(mm. 14) where there was a harmonic association between pcs Db, C, and D occurred.
Example 8. mm. 6-7
excerpt
&
# n #
2a
&
n n
p
analysis #
&
ic3
n
#
ic1
ic1
#w
ic3
j
n
2c
2b
ic1
ic1
n
n
# bn U
n R
7
n
n #
R
# ww
ad lib.
108
These structural pitches {C, Db, D}, heard within the span of about 12 seconds in the first
phrase, are condensed and transformed in m. 6 into the rotational motion of C6 and D4
towards C#5 (enharmonic to Db5), compressed into a duration of about one second. Thus,
the grace-note figure of constituent 2a mirrors the ic 1 association in the first phrase.
Additionally, the initial pitch B3 is linked to the three-tone group in that it continues by ic
1 to the pitch C6. The continuation by ic 1 proceeds when F#5 of constituent 2b moves to
an F4. The linkage between constituents 2a, 2b, and 2c is revealed by the ic 1 association
between the highest pitch in each constituent, that is, G#6 in constituent 2a proceeding to
A5 in constituent 2b and to G6 in constituent 2c. Additionally, the motion from the F4 in
constituent 2b to E5 in constituent 2c exhibits an ic 1 association. Therefore, the
movement from constituent 2a to 2b, and to 2c features an ic 1 relationship in multiple
voices. When heard in this way, the vertical sonorities bearing an ic 1 association in the
first phrase provide and anticipate the perception of the ic 1 linear motion in mm. 6-7.
The B3 in m. 6 is the second singular pitch heard in Piano Distance. The first
pitch encountered in a phrase or a group of pitches is more likely to be remembered,
thereby establishing a point of reference. This pitch, B3, seems to move into F4 via D4
by means of a rapid crescendo, in which the F4 is reached at the dynamic level of ff. The
sound of the F4 will soon be heard again in m. 7, when F4 is a part of the septachord, a
member of set-class 7-21 [0124589]. The notation conveys Takemitsus intention to
agogically emphasize the pitch F4 in this septachord by the fact that only F4 has its own
stem with a single flag while the other six pitches have double flags. F4 occurs twice in
109
this section, both times at a relatively loud dynamic level, with the effect that it is more
readily retained aurally by the listener. The dyad {F, B} will become significant as the
opening gesture of the phrase in the latter part of this piece. The two successive motions
in ic 3 association (B3 to D4 and D4 to F4) form a diminished triad (set-class 3-10 [036])
and establish a source for future musical events. Also, the motion in ic 3 association is
heard at the end of m.6 to m.7 in the top most register, G6 to Bb6 of the septachord (see
Example 9).
Example 9. Interval-class 3 association in mm. 6-7
3-10
mm. 6-7
&
&
ic3
ic3
ic3
[Title]
It is important to perceive mm. 1-7 as two phrases, in which the second phrase
starts off as a condensed mirror image of the sonority in the first phrase and then
subsequently presents new materials. I have shown how the constituents relate to one
7
&
another in the first phrase, and how this relationship suggests the linear motion of the
second phrase. When perceived in this manner, the latter phrase can be heard in the
context of the materials provided by the preceding phrase. The bass note C#4 in the
10
&
septachord in m. 7, which is the same pitch that is prolonged in the first phrase, gives
13
110
both unity and closure to the two phrases. The motion of the three pitches {B3, D4, F4}
and the ic 3 association, which first appeared in the second phrase, become significant in
the context of the events that follow.
3.2.3 Phrase III, mm. 7 19

Example 10 shows mm. 7-16 with an analytical reduction below. Constituent 3a
in m.7, and the vertical sonority of {Bb3, A4, C#5, C6} immediately provides reference to
phrase I. This verticality has the identical pitch-class content with constituents 1a and 1b
in phrase I. Constituent 3a forms a pentachord that belongs to the same set-class with
constituent 1c in the opening phrase, set-class 5-10. Thus, the listener can identify a
familiar sound at the beginning of the new phrase: four pitch-classes and set-class 5-10.
The third phrase encompasses mm. 7 19, in which the ordered pitch set {F4, D4, B3}
(retrograde motion of B3 D4 F4 heard in the second phrase), the ic 3 association,
and set-class 3-3 become unifying elements.
The quick motion of constituent 3a is an embellishing figure with a low dynamic
level, which functions to prepare the more prominent sound of the single pitch D4. D4 is
pronounced three times (mm. 8, 9, and 13), with durations of approximately 2 seconds,
10 seconds, and 9 seconds respectively. Overall, the listener hears the sustained pitch D4
for approximately 24 seconds. This gesture mimics and recalls the sustained pc Db in the
first phrase.
111
112
I believe that Takemitsus penchant of extending a single pitch concurrent with

other sound events is influenced by the performance practice of traditional Japanese
music, in which instruments concentrate on the tone quality of a single sound. In the
Japanese tradition, a single musical tone often is a different and more intricate
phenomenon compared to single tones in Western music. A single sustained tone in
traditional Japanese music projects a complex event with subtle shadings, thinning and
thickening, tensing and relaxing, tremolo, breathiness, with slight variations of pitch and
timbre. Attacks and releases of tones are similarly complex; Lewis Lowell describes this
feature when he explains that tones are ornamented with a variety of almost indiscernible
grace notes.17 Of course, this kind of complexity is not achievable in the tone quality of a
modern piano. Takemitsu, however, imitates these features by surrounding a single pitch
by grace-note figures that are performed rather quickly to emphasize the single pitch.
Thus, grace notes should not be projected as clearly as the single pitch that they surround.
In the later part of Piano Distance, the distinction between distinct emphasized pitches
and tone clusters becomes more obvious.
The motion of F4 D4 B3 that encompasses mm. 9 13 and lasts
approximately 15 seconds is a literal retrograde of the motion of two successive ic 3
associations in phrase II, m. 6 (see Example 9 and Example 10). In constituent 3c, the
highest pitch F4 and D4 are both marked with accent signs. The sound of D4 is held for 9
17
Lewis Rowell, Thinking About Music: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Music (Amherst: University
of Massachusetts Press, 1983), 192. Takemitsu also writes about features and attributes of Japanese music.
113
seconds, which moves down to B3 at the end of m. 12 (the lowest pitch in constituent
3d); in m. 13, it then transfers down an octave after approximately 3 seconds.
The significance of the ic 3 association can be seen in the linear movement in
both higher and lower registers surrounding and enhancing the above mentioned motion
of F4 to D4 in m. 9. This motion is preceded by G2, the last pitch of constituent 3b, at the
dynamic level of mf, to E2, the bass note of constituent 3c marked sff. Subsequently, F4
to D4 is followed by E6 to C#6 in the higher register encompassing mm. 9 to 10. The
motion of E6 to C#6 proceeds to C5, forming the trichord that represents set-class 3-3.
In constituent 3e at the end of m. 13, while B2 is prepared by the octave transfer
from B3, the top note of the septachord is prepared by an ic 1 dyad of G#4 and A5. G#4,
notated enharmonically as Ab4, becomes the highest pitch of the septachord. The set-class
3-3 trichord {B2, G3, Bb3} of the septachord in m. 13 is transposed down by three
semitones in m. 15, then reiterated at the end of m. 16. The pc Ab, which was the top note
of the septachord in m. 13 becomes the bottom note at the end of m. 16. This prepares the
introduction of the pc A in m. 17, exhibiting an ic 1 association with Ab in m. 16.
Example 11 shows the linear motion of ic 3 association in mm. 17-18, which is
reinforced by the pedal marking. The ic 3 dyad {G6, E1} in the registral extreme is
sustained for approximately four seconds, and the release of the right pedal closes the
third phrase.
114
n
#
excerpt
&
17
? n
&
ic3
n b
18
b
n
n b
analysis
? n
ic3
n
n
&
b
n
ic3
r
n
n
ic3
ic3
&
ic3
n ic3
&
?
&
?
[Copyright]
115
3.2.4 Phrase IV, mm. 20 24

4a
& n b
20
b
21
4b
excerpt
22
23
? #
n
analysis
& b
3-3
3-3
24
Example 12 shows mm. 20-24 and its analytical reduction below. In m. 20, a new
sonority
& that represents set-class 5-16 [01347] occurs with pitches A2 and Ab4 as the
outer voices (a vertical ic 1 association). Similar to the property of set-class 5-10 that
? in phrase I, set-class 5-16 also has a close relationship to set-class 3-3: set-class
appeared
5-16 abstractly includes three forms of set-class 3-3. In this case, three forms of set-class
3-3 in constituent 4a are pitch sets {A2, F#3, F4}, {A2, C4, Ab4}, and {A2, F4, Ab4}.
The highest pitch Ab4 of constituent 4a moves to A4 in m. 21, A4 being isolated from the
other two pitches of the trichord by register. This motion occurs with a strong sense of
resolution that resembles the half step resolution seen in tonal music. It is also the first
[Copyright]
116
time that the sonority of set-class 3-8 [026] (constituent 4b) is heard distinctly and
sustained. Near the end of Piano Distance, there will be a unifying gesture between setclass 3-3 and 3-8, which I will show in the later analysis. The above mentioned motion of
Ab4 to A4 connects to C5 in m. 23, outlining the linear sonority of set-class 3-3, with
pitch C5 overlapping to connect to another linear sonority of set-class 3-3. Pitch C#4,
which is the prolonged pitch in phrase I and was used to close the second phrase, also
closes phrase IV. Phrase IV is united by the sonority of set-class 3-3, but it also
introduces the new sonorities of set-classes 5-16 and 3-8.
3.2.5 Phrase V, mm. 24 30

In the phrases that follow, we perceive a clearer distinction between pitches that
receive more emphasis and those that receive less. The rapid motion that surrounds the
distinctive or emphasized pitches is ornamental and improvisatory in nature. After a brief
silence in m. 24 (the notation in the score has a fermata over the break sign) that signals
the end of the previous phrase, a new phrase starts with pitch C5 as the first and highest
tone of the grace-note figure (constituent 5a). It immediately recalls the previous phrase,
since pitch C5 was heard several seconds earlier near the end of phrase III. Then A3 is
heard as a single pitch, which connects to C4 after an intervening tone cluster, then to
Eb5. The motion of these three pitches assimilates the motion seen in phrase II in m. 6
(see Example 9), which represents a succession of ic 3 associations that forms as a result
set-class 3-10 [036]. Pitch-class A is emphasized again by being sustained for
117
approximately 10 seconds starting in m. 27. The analytical reduction in Example 13

summarizes the motion of pitches {A, C, Eb}. The {F, B} dyad that appeared as an
opening gesture in phrase II is recalled in m. 29 as outer-voices of the left hand sonority.
Dyad {B1, F3} in constituent 5c, and A4 sustained from the previous sound event, form
set-class 3-8 [026], the sonority that was newly introduced in phrase IV. The sonority of
the tritone (ic 6 association) acquires additional emphasis in both constituents 5b and 5c
(Example 14).

5b
excerpt
24
&
?
analysis
&
?
5a
25
26
#
b
# # n
27
j
n#
n
w
ic3
n
# n
J
bw
3-10
>
ic3
# n
b b O #
28
n #n
n
29
5c
n
n b
n
3-8
118
28
&
ic6
ic6
29
ic6
b n
ic6
3.2.6 Phrase VI, mm. 31 39

excerpt
6a
31
&
?
n n
# n
b
n # V
#
n n b j
n
b #
b
n
n n
analysis
&

#
b b
n n
3:2
ic3
ww
35
3-10
n nb
b #
37
j
b
V n b
n
# n
n
# # b n
R
39
r
nb b ? n
n
&
n
3:2
ic3
ic3
bw
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119
Example 15 shows mm. 31-39 with an analytical reduction below. Constituent 6a

in m. 31, a literal transposition of constituent 5a at T11, signals the beginning of a new
phrase, after the long sustained sonority of constituent 5c and the release of the sustaining
pedal. The sixth phrase recalls the previous phrase in the same way phrase V recalls
phrase IV. Pitch-class B is heard as the first pitch in m. 31, which was the lowest
sounding pitch at the end of phrase V. Pitch-class A recurs at the end of m. 31 and is
sustained for approximately four seconds; it then is reinforced an octave higher following
pitch C4 in an ic 3 association. This motion restates the A3 to C4 motion in mm. 25 to 26
in phrase V. The pitch motion of A3 C4 Eb5 in phrase V (which forms 3-10)
reiterates when pitch C4 transfers an octave higher at m. 38, then continues to Eb5.
Within this motion, there is an intervening sonority of another set-class 3-10, which is
formed by pitches B6, F6, and Ab as the highest pitches of the block chords at mm. 34 to
36. The sixth phrase ends with octave transfer of pitch-class C. Phrase VI is heard as a
variation of phrase V.
120
3.2.7 Phrase VII, mm. 39 43

Example 16. mm. 39-43 (highlighted)
Example 17. Three descending block chords in mm. 42-43
&
&
42
b
#
top notes form 3-8

43
bn
#
?
bottom notes form 3-3

4
&
Pno.
121
We experience a new perception of time starting at F4 in m. 39 (Example 16).

Takemitsu notates that each eighth-note in the succession of the block chords should be
performed with the same durational value. Here we perceive a sense of periodicity for the
first time in Piano Distance. Two {F, B} dyads are noteworthy as one appears in the
upper voice at the beginning of this phrase, and the other appears when F4 moves down
to B3 in m. 40. The eighth-note pulse is accelerated for approximately 11 seconds and
culminates in three descending block chords (Example 17). The highest sounding pitches
of the three chords {G6, F6, B5} form set-class 3-8 [026]; at the same time, the lowest
sounding pitches {C#5, Bb3, A2} form set-class 3-3 [014]. This is a very distinctive
musical gesture, and it is also formally significant. The ics 1 and 3 are only included in
set-class 3-3 and not in set-class 3-8. On the other hand, ic 6 is only included in set-class
3-8 and not in set-class 3-3. When we recall how the ic associations of 1, 3, and 6 became
the unifying elements in phrase formation, then having these set-classes as outer-voices
has a significant meaning. In one sense, it is a culmination or a summary of a
representative sonority. Takemitsu, however, does not express this sense of summary
explicitly, but rather obscures it by embedding it in a thicker texture.
122
3.2.8 Phrase VIII, mm. 43 50

8a
43
&
&
3-10
45
47
3-8
# b

3-3
&
n
?
b#
n
n
3-3
8b
#
ic1
b
n
ic3
ic3
49
{F, B} dyad
At m. 43, the perception of non-periodicity returns. The {F, B} dyad, which has
now become one of the more prominent sonorities of the piece, represents the starting
and ending pitches of constituent 8a with an inner subset structure of set-classes 3-3 and
3-8 &
(Example 18). The first three isolated pitches {F4, E7, C#1} form set-class 3-3, and
the {F, B} dyad with the lowest pitch C#1, form set-class 3-8. This phrase ends with
another {F, B} dyad that occurs in m. 48 after a succession of steadily paced sonorities of
a union of two intersecting set-classes of 3-3 and 3-10, ic 3, ic 1, and ic 3 (constituent
8b).
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123
3.2.9 Phrase IX, mm. 51 63

9a
{F, B} dyad
& #
51
#
?b
52
53
54
7-31
3-3

from phrase I
b#b
57
&
b
?
58
8va
59
bb
n
#
60
61
3-3
n n
b
b
62
3-8
Disconnected by a long silence of more than three seconds from the previous
phrase, a new phrase starts at m. 51. Constituent 9a presents a familiar septachordal
[Copyright]
124
sonority, which is a literal transposition at T3 of constituent 3f in phrase III. Here, the {F,
B} dyad is present; B4 as the top pitch of constituent 9a and the sustained pitch F4, which
forms set-class 3-3 with F#7 and A1 in mm. 51-54 (Example 19). After the quick gracenote figure, the pitches that were emphasized in the previous phrases appear successively
with intervening chords in the extended passage (from mm. 57 to 63). These pitches are:
F4, B4, A5, C1, D5, C#6, and C5 as the top pitch of the hexachord in m. 61. Specifically,
the last three pitches in this series recall the three pitch-classes in the opening phrase. The
hexachord in m. 61 represents the intersecting sonorities of set-classes 3-3 and 3-8 (3-3
formed by {Bb3, G4, B4} + 3-8 formed by {D3, Ab3, Bb3} + C5 as the highest pitch) that
is sustained for approximately six seconds (see Example 20).
3.2.10 Phrase X, mm. 64 66

top notes form 3-8
b n b b #
b
#
n b n #
& ## b ## n n # n # n
3:2
65
64
3:2
# # #n b #b b#
{F, B} dyad
&
?
66
b #
b # # # n #
n
b
bottem notes form 3-3
125
The tenth phrase (Example 21) starts at m. 64. The succession of block chords in
eighth notes and the sense of periodicity returns in this phrase. The {F, B} dyad can be
seen in the lowest voice in the beginning of this phrase. It ends with the three descending
block chords, which represents a literal transposition at T7 of constituent 7a.
3.2.11 Phrase XI, mm. 67 79

excerpt
11a
&
67
analysis
&
?
b b

b # #
n
n
3-3
70
3-8
ic1
ic2
74
ic1
ic5
3-3
# b
n
75
# b
b n
n b
77
#
n
3-3
73
ic1
ic3
ic1
ic6
n b
#
n
Example 22 shows mm. 67-79 and the analytical reduction below. The three
pitches in mm. 67-69 that open phrase XI each of them three seconds in duration form
126
set-class 3-3 (constituent 11a). This trichord recalls the linear trichord of set-class 3-3 that
concludes phrase IV (see Example 12) in that it is a T11 retrograde of this trichord. In
other words, these two trichords are in ic 1 association. The three descending block
chords are heard for the third time; in this instance, however, the sonority of set-class 3-3
overpowers the sonority of set-class 3-8 since 3-3 is in the highest voice. The two-voice
counterpoint of mm. 71-72 serves the dual role of providing new sound materials and
recalling a past sound event. The simultaneous sonority of B2 and A5 are in an ic 2
association, and that of C1 and G6 are in an ic 5 association, which are both sustained for
three seconds and six seconds respectively; neither sonority has a strong precedent in the
previous phrases. These sonorities open more materials for future references. At the same
time, when heard linearly, the higher voice of A5 to G6 that connects to Ab4 in m. 74 is in
an ic 1 association with Ab4. This motion loosely resembles the C6 and D4 motion to C#5
motion that occurred in phrase II. The linear movement of the lower voice of B2 to C1
that connects to Eb2 in m. 74 forms set-class 3-3. Pitch-class Ab is emphasized again (it
was emphasized in phrase III and phrase IV) as the highest pitch in the pentachord 5-10
in m. 74. Ab4 repeats in the pentachord 5-16 in m. 76, which is identical to the pentachord
in phrase IV. The resonance of pentachord 5-16 in m. 76 is sustained for approximately
twelve seconds, and the piece concludes when the resonance gradually fades and the
sustaining pedal is released. It is possible to perceive the music as open-ended because of
the lack of a strong sense of closure. The two pentachords at the end are related linearly
by interval-class associations articulated by past musical events: F#4 and F4 represent an
127
Example 23. Prominent pitch motion and referential sonorities in Piano Distance
&
bw
bw
bw w
ic1
# ww
b w b
ic1
ic1
bw
II
#
#
ic1
ic3 w
ic1
ic3
ic1
ic1
3-3
III
ic3
w w w
3-10
{F, B} dyad = ic6
3-3
ic3
3-10
ic3
m.
3-8
IV b
ic3 b
3-3
#
ic3
b n
ic3
#
ic1
& # b
ic3
3-10
33
m.
IX
& w
?
3-3
m. 51
38
34
57
61
ic3
ic3
ic6
20
23
3-8
VIII
#
b
3-3
w w #w
w
w w
# 3-8
b w # w
ic6
3-10
3-3
40
39
12
ic6
ic3
3-3
? b w ic1 n ic3 b ic3 ic3
b b
#
18
m.
13 15
3-10
VII
VI
b
b
w
w w
& ic3

w
ic3
3-3
7 8
43
25
28
3-8
3-10
# ic3 #
b
ic1 ic3
b#
3-3
# 45
47
bw
w
29
w
48
XI 3-3
ic1
ic1
b
#
b# w ic1 bn w
b
3-8
3-3
ic3
ic2 ic5
3-3
b
#

#
ic1
n
3-8
b ic6
3-3 74 76
70
71
67
64
66
3-3
128
ic 1 association; A3 and C4 represent an ic 3 association; F2 and F#3 represent an ic 1

association; and Eb2 and A2 represent an ic 6 association.
3.3 Conclusion
Example 23 shows the prominent pitch motions, and referential sonorities that
provide a context for future events. White noteheads represent momentary prominent
pitches and black noteheads signify the pitches that are in important intervallic
associations linearly or simultaneously. Significant sonorities in linear motions are
beamed and significant vertical sonorities are circled. Dotted lines indicate octave
transfers and slurs between the same pitches indicate a sustained or repeated sound.
Every occurrence of the {F, B} dyad is indicated by the squared-in noteheads. Uppercase roman numerals represent phrase numbers, and numbers below each staff indicate
measure numbers. When there is a long silence or sustained sonority between phrases, it
is indicated by a double slash on the lower staff.
In Piano Distance, all phrases in some way are variations of each other. To
summarize, there are four processes that dictate variation what I call the
transformational motion. The first process involves identifying the structural intervallic
associations. The structural associations can be found in conjunction with a structural
pitch, which receives emphasis as a single tone. Two pitches in structural intervallic
associations are then heard linearly, most often in a similar register, or successively in
time. In Piano Distance, the ic 1 association identified in phrase I becomes the basis of
129
the linear motion of ic 1 association in phrase II. Similarly, ic 3, identified in phrase II,
becomes the basis of the linear motion of the ic 3 association in phrase III. The ic 6
association also gains significance throughout the composition. It is first identified as the
interval of the {B, F} dyad and also as the outer interval of set-class 3-10.
The second process involves identifying the structural sonority, emphasized as a
vertical sonority, or by register or by dynamics. The structural sonorities are then heard
linearly or vertically. The recurring sonority of trichords that belong to set-class 3-3
[014], isolated registrally or temporally from the events before and after, seems to be one
unifying element in the piece. A trichord that belongs to set-class 3-8 [026], which is first
heard prominently in phrase IV, recurs in the following phrase, and later is heard in
conjunction with trichord 3-3. Set-class 3-8 functions as an opposing sonority to set-class
3-3, especially when the distinctive gesture of three chords that descend in register
appears three times near the end of the piece. The outer voices of these descending chords
are either a member of set-class 3-3 or 3-8. These two sonorities seem to be placed in
opposition to one another, since in the first two times 3-8 appears in the higher voice
while in the third time 3-3 appears in the higher voice. In addition, the sonority of setclass 3-10 functions as a unifying sonority of set-classes 3-3 and 3-8 by joining intervalclasses from both set-classes. The interval-class vector of set-class 3-10 contains only
interval-class 3 and 6, interval-class 3 is contained only in set-class 3-3 and not in setclass 3-8; on the other hand, interval-class 6 is contained only in set-class 3-8 and not in
set-class 3-3.
130
The third process requires identifying specific ordered pitch-class sets, which
become prominent in relation to structural intervallic associations or structural sonorities.
The ordered pitch-class set is then varied to become a rotation or retrograde form of
itself, with or without the interjection of other events that expand or contract in time. This
is seen, for example, when the ordered pitch-class set {C# (Db), C, D} heard for
approximately twelve seconds in phrase I becomes the rotated ordered pitch-class set {C,
D, C# (Db)} in phrase II, compressed to approximately one second. Also it is seen when
the ordered pitch-class set {B, D, F} in phrase II, which is heard for approximately two
seconds, becomes the retrograde ordered pitch-class set {F, D, B} in phrase III, which
expands in time to approximately fifteen seconds. Similarly, ordered pitch-set {A3, C4,
Eb5} in phrase V recurs in phrase VI with different intervening sonorities.
The fourth process uses prominent pitch-classes as the opening or closing gestures
of latter phrases. For example, the opening pc Db is used as a closing pitch in phrases I, II,
and IV. The {F, B} dyad that first appears in phrase II recurs and takes on the role of
signaling the beginning or ending of phrases VII, VIII, IX, and X. The four processes
discussed above enable the listener to hear the piece as perpetual variations of previous
sound events, which may or may not recur in a fixed order. Here we must appreciate the
important role of performance, which should enhance the projection of the relationships
between sound events that will carry out the constructive sound motions between phrases.
It may help to compare my notion of transformational motion with Schoenbergs
idea of developing variation. Ethan Haimo explains developing variation as follows:
131
Developing variation is a special category of variation technique that implies a

teleological process. As a result, later events can be understood to originate from, or grow
out of, changes that were made in the repetitions of earlier musical units.18 It is the means
by which a basic shape comes to underlie all other materials, especially the themes, of a
composition.19 Bryan Simms describes possible techniques for Schoenbergs examples of
developing variation as rhythmic and metric changes to the original idea, diminution and
augmentation, extension and contraction, and inversion, transposition, and retrograde
statements of thematic material.20 The varied materials are then subjected to further
development of restatement combined with variation. The resultant musical idea will
contain both contrasting and unchanged elements. Haimo represents the successive
variation as AB, BC, CD, and so forth. The crucial difference between my
transformational motion and developing variation is that developing variation is a thingoriented application, which operates on a specific idea whether it is called a motive or a
basic shape. What is preserved in Piano Distance is the relationships between pitches or
particular sets of pitches, and how these relationships are constructed on the surface of
the music. What varies from phrase to phrase is how these relationships are constructed.
Again, I argue for the principle of Japanese thought that the world (music) comes into
existence from the origin of generative energy itself (structural intervallic associations or
18
Ethan Haimo, Developing Variation and Schoenbergs Serial Music, Music Analysis 16, no. 3 (Oct
1997): 351.
19
Bryan R. Simms, Schoenberg: The Analyst and the Analyzed, in The Arnold Schoenberg Companion,
ed. Walter B. Bailey, 223-50 (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1998), 228.
20
Ibid., 229.
132
structural sonorities), not from absolute origin (not from basic shape), and the force of
energy infinitely advances.
In Piano Distance, the sense of closure largely derives from a long silence or the
return of familiar sonorities. However, the sense of closure is not hierarchical, since it
occurs only on the foreground and does not extend beyond a single phrase. If there is
always anticipation, always the possibility of yet another variation, then the music, even
at its ending, must sustain a sense of open-endedness. In this sense, the music does not
end but simply stops. It must remain open to further continuation if only imaginary. In
the last phrase of Piano Distance, Takemitsu prepares the ending by gradually reducing
the number of sonorities in temporal proximity: three single pitches that form a linear 3-3
trichord, three descending block chords, two dyads, then a pentachord that is sustained
for six seconds followed by another pentachord that is sustained for twelve seconds.
Because the sustaining pedal is held down for this duration, the audibility of the last
sonority will simply fade gradually. When twelve seconds have passed there will be only
silence, and the music simply stops.
The non-hierarchical nature of phrase relationships in Takemitsus music seems to
precisely embody Maruyamas idea of a uniquely Japanese style of thought. While in
Piano Distance we may perceive an antecedent-consequent relation between two phrases,
this impression quickly collapses as the consequent phrase itself becomes an antecedent.
Piano Distance reflects the concept of the continuous streams of becoming that is
implicit in Japanese thought. As linear time unfolds, each phrase projects an ambiguous
133
frame, but then becomes or transforms continuously with the autonomous alteration of
musical events. Continuous transformation allows events to expand or contract according
to the composers vision. When we hear Piano Distance in accord with this perspective,
the notion of the three concepts combined force that becomes one after another best
describes the principle that governs the forming of or form-building in Piano
Distance.
CHAPTER IV
RAIN TREE (1981): INTER-SUBJECTIVITY AND FORM
It has been named the rain tree for its abundant foliage continues to let fall rain
drops collected from last night's shower until well after the following midday. Its
hundreds of thousands of tiny leaves finger-like store up moisture while other trees
dry up at once. What an ingenious tree, isnt it?
from a novel, Atama no Ii Ame no Ki (The ingenious rain tree)
by Kenzaburo Oe, translated by Y1
The title of Rain Tree, a work for three percussionists, is inspired by the image of
the tree that appears in Oe Kenzaburos short novel Atama no Ii Ame no Ki (The
ingenious rain tree). Although Takemitsu underplayed the significance of Oes novel
itself to Rain Tree,2 he describes in a letter to Jimmy W. Finney that he was inspired by
the image of the enormous tree that has a key role in the novel. The tree implied here is
an old baobab tree,3 which can survive for more than one hundred years. This tropical
tree grows as tall as a four story building, with branches spreading out to the sky, and is
sometimes referred to as an upside down tree.
This translation appears in Oes short novel Women who listen to the Rain Tree that follows The
ingenious rain tree.
2
In a letter to Finney, Takemitsu writes: It is hard to say because I have not read it; however, no
relationship has to be established with the entire story of Intelligent Rain Tree to my Rain Tree. The only
influence I can think from it, is the symbolic power of the word rain tree itself, which became the title of
the novel by Yokoichi [Yoshiko Yokoichi is the editor of Oes novel; apparently this is a mistake made by
Takemitsu in his letter]. Therefore the citation with my music is the only means [of] interpretation which
explains my Rain Tree. See Finney, The Keyboard Percussion Trios of Toru Takemitsu and Toshi
Ichiyanagi, 67; quoted in Blake Matthew Wilkins, An Analysis of Musical Temporality in Toru
Takemitsus Rain Tree (DMA diss., University of Oklahoma, 1999), 236.
3
Kenzaburo Oe, Atamo no Ii Ame no Ki (The ingenious rain tree) (Tokyo: Shinchosha, 1982), 15.
134
135
It is difficult to avoid creating images from the title of a composition. It is well

known that Takemitsu had a strong affinity for trees and water, and many of the titles of
his compositions reflect that affinity. On numerous occasions, Takemitsu expressed his
identification with nature in general as the basis of his creative process. For him, music is
the medium to achieve the harmony and balance between nature and modern life. He had
no desire to depict natural scenery, but rather he strove for his music to become a part
of nature. Takemitsu has often used the idea of water, trees, and the Japanese
gardens when discussing his compositional process. He uses these images, not in a
literal sense, but rather metaphorically. The metaphor of trees, especially that of the
enormous, long-living tree that was depicted in Oes novel, is signified by images such as
those of growth, life, rebirth, ascent, light and shade, the flow of time, and the cyclic
nature of time. The metaphor of rain is signified by the irregular rhythm of rain drops, the
cycle of the form of water, the idea of water as an essential element of life, and
continuous changes of form, in which the transformations are subtle but constant. In
listening to Rain Tree, one easily imagines an immense tree and the falling of rain
(water).
Rain Tree is one of Takemitsus compositions that are inspired by the
transformational quality of water. Noriko Ohtake, in explaining the metaphorical
meanings of water, states that As rain, rivers, and seas reflect merely transient states of
water, musical compositions are only the transitory shapes of sounds, and therefore
136
never-ending.4 This metaphor is reflected in Rain Tree in the constantly changing role of
the musical events. The sections in this highly sectionalized piece seem to alternate
arbitrarily between metrical and non-metrical, as if imitating the unpredictable rhythm of
nature. The endings and beginnings of discrete sections are easily perceived, but at the
same time (as I argue in the following analysis) they can serve as transitions as well. Rain
Tree does not follow a traditional formal scheme. Because of changes in compositional
materials, texture, and timbre between sections are prominent, and the boundaries of
discrete sections are obvious, Wilkins argues that this piece is in moment form.5 I argue
instead that there are compelling relationships between sections that unfold as the piece
proceeds. The formal design of Rain Tree reflects the metaphorical meanings of water
when musical ideas change roles among sections. It appears likely that the metaphor of
the tree materializes in the final sonority of the piece, a sustained major triad, which is
prepared in the final section by the two marimba parts. In fact, Takemitsu believed that
trees actualize human ideals such as security and contentment,6 and I believe that these
are signified by the sustained major triad.
In this chapter, I explore how musical structure and form emerge as the music
unfolds in time, and how structure and form interact with broader questions of meaning
and expression. In addition to motivic and timbral elements, metrical ambiguities within
each section also play a role in the expressive meaning of Rain Tree. I model my
Noriko Ohtake, Creative Sources for the Music of Toru Takemitsu (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1993), 33.
(DMA diss., University of Oklahoma, 1999). For a brief discussion of moment form, see Chapter 1.
6
5
137
discussion of formal meaning and expression in music on several essays that appear in
Music and Meaning, edited by Jenefer Robinson.7 The second chapter of the book
contains essays by music theorists, musicologists, and philosophers of music that explore
the idea that music has a narrative, and that its meaning can be articulated according to a
literary analogy.
The fundamental question that the scholars ask in Music and Meaning is Can
music without the help of words (as in song, opera, or program music) signify aspects of
human life and experience which are beyond the music?8 The question stems from the
criticism of structural formalism that music consists simply of structures of tones with
no meaning or reference outside themselves. In the mid-nineteenth century, Eduard
Hanslick initiated a formalist conception of musical criticism, which stresses the idea that
a musical work is an autonomous entity divorced from the extramusical world, and that it
can be studied in an objective, quasi-scientific way. Under his influence, there developed
a predominance of systematic music analysis, which eventually developed into theories
about, for example, the hierarchical structure of harmony and the mathematical model of
pitch-class set theory. However, musical structures may have connotations that go far
beyond their purely systematic exploration. It is well known that in the Western tradition,
the idea that human emotions can be expressed and represented by music was developed
in particular during the Baroque period, when these were referred to as passions or
Jenefer Robinson, ed. Music & Meaning (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1997). Fred
Everett Maus, Anthony Newcomb, Gregory Karl and Jenefer Robinson, Charles Fisk, and Marion Guck
contribute essays in the chapter titled Music as Story-Telling: The Literary Analogy.
8
Ibid., 4.
138
affections. However, the authors of Music and Meaning seek correspondences between
structure and meanings that manifest beyond mere expressions such as heroic, joyful,
or melancholy. The authors offer a solution to this problem by exploring the idea that
music has a plot or narrative and that its meaning can be explained by analogy with the
plot of a story or a play. This idea was inspired by Edward Cones book The Composers
Voice, in which he discusses characters, agents, and personae in the dramatic
setting of instrumental music.9 Cone argues that like the narrator of a story, the persona
invented by the composer expresses his/her reactions through the characters that appear
in the composers work, in particular, the instruments or groups of instruments that are
individualized as agents.10 Cone writes, In every case there is a musical persona that is
the experiencing subject of the entire composition, in whose thought the play, or
narrative, or reverie takes place whose inner life the music communicates by means of
symbolic gesture.11 An agent need not be an instrument or a group of instruments; it can
be any recognizably continuous or distinctively articulated component of the texture: a
line, a succession of chords, an ostinato, a pervasive timbre.12
However, from the standpoint of traditional Japanese music, the idea of music
having its own persona contrasts significantly with the ideal to assimilate nature, or in
Takemitsus words, to negate individuality and wish for sound and nature to become
Ibid., 9.
Ibid.
11
Edward T. Cone, The Composers Voice (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), 94.
12
Ibid., 95.
10
139
one.13 I argue that the persona is not necessarily a human one, and that the expressive
meanings are not necessarily only of emotions or experiences, but that they can be
manifestations of images or objects as well. In this chapter, I base my interpretation of
meaning in Rain Tree on the issue of inter-subjectivity in Japanese literature. According
to this interpretation, I consider Rain Tree to be a kind of program music. The narrative
occurs in the images not only in their pitch content and rhythm, but also in spatial
elements (ascending or descending directions of pitch contour), texture, and timbre.
4.1 Actions and Inter-subjectivity in the Narrative of Music

Anthony Newcomb takes up an important contribution by Cone, the idea that
musical expressiveness depends on the development of music as a whole as it unfolds in
time.14 Newcomb judges that musical expression is a function of overall formal structure,
while also providing the motivation for the formal structure. In his 1984 article, he
attributes the puzzling formal feature of the last movement of Schumanns Second
Symphony to what he calls the two thematic embryos and their transformations
throughout the movement as a division into characters.15 Newcomb refers to the work of
Jonathan Culler and Paul Ricoeur and argues that the role of a musical theme and its
transformations is somewhat analogous to that of a character in a verbal narrative. The
narrative in the music can be explained in the same way that plots are built up from the
13
Toru Takemitsu, Kino Kagami, Sougenno Kagami (Mirror of tree, mirror of field) (Tokyo: Shinchousha,
1975), 154.
14
Jenefer Robinson, ed. Music & Meaning (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1997), 158.
15
Anthony Newcomb, Once More Between Absolute and Program Music: Schumanns Second
Symphony, Nineteenth-Century Music 7, no. 3 (April, 1984), 240.
140
actions and incidents that the reader encounters in stories.16 The individual series of
events, then, becomes a coherent story. He quotes Ricoeurs statement that a story is
made out of events to the extent that a plots makes events into a story.17
Both Newcomb and Fred Everett Maus ask the questions, what are the actions in
music? And who is performing these actions? Newcomb lays out many musical attributes
of the second movement of Mahlers Ninth Symphony instrumentation, tempo,
intervallic vocabulary, metrical design, rhythmic motive or style, and harmonic support
that project a characteristic way of behavior that one might call clumsy. In other words,
these attributes lead attentive listeners to begin imagining an agency that is clumsy.
Newcomb calls this imaginary agency the protagonist of the piece and claims that it
acts or behaves in the way suggested by the attributes of music. It is not the performer,
nor the composer, nor the piece itself, but rather this protagonist that behaves
clumsily.18 Maus develops a similar discussion by anthropomorphizing the opening
gesture from Beethovens String Quartet, op. 95.19 He argues that the more animistic
descriptions of music such as an aggressive, abrupt outburst, forceful, and decisive,
which attribute the qualities of human actions to the piece, should belong to musical
analysis, interacting with the established technical or theoretical analysis.
16
Jonathan Culler, Structuralist Poetics (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1975), 219; quoted in
Anthony Newcomb, Schumann and Late Eighteenth-Century Narrative Strategies, Nineteenth-Century
Music 11, no. 2 (Autumn, 1987), 166, n. 11.
17
Paul Ricoeur, Narrative Time, Critical Inquiry 7 (1980): 171 and 174; quoted in Ibid, n. 12.
18
Jenefer Robinson, ed. Music & Meaning (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1997), 138.
19
Ibid., 114.
141
As in other artistic genres, there are unique narrative characteristics in Japanese

literature that are essentially distinct from those of Western literature. The concept of the
inter-subjective, as discussed in David Pollacks Reading Against Culture, offers
insight into the analysis of the narrative in Takemitsus Rain Tree.20 I argue that by
incorporating the concept of the inter-subjective, I am able to illustrate how the musical
narrative of Rain Tree reflects Japanese aesthetics. Pollacks concept of the intersubjective is influential to my recognition of the protagonist of Rain Tree who acts or
behaves in the way suggested by the attributes of music, as well as the functions of
certain sections of the music.
It is a common perception that Westerners place relatively more importance on
the virtues of individuals, while the Japanese emphasize those of the group. Generally,
Westerners see themselves as more individualistic and less conformist than the Japanese.
It is this Japanese tendency to emphasize the good of the group over the needs of the
individual that Shumpei Kumon and Eshun Hamaguchi refer to as Japanese
collectivism.21 Their theory contrasts the value of what they call the inter-subjective
with that of the individual, permitting us to consider the possibility that a Japanese
(more than a Western) sense of self requires that one take others more greatly into
account when determining ones own actions.22 It was not until the Meiji period (18681912) that the Japanese encountered for the first time, along with many other modern
20
David Pollack, Reading Against Culture: Ideology and Narrative in the Japanese Novel (Ithaca: Cornell
University Press, 1992). Pollack uses this word without hyphenation.
21
Ibid., 42.
22
Ibid., 43.
142
ideas being imported from Europe and America, the notion of an autonomous individual
self.23 However, to this day the indication of either first, second, or third person is often
eliminated from a Japanese sentence, as the subject of the action is avoided.24
The positive connotations of the collective over that of the individual are
demonstrated by the use of the ordinary Japanese word for I (watakushi). The Chinese
character for this word is used in combination with other characters with almost
universally negative connotations, usually denoting selfish, illegitimate, irregular,
misappropriated, unfair, ill-gotten, pretended, secret, and counterfeit, among
other meanings. In the philosophical writings of the Edo period, the long accepted
counterpart of this term was oyake, denoting public, communal, for the common
good, out in the open, fair, self-evident, civic, and official, obviously
carrying more positive implications.25
The notion of the individual existing as a link in the social continuum can be
traced back to the teaching of Confucius. The self in Confucianism originates within a
particular vision of the social continuum, in which the individual exists only as a link in
the social chain that recognizes its own ancestors and is in turn recognized as an ancestor
by succeeding generations.26 Buddhist doctrine teaches that the individual entity does not
exist separately from all things. Dogen wrote, To study Buddhism is to study oneself. To
23
Ibid., 39.
25
David Pollack, Reading Against Culture: Ideology and Narrative in the Japanese Novel (Ithaca: Cornell
University Press, 1992), 63.
26
Ibid., 45.
24
143
study oneself is to forget oneself. To forget oneself is to realize oneself in all things.27 In
fact, this view of the individual is one reason why epic poetry and tragedy did not
flourish in Japanese literature. While Western literature finds its greatest works in the
epic and tragic, which are centered around individual subjects, these genres are the least
important in Japanese literature. Armando Janeira argues that in the Western world, epic
poetry and tragedy have been considered the two peaks of expression of human action.
According to Janeira, epic poetry and tragedy pursue solutions to questions regarding
human life and the world. However, Japanese literature has found the main source of
humanism in the transience of life and the inconstancy of the world.28 This particular
kind of humanism is expressed in poetry, in diaries, and in the novel, mainly by a
sentiment of compassion towards all living beings, inanimate objects, the passing of time,
and the repetition of the seasons that brings death and rebirth. This leads necessarily to
the weakened status of individual human emotions and the relative depersonalization of
the artist in his/her creative activity.29
For the purpose of analyzing the narrative in Rain Tree, the I among others, or
the concept of inter-subjectivity and non-subjectivity, allows us to consider actions
(and non-actions) as something dispersed or scattered among a collection of indefinite
subjects, instead of focusing on an absolute I. The elusiveness of the who or what
in action can be associated with the Japanese mode of musical narrative in Rain Tree, as I
27
Armando Martins Janeira, Japanese and Western Literature: A Comparative Study (Rutland, Vermont:
Charles E. Tuttle Co., Inc., 1970), 238.
28
Ibid., 236.
29
Ibid., 262-3.
144
will argue in the following analysis. I identify non-subjectivity in music as occurring

when the attributes of the music do not isolate a distinct musical event such as a single
motive, theme, or rhythmic pattern. When a musical event displays non-subjectivity, the
music is in general static, with its motions exhibiting little or no sense of direction. When
there is no motive or theme to relate actions or behavior, no subject can be associated to
that action. Also, music exhibits non-subjectivity when the protagonist is overpowered by
another protagonist. I refer to this experience as losing individuality. In contrast,
subjectivity applies when a specific part or section of music or a specific sonority has a
clear role in the formal context of the music, or when attributes of the music isolate a
distinctive musical event such as a motive or a theme that can be related to an action, a
behavior, or an emotion. I define the term inter-subjectivity in two ways. The first
definition applies when multiple parts or sections of music, or individual sonorities, share
a formal role in the temporal context of the music. For example, in tonal music the end of
a section cannot simultaneously be a larger part of an ongoing part of a transition. While
there is the case of an elision between phrases, the final sonority of the first phrase and
the first sonority of the second phrase nonetheless are easily perceived, even though they
may occur simultaneously. In music that displays inter-subjectivity, however, there often
occurs a lengthier portion of music that functions both as part of a sections end and as
part of an ongoing transition that is less easily perceived. I use the second definition of
inter-subjectivity when an action, a behavior, or an emotion is expressed by multiple
musical events. In the Western musical tradition, a motive exemplifies a protagonist and
145
is elevated to prominence through musical development. In contrast, a motive that

displays inter-subjectivity is not developed and occasionally the subjectivity of the
motive is transferred from one motive to another. Additionally, when addressing
subjectivity in music, I use the term identity to refer to the identity of a motive, or a
portion of music, or the timbre of an instrument as non-subjective, subjective, or
inter-subjective.
4.2 Analysis
Aside from the few pitches that have structural meaning, in Rain Tree, contour,
texture, and timbre have communicative meanings as well. In order to understand these
communicative meanings, it is particularly helpful to fully investigate the first three
sections and the final section of Rain Tree. My analysis reveals how each of the first
three sections unfolds from the original material that is presented at the beginning of each
section. The analysis also illustrates how the subjectivities of the identities of motives and
parts of the sections are transformed by earlier events. The final section is significant in
that the initially different identities of the two marimbas and the vibraphone unify to a
collective whole at the end of the section, thus exhibiting inter-subjectivity. Between the
third and the final sections there is an extensive series of musical events that recall earlier
materials.
Takemitsu considered the performers or rather the instrumental sounds
produced by each performer as individual entities, as we can infer from his instructions
146
regarding the positioning and lighting of the performers on stage. Rain Tree is written for
three percussionists: two marimba players (to which I will refer as Marimba-A and
Marimba-B) who also play three crotales (antique cymbals) each, and a vibraphone
player (Vibraphone-C) who also plays ten crotales. In the performance note, Takemitsu
also includes detailed instructions to the players regarding mallet selection and motor
on/off for the vibraphone. He also instructs that the two marimba players be placed on
either side of the stage, with the vibraphone player at the center of the stage. Lighting
instructions (turning the spotlights on and off) are indicated throughout the piece for each
performer. As opposed to the typical conception of Western music, in which each
performer in the small ensemble contributes a part to the overall sound construction, the
performers in Rain Tree display more independence, and this individuality is accentuated
by the lighting effects and by the stage setting. This individuality of instrumental usage is
a different concept from the individualism as in the subject of the actions. Although
each instrumental sound exhibits some degree of individualism, it does not necessarily
exhibit the individuality of an action. Takemitsus decision to grant more individuality to
the sounds produced by each performer is rooted in the relative independence of
instrumental sounds in the Japanese music tradition. For this reason, the spatial
arrangement of the instruments was of great importance to Takemitsu. Figure 1 shows the
narrative chart of Rain Tree.
147
Figure 1. Narrative chart of Rain Tree
Section I
(mm. 129)
generative pitch
materials, or
focal pitches
{Bb, Ab, B, C}
transition
(mm. 2438)
Bb Ab
metric
inter-subjectivity
Section II
(mm. 3061)
{Ab, D}
non-metric
non-subjectivity
transition
(mm. 6062)
{F#, G#(Ab),
A}
non-metric
metric
inter-subjectivity
also nonsubjectivity
subjectivity
subjectivity
(intersubjectivity)
non-subjectivity
subjectivity
(intersubjectivity)
inter-subjectivity
Section III,
part 1 (mm.
6279)
Section III,
part 2 (mm.
80104)
Section III,
part 3 (mm.
105-113)
mm. 114
255
Final section
(mm.
256282)
30
{F#, Ab, A}
ascending 3note motion
metric or
non-metric
remarks to
subjectivity
other remarks
metric
non-subjectivity
increase and
decrease of energy
is felt
shifting of the
sonority from the
foreground to the
background
increase and
decrease of tritones
density
part of vibraphone
sound becomes the
subject
metric
metric
non-metric
but pulsed
non-metric
but pulsed
persona loses
self when
vibraphone starts
returns to {Bb, Ab}
in the end
multiple events
exhibit the same
action
r e c a l l s30
chromatic set,
octatonic subset
{1, 2, 5, 7, 8,
11} and {1, 4,
5, 7, 8, 11}
non-metric
but pulsed
Later I will discuss further the recalls in mm. 114 255.
subjectivity
(intersubjectivity)
agents unifies to
become a
collective
148
4.2.1 Section I (mm. 129)31

Section I contains only four different pitches (Bb6, Ab6, B6, C7) from crotales in
the high register, and it is homogeneous in timbre with a reverberant effect. There is no
action in this section; there are no motives or themes that can be personified by any
kind of behavior, except for a sense of an overall increase and decrease of energy. The
non-action of the imaginary agent denotes non-subjectivity, which then in turn
decreases and becomes less significant at the beginning of Section II. The sonority of the
crotales in Section I anticipates the musical meaning of Section II, by which the nonsubjectivity of the agent in Section I becomes obvious. The focus of Section I shifts from
Bb6 to Ab6. And Ab6 has a more active role in Section I than the other two pitches by
virtue of the fact that it contributes more to a sense of change. I explain the function of
Ab6 below. Pitch Ab6 becomes the opening pitch of Section II, resulting in a smooth
continuation between the two sections.
31
It is curious that Takemitsu uses both dotted barlines and solid barlines in the sections with no time
signature. In these sections, measure numbers indicate measures with both solid and dotted barlines. In the
sections where a time signature is indicated, I indicate only the measures with solid barlines in the measure
numbers.
149
Example 1. Section I (mm. 1-29)
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150
Example 1 shows the first section of Rain Tree. Although Takemitsu does not
provide a time signature, the piece begins with a metrical section that can be perceived
because of the regularity of pulse. The regularity pf pulse is initially indicated by the
repetition of the first pitch, Bb6, which is repeated four times by Marimba-A (crotales) for
exactly the same duration each time. The filled-in notehead of pitch Bb6 does not have a
stem to indicate its duration. The tempo of this section is indicated in the score by a
metronome marking of 30 or 2 seconds per measure. The four articulations of the same
duration of a pitch establish a perceivably measured pulse. The four pulses in the
beginning produce the sense of a metrical ongoing continuity of beat.
The four-pulse duration becomes a pattern when the light is turned off at the fifth
pulse; here pitch Ab6 is heard simultaneously with pitch Bb6. For the next four measures,
in addition to pitches Bb6 and Ab6, B6 and C7 are presented as pitch material. Takemitsu
indicates this four-bar duration with a solid barline in the score. At m. 9, when the stage
light is turned on again and the sound is reduced to one player, the listener again
perceives the grouping of a four-bar measure. Since the cyclic repetition has established
the pulse firmly, the listener easily perceives the second Bb6 in m. 9 as an anacrusis to the
downbeat of m. 10. From m. 9 to m. 16, the downbeat cycle of Bb-Ab-C-B repeats twice.
Starting in m. 17, there are three more recurrences of this four-bar measure.
From m. 17 to m. 24, the duration of the notes decreases every two measures. The
note value changes to 1/5 of the measure, then to 1/7 of the measure, then to 1/9 of the
measure, and finally to 1/10 of the measure. At the same time, the number of notes heard
151
on the downbeats increases to two, three, and four, coinciding with the decrease of each
note value. At m. 17, the ordering of the four-pitch cycle changes to Bb-C-B-Ab, now
compressed to two measures of the four-pitch cycle of Bb-Ab-C-B, which occurred as

downbeats of the four-bar meter. The following features in this part contribute to the
perception of the musical motion increasing in energy: 1) the four notes are compressed
to half of the time that originally occupied; 2) the duration of the sounding notes
decreases every two measures; and 3) the number of notes increases every two measures.
However, in m. 25 the note value increases to 1/7 of the measure, and the number of
notes decreases, thus creating a release of tension. From m. 17 to m. 28, the music creates
the perception of forward motion; the building of energy causes tension to increase,
subsequently the tension is released once the motion returns to its original static state.
The pitch Ab assumes a particularly active role in Section I. Ab6 appears first in m.
5 as the first downbeat of the four-pulse duration sounding simultaneously with Bb6,
contributing to a sense of change. In m. 17, Ab appears as an anacrusis to Bb, initiating the

more animated rhythmic activity. The pitch Ab contributes to a sense of change again
when the downbeat pitches are altered from Bb6 and B6 in mm. 17-22 to Bb6 and Ab6 at
mm. 23-26. When the section ends with the single pitch Ab6 sustained for a two-beat
duration, the pitch focus shifts from Bb6 to Ab6. At the same time, the active role of
providing the feeling of an ongoing pulse shifts to Ab6.
The four pitches of the crotales in Section I are homogeneous in timbre, and
except for the perception of an overall increase and decrease of energy, they lack any
152
sense of development. The sonority of the crotales becomes a less significant entity in
Section II. The transition from the end of Section I to the beginning of Section II reveals
the non-action of the imaginary agent denoting non-subjectivity.
4.2.2 Transition from Section I to Section II (mm. 2438)

Example 2 shows the last six measures of Section I through the first eight
measures of Section II. The place where the second section begins is marked by a timbral
change when the pitch Ab is repeated twice by Vibraphone-C instead of the crotale, in the
two lower octaves, Ab5 and Ab4. Retrospectively, pitch Ab6 in m. 24 in Section I has
become the downbeat of the two-pulse grouping. The sense of a steady pulse with Ab as
the downbeat continues until m. 32, the second measure in Section II, and it then resumes
in m. 35. While perceiving the pitch Ab switching from the sonority of the crotale to that
of the vibraphone, Section I with its homogeneity of timbre is felt to have become an
introduction to Section II. The sonority of the crotales in Section I anticipates the musical
meaning of Section II, in which Marimba-A and Marimba-B are instructed to improvise
with crotales softly and irregularly like a rain droplet from the leaves. In addition to the
pitch materials that were used in Section I, two new pitches, F#6 and A5, appear in
Section II. This addition of pitches recalls when three new pitches were added to the
single pitch Bb in mm. 5-8. In the transition from Section I to Section II, the listener can
perceive the shifting of the crotales sonority from sounding in the foreground to
153
Example 2. Transition from Section I to Section II (mm. 2438 highlighted)
Takemitsu RAIN TREE

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154
sounding in the background, now with added notes and free rhythm.32 The perception of
the sound of the crotales as a background sonority is reinforced by the lighting instruction
to play in the dark. At this point, the non-subjectivity of the persona of the crotales in
Section I becomes evident. After it has been reduced to a mere background sound, the
sonority of the crotales has little correlation with the sound of the vibraphone. Since the
ending of Section I and the beginning of Section II occupy the same temporal space, the
identity of the transition is inter-subjective.
4.2.3 Section II (mm. 3061)

Example 3 shows the entire second section. As discussed above, the beginning of Section
II serves as a transition by maintaining the same pitch-class on each downbeat, and by
continuing the same duration between pulses as in Section I. Then the sense of pulse
immediately dissolves, however, and the listener is not likely to perceive the notated
rhythm of four against five in the vibraphone part that starts at m. 38; the rhythm of four
against five is obscured by the many non-predictably placed eighth-note rests and accent
marks. Since the listener cannot perceive a recurring pulse throughout this section, I
consider this section to be non-metrical. With the increasing density of the tritone, this
section also projects a homogeneous sonority, in a fashion similar to that of Section I.
32
The terms foreground and background have established connotations in the theories of Heinrich
Schenker; however, here I use these terms in their literal meaning: foreground meaning the main sound the
listener perceives, and background meaning sounds that the listener perceives are present but are not the
main focus.
155
Example 3. Section II (mm. 3061)
156
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The increase and then subsequent decrease in the number of tritones (drawn from (A,
Eb), (B, F), (C, F#), and (C#, G)) in the fourth phrase and its unvarying timbre heighten
the listeners sense of unfulfilled expectancy. As in Section I, the non-action of the
agent (that is, there are no motives that suggest any behavior or emotion, and the overall
motion is static with little direction of motion) implies non-subjectivity; however, the
motive presented at the end of Section II becomes the acting agent in Section III. At the
157
end of Section II, the trichord (F#, G#, A) is repeated, which then generates the material
for the following section.
There are four vibraphone phrases in Section II, each flanked by a measure of
inactivity.33 I will label these phrases phrase-1 (mm. 30 to 34), phrase-2 (mm. 35 to 41),
phrase-3 (mm. 42 to 46), and phrase-4 (mm. 47 to 61). After one measure of inactivity at
the end of Section I (during which the reverberation of Ab6 crotale is still audible),
Vibraphone-C enters and continues the pulsation with the descending octaves of Ab5 in
m. 30 and Ab4 in m. 31 on the downbeat. However, the sense of periodicity quickly
becomes obscured in m. 32, when Ab4 is heard delayed as part of a grace note figure to
the note played at 2/334 of the measure. Immediately in m. 33, Ab4 is heard at 3/5 of the
measure, followed by one measure of inactivity. In the beginning of phrase-2, the sense
of periodicity resumes temporarily when pitch Ab4 recurs four times as a downbeat. Here,
the pitch content of m. 36 (Ab, C, B) is taken from Section I. By mimicking Section I with
the same pitch content and sense of pulse, the beginning of phrase-2 briefly recalls the
non-subjectivity of Section I. However in m. 38, when the vibraphone starts the intricate
rhythm of 4 against 5, the sense of periodicity immediately vanishes. The pitches marked
with accent signs that occur irregularly and the occasional irregular grace-notes both
33
When previous sounds reverberate, but no new sound is being produced, I prefer to use the term
inactivity rather than rest or silence, because sound is still present in these measures.
34
The fraction used here and at later parts of this chapter indicates when a certain pitch is played within the
measure. In m. 32, Takemitsu notates the pitches as part of a triple division of the measure. Similarly, he
notates in simultaneous 4 divisions against 5 divisions per measure in the remainder of Section II. The top
number indicates the ordinal number of the division of the measure when the pitch is produced, and the
bottom note indicates the number of the division of the measure. Thus, 2/3 of the measure indicates that the
pitch is produced in the second part of the measure which is divided in three parts.
158
contribute to undermining a sense of meter. In the third and fourth phrases, a sense of
pulse is not reestablished.
Example 4. Tritone relationships in Section II

phrase-1
32
m.
33
&
phrase-2
m.
38
&
phrase-3
42
m.
&
phrase-4
m.
&
47
b
#
48
b #
40
39
43
49
#
b #
44
45
b
#
50
51
52
53
I hear the vibraphone solo as a layer of linear pitch motion in at least three
different registers. In each phrase, the number of occurrences of the linear motion of the
tritones (A, E b), (B, F), (C, F#), and (C#, G) increases. Example 4 shows the simple
tritones (i.e., non-compound intervals) that occur in a relatively short time-span. In
phrase-1, pitch D5 follows the third and the fourth occurrences of Ab4 in the lowest
[Copyright]
159
stratum and repeats an ascending tritone motion. In phrase-2, following the four
repetitions of pitch Ab4 on the downbeat, I hear the stepwise linear motion of a wholetone scale starting on pitch F4 in m. 38. Wilkins also notices the stepwise whole-tone
scale in his analysis of Rain Tree when he observes that the structure of the second phrase
is remarkable since it represents the tension between two distinct octatonic collections
and a whole-tone referential structure (i.e., the use of pitch classes that intersect two
octatonic collections and a whole-tone collection).35 The descending stepwise whole-tone
motion starting on F4 in the lowest stratum in m. 38 continues to A3 (whole-notes
marked in Example 4) with intervening tritones. In m. 40, pitch A3 then ascends to Eb4,
forming a tritone. Pitch A3 is thus introduced and becomes significant as the lowestsounding pitch in all of Section II. The emphasis on this pitch foreshadows Section III,
since it is one of the main pitch-classes utilized in the main motive of Section III.
Phrase-3, starting in m. 42, has a more intricate web of tritones in every layer. As
shown in Ex. 4, we can hear tritones (G#5, D6) and (F5, B5) in the upper stratum, tritones
(C4 or C5, F#4 or F#5) in the middle stratum, and tritone (A3 or A4, Eb4) in the lower
stratum. Pitch A3, which was introduced at the end of a whole-tone descent in phrase-2,
is prominent as the lowest sound, and at the same time it is the beginning sound of the
second and third part of the phrase, which is articulated by the pedal instructions of the
vibraphone. The fourth part of the phrase begins with the simultaneous dyad (F#4, G#5)
sounding in m. 45. The beginning of the fourth part is also indicated by a pedal change.
35
(DMA diss., University of Oklahoma, 1999), 130.
160
The dyad (F#4, G#5), which is the first simultaneous dyad in Section II (except for in m.
32 and m. 33), is significant in the way that it anticipates the two pitches that open the
third section. The three pitches A, F#, and G# prepare for the following section; pitch A
is emphasized as the lowest sounding pitch, and dyad (F#4, G#5) is emphasized by its
being sounded simultaneously.
Phrase-4 is the longest in duration and continues to project an abundance of
tritones on (A, Eb), (C, F#), (G, C#), and (F, B). The texture starts to thin out four
measures into phrase-4. Between mm. 54 and 56, three consecutive pitches (F#4, G#6,
A4) are temporally isolated from the other sounds. This trichord becomes the generative
motive of the subsequent section, where it appears in exactly the same pitch order and
register. The trichord is repeated immediately in m. 57, there by emphasizing its
importance; but here its duration is shorter, and the order and registration of the pitches
differs. At the end of phrase-4, the vibraphone finishes with the simultaneous dyad (F#4,
G#5) (the same dyad that was heard in phrase-3), which becomes the opening two pitches
of the third section.
In all of Section II, Bb is the only pitch that does not occur in the vibraphone part.
You will recall that this pitch is emphasized in Section I by its placement on downbeats.
The pitch E, the other component of the (E, Bb) tritone, appears only once in m. 33, but it
is absent from the remainder of Section II. The complete avoidance of the pitch Bb and
the (E, Bb) tritone symbolizes the contrasting identity of Section II from that of Section I.
In one sense, Section II is similar to Section I in the way that the increase and decrease of
161
the density of tritones in the homogeneous texture resembles the increase and decrease of
the feeling of energy in Section I. However, the sections are dissimilar in that while the
non-subjectivity of the persona of the crotales in Section I becomes evident during the
transition to Section II, the persona in Section II then becomes the subject in Section III
in the form of a three-note motive.
4.2.4 Transition from Section II to Section III (mm. 6062)
Example 5. Transition from Section II to Section III (mm. 6062 highlighted)
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162
Example 5 shows the transition from Section II to Section III, which serves a
similar function to that between Sections I and II. The final dyad (F#4, G#5) of Section II
becomes the generating motive of Section III. After filling in the inactivity of the last
measure of Section II, the dyad is passed from the vibraphone to the marimba. The
beginning motive is anticipated in Section II in mm. 54-56. The lighting instruction (light
off) during the inactivity between sections enhances this transition. Similar to the first
transition, this transition also projects an inter-subjective identity, since both the ending
of the prior section and the beginning of the section that follows are transitional.
However, unlike the transition between Sections I and II, the imaginary agent does not
turn into a background sonority; instead, the non-subjectivity of the persona in Section II
is transformed into a strong agent in the form of the marimba sonority in Section III. In
this sense, the non-subjectivity of the agent becomes subjective.
4.2.5 Section III (mm. 62113)

Section III of Rain Tree, shown in Example 6, can be divided into three parts:
mm. 62-79, mm. 80-104, and mm. 105-113. A three-note motive (motive-A), F#4-Ab5-
An4, played by Marimba-A, begins the first part of Section III. New pitches are gradually
added to this motive as it expands registrally and its rhythm becomes more complex.
Here, for the first time, the listener finally is given a definite motive. Motive-A, which
was anticipated in Section II, is strong and resolute with a clear duple pulse, while subtly
creating a rubato effect. (I discuss below how Takemitsus notation creates the rubato
163
effect within a strict time signature.) When Vibraphone-C enters in m. 80, signaling the
beginning of the second part, the solid and steadfast protagonist of motive-A suddenly
loses a definite sense of individuality. This is similar to what happened when the sound of
the crotale lost its identity and retreated into the background at the beginning of Section
II. Here, the protagonist of motive-A loses its self (i.e., exhibiting non-subjectivity),
becoming something of less substance. The second part of Section III starts with the entry
of Vibraphone-C in m. 80. Vibraphone-Cs ascending three-note motive (motive-B), EbF-A, expresses a new, powerful, and also resolute protagonist that projects an image of
reaching out to a higher place. In this way, both part one and part two of Section III
exhibit subjectivity. The protagonists expressed by motives A and B are somewhat
Example 6. Section III (mm. 62113)
164
165
166
Takemitsu RAIN TREE

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167
similar; both have a strong, steady, and resolute sense of moving forward. By definition,
then, these two parts exhibit inter-subjectivity, since the same behavior is expressed by
multiple musical events. However, gradually the protagonist of motive-B becomes less
resolute, as is signified by the loss of the sense of a metrical grouping. The third part of
Section III starts with a new descending motion in Vibraphone-C. This third part exhibits
inter-subjectivity, since musical events in both marimba parts and the vibraphone part
express the gestures of reaching up and returning to the origin towards the end of
Section III.
In the first twelve measures of Section III, motive-A gradually adds new notes
while keeping F#4 as a downbeat pitch. The lighting effect alternates between the two
marimba players. In these twelve measures, Takemitsu draws the pitch materials from
octatonic collection II {0, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 11}. In m. 73, Eb3, the lower pitch of the final
dyad, completes this octatonic collection. Beginning in m. 74, as if to announce the
completion of the octatonic collection, both marimbas play motive-A with the light
turned on for six measures: first the motive occurs with added notes in mm. 74 and 75,
then with the lower octave in mm. 76 and 77, and finally in Marimba-B with Marimba-A
filling in with 16th-notes in mm. 78 and 79. The sound of motive-A in these six measures
is particularly strong and resolute, and its dense texture suggests that the persona is
gaining more confidence. Thereafter, Takemitsu employs new pitches that are outside of
octatonic collection II. As detailed by Wilkins, Takemitsu derives the pitch materials
from other octatonic collections, whole-tone collections, and other of Messiaens modes
168
of limited transposition, notably Modes 3 [01245689T]and 6 [0124678T].36 At this point,

Vibraphone-C enters powerfully, shaking the confidence of the persona of motive-A and
causing the sound of the marimbas to lose its identity.
[Title]
[Composer]
Example 7a and b. Renotation of m. 62
[Title]
a.
62
&6285 (3+2)
& 85 (3+2)
(5+5)
& 10
16
(5+5)
& 10
16
b.
62
&6285
& 85
&
&
b.
r
. R b
r # . b R
R
# .
# . 3
3 K
x 3 xK 4 4 xK
3
r
#r .
xK
xK
[Composer]
xK
b
K
R r r r . r r rK. r . r
. . .
b b . ..
b
&
. as if it were in a different meter
b b is that it sounds
Part&of the character
# # ofb motive-A
80
80
than the one in which it is notated. The notated time signature 5(3+2)/8 places the third
..
. .
the secondJ half

pitch, A4, on
J of JtheJthird beat; Rand thus
J sound like an off-beat.&
R J A4 should
3
3
x 4 x4 x
x
x
x
3 3
36
(DMA diss., University of Oklahoma, 1999), 144-165.
&
169
However, as a listener, I hear this pitch falling on the beat. I perceive this measure as
containing two beats, each of which is divided into 16th-note quintuplets, an unequal
division of 3+2 within each beat (see Example 7a for re-notation). However, there is only
one 16th-note between each of the beats in the measure. While listening to this three-note
figure repeated four times, I was able to establish the F#4 and A4 as falling on the beat.
At the same time, I hear the beat divided into three, with the feeling that the sounding of
the A4 on the second beat is slightly delayed. In Example 7b, I have rewritten the
attacked notes as sustained notes in an attempt to illustrate this perception. As one can see
from the example, while F#4 has a duration of two dotted 16th-notes, the duration of Ab5
is one dotted 16th-note with an additional 32nd-note duration. The added duration of one
32nd-note to the third of the three divisions of the beat creates the feeling that the arrival
of the next downbeat is slightly delayed, thereby creating the sense of a ritardando (or
rubato) just before the A4 on the second beat. I believe that Takemitsu intended this
effect, for the complex interplay between the two marimbas, which must be synchronized
perfectly, prevents the composer from indicating a motivic ritardando or rubato. Most
likely, the reason that Takemitsu wrote this section in 5(3+2)/8 instead of 10(5+5)/16 is
that he wanted to create a sense of metrical ambiguity; he did not want the performer to
play the A4 as an accented note. Because the Ab5 is accented and also in a higher register
than the other two pitches, it can give the illusion of falling on a downbeat on first
hearing. But after hearing this motive four times, the listener likely acquires the feeling of
duple meter (or compound duple meter). However, at the fifth measure of section III
(5+5)
& 10
16
170
(m.66) the perception

62 of the beat being divided into three
b with rubato on the second note
& 85
ceases, while the perception
of# the duple meter persists. From this measure on, the
listener hears an equal division of five 16th-notes to the bbeat.
.
r
# .
&
xK Example 8. m. 80
&
80
r
# .
3 K
x
b
#
bb
.
J
.
J
R
4
xK
b
R
.
.
.
J
3
r r r Kr
. . .
Vibraphone-C joins the ensemble at m. 80 and initiates the second part of Section
III. The entry of the vibraphone is prepared by the light gradually fading in on the
[Copyright]
performer. The exceptionally powerful arrival of the vibraphone sonority immediately

forces the sonority of the marimbas into the background (into a state of non-subjectivity).
At this point, the persona is felt to be residing in the sound of the vibraphone. It is an
effect similar to that which took place in the transition from Section I to II, when the
sonority of the crotales retreated from a foreground to a background sonority.
Vibraphone-C plays mostly chords that consist of two, three, or four different pitches. In
the following discussion, I identify the vibraphones chords by referring to the highest
pitch in the chord. In m. 80, a sense of duple meter already has been well established,
&
171
Example 9. T 5 I and T 8 I form of motive-A (highlighted)
Takemitsu RAIN TREE

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although after Vibraphone-C joins with motive-B, the perception of this meter gradually
becomes obscured. Even though there is no sound on the second beat of the measure, the
feeling of a duple meter still persists. However, during the three repetitions of the
vibraphone motive in mm. 80-82, the sense of duple meter starts to dissolve, and I start to
perceive instead that the beginning of each chord is now the downbeat in a triple meter.
172
At the same time, the arrival of chord A5 starts to sound a little too late, since the
previous chord (F5) is held slightly too long, again creating a feeling of rubato; example
8 shows that F5, compared to chords Eb5 and A5, is one 16th-note longer in duration.
Another feature that contributes to the perception of rubato is that the marimba parts in
the background no longer clearly project a duple meter. In mm. 79-83, marimbas-A and
B continuously play motive-A and its T5I and T8I transformations; however, the motive
played by Marimba-B arrives one 16th-note earlier than that played by Marimba-A
(Example 9). The combination of the two marimba parts makes it difficult to identify the
downbeats, and thus the listener no longer perceives the duple meter. The result is a
string of 16th-notes in the two marimba parts with rests occurring unpredictably. In
Vibraphone-C, the triple meter with rubato on the second beat (or a duration of 3+4+3 in
16th-notes) continues for seven measures. The pattern breaks in m. 87 when the listener
perceives that the first beat is held for too long. In mm. 87-95, the listener perceives only
the first beat of each measure. In m. 96, this too becomes elusive, since the periodicity of
the downbeat is lost. The groupings of the pulse become obscured, and there is no longer
a sense of a steady meter. From m. 96 to m. 104, the listener hears a succession of notes
that are mostly three 16th-notes in duration with occasional notes that are two or four
16th-notes in duration. The attack points seem always too early or too late, causing the
listener to perceive a pulse that expands and contracts. Thus, the perceived meter of
Vibraphone-C from its entrance in m.80 changes gradually from duple, then to triple, and
then to the perception of no metric grouping. Simultaneously, the resoluteness of the
173
persona gradually diminishes. The ceaseless ringing of the vibraphone after its entrance
finally comes to a stopping point at m.104, with an ascending gesture that is related to the
similar gestures of the two marimbas. From mm. 80-105, the acting agent establishes
itself in the vibraphone part with a melodic contour that reaches upwards. There is a
feeling of steadfastness denoted by a steady downbeat. The motion of climbing upward is
synchronized with the change of perception of meter from duple to triple. However, when
the melodic contour reaches its high point in m. 86, all sense of meter dissolves, while the
sense of moving forward continues without interruption. The vibraphone conducts a final
attempt to reach higher ground before the onset of inactivity in m. 105. The figure that
signals this attempt is initiated by the two marimbas starting in m. 96 that continue to
project this figure until m. 108.
The third part of Section III begins in m. 105 when the timbre of the vibraphone is
altered by turning on the motor. The descending gesture of this new motion in m. 105 is
complimented by a softer dynamic marking. I imagine that it portrays the aspirations of
the persona to connect the two planes: the higher plane it has just reached and the lower
plane from which it started. The third part exhibits a steady beat of eighth-note pulses that
lack metrical grouping. At m.110, the sense of meter briefly returns; I perceive this figure
in the meter of 6/8. The last pitch (E5) in m.109 is perceived as an anacrusis to the D5 on
the downbeat of m. 110. The same figure repeats five times as the two marimbas fill it in
with 16th notes. The 6/8 meter becomes obscured with the repetitions of Ab and Bb in the
last measure of Section III. The visual effect of the light gradually fading out signifies the
174
approaching end of the section. Pitches Ab and Bb are the focal pitches in Sections I and
II. There is a sense of returning to the origin, since Bb and Ab are the original two pitches
in Section I, in which the focal pitch shifts from Bb to Ab. Curiously, Bb is the only pitch
that does not appear in the vibraphone part in Section II. (It does appear, however, as one
of the background crotale pitches.) In the last eight measures of Section III, the number
of pitch-classes appearing in the two marimba parts is gradually reduced, until in m. 111
only the original four pitches in section I (Bb, Ab, C, and B) remain; and by m. 112 only
the first two pitches of Section I and II (Bb and Ab) remain.
Section III represents a musical passage in which the performers and the listeners
likely perceive meter differently. The performers must count strictly in 5/8 in order to
synchronize their 16th notes and to keep the ensemble together. To the listener, however,
the perception of the meter changes from duple, to triple, and then to a perpetual string of
pulses without any sense of grouping. Because the periodicity of the pulse is not
durationally strict, the listener must constantly adjust the pulses arrival point. Despite the
resoluteness of the action in Section III, the elusiveness of meter evokes the sense of
irregularity portrayed in nature, which Takemitsu intended to express in his music.
When the two different motives (A and B) exhibit the same characteristics of
behavior in Section III, it displays both subjectivity and inter-subjectivity. In the
transition from part 1 to part 2, the individuality of the acting agent shifts from one of a
strong sense of self to one of non-subjectivity, when its resoluteness becomes forced
into the background by the resoluteness of a new motive. In part 2, the resoluteness of the
175
individual gradually diminishes as metrical perception dissolves. Finally, the third part of
Section III unites it with the beginning of Rain Tree through a return to the two
generating pitches of Bb and Ab.
4.2.6 Section IV Recalls (mm. 114255)

The music between the end of Section III and the beginning of the final section of
Rain Tree features recalls of material from the first three sections. The term recall
means that prominent musical features allude to those of earlier motives, figures, or
gestures. Recalls differ from repetitions or variations in that the musical features or
gestures that they allude to are not always apparent. Measures 114-255 can be divided
into parts (shorter than what we normally perceive as sections), and some of the
boundaries of these parts are more distinct than others. The musical ideas, both new and
recalled, are more fragmented, and the sonorities of the three instruments maintain
approximately the same acoustical strength. Also, the ideas previously presented are
recalled by all of the instruments. Although lengthy, the section between mm. 114 and
255 serves as a reminiscence of earlier events, while preparing for the new material in the
final section of Rain Tree. The following is a detailed description of the recalls:
mm. 114 120
The exact intervals between the first four pitches in the highest
line played by Vibraphone-C (E5-F#-G-Bb) recall the intervals
of the four-pitch cycle (Bb-C-B-Ab) in mm. 17 18 in Section I.
The series of intervals are 2 semitones-1 semitone-3 semitones,
although the direction of 1 semitone differs between the two
tetrachords. At the same time, the trichord (E5-F#-Bb) is a literal
transposition by one semitone of motive-B in m. 80 in Section
III. The texture of this part also recalls motive-B.
176
mm. 121 124
The ascending vibraphone figure recalls Marimba-A and Bs

ascending figure starting in m. 96 in Section III. Emphasis on
Bb and Ab can be seen throughout this part. Bb and Ab are the
prominent pitches in Sections I and II. At the end of m. 124, the
pitch materials are reduced to {Bb, C, Ab}, three of the four
pitches of the four-pitch cycle in Section I.
mm. 125
The boundary between the previous part and this part is not
clear since the tremolo figure in the two marimbas starts in m.
124 and continues into m. 125. The first pitch B, in VibraphoneC, completes the four-pitch cycle of Section I, which also
continues from the previous section. A tremolo played by two
marimbas is used for the first time, which anticipates the texture
of the two marimbas in the final section. The material heard in
Vibraphone-C recalls the omission of pitch Bb of Section II, and
also the completion of the octatonic collection II recalls the
completion of the same octatonic collection in m. 73 in Section
III.
mm. 126 127
The four pitches in the upper lines in both Marimba-A and B

recall the first four-pitch tremolo figure in m. 124. All
tetrachords belong to the same set-class 4-19 [0148].
mm. 128 131
Measures 126 127 are transposed by 10 semitones. The

trichord in m. 131, played by all three instruments, recalls
motive-A {F#, Ab, A}.
mm. 132 135
37
Recalls motive-A.
mm. 136 139
Exact repetition of mm. 126 129.
mm. 140
24637
The focus shifts to the pitch B. This part, with fragmented

musical ideas, recalls the pulsed but non-metric music of
Section III. There are numerous references to the octatonic
collection, as a complete collection, as subsets of the octatonic
collection, or as a pitch collection that is a complement to a
subset of the octatonic collection. There also are numerous
repetitions and recurrences of musical events within this part.
mm. 247 252
The descending, slow moving four-pitch set complements the

generally ascending figure of the previous musical events. It
signals the end of the previous pulsed but non-metric segment.
mm. 253 255
The material heard in the solo vibraphone confirms the

dissolution of a clear pulse. The first four pitches (B-C#-C-Eb)
recall the four-pitch cycle of Section I (Bb-C-B-Ab) as an I11
transformation. The musical figure of m. 254 recalls that of m.
125.
The measure number is inclusive of the repeated measures starting from m. 170.
177
4.2.7 Final Section V (mm. 256282)

The musical materials of the final section (shown in Example 10) consist of new
ideas, which are not derived from the materials of the previous sections. Until the final
three measures of the piece, the two marimbas exhibit non-subjectivity, since the
sustained sonority has no motion and functions as a background sonority for the
vibraphone. However, the pitch structure of the marimba parts has an important role in
the unification of the final section. The two marimba parts use the pitch class set {1, 2, 5,
7, 8, 11}, which is a member of set-class 6-30 [013679], one of the hexachordal subsets
of the octatonic collection. Throughout this section, the vertical sonorities of the
marimbas feature some form of set-class 3-8 [026] accompanied by an additional pitch
(except for the first sonority). Until the final triad, the marimba sonority exhibits a wholetone structure, since set-class 3-8 is the only trichordal octatonic subset that is also a
subset of the whole-tone collection. The first vertical sonority of the two marimbas
represents the set-class 3-8 [026] formed by pcs {1, 5, 11}. The sonority changes in mm.
Example 10. Final Section V (mm. 256282 highlighted)
178
Takemitsu RAIN TREE

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179
266 268, to a 3-8 formed by pcs {1, 5, 11} + {2}; the second sonority change occurs in
mm. 269 276 to a 3-8 formed by pcs {1, 5, 11} + {8}; the third sonority change occurs
in mm. 277 279 to 3-8 formed by pcs {1, 7, 11} + {2}. The piece ends with a major
triad of pcs {1, 5, 8} (Db major triad).
In contrast to the identity of the two marimba parts, that of Vibraphone-C displays
subjectivity. The diatonic structure of the melody line in Vibraphone-C anticipates the
diatonicism of the major triad that occurs in the two marimba parts in the final three
measures of the piece, where the subjectivity is transferred from the vibraphone to the
marimbas for the final major triad. The pitch material of Vibraphone-C derives mainly
from chromatic pitch-class sets; however, the melodic line nonetheless has a somewhat
diatonic character. The first set of musical figures in mm. 258-261 uses the chromatic
octachord {3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10}. Here, the melodic line intimates a melodic fragment in
g-minor (F#-G-Bb-A). The musical figure in mm. 263-265 uses a chromatic hexachord
plus one pitch, pcs {8, 9, 10, 11, 0, 1} with {5}. The melodic line of this figure does not
suggest any particular tonal center, but has perfect 4ths at the beginning and at the end of
the five-note melodic line, surrounding a three-note chromatically ascending line.
The sonority of the three instruments becomes unified at the end of the piece by
means of pitches deriving from the same octatonic collection. The notes in the final
musical figure in Vibraphone-C in mm. 272-277 derive from hexachord {1, 4, 5, 7, 8,
11}, which belongs to set-class 6-Z49, an octatonic subset. The descending melody line is
a union of two members of set-class 3-5 [016]. Like the melodic line in mm. 263-265, it
180
also has perfect 4ths at the beginning and at the end of the line, thus still exhibiting a
sense of diatonicism. Both this hexachord and the hexachord in the marimbas {1, 2, 5, 7,
8, 11} are subsets of octatonic collection I, {1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10, 11}. The shifting agents
in the first three sections are finally unified into a whole and become a collective. As
Takemitsu envisioned, human ideals have materialized as the metaphor of the tree, which
is signified by the final major triad. Of all the pitches from the octatonic collection that
generate the two hexachords in the final section, pitch class 10 is the only one that does
not appear. You will recall that pitch-class 10 (Bb) is the opening pitch of the piece. The
avoidance of this pitch symbolizes the evolving story of the piece. It signifies that the
piece has come far from its origin and has finally reached its inner collective peace.
4.3 Conclusion
As any listener would likely observe, Rain Tree is a highly sectionalized piece.
The sections are demarcated by changes in timbre, texture, instrumentation, and an
intermittent sense of meter. Initially these sections do not appear to be related to one
another, but after a detailed analysis I have revealed not only how the sections are closely
related, but also how the musical events in each section contribute to the formal meaning
of Rain Tree as it unfolds in time.
By incorporating the notions of subjectivity, non-subjectivity, and intersubjectivity, I have suggested in my reading of Rain Tree that musical events evoke the
meaning of how they function to build form, a form that uniquely accommodate Japanese
181
aesthetics. Especially in the first three and final sections, in which the sectional
boundaries are more obvious and the musical materials more homogeneous, new musical
materials are constantly updating the interpretations of past musical events. In the first
three sections, the music projects the notion of inter-subjectivity, strongly paralleling
Japanese aesthetics. The endings of Section I and II, and the beginnings of Section II and
III, serve as transitions as well; thus the same musical parts possess multiple meanings.
At the same time, events at the ending of a section anticipate events at the beginning of
the following section, and in this sense adjacent sections are strongly related.
As Rain Tree unfolds in time, the listener gradually becomes aware that the first
two sections are introductions to their subsequent sections. It is not until Section III that
the musical attributes project a characteristic mode of human behavior in this case a
resolute strong-mindedness and thus exhibit subjectivity in music. A transfer of the
subject, or the protagonist, occurs twice in Section III; the first time, the individuality
resides in the sonority of the two marimbas, but then is transferred to the sonority of the
vibraphone when it projects a new motive. At the same time, by expressing similar
behavior, the two motives project inter-subjectivity as well. The third part of Section III
also exhibits inter-subjectivity, since all three instruments individually express the
gestures of both reaching up and returning to the origin towards the end of Section
III. In this regard, Section III embodies the primary focus of Rain Tree, while Section II
prepares for Section III, and Section I prepares for Section II. It is as if in Section III, the
complete picture of the rain tree appears in front of the audience for the first time. In my
182
opinion, this mimics the structure of Oes novel, in which the truth is not revealed until
the last part of the story.38
Following the section of recalls and repetitions, the final section contrasts with all
of the preceding music. (Only the tremolo texture of the two marimbas is anticipated in
the recall section.) This contrast is implied by the absence of the pitch Bb, which is the
focal pitch in Section I, as well as at the end of Section III. The musical attributes of the
final section, such as diatonicism, a sustained texture, and a slow tempo, relate to the
sense of peacefulness and tranquility. First, the musical figure in Vibraphone-C, and then
the major triad express these states of mind; thus, the final section exhibits intersubjectivity.
The formal plan of Rain Tree reflects the metaphoric meanings of the tree as
human ideals when subjectivity and inter-subjectivity are projected in Section III and in
the final Section V. These two sections express two contrasting ideals of human behavior
or of a state of mind. The other parts of Rain Tree constantly update their roles as the
music unfolds. As explained at the beginning of this chapter, Rain Tree is one of
Takemitsus compositions that are inspired by the transformational nature of water. By
analogy to the changing states of water in nature, the meanings of the musical events are
transformed as we listen. In my analysis of Rain Tree, the terms motive and section
are not used in the sense that they are things that fill a preconceived form.39 Instead,
38
While I omit a detailed discussion of the novels structure, one of its most relevant features is that in the
novel the reader is only gradually informed about the location, the situation, and the people involved.
39
See Chapter I for discussion of thing-oriented form and form-building process.
183
they are musical events that are isolated by musical attributes, whose meanings and roles
alter as the music progresses. This process of form-building in Rain Tree proves to be
linear and continuous, and also reflects Japanese aesthetics by adapting the concept of
inter-subjectivity to the interpretation of the expressive meaning of the work.
CHAPTER V
GAZING AT TIME: NOHKAN MUSIC FOR KUROSAWAS RAN
In the previous chapters, I have discussed Toru Takemitsus music in terms of the
listeners perception of Western linear time and the form of the music that embraces
concepts seen in the Eastern cultures. In the final chapter, I discuss how the concept of
cyclic time influences a film for which Takemitsu composed the soundtrack. Using Akira
Kurosawas film Ran,1 I will show how, through the soundtrack for Ran, Takemitsu
adapted Eastern aesthetics to accommodate Shakespeares King Lear through the use of
traditional Japanese flute music.
As I have discussed in Chapter II, the concept of time is considered as a cultural
object. In the heritage of the Judeo-Christian West, time is regarded as linear, marching
steadily from the past to the future. Western thought accentuates linearity, a feature
suggested by the value placed on ideas that explain cause and effect, progress, and the
achievement of specific goals. Jonathan Kramer argues that proponents of technologies,
theologies, and philosophies have sought to improve human life; capitalism has sought to
provide a framework for material betterment, at least for the few; science was for a long
Music for films comprises a large portion of Toru Takemitsus oeuvre. Since he first composed the sound
track for the movie Kurutta Kajitsu (The mad fruit), directed by Kou Nakadaira in 1956, he was
continuously involved until his death in 1996 in composing music for film. Until his last involvement in
1995, with Sharaku, directed by Masahiro Shinoda, the total number of scores he composed approaches
one hundred, not counting scores for a number of TV programs. This number eloquently speaks to the
composers passion and attachment to film. He received twelve Mainichi Motion Picture Awards and two
Japan Academy Awards for best film music. His music for Ran received the Los Angeles Film Critics
Award. According to his many writings about film, Takemitsu in fact was a movie fanatic who often
watched as many as three hundred films a year.
1
184
185
time dominated by the temporally linear theories of Newton and Darwin; even Western
languages are pervaded by words that refer to goals, purposes, and teleology.2 He
continues with a detailed discussion of the tonal system in music as the quintessential
expression that embodies the concept of linearity in time.3
However, for many outside the Western European tradition, time is conceived
more as a cycle or circle that turns on a daily, yearly, and even cosmic scale. The Hindu
and Buddhist concepts of reincarnation are perhaps the most familiar example, but the
Hopi in the American Southwest and the Inuit in the Arctic also view the world as a
series of repeating cycles that do not begin or end, but merely repeat. Traditionally, the
Chinese and Japanese cultures have shared similar views of time, and thus it is hardly
surprising from Takemitsus writings we learn that he views time as circular and
continuity as a constantly changing state, as opposed to time as linear, and continuity as a
steady and unchanging state.4
In order to address the topic of time as an unending cyclic entity, I explore and
interpret how Takemitsu uses the music of the traditional Japanese solo flute to evoke the
Japanese art tradition of Noh Theater. In my discussion, I analyze both the film and the
music by considering the following subjects: Shakespeares King Lear as an intertextual
model for Ran; Buddhist doctrine as an important framework for the historical and
3
Kramer explains that the musics tonality coincides with the height of linear thinking in Western culture.
Tonality is comprised of a set of complex hierarchical relationships between tones, which conspire toward
the ultimate goal: the return of the tonic.
4
2
186
philosophical context of the film; and the dramatic significance of the allusions to the
Japanese Noh Theater. At the outset, I will need to examine the music, form, and
aesthetics of Noh Theater, because it turns out that there is an intrinsic connection
between the concept of Noh Theater, Buddhist philosophy and the film Ran. I will also
explore how Ran represents a distorted adaptation of King Lear and how the music that
alludes to traditional Eastern aesthetics informs and interprets that distortion.
It is now well known that Shakespeares tragedy King Lear provides the narrative
of Kurosawas (Ran). The title Ran has been translated as chaos or revolt, but
Ran also conveys connotations of upheaval, discord, turmoil, and anarchy. Kurosawa
exploits the obvious similarities between the two plots of King Lear and Ran in two
significant ways: (1) Through parallel characters King Lears three daughters are
transformed into the warlord Hidetoras three sons, and the fool in King Lear mimics
Kyoami, the fool in Ran; and (2) Through parallel plots just as in King Lear, the
warlords two older children betray their father and drive him into insanity, and after the
scene of reconciliation between the father and child, the child and then the father die.
However, there is one important character in Ran that has no precedent in King
Lear. I suspect that viewers who recognize the strong allusions to King Lear are puzzled
when they encounter in Ran the unfamiliar character of the blind hermit Tsurumaru.
While there is no such parallel character in King Lear, Edger, who disguises himself as a
mad man and whom the king encounters in the wilderness, is perhaps the only possible
parallel character to Tsurumaru in King Lear. However, there is one essential difference
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between these two characters: Tsurumarus hatred toward Hidetora comes from their past
relationship, while Edger, the son of Gloucester in the sub-plot of King Lear,
subsequently takes revenge for his fathers mistreatment. The reference to Tsurumarus
blindness might come as well from the fact that Gloucester is blinded in the course of
King Lear.
Viewers of Ran likely will remember most vividly the diegetic music of the
transverse flute played by Tsurumaru in the sequence when Hidetora encounters
Tsurumaru in the wilderness (Example 1 and Table 1). The numbers below the musical
examples refer to seconds. Table 1 provides the legend for all musical examples in this
chapter. Tsurumaru plays a crucial role in this film as a victim of Hidetoras past brutal
conduct. When Hidetora was expanding his property by demolishing his rivals,
massacring their men and other family members, Tsurumaru as a youth was blinded in
exchange for his life. When Hidetora has lost his sanity and has been wandering in the
heath with his fool Kyoami and his loyal retainer Tango, they find their way to
Tsurumarus dilapidated hut. Tsurumaru plays the flute as the sole entertainment for the
guests. By confronting Tsurumaru, Hidetora temporarily regains his sanity; but haunted
by the sound of the flute, he wanders back into the wilderness.
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Example 1: Diegetic flute music by Tsurumaru
Table 1. Legend for musical examples

unfilled notehead
filled notehead
8th-notes, 16th-notes and
32nd-notes
grace
notes
,
*
relatively sustained notes

relatively short notes
played quickly in rhythm; three different value
represents the relative quickness of notes.
played quickly towards the sustained note
brief pause
noisy, breathy attack
indicates microtonal pitch inflection
mordent-like pitch inflection
pitch inflection follows line direction, proportional
duration
When we listen to the sound of the flute, which Tsurumaru himself plays in this
sequence, we realize immediately that the sound does not have the same characteristics as
Western music. The pitches produced are not derived from the major or minor scales of
the Western tradition. Also, we perceive no regularly recurring pulses or the strong and
weak groupings of pulses needed to articulate meter. Often a pitch that is held longer is
preceded and prepared by a group of grace notes. The performer purposely includes
intense breath-like sounds of exhaling during these grace notes either at the beginning of
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a pitch that is held longer, or at the termination of the sound. Moreover, the intonation of
the notes is not stable; there is frequently a sense that tones are subjected to a subtle
microtonal vibrato. The transverse flute that viewers see Tsurumaru playing, in fact, is
the same flute that is used in the Japanese Noh Theater. Called nohkan in Japanese, this
flute is the only wind instrument used in the Noh Theater besides three drums. Thus,
during the scene of Tsurumaru playing the nohkan, Japanese viewers will immediately
recognize the films strong association to the Noh Theater, which in turn evokes a
significant aesthetic and philosophical context for the film. Here the sound of the flute
acts as the signifier of this association.
Noh is a classical stage art in Japan, which consists of literature, music, and dance
with mask, developed from a variety of sacred rituals and festival entertainments
established during the medieval period (circa 1300 1400 AD). The elements involved in
the performance of a Noh play are
vocal music
instrumental music
acting techniques
dance elements
fine arts, crafts
architecture
time
space
utai (a form of chant)

hayashi (an ensemble composed of a flute and
three drums)
kata (dance poses or actions)
mai (dances accompanied by utai and
hayashi)
masks, robes, and instruments
the Noh stage, and independent structure
the mode of production
the unified space of stage plus audience
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Donald Richie argues that the influence of Noh Theater is even more visible in Ran than
Kurosawas earlier films, such as The Throne of Blood or Kagemusha.5 In Ran, as in Noh
Theater, we see the massive bulk of ostentatiously gorgeous costumes, with the arm
movement of long-sleeves, and the silk kimonos sliding across the polished wooden floor.
The actors movements are Noh-like, which is stately, formal, and hieratic. Hidetoras
face becomes more like a mask toward his further states of insanity. According to James
Goodwin, Kurosawa instructed that the makeup on the actor of Hidetora should progress
through three phases, with each phase based on specific images in the repertory of Noh
masks.6 In the first phase, the makeup is lightest and most natural, suggesting the face of
a vigorous but aged leader. Later, banishment, anxiety and exhaustion deeply change
Hidetoras facial expression. For the final stage of terror and madness, Hidetoras face
has turned completely into an unnatural coloration of a mask. Goodwin also explains that
Hidetoras fool Kyoami recites lines from the Noh play Funa Benkei at the exact point
when Hidetora sees apparitions of his past victim:
The wonder of it!
I see on this withered plain
All those I destroyed.
A phantom army,
One by one they come floating,
Rising before me.7
Donald Richie, The Films of Akira Kurosawa (Berkeley: University of California Press), 217.
James Goodwin, Akira Kurosawa and Intertextual Cinema (Baltimore, Maryland: The Johns Hopkins
7
Ibid.
6
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This is the same image that Hidetora saw in his dream when he dozed off after the boar
hunt at the beginning of the film. It clearly foretells the fate of the warlord.
Moreover, there is the underlying aesthetic in Noh that provides harmony and
discord to the unified art. One of the most important aesthetic concepts in Noh Theater is
the concept of jo-ha-kyu (), which is derived from the preference for odd
numbers, a preference that is strongly cultivated in Japanese aesthetics. More
importantly, the concept of cyclic time is cited as a unique feature of Noh Theater. Before
exploring how the flute music in Ran signals the jo-ha-kyu of the film and how it
becomes the signifier of the philosophy that lies behind the film, I first need to
summarize in greater detail what features are essential to the aesthetics of Noh Theater.
In Japan, odd numbers are considered more felicitous than even numbers, and this
preference comes from centuries of tradition: a childs third, fifth, and seventh birthdays
are especially celebrated; classical poetry is composed in three or five units of five or
seven syllables; an odd number of flowers are used in a formal arrangements; and an odd
number of stones are used in traditional Japanese gardens. A preference for odd rather
than even numbers obviates strict symmetry and represents an intentional rejection of the
harmonious in favor of the discordant. In other words, it represents the consistent respect
for the asymmetric.
The most important aesthetic concept of asymmetry in Noh Theater might be the
concept of jo-ha-kyu. Jo means beginning or preparation, ha means breaking, and kyu
means rapid or urgent. The term originally came from Gagaku, an ancient court music
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imported to Japan from China. In Gagaku, jo-ha-kyu was used to indicate a three-part
piece played at a gradually increasing tempo: jo noisy non-beat, entrance of dancers,
opening part (introduction); ha fine overall beat, gentle dance, middle part
(development); kyu rapid beat, rapid dance, final part (conclusion). The Japanese seized
upon the tripartite structure with their preference for odd numbers. Hence, jo-ha-kyu was
adopted and transformed as an ordering principle for poetry, tea ceremonies, flower
arrangements, and eventually for Noh Theater.
It should not be assumed, however, that jo-ha-kyu is a straightforward simple
three-part form. All three components should be perceived on different hierarchical
levels. Within the jo section of the higher level, there is jo-ha-kyu of the lower level.
Thus, the concept of jo-ha-kyu governs from the smallest level of rhythmic units to the
broadest level of ordering of all the plays that make up a one-day program. Jo-ha-kyu
also controls the spatial design in which the plays take place. Each of the applications of
jo-ha-kyu is as follows:
1. Jo-ha-kyu in the compilation of a program. In arranging a program of Noh plays,
jo-ha-kyu is used as a principle of production. Jo program moves along smoothly, ha
program affects a variety of changes, and kyu program brings lively action and an
end. One of the Noh Theaters founders Zeami writes in his book Kakyo:
As jo is the beginning, it should be the embodiment of a basic style and posture,
and the first Noh of the day must be of this nature. Therefore, it should be a Noh
with a clear story line, with a celebratory quality, and without complex detail. The
second Noh must have a straightforward theme, be more vigorous, and have a
different visual impact that is still decorous. It should have no surplus of detail,
nor should it offer the actor a chance to display his virtuosity, hence it is still apart
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of the jo mode. The third Noh of the day begins the true ha section. While jo is an
artless natural expression, the significance of ha is that it harmonizes with and
develops that expression to make it understandable. Beginning with the third Noh,
the acting must employ considerably refined techniques and must have visual
effects imbued with a thorough sense of characterization. It is the most important
Noh in the cycle. The ha section extends to the fourth play, allowing the actor a
chance to more dynamically display his versatility. Kyu signifies the end, and an
appropriate piece for the final part of the program should be performed. Kyu is the
single, lasting impression that pushes the ha to its limit. Therefore, the kyu piece
should be an exuberant spectacle of vigorous gestures, rapid dancing, and
strenuous movements that fills the audience with wonder.8
The plays were performed in order by subject god, man, woman, lunatic, demon
in accordance with the principle of jo-ha-kyu; and each piece was assigned a certain
level, reflecting a concept that encompasses position, tempo, and quality.
2. Jo-ha-kyu of a play. The principle of jo-ha-kyu applies both to the way in which
segments of music and dance are categorized and combined to create a play and to the
way the actor modulates the intensity, style, and performance technique within the
play. A play is normally made up of five sections, called dan. The first dan is jo, the
middle three are ha, and the final dan is kyu. The structure is linked to tempo: the
play begins slowly, breaks into faster pace, and builds to a rapid conclusion.
3. Jo-ha-kyu of the performance space. Also the principle applies to the performance
space: the far end of the bridge, closest to the curtain, is jo, the middle section is ha,
and the section that adjoins the stage is kyu.
4. Jo-ha-kyu in the rhythmical structure. In Noh music, eight beats constitute one
unit. The principle of jo-ha-kyu applies to this unit as well. With the progression
through jo-ha-kyu, there is an increase in speed, as well as a change in the overall
Kunio Komparu, The Noh Theater: Principles and Perspectives (New York, Tokyo, Kyoto:
Weatherhill/Tankosha, 1983), 26.
8
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impression of rhythm, as the ma is contracted and a feeling of excitement is

engendered. Takemitsu calls this the point of intense silence.9
As I have suggested, jo-ha-kyu is employed as an ordering principle in compiling a
program of plays, in the composition of each play, in categorizing the parts of the
performance space, and in determining the basic rhythms within each Noh play. The
concept of jo-ha-kyu thus governs the ordering principle from the micro level to the
macro level.
Noh Theater was developed with a deep understanding of Oriental philosophy. It
is said that originally there was no concept analogous to a view of an end in Oriental
thought. The Chinese, Hindus, and Greeks saw cosmic time as moving in an alternating
rhythm, expressed in the Chinese concept of the alternation between Yin (the passive
principle) and Yang (the dynamic principle). Yin and Yang together, forming a complete
circle, embody their opposites within themselves. Hence, the diminutive spot of Yang
within Yin grows as time passes, but simultaneously the opposite happens. And when the
growing Yin and Yang within their opposites reach their extreme, they will become their
opposites. The cyclic perspective of time reflects the Japanese view of life and death. The
present world, inherited from the past, is linked to the future by a temporary ending
called death.
The unending quality of Noh Theater engages the concept of cyclic time. The
unending quality derives from Oriental thought in conjunction with the five-element
Toru Takemitsu, trans. by Yoshiko Kakudo and Glenn Glasow, Confronting Silence: Selected Writings.
(Berkeley: Fallen Leaf Press, 1995), 51.
9
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theory in reference to the five-play cycle of the program of Noh Theater. In early
treatises, there is evidence of an attempt to gather and govern the many elements of Noh
by organizing them into groups of five. In Zeamis writing, for instance, we find things
grouped or classified in fives: the five methods of dance; the five necessities that an actor
must master; and the five categories of structural elements (music, dance, acting, gesture,
and emotion). The five-element theory extends to the properties of minds, emotions,
modes of music, vowels, and even to cosmology. Likewise, Noh plays are classified into
five categories according to their main characters who are gods, men (warriors), women,
lunatics, and demons. This system is thought to have been conceived in conjunction with
the five-element theory in Oriental philosophy. As discussed above, the order of the five
plays gives a framework to the concept of jo-ha-kyu.
The fifth Noh play does not mark a final conclusion, but rather a temporary cut
off that can be viewed as the beginning of an endless succession. There is a custom of
singing attached felicitations at the end of the program. As the main character of the
last Noh play exits, the chorus chants an excerpt from the Noh play that belongs to the
first category. It offers felicitations, but at the same time suggests a cycling on to the first
Noh play that will begin the program on another day. In Ran, the percussive sound heard
at the beginning of the opening credits serves precisely this purpose. The pattern of a
cycle of Noh plays from the blessings of a god to the salvation of a demon, and then
back to the beginning is an overall configuration that accords with the Buddhist theory
of salvation. Noh Theater aims to achieve artistic realization by weaving together human
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acts with the protective power of the gods and the mercy of Buddha. Moreover, the Noh
Theater reflects the concept of an endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. We thus can
understand the Noh Theater as the helix movement, as the linear movement of jo-ha-kyu
in the five plays is combined with the circular movement of the five plays.
In the sound track of Ran, the music played by the solo Noh flute creates an
intense and dramatic impression. Music in this film is relatively sparse in its two and
half-hour duration. We hear the short segments of Noh flute music, which we later
understand as the association with the blind hermit Tsurumaru, sporadically throughout
the film. Some instances are longer than others, but the average one lasts approximately
24 seconds. The audience hears the Noh flute music at critical moments in the film,
specifically at each moment the status of Hidetora declines. More importantly, it signals
the jo-ha-kyu of the film as well as signifies the relationship between the philosophy that
lies behind the film and the Noh Theater.
Rans sound track, then, projects Noh flute music at critical points throughout the
film. We hear the flute music first in the opening credits, when Hidetora is at the height
of his prosperity (Example 2). Following the percussive sound of a Noh instrument, the
flute music then begins simultaneously with the start of the scene in which men are
engaged in wild boar hunting. We see Hidetora seriously involved in the boar hunt with a
confident look on his face. The high piercing sound of the flute occurs when the title of
the film (Ran) appears. After Hidetora has transferred his estate to his first son Taro,
he shoots one of Taros retainers with an arrow who was threatening Hidetoras fool,
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Kyoami. At that moment, the second occurrence of the flute music is heard (Example 3).
This act by Hidetora invites Taros anger (or rather his wife, Lady Kaedes), which leads
to Hidetoras separation with Taro and the First Castle. The third occurrence of the flute
music is heard when Hidetora leaves the Second Castle in perturbation (Example 4). He
has just given the Second Castle to his second son Jiro. In this scene, Hidetora realizes
that he has been rejected by both of his sons. He leaves the Second Castle in shock and
for the first time shows agitation. There is a short appearance of flute music again, when
Hidetora walks out vacantly from the burning Third Castle (Example 5). He was attacked
by the armies of his two sons and has failed in his attempt to commit suicide. Thereafter,
the flute music is heard in the scenes that are associated with Tsurumaru after it is
revealed that he was the one who had been playing the Noh flute.
Example 2: Music for boar hunt
Example 3: Music when Hidetora shoots Taros retainer
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Example 4: Music when Hidetora leaves Second Castle
Example 5: Music when Hidetora leaves burning Third Castle
The flute music in the scene when Hidetora leaves the Second Castle in agitation
signals the starting of the ha section of the film. Along with an effectively still shot of the
enormous gate and the small figure of Hidetora standing in front, it informs the audience
that a new narrative phase has begun, one that coincides with Hidetoras new state of
mind. Immediately after this sequence, we hear electronically manipulated sound, which I
believe is meant to suggest the beginning of Hidetoras insanity.10
It is important to understand that until the sequence when Hidetora leaves the
Second Castle, there has been almost no background music in the film other than the flute
Takemitsu made use of a sound effect that suggests the emotional and mental action of the primary
character. In the scene when Hidetora and his retainers leave the Second Castle, angry and disappointed,
they take a rest in the middle of the plain since they have no where to go. The sound effect is more or less
unnoticeable and sounds somewhat like the wind or shrill birdcalls. When the loyal Tango arrives in front
of Hidetora and reveals Taro and Jiros scheme to banish their father, this background sound increases in
intensity and loudness. I assume this sound is an electronically manipulated sound, and I think it represents
Hidetoras state of mind. He is just at the onset of his insanity. The electronically manipulated sound that
simulates the blowing of wind, sounds similar to the earlier occurrence that is used again when Hidetora
and his fool Kyoami are staying in the ruin of Tsurumarus destroyed castle. They see Tsurumaru and his
sister Lady Su together standing above. Hidetora, in his disturbed mind, thinks that he is in hell. The highpitched eerie sonority produces a general anxious feeling.
10
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music that occurs when Hidetora shoots Taros retainer. Until this sequence, Hidetoras
mind is still strong, and he remains determined to hold on to his power.
After the flute announces the beginning of ha section the section of the
breakdown there is subtle but nonetheless extravagant use of music. The electronically
manipulated sound effect, Hidetoras third son Saburos leitmotiv played by the
timpani,11 and the long tragic symphonic music at the battle scene when his two elder
sons at the Third Castle attacked Hidetora, are heard successively.
The flute music, which accompanies the scene where Tsurumarus sister (and also
the second sons wife) Lady Su is shown lying on the grass beheaded, signifies the
transition to the kyu section (Example 6). Lady Su returns to Tsurumarus hut to retrieve
the flute he has forgotten, only to be killed by the order of the first sons wife, Lady
Kaede. Thereafter, the film moves towards its conclusion with a rapid succession of
violent events: the beheading of Lady Kaede, the attack against the second son Jiros
army by Ayabes army, his heretofore potential enemy, and the solemn procession of
warriors carrying Hidetora and Saburos bodies.
The timpani motive is first used in the scene that shows the Third Castle and Taros retainers marching
in. I think this motive is associated with the third son Saburo, since the Third Castle was originally intended
to be inherited by Saburo. The second appearance of the timpani motive occurs near the end of the film,
when Saburo and his retainer cross the boundary river to save Hidetora. The use of this motive appears
more often thereafter, since there are more scenes affiliated with Saburo.
11
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Example 6: Music when Su lies beheaded
In the closing scene, as Tsurumaru is left alone in the ruins of his fathers castle,
he stumbles at the edge of the top of the stone wall. At the same moment, the flute music
starts for the last time (Example 7). Tsurumaru then accidentally drops the scroll of
Buddha, causing the scroll to open. The camera shows a close-up of the picture of
Buddha, and then shows Tsurumaru on the ruins wall, gradually backing up, showing his
silhouette against the darkening sky. The film ends with the piercing high note of the
flute.
Example 7: Music for closing scene
As in the last scene with the open scroll of Buddha, there is many times during the
course of the film a strong suggestion of Buddhism. In contrast to King Lear, the
philosophical background of Ran clearly derives primarily from a Buddhist perspective.
Most of all, the film strongly engages the Buddhist view of the world as transitory and
full of pain. And, of course, the allusions to Noh Theater strongly reinforce that Buddhist
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perspective. What I sense lying in the background of Ran is the extreme pessimism of
nothingness, which differs remarkably from the generative concept of nothingness in
King Lear.
At the turning points in the Japanese Middle Ages, otherworldly characters
became conspicuous among people. The Buddhist masters emphasized the human
passions of greed and desire. The most remarkable aspect of the doctrine of Buddhism in
this age is the consciousness of human sin. According to Shinran, a renowned medieval
monk, sin is essential to man; we in fact cannot avoid committing sins. It is deeply rooted
in human existence. He grieved:
In their outward seeming, are all men diligent and truth-speaking,
But in their souls are greed, and eager and unjust deceitfulness,
And in their flesh do lying and cunning triumph.
Too strong for me is the evil of my heart. I cannot overcome it.
Therefore is my soul like unto the poison of serpents,
Even my righteous deeds, being mingled with this poison, must be named the
deeds of deceitfulness.12
The same grief is expressed by the last remark of Tango (the loyal attendant to the third
son and to Hidetora), who states, when facing the deaths of Saburo and Hidetora: Do not
blaspheme! It is the gods who weep. They see us killing each other over and over since
time began. They cant save us from ourselves.13 At this moment, the radiant sun, the
symbol of Hidetora, starts to set over the ruin of the castle, which Hidetora had
previously destroyed.
Hajime Nakamura, A History of the Development of Japanese Thought: From A.D. 592 to 1868 (Tokyo:
Kokusai Bunka Shinkokai, 1969), 80.
13
12
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For the common man, the sole salvation from the pain of this world occurs only
by the grace of Amitabha Buddha, which is to be reborn at the otherworld paradise of
Pure Land. For the monks, salvation required them to seclude themselves from the
secular daily activities and to submit themselves entirely to the ways of Buddha. When
the quest for otherworldliness goes to the extreme, it leads to ones denial of his or her
own existence. Throughout the history of Chinese Buddhism, it was a common practice
for a monk to burn his fingers, or even his whole body, as a supreme sacrifice. Many
people followed this practice in order to be reborn in the Pure Land. It is this extreme
notion of nothingness that I find lying in the background of Ran. To be nothing, or to
deny ones existence (although hidden in the unconsciousness of the characters) is
strongly connected to the Japanese belief and cultivation of the concept of perishability.
This allusive element is what I find to be the most striking difference between
Shakespeares King Lear and Ran. Donald Keene talks about the qualities of the Japanese
aesthetic preference of perishability.14 It is in the impermanence of substances that the
Japanese find beauty and pleasure. For example, Lafcadio Hearn wrote in Kokoro (1896)
about Japanese landscape and customs:
Generally speaking, we construct for endurance, the Japanese for impermanency.
Few things for common use are made in Japan with a view to durability: the straw
sandals worn out and replaced at each stage of journey; the robe consisting of a
few simple widths loosely stitched together for wearing, and unstitched again for
washing; the fresh chopsticks served to each new guest at a hotel.15
See Donald Keene, Japanese Aesthetics in Nancy G. Hume ed., Japanese Aesthetics and Culture: A
Reader (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1995) for a summary of Japanese aesthetics.
15
Ibid, 38.
14
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The extinction of the human characters in Ran, and the relentless absence of hope are, I
think, what overwhelms the audience. In the Buddhist perspective, nothing in the world is
permanent, nothing returns to nothing, and humankind is only one mere element in the
universe. If we feel a deep emotion to the notion of vicissitude, it comes from the same
aesthetic partiality towards impermanence, a sense that anyone, regardless of power or
prosperity, will eventually perish in the flow of time.
In marked contrast to Ran, Shakespeares King Lear addresses the notion of
nothingness in a distinctively dissimilar sense. Shakespeares language possesses
abundant connotations, and the word nothing is one of them. Lear asks his daughters
the amount of love they have toward him in exchange for a part of his kingdom. Cordelia,
for whom love takes place only through lived action, could only remain silent or answer
nothing, signifying that there is no answer to that question. However for Lear, this was
the worst possible answer. He fails to see the difference between silence and saying
nothing, and in an outburst of rage he states that Nothing will come out of nothing,
and subsequently banishes Cordelia.16 At the outset of King Lear, by showing the Kings
violent explosion of rage, Shakespeare invokes a furious, barbaric pagan god. However,
as the play draws to a conclusion, there are intimations of the Christian notion of God.
John Holloway shows that the movement of King Lear, especially from Act 4 to the end,
parallels the movement of the Book of Job, especially in regards to the notion of repeated
Brian Rotman, Signifying Nothing: The Semiotics of Zero (Stanford, California: Stanford University
Press, 1993), 80-81. Also see David Willbern, Poetic Will: Shakespeare and the Play of Language
(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997).
16
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suffering.17 William Elton points out that the most recent interpretations of King Lear
have a tendency to identify it as a Christian play.18 He quotes from R. W. Chambers
attempt to portray the play as a poem on the victory of true love through the
redemption of Lear. Furthermore, many critics envision Cordelia in the part of Christ, and
see Lear as being improved or regenerated. John M. Lothian argues that the spire of
meaning in this play is the spiritual history of the regeneration of King Lear. . .19
Resembling Mary and Jesus, Lear holding dead Cordelia suggests a view of possible
resurrection. It is this hope or optimistic attitude that differs remarkably from the
pessimism of no hope expressed in Ran. By implying hope, improvement, and cause
and effect, King Lear thus suggests or invokes the Western perspective of linear time
moving in one direction. In contrast, by suggesting hopelessness, and nothing returns to
nothing, the perspective of time in Ran is cyclic, moving in a spiral motion. Takemitsu
expresses this notion eloquently with the non-teleological nature of the flute music in
Ran.
In using King Lear as an intertextual model for Ran, Kurosawa was puzzled that
Shakespeare had not given his characters any past. In an article in the New York Times,
Kurosawa states:
John Holloway, The Story of the Night: Studies in Shakespeares Major Tragedies (Lincoln: University
of Nebraska Press, 1961), 89; quoted in Jay L. Halio, The Tragedy of King Lear (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 1992), 12, n. 7.
18
William R. Elton, King Lear and the Gods (San Marino, California: The Huntington Library, 1966), 3.
Despite the popular approach to King Lear as an optimistically Christian drama, he concludes in his book,
Cordelia represents a more virtuous pagan, whose virtues approach the Christian ideal but are not identical
with it.
19
John Maule Lothian, King Lear: A Tragic Reading of Life (Toronto: Folcroft Library Editions, 1949), 27;
quoted in William R. Elton, King Lear and the Gods (San Marino, California: The Huntington Library,
1966), 4, n. 5.
17
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We are plunged directly into the agonies of their present dilemmas without
knowing how they came to this point. How did Lear acquire the power that, as an
old man, he abuses with such disastrous effects? Without knowing his past, I have
never really understood the ferocity of his daughters response to Lears feeble
attempts to shed his royal power.20
Peter Brook responded to the absence of history and personal past in his film adaptation
of King Lear by focusing primarily on the inner, essential experience of the characters.
The sense of time and place is defined by the emptiness and blankness derived from
absurdist theater. Shakespeares play, for Brook, is less about the fate of royal power than
the vulnerable existence of an individual.21 Unlike Brook, Kurosawa created a past quest
for power for the figure of King Lear, and he allowed time and space to answer this
question. The setting of the film is in the turbulent age in medieval Japan, when warlords
were fighting over land and power. Inspiration for the story first came from the legend of
Motonari Moori (1497 1571) who was a warlord in medieval Japan, to which Kurosawa
incorporated Shakespeares King Lear as an intertext. The story of the Moori legend is
that the warlord gives each of his three sons an arrow and then orders each to break it. He
then gives each a bundle of three arrows and demonstrates that it is more difficult to
break the bundle than a single arrow. The allegory is that although an individual is weak,
the combined power of three sons is stronger and not easily destroyed. Moori is also
remembered for the political maxim that a leader should not trust anyone, particularly not
family members.22 The legend of Moori accommodates rather than duplicates the plot of
20
Peter Grilli, Kurosawa directs a Cinematic Lear, New York Times, 15 December 1985, sec. 2, 17.
See Goodwin, 197-98 for discussion of interpretation of King Lear to film adaptation.
22
21
206
King Lear by adding the Japanese conception of family and political loyalty to the
historical context of Ran. However, this characterization leads to greater emphasis on the
generic notion of the behavior of men and history, rather than on the inner emotions of
individuals. In conjunction with Kurosawas abstraction of the three sons names, the
characters of each tend towards generic representations. The names of the three sons
(Ichiro, Jiro, and Saburo) literally translate in Japanese as first son, second son, and
third son, which serves to emphasize the hierarchical position in the family system.
Also, each son is given a symbolic color for his banners and pennants: yellow for Taro,
red for Jiro, and blue for Saburo. Moreover, the number of horizontal lines on the
pennants corresponds to their names. In this way, Kurosawa reduces the individuality of
the sons to mere generic icons. The abstract numbers and colors diminish the
individuality of the characters. Unlike Brooks King Lear, which focuses on the
vulnerable existence of an individual, Kurosawas Ran focuses on the vulnerable
existence of humankind as a whole within history, as gazed on by heavens eyes.
In Kurosawas writings, he clearly indicates an awareness of the Japanese notion
of the gaze of heaven. He explains that the diegetic sound of the battle scene was
completely absent because: In eliminating the sounds from the scene of battle I wanted
to indicate that the perspective was that of the heavens.23 in place of the sounds of battle,
Kurosawa instead asked Takemitsu to compose an orchestral sound track to accompany
this magnificent scene. The result was a Mahler-like symphonic Adagio. The image of
23
Ibid, 211.
207
the gaze of heaven is expressed in the scroll containing an icon of the Buddha Amida that
Lady Su leaves as security with Tsurumaru just before she is assassinated. The radiant
sun is portrayed in the background of the scroll and is associated with Buddha and his
doctrine. At the same time, Hidetoras royal emblem is a radiant sun against a black
background. The image of the sun setting in the horizon is explicit in the meeting of
Hidetora and Lady Su at the ramparts of Second Castle. Su was praying to Buddha to
give her strength to forgive Hidetoras brutal actions to her family, to abandon all the
worldly desire, and to lead her to the state of resignation. To further suggest the declining
status of Hidetora, the image of the sun shading the cloud is depicted in the battle scene,
just when two of his three sons betray their father.
The non-ending quality influenced by Noh Theater can be seen during the last
credits of the film. During the last credits, we hear the symphonic music of the battle
scene between Hidetoras retainers and his two sons armies at the Third Castle. The
diegetic sounds, such as people screaming and running, pounding horses hooves, and the
shooting of arrows, completely dies away when the music begins. It is a long battle scene
that continues until Hidetoras forces are completely destroyed. The music stops and the
diegetic sound returns when the first son is shot by the second sons retainer. As
mentioned above, Kurosawa alludes to the gaze of heaven by deleting diegetic sound in
the battle scene. When all the diegetic sounds disappear and only the music remains, it
seems to me that the sense of reality also suddenly fades. The scene loses the emotional
connection to the audience, placing distance between the audience and the on-screen
208
action. The action of the warriors seems to proceed in slow motion, and the whole image
appears to turn into a dream or an illusion. The symphonic music seems to suggest the
endless repetition of history by portraying the endless battles between clans and more
generally, between human beings. The same music is used in the sound track near the
ending of the film when Ayabes army (another family clan seeking opportunity to
expand its land and power) attacks the First Castle. The symphonic music during the
credits again suggests the repetitive battles among human beings. Finally, the faint
percussive sound of the Noh instrument at the end of the credits should astonish the
viewer, since it brings us back to the beginning of the opening credits. The music comes
to signify, then, the same cyclic perspective of time that is portrayed in Noh Theater. The
reappearing percussive sound is not identical to the music from jo section, or the
felicitous kind of music as in Noh Theater; however, it implies the same quality of
endlessness and cyclic repetition.
Throughout Ran it becomes obvious that the Noh flute is associated with
Tsurumarus soul and emotions. The androgynous figure of Tsurumaru refers to the Noh
Theater as well, for it resembles the demon figure from the fifth category of the Noh play.
It is interesting to compare the two most powerful characters in Ran, Tsurumaru and the
first sons wife Lady Kaede, for music never accompanies Lady Kaedes presence. Lady
Kaede is a vengeful woman, who talks, acts and manipulates whomever she wishes. Her
intentions and goals are self evident, and as a character she defines herself only by words
and actions. Thus, she has no need for music to speak for or about her. In sharp contrast,
209
Tsurumaru lives as a hermit, and his only pleasure in life is to play the flute. On the
surface, he is resigned to his tragic situation, although he fully expresses his sorrow and
his hatred toward Hidetora through his flute playing. Hidetora is completely
overwhelmed by the emotions Tsurumaru asserts through his flute playing. And it is this
sound that haunts Hidetora in the boar hunt at the beginning of the film, and that haunts
the worldly realm at the films conclusion. The unique qualities of the sound of the Noh
flute that are different from Western instruments also contribute to conveying personal
emotions.
The Noh flute was originally brought to Japan from China. When adopted in the
Noh Theater, a substance that looks like a bamboo tongue was intentionally inserted in
the body of the flute in order to destroy its tuning system. The unique sound that includes
substantial noise of the nohkan is thus created. One of the major differences between
Western and Japanese instruments is that, as Western instruments were developed, a
removal in extraneous noise in the production of sound was encouraged. In contrast, for
Japanese instruments, noise in the production of sound was preserved and enhanced as a
means of expression. There is a concept called sawari in the Japanese language that
originally referred to a particular part of the Japanese instrument of biwa where noise is
produced. This word then came to carry the meaning of obstruction to be appreciated,
or the principal section in a performance, indicating the importance of the production
of noise. The Japanese purposely created instruments that make it difficult to produce
intended sounds; instead, what are produced are sounds that are complex and intricate.
210
Japanese music did not develop the system of scales or rhythm similar to those of
Western music; instead it focused more strongly on the quality of individual instrumental
sounds. While the listener of Japanese music seeks to appreciate the particular tone
quality of each individual instrument, Western listeners appreciate sounds as part of a
larger formal design or structure. Takemitsu believed that, The sounds of Japanese
instruments are produced spontaneously in performances. A single strum of the strings or
even one pluck is too complex, the sound is so strong that it can stand alone.24 The
sound of Japanese instruments will differ from performer to performer, and even from
performance to performance of the same player. Perhaps this aspect is one reason why
the sound of the Noh flute in Ran seems to convey more personal emotions to express the
real feelings of the performer.
What I have noticed by listening to the flute music in Ran is that the melody is
never the same, although some melodic fragments share notable similarities. Some
examples include the following: distinctive three-note figures that begin with a longer
first note that ascends to a shorter second note which then descends to a third note;
repetition of longer notes preceded by various kinds of grace notes; and many leaps
within the melodic line. Of course, the unique timbre of the flute and the breath-like
sound of exhaling when arriving and coming out of the tone add to the sense of similarity
between different melodies. Hidekazu Yoshida describes the following impression of the
music of the three-string Japanese instrument shamisen:
Toru Takemitsu, trans. by Yoshiko Kakudo and Glenn Glasow, Confronting Silence: Selected Writings.
(Berkeley: Fallen Leaf Press, 1995), 9.
24
211
The music seems to be made up of the repetition of the same thing; however, it
changes gradually, moving forward accordingly. Then in the next moment,
suddenly it seems to return to an earlier moment. It is hard to tell if it has shape or
not. Rather, it is music that from time to time expands or contracts and that keeps
our attention by gradually transforming its form and color. The parts of music are
interchangeable, and it is possible to start anywhere and end anywhere. It is
essentially different from Western music, whose parts or sections have their
definite formal position.25
This principal is what Fumio Hayasaka calls an eternal form,26 and it applies to
different Japanese art forms. In the literature of haikai, or music of joururi, each part does
not have a clear boundary or frame, but happens continuously, which could be replaced in
any order and could start and end in any place. Similarly in traditional Japanese music,
each section seems to be a ceaseless repetition of a similar pattern; however, as time
passes, the pattern sometimes expands or contracts according to how the energy flows.
Different from a style that has a definite beginning, development, and ending, a Japanese
style cultivates a perpetual transition of parallel events without a defined framework. It is
sometimes metaphorically characterized as a flowing of water. Zeami, for instance,
describes the musical quality of Noh as a flowing stream:
Water flows slowly and peacefully on a spacious plain. It rushes on, whirling and
bubbling, as it comes to the rapids. A landscape gardener imitates all this in
making a garden; he creates a beautiful stream, with falls, rapids, curves, deep
pools, sunken rocks, and many other things at proper places along its course. The
Noh writer should be such a gardener in composing his work, too. He will put
forth the landscape within his soul by manipulating the varying rhythm of
nature. He will use auditory symbols suggestive of intangible reality.27
Shinji Saito and Maki Takemitsu, eds., Takemitsu Toru no Sekai (The world of Toru Takemitsu) (Tokyo:
Shueisha, 1997), 129. My translation.
26
Ibid, 84.
27
Nancy G. Hume, ed. Japanese Aesthetics and Culture: A Reader (Albany: State University of New York
Press, 1995), 190.
25
212
The music of moment to moment is quintessential in Japanese traditional music.

Perhaps this quality originates from the Japanese concept of time and change. The
Japanese have embraced the attitude that places greater emphasis on the intuitive,
sensible, or concrete rather than on universals. Likewise, greater value is placed on the
fluid, incipient character of events. This way of thinking may come to regard the
phenomenal world itself as the Absolute and to reject the recognition of the Absolute
existing over and above the phenomenal world.28 Buddhist philosophy likewise was
received and assimilated on the basis of this way of thinking. Japanese Buddhism
emphasized the transience of the phenomenal world. It is in contrast to the Indian
Buddhists reaction to the world of change, which is to reject it in favor of an ultimate
reality, a transcendent Absolute in which the mind can find refuge. In contrast, the
Japanese reaction is to accept, even to welcome, the fluidity and impermanence of the
phenomenal world. What we see and experience is recognized in itself as the ultimate
reality. The method of thinking that seeks the Absolute in the phenomenal world plays an
effective role in the assimilation of Zen Buddhism as well. According to Master Dogen of
Zen Buddhism, the ever changing, incessant, flow of time is the ultimate Being. The
now becomes the absolute, and every moment becomes self-contained. In every
moment only the present exists. It is in the same sense that we appreciate the intricate
and complex sound of that particular moment of Japanese music.
Hajime Nakamura, A History of the Development of Japanese Thought: From A.D. 592 to 1868 (Tokyo:
Kokusai Bunka Shinkokai, 1969), 93.
28
213
I have argued that Noh flute music in Ran is meant to evoke the Japanese Noh
Theater, specifically associated with Buddhist doctrines. Although Kurosawas Ran
imitates key features of Shakespeares King Lear, it is fundamentally different in its
interpretation of the concept of nothingness. In King Lear, nothingness is generative
and optimistic; it suggests a transformation to Christianity from a pagan religion with its
confidence in resurrection. In contrast, Rans nothingness is a cyclic element, implying
the reiteration of history always confined by repetitions and recurring points of origin.
Essential to the portrayal of history as cyclic is the use of Noh flute music to enact
the stages of repetition. It frames the structure of the film by signaling the jo-ha-kyu; it
signifies the declining status of Hidetora; and it haunts the mind of warlord Hidetora
throughout the film by symbolizing Tsurumarus hatred and resentment toward the old
man. It, in fact, embodies the attributes of Japanese music that portray the Japanese
concept of time and change. Through Takemitsus use of the Noh flute, the audience is
invited to view time as circular and continuity as constantly changing.
CONCLUSION
My analysis of three compositions by Toru Takemitsu reveals strong

commonalities with Japanese sensitivities and aesthetics. Although he was raised with the
keen influence of Western cultural elements that were infused into post-war Japan,
Takemitsus consciousness of Japanese aesthetic values affected the works he produced
throughout his career. While he did not identify himself as a composer who represents
Japan, or as a Japanese composer who was compelled to incorporate Japanese elements
into his music, he was aware that it was impossible to free himself from the influence of
Japanese culture.
Takemitsus music does not conform to any particular compositional style of
twentieth-century music, nor does it utilize any one compositional method. In my
discussions of Takemitsus three compositions, I focused on the concept of musical form
which results from a dynamic process that is experienced through time. This process of
form-building is unique to each one of Takemitsus works. The process-oriented concept
of form is defined in terms of a constant updating of the formal meaning of the current
musical event in relation to past events as they occur in time throughout the piece.
According to this concept, form is best portrayed not by describing how constituent
musical elements certain events or compositional procedures are constitutive of the
composition, but rather by showing how relationships shape the passing, the retaining,
and the expectation of musical events. This procedure uncovers and describes the
214
215
inherent listening experience that is invoked by the composition. In my view, it is this

perception of form that strongly reflects and overlaps with Japanese aesthetics. The
interpretation of form is subjective since it relies heavily on the listening experience of
the individual analyst who segments the music into parts and relates them to one another.
The concept of building-up to a whole by accumulating musical components
accounts for the formal interpretation of the Requiem. The temporal succession and
recurrences of smaller units and events that interact with the repetitions of larger portions
of music contribute, as a whole, to what I call the cyclic-time form. The Requiem has a
definite beginning, and as the music unfolds through time, earlier events influence and
provide relationships and references to later events. However, cyclic-time form denotes a
formal structure in which the beginnings of the sections and the boundaries between
sections are ambiguous. In the Requiem, the many large- and small-scale repetitions of
the non-developing three-note figures, as well as their palindromic formation, obscure the
listeners perception of the overall form. This kind of repetition thus function as an
evocation of cyclic time. As the result of these intricately intersecting recurrences of the
three-note figures, all melodic lines in the Requiem sound somewhat alike; this is a
feature similar to that of the melodies that are performed by traditional Japanese
instruments. The melodic lines continue one after another without clear sectional
boundaries. From this perspective, the cyclic-time form of the Requiem is unchanging, a
quality that accords with a cyclic view of nature.
216
Cyclic-time form is one kind of realization of linear time, since any specific point
in a cycle represents a component of linear movement. I consider Takemitsus music to
exhibit linearity in the way that the structure of musical events has causal relationships.
Because of this, I argue against the viewpoint that Takemitsus music reflects an Eastern
concept of time which is nonlinear and discontinuous in structure. The temporality of
Takemitsus music embraces linearity, continuity, and a definite beginning. It is a mode
of listening in which musical events are reinterpreted according to what has previously
been heard, and in which these events, at the same time, create references for the
interpretation of future events. However, in contrast to most of the music in the Western
tradition, Takemitsus music does not necessarily progress towards a climax, have a
specific goal, or exhibit any development. Development in the traditional sense is largely
absent from all three of the pieces that I have analyzed. The musical materials found in
these pieces are recycled as variations by means of transposition, inversion, and
retrogradation of the pitch, or by alteration of the rhythm. Additionally, the form is not
hierarchical in structure, a quality which can be seen most strongly in Piano Distance.
I based the structural units in Piano Distance on the motion between two
consecutive pitches. All of the phrases in Piano Distance are, in one way or another,
variations of one another. The process that dictates variation what I have called
transformational motion is constantly updating the interpretation of the present
moment in a way that reflects the structural meaning of past events, and at the same time
anticipates future events. Without a structure determined a priori, the meaning of musical
217
events can be provided only by their continuous temporal succession. The phrases that
are formed in Piano Distance are done so by associations that are built up between one
sound event and another sound event, and further require an aurally discernible sense of
closure. This feeling of closure can be attained by certain gestures or rests, or a long
silence. However, the sense of closure is not structurally hierarchical: that is, there is no
obvious way of measuring the relative strength of two closures. A closure occurs only in
the foreground and does not extend beyond a single phrase. This non-hierarchical nature
of phrase relationships in Piano Distance seems to precisely reflect the concept of
continuous streams of becoming that is implicit in Japanese thought.
I adopted a different approach in analyzing Takemitsus Rain Tree. Here I
appealed to the concept of inter-subjectivity in Japanese literature to discuss its formal
structure and expressive meaning. By also incorporating the notions of subjectivity and
non-subjectivity, my interpretation of Rain Tree represents an accommodation of
aesthetics seen in Japanese literature. Unlike Piano Distance, the sectional boundaries in
Rain Tree are obvious. The term inter-subjective is applied to a portion of music that
could have more than one function; for instance, it could be part both of a transition and
the beginning of a section at the same time. Additionally, when the identity of a single
motive changes from a state of subjectivity to one of non-subjectivity, the music
exhibits an ambiguity that requires a constant updating of the interpretation of the formal
function of motives and sections. The terms motive and section are not used in the
218
sense that they are things that fill a preconceived form; rather, they are musical events
whose meanings and roles alter as the music progresses.
In the final chapter, in which I investigate the function of nohkan music in Ran, I
returned to the topic of how time, viewed as an unending cyclic entity, affects musical
form. Although unlike the Requiem in terms of formal structure, the nohkan music for
Ran also signifies the unchanging and static aspect of cyclic time. The concept of
nothingness in Ran implies that the reiteration of events in history eventually causes a
return to the point of origin. Kurosawa made subtle but important changes to the plot of
Ran in order to accommodate Shakespeares King Lear, which essentially relies on a
linearity that moves in one direction rather than in a circular fashion. The nohkan music
evokes the Japanese Noh Theater, which is strongly associated with Buddhist doctrines.
Furthermore, the nohkan music signifies the Japanese concept of time and change by
embodying the attributes of traditional Japanese music.
In this dissertation, I have raised essential questions regarding temporality and
form in the music of Toru Takemitsu; attempting to answer these questions has led me to
consider other aspects of his music. The perception of form is different for each of these
three pieces because of the differences in structural materials and how they form
relationships among the events that follow one another in time. Using each of the three
formal types that I have defined, it would be possible to categorize other works of
Takemitsu that are structured similarly to those pieces I have discussed. In addition, there
may be other approaches to the perception of form in Takemitsus music, whether or not
219
this perception overlaps with any features of Japanese aesthetics. Other Japanese art
forms that might provide references for the interpretation of music here have not been
explored; these include the Japanese garden, visual arts, other traditional stage forms,
such as Gagaku and Kabuki, architecture, and the tea ceremony. The elements of
Japanese aesthetics that I have discussed (cyclic time, the three basic concepts of
Japanese thought, and inter-subjectivity) themselves require further study to gain a deeper
understanding of how they influence the formal or temporal perception of Takemitsus
music. Moreover, it would be necessary to extend this research to other Japanese
composers in various eras, whose compositional influences have been either similar or
dissimilar to Takemitsus. Such research would also need to be expanded to include
music of the Western composers who are influenced by Eastern cultures, as well as music
of twentieth- and twenty-first century composers from other Eastern countries.
It has not been my intention to prove that Takemitsus music has indeed been
influenced by Japanese culture. Takemitsu himself has denied that his music serves the
role of bridging Eastern and Western cultures.1 Rather, through the analysis of
Takemitsus process of form-building, I have been able to uncover the many points of
connection between the Japanese mode of thinking and the perception of form. The
analyses that I have undertaken have been my response to the criticism of commentators
who have found themselves often frustrated by their inability to find a preconceived
constructional scheme in Takemitsus music. For instance, Times critic John Allison has
220
written: Takemitsus fundamental fascination was with tone colour, and too often in his
work, sonority seems to take precedence over substance.2 Takemitsus relative lack of
interest in structural organization has often been misinterpreted as being the result of his
own technical shortcomings. In truth, it was more likely a result of the composers
intention to avoid constructional rationales. For instance, Takemitsu might employ
Messiaens modes of limited transposition, but in such cases we likely would find him
moving freely from one mode to another, as well as from one transposition to another.
And on a few occasions he might use an isorhythmic construction in a piece, but he
would not pursue such a process for more than few measures.3
In the Introduction, I mentioned that Takemitsu was critical of the structuralist
attitude of contemporary composers who have immersed themselves in technical pursuits.
He believed that with only the logic of written scores behind them, sounds do not have
any real existence as sounds.4 Since the listener can only experience sound in real time,
temporality becomes an important concept that also naturally engages the issue of
musical form. However, the focus of Takemitsus interest as a composer was on the
sound quality of the individual event, rather than on the relationships between such
events. This viewpoint was clearly influenced by the concept discernible in various
Japanese art-forms of discontinuity.5 I have argued, however, that the motion of sounds
and the feeling of continuity between them are essential to the experience of musical
John Allison, Craft Going Nowhere, The Times, 6 October 1998, 34; quoted in ibid, 243.
Peter Burt, The Music of Toru Takemitsu (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 247-48.
4
Sawako Taniyama, The Development of Toru Takemitsus Musical Philosophy, Kobe Joshi Tanki
Daigaku Ronko 37 (Oct 1991), 90; quoted in ibid, 251.
5
2
3
221
time. For this reason, I have focused, for the purposes of analyzing Takemitsus music,
on the listeners engagement of his or her expectations of sound events, and on the
process of forming structural units in interpreting Takemitsus pieces, rather than on
perceiving sounds as isolated events with no relationship to one another. When one hears
Takemitsus compositions in this way, as continuous entities, the ensuing perception of
form-building sustains an equilibrium within the confluence of Eastern aesthetics and
Western musical style.
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
Sources in the selected bibliography have been categorized as follows.
I. Analytical, Theoretical, and Aesthetical Sources in Music

II. The Study of Time and Time in Music
III. Music of Toru Takemitsu
IV. Japanese Music, Culture, and Aesthetics
V. Studies of Noh Theater, Film, and Shakespeare
222
223
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY
I. Analytical, Theoretical, and Aesthetical Sources in Music
Bent, Ian and William Drabkin. Analysis. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
1987.
Berry, Wallace. Form in Music, 2nd ed. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall
Press, 1986.
Burnham, Scott. The Second Nature of Sonata Form. Music Theory and Natural Order
form the Renaissance to the Early Twentieth Century. New York: Cambridge
University Press, 2001.
Clifton, Thomas. Music as Heard: A Study in Applied Phenomenology. New Haven: Yale
Cone, Edward T. Musical Form and Musical Performance. New York: W. W. Norton &
Company, Inc. 1968.
________. The Composers Voice. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974.
Cook, Nicholas. Musical Form and the Listener. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art
Criticism 46 (1987): 23-29.
________. Music, Imagination, and Culture. New York: Oxford University Press, 1990.
________. Analysing Musical Multimedia. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998.
Cumming, Naomi. The Sonic Self: Musical Subjectivity and Signification. Bloomington
and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2000.
Drabkin, William. Chopin, Schenker, and Musical Form, Ostinato Rigore: Revue
Internatonale Dtudes Musicales 15 (2000): 173-86.
Epperson, Gordon. The Musical Symbol: A Study of the Philosophic Theory of Music.
Ames, Iowa: Iowa State University Press, 1967.
Ferguson, Donald N. Music as Metaphor: The Elements of Expression. Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press, 1960.
Haimo, Ethan. Developing Variation and Schoenbergs Serial Music. Music Analysis
16, no. 3 (Oct 1997): 349-65.
224
Hasty, Christopher. Rhythm in Post-Tonal Music: Preliminary Questions of Duration
and Motion. Journal of Music Theory 25 (1981): 183-216.
________. Segmentation and Process in Post-Tonal Music. Music Theory Spectrum 3
(1981): 54-73.
________. Phrase Formation in Post-Tonal Music. Journal of Music Theory 28 (1984):
167-90.
________. On the Problem of Succession and Continuity in Twentieth-Century Music.
Music Theory Spectrum 8 (1986): 58-74.
________. Meter as Rhythm. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997.
Hepokoski, James. Beyond the Sonata Principle. Journal of the Amaerican
Musicological Society 55 (2002): 91-154.
Langer, Susanne. Feeling and Form. New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1953.
Lerdahl, Fred and Ray Jackendoff. A Generative Theory of Tonal Music. Cambridge:
MIT Press, 1983.
Ligeti, Gyrgy. Metamorphoses of Musical Form Die Reihe 7, Form-Space. Translated
by Cornelius Cardew. Bryn Mawr: Theodore Presser, 1965.
Lochhead, Judy. The Metaphor of Musical Motion: Is There an Alternative. Theory
and Practice 14/15 (1989/90): 83-103.
________. Joan Towers Wings and Breakfast Rhythms I and II: Some Thoughts on
Form and Repetition. Perspectives of New Music 30, no. 1 (Winter 1992): 13356.
Meyer, Leonard B. Emotion and Meaning in Music. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1956.
________. Music, the Arts, and Ideas: Patterns and Predictions in Twentieth-Century
Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967.
Newcomb, Anthony. Once More Between Absolute and Program Music: Schumanns
Second Symphony. Nineteenth-Century Music 7, no. 3 (April, 1984): 233-50.
Rahn, Jay. A Theory for All Music: Problems and Solutions in the Analysis of NonWestern Forms. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1983.
Robinson, Jenefer, ed. Music & Meaning. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1997.
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Rosen, Charles. The Classical Style: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven. (New York: W. W.
Norton, 1997.
Rowell, Lewis. Thinking About Music: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Music.
Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1983.
Schmalfeldt, Janet. Form as the Process of Becoming: The Beethoven-Hegelian
Tradition and the Tempest Sonata. Beethoven Forum IV. Lincoln: University of
Nebraska, 1995.
Scruton, Roger. The Aesthetics of Music. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997.
Sessions, Roger. The Musical Experience of Composer, Performer, Listener. Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1974.
Simms, Bryan R. Schoenberg: The Analyst and the Analyzed. In The Arnold
Schoenberg Companion, ed. Walter B. Bailey, 223-50. Westport, Connecticut:
Greenwood Press, 1998.
II. The Study of Time and Time in Music
Adam, Barbara. Time and Social Theory. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990.
Barry, Barbara R. Musical Time: The Sense of Order. Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press,
1990.
Brodhead, Garry L. Metaphor and Deep Time in Music. In Time and Process,
Interdisciplinary Issues: The Study of Time VII, ed. J. T. Fraser and Lewis Rowell,
167-84. Madison, Connecticut: International Universities Press, Inc., 1993.
Childs, Barney. Time and Music: A Composers View. Perspectives of New Music 15,
no. 2 (1977): 194-219.
Clarke, Eric F. and Carol L. Krumhansl. Perceiving Musical Time. Music Perception 7,
no. 3 (Spring 1990): 213-51.
Dahl, yvind. When the Future Comes form Behind: Malagasy and Other Time
Concepts and Some Consequences for Communication. International Journal of
Intercultural Relations 19, no. 2 (Spring 1995): 197-209.
Eisenstein, Elizabeth L. Clio and Chronos: An Essay on the Making and Breaking of
History-Book Time. History and Theory. Beiheft 6. History and the Concept of
Time. Middletown, Connecticut: Wesleyan University Press, 1966.
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Epstein, David. On Musical Continuity. In The Study of Time IV: Papers from the
Fourth Conference of the International Society for the Study of Time, AlpbachAustria, ed. J. T. Fraser, N. Lawrence, and D. Park, 180-97. New York: SpringerVerlag New York, Inc., 1981.
Fraser, J. T. The Voices of Time: A Cooperative Survey of Mans Views of Time as
Expressed by the Sciences and by the Humanities, 2nd ed. Amherst: The
University of Massachusetts Press, 1981.
Hanrahan, Nancy Weiss. Difference in Time: A Critical Theory of Culture. Westport,
Connecticut: Praeger Publishers, 2000.
Hasty, Christopher. Duration and Rhythmic Process in Music. In Time and Process,
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Deguchi Form of Temporal Experience in The Music of Toru Takemitsu

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FORMS OF TEMPORAL EXPERIENCE IN THE MUSIC OF TORU TAKEMITSU

A dissertation submitted to the

CHAPTER I: CONCEPTS OF TEMPORALITY, LINEARITY, AND FORM IN

CHAPTER II: REQUIEM FOR STRINGS (1957): CYCLIC-TIME FORM

2.1 Harmonic and Metric Ambiguities

2.2 Repetitions of Materials in the Melodic Line and Cyclic-Time Form

CHAPTER III: PIANO DISTANCE (1961): FORCE THAT BECOMES ONE

3.1 Pitch Materials and How They are Constructed

3.2 Analysis of Musical Motion, Continuity, and Form

CHAPTER IV: RAIN TREE (1981): INTER-SUBJECTIVITY AND FORM

CHAPTER V: GAZING AT TIME: NOHKAN MUSIC FOR KUROSAWAS

Previous studies have explored temporality in Takemitsus music, and many of

My approach to analyzing Takemitsus music is based on the concepts of process

Lewis Rowell argues that the beginning of a composition functions as a transition

Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd ed., s.v. process.

some characteristic(s) of music in accordance with implications that arise from

Ibid. Italics by Kramer.

departure and movement or passage en route to points of arrival or destination.48 There

durations, a thinning texture, decreasing dynamics, a downward motion after an

moment, Rochberg presents space-form as a new mode of consciousness in musical

I adopt Hastys perspective of the continuous temporal succession of musical

A musical work is a whole, composed of interrelated parts presented successively

To form a phrase, associations must be structured between one sound event to

include such features as timbre, dynamics, intervallic associations, register, and

structure. As a result of my analyses, I conclude that temporality in Takemitsus music is

Requiem for Strings, commissioned by Tokyo Symphony Orchestra, is an early

Michael D. Lemonick, The Riddle of Time, TIME, 27 December 1999, 142.

2.1 Harmonic and Metric Ambiguities

Example 1. Final chord, first chord and first melody

([01245689T]).5 One of the modes of limited transposition, Mode III is a member of

2.1.1 Measures 1-3

Example 2. mm. 1-3

& b b wn ww bbb www

2.1.2 Measures 4-6

Example 3 shows m. 4 to the first half of m. 6, rewritten with enharmonic pitches

2.1.3 Measures 6-9

Table 1. Formation of chords and melody 5 in Ex. 4

2.2 Repetitions of Materials in the Melodic Line and Cyclic-Time Form

Example 5. Requiems melodic line

Many cultures conceive of time as cyclic from the observation of recurring

2.2.1 Recurrences in the Melodic Line

Example 6. Melody [a]1

Requiem. Melody [a]1 is shown in Example 6. (The

When the first

Example 7). Eb5 Bsn.

semitone, then the third note moves down 6 semitones).

Example 9. Melodies [b-c]4 ,T6[b-c]15 , [Ic]9, and [Ib-a]39

Example 11. Melodies [g-a]10, T10[g-a]11, [g-a-h]13, and [Re-a-h]15

i (1, 2) j (1, 3) RIf (3, 8)

Example 12 shows Melodies [i-j-RIf-c]17, [Ig-k-l]26, [k]28, [a-l]29, and T5 [a-l]46.

Figure l is incorporated in several melodic lines after its first appearance. In m.

rhythmically identical to accompanying chords. Melody [l-Rg] is highly articulated with

immediately rearticulated pitches. Melody [l-Rg]37 incorporates figures l and Rg with

Example 14. Melodies [m-j-If]59 and [d-j-c]73

reoccur transposed, inverted, or in retrograde inversion. These three-note figures do not

2.2.2 Form of Requiem for Strings

Example 15. Form of Requiem from Burt

Example 16. Figures in mm. 1-10

Example 18. mm. 1-36 (first section)

predominance of figure 'a'

prepares Melody [a]

used in middle section

When Melody [Re-a-h]15 is sounding, Melody [b-c]15 is heard in the lower