Category Archives: music

The Aztecs divide the universe into four separate realms or regions. First, there is Ilwihkaktli’ or the arc of the heavens. This region is symbolized in Aztec altars by a leaf covered arch to which has been attached representations of the sun or stars. The second region is the earth which in Nahuatl is called Tlali’. The earth is the seat of human activity and is represented in rituals by the surface of altar tables. Third is Miktlan or the realm of the dead which exists under the earth’s surface. The souls of all people who die “naturally” go to Miktlan to live a life similar to that on earth. Miktlan is represented in religious rituals by a display which is located on the earth floor underneath of altar tables. Finally, there is Apan or the realm of water where all souls of people who die violently go. Apan is the region that connects all other regions into one integrated whole. The sky is reflected on its surface, streams and springs flow on the earth and yet their depths penetrate to Miktlan, the underworld. In religious rituals Apan is recognized by a display that is set up by a spot that has been designated as sacred to the water.



Rattle dances usually take place only at night and are rather long in duration, sometimes lasting up to one hour. The dances themselves are seen as offerings or sacrifices dedicated to Tonantsi’ and the more energy and effort invested in their execution the more they are appreciated by the diety. In fact, this element of sacrifice is considered to be the primary raison d’etre for the dances themselves. Informants state that throughout the year Tonantsi’ supplies all that is necessary for a good life–food, health, happiness, etc., and thus feel it is only fitting that during the ceremony dedicated to the honor of Tonantsi’, her followers sacrifice as much of their goods, energy and time as is possible in order to show as much gratitude and appreciation as possible. Indeed, informants will state that physical exhuastion in her honor is testimony to her honor as much as physical offerings.

from https://folkways-media.si.edu/docs/folkways/artwork/FW04358.pdf

Excerpts from The Bells of Old Tokyo: Meditations on Time and a City by Anna Sherman:

The world was like a leather bag filled with water, he once wrote, and at the bottom of the world was a puncture: time seeped out of it, drop by drop.

Time was like a whirlpool.

Time could be stopped if you stood between the sun and a sundial.

The present moment could be sometimes like the Mekong or Bangkok’s Chao Phraya: a vast river. The past and future were tributaries that sometimes overflowed their own banks, and spilled into each other.

Time was like a palace’s great hall, with partitions that could be taken away. Every instant that would ever be, or had ever been, might be seen all at once.

Sand pouring from a woman’s shoe: the most enchanting hourglass in the world.



According to the anthropologist Carmen Blacker, the word for divination in Japanese is ‘ura or uranai, a term which appears to indicate primarily “that which is behind, and hence invisible” (nayra)



But some imported ideas were rejected outright. In 1948, the Japanese, still recovering from the war and the lingering exhaustion that followed years of starvation and despair, held noisy protests against American-style Daylight Savings Time. The Occupation authorities were surprised: bringing the clocks forward an hour had seemed a minor innovation, when more drastic ones – granting suffrage to women, abolishing the hereditary rights of the nobility – drew fewer and less vehement complaints.

Daylight Savings Time became sanmah ta-imu (‘summer time’) in what the historian John Dower has termed ‘the marvelous new pidgin terminology of the moment. The Japanese felt summer time drew out the difficulty of their daily lives, and when the Occupation ended, it was one of the first things to be scrapped.

People wanted darkness to come earlier.



Since the late nineteenth century, Japan has used the Western calendar, but never the Christian system of counting years from the birth of Christ…The end of the Cold War gave its name to the reign of Emperor Hirohito’s successor, Emperor Akihito: Heisei (‘Peace Everywhere’), because he ascended the Chrysanthemum Throne just as the Soviet Union was collapsing. The 9/11 attacks happened in Heisei 13. Under the old system, the emperor’s astronomers might perhaps have restarted time by calling a new nengo after the so-called Bubble Economy collapsed in 1991, or after the 2011 earthquake and tsunami. But Heisei – Peace Everywhere has continued on, while North Korea launched missiles into the Sea of Japan and the United States fought al-Qaeda.



In 1921, a “Correct Time” propaganda was carried out in Japan under the sponsorship of the Education Department, and some eighty bell-ringers were rewarded for their long and faithful service. The recipients…included two women, one of whom was named Matsu Obata, aged 82. For fifty years she had struck the bell twenty- four times a day, and she had been admired for her accuracy in the execution of her duty, one requiring a great deal of watchfulness…



The monks wore enormous, tight-woven wicker barrels over their heads, hats that symbolize the death of the ego. When the Tokugawa fell, the emperor’s new government outlawed komusō, because they had often acted as spies for the Tokugawa. After 1868, komusō temples were burned, and much of the sect’s musical repertoire lost: notes that imitated the crying of cranes, or the beating of their wings; wind; petals falling; a bell. The Meiji authorities appropriated the beehive-shaped hat for convicts, who wore them into court. What had symbolized the ascetic’s ascension toward the sublime became stigmatized, an object of shame.



Kobayashi moved toward the eighteenth-century tomb of Tsunayoshi, the ‘Dog Shogun. Tsunayoshi became infamous for his edicts that penalized anyone who mistreated animals, especially dogs. ‘For the sake of a single bird or beast, the death penalty was inflicted. Even relatives were given capital punishment or deported and exiled…one contemporary account complained, after Tsunayoshi’s death, and his so- called ‘Laws of Compassion’ were rescinded.



Reducing a land to atoms,/ These atoms are measureless, untold./ Boundless lands, as many as these atoms/ are gathered on a single hair.

‘For Buddhists, the past, the future, and this moment: everything flows at the same pace, Takahashi said. ‘Every second is equal. The past and the future and what’s happening now, aren’t separate.

You can say a lot about time: but time is also things that don’t happen. I grew up in Hokkaido. On my route to school there was a crossroads and at the crossroads was a stop light. It was such a quiet place that my younger brother and I used to blast right through on our bikes without stopping. But one day, for some reason, I did stop. And a car whipped around the bend and zoomed through the crossing. If I hadn’t held back a few moments before, I would have died. Right in front of my younger brother.

Afterward I thought everything had happened in slow motion. For my brother, the moment went by like a flash. But time has the same flow: everywhere and always. How we think of it must just be a function of our brains. That sense is just the way we process our fear of death.

Because no one comes back to tell us what happens after we stop breathing, we’re scared of death. Time is the frame- work, the scaffolding, for how we experience that terror. Time lets us look away from fear. You might think of time as the life we have left.’

‘And the dead?’ I asked. ‘What about the dead?’

Takahashi shrugged. ‘The dead have slipped out of the framework.’

from https://www.objectsandsounds.com/sonic-confessions-with-martyna-basta/:

“When I make music, I feel like I’m writing a letter and my message is just expressed in tones instead of words. The fragments of my thoughts are scattered in pieces, so perhaps my message is never clear but rather just full of questions.

Most of the time I also feel like the pieces I make are just kind of coming my way and taking shape naturally. Almost as if it’s happening without my control, even though I’m the creator. I am also an observer at the same time, so the outcome is always a surprise.



My process is spontaneous and chaotic. I feel very strongly driven by intuition and impulsivity. I can create a piece in a very short period, but I find that it’s important for my practice to leave it for a while, so I can come back to it and hear it differently or have other ideas that can contribute to it. Giving space to my music is just as important to me as making music.”


from https://shapeplatform.eu/2023/mistakes-became-a-source-of-inspiration-an-interview-with-martyna-basta/:

“From what I’ve observed – because I believe that being driven by intuition means that you also learn about your practice on the way – my albums evolve as a culmination of emotions, sentiments, or images experienced during a particular period. I never start a record with a blank page, but rather collect some sketches for a while, see what they’re about, and only from there I start to weave everything together, adding some new little narratives here and there. It’s very interesting to me because it shifts your position from being a maker, a musician, to being an observer. I like to think of music not just as a product of my making, but as something mysteriously materialising before me, originating from some magical realm.



I don’t think I’ve ever sonified a specific memory – it evokes the action, but it’s more a feeling that leaves a trace in the music. When I revisit my past compositions, it’s like flipping through old photographs, revealing fleeting glimpses of emotions. This is the essence of how my compositions unfold – I often blend field recordings from different times and places into a cohesive whole.”