peregrination by Standard Grey

As of this writing, I’ve called Nara, Japan home for almost 12 years. Nara was the capital of Japan 1300-odd years ago. Before Tokyo, before Kyoto, the Nara Period was a short, but essential era in the foundation of the country. The history here is deep. Fast-forward a millennium and change, the winding backstreets in parts of the city and its outer surroundings retain an ancient atmosphere. It’s a wanderer’s paradise with countless temples, shrines, rural roads and ancient trails leading into the mountains. There is a mysterious undercurrent to this place, a long reverberation in the landscape. After 12 years here, I know that I’ve barely scratched the surface. When I pack my recording bag and head out on a ride or ramble, there is always the feeling that with the proper attention, something interesting might reveal itself around any corner. And it usually does.

My dictionary defines “peregrination” as : a journey, especially a long or meandering one, usually made on foot- often with an element of pilgrimage. It seemed like a fitting title, since this album was made during an extended period of exploration on foot and by bicycle around Nara and its temples, shrines and trails, before and during the current plague times. It’s a document of wandering motivated by curiosity, always with camera and some form of recording gear in tow- my trusty Zoom H6, a pair of janky cassette recorders, and any combination of cheap mics, nice mics, contact mics, hydrophones, percussion mallets…failing any of the above, iPhone voice memos or recording in situ into granular synthesis apps on my iPad. Whatever works.

My main happy place is the Yamanobe no Michi trail that runs along the foot of the mountains in the east of the Nara Basin. From Tenri to Miwa Shrine, it’s an easy 12 km walk through farmland, forest, persimmon groves, small villages and smaller settlements, past rural graveyards, temples, shrines and self-serve produce stands put out by the local farmers that operate on the honour system. Look out for the stones with poems carved into them, and the small jizō statues who protect passing travellers. And then there are the kōfun.

Like many residents, I am fascinated by the giant megalithic burial mounds that dot the landscape along the trail. Ringed by moats and off-limits to regular folk, they are mysterious, solemn things -simultaneously a source of worship for the locals and occasional speculation as to who’s actually buried there. Their signature keyhole shape can only be viewed from above and unless you know you’re right by one, or happen to read the historical plaques and place markers, you’d think you’re standing next to an ordinary grove of trees by a pond, rather than an imperial burial chamber.

Another key location on this album is the Heijo Palace grounds in Nara city. Separated from the cluster of main tourist attractions like the big Buddha at Todaiji temple, the bowing deer of Nara Park and Kasuga shrine, the former sprawling imperial residence acts as a sprawling, open green space that fills up on the weekends with families letting the kids run free, and is wonderfully quiet on weekdays. Bisected by the Kintetsu Railway line and with plenty of shady groves and quiet corners, on any given weekday you can find people jogging, reading, walking the dog, playing catch, working on their dance moves, and most interestingly, practising their wind and brass instruments of choice. Space is at a premium here and there are neighbours and family members to consider, so whether it’s high school students doing scales on tenor sax, a guy blowing cool jazz standards on trumpet, or the French horn guy in his usual spot on Monday afternoons, the palace site is large enough to let people have room to do their thing without getting in anyone’s way. Somewhere in the mix is the strange foreigner attaching contact mics to fallen branches and dragging sticks through leaves, or recording the sound of the wind through the pampas grass in summer or trying to register the swarms and murmurations of birds feeding at dusk as summer turns to autumn. Maybe you’ve seen that guy.

Ultimately, this release is a bit of a thank-you letter to my chosen home. Or at least my favourite parts of it, since it’s not all quiet and bliss; there is a trade-off for having easy access to so many visually, spiritually and sonically-rich spots. In the city, I live right downtown, close to the main train station in a neighbourhood full of noisy bars where the ever-present thud of bass along with the high comedy of drunks having any combination of laughs, drama or scraps in the middle of the night is punctuated by road work, motorbikes, ambulances, firetrucks and police sirens on the main thoroughfare that sets my dog a-howling - and my teeth on edge- at bedtime.

Noise pollution? Maybe. To me, it’s a location that sounds like any other in its natural state: the city sounds like the city; the forest sounds like the forest. That said, this album is about being grateful for having paths that easily lead me away from the din, out of my own head, and into the forest around Kasuga and Omiwa shrines, down anonymous gravel paths, narrow backstreets, along verdant rice fields and small rivers. This is where the pilgrimage aspect comes in, as I see visiting all my numerous secret- and now that I’ve told you, not-so-secret happy places as a form of taking refuge. That said, I’m keeping a couple of sonically-rich locations to myself. I’m not going to give you directions to my Monday sunset spot in particular. Wherever you are in the world, dear listener, you’ll have to find your own.

(Christopher Olson a.k.a. Standard Grey, 27 February 2023)

a thematic ltd series focusing primarily on phonographies reflecting the spirit of a specific place crowded with memories, its aura & resonances and our intimate interaction with it…

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