QUAINT MUSIC

Evening Star, Issue 20959, 25 November 1931, Page 4

QUAINT MUSIC

AN INSECT ORCHESTRA In the distance a stranger hears iS and wonders what it can be—the strangest music on earth —for nowhere but in Japan can it be heard, says a writer in the ‘ Morning Post.’ _ ' Imagine an insect orchestra quite different from the shrill din heard by day or night in the fields and ponds. The inushiuri man captures or breeds these singing insects for sale; he carefully selects the performers for his orchestra, both in regard to the quality of the sound and the breed of the singer, or player. The inushiuri man ' toddles slowly down the street with a bamboo pole over his shoulder, and from either end of this is suspended a frame bearing dozens of tiny cages, each with its vocal or string performers. As all appear to bo tuning up for professional duty, the volume of sound is deafening. Before you buy you test the voice of your favourite species by having a cage taken out for individual performances by its inmates. As autumn approaches the notes are clearest, yet most pathetic, for the singing season will soon end. The close of the season is heralded by the dominant note of the cricket, which chirps “samusa-kuru-yo”—“the cold is coming ’ ’ —over and over again. All the other insects seem to unite in an attempt to out-sing ■ their _ pessimistic neighbour, but his glistening, black t head and shining eyes defy the rest of the band. • ... The rival voice of the katydid is more romantic, inviting the others to join in a gay roundelay. He is a born bandmaster, an insistent leader. Bub the prima donna is the little bell insect, so ardent in love lyrics, faint, yet clear and soothing. Her delicate gauze wings vibrate like blue ether as she plays the violin on her graceful legs; rin-rinn-rinnn till the higher notes alternating in rhythmic cadence, end in pianissimo. Like all fair ladies, she is best at sunset under the starry sky; and after two week of amorous musio she is no more.

The matsumushi which, as its uamo implies, loves the sound of the pinetops in the wind, is a talented musician, soft, mysterious, and soul-affects iug, the mandolin section of the chorus. His long, brown body with yellow belly is not beautiful, but, like some others, he is made to be heard, not seen. Ami no Japanese can hear the matsumushi without feeling homesick, for it is the earliest music of childhood days. The loudest performer is the cicada, whose instrumental efforts echo thc» heat-of summer with a shrill sound like sizzling oil. These are Tut a few of the host of insect voices inside the cages of the mushiuri man, whose daily round ever, commands an audience, for the Japanese love insect music; they prefer it to that of birds. It is, like themselves,of the earth, and becomes the model of their vocal and instrumental efforts.Nor does it lack the sentiment of. sacred association; for may, not the singing _ insect by a reincarnation of some kindred spirit who in a past life failed in due respect for the humbler creatures of existence? Some foreigners appreciate tliis_ insect music, too, but Scotsmen deny its superiority to the pipes.