**Toshiro Mayuzumi's Bugaku: A Dance of Ancient Ritual and Modern Fury**
Toshiro Mayuzumi's Bugaku, composed in 1963, is a ballet that demands attention. Not simply a performance, but an experience. It's a clash of ancient tradition and modern expression, a whirlwind of sound and movement that leaves you breathless and pondering the very essence of ritual. As a dancer, I feel a deep kinship with this ballet's visceral, primordial energy. It is, after all, our own history as dancers, as performers who use our bodies to tell stories, that is being mined and resurrected. Bugaku takes us back to a time before the stage lights, before the proscenium arch, before even the written word. It throws us into a realm where movement is language and sound is incantation.
The music, at once hypnotic and jarring, sets the tone. The rhythmic heartbeat of the drums, insistent and powerful, blends with soaring melodic phrases and an unexpected, almost operatic use of strings. Mayuzumi expertly weaves together ancient Japanese folk instruments like the shakuhachi (a bamboo flute) with the orchestral force of a full ensemble, creating an exhilarating sonic tapestry that is both captivating and strangely familiar.
The ballet itself unfolds in six movements, each imbued with a different mood and aesthetic. These movements, while distinctly different, share a powerful sense of narrative. We journey from the serene to the explosive, the devotional to the profane, the ceremonial to the chaotic.
**Movement 1: Sho** is like an awakening. It starts slowly, deliberately. A lone dancer, clad in traditional white garments, emerges from the darkness. Their movements, almost prayer-like, are controlled yet fluid, drawing the audience into a hushed stillness. The music is contemplative, tinged with a mournful quality, like an echo from a forgotten time. This sense of archaic solemnity is punctuated by flashes of violence, an undercurrent of tension hinted at in the dancer’s taut body and the shifting dynamics of the score.
**Movement 2: Kyokyo** brings the first eruption of chaos. This is a world of colliding forces. A group of dancers bursts into a furious flurry of movement, their bodies contorting and swirling in a mesmerizing display of strength and vulnerability. It's a tempestuous ballet within the ballet, and the energy is electric. The music mirrors the frenetic energy with its complex, often discordant harmonies, mirroring the struggle between order and chaos, control and surrender. The movement is at once brutal and graceful, demonstrating the power of the human form and its capacity for destruction and creation.
**Movement 3: Kan** offers a brief reprieve, a momentary sense of peace and contemplation. A singular dancer steps forward, radiating an aura of solemnity. They move with a sense of deep concentration, as if conducting a silent, intimate ritual. Their posture speaks volumes, conveying a connection to something beyond themselves. This is the space of the devotee, of the soul communing with something bigger, a sense of communion with the ancestors.
**Movement 4: Shin**, which translates to 'Heart', feels like a crucible of emotion. It’s a whirlwind of conflicting desires and fears, a struggle against the unrelenting power of fate. The dancers writhe, writhe and lunge with an intensity that borders on frenzy. Their movements, like shards of glass, both beautiful and dangerous, slice through the darkness. The music, too, is laced with a sharp urgency. It is relentless, driven, leaving no room for easy answers.
**Movement 5: Se** returns to a more measured, reflective tempo. This is where tradition meets modernity in its purest form. Dancers move with controlled precision, their gestures at times starkly geometric and ritualistic, echoing ancient traditions. However, their movements are infused with an underlying tension, an unsettling unease that subtly permeates the serenity of the moment. Here, a clash emerges – the battle between the familiar and the alien, the old and the new.
**Movement 6: Dai**, is the crescendo. This is the climax, the full eruption of emotions unleashed, a powerful culmination of the journey we have been on. Here, all restraints are abandoned. Dancers are consumed by the music, moving in unison, creating a whirlwind of sound and movement, the choreography becomes almost overwhelming, leaving the audience breathless with the sheer scale of the experience. It's a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit, an embodiment of both primal force and fragile beauty.
Dancers: Bugaku demands an uncommon level of artistry from its dancers. It requires not just technical virtuosity, but a deep understanding of the ballet's spiritual core. This ballet is not merely a physical challenge. It requires an engagement with the deep emotions and primal forces that fuel its choreography, which are expressed in every twitch of the muscle, in every tilt of the head, and every subtle nuance of their movements.
The Power of Tradition:
I've been blessed to perform this piece in different venues, each with its own unique atmosphere. Each time, the impact of the piece feels renewed, different yet still potent. Bugaku, in its raw and untamed power, reflects both the fragility and the resilience of the human condition. As a dancer, I am always seeking out pieces that push me to my limits and challenge my perceptions of the world. Bugaku has a power that lingers. The impact of Mayuzumi’s music, and the emotional tapestry of the choreography continue to haunt and inspire me even after the curtain has fallen, and I am sure that it has a lasting effect on the audience, too.
A Lasting Impression:
For me, Toshiro Mayuzumi's Bugaku is more than just a ballet. It is an exploration of the human spirit. It is a testament to the power of tradition. It is a dance of ancient ritual, but it also speaks to our shared humanity – a story of hope, anguish, and renewal that continues to resonate in the very depths of my being.