Piano was originally called gravicembalo col piano e forte, meaning “a harpsichord that can produce soft and loud sounds.” Piano means “soft,” forte means “loud.” It was later shortened to Pianoforte, and eventually settled as Piano. One of the instrument’s core qualities is its control over volume and touch—adding a new dimension to music. If Bach had lived in an age with the piano rather than the gravicembalo, he might have written in an even wider range of styles.
Ryuichi Sakamoto. Sometimes I put different versions of the same piece into one playlist, like Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence. The version I listen to most is from the album BTTB. These pieces are not virtuosic or complex; they are stark, restrained, even slightly uneasy, with many semitones that leave the heart suspended. Some melodies, even when fervent, feel like “a cold kind of fervor.”
He also went through phases very different from the sophisticated image most people know—early experimental works, cross-genre attempts, even appearing on variety shows acting silly (the kind of thing where he walks on stage in just shorts). Some albums from the 1990s are hard for me to enjoy because they feel overly “experimental,” noisy, and chaotic.
When I was in third grade, a teacher told us to watch The Last Emperor. I still don’t know why she recommended it to a group of children, but I’m grateful for her boldness. I had long known that Sakamoto composed its score, but only finished the film last year. The director is Italian, the music by a Japanese composer, the actors Chinese and Japanese, the dialogue in English, with France and the UK involved in production. Using such a mix to tell that history feels unusual. Film is film; the actors’ charm drapes a filter over the real figures, while the music matches the weight of history: Where is Armo?, Rain—both carrying vast, heavy emotion.
If possible, I’d like to watch Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence.