Upopo Sanke

This posthumous release was recorded in 2003, on a farm in the Tokachi district of Hokkaido, the northernmost island of Japan. For centuries, the original settlers of this area, the Ainu people, had practised their distinct cultural traditions. Then, on March 2, 1899, Japan ratified the ironically named Hokkaido Former Natives Protection Act, a law which effectively denied the Ainu their existence as an Indigenous tribe. Relocated into the barren mountainous central area, their culture was brutally repressed. It wasn’t until April 2019, 16 years after this album’s recording, that Japan officially recognised the Ainu as an Aboriginal group. Between those two dates, singer Umeko Ando (1932-2004) served as a musical ambassador of the Ainu, keeping the essence of her people’s traditional music alive.

Ando is supported by Oki Kano [aka OKI, see review below] on the tonkori harp (a fretless, five-string instrument distinct to the Ainu) with a further backing of all-women vocal group Marewrew, percussionists and a male throat singer. A field recording of sorts, and a celebration, the ambient noise, sounds of nature and spontaneous applause add to, rather than detract from, this simple, beautiful album, entirely fitting to its ethos. Opener ‘Chorakkun’ unravels like a fairy tale. Delicate strings and bobbing hand-percussion provide the perfect stage for Marewrew’s lilting, understated accompaniment, punctuated by deep male calls. Ando’s voice wavers with a compelling fragility, full of character and guileless wisdom.

With handbells and plucked strings, ‘Saranpe’ begins in a wistful manner, before settling, as with all the tracks here, into a spirit of hushed joy. Ando’s voice makes for a stunning counterpoint to those of Marewrew. Rhythms unobtrusively wane and wax, adding exquisite touches of light and dark. ‘Iuta Upopo’ perfectly displays a curious aspect of this album, sounding counter-intuitively modern and slick. Propelled by a thumping, on-the-beat bass drum, with addictive call-and-response singing, it’s not a step too far to imagine the song being reworked into a chart-friendly, mainstream hit. That would, of course, strip away the elements which make it so special. In contrast, ‘Chup Kamuy Ho’ takes us into more esoteric territory, with Ando alternately keening and declaiming a song-poem of glistening fragility over a suitably sparse backdrop.

‘Utari Opun Parewa’ is a standout among stiff competition. Buzzing strings, sunny shouts and calls, and bouncing percussion carry the listener along at a gentle pace, like a sparkling summer stream. This is music where space carries equal importance with sound, essence with ability – an uplifting prayer of thanks for the lush bounty of the Ainu homeland. ‘Aruo’ makes for a fitting close to this transformative musical journey. Simple harp arpeggios, bowed bass string and Ando’s unforgettable voice combine to conjure up dreams of far gone, yet eternal, landscapes. The album’s title translates as ‘let’s sing a song’, and it couldn’t be more apt. It would be a hard heart indeed that doesn’t find itself moved by the sincere innocence and welcoming charm of this record.